Cart vendors as well as the two restaurants on the Pier had agreed that appetizers would be the Pier’s focus for Food Bowl. I met up with Bailey and Tito at seven outside Mum’s the Word diner. The place was overrun with customers. A line weaved out the door and along the boardwalk. One of the nearby vendors had been granted a liquor license with the caveat that the beverages could not leave the Pier. I purchased three glasses of wine and handed one to each of my friends.
Standing beside the Pier’s railing, looking north toward the lighthouse, we toasted Tito’s innocence.
“Here’s hoping,” Tito muttered.
“You are innocent, mi amor,” Bailey whispered. “We all know it.”
If only we could prove it, I thought.
“There sure are a lot of artists on the beach for this time of night,” Bailey said. “Is that Audrey Tinsdale? I think she’s teaching a class.” She pointed. “See the three easels?”
I followed her finger and nodded. “It sure is.”
Audrey, distinctive in her colorful smock and leggings, was guiding three students, each painting the view of the northern coastline.
“I wonder how she’s doing,” Bailey said. “She was close to Kylie.”
“The whole family was.”
I recalled the meeting with Audrey and Eugene last night on the boulevard. Both had seemed distraught about Kylie’s death, yet I was still puzzled as to why Eugene felt the need to tell me his alibi. Was it because I’d observed Audrey and him arguing about Kylie? Had he been protecting his wife?
After we sipped our wine, Tito went in search of food, and Bailey said, “Jenna, we’re going to take in the movie at the end of the boardwalk later. It starts at nine. Do you want to join us?”
“What’s playing?”
“Who Is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe? With George Segal and Jacqueline Bisset.”
“Sure.” Seeing as I wasn’t going to the All Star Barbecue event with Rhett, I had time on my hands. “So, c’mon, don’t keep me on tenterhooks. What did the attorney tell you?”
“She’s on the case.” Bailey led the way to a small café table and perched on one of the backless stools.
“On the case.” Tito snorted as he set three shrimp kebabs served on a bed of spicy cole slaw on the table. After taking a bite of his appetizer, he said, “What does on the case honestly mean?”
“She’s putting out feelers.”
“Feelers.”
“Making calls.”
“Calls.” Tito grumbled and took a sip of wine. “Has she found someone who saw me on Gardenia Avenue? No, she has not.”
“Neither has Flora Fairchild,” I said glumly. “But she’s not giving up. You know how much Flora likes you, Tito.”
“Because I gave Home Sweet Home a great write-up when it opened.”
Home Sweet Home sold beautiful gift items as well as home décor. Invariably, Flora updated her stock. I rarely visited the shop without finding something new.
We sat in silence, each of us nibbling on the shrimp.
After a long moment, Tito set his wine on the table and eyed his wife. “Gossipmongers are telling everyone I had it in for Kylie. I didn’t.”
“We know, sweetheart. We know.” Bailey gazed at me. “Jenna, you’ve got suspicions. You told me so. Who do you suspect?” She curled her fingers, begging me to reveal something . . . anything. “C’mon, tell us your theories. You’re a natural amateur sleuth.”
I moaned softly. That was not the reputation I’d sought following college. I’d been hoping for go-getter, freethinker, and creative wizard. When I’d worked at Taylor & Squibb, I’d relished whenever my boss said I’d come up with a brilliant idea or he’d praised me because I’d thought outside the box. Was now the time to do that?
“Spill,” Bailey demanded.
“Let’s get a little more to eat.” I gathered our empty plates, tossed them in a garbage can, and led my friends to another vendor, where I purchased a trio of mahi-mahi bites—each grilled in a lime marinade and tucked into a cupcake liner.
After we sat at a new café table, I told them about the two main suspects I was considering: Savannah Gregory and Midge Martin.
“Understand, I really like both of these women,” I said, “but we know Tito isn’t the killer, and someone else is. I don’t want to rule anyone out.”
“I can’t imagine Midge killing anyone,” Bailey said. “She’s so easygoing and confident.”
Tito said, “I am certain that an easygoing, confident person has murdered someone at some time in history.”
“Yes, true, but”—Bailey screwed up her mouth—“a personal attack by Kylie couldn’t have meant much to Midge.”
“Reputation is everything to a celebrity,” Tito said.
“True, but Midge is fair game now that she’s a TV personality,” Bailey countered. “Lots of people will be taking potshots at her. She had better grow a thick skin.”
“I suppose so,” Tito murmured.
I nibbled the mahi-mahi. It was moist and savory.
“Go on, Jenna,” Bailey said. “Why do you suspect Midge?”
“My wedding planner, Harmony Bold, saw Midge outside the Boldine Building yesterday morning. I don’t know if it was before Viveca saw Tito or before Tito saw Kylie or . . .” I polished off my snack. “According to Harmony, Midge regularly did business with Harmony’s mother, who owns the jewelry store.”
“Maybe Midge entered the building and hid in Your Wellness until Kylie arrived,” Bailey said.
“How would Midge have gotten the code?” Tito asked.
Bailey thwacked his arm. “Didn’t you hear Jenna? She frequents the jewelry store.”
“That would get her into the building’s foyer, not into the studio,” Tito argued.
I sighed. “There are lots of unknowns.”
Tito nudged his fish appetizer out of reach. “I have to admit Viveca’s account of having seen me is bothersome. I was standing by the front entrance for a brief two minutes. Was she looking out the café window at the exact right moment, or was she lying in wait?”
“To what end?” I asked.
“Maybe she had reason to kill Kylie.”
Bailey shook her head. “I heard her answering the police questions. Viveca has worked for Alexa for one month, and she said she hasn’t—hadn’t—had any interactions with Kylie. Ever.”
“Hold on,” I said. “That pilates class where Kylie took on Alexa. When was that?”
“Two months ago,” Bailey said. “Viveca hadn’t been hired yet.”
“Does that prove she’s innocent?” Tito asked.
Bailey rubbed Tito’s arm. “Most likely.”
“But not Midge,” he said, grasping at straws.
“Like Jenna’s wedding planner said, my love, Midge being in the vicinity could have been a coincidence. I suppose Jenna could ask her outright.” Bailey looked pleadingly at me. “Would you?”
“Uh-uh. I’ll leave that to Cinnamon.”
Bailey set her appetizer aside and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Have you at least mentioned the Midge sighting to her?”
“I left a voice mail, but I’m afraid she’ll think I’m overstepping.”
“Why? You weren’t investigating,” Bailey said. “You were having a conversation with your wedding planner, and Harmony mentioned seeing Midge because of her family connection to the building.”
“Tell us why you suspect Savannah Gregory,” Tito said between bites.
I told them about seeing Savannah on Thursday night, lingering outside Intime, tears in her eyes. “Savannah confided that Kylie had introduced her to running but shared that running had ruined her feet, which had made her pack on weight. I deduced that she had feelings for Kylie, but Kylie didn’t share them. Savannah was angry. Hurt.”
“Is any of that motive to want her dead?” Bailey asked.
“People have killed for less.” I added that Savannah went home with a migraine yesterday.
“If Sav
annah was faking the migraine,” Tito said, “she might have been able to slip out of her house and sneak into the fitness studio.”
“Unnoticed?” Bailey sat back and folded her arms. “She’s a big girl. It would be hard for her to sneak in anywhere, and no one has mentioned seeing her so far.”
If only the Boldine Building had had security cameras in place.
“Would Savannah’s mother cover for her?” Bailey asked.
“For murder?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“I would protect Brianna at all costs.”
I petted her shoulder.
“Is there a rear entrance to the building?” Tito asked.
“No. There are side entrances at either end of the complex,” I said, “and those are visible from Buena Vista Boulevard, too.” I rose to my feet. “Dessert, anyone?”
“Isn’t everything an appetizer?” Bailey asked.
“I don’t think so, merely appetizer-sized portions.” I hooked a thumb. “I noticed cheesecake bites at the Seaside Bakery.”
“I could use a coffee.” Tito offered his hand to Bailey and pulled her to her feet.
“You know, Jenna,” Tito said as we waited inside the bakery for our desserts, “Eugene Tinsdale was close to Kylie. Almost like a father or a mentor to her. He might know more about her acquaintances and who might have wished her—”
“He doesn’t,” I said. “Rhett and I ran into Eugene and Audrey last night while tasting food along the boulevard. The Tinsdales are mourning Kylie, but they don’t have a clue who might have killed her.”
I paid for the desserts and doled them out. We slipped outside into the cool night air.
“By the way,” I said, “did you know Eugene might have an investor who could bail him out of losing the newspaper?”
“You’re kidding,” Tito said. “That’s great.”
“Speaking of investors,” I went on, “Alexa believed Kylie had found an investor, for the same reason, to either buy out or help Eugene.”
“Eugene’s a good guy,” Tito said. “He doesn’t deserve to lose everything solely because circulation has waned. The darned digital phenomena—” He screwed up his mouth. “I wish I could afford to buy the paper.”
Bailey squeezed his bicep. “Maybe Kylie’s investor would be willing to—” She released Tito as if he were a hot potato. “I didn’t mean . . . Jenna, please don’t think that Tito or I would have, you know, iced Kylie so we could approach the investor.”
I gawked at her. “Are you nuts? I didn’t think that at all. You were proposing a solution, not plotting a murder.” I offered a supportive smile. “Look, I know we’re all on edge because another murder happened in our town—”
“And because I’m the main suspect,” Tito cut in.
“But we will figure this out,” I assured them. “We’ll make sure the police find the real killer. Promise.”
Chapter 11
Sunday morning, after a long run to clear my head, a brisk shower to brighten my mood, and a quickie egg-in-the-microwave breakfast that I enjoyed on the patio, I left another message for Cinnamon and asked her to call, despite misgivings that she might jump all over me for interference in her investigation.
A half hour later, I arrived at the shop feeling hopeful for Bailey and Tito. I couldn’t explain why. I hadn’t dreamed anything unusual. The weather was the same as the day before, pleasant but not overly sunny. Maybe the lingering paint fumes in the house had influenced me, or the sound of church bells had filled me with hope, or perhaps my spirits had lifted thanks to the enticing aroma of vanilla that I’d inhaled the moment I’d stepped into the shop. Whatever the reason, I appreciated it.
“Morning, Gran,” I trilled.
She had beaten me to work yet again. “Morning, Jenna. Don’t you look ready for autumn? Very attractive.”
“Thanks.” I’d donned a burnt orange lace-up sweater over jeans. “Did Katie bring a snack for us already?”
“Nope. I added vanilla to the coffee.” Dressed in a tangerine-colored sweater and matching trousers, Gran seemed ready for spring.
I set Tigger on the floor. He bolted to the top of the kitty condo and hurtled down each flight.
“What’s gotten into him?” Gran asked.
“Who knows?” Sometimes Tigger acted like a kitten and, at other times, a sage old cat. Today was a kitten day. “What’s with the mess?”
Gran was sitting on a stool at the children’s table, facing a pile of brightly colored shredded paper as well as an assortment of sticks, wires, bells, popsickle sticks, teeny plastic balls, and interwoven tubes that reminded me of the infuriating Chinese finger traps.
“I’m getting ready to teach a class on making a Bonka-style bird toy,” she said.
“A what?” I sat on a stool and fingered through the array. I lifted a length of gold chain.
“A Bonka-style bird toy.” Gran swished her hand above the items. “With all these goodies, we’ll fashion a toy that birds go gaga for. They peck and chew to their hearts’ delight.”
“How do you know so much about them?” I asked.
“My granddaughters adore their parrots and parakeets.”
“They have both?”
“Indeed. Their mother is a saint.” Gran chuckled. “The girls and I have made dozens of these. Today, I’m providing all the crafts, but I thought the shop could sell a few books to go along with them, so I preordered those. Hope you don’t mind.” She motioned to a stack of books at the far side of the table. “One is a cookbook for a bird’s diet. We have a few in the shop for cats and dogs, so why not birds?”
I lifted The Healthy Bird Cookbook: A Lifesaving Nutritional Guide and Recipe Collection and browsed through it. “And the other books you’ve assembled?” I saw titles that included The Parrot Problem Solver and Good Bird! A Guide to Solving Behavioral Problems in Companion Parrots.
“They’re helpful and should sell well.”
I set the cookbook on the stack. “Who knew people cooked for birds? I assumed everyone bought bird food at a pet store.”
“Birds can be finicky. They need proper food to keep their beaks and feathers up to snuff.” Gran held up a bird toy she’d already made, which consisted of three tiers of finger traps plus a basket stuffed with shredded yellow paper. She shook it. The bell hanging from the bottom of the basket jingled. “Isn’t it charming?”
Tigger meowed.
I searched for and found him beneath the table, pawing through scraps of newspaper. My insides jolted. The vision reminded me of the messy floor at Your Wellness when we’d found Kylie.
“Are you all right, dear?” Gran asked. “You yelped.”
“Did I? Sorry. I didn’t see newspaper on the table. But it’s there. On the floor.”
“I’d set a stack on one of the stools. It must have fallen off. I thought the children might use the newspaper to fill the baskets. Is that an issue?”
“No, it’s . . .” My mind flooded with the same thoughts that I’d mulled over when Gran had led the papier mâché crafts session—the shredded paper at the crime scene. It hadn’t been newspaper, more like bond paper. Some had red and black ink on it. Was that significant?
“Do you want me to throw it out?” Gran asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Good morning.” Katie appeared from the breezeway carrying a plate of treats. “Gran texted me with her plan for today, so I came in early. I’ll be setting out a variety of coconut-based, kid-friendly cookies. You know, coconut dreams, my famous protein-rich cocoa bliss balls, and the like.” She thrust a plate in my direction. “Hungry? I’ll make some butterscotch pretzel haystacks, too. Those are always a kid favorite.”
On the plate sat five yummy-looking cookies. I adored coconut. “Don’t mind if I do. With a cup of vanilla coffee.” Casting off the jumpiness from seeing the newspaper, I bounded to my feet and fetched myself a cup of coffee from the stockroom.
“Also”—Katie raised her voice so I wouldn�
��t miss a word—“at the café, I’ll be serving my version of bird’s nest kale salad, made with soft-boiled eggs, chopped kale, julienned carrots, and wonton strips. It’s going to be so good, if I do say so myself.”
I pushed through the break in the drapes. “I can’t wait to taste test it.”
“If you approve, I’ll serve it tomorrow as one of our daylong lunch choices,” Katie added. “By the way, Min-yi will be visiting her mama in the kitchen today, if you want to see her, Jenna.”
“You bet I do.”
At noon, I went to the café for a baby fix. Min-yi, an adorable girl with jet-black hair and alert saucer eyes, loved sitting in a high chair and playing knock the blocks off the food tray. I was happy to oblige. Bend, pick up, and replace was good for my core muscles. When Min-yi went down for a nap, Katie made me two test items: the bird’s nest kale salad and a grilled cheese sandwich with shredded parmesan grilled into the crust. Both were incredible.
Midafternoon, Cinnamon finally touched base. I took the call in the stockroom.
“Bucky and I missed you guys at the All Star Barbecue last night,” she said.
“Rhett had to cancel, so Bailey, Tito, and I went to the Pier instead and caught the outdoor movie.”
“You missed a great meal. I had my fill of ribs for a year.”
“I’m envious.”
“So, tell me about Midge Martin,” she said, “although you realize we’ve got Midge on our radar because of the article found at the crime scene, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” I shared that Harmony had seen Midge near the Boldine Building on the morning of the murder and that I’d noticed Midge using a lip balm like the one found in Tito’s pocket.
“Anything else?” Cinnamon asked.
I mentioned Savannah and outlined her motive. “She missed work Friday morning. Supposedly, she had a migraine.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“I want you to know that I like both of these women, and I doubt either had anything to do with Kylie’s murder, but with Tito—”
“Jenna, leave the rest to us.” Cinnamon ended the call.
I couldn’t tell by her solicitous tone if she’d been peeved or not. Honestly, I didn’t care. I owed it to Tito and Bailey to be proactive.
Shredding the Evidence (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 9) Page 11