by Emma Belmont
“An autopsy,” Jayde whispered. “The coroner said there would have to be one.”
Maris nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. “Yes, that would be standard. The same was required for my aunt.” Jayde looked up at her. “The sheriff will be in touch with the results. Hopefully soon.”
“Your aunt?” Jayde asked.
Maris told her the story of the suspicious fire and her aunt’s heart attack. “It’s why I came back to Pixie Point Bay,” Maris said, with a little smile, “and then I never left.”
At that moment, they both heard footsteps on the stairs and Mikhail appeared in the doorway. Though he’d been headed toward the buffet, he stopped in mid-stride when he saw Jayde. Though his nose was no longer red, it still appeared to be a bit swollen. He came directly to her and offered his hand. When she took it, he bowed his head a little.
“Please accept my sincere condolences,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
When he straightened, there was an awkward moment as neither of them seemed to want to look at each other. Finally Mikhail took a step back and said, “In the old country we have a saying. You cannot hide an awl in a sack.” He smiled a little at Maris’s quizzical look and then at Jayde. “It is no secret that your husband and I had our disagreements. My job is to promote art, and his was to critique it. It naturally brought us into conflict.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But that is all. I never bore him ill will.”
“I know,” was all Jayde said.
Seemingly satisfied, Mikhail went to the buffet and when he returned, Maris was surprised to see that he’d brought a plate for Jayde.
“Please,” he said, taking a seat. “It would do me good to see you take a bite.” She seemed about to protest, but he added. “Just one and I will trouble you no further.”
“Cookie’s Breakfast Pie in a Skillet is my absolute favorite,” Maris said, smiling as she stood. She set the chair back in place. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve had to learn to push myself away from the table.”
She took her plate to the door but waited just long enough to see Jayde take a bite of the Breakfast Pie. As she left the room, she nodded to herself. That had been good of Mikhail. Though she would have liked nothing better than to have peppered him with questions about the evening and his relationship with Langston, she wouldn’t do that in front of Jayde.
In the kitchen, Cookie was already loading the dishwasher, and Maris helped her. As Cookie rinsed, Maris loaded. “I was thinking of visiting Magical Finds today,” Maris said, matter-of-factly.
“Were you?” Cookie said, in a matching tone. “Shopping for something in particular?”
“No, not really,” Maris said, taking a bowl from her and putting it in the bottom rack. “Just some window shopping.”
“Uh huh,” Cookie said, passing her a plate. “Maybe you’ll run into Aurora Puddlefoot.”
“Maybe,” Maris said, smiling a little, “maybe.”
Cookie dried her hands on a dish towel. “Well then, while you’re out, would you pick up some sandwiches for lunch?”
“Of course,” Maris said, closing the dishwasher and accepting the towel from Cookie. “What did you have in mind?”
“An assortment,” the chef said. “I doubt that Jayde will feel like going out, and Bear will be stopping by later to help me with some landscaping.”
“An assortment sounds great,” Maris agreed. Adding sandwiches for Bear pretty much doubled the order. Their burly handyman had an appetite that matched his outsized proportions. “I’ll pick them up on my way home.”
9
Maris was lucky enough to find a parking spot directly in front of Magical Finds, an enormous building—and former inn—that occupied a corner lot on the Towne Plaza. Three stories tall, it was painted a pretty sky blue and trimmed in white around its many tall bay windows. Vintage signage in dark green and gold hung on both sides of the front double doors. As Maris opened one, a small bell attached to a spring at the top of it chimed.
Inside, Maris had to pause. The interior matched the impressive exterior.
“Wow,” she muttered.
The expansive first floor must have once been an immense lobby. As far as the eye could see, it was stocked with all manner of merchandise being perused by a number of shoppers. She wandered over to the racks of postcards that stood to one side. One entire carousel was devoted to antique pictures of men and women in Victorian dress strolling past the town’s various establishments. Several showed women in ornate hats and dresses posing in front of the gift store when it was an inn.
On the wall behind the postcards Maris was delighted to see some examples of Clio Hearst’s work. One of them even featured Claribel. Next to the paintings were maps of the area, and a small antique bookcase with volumes about Pixie Point Bay and the environs. A particularly pretty binding caught Maris’s eye: The Magic of Pixie Point Bay.
“Hmm,” she murmured, picking it up. She turned to the introduction.
A walk along the rocky shore of Pixie Point Bay is unlike any other. Otters frolic among the waves, some floating on their backs and beating the oysters on their stomachs with small rocks to get at the tender meat. A misty blow of air signals the presence of a dolphin…
With just a tinge of disappointment, she replaced the book on the shelf. For a fraction of a second, she thought she’d read about the magic folk.
But then Bustles and Parasols, the Clothing and Accoutrements of the American Woman got her attention. This book, Maris noted, was filled with fine color illustrations of various types of feminine attire, from bonnets and gloves to bodices and boots. As she flipped through the pages, she could imagine it on a shelf in the library where visitors to the B&B might find it interesting. She took it with her.
Past the books, she spied a few aisles filled with toys, both modern and vintage. Radio controlled cars sat next to wooden hobby horses, and modern board games were stacked next to a range of dolls from yesteryear. Maris had to smile. It was both an education in current toys and a trip down memory lane. At the back, a young girl was trying a hula hoop under her mother’s supervision.
Finally though, Maris reached the stairs and, with Aurora nowhere in sight, she decided to climb.
Unlike the first floor, which had been an open area, the second story contained hallways, rooms and suites. Men’s suits, dress shirts, and ties occupied the first room, along with tuxedos and dinner jackets. Other rooms held ball gowns and evening dresses, as well as slacks, business suits, and blouses. Several women were browsing the racks of casual wear. Then came the children’s clothing.
“Amazing,” Maris said.
Like Aurora herself, it was an eclectic and beautiful selection of goods.
Once again at the end of the floor, she took the stairs.
Rooms and hallways marked the third floor as well, but larger this time—maybe former presidential suites. This was apparently the furniture level. Different areas displayed furnishings for different rooms of a home—inlaid dining room tables and elegant chairs, canopied beds and convertible sofas, all in styles from rustic to modern Danish. A young couple was trying out a sectional couch, and some kids were playing hide and seek among the recliners. But as Maris moved on and the sound of their laughter faded, she heard a familiar voice—and the one she’d been hunting. When she turned the corner, she saw that she’d found the appliance section.
Aurora, dressed in a plum colored, floor length skirt, and violet jacket with long, Oriental sleeves, was talking with a middle-aged couple among the outdoor grills. As she had last evening, she also wore a head wrap, which accentuated her elaborate makeup.
“We’re having a family reunion in a couple of weeks,” the man with a receding hairline said. “Relatives coming from all over. First time we’ve hosted such a thing.”
“We don’t want to take any chances,” the woman said. “We don’t want anything to go wrong.”
The man nodded. “The old grill–”
“Cann
ot be trusted,” Aurora finished for him. “All things have a useful life.”
“We want something that will cook more evenly,” the woman said.
Again the man nodded. “Not something that burns steaks on the edges but leaves them rare in the middle.”
Aurora indicated the large gleaming grill in front of them, its cover finished in brick red enamel. “You need look no further. Six burners, thirty-thousand BTUs, propane fuel, with electronic ignition.” She rolled open the cover. “Two shelves, self-cleaning, a built-in rotisserie, and a warming area on the side. You can cook eight steaks at a time, with room to spare for corn on the cob, burgers, and hot dogs. Presto, just like that.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “How much is this one?”
Aurora picked up the price tag from where it was tied to one of the burner dials. She showed it to them. The man gave a low whistle. “We hadn’t really counted on spending that much.”
“But you are interested in quality,” Aurora said to them.
“Definitely,” the man answered, “it’s just that…”
“It’s so beautiful,” his wife said. “And we wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Picture it in your backyard,” Aurora said, “or the garden, or on the patio. Simply add this to your get-together, and presto, you are entertaining.” She paused for a moment. “The price includes delivery.”
“I like it,” the woman said. She looked at her husband. “Up to you, honey.”
He gazed longingly at it, then burst into a smile. “Let’s do it.” Without another word, he took out his wallet and handed over his credit card.
Maris’s eyebrows rose. That was quick.
“Thank you,” Aurora said, leading them to the cash register where she rang up the purchase. Maris followed at a discreet distance but hung back so as not to be seen.
But when the couple departed with their receipt, Aurora closed the cash register drawer and looked directly at her, though she was partially hidden by a refrigerator.
“Good morning,” Aurora said to her. “Are you shopping or just…listening?”
Maris grinned and stepped out. “Both,” she said, showing her the book she’d selected. “Good morning.”
Aurora took it and looked at the price. “A fine choice,” she said. She opened the front flap and showed Maris the row of numbers at the bottom of the copyright page. She pointed to the number one. “First edition.”
“Oh,” Maris exclaimed. “How nice.” She took the wallet from her purse. “You have a wonderful shop here. I can’t believe the enormous selection.” She handed over the credit card. “I also can’t believe this is my first visit. It certainly won’t be my last.”
“Thank you,” Aurora said, smiling broadly and inclining her head. “Aurora appreciates your kind words—and your timing.”
Maris had to grin. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in what happened last night.”
Aurora gave her back her card, as well as a pen and a receipt. “Naturally.”
“Ms. Puddlefoot,” said a man’s voice. “And Maris.” She turned to see Mac McKenna approaching. “Why am I not surprised to find you here,” he said to her.
“Because I have discerning taste.” She took the book from the counter and showed it to him. Aurora handed her the receipt, which she tucked between the pages.
“Ah,” Mac said, smiling. “Of course.” Then he turned to Aurora. “Would you mind answering a few questions about last night?”
“Of course,” she said. “Aurora has been expecting you.”
Maris watched as Mac processed Aurora’s third person referral to herself. “You’ve been expecting me?”
“Aurora, after all, was one of the attendees. And she did have a row with that awful man.”
Maris smiled. “Then I’ll be on my way.”
“No need to leave on Aurora’s account,” the woman said. “She has nothing to hide and no secrets…” She glanced at Mac. “At least not concerning last evening.”
Of course, Maris would like nothing better than to stay, but she also didn’t want to overstep her bounds.
Mac must have seen her hesitate. “If Ms. Puddlefoot doesn’t mind,” he said, “I don’t mind. You were a witness as well.”
“In that case,” Aurora said, “That settles it.”
10
Maris and Mac followed Aurora to her office, which seemed to have been one of the few rooms of the inn to have been preserved as a suite. Located at the front of the building, its tall, narrow windows looked down on the Towne Plaza. Though the gabled roof gave the room a slanted ceiling between the windows, that was the only trace of its Victorian origin. They’d entered into the sitting room of the suite, which had been completely modernized and updated as an office. Sleek desks and chairs with a minimalist design were accompanied by computers, printers, a xerox machine, and a water cooler. Two employees, who sat at the computers, looked up as they entered.
“Aurora would like to be undisturbed in the break room,” she said to them, and they simply smiled and nodded before getting back to work. As she ushered the sheriff and Maris into an adjoining kitchen, Aurora said, “The bookkeeper and Aurora’s secretary.”
A few round, gleaming white tables with matching chairs occupied one half of the room, while the far wall had a refrigerator, shelves of glass containers with snacks of all types, and a sink and counter with a coffee maker and hot water pot.
“Aurora would like some tea,” she said, gesturing for them to sit. “Would you like tea, coffee, water or a soda?”
“Tea sounds lovely,” Maris answered, taking a seat.
“No thank you,” Mac said, going to the tall windows and looking down.
Maris regarded the exotically dressed woman amid the white minimalism. “I must say Aurora, your offices aren’t exactly what I’d expected.”
The store owner filled a glass teapot with an infuser and hot water. “Perhaps you thought to find gypsy wagons and crystal balls.”
Maris laughed. “Not exactly,” she said, though she wouldn’t have been surprised either.
The sheriff turned from the window and took the notepad from his breast pocket. “Let’s begin with the argument between you and Langston Spaulding last night at the art exhibit.”
Aurora brought the teapot to the table where Maris sat. “Aurora has a temper. She readily admits that, and sometimes it gets out of control.” She returned to the counter and took two glass mugs and a small container of sugar packets, honey sticks, and plastic stirrers.
“Is that what happened at the exhibit?” Mac asked.
“There were, shall we say, extenuating circumstances,” the shopkeeper said as she returned to the table and set down the cups and condiments.
“And what would those have been?” Mac asked.
Aurora poured two cups of tea. “That wasn’t Aurora’s first run-in of the day with Langston Spaulding. He and his wife were here mid-morning.”
Maris took a little sniff from her cup: Earl Grey with its spicy citrus aroma. She selected one of the honey sticks, snapped it open, and poured it in.
“Why were they here?” Mac asked, walking over to the table, though he remained standing.
“To shop, of course.” Aurora took a seat. “His wife perused several of the ladies’ fashion rooms, particularly the evening dresses.” She sipped her tea and looked at Maris. “The woman has excellent taste in clothing, if not men,” she said, almost as an aside. “Unfortunately her husband was with her. It was a mistake to allow him in.”
“What did he do?” Maris asked.
“He mocked Aurora’s merchandise. He criticized everything. The words ‘junk’ and ‘trash’ were bandied about.” She set her tea down and cupped her hands around it. “Other customers noticed him, and were put off.” She jutted out her chin as she looked up at Mac. “Aurora is the owner and sole proprietor of Magical Finds and reserves the right to deny service to anyone at any time.” With a little nod, she added, “Aurora told him to
leave.”
“And what did he do?” Mac asked.
“The boor refused,” she said, her voice rising. “Refused! It was then that he became highly insulting to Aurora personally. As Aurora told Maris, he asked her if her makeup was inspired by Ronald McDonald or Bozo.”
Mac’s eyebrows rose as he made a note. “I assume he did leave though.”
“Only because his wife did,” Aurora said, calming down. “That poor woman was so embarrassed and uncomfortable. She almost ran from the shop. He had no choice but to follow her.”
Based on what little Maris had observed of them together, and Jayde alone, she could easily picture it.
“The art exhibit,” Mac said, as he finished jotting down a note. “That was the next time you saw him.”
“Yes,” she said grimacing. “He was berating Clio Hearst’s work. In Aurora’s opinion, Clio is a very talented artist. In fact, you may have noticed that several of Clio’s paintings are on display at Magical Finds.”
“I saw them on the first floor,” Maris said.
Aurora nodded. “She’s an excellent artist who barely scrapes by. She makes ends meet by teaching art, both in Pixie Point Bay and in Cheeseman Village.”
“Her art was on exhibit,” Mac said, bringing the discussion back on point.
“Aurora was looking at it when that boor came up to her and asked why she was spending time with the doodlings of a child.” Her voice was rising again. “Aurora should have walked away from him, but she was still angry about their earlier encounter. It’s one thing to attack Aurora, and another to attack someone she admires. Words were said. Accusations were flung. In hindsight Aurora realizes that the fool was being purposefully annoying.”
“And what happened next?” the sheriff asked.
“The art dealer who represents Clio, the Russian man, he tried to intervene. For his trouble, he got a bloody nose.” She took a sip of her tea.
“Mikhail Galkin,” Maris said. “Do you know who hit him?”
The shopkeeper shook her head, making her platinum braids sway. “Aurora truly doesn’t know. It happened in the heat of the moment, and very quickly.”
