Smugglers & Scones

by Talbot, Morgan C

  “That was fun,” Emily announced. “Welcome again, Pippa. Now, tell us. What was it like rescuing that young man from the ocean in the middle of the night?”

  Tyleen sat up straight. “I would have been out there helping you, but you know what a heavy sleeper I am. Dead to the world.”

  Aha. I’d been welcomed into the tight-knit local club because I had the best scoop on the latest story. “I can tell you all about it, but first I do need to know this group’s privacy policy. Is this story going to end up in the Register, Naoma?”

  The curvy newspaper editor met my gaze with her green eyes and smiled. “Everything we say and do here is strictly off the record. What happens in Glaze and Gossip stays in Glaze and Gossip.”

  Jordan elbowed me. “Seriously, you would not believe the things I know about these wonderful ladies. And I’ve never breathed a word of it outside this doughnut shop. And I solemnly swear that I won’t breathe any of the details about Pippa sleeping with the man she rescued from the waves, either.”

  Gasps ringed the tables. Most were delighted; Wallis’s sounded foreboding.

  “I hate you right now, Jordan,” I muttered.

  She bared her teeth at me in a wickedly gleeful smile.

  “All right, let’s see, where to begin? I suppose with the crash that woke me up.” I spilled all the details I could remember about the capsized boat and pulling Lake from the waves. With Jordan’s foot kicking mine every five seconds, I reluctantly added the part about how I’d fallen asleep in Lake’s arms for the rest of the night. “But I really did only sleep with him. Just sleep! I swear.”

  The others offered me varying levels of belief, and Wallis put a hand on her chest as if my failure to get laid had been a literally fatal error.

  “I’m not the kind of girl who puts out on a first date.”

  Jordan snorted. “That’s funny because I am.”

  More delighted gasps, including my own.

  Jordan faked an indignant expression. “Come on, you guys. Do you know how many first dates I’ve had in the last year? Two. Well, two and a half. Do you know how many second dates I’ve had in the last year? Zip,” she said, popping her P loudly. “If I didn’t indulge myself completely, I wouldn’t get laid at all.”

  “That’s two and a half times more than I’ve gotten laid this year,” I muttered.

  Emily leaned forward with a scone in one hand. “You don’t sleep with your writers, ever?”

  I shook my head. “If it doesn’t end well, I’ll get immortalized in their books as some kind of evil slut or murderer or something. No, thank you. I’ll stick to the occasional cameo as a stationery shop owner or attractive dog walker.”

  Lori finished off her scone. “Do you think he did it, Pippa? Did Lake kill Cecil?”

  The atmosphere in the kitchen cooled to a foreboding chill, despite the warmth from the ovens as everyone waited for my reply. “Hey, I’m not one to draw someone a chalk outline before they’re dead, but there are some unanswered questions hovering over his head.”

  Tyleen’s spine came to attention. “Like what?”

  “Well,” I said hesitantly, reluctant to break Lake’s confidence about his recovered memory, “he still has amnesia for the night Cecil died. Anything could’ve happened during those missing hours. That said,” I said, tapping my scone on its plate for emphasis, “his actions since he’s been at Moorehaven seem to indicate that he’s trying to clear his name by helping Chief Craig hunt down clues.”

  “He’s what now?” Emily blurted.

  “Can he do that?” Wallis added.

  I grinned helplessly, remembering the chief dragging Lake back to Moorehaven in handcuffs. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna stop him. He’s pretty motivated.”

  Jordan shook her scone at me. “No, you’re keeping back details. Share.”

  I rose to the challenge, relating Lake’s not-quite-breaking-but-definitely-entering escapade at Cecil’s house, from how Al planted the harebrained idea in Lake’s head to the moment the chief dragged him through my front door. Employing all the storytelling spin tactics I’d picked up from my authors, I did my best to implant Lake’s innocence as a given in the minds of my listeners.

  It worked. “I’m all for supporting our chief of police,” Emily said, “but it doesn’t sound like Lake is his man.” The others nodded decisively.

  Jordan gave my ankle a sharp nudge under the table. “I think he’s Pippa’s man, though.” Girly whoops rang off the kitchen walls, and Grant shot us a curious glance through the kitchen doorway. She waved him off. I giggled at their enthusiasm, but I couldn’t deny my own growing interest in my handsome, midnight gift from the sea. Something about him called to a deep and secret part of me, a part I couldn’t fully explain. If only he hadn’t remembered yelling and holding a potential murder weapon the night Cecil French had been killed.

  “Well, we all wish you luck with your endeavors, Pippa,” Lori said with a cheeky wink. “Now, does anyone else have a curiosity they want to mention?”

  “Curiosity?” I asked.

  “That’s what we call it when we know a little about something, but not enough. If any of the rest of us have something to add, we will. Or we can go out and try and learn more from others, hopefully without arousing their suspicion.”

  Wow, this group really takes their snooping seriously.

  Tyleen spoke. “Anyone know what Roddy and poor Cecil were fighting about right before the town council met? They seemed pretty tense on the live feed. Yes, I watch the town council meetings online. It’s my civic duty. And I always love Geneva’s refined outfits.”

  Heads swiveled toward Naoma, who nodded. “I was at the meeting, and I can confirm they were on opposite sides of Roddy’s donation of his speakeasy basement to the city. Cecil was the only nay vote when the motion carried.” She learned forward and lowered her voice. “In fact, he got downright irate right before the meeting.”

  I had a hard time picturing any of the other council members sharing information that wasn’t included in the public record, but Naoma was a master of winkling details from unsuspecting witnesses. Maybe she’d gotten an indignant Roddy to spill the beans. “Who did you get that from?” I asked in what I hoped was an innocent tone.

  Naoma’s nails clacked against the tabletop. “From Phyllis, who got it from Eva, who overheard Amber telling her mom about it on the phone. Amber was taking the minutes that day. Apparently, Cecil seemed to feel personally attacked by Roddy’s offer to donate the speakeasy. But he refused to clarify why, so he came off sounding like his usual half-cocked self.”

  Emily leaned onto her elbows, thought better of her choice to speak, then changed her mind and opened up. “Listen, after Pippa found out how many locals support the museum idea last night, I have to say it seems even stranger that Cecil opposed the idea. If anyone should object to the speakeasy being opened, it should be me. It’s been in my family, not Cecil’s. But I’ve come around, thanks to everyone’s support. Maybe Cecil thought more people would think like he does.”

  “Don’t we all?” Naoma opined wryly.

  “If any of you lovely ladies come across some more information on Tyleen’s curiosity,” Lori said, “just let us know at the next meeting. Or if it can’t wait, call us all up.”

  “Is it all right if I have a curiosity?” I asked.

  Emily’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “Of course. Go ahead.”

  I took a deep breath. If the memory Lake had of holding some kind of long, narrow object had anything in common with how Cecil had died, I needed to know. Now or never. “Lori, do you know anything about Cecil’s autopsy?”

  A low, cooing interest floated around the tables, and everyone leaned in to listen. Lori’s dark eyebrows rose, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I do, in fact. I didn’t assist Doc S
tevens, but I typed up her dictated notes. Poor Cecil died from a nasty blow to the head. Blunt force trauma. Death was relatively instantaneous.”

  Not an axe, then. Maybe a baseball bat? Neither were particularly likely aboard a boat. Quit putting weapons in Lake’s hands! I ordered myself. Maybe Lake’s recovered memory had nothing to do with Cecil’s death at all. Then something clicked. “Wait. Lake was struck on the head, too. Something blunt, Doc Stevens said. What if the same person attacked them both?”

  Wallis nodded, wearing a mournful expression. She probably wanted to sell flowers for two funerals.

  Naoma fixed her eyes on me. “So if it wasn’t Lake, who do you think it was? Roddy, over their mysterious town council issue?”

  Emily shot her a hurt look as Naoma blithely suggested her brother was capable of murder.

  I hesitated before answering. It still felt strange to blurt out unsupported theories to a woman who was capable of hunting down the tiniest detail for her weekly newspaper. But the other women seemed to regularly spill secrets and share gossip, and Naoma managed to keep all of it out of print—as far as I knew. “To be fair, I think there’s more evidence against Lake than there is against Roddy. But I’m pretty convinced—so far—that Lake is innocent. My authors would say the killer has to be someone the police haven’t suspected yet. But then, their job is to embrace plot twists wherever possible. I don’t think any of us should jump to conclusions about anyone. We need evidence.”

  “You want to help him beat the rap.” Tyleen eyed me.

  Boy do I. “He’s really a nice guy—”

  “And a hot guy,” Jordan interjected.

  “—so if the chief keeps after him, I’m worried he’ll get into more trouble he doesn’t deserve,” I finished.

  Lori’s phone trilled, and she checked it, reading a text. Her eyes widened, and she cursed under her breath.

  “What is it?” Emily urged.

  “Well,” she began, still frowning at her phone, “I think Lake’s off the hook for the moment. Chief Craig was just admitted to Seaview Hospital up north. Possible heart attack.”

  We all erupted with questions, and Grant poked his head back through the kitchen door. Emily shooed him away impatiently.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Naoma practically yelled.

  Lori’s thumbs flew over her screen. “Gimme a minute. I’m getting details.”

  “What does this mean for the murder investigation?” Wallis bemoaned. “There’s still a killer on the loose.”

  Naoma nodded decisively. “Wallis is right. Someone killed Cecil, and no one knows why yet. Without the chief, we all could be in danger.”

  Lori’s phone trilled again. Everyone else crowded around her, and I threw myself across the tabletop to see its screen.

  “Guys,” she begged, “a little air. The on-duty nurse at Urgent Care here in town saw him first and sent him on. He was conscious and trying his best to get off the gurney as the paramedics loaded him into an ambulance.” She scrolled down. “Here’s more: seems he was in pursuit of Mrs. Farriman for not picking up her six corgis’ poop on the boardwalk, and he collapsed. Mrs. Farriman felt so guilty that she called 9-1-1 herself. She was in tears at Urgent Care, and he was still trying to write her a ticket.”

  I slumped onto the table in relief. “Sounds like he’ll pull through, then.”

  “I hope so,” Jordan said fervently.

  The others nodded, but Wallis couldn’t hide the lonely pout that followed her relief.

  “Don’t worry, Wallis,” I said. “People will want to send him get-well flowers.”

  In a flash, her somber face was transformed by a hopeful smile.

  “Let us know any more information,” Naoma said. “I’ll need to put something in the paper about this, but I’ll keep you out of it.”

  “You got it,” Lori said.

  I slid back into my chair. “This changes everything. Even if he’s miraculously cured, the hospital won’t let him stroll out. They’ll keep him for observation. Right, Lori?”

  She nodded. “The tests alone will take a good while. He won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

  Inspiration rose and gathered, like a rising wave beneath me. “Guys. Omigosh. Guys!” Everyone looked at me. “Why can’t we step up? We can do it like the sleuths and detectives in the books my guests write. Look for clues, ask leading questions, stuff like that. You guys kind of do that stuff already, don’t you?”

  The ladies shared pleased glances. “I guess we do,” Naoma said. “What kind of information are we looking for?”

  “I’m certain Lake is innocent, but none of us wants Roddy to be the killer, either. However, someone killed Cecil, and we’ll all be safer knowing who that is. We need more information on their dispute in the town council and whether Roddy had an alibi for the time of death.” I gave Emily a reassuring nod. “Hopefully, we’ll learn enough to eliminate him from our inquiries, as they say. And we should look into other stuff that Cecil was doing recently, in case we find a lead that points away from Roddy. There haven’t been many tourists chartering boat tours lately, have there, Jordan?”

  Jordan lifted her chin with confidence. “I can look into the reservations placed through the concierge desk for all the guests that were checked in when Cecil was killed.”

  Lori tapped a finger on the tabletop. “I’ll look through the report again for Cecil’s autopsy, maybe see if Doc Stevens has any thoughts, and see if there’s anything we don’t know yet, or what the murder weapon might have been. Maybe it’s been recovered by the salvage divers.”

  I remembered something I’d told Lake yesterday. “Oh, the will.”

  Naoma flicked an eyebrow. “Cecil’s will?”

  “Lake said he had one, and he wondered who would get Cecil’s business. I doubt Mercer shared any information with Lake, though. Maybe you could try to wring something out of him, Naoma?” I couldn’t ask Chloe to spy on her dad, after all.

  The woman showed her teeth like a hungry shark about to feast. “Oh, he’ll talk. Trust me.”

  My shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you, ladies, for inviting me to join you. I didn’t know how to help Lake prove his innocence, but I think together we may be able to help Chief Craig get the right man.”

  “Or the right woman,” Tyleen said. “You would not believe what I see our lady neighbors getting up to around here.”

  Emily sat up straight. “I think we’re about done here, ladies. Let’s funnel information to Pippa, and she can get it to the chief through Hilt. Don’t worry, Pippa. Glaze and Gossip is on the case.”

  10

  “There is no substitute for personal experience. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  Raymond Moore, 1946

  “You can’t be serious, Pippa. It’s my place of business. Of course I can go there.” Lake put his hands on his hips and gave me a glare of incomprehension.

  I shot it right back at him. Lunch had been quiet, since Paul and Skylar had gone out to eat together, but now Lake seemed determined to drive me crazy. “Do you remember the part where you almost got arrested this morning for breaking and entering?”

  “I didn’t break; I only entered. I had a key. It’s not like there’s crime-scene tape over the door or anything.”

  I gestured in the direction of Blade and Boom, a few blocks distant. “Which you stole from a dead man’s desk drawer. Stealing and entering, then. And now you want to go right back out to his office and poke around? You do realize that Chief Craig is currently in the hospital, probably because of the stress of this murder investigation?”

  The shock on his face told me he hadn’t heard that yet. “That’s too bad. Is he gonna be okay?”

  I sighed and put my hands on my hips, a little annoyed that I couldn’t use deathbed guilting to keep Lake out of trou
ble. “Yeah. I just had a call from a friend, and she says it’s just a stress-related angina flare-up.”

  Lake clapped his hands decisively. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check out my office. I’ll be back here, safe and sound, before you know it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Do you not read mystery books at all? That never works. It especially doesn’t work in a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and someone’s always curious about what you’re up to no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Someone spots you, they might just try a citizen’s arrest. You’d better pray it’s not Tyleen. She’s got a strong pair of binoculars and a mean shot-put arm from college.”

  Chloe looked up from where she sat up on the hostess counter, sorting mail. “You want me to go to Blade and Boom? I’m not too busy for a little gray-area crime.”

  “No,” Lake said.

  “No,” I said.

  “She won’t know what to look for, anyway,” Lake added.

  Chloe pulled her slim phone from her back pocket and waggled it at him. “We have these cool things called phones now. Call me and tell me what you want me to look for, and I’ll tell you what I see. If anyone spots me inside, I’ll just say I’m helping my dad. No one messes with council members’ kids. Easy as premeditated murder,” Chloe concluded, folding her arms and pronouncing another gem of local wisdom.

  I winced. “Too soon, Chloe.”

  She blinked. “Whatever.”

  Lake folded his arms, too. “What if you don’t know the importance of what you’re looking at—”

  She waggled her phone again. “These take pictures. Even video. Get with the new millennium. I bet I can find anything you want me to in under a minute.”

  Lake gave Chloe the squint eye. “I don’t know. That place is pretty messy.”

  Chloe tsked. “Hello, American teenager here. Messy is kind of my thing? You should totally see my attic. My roommate’s been dead for a century.”