Cherry Scones & Broken Bones

by Darci Hannah

  “Toto,” he said as my own reflection stared back at me on the surface of his impenetrable blue lenses. “We’re not in Kansas anymore. Don’t take this the wrong way, angel, but I think I’ve just met my new best friend.”

  Forty

  W e stood before the arched slab of oak that answered for a door, wondering if Alexa was in residence. A moment later our question was answered by a youngish woman in yoga pants and a bright pink tee. She was the housekeeper, she explained in a Polish accent. She stood in the foyer with us while she sent a text to her employer. A moment later she looked up from her screen. “Come to the sitting room. Ms. Livingstone will be with you in a moment.”

  The room we were taken to was like a small cathedral. A network of thick, arched beams held up the vaulted ceiling while light poured into the room from tall arched windows. Aside from exquisite furniture and tasteful decorations, the focal point in the room was the giant fieldstone fireplace. Giff, marveling at the grandeur of his surroundings, grinned impishly and plopped down in a leather chair fit for a king. I ignored him and chose a spot on the upholstered couch. Although the walls were covered in fine works of art, I couldn’t detect Alexa’s recent portrait among them. I was about to comment as much to Giff when Alexa swept into the room. Her housekeeper brought up the rear, carrying a tray of refreshments.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” she said, although she looked more shocked than pleased. I noticed that she’d changed from her nautical-inspired outfit of the morning to a more relaxed ensemble of loose-cut capris and billowy sleeveless top.

  “I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for news about Fred. Oh, hello,” she said as Gifford appeared from behind the leather chair. “I thought you’d come alone, Whitney. I heard about Tate last night,” she added coyly. “But I see you have a new friend with you today.” With a look of appreciation, she turned her attention to the fashion-forward male beside me.

  “Old friend,” Giff clarified, extending a hand. “Gifford McGrady. And, for the record, I’m not into girls.” A quick head-bob to me and he jumped right in with, “Women, however, are another matter. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like a woman who thrives in luxurious surroundings. I believe we’re kindred spirits. Is there, by chance, a Mr. Livingstone?”

  Whatever Giff was doing, it was working like a charm. Alexa was a tall woman and could meet Giff eye-to-eye. Her youthful appearance may have been manufactured, but her smile as she looked at him was genuine.

  “He died years ago, I’m afraid. I never remarried.”

  “I’m certain you’ve had plenty of offers, though. Am I correct?”

  Alexa giggled. “I did. But I had the money to protect, you see. For my daughter. I’ve heard stories of women getting remarried only to be fleeced by their new husbands. Besides, I was too busy running my own business.”

  “You worked in Chicago, didn’t you?” I asked.

  Alexa directed us to sit back down as her housekeeper set the tray of refreshments on the coffee table. She picked up the pitcher of iced tea and began filling three glasses. “I had my own interior design firm in Chicago,” she affirmed. “I started it when Evie, my daughter, went off to grade school.” She took a long sip of her iced tea and leaned back in her chair, reminiscing. “I’ve always had a knack for interior design and did it more as a hobby. Then, finding myself with a little more time on my hands, and encouraged by my late husband, I decided to open a shop.”

  Alexa paused a moment to soak in her surroundings. “It still amazes me, the fact that I had come from virtually nothing to all this. But it wasn’t without hard work. And it wasn’t until I started attracting more high-end clients on Chicago’s Gold Coast, plus the North Shore people, that it really started to take off. The company grew by leaps and bounds. When I was finally ready to retire, it was worth a fortune.”

  “I’ll bet,” Giff said, hanging on her every word.

  Classic Giffster, I thought, and caught myself before I shook my head in disapproval. “Is that where you met Silvia Lumiere?” I asked.

  Alexa’s attention shifted to me. “Yes. Silvia was just starting out then too. It was a man’s world back then in Chicago, but we had our own gifts and knew how to go after what we wanted. The moment I met Silvia I knew we were destined to work together. She was marvelous. Her mere presence oozed class, but it was nothing compared to what her portraits and paintings did for my clients. I helped her build her name and reputation. She helped me by working with my clients to create original works of art for their stately homes. We had the perfect partnership.”

  Recalling the magnificent antique furniture Tay had been drooling over in Silvia’s trailer, I asked, “Did you decorate Silvia’s home as well?”

  “Of course. She had marvelous taste. When she was married she spent quite a lot of her husband’s money on rare antiques and costly décor.”

  “And did you know about her penchant for younger men?” I asked.

  Alexa’s glossy brown head tilted as a puzzled expression appeared on her bright red lips. She might have thought of lying, but ultimately decided against it. “There were a lot of things about Silvia that I didn’t particularly care for. But it was none of my business.”

  I studied her as she said this, and offered, “Because yours was more of a business relationship, wasn’t it?”

  Her injected lips curled slightly, but the smile never appeared. “If you’re asking were we kindred spirits like Mr. McGrady here and myself, then the answer would be no. We were friends, but you are correct. Business was our common ground. Truthfully, I don’t really know if that woman was capable of making any deep friendships. I always found it a bit sad.”

  “But you put up with her anyway,” I ventured, believing I understood how she felt, “because she was good for business.”

  “Remember the little talk we had at your inn?” she asked me. I recalled very well how she’d told me to turn a blind eye to Silvia’s bad behavior for the greater good. “She had you in tears,” Alexa gently reminded me. “I can’t tell you how many times the same happened to me. But I realized very early on in my career that sometimes people come into your life for reasons we can’t explain. Silvia always challenged me. I could have shown her the door many times. But my own style and business would have suffered terribly for it. She pushed me to be better.”

  “And you suffered her friendship for the greater good?”

  Alexa smiled. “No. For my own good. But Silvia stopped working on corporate accounts years ago. Then around six years ago I ran into her again. She confided to me how she was struggling financially. I had just built this place here and was about to retire. That’s when I thought that maybe I could do something good for the old girl one last time.”

  Giff leaned in. “You brought her here and introduced her to the arts council,” he remarked. “You wanted to make Silvia feel important again.”

  “Exactly,” she said, smiling at him. “I suppose I thought she’d be grateful, and she was. We were nearly on our way to becoming the friends I always imagined we could be. But then she was so brutally murdered.” Her brown eyes, cradled in fine lines, shot to me. “I was so angry with you, Whitney. I thought for sure you’d done it. It was the scones. Silvia loved them so.”

  “Well, I have to admit that I was very close to snapping. But I’m not a murderer.” This I proclaimed with confidence, totally omitting the few hours when I’d feared I might have done the deed in my sleep. “The reason we came here, Alexa, is because we’d like to look at the portrait Silvia painted of you. Yours was the last one delivered before her death. It might be helpful to take a peek at it.”

  Her expertly painted on brows rose. “Oh? Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible. It’s not here.”

  Giff rested his arms on the thick armrests and leaned forward. “Where is it?”

  Alexa smiled breezily. “Out there.” She pointed to the back of her h
ouse. “It’s on my boat. Silvia’s death has shaken me to the core, so I thought I’d get away for a week or so and visit some friends on Mackinac Island. I’m packing the boat up now. I couldn’t bear to leave the portrait here, so I’m taking it with me.”

  Giff, charmed by the thought of a visit to Mackinac Island, jumped to his feet. “Need a first mate?” he offered.

  Alexa stood as well. “Tempting. But I prefer to sail alone with a very small staff. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to packing. Paulina will walk you to the front door.”

  Just then, the Polish housekeeper appeared. “Follow me please.”

  Seized with panic, I jumped to my feet. “Can I please just take a quick look at your portrait?”

  Alexa shook her head. “Too messy, I’m afraid. The galley is being stocked, fresh linen has just come aboard, and the engine room is currently undergoing a preventive tune-up. I’ll be happy to show it to you when I come back, though. Good day,” she said, and walked out of the room, disappearing toward the back of the house. I started after her, catching a glimpse out the back windows of the magnificent house—of the broad stone patio, the expanse of green lawn and the long white pier with a stately mini-yacht moored beside it—when a strong grip seized my arm.

  “Follow me, please,” Paulina said in no uncertain terms, pulling me back the way I had come. “The lady said, no look at painting now.”

  Forty-One

  “Swingin’ dingles!” I exclaimed. “I want to see that painting now more than ever!”

  Tay, holding the other end of the giant cooler, shook her head. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s private property, Whit. Alexa literally doesn’t have to show it to you if she doesn’t want to, and there’s really nothing you can do about it. Besides, Peter just told you that Alexa’s unveiling went smoothly. Great food, lots of friends, silence when the portrait was revealed, and then applause. He said that the painting looked fine to him, and that Alexa was the perfect hostess.”

  We were all back at the inn preparing for operation Tate Night, as Hannah was now calling it. Although Mom, Grandma Jenn, and Dad would stay at the inn while we sailed in search of Tate, Mom and Gran had stuffed two giant coolers full of enough food and drink to last an entire week. Dad had gassed up his newly repaired cabin cruiser and made sure everything was perfect for our evening mission. While my family did their part, the rest of us loaded supplies onto the cabin cruiser while waiting for Jack to arrive.

  The boat was all packed and everyone was aboard, nibbling on Gran’s homemade Chex Mix and drinking bottled sodas, as the sun sank lower in the western sky. We were still moored to the dock. I was in the captain’s chair with Giff sitting next to me, mulling over our recent visit to Alexa’s McMansion. Giff’s take on it all was entirely different than mine. He assured me that the woman was still upset by the painter’s death.

  “It’s natural to want to get away,” he told me. “And who wouldn’t want to get away on a sweet baby yacht like that?” The fact that she was taking the portrait with her was a good sign. He then pointed out that it was the last commission Silvia would ever paint for Alexa, and it must have very special meaning for her.

  “You’re just mad she didn’t let you snoop around her palatial home.” He grinned spitefully before downing another fistful of Chex Mix. “And you were being snoopy,” he said accusingly. “You pulled a full-out Nancy Drew on her. Some people don’t find that as charming as we do, angel. You’re not a cop, and it’s obvious she doesn’t trust you. Maybe because you baked the scone that killed Silvia.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I shot him a look, then relented. “Well, maybe you’re right. Truthfully, I’m so confused by Silvia’s murder I don’t even know what’s up anymore. Hey,” I said, changing the subject while jumping to my feet. Jack stepped out of the inn with MacDuff trotting beside him. “Jack’s here. Let’s make ready to shove off.”

  It would have had the makings of an epic outing, having all my friends aboard Dad’s boat, had we not been on a mission to retrieve my ex-boyfriend and the onetime love of my life who ran away because we’d finally broken up for good. Although Jack had changed into a pair of lightweight hiking shorts and a sporty tee—looking uber hot—there was still a professional air clinging to him that he didn’t even try to shake. Maybe it was because of Fred Beauchamp and the lie Giff and I had caught him in. Fred had made two visits to the inn on the night Silvia was murdered. Filled with both love and loathing for the woman he’d been courting, the man had been a wreck when he was taken to Sturgeon Bay for questioning. According to Jack, Sargent Jensen was now escorting him back there for yet another round. Jack was convinced the man was hiding something, but hard evidence linking him to the crime scene was still to be found.

  And now we were motoring through the dark, glossy waters of the Green Bay in search of the wooded island Tate had been fond of sailing to. It was the perfect place to disappear for an afternoon, or weekend. A one-hour’s sail on a breezy day from Cherry Cove, and yet remote enough to give the illusion of being at the end of the world. Maybe Jack’s reticence, I silently mused, was due to the fact that I knew the way to Tate’s island so well.

  I looked at the man standing next to me as I guided the powerful boat through the black water. MacDuff was lying at his feet. Although the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky was still luminous, glowing in shades of indigo and purple. It had been another breathtaking sunset in Cherry Cove. “Thank you for coming with us,” I said to him. “I know it’s not ideal, but I really do appreciate it. It was a bit of a disaster for all of us at the diner the other day. You and I, we’re going to be just fine. But Tate …?” I shook my head. “He’s been gone too long this time. We’re still his friends, Jack. That’s why we’re all here. Tate needs to know that Cherry Cove wouldn’t be the same place without him.”

  “I agree,” he softly replied. “And I’m proud of you, Whit. Only, you know, you’re going to have to make this up to me, right?” For the first time all night an impish grin appeared on his face. “Look, you broke our first date,” he exclaimed. “I’m not saying that this isn’t a good reason. All I’m saying is that you’re going to have to make it up to me. Duffy agrees. Don’tcha, Duffy?”

  The dog lifted his floppy-eared head, looked at me, then laid it back on the rumbling deck. The poor pooch looked exhausted, or maybe just utterly uninterested.

  “Okay,” I said, grinning a little too, then. I turned, looking behind me, and called out for Tay. She and Lance were sitting with Hannah and Peter on the wraparound seating in the stern. “Can you pass along a couple of those roast beef and Havarti sandwiches? Officer MacLaren and MacDuff are faint with hunger.”

  “He always looks like that,” Jack remarked, casting a loving glance at his dog.

  A moment later Jack not only had a giant sandwich in his hand, but a bag of chips and a fizzy beverage as well. MacDuff was gobbling one of his own. It might not have been the romantic dinner Jack had envisioned, but even he couldn’t deny how delicious and timely the food was.

  “There,” I said, giving MacDuff a pat on the head. “Just a small token of what’s to come. Never doubt me, Jack MacLaren. I got your back, buddy.”

  It was dark by the time the island came into view, looming before us in the darkness like a forested humpback whale. I throttled back the motor to a soft purr, causing the boat to settle in its own wake as I rounded a familiar rocky outcrop. A moment later the protected horseshoe bay came into view, and with it the skeletal outline of the Lusty Dutchman at anchor.

  “Bingo!” Hannah whispered near my ear. “Gotta hand it to you, my friend. You really know your lusty dutchman. I didn’t want to say anything back there, but the moment we left the dock I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, like, we weren’t going to find him. I’m not exactly psychic or anything, but Peter thinks I’m a sensitive.” Answering my questioning look, she clarified. “It means that
I have paranormal potential.” She cast a loving glance at the man who was not only sober but sporting a man bun, cutoffs, and Jesus sandals as well. “I’m relieved,” she added, suppressing a troubling look that still lingered on her pretty features. “Now, let’s see if we can’t convince him to come back home with us.”

  Until then I’d never given a thought to the possibility that it might be difficult.

  As Hannah returned to Peter’s side, I maneuvered the boat as close to shore as I could and dropped anchor. It was a wet landing, but thankfully one above a sandy bottom. MacDuff was the first one in, leaping from the back deck into the water like a canine long-jump champion. He wasted no time swimming to shore as the rest of us waded through the thigh-high water with flashlights in one hand and our footwear in the other.

  “Tate!” I cried before hitting the beach, hoping he’d hear me. His name became a battle cry, erupting from every mouth as we stood on shore, dripping. None of us wanted to voice what was obviously apparent. The beach was empty.

  “I found the fire pit,” Jack called out a while later. Giff and Lance had accompanied him down the beach with their flashlights.

  “It’s littered with beer cans and sandwich wrappers,” Giff called out. “The same brand we saw on his counter, Whit. Oh! I found a cooler!”

  “He was definitely here,” Lance added. “He made a fire, but the ashes are cold.”

  “Maybe he’s hiding?” Hannah whispered beside me. I don’t know why she whispered.

  “Yeah. Probably saw us coming and dove for the woods,” Tay quipped from my other side. “Jilted men are known for their desperate, hairbrained antics.” She was trying to lighten the mood, but even she wasn’t fully committed to the task.