"No, that's fine. I think you might be overlooking a person of interest, someone who is in town and who has a past with Chad Ruxley. And an unpleasant one at that."
"Go on." He reached back for a notepad and pen.
"Thursday afternoon, Lola and I were in Franki's having lunch when some men from Dayton Construction walked in. The owner of the company, Randall Dayton, was making eyes at Lola, and he asked her to stay for a piece of pie. Which, she did, of course. But that's another topic. They made plans to take a carriage ride together that night during the light show. According to Lola, they had a wonderful time and even stopped for midnight pancakes at the diner. She hasn't heard from him since, and she's quite distraught about it, but again, another topic."
"It's only been two days," Briggs noted in typical man fashion.
"Yes, well, that's not the point of this conversation, and two days is an eternity after a very successful date. But back to my information. Lola was searching online to see what she could find out about Randall Dayton." I held up my hand to stop the imminent eye roll. Briggs might have been more gentlemanly than most, but he was still a man and they sure did stick together when it came to women.
I forged ahead. "A bit of research brought her to an interesting article about Big Bob's Construction. It was a company owned by Robert Dayton, Randall's dad. In 2012, Chad Ruxley was working on Big Bob's work site and he saw a number of safety violations. He alerted the contractor's board and because it wasn't the first time Bob had been cited, they took away his license. The company went bankrupt and folded soon after, which led Bob Dayton to take his own life."
Briggs looked up from his notepad with wide eyes. "Ruxley is purported to be an honest, stand-up kind of guy. I guess this story confirms that." Briggs sat back and seemed to be absorbing the information. He tapped his pen on the notepad, but stopped it abruptly. "Wait. Did you say he and Lola had a date on Thursday night that went until at least past midnight?"
"Yes. Pancakes at Franki's at midnight." My words trailed off as it dawned on me why he was asking. "They were on their date during the murder."
Briggs nodded. "If Lola can confirm and possibly even Franki, then that's a solid alibi. I don't think I would even have to bring him in for questioning."
My posture deflated. "Darn it. I was sure I had something significant this time."
"It's still important. There would certainly be a good motive. Your father's life ruined to the point that he commits suicide. That would stick in anyone's craw." He walked over to his coat and hat. "I'll keep what you told me in mind. In the meantime, let's go take one last stroll around Chad Ruxley's boat."
Chapter 24
Derek, the young man Briggs had paid to motor us out to Chad Ruxley's boat, was in his last year of high school. He was pleased to be able to make a 'wad of cash' this weekend ferrying people out to the boats in his two man fishing boat. The shallow metal boat, with two planks running from side to side for seats, provided us with a wild, bumpy ride as he traversed the waves rolling into shore. Twice, I grabbed hold of Detective Briggs' arm certain that I was going to be popped clear off the plank seat and into the ice cold water. And as pillowy as my winter coat looked, I was sure it wasn't going to keep afloat like a life jacket. In fact, the downy filling would, no doubt, soak up sea water like a sponge.
After my second grab, and after I peeled my gloved hand away from him, Briggs reached for my arm and held it. He pushed up that sideways grin and avoided eye contact.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"You're welcome."
I was amazed at how much more secure I felt with him holding my arm. I briefly let myself wonder if that same level of security would be there even if I wasn't trying to keep my bottom inside a jolting, bouncing boat.
"We're here," Derek announced, in case we didn't notice the twenty foot sailboat bobbing in the tide just inches from our faces. "Make sure you have all your belongings with you. Wallets, keys, handkerchiefs." He pulled a box out from under the plank he sat on. "I've already got a collection. Bumpy rides tend to make things fall out of pockets. Now I'm reminding people after each ride."
Detective Briggs and I both patted pockets for phones and other belongings. "I think I've got everything," I said as I stood in the boat and then fell back down hard on my bottom. "Except my sense of balance, which I believe I left somewhere back on the beach."
Derek had a good laugh over that.
Detective Briggs stood first and then helped me up. It was quite a feat to stay steady, but Briggs kept a tight grip on me. I moved forward to reach for the ladder hanging off the stern. As my eyes swept past the box of left behind items, a flash of white caught my eye. "This handkerchief," I said as I reached into the box and picked it up.
Detective Briggs lifted it to get a better look. "It's the same handkerchief we saw Charlene Ruxley use at the campsite."
"She told me she hand-stitches them herself and then sells them at events."
Briggs looked at our young captain. "Do you happen to remember who dropped this?"
"I do. A lady. One of the Christmas carolers. In fact, I was taking her out to this same boat, the Sea Gem."
"Do you remember when she went to the boat?"
Derek pulled out his phone. "I've got all the appointments on my phone. Charlene Ruxley ten o'clock A.M. on Thursday. She had me hang around so I could ferry her back to shore. She didn't stay long. I heard some angry voices up on the deck. When she climbed back on the boat, she was crying and clutching that handkerchief. We got back to shore, and she nearly jumped out of the boat. I didn't notice she had dropped the handkerchief until she was too far away."
"Thank you," Briggs said. "And if you don't mind sticking around for us, we won't be long. I'll pay you for the time."
Derek saluted. "At you service, Detective Briggs."
With some fortitude and very little grace, I managed to pull myself up the ladder and over the stern of the Sea Gem. Briggs climbed aboard and immediately pulled out his notebook to write down what Derek had told him.
I looked around at the deck. "Why do you think Charlene said she hadn't seen her ex-husband in a long time? Seems there was no way her visit to the Sea Gem could have slipped her mind. Especially since she left the boat crying."
"Not sure but I'll definitely be making a trip out to their campsite when Derek takes us back to shore. The boat has been given a pretty thorough search, but I thought you could do one trip around to see if anything stands out to you." He held up the handkerchief. "Like this highly important piece of evidence you found."
I gave a satisfied nod and took a stroll around the deck. Again, the clammy weather and the strong smell of the ocean made the task difficult. The holiday decorations were still fluttering in the wind. The sight of them made me sad to think that just two days ago Chad Ruxley, a good man by all accounts, was enjoying himself, decorating his boat and excited to be part of an annual celebration.
I walked down three steps into a tiny cabin area that was set up with a coffee maker and a mini refrigerator. I took deep breaths but didn't pick up anything. Even the coffee maker was dry and nearly free of aroma.
I turned and noticed a small narrow closet on the side of the cabin. I heard Detective Briggs' footsteps coming down the metal stairs as I opened the closet. A broom, a mop and bucket were inside the narrow cabinet along with some cleaning supplies. I breathed in deeply.
"Anything?" Briggs asked over my shoulder.
"Just what I'd expect in a closet full of cleaning supplies. Nothing that reminds me of the chemical smell on his sweater. Which reminds me, in my haste to tell you about the connection with Randall Dayton, I forgot to mention that I was talking to—" I hesitated, not wanting to bring up the one name that could change Briggs' mood instantly. But I'd already started the sentence, and I didn't know how else to finish it. "I was talking to Dash," I said quickly, hoping the name would have less impact. But I caught a glimmer of a flinch on his face. "He was carrying some lumber up t
o his porch, and it occurred to me that the smell on Chad's sweater and on the ribbon might have been lumber. Douglas Fir, to be exact, because that's the kind of wood he's using on his porch."
A churlish grin crossed his face. "Maybe your neighbor is our suspect." He even avoided using the name in his snide remark. One day, I'd get to the bottom of their mutual dislike for each other. Whatever it was, it was something deep and longstanding.
"Anyhow," I said tersely. "I thought I'd mention it."
"Yes, sorry." He pulled out his notebook and wrote it down. "Well, it seems there is nothing new to discover here. In fact, the ride to the boat might have been more productive. Let's get back to shore. I'm sure you need to get back to your shop, and I need to talk to Charlene Ruxley and find out why she lied."
Chapter 25
Two news vans rolled into town after lunch, and the quiet lull that had been cast over the town after the discovery of a body on the pier had been lifted. People, it seemed, had pushed the tragedy to the back of their minds, and some of the pre-murder enthusiasm for the light show had returned. But something told me the news crews wouldn't be nearly as focused on the holiday flotilla as they would be on Chad Ruxley's unexplained, violent death.
Ryder proved my theory true as he came in from lunch.
"Mayor Price is walking around with his hair on fire," Ryder said as he hung up his coat and beanie.
"I wouldn't mind seeing that." I put the finishing touches on a happy birthday bouquet for a customer pick-up. "Although, it's probably just as well that I was not around because my presence seems to make that fire burn brighter. Why is he so upset?"
Ryder hopped on the stool to finish the soda he'd carried back with him. "I guess the two news crews that are setting up on opposite sides of the beach are asking questions and interviewing people about the murder case. Sort of puts a bad light on a festive celebration. After all, the boats had already gone through several beach towns, only to end here, in Port Danby, with one of the boat owners strangled. Price figures it's very bad publicity for our town."
"He's right about that." I turned the bouquet of pink and yellow roses around to check it out from every angle. "How's this?"
"Looks good. Is that a delivery?"
"No, the customer is coming to pick it up."
The door opened and Lola walked into the shop still looking dreary and downtrodden, a detail Ryder apparently missed.
He clapped loudly. "The window display champion of Harbor Lane. Congratulations. Your window is very cool."
Lola forced a smile. "I'm still confused about how I won. My window doesn't compare to yours or to Elsie's." It was only a half-hearted compliment, but I sensed that coming from Lola it had made Ryder's day. He headed to the potter's table with a spring in his step.
Lola shuffled to the work island and climbed up onto the stool. She propped her elbows onto the island and rested her chin in her hands. Her sullen expression sparked an idea.
"Hey, my friend, how about coming to my house for dinner? I will make a feast of comfort food, foods that have no business being on the same plate together but that as a whole represent all that is good in the world of food. I'm thinking mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese and maybe, just to pretend we're trying, some of those green beans that are drowned in cream of mushroom soup and deep fried onions. You know—" I curled my fingers into air quotes. "The vegetable dish they serve at Thanksgiving. We'll top the entire calorie binge off with some of Elsie's caramel cake. What do ya say?"
She took a dramatic breath. "I suppose I could work up some enthusiasm for mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Maybe then I'll just drift into a carb coma and wake up Monday, forgetting this weekend even happened."
I was sure the Dayton construction project would last well past this weekend, but I wasn't about to point that out to her. With any luck, Dayton would stay over in Chesterton and not travel to Port Danby at all.
"What time do you want me to drag my sorry bottom to your house?" she asked.
I rested my arms on the counter and looked pointedly at her. "If you're going to drag yourself or even your sorry bottom to my house, then stay home and I'll eat mashed potatoes alone. Seriously, Lola, enough. Come over and we'll eat, laugh and watch a movie. And no dragging or sorry bottomness, agreed?"
Lola nodded once. "Agreed." Her eyes and mouth opened wide. "Oh my gosh, I nearly forgot." She glanced at her phone. "Yikes, I'm late." She hopped off the stool.
"Where are you heading?"
"Oddly enough, to the police station. In fact, this whole thing with Randall has me in such a twist, I forgot my main reason for coming in here. Why do you think Detective Briggs wants to see me? He said he just had a few quick questions about Thursday night. I'm baffled."
I knew exactly what the questions were, but it wasn't my place to tell her. "Hmm, not sure. I think he might be asking around to people who were out late on Thursday. And I might have mentioned that you were out on a date that night."
"Really?" She looked even more perplexed. Her face smoothed to concern. "Gosh, I'm not a suspect am I? Just because I was out late?"
"No, silly. You're not a suspect." I reached for my coat. "But I'll walk down there with you. I have a few questions for the detective myself."
Chapter 26
Lola stood in front of the tall counter at the police station like a little girl waiting to go in and see the school principal. She fidgeted with the zipper on her coat, lifting it up and down, and twice, getting it jammed on the fabric. I finally placed my hand over hers to stop her from pulling it down again.
Hilda finished a call and twirled her chair. "What are you girls up to today? Did you see the news reporters? They are setting up cameras for the light show, but from what I hear, they are spending more time snooping around, trying to find out nuggets about the homicide case." She sat forward quickly. "Lola, I wanted to ask you about a certain kind of lamp I saw on Ebay. I was wondering if you had one like it in your shop." She began clicking away on her mouse.
Hilda had apparently decided Lola and I had stopped in just to chat. "Hilda, I think Detective Briggs needed to ask Lola some questions."
"Oh, did he?" She waved her hand. "Of course. I should have asked. I'll find that lamp in the meantime. It's a rose cut hurricane lamp that I think would go perfectly with my new sofa." She got sidetracked again with her lighting fixture questions and then stopped herself. "I'm just a scatter brain today. A few new pieces of furniture and my mind is mired in interior decorating ideas. Just a minute." She knocked on the door and poked her head in. "Lola and Lacey are here to see you." She laughed. "Sounds like a song or a music group." She repeated our names in a sing song voice. Her new furniture had definitely put her in a cheerful mood. "Go right in, girls."
"Actually, Lola, you should probably go in first. I'll wait out here. After all, it was you he needed to talk to. I just came along as an afterthought."
Lola nervously reached for her zipper. "Are you sure?"
"You can come in too, Miss Pinkerton." Briggs was at his office door. "I just have a few quick questions for Miss Button. Then I need to talk to you."
Lola twittered nervously as she fidgeted with the zipper. "I haven't been called Miss Button since Mrs. Rushing, the vice principal in high school, called me that when she was mad about something. And she was always mad. But I had to hand it to her, she had everyone's last names memorized. She once called me Miss Button over the loudspeaker. I hadn't done anything wrong, but—" Lola was heading into one of her long, rambling nerve-fueled narratives. I knew I needed to intervene, or we'd all grow old and gray hearing about her high school antics and Mrs. Rushing.
"Lola," I said sharply to get her attention. "Detective Briggs is probably busy."
"Oh, right."
Briggs nodded a silent thanks at me as he buzzed us through to his office. Lola was more relaxed when she realized I was walking into the office with her. She had nothing to be nervous about, of course, but I was sure it was her
first time in his office. The way she surveyed the room assured me I was right.
"So, this is what a detective's office looks like," Lola said as she sat in the chair across from his desk. "Oops, I forgot to ask permission to sit."
"Of course you can sit," Briggs said, as he circled around to his chair. I sat in the second chair and wriggled to get comfortable, but the chairs weren't really made for comfort.
Briggs pulled out his notebook, which caused Lola to reach for her zipper pull. I put my hand gently on her arm and shook my head. She lowered her hands to her lap.
Briggs looked up from his notebook. The lighting in his office was that horrid fluorescent department store dressing room type that highlighted every dimple of fat while you slithered into tight jeans. But James Briggs, I'd discovered, looked good under any light. The case he'd been working on was making him look more weary than usual, but he was still handsome sitting behind his desk.
"I'm sure Miss Pinkerton filled you in on why I asked you here."
"No, I didn't," I admitted quickly. I could feel Lola's questioning gaze on the side of my face, and suddenly, I, too, had an urge to fiddle with my zipper pull. "I'm sorry, Detective Briggs, but I only just found out that you called her here." I tried to shoot him a 'what on earth' look, but it was hard with Lola just twelve inches away, boring a hole in the side of my face with her puzzled scowl. "I, uh, I didn't think it was my place."
It finally dawned on Briggs that he shouldn't have tossed me into the mix. He cleared his throat, as if that might erase his missteps. Unfortunately, there was no delete or backspace button for spoken words. (Someone really should come up with that.)
"I apologize. That was presumptuous of me," Briggs said. "Miss Button, as you know, a man was murdered on the pier. It took place on Thursday night around eleven o'clock. It has come to my attention that a construction company is working on a home site in Beacon Cliffs. The owner of that company, Randall Dayton, has some unpleasant history with the victim, Chad Ruxley."
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 11