"That's what he told Denise because he didn't want to hang out with her."
Lola stopped and took a deep breath. "Oh, Pink, Ryder's too good for me. I'll just get swept up in it all. Then weeks later he'll be sending me the 'I was thinking we should date other people' text. I can't deal with that kind of disappointment."
"You're wrong. Ryder isn't like that."
She turned to me. "No? He broke it off with his last girlfriend the second things got too serious."
"That's because he likes you."
She waved her hand dismissively. "That's because he doesn't know me. End of Ryder discussion. What are we cooking for Elsie tonight?"
"You're going to go with me?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure I no longer have a date, so yeah, I'd like to tag along if you don't mind."
"Not at all. Girls' night it is then."
Chapter 11
It was a relief to see Elsie with color in her cheeks and not writhing in pain. She sat on her kitchen chair with a heating pad tied around her back and belly. Even from the chair, she was still giving orders on how much salt and onion to use for the enchiladas.
"You know, if you dip those corn tortillas in the sauce first, they'll roll up without breaking," Elsie said as she sipped a glass of white wine.
I already knew the pre-dipped tortilla trick but pretended that she had just alerted me to something profound. I rolled the tortilla around the mound of cheese and onions. "You're right. It does work better."
"See. Told you so." Her words were slightly stretched, but she had only had one glass of wine. Then it occurred to me that the magical heating pads weren't working alone.
I glanced back at her just as she took another sip, only it turned into more of a gulp.
"Elsie, just out of curiosity, did you take some pain medication?"
"Me? Never. Wait. Maybe I did. I think Lester gave me something. I was in terrible pain." She took another drink. "But I'm feeling much better." She went to put the glass down on the nearby counter but came up a few inches short. I dropped the tortilla in the sauce and lunged for the wine glass, managing to grab it by the stem before it shattered on the kitchen floor.
"Oops," Elsie said on a comically delayed reaction.
"Oops indeed." I put the glass in the sink. "I'm thinking the wine with the pain pills might have been a mistake."
The doorbell rang.
I wiped my hands on the apron Elsie'd lent me. "That's Lola. She was stopping off to buy some ice cream." I went to the door.
Lola held up two bags. "Couldn't decide between cookies and cream and rocky road, so I bought both. Then I grabbed a vanilla caramel swirl for good measure," she added as she swept past me into the house. "No rain yet but I can feel it in the air."
I followed her to the kitchen.
"How are you feeling, Elsie?" Lola asked.
"Real good," Elsie said, nice and slow. "Really, really good."
Lola never missed anything. She flicked a questioning brow my direction. "Why is she talking like the way molasses sounds coming out of the jar?"
I lifted the wine glass. "I didn't realize she'd had a pain pill before I poured her a glass of wine."
"Ah, that makes sense." Lola put the ice cream in the freezer. "The way I'm feeling, I can probably down all this ice cream in one sitting."
"The way she's feeling?" Elsie asked. "What did I miss? Darn this back of mine."
Lola finished loading in the ice cream and then leaned into the refrigerator for the bottle of wine. "It won't be as good without the pain pills, but I could really use a glass tonight."
"Oh boy, now I really need to hear what happened," Elsie said. "Lola rarely drinks wine. What did I miss?"
I stayed quiet, deciding it was Lola's story to tell. Of course, if she left out key details, I'd be right behind with finishing touches of my own.
Lola poured herself a glass of wine and leaned against the kitchen counter to sip it. "Nothing much except Chuck is a big, slobbering idiot."
"Well, Lola," Elsie piped up, "we already knew that."
Lola looked slightly hurt. "Then why didn't you guys tell me? I thought you were my friends."
I jammed the next enchilada into the tray and turned to her. "Are you kidding me with that right now? I've done everything except wear a great big sign that said 'Chuck is a big, slobbering idiot'."
Lola sank back against the counter. "All right, I'll give you that. You did try to warn me on numerous occasions. That jerk actually broke an end table."
"What a jerk," Elsie repeated. Her words were shortening up. Instead of molasses she was talking like maple syrup. I was sure she'd sleep well tonight regardless, which was probably the best way to heal a bad back.
I finished rolling the last enchilada and put the casserole dish in the oven. Then I turned to Lola. "Are you going to finish your story?"
The heavily painted faces of the Kiss band stared up at me from her black t-shirt as Lola blinked her brown eyes at me. She acted like she didn't have the slightest clue what I was talking about.
"I covered the horrid moment when Chuck destroyed the end table, leading me to the conclusion that he was a jerk."
Elsie clapped. "Good for you. How did you get rid of him? Did you tell him to bug off?"
I crossed my arms. "Yes, Lola, how did you get rid of Chuck?"
Lola harrumphed loudly. "O.K. Ryder stepped up to Chuck and told him to leave." She pushed her hand to her chest and looked at me. "My heart was pounding. I was so worried that Ryder was going to get hurt. But he just stood there with his broad shoulders firm and his manly jaw set tight."
Elsie clapped again. The habit was new and funny. The usually strident, in control Elsie had been replaced by her much giddier doppelganger. I was enjoying this lighter version. "Good for Ryder. That boy is a peach." She pointed at Lola . . . sort of. "You should not let that boy slip away. A guy like that, like my Hank, comes around only once in a lifetime, and sometimes, never in a lifetime." Elsie drifted off for a second into some daydream that was making her grin like a schoolgirl. "Did I tell you Hank insisted he would hop on the next plane home when Lester called to tell him I'd hurt my back? He's all the way in Scotland right now. He was just going to drop everything and come home. But I told him I'd be up and about by tomorrow selling cupcakes and that it would be a wasted trip home. Still, he's such a dear."
"You're a lucky woman, Elsie," I said. "But I think you better let me sell those cupcakes tomorrow. If you don't let your back heal completely, you're just going to find yourself right back where you were today."
"Pink's right, Elsie. We'll make sure the rest of your cupcakes get sold."
"Oh, I can't ask that of you girls again," Elsie insisted.
"Yes you can. That's what friends are for." I picked up the dinner preparation dishes to wash. "Are the Sunday cupcakes in the bakery refrigerator?"
"Yes, four trays. Are you sure? It probably would be good for me to rest another day."
"Absolutely," I said. "I'm looking forward to it. It's fun to watch people's faces when they take their first bite of an Elsie cupcake."
The wine had really gotten to her. It was the first time I'd ever seen Elsie get teary eyed. "You two are the best." She sniffled once and took a deep breath. "But, Lola, I'm never going to talk to you again if you let that Ryder slip away."
"Boy, that went in a direction I wasn't expecting," Lola quipped. She took a sip of wine. "Elsie, first I have to have him before I can even worry about him slipping away."
Chapter 12
Since a few hours of cold rain had left the trees laden with big water drops, Kingston took one flight around the neighborhood for his Sunday morning 'drive through the country' and was pecking at the front window seconds later. I opened the front door. He marched past me, on clickety-clacking talons, his wings tucked back and his beak out straight, almost as if he couldn't believe I'd let him out in the first place. He hopped back onto the perch in his cage and spun around to skewer me with an a
ngry glare.
"I apologize, your highness. I forgot you don't like to get your feathers wet. Just so you know, members of your species are not usually quite so fussy. They also don't get warm, hard-boiled eggs every Sunday morning. I know that shocks you but it's true. Just ask a few of them next time you're out pretending to be a bird."
I tossed a few of his favorite treats in his cage and locked him in. I'd decided long ago it went against nature to leave a bird free in the house with a cat on the prowl. Not that Nevermore did much prowling, but I didn't want to take the chance.
Nevermore was deeply involved in a paw licking session as I grabbed my purse and phone and headed out the door. The storm had blown through as a short, temperamental burst of rain, wind and thunder. But by dawn, the sky had cleared of clouds and the wind had exhausted itself to a light breeze. I zipped up my sweatshirt and climbed into my car.
Lola would already have been at the flea market for several hours. She had to bring a few things back out to the town square, but after more wine, cheese enchiladas and a disgraceful amount of ice cream, she decided she would leave most of the things behind in the shop. She'd concluded that if it didn't sell on the first day, then it probably wouldn't be flying off the shelf on day two. And whatever she had left at the end of the day had to be hauled back to the shop. I, on the other hand, had only four trays of cupcakes to transport and set up at Elsie's table. And I was certain I wouldn't have anything left but the empty trays at the end of the day.
Heavy jewels of water sparkled like rainbow diamonds on the lush grass of the Graystone Cemetery, making it far more cheery than a graveyard had a right to be. The entire town, shop fronts, sidewalks, streets and all, looked clean and freshly washed as I headed down Harbor Lane to the bakery. I parked out front.
Lester had taken the time to cover Elsie's brand new wicker furniture with the tarp covers she'd purchased. He had stopped by for a plate of enchiladas and to check on his sister before heading off to a poker game with his friends. He'd mentioned that he was only going to open the Coffee Hutch for two hours so he could go back to Elsie's and take care of her.
I pulled the keys Elsie had given me out of my pocket and pushed them into the lock. On clear days, especially Sundays when the town was all but deserted, noise and voices carried easily. I heard the clamor of the people and activity down in the town square. For a brief second, I was sure I heard a short burst of a police siren. I might very well have imagined it.
I walked inside the bakery and took four trips out to the car with trays of cupcakes. Elsie had them packed perfectly with little plastic domes to protect the luscious mountain of frosting on each cake. I placed two trays side-by-side in the trunk and the other two securely on the back seat. Then I locked up and drove down to the town square.
In my quest for the most convenient parking spot, one that would give me the shortest, simplest route to the cupcake table, I failed to notice that Officer Chinmoor's squad car was parked by the Pickford lighthouse until the spinning red light caught my attention.
I searched around and saw the person I was looking for. Briggs was wearing the gunmetal gray suit that always looked good with his complexion. (Wow, my mind went straight to that superfluous detail before I could stop it. Nevertheless, it was a very good color on him.)
Briggs was talking to, of all people, Marty Tate. Marty was bundled in a thick gray sweater, red scarf and bright yellow rain hat, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I rushed to carry the first tray to the table, hoping Lola could quickly fill me in on whatever excitement I'd missed while waiting for my bird to firm up his Sunday agenda.
Lola was busy with a customer as I reached the table. It seemed she was going to be occupied for a few minutes, so I raced back and grabbed the next tray. Briggs was talking to someone wearing a fuzz trimmed coat, the hood pulled up over their head. The person turned slightly to the side. It was Greta, one of the art students, the one Denise had mentioned was jealous about Letty's success.
I was so busy twisting back to watch the scene at the lighthouse, my toe hit the edge of the sidewalk. I took several dramatic, faltering steps forward, cupcake tray and all. It seemed my clumsy show had grabbed everyone's attention. They were happy to give me a round of applause when I came out of the near calamity with all cupcakes safe and still wearing their buttercream helmets.
Lola congratulated me on the save as I reached the table. "Well done, and I only briefly had my hand on my phone ready to snap the picture if you went facedown in the cupcakes."
"Gee thanks, buddy."
"Hey, that kind of stuff is Instagram gold."
"Okay, fill me in. What's going on over there?"
"Over where?" Lola straightened up a row of rustic, old cow bells she had brought down to the sale. They clanged as she arranged them in size.
"Seriously? You really don't make note of anything unless you're in the center of it, do you?" I took hold of her shoulders and turned her gently around toward the lighthouse. "The police activity? Officer Chinmoor's patrol car with the glaring red light spinning on top?"
Lola turned back to her bell arrangement. "Please. Chinmoor turns on his alarm when a group of seagulls has landed on the picnic tables."
"But Briggs is there too." Briggs had out his adorable, nifty notepad, his nod to a less techie time. He was talking to a man who looked to be in his thirties. The top half of his long dark hair was pulled back and knotted into a man bun. The unusual hairdo made him easy to recognize as one of the people I saw painting the lighthouse. "It looks like he's talking to the people from the art class."
Lola glanced back briefly to assure me she was highly disinterested in the topic. She pulled a green pillbox hat with a black bow out from under the table. "Look what I found hidden amongst Fiona's treasures. Isn't it adorable?" She pulled off the black cap she was wearing and pushed the green hat down onto her red curls. "And green is the best color for my hair."
"It's very Jackie O. I'm surprised you allowed yourself to shop at the enemy's table."
Fiona was busy rearranging the last few items she had left. It seemed she was spreading them out to make her leftover inventory look more impressive than it actually was.
Lola took off the pillbox hat. "I think the ice cream coma last night helped me reach a moment of zen in my life. I'm not going to fret about little things anymore. Besides, I had to swallow my pride when I saw this amazing hat."
"I guess we all have our breaking points. I've got two more trays in the car."
Lola's footsteps plodded behind me. "I'll grab the second one. It's slow this morning. I think everyone knows the good stuff was bought up yesterday. I've told Mayor Price many times that the flea market should only be for one day."
I heard Lola rattling on about the flea market, but my focus was on the activity across the street. Briggs' face flashed my direction, and we had one of those moments where it seemed our gazes had both been caught up in the same magnetic field. He stared at me a few seconds before nodding politely. I nodded back.
I handed Lola a tray and pulled out the second one.
"You should go over and ask your boyfriend what's happening."
"My boyfriend? You're being especially annoying this morning." We trekked across the grass and pathway to the cupcake table.
Lola picked up one of the lemon cupcakes. "My tip for helping. And you, my opinionated friend, are quick to give me advice about men. But you put up a big brick wall if I try to shower any man wisdom your way."
"That's the problem. It's hardly wisdom." Before she could answer with her acerbic wit, I answered for her and with a good dose of contrition. "No, you're absolutely right, Lola. I'm always sticking my million dollar nose into your business, and you have every right to point out my hypocrisy on the matter."
A short laugh shot from her mouth. "So you admit that Detective Briggs is your boyfriend?"
"Now you're just being crazy."
"I'll take that as a denial with yes undertones." Lola stepped
back behind her table.
I stared back at the scene by the lighthouse.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Lola said sharply. "Go find out what's happening. I can watch the cupcake table."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. And say hello to your boyfriend," she fired at my back as I hurried off.
Officer Chinmoor and several uniformed officers from Mayfield seemed to be searching for something on the marina and pier. Briggs had just finished up with the man from the art group. He was going through his notes as I walked up behind him.
"Lose something?" I asked. "Or are you guys out on a scavenger hunt?"
Briggs turned to me and a hint of a smile appeared. When he was on duty, he kept them to a minimum, but he always managed a quick, tilted one for me. "Miss Pinkerton, good morning."
I was also always Miss Pinkerton when he was on official business.
"Why are the officers looking in empty boats and behind kiosks?"
"One of the members of the art class is missing. Her car is the blue sedan on the west side of the town square. The group showed up this morning and noticed her car was here, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her phone goes right to voicemail." He looked at his notes. "Scarlet Clark, but she goes by Letty. No one has seen her since last night around midnight after everyone had dinner at Franki's. They had been out here painting the stormy coast. They headed into the diner around ten and stayed there talking and eating until close to midnight."
"Are you suspecting foul play?"
"Not yet. It's too early for that. Hilda is busy contacting the list of family and friends her classmates were able to pull together. She'll probably show up with one of them. It's entirely possible she was having car trouble and called someone to pick her up."
"I'm sure you're right. Well, if you're in the mood for a red velvet cupcake, I'm the cupcake lady this morning."
"Elsie's still off her feet?"
Tulips and Trouble Page 6