Sifting Through Clues

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “Are you suggesting Ivy was the extortionist?”

  I nodded. “Except she was dead when I received mine and Pepper received hers.”

  “Maybe she sent them via an email scheduling program.”

  “Possibly.” I raised a finger. “If Ivy was the blackmailer, maybe whoever killed her was one of her marks and took over where she left off.”

  “Who?”

  “Oren recently bought a new truck and is investing in a boat. Hank is supporting a secret lifestyle with a wife in Ohio as well as a full-scale business in California and two or more girlfriends. And then there’s Alastair Dukas, a former IT guy. He’s out of a job and hunting for work, but maybe that’s his cover. Lola says he tips big when he has lunch at the Pelican Brief. Working alongside Ivy, he could have had intimate knowledge of her scheme and now be rolling in dough.”

  “I love how your mind works.” Rhett lifted my hand and kissed it. “Call Cinnamon.”

  I did. The call went to voice mail.

  Chapter 29

  “Good morning,” my aunt said as I strolled into the shop the next morning. “You look pretty in pink. And festive.”

  I’d donned a pink-and-white-striped blouse, white jeans, and pink flip-flops, and I’d clipped a pink silk flower in my hair. Spring Fling was dictating my wardrobe.

  “I hope you ate a good breakfast,” my aunt went on. “We’re going to be busy after church lets out today.” She clapped her hands. “Follow me. How are your scissor skills?”

  “What’s going on?” I set Tigger on his kitty condo and stowed my purse behind the sales counter.

  “Obviously you’ve forgotten. Today we’re teaching young and old how to make crepe paper flowers. Everything’s coming up roses,” she trilled.

  “You’re in wonderful spirits. Did you have a good date with Deputy Appleby last night?”

  “They’re all good.”

  Was she falling in love? So far, they’d kept their relationship casual but respectful.

  “Bailey will be today’s instructor.” Aunt Vera motioned to my pal, who was already sitting at the children’s table laying out crepe paper and chenille pipe cleaners in a variety of colors. “Each participant will get a small vase in which to plant their project,” my aunt added.

  Bailey had arranged a few dozen clear glass vases in varying shapes and sizes in the center of the table.

  “Bailey told me she made over two hundred paper flowers for her junior high sock hop,” my aunt continued, “so she’s a pro.”

  “These will be a bit more upscale,” Bailey assured me. “I’ve been watching all sorts of YouTube videos to hone my skills. Think of all the floral-themed cookbooks we’ll sell afterward.” Using a pipe cleaner as a pointer, she gestured toward the storage room. “By the way, did you see the adorable cookbook albums and recipe cards that came in?”

  “I just walked in.”

  “Oh, right. Baby brain fog,” she joked. “They’re decorated with roses and azaleas and camellias. So pretty.”

  For the next hour, I sat beside her and trimmed crepe paper—some shredded to within an inch of the base, others cut into petal shapes. When I took a break to stretch my aching hands, I said, “Aunt Vera, have you heard from Tina?”

  “As a matter of fact, she just called.” My aunt was setting up for a morning tarot card reading. “She’s on her way in.”

  That made me feel better. Hopefully she was on the mend. “How about from Pepper?” I asked.

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  “I’m going to check on her.” Call me overly protective, but I simply wanted to know if she was on the mend, too.

  As I walked out of the shop, a woman yelled, “Watch out, Jenna!”

  Cinnamon, on rollerblades, dodged me, skidded to a stop in front of Beaders of Paradise, and whipped off her sunglasses. “Ha!” she crowed at her father, who trailed her. “Beat you!” Her cheeks were glowing and she seemed happy. No, exuberant. The last time I’d seen her smiling so broadly was at her wedding.

  Noah, looking equally vigorous in leggings and snug T-shirt, drew to a halt and grinned, clearly enjoying spending time with his daughter. “By a nanosecond.” He pushed his goggles up on his helmet. “I’m going into the café.”

  Cinnamon tried the door to the shop. Locked. “Jenna, where’s my mother?”

  “Not in.”

  “I can see that.”

  Noah said, “Want coffee?”

  Cinnamon shook her head.

  As he glided toward the restaurant, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and wobble-walked inside on his skates while scanning the screen.

  “Your mom had a tough day yesterday,” I said, joining Cinnamon. “She went home for a personal day and hasn’t made a reappearance.”

  Her smile turned upside down. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” She took off her helmet and fluffed her hair.

  “I did. I have. I even texted you.”

  “You never texted me.”

  “Yes, I did. And I wrote urgent,” I said, instantly regretting my snappish tone.

  With a huff, she pulled her cell phone from her hip pocket, swiped the screen, and tapped her text icon. “Huh,” she muttered. “There it is. It wasn’t here earlier. Well, what’s urgent?”

  How much should I tell her? Neither Bailey nor I had worked out a solution to the blackmail issue yet, and I was reluctant to tell her about Pepper having visited Ivy before her death for fear of ruining her alibi. On the other hand, I’d made a promise to Rhett to fill Cinnamon in. On everything.

  I decided to start with Pepper’s breakup with Hank Hemmings. “Your mother discovered that Hank was not only cheating on her with Darian—”

  “The librarian?”

  “Uh-huh. By the way, Darian’s husband is abusing her.”

  “You’re kidding. He’s so mild-mannered.”

  “Long story short, Hank became her confidant and one thing—”

  “Led to another. Poor Mom. She was worried she’d lose him to another woman. I’ve tried to talk her into seeing a therapist to help her with her self-esteem, but she refuses.”

  The image of Pepper at a therapist’s office made me laugh. Would she lie down? Sit up? Tell the doctor to bleep off? I said, “You might want to check on Darian. If she really is being abused—”

  “Consider it done.” Cinnamon twirled her hand. “Go on. You said not only in regard to Hank. What else did he do?”

  “He’s married. His wife lives in Ohio.”

  “Oh, no. The lout.”

  I told her how Pepper had found travel documents at his place and had decided to investigate. “The realization broke your mother’s heart.”

  “This is your fault,” Cinnamon said.

  “Mine?”

  “Because of you, she thinks any citizen can do what the police do.”

  Though Cinnamon probably hadn’t meant that as compliment, I took it as one, albeit backhanded.

  “In Hank’s defense,” I said, “his tryst with Darian gives him a solid alibi for the night Ivy was killed.”

  “I never had him in my sights.”

  “Even after I told you Ivy might know a secret about him?”

  “Everyone has a secret.”

  “Not like his. FYI, Ivy did discover it and threatened to expose him. She died before she could.”

  Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll verify Mr. Hemmings’s alibi. What else?”

  I hesitated.

  “Out with it, Jenna.” She folded her arms across her chest but didn’t tap her foot. It was probably too hard in skates.

  “There are people in town getting stung by an email blackmail scam, including your mother and me.” I elaborated.

  “I agree. That stuff is usually bogus.”

  “I’m sure mine is, but your mother, um, did do something that could put her in deep water. She visited Ivy that afternoon.”

  “Are you certain
?”

  “She admitted it, and there was a photograph of her outside Ivy’s embedded in her email.” Quickly, I shared the theory that Ivy might have been the blackmailer and the killer might have taken over where she’d left off. I added that we hadn’t opened the attachment, so we couldn’t confirm that the photograph proved anything or had a time-stamp on it. “Your mother believes a person on a bicycle must have taken the photo. She doesn’t know the person’s identity.”

  “Okay”—Cinnamon flapped a hand—“I’ll grant you that the optics aren’t the best if Mom was seen there, but Ivy was her friend and she has a very credible alibi, provided by my father.”

  I worked my tongue around the inside of my mouth.

  “Now what’s eating you?” Cinnamon muttered under her breath.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Noah was still inside the café. “What if your father provided an alibi for your mother in order to create one for himself?”

  Cinnamon planted her fists on her hips. “Give me a break. He didn’t know Ivy Beale. He’s not a suspect in her murder.”

  “What if he lied about that? What if he did know her?” I shared the possibility that Ivy had been smuggling bonsais internationally. I added that at first I’d suspected Oren because he was buying a bigger, better boat, but what if Noah, being a horticulturist, had been her partner? “There was a bonsai on the floor beside her head. I don’t believe it was part of the ritualistic way she’d been laid out.”

  “Jenna—”

  “C’mon. Don’t you see something odd about the timing of your father’s return to town? Why now?”

  “To get into the fish oil fertilizer business with Oren Michaels.”

  “How is that going?”

  “Swimmingly,” she joked, but there was uncertainty in her gaze. I would bet dollars to dimes that she hadn’t pressed him on it. “I’ll look into it. Happy?”

  Noah skated up to us carrying a to-go cup. “Wow, Jenna, you’re doing blockbuster business in the restaurant. There were a number of flower club parties, each over six people strong. I handed out a few business cards. Hope that was okay. I told them sometimes I can get my hands on plants other nurseries can’t.” He took a sip of coffee.

  Cinnamon cut me a sharp look. Apparently, her mind went to the same place mine had—the bonsais.

  “What did I miss?” Noah asked. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s taking a personal day. Let’s get going.” Cinnamon pivoted.

  “One sec.” Noah pulled a key chain fitted with a utility knife from his back pocket. He popped open the three-in-one Allen wrench and knelt to adjust his rollerblades.

  I said, “Cinnamon, before you go, may I ask a question?”

  “Has my saying no ever stopped you?”

  “Did you corroborate Crusibella’s alibi?”

  “The Overeaters Anonymous coach confirmed her appointment. Ms. Queensbury did not kill Ivy Beale.”

  I was relieved. I really did like Crusibella. “What about Alastair Dukas? Did you talk to him after my father texted you that his alibi was bogus?”

  “Your father texted me, too?” She grimaced at her cell phone and shook it. “I didn’t get that text. What’s going on?”

  “It might have to do with your cellular provider. Let me fill you in. Alastair—Mr. Dukas—claimed he was doing inventory at Dreamcatcher the night Ivy was killed. Because Lola was involved in the book club’s progressive dinner event, Dad took a three-loop tour along the boulevard. He never saw the lights on at the store.”

  “My, my. Haven’t you been doing your due diligence?” Cinnamon taunted. “Would you like to join the police force and become official?”

  “Would they let me wear flip-flops?” Call me crazy, but I enjoyed having the freedom to put on whatever I wanted.

  Her father chuckled. “Got to love her spunk.”

  “Spunk.” Cinnamon smirked. “Is that what it’s called nowadays? I will follow up with Mr. Dukas, Jenna. Is there anything else?”

  “One more thing. Well, three more, actually.”

  She moaned.

  I told her about the shop’s computer being hacked and the slashed bicycle tires. “The tires could be a prank, of course. Local teens having fun with the owner of the smallest house on the beach.”

  “It sounds like you’ve ticked someone off, young lady,” Noah said.

  Like the killer? I wondered.

  Cinnamon said, “Jenna, you have to stand down. You are not equipped to handle a dangerous criminal.”

  That rankled me. I almost blurted that I’d taken karate and self-defense classes and I’d faced off with a few dangerous criminals in the past, but I bit my tongue because what I was not ready to do was deal with the ire of our chief of police. I saluted. “Yes, ma’am. Got any other suspects you’d like to tell me about?”

  “As if.”

  Chapter 30

  I strode into the shop, slipped into the stockroom, and called Pepper. She didn’t answer her home phone or cell phone. I left a message on the cell saying I was concerned about her. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I told her I’d spilled the beans to her daughter about her visit with Ivy on the afternoon of the murder. I assured her Cinnamon believed she was innocent; she’d said so to my face. Hopefully, that tidbit would put Pepper’s mind at ease and she wouldn’t be angry with me for talking out of turn. Whether Cinnamon would seriously consider her father a suspect in Ivy Beale’s murder was up for debate.

  As I ambled to the sales counter, I spotted Tina sitting with my aunt at the vintage table. Two tarot cards lay faceup on the tabletop. My aunt was poised to turn a third. Tina, looking young and innocent in a shirred white dress with minimal makeup and her hair twisted in a messy knot, appeared extremely focused. I didn’t interrupt. The future she hoped to see in the cards obviously mattered.

  I checked on Bailey, who was perched on a stool by the children’s table, tongue wedged between her teeth like a little kid as she concentrated avidly on making enough materials for the crepe paper flower clinic. Sensing she didn’t need my help, I orbited the shop, making sure all the books were in the right location and oriented in the proper direction. You wouldn’t believe how many times customers slotted the books upside down.

  Moments later, Crusibella and Z.Z. hurried into the shop, both carrying to-go bags from the Nook Café, neither dressed for church. I crossed to them because Crusibella was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Don’t you look happy,” I said. “You must be relieved to know the police have exonerated you of Ivy’s death. Your alibi held up.”

  “I’m thrilled about that, but that’s not why I’m smiling.” She swept strands of hair off her face. “Tell her, Z.Z.”

  “We might have a buyer for Crusibella’s house.”

  “I didn’t know you were selling,” I said. “There’s no realtor’s sign in the front yard.”

  The two of them giggled like schoolgirls.

  “It was a private deal,” Z.Z. confided. “The buyer heard Crusibella needed money and might sell. She made an offer. We couldn’t refuse.”

  More giggles.

  “If the deal goes through,” Crusibella said, “and with the extra cash my father is willing to invest, I’ll have enough money to purchase Dreamcatcher.”

  “Wait. Whoa.” I held up a hand. “Your father is alive?” I could’ve sworn my aunt told me Crusibella’s parents had passed away years ago. I must have confused her history with someone else’s.

  Crusibella nodded. “I haven’t spoken to him in years and out of the blue he called. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Amazing.” I glanced at my aunt, wondering if she’d had something to do with the reunion. She felt my gaze on her and offered a Who, me? look, and then continued with Tina’s reading.

  “My father told me he wants to get out of the stock market and invest in real estate.” Crusibella fanned the air. “I don’t care what the reason is, he’s being supportive. That’s a first. Like Ivy, I never had my parents
’ blessings growing up.”

  I thought of Noah and Cinnamon reconnecting and pictured Oren bonding with his father. Was the fact that Father’s Day was weeks away causing all these men to come up to the mark?

  “Tell me about Dreamcatcher,” I said. “I thought the executor said the parents wanted out. They intended to sell the inventory and default on the lease.”

  “That was the case until Crusibella and I realized that if she bought all the inventory, we could negotiate separately with the building’s owner about the lease, which we did. They agreed to a five-year option-to-purchase.”

  “Why we didn’t think of it before is beyond me.” Crusibella laughed. “Now I want a moment with Vera to see what my next legal step should be.”

  Aunt Vera relished advising her clients, but I often wondered if the pressure to provide consistently uplifting news might take its toll. As for giving advice about which legal steps to take, I hoped she’d instruct Crusibella to consult a lawyer.

  Tina rose to her feet and hugged my aunt. “Thank you so much, Vera. That was exactly what I needed to hear.” She smoothed the front of her dress and plumped the puffy sleeves.

  Before she was able to move an inch from the table, Crusibella and Z.Z. swooped onto the vacant chairs, nearly toppling Tina.

  I steadied her and asked how she was doing.

  Before she could answer, Alastair hurried into the shop and made a beeline for me. “Ms. Hart? Do you have a minute?”

  Tina whispered that she was fine and we’d catch up soon.

  Alastair straightened the collar of his polo shirt. “I’m sorry to barge in, but I hear you’re hiring. I’d like to apply for the job.”

  “Where did you hear—”

  “According to rumors, Tina is leaving.”

  I glanced at Tina and said, “Alastair, please have a seat at the children’s table. Tina and I need to chat first.” I waylaid my sweet clerk before she could reach the sales counter. “Is it true? You’re quitting?”