A Crafty Killing

by London Lovett

  "Yes, I'm preparing myself for it. Good day." He vanished.

  Interestingly enough, it seemed I'd managed to tame my ghost. I was under no illusion that his gentlemanly, gracious attitude would last, but it was a nice send off for what was most likely going to be a fretful day.

  Chapter 20

  I hadn't entirely planned my day, but I intended to spend most of it at the fair. After all, Prudence had asked me to cover the event, and if I happened to find a few minutes, here and there, to investigate Henrietta's murder, then all the better. I wondered if Dave Crockett would be hanging around as well, trying to get the scoop on the tragedy. I decided to arm myself with information, and Myrna was always my infallible source for that.

  Rather than engage in a lengthy text conversation, I sat in the jeep, still parked at the inn, and rang Myrna up. I was relieved when her voice sounded normal and not muted by her hand.

  "Sunni, I was just about to call you. I've got the office to myself while Prudence is out buying office supplies. I told her we had a vendor we ordered things from, but she insisted on buying straight from the local stores."

  "That's not a bad idea, actually. I'm glad you have some free time. I'm going to head straight to the craft fair. I want to get a head start on the investiga—uh, the story."

  Myrna chuckled. "It's all right, Sunni. I know you're going to be investigating the murder, and it looks like you'll have a big head start on our lead reporter."

  "Oh? Why is that? I was expecting to see Dave at the fair trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Henrietta Lopez. Did Prudence take him off the story?"

  "No, nothing like that. I don't think Prue thinks it's a big hurry. She's decided to take Dave shopping for a new computer, desk and more comfortable chair. Apparently, the ones we had in storage weren't good enough, even though that's what the rest of us are using. Dave went gladly along with the suggestion, adding in that if he didn't have a proper chair he would have problems with his back. Seems as if we have another delicate flower in the newsroom."

  "Speaking of delicate flowers, where is Parker this morning?"

  "He's coming in late. He had a doctor's appointment."

  I put the phone on speaker and headed out. I wanted to get to the fair before it was swarmed with shoppers. "Of course he did. I feel bad for Parker. He needs this job. He's going to have to suffer through the constant humiliation. I know being kicked out of his office was about the worst thing Prudence could have done."

  "And yet she seems completely oblivious to his distress. I feel bad for him too. I brought his favorite jelly donuts in this morning. I left the box on his desk. Hopefully, that will help."

  "You're always so thoughtful, Myrna. I wish I could be there to help fortify the troops, but I've got a story to write and, also, I'm avoiding Prudence. By the way, just to add a little splash to this whole thing, I met Lana's new boyfriend last night."

  Myrna sucked in a breath of excitement. She loved gossip more than anything. "Tell me everything. Was he nice? Did you like him?"

  "You can probably judge that for yourself because you know him. His name is Dave Crockett."

  Stunned silence came through the speaker. "No," she said on an exhale.

  "Yes. Imagine my surprise."

  "Oh no. What are you going to do?"

  "Nothing." I turned off the dirt road and headed toward town. "Lana seems smitten, so I'm just going to be happy for her. It'll be fine." My words weren't the slightest bit convincing. Early in the evening, I'd told myself I could handle this and that it would be all right. But when Jackson told me that Dave Crockett was the guy I beat out in a story contest and that he still seemed to harbor resentment about the loss, I felt far less certain. Still, I was determined to go about my business and write the stories Prudence assigned. After all, my job, as the new owner had pointed out so keenly, was temporary. I was going to be an innkeeper soon, and that was where my focus needed to stay. I was reaching the busier part of town with traffic. "I've got to go, Myrna. Call me if you need reinforcements. I'll only be a few miles away."

  "I think with the big office supply shopping trip planned, I'll have the place to myself most of the day," Myrna said with relief. "But I'll call if things change. Have fun and don't buy too much. Ah, who am I kidding? Spend away. I would. See you later, Sunni."

  I continued on toward the craft fair and was surprised to find that the line of shoppers waiting for the gates to open was considerably shorter than the day before. It made some sense. People who waited yesterday left terribly disappointed and confused about the delay. Some might have decided to show their displeasure with a boycott. But since the fair was a once a year event, I doubted many people would stick to their guns. News of Henrietta's death had already entered the craft-o-sphere, as it were. People might be afraid to visit the fair. What if there was a killer on the loose? It was also possible that people had arranged work schedules and babysitting for Tuesday, the opening of the fair. The delay to the start by a day would have thrown off a lot of plans and schedules. Fortunately for me, my job had taken me right to the fair. Less shoppers meant an easier investigation, more access to vendors for interviews and, most importantly, more pretty things for me to choose from.

  Once again, I did not gain any fans when I casually strolled past the line waiting to enter and flashed my press pass. As far as I could tell, Jackson was not at the fair. I expected to see him. It was possible he was meeting with the coroner first to hear all the details about the autopsy. As far as I was concerned, I had more than enough information to start the investigation. The clay outlined shoeprint would lead me straight to Larry Royce's pottery stand.

  Juniper was on her phone, pacing the small free space between her garden displays. She appeared anxious and distressed. It would make sense that all the vendors would be worried. Someone amongst them was a killer. Was that person only out to get Henrietta, or were there more potential victims?

  Violet, the woman I had witnessed arguing with Henrietta before she was killed, was not standing in her kiosk. Most of the other vendors were standing in their booths ready to start the day.

  Larry had pulled on a cap to protect his shiny, bald head. He was tying on a canvas work apron that had splotches of clay all over it. The pottery wheel he'd set up for the fair was loaded down with a slab of clay. As I reached the booth, my eyes swept around. The pottery wheel had been positioned in the center of a large rubber mat. The mat was covered with dried smears and splatters of clay. There were layers upon layers, some rusty red and some charcoal gray. It seemed the mat had been the work mat for many pieces of pottery. My eyes swept the booth again. No sign of a gold seal from the Crafting Society. I was no pottery expert, but his work was beautiful, symmetrical vases and vessels, some natural, some with colorful glazes. He was a true artisan. I had my starting point for a conversation.

  "Don't tell me with talent like this that you're not part of the Crafting Society. I don't see one of those shiny gold seals."

  Larry finished adjusting his apron. "No, you won't find one of those childish gold seals here. Frankly, they remind me of those gold stars we used to get in grade school for finishing our homework or keeping our pencils sharpened."

  I laughed. "At my school we got one for every week we didn't get in trouble. Come to think of it, I didn't get too many of them. I tended to forget to raise my hand."

  His smile caused his moustache to bunch up. "An overachiever. My son was the same way." Larry opened a bottle of water and poured it into a bowl near his wheel.

  "That's putting a nice spin on it," I said as he reached the front of the booth. Nothing about him said 'killer', but that didn't mean a thing. Some of the cruelest culprits could portray pure innocence.

  "I used to be a member—" he said. "Of the Crafting Society, not the overachievers. I'm afraid I wasn't exactly a good student. My mind was always on other things." He glanced with pride at the pottery lining his display shelves. "Pottery was the first thing that really caught my in
terest. It taught me focus and creativity. I found out early on that I had some talent for it."

  "Not just some talent. Your work is beautiful."

  "Thanks." He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a tube of hand lotion. Unsurprisingly, his hands were chapped and dry. "Hazard of the profession." He squirted a dab into his palm and rubbed them together. "Guess it's going to be a quiet day. There was only a short line at the entrance. The entire event has a shadow over it. Poor Henri." He shook his head. "She took her leadership role in the Crafting Society just a little too seriously. It's one of the reasons I quit. She was always far too picky about which members were accepted. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who creates something other people find pleasing and beautiful should be allowed in, but Henrietta kept tight control of all that. Juniper wanted in but Henrietta decided that too much of her gardens were store-bought, like the little cottages and bridges. Henri told Juniper she wasn't really an artist. I think her gardens are cute and people love them."

  As he spoke, I looked in Juniper's direction. She was off the phone and fidgeting with one of the gardens. I turned back to him. "Was Juniper terribly devastated that she didn't get in to the society?"

  "I think she was disappointed but then I try not to get involved in all that. Juniper was still friends with everyone, so I don't think she took it too badly. Some people think it's highly important to have the gold seal on their booth, but I never noticed a difference after I pulled out of the society."

  "What about Violet Harville?" I asked. She was still on the top of my person of interest list. After the argument I'd witnessed, it was easy to assume the two women had not been friends.

  "What about Violet?" It seemed to dawn on him that I was trying to learn more about Henrietta's murder than the craft fair, in general. That didn't stop him from continuing. "Violet used to be a member of high standing. She had a falling out with Henrietta and decided to leave the society." His expression grew darker, more grim. "Those women, Henri, Katy, all the officers of the society, seem to enjoy their power over the artisans in this community. It's not right." He clamped his mouth shut as if he'd said too much. "I need to get the wheel started before this clay dries out. Enjoy your day." He spun around to assure me the conversation was over. It had certainly turned quickly. It was a little confusing and disconcerting. The hum of the wheel began, and I walked away from the potter's booth.

  Still no sign of the soap maker. Her milky creations were wrapped in rustic parchment and twine, just waiting for someone to buy them. Larry had mentioned Katy, the wreath maker, as one of the women of standing in the Crafting Society. Maybe it was time to pick my door wreaths.

  Chapter 21

  Katy's hat tilted forward as she leaned over and lifted a beautiful fall wreath with maple leaves, twists of berries and small pumpkins out of a box. She straightened with the wreath just as I reached her booth.

  She sucked in a breath. "Oh, it's you. I didn't see you coming."

  "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She was visibly shaken. "Are you all right?"

  She smiled weakly as she placed the wreath on a hook. "Yes, I'm sorry to overreact like that. It's just, I'm a little on edge."

  "That's understandable. Murders tend to do that to people."

  Her eyes rounded. "You know? I wasn't sure if word was out yet. The venue owner added a crew of security guards to the fair. We've never had to have security at a craft fair. What has the world come to?" Her voice wavered. "Henrietta and I were good friends."

  "I figured as much since you were both important members of the Crafting Society." I motioned toward the gold seal on her sign.

  She chuckled dryly. "I don't know if that gold seal is worth all the trouble. It has caused so many rifts and disappointments. Violet Harville and I had always been good friends. We both grow organic vegetables on our farms. We used to exchange seeds and gardening tips. After Violet left the society we stopped talking. I was sorry to lose her as a friend." She was looking at something past my shoulder.

  I turned to look. Violet was just showing up to the fair.

  "She fancies herself quite the rebel," Katy mused. I faced her again. "Violet always shows up whenever she feels like it. Insists she needs to make her own sales hours. She had the team setting up these booths move hers right next to Henrietta's. Claimed the sun at the other end was too strong and that it would melt her soap. Never had a soap melt, have you?" she asked wryly.

  She had a point. "Can't say I have but then I've never had soap made out of goat milk."

  "Violet moved there just to irritate Henrietta. She tries to flout the rules to give herself a rebellious reputation, but it's mostly an act." It seemed I'd just uncovered another rift in the crafting circle.

  Shoppers were starting to flow into the fair, so I needed to get to the point. "Katy, do you know anyone who hated Henrietta enough to kill her?"

  Katy paled slightly at the question. "Kill her? I still can't believe that someone killed her. Sure, she tended to be bossy and a little snobbish about talent. Her quilts won many ribbons and prizes. She was remarkably talented, but it also gave her a big head. Still, she was a good friend. I could always count on her when I needed something. She came by my house yesterday morning. I baked scones and she brought coffee. We wanted to go over a few details about the fair. She was in a great mood. We'd been working all year to make this fair a success." Her voice trailed off and grew shaky. "I just don't know who could have done this."

  Katy hadn't mentioned their scone breakfast yesterday morning but then there was so much chaos after Henrietta was discovered, it probably slipped her mind.

  "What time was the breakfast?"

  She looked baffled by the question.

  "I'm just trying to create a timeline for yesterday morning. It might help the investigation."

  "The sun was just coming up so it was early, six maybe. Then she left about thirty minutes later. She wanted to get to the fair early to make sure all the last minute details had been taken care of. I stayed behind to feed chickens and finish a few chores. I never saw her again until . . ." She shook her head in disbelief.

  "Right. I remember you were looking for her. That was around eight."

  Katy's face lit with an idea. "I guess that means she was killed somewhere between seven and eight in the morning. Someone who was here early."

  "You'd make a good detective," I told her. The gates had opened and a group of shoppers made a bee-line for Katy's booth. Her wreaths were popular. I leaned over. "Could you put that fall wreath aside for me? I'll be back later to buy it."

  Katy nodded. "That's the one I was going to show you. It'll be perfect for the Cider Ridge Inn."

  "I agree." My phone beeped as I walked away. It was a text from Myrna.

  "Prudence has scheduled a meeting for ten. Sorry, thought she was gone for the morning."

  "I'll head back now." These surprise meetings were going to get old fast.

  Chapter 22

  Prudence looked up from an animated chat with Dave as I walked into the newsroom. "There you are, Sunni. We were waiting for you so we could start the meeting."

  I pulled out my phone and made a show of looking at it. It was four minutes past ten. "Today was opening day for the fair. I got there early to gather information for my story."

  Prue's large diamond ring sparkled as she waved off my comment. "There's plenty of time for that. The fair is open for several days."

  I was starkly aware that Parker was sitting at his desk, arms crossed and a frown set in stone. I glanced his way briefly as I walked to my desk to sit down. Surprisingly, I realized, once I got there, that it was not my desk, the industrial metal monstrosity with two slightly crooked drawers. The desk in my spot was a much nicer maple desk, complete with file drawers and desk blotter. My creaky rolling chair had been replaced by a plush, upholstered chair that gave you the option to adjust the arms, seat and back rest.

  "That's right, Sunni, I hope you don't mind. Dave said he cou
ldn't be so close to the door. He catches cold easily. We put his desk in your spot," Prudence chirruped sweetly as if she was telling me something wonderful.

  My eyes swept back toward Myrna, who was all but hiding behind her monitor. The slightest tilt of her head directed my eyes toward a spot on the wall adjacent to the front door where my desk now sat.

  "We've just got to figure out how to hook up your computer because there are no outlets on that wall," Prudence continued. "I can't believe that a news office could be so ill-equipped. This place has needed me badly."

  My gaze flitted over to Parker. He shrugged lightly to let me know he had no say in the matter.

  "I didn't mean to put you out, Sunni," Dave said. "Maybe I could find a different location for my desk." His suggestion was so half-hearted, I didn't even favor him with a thank you nod.

  "Nonsense, Sunni will be just fine in the new location," Prudence said.

  "As long as you don't expect me to do any actual work," I said snidely. Any subordinate politeness had gone out the door, just like my desk nearly had. "I will need my computer hooked up. In the meantime, I'll just head back to the fair for research."

  "That's where I need to go," Dave said with a hopeful look. It seemed he was waiting for me to give him a ride. It wasn't happening. (Sorry, Lana.)

  "That was one of the reasons I called a meeting. Since Sunni was on site yesterday when the horrible tragedy occurred"—Prudence turned to me with a grin that caused her cheeks to roll up—"I thought you might have some information for Dave since he's writing the story about Henrietta's death."

  It was happening again. Chase Evans was always given the important stories, then he waited for me to hand over anything I'd uncovered. I was ready for it, thanks to Chase.