A Call for Kelp

by Bree Baker

  “Hey! What are you doing in there?” a deep voice growled. “That’s a crime scene!”

  I spun around so fast I lost my footing and knocked against the desk for balance, palms raised in surrender. Then, I threw my pen at Ryan’s laughing face. “You stink!” I gasped, both thankful and aggravated to see Ryan where I’d expected to find a police officer. “What are you doing here?”

  He moseyed away from the wall where he’d tucked himself behind the door when I crept inside. “I was taking photos before you interrupted.” He pointed to the professional camera hanging by a strap around his neck. His hands were covered with blue disposable gloves and paper hospital booties were stretched over his shoes.

  I pressed a palm to my ribs, where my heart was attempting to break free. “You can’t publish those pictures,” I said. “It wouldn’t be right. It’s the exploitation of an old lady’s murder.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to sell the photos. I’m going to print and study them for clues after I get out of here. We don’t have much longer before the crime scene team returns.”

  I glanced at the open door. “Where are they now?”

  He smiled. “I paid the sandwich shop to set up a buffet in the employee break room, then asked the nature center staff to let the crime scene folks know lunch was being catered. No charge.”

  Food. The world’s oldest motivator. Anyone who doubted food’s power had obviously never eaten anything worth the time.

  Ryan aimed his camera and took a picture of my feet.

  I dropped my gaze to find a small strip of black-and-white snapshots near my toes, like the ones taken in photo booths.

  “They fell from the desk when you knocked into it,” he said.

  I picked the photos up on instinct, regretting my lack of gloves immediately. Then, I realized who was in the photos. “Grandma.”

  Ryan stepped closer, craning his neck for a better view. “She’s beautiful.”

  I smiled, mesmerized by the youthful face looking back at me. I’d recognize Grandma’s eyes anywhere, but her cheeks were round and full, her hair curled into the careful style of the times, and her mouth open in laughter. She was barely more than a girl. “I never knew her like this.” My earliest memories of my grandma included her shocks of gray hair, crow’s feet, and laugh lines. I recognized the woman beside her as Mitzi Calgon. Until this week, my only memories of Mitzi were of her at this age in Blackbeard’s Bride. Since the women were together, the photos must’ve been taken in California before my mother was born. “Grandma was younger than me here. Maybe eight or nine years younger.”

  “You look just like her,” Ryan said.

  I pulled my gaze from the photo and gave him an awkward smile. “Thanks. You realize you accidentally called me beautiful.”

  “Wasn’t an accident,” he said confidently. “You’re quite striking, when your personality isn’t getting in the way.”

  “Back at you,” I said.

  Ryan laughed. “Come on.” He tipped his head toward the door. “We need to go. The crime scene team can’t eat forever. I’ve gotten enough photos to get us started.”

  “Us?” I asked, slipping back under the tape.

  He shouldered the bag of books I’d left at the doorway. “Sure. Partners, right?” He offered me a fist to bump as we moved away from Wyatt’s office.

  I considered his intent and my options. “Why are you really doing this?”

  He shrugged. “I have a curious mind. Plus, I want to help Amelia and her dad. I really like her, you know. I’m not playing games or being cheeky. She’s a special lady.”

  “She’s my best friend,” I said defensively.

  Ryan threw a long arm across my shoulders. “Precisely. And I believe the Spice Girls said if I want to get with her, I’ve got to get with her friend.”

  I scoffed. “You admit you’re using me to get closer to her.”

  “Of course. Your opinion means everything to Amelia.”

  I sighed, unable to find the energy to be offended. “You really can’t publish those pictures,” I said. “Selling them is just icky on your part and publishing them now could do serious damage to the investigation.”

  He wiggled his waiting fist in front of me. “I’m keeping them until the case is wrapped, then I plan to sell a comprehensive insider’s account of the whole ordeal, start-to-finish, for top dollar. Maybe even parlay it into another book deal.”

  I suppressed the urge to smack him. I’d forgotten he turned our last run-in into a book and then sold the manuscript to a major publishing house. I had no doubt he’d return to the scene of the crime, i.e., Charm, for his book launch and related hoopla, whenever that took place. Lucky for him, the object of his affection owned the town’s only bookstore.

  I bumped his fist reluctantly.

  He opened his fingers immediately and made a goofy explosion sound.

  I had no idea what Amelia saw in him.

  “I heard about what happened to you last night,” he said as we approached the center’s front door. “I’m sorry about that.”

  My steps stuttered. “You heard? Already?” How was that even possible? I’d only told Grady, my aunts, Denise…and Amelia.

  “Town Charmer covered it this morning,” he said, dropping his arm off my shoulders. “Whoever runs that website has mad skills for collecting information. I’m thinking it’s a mole at the police station.”

  I didn’t want to think about who ran the town gossip blog. I’d lost too much time on that subject when I first moved home and learned the blog existed. “I’m fine, but the file I’d been reading was stolen.”

  He arched a questioning eyebrow. “What sort of file?”

  “Details about Mitzi’s life. A guy named the Canary gave it to me. I was hoping to run into him here. Any chance you’ve seen him?” I asked, raising one arm overhead. “He’s about this tall, dresses like the Count of Monte Cristo.”

  Ryan’s eyes were wide. “You met the Canary? The Canary is in Charm?” He pressed the front door open, and I followed him outside.

  “You know who he is?” I marveled back.

  “He’s only a god in my world,” Ryan said, “nearly as all-knowing as the person behind the Town Charmer.”

  I snorted, not sure if he was joking.

  A breeze from the bay fluttered the bottom of my photo strip.

  “Is that writing?” Ryan asked, attention fixed on the pictures caught between my fingertips.

  I turned the strip over. Faint blue ink was scrawled across the white backing. To my beautiful maid of honor with love, Hazel.

  Breath caught in my throat. “Her maid of honor?”

  “May I?” Ryan asked, snapping a photo of each side of the photos, then pressing them back into my palm. “She never mentioned a husband?”

  “Never.” I filled him in on my aunts’ theory about a possible movie star cowboy, Grandpa.

  He shook his head, eyebrows high. “Your family wins the trophy for most interesting.” He tossed my bag of books onto the seat of a familiar red convertible. “I’ll give you a ride home. It’s hot and you look miserable.”

  “Amelia let you drive her car?” I asked, already climbing inside.

  “Sure,” he said. “It’s faster than walking, and she doesn’t need it right now. I’d do the same for her.”

  I buckled up, unimpressed. “You’re only driving me home to win points with her.”

  Ryan rounded the hood, then slid smoothly behind the wheel. He wiggled his eyebrows before pushing classic black Ray-Ban sunglasses over the bridge of his nose.

  I spent the drive home and the entire rest of my day staring at the little strip of black-and-white photos every chance I could. Once Sun, Sand, and Tea was closed, I took the photos upstairs with me and kept them close as I typed a blog post and fumbled awkwardly with the new ap
p Ryan had installed on my phone. Instead of baking, I went live with a two-minute “Hello” video to let folks know I was considering the possibilities of a future livestream. A dozen people had followed me within the hour, but I wasn’t sure it was the way to go for my tutorials, no matter how simple they were.

  I climbed into bed at eleven and propped the photos against the lamp on my nightstand.

  “Well,” I told the images of Grandma and Mitzi as I turned out the light, “I really should have taken you to Grady and confessed my trespassing, but I’m not ready to let you go.”

  I felt confident I had Grandma and Mitzi’s support, so I rolled onto my side and stared at them in the dark. “I miss you, Grandma,” I whispered.

  And I’d do anything I could to get justice for the woman who’d meant so much to her.

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke well before dawn when Maggie ran across my bed and nearly caused me to have six consecutive strokes. The house had been empty when I’d gone to bed, and I hadn’t seen her since she’d chased off whoever had stolen my folder from the gazebo. When she raced from the room, I followed her and found her in the kitchen. I worked some quick magic and rewarded her for saving my life, if not my file, with some boiled chicken and mashed carrots. I had hot tea and enjoyed the unique stillness that only occurred when I knew everyone else in town was probably asleep. In those moments, it was as if I were the only person on earth. While I’d never actually want to be the only person on earth, I loved the strange sensation of utter peace.

  My home was lovely in the wee hours, not off-putting or frightening like many rambling old homes could be. Maggie joined me as I curled onto the couch, covered my legs with a knitted throw, and balanced my laptop on my knees. “How about a little research since we’re awake?” I suggested.

  Maggie stretched and yawned, then rolled onto her side between my throw-covered feet and purred.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, typing Mitzi’s name into a search engine. I began to read everything I could about her life, watch interviews with her, and stalk the social media attached to her name, likely maintained by someone who wasn’t Mitzi at all. Somehow I couldn’t imagine the woman I’d met at the nature center sharing photos of her meals or pedicures. They probably weren’t even Mitzi’s feet in the photos. From there, I fell down a digital rabbit hole and didn’t find my way out until the first amber rays of sunrise drew my attention to the sea.

  I set the laptop aside and went to watch the sun from my deck. Maggie was long gone. I hadn’t noticed her leave.

  Brilliant shades of a new day crept over the horizon and into my home, lighting me slowly from toes to nose as I watched from the patio doors.

  Despite all the research I’d done, I still hadn’t come up with anyone who’d want to kill Mitzi Calgon. There were plenty adoring fan sites that bordered on obsessive and creepy, but no one in particular had stood out to me as potentially dangerous. Mitzi’s divorce had been a hot topic across the board. Bloggers reported extreme hostility on both sides regarding the division of property over the last ten months. No wonder Mitzi had been willing to get away for a while. Possibly the most shocking thing I’d learned about the split was that the divorce wasn’t final. She and her nearly ex-husband, Malcolm Pierce, were fighting valiantly as he continued to seek more of her estate. And for all the boo-hooing he’d been doing, Malcolm Pierce wasn’t exactly living in poverty. He’d had plenty of money when they married and had made a ton since. He owned real estate all over the West Coast, commercial and residential alike, as well as a handful of small and medium-sized corporations and other businesses.

  It seemed strange to me that Mr. Pierce continued to seek more from the divorce when he had so much already. Records showed the couple had elected for a prenup prior to marriage, guaranteeing each partner would retain whatever had been theirs at the time of the vows and divide all assets gained during their marital years in the event of divorce. So, what was the guy’s deal?

  The fact Mitzi had died before the divorce was final made me wonder if killing her had been the perfect answer to Mr. Pierce’s problems. Now, he’d likely inherit everything.

  I switched from tea to coffee as the sun finished its ascent, then dressed for my day and went downstairs to visit with Lou and wait for Denise. Lou was ripping a crab limb from limb on the deck when I arrived, so I decided to give him some privacy.

  I ran through my morning tasks. Cleaning. Food prep. Menu adjustment and double-checking the balance in the cash register. When I went to get the mail, Denise was already coming my way.

  “Hey,” I called. “You’re super early.” I hadn’t expected her for another hour, and she looked amazing per her usual.

  She smiled back. “I just couldn’t wait to get out into the day. It’s so beautiful here. Like living in a postcard.” Denise’s Tiffany blue silk tank top illuminated her eyes. The pleated white skirt accented her long, tan legs and athletic figure. The fact she’d paired bare feet with canvas tennis shoes reminded me that she was much closer to twenty than I was to thirty. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here already. I thought I could help you with the morning prep and we could talk more about the Mitzi Calgon case.” She whispered the last part of her statement, then gave the world around us a quick look, presumably for prying eyes or ears.

  I pulled my lips to the side, unsure how to respond and feeling like her comment was part of a setup. Possibly something Grady concocted to gauge my involvement or teach me a lesson. I flipped blindly through the letters from my mailbox before responding. “I thought you wanted me to stay out of Mitzi’s murder,” I said, glancing briefly into Denise’s eyes before turning back for my house.

  She fell easily into pace at my side. “That would be best, but I poked around a little last night, and I can see how you could get drawn in.”

  “What do you mean?” I held the front door, then followed her through the foyer and archway to Sun, Sand, and Tea.

  She stopped at the service counter and chewed her lip for a long moment, looking almost guilty for whatever she was about to confess. “I was posting some pictures of Denver to Instagram last night, and I saw a few photos of old friends in my feed. It made me wonder if Mitzi’s assistant, Odette, might have an account.”

  I moved in closer, attention rapt. “And you found her?”

  Denise nodded. “If her Instagram is a true reflection of her reality, Odette lives a wild life. Nightclubs, parties, travel, men. Scrolling through her account was like viewing still shots from some rich-kids-gone-wild reality show.”

  I weighed my options on how to respond. If Denise had been snooping, then she couldn’t judge or tattle on me for doing the same. I hoped. “I don’t suppose you got the feeling she needed money? Maybe badly enough to hurt her former stepmom to get it?”

  Denise slid her purse from her shoulder and tucked it under the counter. “No. Honestly, it looked like she was loaded.”

  “Her dad’s married to Mitzi,” I said, watching Denise’s blue eyes widen. “His name’s Malcolm Pierce and he and Mitzi were in the middle of a complicated divorce when she died. Now he’s likely to inherit the kingdom. I did a little research too,” I admitted. “Mitzi never had children of her own, and I didn’t see any mention of another next of kin. It would make sense that her estate go to her husband in the event of her death, unless she’s legally arranged something else. I couldn’t find a definitive answer on that.”

  Denise looked as if I’d grown a second head. “I thought I did something great by looking through some social media profiles. How did you learn all that?”

  “Most of it is public record,” I said. “I picked up a few skills while looking into some other deaths. Details on Mitzi’s personal life were more accessible than most because of her celebrity status, but we had a ton of fabrications to weed through. Sometimes the outlandish headlines were based in small, uninteresting truths. Other times, th
ey were blatant slander or speculation.”

  Denise took a seat at the counter and rested her chin in her palms. “Anything else?”

  I only hesitated a minute before pulling the strip of photo booth photos from the back pocket of my jean shorts. “I found this. It’s not related to the case, but it’s my grandma and Mitzi when they were your age, and I can’t stop looking at it.”

  Denise took the photos carefully from my hand and ran the pad of her thumb across the aged material. “Wow.”

  “I know.”

  “You look like your grandmother,” Denise said with a wistful smile. “I wish I could have met her.”

  “Me too. You would have liked her,” I said.

  “She and Mitzi look so proper and demure.” Denise smiled at them. “The online photos of Odette are nothing like these.” She returned the pictures to me with a sigh. “I guess the world has changed a little since then.”

  “No doubt.” I poured us each a cup of tea and plated a pair of croissants with jam for us to share. “If Odette’s life is such a party, and her dad and Mitzi were splitting up, I wonder why she agreed to be Mitzi’s personal assistant. I only met her briefly, but she didn’t seem to like the job. I didn’t get the impression she and Mitzi were close.”

  “Maybe she wanted to spite her dad,” Denise said. “Rebel against him for something he did. Make it seem like she was choosing Mitzi over him.”

  “Or…” I lifted a finger. “She might be working with her dad as a spy or something worse.”

  Denise grimaced. “That took a dark turn.”

  I shrugged. “I’m trying to think of every possibility.”

  “Everly?” Wyatt’s voice arrived with the sound of my wind chimes.

  I jumped and Denise spun on her stool.

  Wyatt raised a palm waist-high in timid greeting. He moved cautiously into the café when we didn’t respond. “Is it too early to order a little tea and toast?”

  Considering the café didn’t open for an hour, and despite the fact I hadn’t deadbolted the door, the sign in my window clearly said CLOSED. I was leaning toward, Yes. So please go away while we talk about potential murderers.