Sifting Through Clues

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  Tina didn’t linger. She set to work stocking the cash register and straightening the sales counter.

  A half hour later, Bailey waddled in. “Jenna, I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to you until . . .” She pressed a hand to her chest. “It was a crazy night. Any time I sat or laid down, the baby kicked. Luckily, Tito was Johnny-on-the-spot.” She fussed with the top button of her maternity blouse. “Do you think he . . . she . . . will be this restless all the time?”

  “What did you eat?” I asked.

  “Tacos.”

  My aunt tsked and hung up her feather duster. “Try something a little less spicy until the baby is born.”

  “And after,” Tina said, “if you intend to breastfeed.”

  “Thanks for the tips. Jenna”—Bailey displayed her cell phone—“I’ll get to this as soon as Tito brings me my laptop. My brain is addled. I left it at home. I don’t want to use the shop’s computer, just in case. He’s running about an hour behind, okay?”

  “Sure.” What else could I say?

  “Now, mind you, I’m not sure I can dredge up the name of the extortionist—”

  “Extortionist?” Aunt Vera cried. “Jenna, what is going on?”

  She corralled me by the vintage table and demanded to know the whole story. Bailey and Tina joined us.

  “Does this have to do with the slashed tires?” my aunt demanded.

  Bailey squealed. “Slashed—”

  I held up a hand and quickly explained what I knew, which wasn’t much. As I spoke, I spied Pepper strolling into Beaders of Paradise and added that she was being blackmailed, too.

  “Jenna Starrett Hart, I’m ordering you to tell the police,” my aunt rasped.

  “I will.”

  “When?”

  “After Bailey takes a crack at solving this.”

  Aunt Vera clucked her tongue and shuffled away muttering synonyms for stubborn: obstinate, mulish, pig-headed. At the latter, I snuffled. She wasn’t amused.

  Bailey said, “I’ll need your password.”

  “Of course.” I strode to the sales counter and found a notepad that Tina must have been using to gauge expenses for her upcoming summer school curriculum. The top note included class names, teachers’ names, and lots of digits and dollar signs. I removed it and jotted my log on information on a new piece of paper. “Here you go.” I handed it to Bailey.

  At the same time, her mother and my father breezed into the store. Both were dressed in white. Lola looked quite fashionable in a broad-brimmed straw hat. Dad had donned a Giants baseball cap.

  “Bailey, darling,” Lola called. “I’m here! Are you ready?”

  I glanced at my pal.

  Her cheeks turned crimson. “Oops.”

  “What did you forget?” I asked.

  “We’re going bedroom shopping for the baby this morning.”

  “We’ve got so much to buy,” Lola said. “Linens, bassinet, huggable toys . . .”

  “I thought I’d mentioned it to you,” Bailey continued sotto voce. “I’ll do the other thing the moment I get back,” she added cryptically. “Tito should show up by then. Are you mad at me?”

  I elbowed her. “Not if I get to come along.” An hour or two wouldn’t make a difference in the big picture, and gazing at baby things might lighten my mood.

  “Flora is expecting us in a few minutes.” Lola tapped her Apple Watch. “Time is a-wasting.” She patted my father’s cheek. “Cary has kindly offered to assist as our Sherpa.”

  Playfully, he flexed his arms. “When I can’t bear the load, I’ll bring the car around.”

  After checking with Tina, who said she could hold down the fort, and after assuring my aunt that I would touch base with the police when I returned—I couldn’t bear the evil glares she was throwing my way—we headed off.

  “Flora has ordered a wide selection of giraffe-themed items,” Lola said as we strolled along Buena Vista Boulevard. “Sheets and towels. Wall hangings. You name it. She has such good taste. I can’t wait to see everything.”

  Lola walked into Home Sweet Home first. The rest of us trailed her.

  Like a county clerk, Flora was at the sales counter sifting through a stack of paper: inspect, flip, inspect, flip. Nearby, I spotted Alastair Dukas filling out a form. Apparently, he’d taken Crusibella’s suggestion to heart and was applying for a job everywhere. A pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of his mock turtleneck. A bicycle helmet lay on the counter nearby. I gawked at the helmet, recalling that Alastair said he didn’t drive; he rode his bike everywhere. Was he the person who had taken a picture of Pepper outside Ivy’s place? His former job had been working as an IT guy. He’d know how to hack emails and deal in bitcoin.

  “Bailey, I’ll be right with you,” Flora said. “I’ve set up everything in the rear corner. Take a peek.”

  We wove through the aisles, which were filled with spring-themed displays. When we reached what could only be described as Safari Land, Bailey swooned. Not only had Flora stocked up on giraffe items, she had acquired an abundance of elephants, lions, and chimpanzees, as well.

  My father picked up the latter. “Eek, eek, eek.”

  “Put it down, Cary,” Lola chided.

  “I like this little fella,” he teased. “You know, Bailey, if you have a boy, he’s going to be more like a monkey than a giraffe.”

  Lola seized it from him. “Honestly, darling, focus.”

  With an impish grin, my dad saluted then left us to check out a display of chess sets. He loved the game.

  “Ew.” Bailey grasped a set of black-and-white giraffe sheets. “Shorten the necks, and these look like zebras. What was Flora thinking? I want gold and brown giraffes.”

  “Black and white is very hip,” her mother said.

  “If you’re color blind,” Bailey quipped.

  “Bailey, how about these?” I held up a crib set featuring baby giraffes with comic faces. “Yellow and brown and darling.”

  Lola cooed, “I like those.”

  Flora joined us while pushing up the sleeves of her sweater. “Are you finding everything you need, ladies?”

  “Who are you calling ladies?” Lola joked. “Say, Flora, isn’t that the young man from Dreamcatcher at the register?” She pointed at Alastair.

  “It is. He’s applying for a job.”

  I explained how Ivy’s executor might sell off every bit of inventory and close the shop, though I wondered if that were still the case, given Z.Z. and Crusibella’s earlier excitement.

  “All of her merchandise would sell well here, Flora,” Bailey said. “You should consider purchasing it.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t . . .” She blanched and stroked her heavy braid. “No, no, no, that wouldn’t be right. Bad karma.”

  “Poor Alastair.” Lola clucked her tongue. “You never realize how many people’s lives are affected by the death of another.”

  Flora said, “It’s like that butterfly metaphor, don’t you think? The butterfly flaps its wings halfway around the world, yet there could be a consequence right here in Crystal Cove because of the movement it created in the air.”

  “Alastair might not be such a poor guy, Mom,” Bailey whispered. “He might be guilty of murder.”

  Flora gasped.

  “Nonsense.” Lola swatted the air. “That sweet young man? He’s been in the diner for lunch on numerous occasions. He’s always kind and respectful, and he invariably leaves a good tip for the waitress.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Bailey said.

  “Why would he have killed Ivy?” her mother countered. “Was she a bad boss? Too rigid for her own good?”

  “He was in love with her, but she didn’t reciprocate his feelings.”

  “Tosh,” Lola said. “A spurned lover doesn’t always lash out. Most have a pity party and move on. That’s what I did. Does he have an alibi?”

  I said, “He was doing inventory at the store.”

  “Ahem.” Flora cleared her throat. “Can we drop this discussio
n and focus on Bailey?”

  Lola tweaked her daughter’s cheek. “Of course. You’re right, Flora. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

  As she bustled away, my father leaned in. “Not that I’m eavesdropping, but Alastair was not at Dreamcatcher the night Ivy died.”

  “How do you know?” Lola asked.

  “You were otherwise occupied, so I went walking. The lights were off at the store.”

  “Maybe he showed up after you passed by,” I suggested.

  “Nope. Not possible. I made three loops of the boulevard. Took me a couple of hours.” A loop was almost three miles long. “The air was the perfect temperature, and you know me.” He patted his firm abdomen. “You don’t use it, you lose it. Anyway, each time I passed the store, the lights were off. I’d stake my hardware shop on it.”

  “You have to tell Cinnamon,” I said, realizing how hypocritical I sounded. I hadn’t contacted her about my bicycle tires yet.

  He winked and held up his cell phone. “Already texted her.”

  After Bailey purchased dozens of items to adorn the baby’s room, we decided to go to Latte Luck Café. As we waited on the street for Lola and my father to join us—Lola had insisted we go outside while she paid—I spotted Oren standing outside Play Room Toy Store chatting with the store’s owner, Thad, a baby-faced sweetheart of a man, although chatting might not have been the right choice of word. More like quarrelling. Thad shook his head and poked Oren’s chest. Oren clasped Thad by the shoulders and said something while nodding. After a moment, Thad mimicked Oren’s head bobbing, as if agreeing. Oren released him and cuffed him warmly on the arm. Thad’s shoulders sagged.

  “What’s going on over there?” Bailey asked. “Looks fishy.”

  “Fishy. Ha.” I giggled. “Oren’s a fisherman.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, why would Oren have business with Thad?”

  “Who said he does? They look like friends to me.”

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Bailey whispered.

  “I haven’t a clue.” Maybe Thad had agreed to take a ride on Oren’s new boat and was afraid of water. I’d never seen him at the beach. But then I remembered Oren’s chance meeting with Yung Yi and a darker notion entered my mind. I replayed the encounter for Bailey and how Oren had shrugged it off, saying Yung was experiencing a little money trouble. “Maybe Yung received an extortion email like me and asked Oren’s advice. Maybe Thad is doing the same.”

  “Did you ask Yung about it?”

  “Not my business.”

  “But you asked Oren.”

  “Because I plowed into him, literally. We got to talking.”

  Bailey glanced in their direction again. “What if your assumption is wrong? What if Thad has dirt on Oren or vice versa?”

  “You and your conspiracy theories.”

  “You and your wicked spam email,” she countered.

  “What kind of dirt?” Lola asked, apparently having overheard our conversation. She was carrying two bags from Home Sweet Home. My father was carrying five. “Why would either of them have dirt on the other?”

  I said, “Ever since Ivy died, your daughter has been obsessed with people hiding secrets.”

  “Because Ivy knew so many,” Bailey contended.

  Lola scoffed. “Is everyone in town guilty, darling?”

  Bailey replied, “Jenna witnessed Oren having a similar altercation with Yung Yi, the bank manager. Hey”—she gazed at me—“what if Yung and Thad have information that could tie Oren to the murder?”

  My father shook his head. “If either men knew anything, they’d have told the police by now. They probably owe Oren money, and he wants them to pay up.”

  Something niggled at the edges of my mind.

  “It’s not easy being a fisherman,” Lola said. “It’s a day-to-day, hand-to-mouth business.”

  “A real gamble,” my father added.

  A gamble. That was it. “Dad, is there a private poker game in town?” Pepper had accused Noah of coming to town for that reason. “Maybe Oren holds IOUs for these guys.”

  “I have no idea,” my father said.

  “Could you find out?”

  My father grunted and steered Lola into the café. Was his response a yes or a no?

  As they disappeared, I thought of what Lola had said about fishing being a hand-to-mouth business, and another notion came to me, completely separate from the question of gambling. Smuggling exotic bonsai trees could reap a windfall of cash. Had Ivy hired Oren to transport bonsais across international lines? What if something had gone wrong and endangered Oren, so he’d held Ivy responsible? After killing her, he symbolically placed the bonsai beside her head.

  As if Oren sensed I was thinking about him, he glanced my way. At first, his gaze could have bored holes into my forehead, and then he smiled, a disarmingly charming smile.

  Chapter 24

  The moment Bailey and I strolled into the Cookbook Nook, she crossed to the stockroom to call Tito—he had yet to bring her laptop to the shop—and Tigger scampered to me. He butted my leg, begging for attention. As I sat at the children’s table and stroked him, my aunt passed by.

  “Have you contacted Cinnamon about the bicycle?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Do it.”

  “But Dad just texted her about something else. I’m sure she’s—”

  “She can multitask. Do. It.” Aunt Vera trudged away.

  When Tigger bounded from my lap to lie beneath the table for a nap, I strode to the sales counter with the intent of calling Cinnamon. However, at the same time, Tito showed up, red-faced for being so tardy. He’d fallen asleep, having tended to Bailey’s needs all night. I guided him to the storage room, waited as they exchanged a kiss and she opened her computer, and then I returned to the register to help some customers.

  An hour later, as I was rearranging the display table, setting out copies of The Edible Flower Garden, its cover so beautiful that anyone would want to display the book on a coffee table, I realized I hadn’t contacted Cinnamon. Oops.

  Knowing my aunt would have my head if I didn’t, I raced toward the telephone and nearly rammed into Bailey, who sailed through the stockroom drapes with her computer in hand.

  “Sorry,” we both squawked in unison.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” I asked.

  “I was able to retrieve the email you dumped. I want to compare it to Pepper’s.”

  “I saw her enter Beaders a bit ago.”

  “Great. I’ll be back.” Bailey raced out.

  “What email?” Tina asked. “What’s going on?”

  I patted her on the shoulder. “Relax. It’s nothing.” Man, I was getting good at lying.

  “Bailey is in too much of a rush,” Tina carped. “She’d better not stress out the baby.”

  “She won’t.” At least I hoped she wouldn’t. “How did we do sales-wise this morning?”

  Tina ticked off a list of cookbook titles that we’d sold and recommended we order more of The Art of Cooking with Lavender. “It’s very popular with the Crystal Cove Flower Society, plus the Blue Hat book club ladies, who are still in town, found it particularly special.” She winked. “I think it was the color of the flowers that enticed them.”

  I liked the book, too. It boasted lots of photos and recipes, one of my favorites being the pot roast with honey barbecue sauce.

  “We only have three copies left. Also, I ordered additional floral cookie jars. The hands-down favorite is the one with the Blessed, Grateful, Happy slogan on the front. We sold six.”

  “The one with the matching salt and pepper set?”

  “Yep. I already ordered more of those, too. Hope that was okay.”

  “Of course.” I liked how independent she was becoming.

  Minutes later, Bailey dashed into the shop and asked to go home.

  My stomach did a flip-flop. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to put your feet up? Is the baby—”


  “I’m fine. I simply need complete quiet so I can concentrate on what I need to do next. I’m going to solve this. I promise. Plus, Tito baked a blueberry pie and it’s calling my name. I’ll be back in two hours.”

  “Go.” The sooner she could fix the problem the better. When my aunt was done with the tarot card reading, we’d have plenty of hands on deck to take care of customers.

  Bailey grinned and scurried out.

  “She’s a whirlwind today,” Tina said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to get everything done because she’s about to give birth.”

  “She’d better not.” Her mother wasn’t prepared. Neither was her husband, I suspected, although baking a blueberry pie and hovering over her all night long suggested he was getting ready. “Speaking of food, has Katie brought in any treats?” I didn’t see a tiered tray in the breezeway. Midmorning and midafternoon, Katie provided snacks for the customers.

  “Haven’t seen her all day.”

  My stomach did a second flip-flop. Was Katie okay? Not keeping to routine was unlike her. I peeked down the hall. A line of customers was snaking out the entrance to the Nook Café, meaning business was hopping, so I opted to text her.

  In an instant, I received a response: Everything is A-OK. I’ll have Reynaldo bring treats. Sorry for the slipup. I’ll be in soon for the tea sandwiches demonstration. Okay?

  Given the morning’s activity, I’d forgotten about the event. Bad me. We’d decided the demonstration would be a perfect bridge from Book Club Bonanza to Spring Fling. Both of those groups would enjoy learning more about how to prepare a scrumptious high tea.

  I responded in the affirmative and set my worries aside. Katie was fine. Phew. I wasn’t sure how many more crises—real or imaginary—I could handle.

  “Tina,” I said, “let’s set up for the event. It’ll start in an hour.”

  “On it. Before I forget”—she moved to the floral aprons to rearrange them; thanks to a slew of customers scouring the lot, the collection had wound up in a twist—“Hank Hemmings came in while you were shopping with Bailey. He asked for you.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He didn’t say. Before he left, he asked if I’d seen Pepper. I told him she left her shop right after Lola snared Bailey and you for the spree. I suggested he might find her at home, but minutes after he left, Pepper reappeared.”