I turned to Dave with an innocent blink. "Henrietta Lopez was discovered dead inside her quilting booth. The fair was delayed by a day."
Dave, Prudence and the entire office, for that matter, sat silently waiting to hear what else I had.
"Is that all?" Dave asked.
"No, there's more. Katy Michaels makes the most beautiful door wreaths. And they're going to be barbecuing tri-tip for lunch. If you like miniature gardens, the kiosk is one of the first after the entrance."
Dave laughed dryly. "That's hardly information for a story about murder."
"No, it's not. But I'm writing a story about the craft fair. You'll have to find the murder story details yourself."
A laugh fell from Parker's mouth. He quickly covered it with a pretend cough. (I knew it was pretend because the man ate at least half a dozen throat lozenges every day.)
"We're going to have to work more as a team if we want this newsroom to run smoothly," Prudence chimed in. "I'm going to be busy the rest of the afternoon with interviews. I've decided to hire someone to write a fashion and home style column. I have several applicants. I also wanted to let you all know that a contractor will come in to paint and remodel the break room. In the meantime, only a small corner will be available for breaks. I plan on bringing in a long table to create a sort of board room where we can have staff meetings and brainstorm ideas together. If there are no further questions, I'll let my reporting team get out in the field to get great stories. Myrna is working on a new price list for advertisers. Parker, what will you be up to?"
The room fell quiet, and all eyes were on Parker. He looked as if he'd just swallowed a hot chili pepper.
He sputtered for a few seconds, then came up with a reasonable plan. "I'll start the layout for the next edition." He said it all with the enthusiasm of a teenager agreeing to clean their room. I knew he had several different templates ready to go depending on story lengths and advertisements. Normally, while he waited for copy to edit, he'd be selling advertising space and talking on the phone to locals to keep important ties with the community. All those jobs had been taken away, which left him with a great deal of spare time. He was going to have to come up with a plan to look busy. And I was too. Preferably out of the office and in the field, as Prue mentioned.
It seemed the ludicrous meeting that had no real focus was just to let me know my desk had been moved to the proverbial basement and to check in that I was actually working. It seemed I was also expected to help Dave with his story. I had no intention of doing so.
"Well, this has been informative," I said sharply. "I'm heading out. There are candles to sniff and crocheted dog sweaters to examine." I hurried out before Dave could ask for a ride. He was on his own.
Chapter 23
It seemed every time Prudence had a meeting, my job grew more miserable. I was convinced the new owner of the Junction Times wanted me out. So, of course, I was more determined than ever to stay. It was most likely a big mistake, but I was determined to write about the murder. If I turned in a much better story than Dave, Prue would see why my stories sold newspapers. Here I was again, back at square one, having to prove myself.
Before I headed back to the fair, I needed sustenance and a pep talk from my peppy sister. With all the recipe experiments, Emily always had some delicious leftovers in the refrigerator. Aside from a tasty lunch, I needed to let her know what was happening at work, and in particular, with Dave Crockett, Lana's new boyfriend. Deep down, this whole thing seemed like it was destined to get between Lana and me. I absolutely didn't want that to happen. My hopes were that I could get along with Dave, working side by side with him to make Lana happy. But more and more that seemed like an unpleasant proposition. Prudence was fawning over him like a proud mother. I was the ugly stepchild.
Emily's chickens were strutting around the yard looking for tasty insects. The jeep rolling up drew their attention. Some ran toward me, flapping wings, pretending that their insufficient appendages could somehow lift their roly poly middles up into the air and over the heads of their competitors. The excitement died quickly when they realized I'd come empty handed. They turned around on spindly legs and went back to the insect hunt.
I knocked once on Emily's back door and walked inside. No yummy aromas met me, only the all too familiar sound of a hammer smacking a nail. Nick's gray beanie and then his eyes peered around the edge of the pantry cabinet. "Hey, it's the middle sis. What brings you out here?"
Emily's car drove in before I could answer. I'd been in such a muddle, I hadn't even noticed her car was missing.
"I'm here to beg for some leftovers and to vent. Not necessarily in that order."
Nick stepped out of the cabinet. "Uh oh. Does this have anything to do with Dave Crockett?" He laughed. "Still can't get over that name."
"I wish I could say no, but he does seem to be at the center of my forthcoming rant."
Emily stepped inside just as I finished. "There's a forthcoming rant?"
"Maybe not a rant," I said, "just a touch of whining. Nothing one of your luscious creations can't squelch."
"There's some quiche in the fridge. Heats up nicely in the microwave." Emily put her purse down and took off her coat.
"Sounds perfect." I headed to the refrigerator. "Where were you this morning?" I pulled out the pie plate of quiche.
"I was at the fair. I thought I'd see you there."
"I was there this morning, then I got called back to the office for another one of Prudence's nightmare meetings. My desk is now near the door because, it seems, Dave Crockett is not quite as rugged as his namesake. Apparently, he catches cold easily, so he didn't want to be near a draft. Oh, and did I mention that my new desk location comes without an electrical outlet. Guess I'll have to buy an old typewriter." I placed the knife down on the quiche and then moved it over. After saying my woes aloud, I realized I needed a bigger piece.
Nick nodded. "Told you so, Emi."
"Yes, yes, you're the knower of all things," she quipped back. "Sunni, did you tell Prudence the change was unacceptable?"
I stuck the plate into the microwave. I was almost sorry I brought any of it up. I needed to just get past it and focus on the investigation. "I should have but frankly, Em, I'm tired of fighting for my position at that paper. I just need to get through the next year, then I can wave good-bye to the Junction Times."
"I suppose as long as you can manage for the next year, but what about, you know?"
"Lana and Dave? Their relationship definitely puts a twist in all this. It also makes me more determined to just go with the flow."
Nick cleared his throat to remind us he was still in the kitchen. "It does cast a shadow on Dave's character though. I didn't get great vibes from the guy, and I told Emily so."
"And I told you if Lana's happy, then we're happy," Emily said. "But maybe this won't last long," she said. "Gosh, how terrible of me to say that. Lana finally found someone to her liking, and here I am wishing for a quick end to it."
"You're not wishing, you're suggesting." I pulled the plate out of the microwave. The aroma of smoky gouda filled the air. "I would like to suggest it as well. Now, on to lighter subjects? What did you buy at the fair? Did you see Katy?"
"The whole trip was a bust." Emily filled a cup with coffee and joined me at the table. "Apparently, Katy had left around nine to pick up a box of spring wreaths she'd forgotten at home. The jewelry makers in the booth next to hers said she was supposed to come right back, but she never returned. So no wreaths. It seemed like lots of the vendors had closed up their booths for the morning. There were very few shoppers for opening day."
"I think that most shoppers had planned to attend yesterday. The murder cast a shadow over the event. It also messed up people's schedules. It seems strange that Katy never returned. I spoke to her this morning, and she seemed ready to go."
I nibbled down half the quiche, then my mind went back to Katy. "You don't happen to know where Katy Michaels lives, do you?"
"Yes, she ha
s a cute little farm in Hickory Flats. Why do you ask?"
"Not sure. Just my journalist's intuition scratching at me. After I eat, I'll head back to the fair to see if Katy has returned. Otherwise . . ." I decided not to voice my plans out loud, but I'd already said too much. Emily had used her sisterly psychic connections to figure out what I was thinking.
She sat forward. "Do you think Katy is in danger?"
"No," I said emphatically, then softened my stance. "At least I don't think so. I'm sure she'll be back at the fair selling wreaths when I get there. I've already asked her to put aside one of her fall wreaths for me. I'm planning on getting a few so I can change them with the seasons. But if you can give me specifics on how to get to her farm, I'll go out and check on her. But I'll check at the fair first. Chances are she's back in her stand by now."
"It's easy enough to find the farm. It's just off the highway. But don't do anything dangerous, Sunni. One person is already dead."
"Yes, that's why I think it would be prudent to check up on her. I won't do anything dangerous. If she's not at the fair, I'll just give her a quick visit at her farm."
Chapter 24
The other vendors were quite concerned that Katy Michaels had not returned to the fair. Customers were lined up to buy her sought after wreaths, but she couldn't even be reached by phone. Since I had her address, I decided it was best if I didn't alarm the others. I left the fair and headed out to Hickory Flats.
Katy's farmhouse was painted a sunny yellow. The two front doors were adorned with beautiful wreaths of lavender. Her truck was in the driveway, and her chickens were out in the yard, scratching about for goodies. Nothing looked amiss. I climbed the steps to the front porch and knocked. No answer.
My knock brought a cat to the front window. He pushed open the curtain with his head and meowed. I knocked again, louder. No answer. Just in case, I reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting it behind me so the cat couldn't get out. The big, charcoal gray tabby wrapped himself around my legs, purring and letting me know he was hungry. Cats had great internal clocks for mealtime. It seemed Katy had skipped a feeding.
"Katy," I called into the empty house. The front room was filled with boxes of silk leaves, dried flowers and grapevine wreaths all waiting to be turned into one of her magnificent creations. "Katy," I called again. Only the cat responded, with a loud, insistent yowl.
I headed into the kitchen and searched around for some cat food. It was easy enough to find the plastic container of kitty kibble. The cat was very thankful rubbing his head against my arm as I poured the food. My investigative hairs were standing up on the back of my neck. Something was not right.
I looked through the house. It was small with two bedrooms and a bathroom and no sign of Katy. As I headed toward the back door, I noticed a small red barn. The door was slid halfway open.
Adrenaline pumped faster as I raced toward the barn. I had no idea why but I sensed something was terribly wrong. I reached the barn and pushed the door wider to allow more light inside. Katy was facedown and lifeless on the floor. My first instinct was to run to her, but I spun around several times to make sure no one else was lurking in the shadows or the empty stalls.
The coast seemed clear. I pulled out my phone and dialed for an ambulance. I crouched down next to Katy and put my hand on her back to see if there was any movement. Just as I'd expected, there was nothing. Her limbs were limp and her face was turned slightly to the side. Most of it was pressed against the rubber mats on the barn floor.
I surveyed the body and immediately spotted the small stain of blood on Katy's hip. I called Jackson as soon as I was done calling for the ambulance. I got up and walked around, hoping to slow my pulse and heart rate and catch my breath. I'd somehow expected to find Katy in trouble, but it was still a huge shock.
"Hey, Bluebird, I was just about to call and see if you had time for lunch."
"I ate at Emily's, and after I tell you what's happened, you might have to just grab something from the vending machine. I think there's been another murder by injection."
"What? Where are you?"
"I'm at Katy Michaels' farm. She is one of the vendors from the fair. She makes door wreaths. I'm standing in her barn right now. I've called an ambulance, but I'm fairly certain she's dead. And one more thing, Jax. There's a small, red spot of blood on her hip."
"I'm on my way. Now, get out of that barn and back into your jeep. Lock the doors until I get there. Got it?"
"Yes, got it. And hurry."
Chapter 25
Jackson's brow was furrowed as he walked up the pathway to the barn. The medics had already confirmed what I knew. Katy Michaels was dead.
"Tell me you didn't come here, by yourself, to make sure the victim was all right?"
I squeezed a tiny smile. "I could tell you that, but it would be a lie."
He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and looked down at me with an amber gaze that appeared ready to accompany a lecture.
"In my defense, I had no idea I'd find her like this. She wasn't at the fair. Some of the other vendors were worried about her. So I drove out here to see if she needed some help, you know, moving wreaths."
"Moving wreaths?" he asked.
"Katy made decorative wreaths for a living. I can tell you everything I know. Unless you'd rather dwell on me coming out here alone."
"I don't want to dwell on anything. I just want you to stop taking chances."
I followed him into the barn. When he was angry, he tended to take extra long steps. I had to hurry my pace to keep up with him. "A good reporter always takes chances." I added a little hop between steps to stay at his side.
"Then I look forward to you becoming an innkeeper where your most dangerous endeavor will be lighting the fireplace in the reading room."
I stopped short. He walked a few long, strident paces before realizing I wasn't at his side anymore. He turned back. "What's wrong?"
"I've never considered that," I said quietly. I was working through something sudden and intense, the realization that my life would be quite different once the bed and breakfast opened. I'd been a journalist my entire adult life, chasing down stories and, yes, occasionally crossing the line of caution into precarious situations.
"Considered what? Do you know who did this?" He walked back toward me.
"No, not that. I don't know for certain, although I have a few names in my head. No, I've never thought about how much more mundane my life will be once I'm running the inn. My big worries will be keeping reservations straight and deciding if we should put lavender or daisies in the flower vases. There'll be no criminals to chase, no murders to investigate, no big stories to follow. I'll be arranging pumpkin scones on doilies and ironing pillow cases."
"That only just occurred to you?" He nodded for me to follow along again so he could get to the barn.
"I suppose deep down I knew it meant the end to this kind of stuff." I hurried my pace again.
He peered over at me. "This kind of stuff, meaning showing up at craft fairs and farmsteads and finding dead bodies."
We reached the barn. The medics were cleaning up their gear. This was no longer in their hands. The coroner would be called, and the farm would be searched for evidence.
Jackson approached the body. The medics had turned her over to examine her. Her forehead, nose and chin were scraped and spotted with blood and dirt.
"There is a fresh injection hole on her right hip," the paramedic noted. "She's been dead for a few hours."
"Thank you, we'll take it from here." Jackson crouched next to Katy.
Just this morning we'd had a nice conversation, and now she was lifeless and still. Her talented hands would never create a beautiful door wreath again.
Jackson nudged her body. It was growing stiff with rigor mortis settling into her muscles. "Looks like she died the same way as Henrietta Lopez." He pushed to his feet and pulled out his phone. "Jackson here. I'm going to need a
coroner team out at Fifteen Cherry Hill Lane in Hickory Flats. Thanks."
I strolled around the barn with him, looking for things that seemed out of place. Katy kept a neat barn. No animals but the stalls were filled with boxes marked 'silk flowers'.
"What can you tell me about the victim?" he asked.
"Katy Michaels makes door wreaths. They're very popular. Emily had gone to the fair this morning just to buy one of her wreaths. Only she came back empty-handed because when she got to the fair, Katy's kiosk was closed. A neighboring vendor told her she had left at about nine to pick up a box of wreaths she'd forgotten at home. I spoke to Katy early this morning, just before the shoppers were allowed in. She was rightfully anxious because of what happened to Henrietta. Katy is also a member of the Crafting Society. She had already figured out that someone at the fair must have killed Henrietta early, between seven and eight."
"That's about the time frame the coroner gave me. I called Violet Harville in for questioning this morning based on the argument that witnesses overheard. When she's not milking goats and making soap, she's a nurse."
"Yes, that's right. So she has the skills to administer an injection, and she has access to syringes."
Jackson stooped down and picked up a pink silk petal. He glanced around at the boxes. "I suppose it's not too surprising to find a silk flower petal inside this barn."
"No, I'd say it was to be expected."
He stood up and his gaze swept around. "Cleanest barn I've ever been in. Guess that's because there aren't any animals."
"What did Violet have to say?" I asked.
"She said she didn't get to the fair until around eight yesterday morning. She ate breakfast at home. Her husband, who works a night shift, was sleeping, so he couldn't really vouch for her being home at that hour."
"So, no alibi. I remember seeing Violet standing in her kiosk counting change in her cash box. That must have been just before eight and only seconds before Katy discovered Henrietta's body. I don't know what time she arrived."
A Crafty Killing Page 11