“I didn’t know he was Cinnamon’s father at the time.” Lola freshened the ruffle of her aqua blouse. “I found out a bit ago. One of our customers was chatting about him. She thought he was quite dishy for an older man.”
My father grunted and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.
“Why was he at the diner?” Bailey asked.
“He was hungry.”
“Well, duh, of course, but last Friday—”
“Ivy was dining with Oren Michaels. Noah was hovering nearby. I think he wanted to talk to Ivy, but she and Oren were in a heated conversation.”
“Talk to her about what?” I asked.
“I haven’t a clue. Maybe he ordered something from her shop and it didn’t show up? He waved a couple of times to catch her eye, but she ignored him.”
“How heated was her discussion with Oren?” I asked.
“Heated heated. After a few sailor-savvy words, Ivy told Oren to take a hike.”
“So that’s when they broke up,” Bailey said.
“Except Oren claimed they didn’t break up,” I countered.
Lola scoffed. “If they didn’t, you could have fooled me. Ivy shoved back her chair and hurled her napkin on the table. Oren leaped to his feet and grabbed her in a hug. He whispered something in her ear. She wriggled free and slapped him.”
My father bent forward. “You’ve told the police all of this, I presume.”
“Do I look like I fell off a turnip truck, Cary? Of course I went to the precinct.” Lola swiveled to face Bailey and me. “Back to Noah. There he was, ready to chat with Ivy, but when Oren and she bolted from the restaurant, he was left high and dry.”
“He didn’t run after her?”
“Would you approach a woman who’d just slapped a man? I’m sure he wanted to give her a little space. He sat at their table and ordered the fish burger with herb sauce.” She peered at the favors Bailey was making, picked one up, and showed it to my father. “Aren’t these adorable?”
“Adorable.” He moseyed to Tigger, who was playing merrily on his kitty condo.
As Bailey and Lola set to work to finish their project, I moved to the sales counter. Oren had been adamant that he and Ivy hadn’t broken up. Why would he lie about it? And why hadn’t Noah mentioned his business with Ivy?
Chapter 18
Following a late morning onrush of customers—yes, we sold out of The Book Club Cookbook as well as every copy of Tastefully Small Finger Sandwiches: Easy Party Sandwiches for All Occasions—I needed a breather. Before I took a walk, however, I called Tina at home. She sounded horrible, like she was stuffed up from crying, though she swore she’d contracted a nasty cold. After she assured me that she was drinking tea and would call if she needed anything, even something as minor as one of Katie’s sunshine cookies, I set off.
Many of the customers who had flooded the Cookbook Nook earlier were roaming the boulevard. All appeared to be enjoying the mild weather and festivities. I noticed a few food trucks had situated themselves on side streets. On the road leading to Azure Park, one truck called Sweet Pea’s Tea Time caught my eye. A huge knot of people waited in line. I understood the lure. An entire “high tea” service stood in front of the truck. I imagined our local tea and coffee shops weren’t too happy with the truck’s presence, but it would be temporary.
Moving on, I browsed windows all the way to the north end of town. On the return loop, I neared the Crystal Cove Library tent. Darian, dressed in a cream-colored suit with sunglasses balanced atop her head, was listening to Hank tell a story. Animatedly, he whipped his cowboy hat against his thigh. Darian whinnied full throttle. As I ducked under the awning of the tent, I caught the tail end of the story as Hank promised that, no matter what, they would have a rollicking good time. Was he inviting Darian and her husband to a rodeo? A few local events were coming up in June.
“Hi, Jenna,” Darian said, catching sight of me.
“Hi, you two.”
“Say, which books are on your to-be-read list?” Darian gestured to a stack of what looked like library book rental cards; however, instead of date stamps along the left, each row held a space for the title of a book. On the right was a spot to enter the date the reader finished the book. Darian handed one to me. “I’m giving these to all my patrons. It’s yours to fill out. Consider it a wish list.”
“What a great idea.”
I flipped the card over. The front boasted a beautiful picture of the library with a view of the ocean beyond. In bold yellow letters were the words: Stop in for a New Adventure. I brandished the card. “Free swag is so important for promotion nowadays, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. The library doesn’t have a large budget, but the mayor vowed that the more readers we lure in, the more she’d find a way to grow the funds.”
At the Cookbook Nook, we gave away bookmarks and kitchen magnets, but I pocketed the card thinking a wish list card would be a nice addition to our giveaways. Our customers could write down which cookbooks they coveted and give the card to a loved one who was on the hunt for a gift.
“So what were you two chatting about before I interrupted?” I asked. “I’m guessing a rodeo or a roundup.” A few dude ranches liked to offer the latter to their guests.
“Rodeo?” Hank winked. “Nah. We were just horsing around.”
“Horsing around.” Darian clapped him on the arm. “Stop. You’re too funny.”
“Hi, everyone.” Z.Z. chugged beneath the awning while cooling herself with a book-themed fan. “Isn’t it a brilliant day? Look at what I scored at Book Clubs R Us.” She shook the fan and hooked a thumb at one of the tents across the street. “The club leader commissioned an artist on Etsy to make them.”
Darian inspected it and handed it back. “Nice craftsmanship.”
“Are you pleased with the foot traffic?” Z.Z. asked.
“It’s been terrific. Over one hundred people have signed up for library cards.” Darian patted Z.Z.’s back. “I hope you’ll keep your promise about increasing our budget.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“We need more books. Fresh titles. We could even entice new authors to do lectures if we carried their books. Our readers are avid.”
“Speaking of avid, Jenna,” Z.Z. said, “I hear you’re doing all you can to help Pepper. That’s admirable, dear.”
“It is.” Hank nodded. “She’s not guilty.”
“Who told you I was helping?” I asked. “Certainly not Cinnamon. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“As a matter of fact, it was.” Z.Z. grinned. “Our chief of police might not like your tactics, but she does admire your pluck.”
I coughed out a laugh. “Is that what she called it?”
“Her choice of words was a little juicier.” Z.Z. winked.
All of us laughed.
“Yoo-hoo! Hank!” Pepper was crossing the street, carrying to-go cups.
Darian said, “Speak of the devil . . .”
After looking both ways so no cars would run her over, Pepper scurried across the street, the skirt of her shirtwaist dress flouncing and the ribbons of her bejeweled sunhat fluttering. “Your assistant said you were strolling, sweetheart. I thought I’d join you.” She handed Hank one of the cups. “Here you are. Coffee with one cream, just the way you like it.” She looped her hand around his elbow and smiled winningly at him.
Darian took a step backward. Hank shifted feet. When I noticed them exchange a furtive glance, a lump caught in my throat. Was I wrong thinking that the two of them had been joking about a rodeo? Had they been flirting? Had I been mistaken the other day at the Cookbook Nook? Maybe there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
Pepper said, “I want to get a bite to eat. Let’s go to Hog Heaven. It’s just up the way.”
“I only have a few minutes,” Hank said.
“Me, too. Let’s share some sliders.” She pulled him in that direction.
Hank didn’t argue. He donned his hat, gave a ti
p of the brim to Darian, Z.Z., and me, and they were off.
Z.Z. stared at Darian. “Are you okay, dear? Do you need a tissue?”
“No, thanks. Darn wind.” Darian dabbed one eye. “It’s kicking up dust.”
There wasn’t a hint of a breeze. Feeling me studying her, she quickly covered her eyes with her sunglasses, cementing my earlier notion. She and Hank had been flirting. What about her perfectly wonderful husband? I gazed at Hank’s retreating figure. What was his allure? Okay, he wasn’t bad-looking for an older guy and he was quite charming, but c’mon.
I flashed on the conversation Katie had overheard Hank having on his cell phone. He’d called someone honey. At the time, Katie had seen Pepper talking to Darian, so it couldn’t have been either one of them. Did Hank have another woman on the side? It dawned on me that perhaps Ivy had known about Hank’s proclivity to attract women and confronted him. Was hiding multiple affairs something a man would kill over?
“Jenna”—Z.Z. lowered her voice—“Pepper seemed a little, um, calmer than the other day, don’t you think?”
“After being accused of murder? I should think so.”
“I’m not talking about that.” Z.Z. shook her hand. “I’m talking about after she bumped into her ex-husband for the first time in years. She was still fuming when I saw her an hour later. It had to have been a shock.”
Darian’s eyes widened. “Her ex is in town? But didn’t he run off thirty years ago?”
“Thirty-six,” I said.
“Why return now?” she asked.
“He came to town to meet Cinnamon.” At least that was the story Noah was telling. After learning Lola saw him in her restaurant the day before Ivy died, I was beginning to question that account. Pepper had accused him of coming to town to gamble. How did his interaction with Ivy factor in?
“Shh.” Z.Z. held a finger to her lips. “Cinnamon is heading our way. It’s a sensitive subject.”
Cinnamon and Deputy Appleby were moving with purpose toward us. As she neared, she glowered . . . at me. What had I done now?
I rotated my head and neck to remove any tension and smiled broadly. “Hey, Chief. Isn’t it a gorgeous day?”
“Your father called me,” Cinnamon said.
So much for a preamble.
“And reached me instead,” Appleby countered.
I could mess up the game of Telephone with the best of them. What had gotten mixed up in this translation? Had my father, to amuse himself, purposely thrown me under a bus?
“Should I leave?” Z.Z. asked.
“Stay,” both officers ordered.
Cinnamon and Appleby flanked me. Did they think I would run? Exactly how far would I get? I was fast, but Appleby had legs for days.
“Let me have it,” I said. “Both barrels. What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Cinnamon said. “That’s the point.”
“I beg to differ. You said you were going to contact Crusibella about the—”
“I’m not talking about Ms. Queensberry,” Cinnamon said, cutting me off. “I’m talking about Lola Bird. She came to you with information, is that correct?”
“Yes, but before seeing me, she’d gone to the precinct to give a statement.”
“No, she hadn’t.”
“She told my dad—” I paused and licked my lips. What exactly had Lola said to him? She’d given him a sassy falling-off-a-turnip-truck reply and said of course she’d gone to the precinct. Had she left before someone could take her statement, or had someone on the force recorded it but lost it? Not wishing to get anyone in trouble and seeing as I was always in hot water with Cinnamon, I decided to take the hit. “I must have misunderstood her.”
“Fill me in.”
“Didn’t my father tell you the gist?”
“No. He said you would.”
I sighed. Good old Dad had set me directly in Cinnamon’s crosshairs. I’d bet he was having a jolly laugh at my expense right about now.
“Lola saw your father at the diner last Friday.” I explained how Noah had waited to chat with Ivy, but after Ivy and Oren fought and split, he’d cooled his heels. “Why he wanted to meet with Ivy is a conundrum. Lola suggested he might have ordered something online from Dreamcatcher, and it didn’t show up. Of course, he didn’t have to come to town to deal with that. He could have called her on the phone.”
“Don’t theorize.”
“Right.” I’d forgotten her reprimand. “The way Lola told it, he hovered waiting for a break in the conversation. Your mother thinks—”
“I don’t care what she thinks,” Cinnamon said.
I stared daggers at her. “Your mother thinks your father is up to something shady.”
“Does she think he had a hand in Ivy’s murder?”
“She didn’t say that, but he has a history of . . .” I hesitated.
“Of what?”
I would not gossip. If Pepper wanted to tell her about Noah’s gambling history, so be it. “You should ask her.”
Cinnamon glanced at Appleby. “Does Dreamcatcher have an online presence?”
“Not sure.”
“Check it out,” Cinnamon ordered.
“On it, ma’am.” He removed his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the Internet icon. After a moment, he said, “What does site under construction mean?”
I explained that site under construction often meant a website was being built for the first time while site under renovation usually meant what it said, that something that already existed was being refreshed, although newbies might mistakenly use the former when meaning the latter.
“Well, it’s under construction,” he said.
“Cinnamon, forgive me if I’m overstepping . . .” I worked my tongue inside my mouth, deliberating my next comment.
“Out with it.”
“Noah is your father. Why don’t you ask him what went down?”
A guarded expression crossed her face. “I would, but he’s not answering my calls.”
Chapter 19
As Cinnamon and Deputy Appleby left, I made a beeline for Dreamcatcher. If Alastair was in the shop doing whatever the estate lawyer demanded to make the place ready for sale, I could nip this query in the bud. Also, Alastair might have met Noah already and would know what business he’d wanted with Ivy.
When I spotted the Closed sign hanging on Dreamcatcher’s door, I deflated. So much for that idea. I made a U-turn. A few steps later, I paused. Alastair was standing at the sales counter inside Spellbinder holding up a piece of paper for Crusibella’s inspection.
I strode in and let the door shut behind me. The store was packed with customers. In the reading room, a dozen or more women in matching neon blue hats were seated at the round table. Each held a copy of Agatha Christie’s Three Act Tragedy.
“Blackmail my foot,” one lady exclaimed and flailed her book. “It was not blackmail.”
“Yes, it was,” exclaimed another book club member. “Look right here.” She whipped open her book with gusto.
I had read a lot of Christie’s work but not that one; I didn’t have a clue. Moving on, I strolled to the sales counter.
“Do you need every section filled out?” Alastair asked Crusibella. “I’ve only had two employers. You have spaces for five.”
“Are you applying for a job?” I asked as I drew near.
Alastair glanced over his shoulder, and I was shocked to see how drawn he looked. It didn’t help that he was wearing a drab gray polo and faded jeans. Had he dressed to match his mood? “I’ve got to be proactive in case Ivy’s parents decide to close Dreamcatcher entirely.”
“Is that a possibility?” I gazed at Crusibella, who looked pristine in a pearl white silk blouse and matching trousers. “Don’t they know you want to buy the business?”
“Z.Z. has contacted the executor, but she hasn’t heard back. I’m sure it will work out fine.”
“I’m not.” Alastair’s tone was lackluster, as if the possibility of losing hi
s job was eating away at him. “The dude called earlier today. I swear, he is possibly the dourest person on the earth. And vague to boot.” He set the application on the counter, licked the nib of his pencil, and jotted down more information. “He said Ivy’s parents were being sticklers, whatever that means. Sticklers about price? Sticklers about selling? Like he’s not a stickler, asking me to photograph every item in the shop? Sheesh.”
Crusibella rolled her eyes in my direction and mouthed: Poor guy.
“How many places of residence do you need?” Alastair swooped hair off his forehead. “I’ve only lived in my father’s house and now in my apartment.”
“Write down both.”
“And I don’t own a car. I ride my bike everywhere.”
“That’s fine.”
Alastair resumed filling out the rest of the form.
“Jenna”—Crusibella reached out to me, a sparkle in her eyes—“I have to tell you, your aunt’s reading for me yesterday was spot on. A steady stream of customers has come into the shop over the last twenty-four hours, all of them buying books.”
“I saw the Blue Hat club in the reading room.”
“Aren’t they a hoot?”
“They’re certainly vocal,” I said.
“For all I care, let them wail, because the club’s chairwoman has preordered their books for the entire year.”
“Wow!”
“Yes, it’s going to be a gold mine.” Crusibella winked. “And more clubs are planning to preorder because I’m giving them a discount to rival any online seller. Plus free shipping.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“So, you see, I’m quite positive that I’ll be able to buy Dreamcatcher. My fortune said a financial deal was coming my way.”
“That could mean all the book clubs and their preorders.”
“Or it could mean something bigger. Better.”
I wanted to share her enthusiasm, but the notion that she’d killed Ivy in order to buy Ivy’s business kept creeping into my mind.
“Done.” Alastair set down the pencil and handed Crusibella the application. “I hope you’ll give me a job.”
Sifting Through Clues Page 14