It was a good thing I wore leggings. I would need to get in two solid days of cardio to make up for all the calories I ate. It was a shame Finn was out of town. He could’ve lent me a hand … as a running partner, of course. Speaking of which, he would’ve loved my mom’s cooking, especially that crispy pork. If he thought bacon was good (and who didn’t?) he would’ve been in heaven. I sighed just thinking about it and then gave another sigh that had nothing to do with food. I was pathetic. I was missing him, and he just left this morning. What’s worse is I was having a bit of guilt for not even telling him he had been invited tonight. Triple sigh.
Mrs. J. had her goodie bag tucked under her arm and we headed out. The evening summer air smelled sweet after baking in the sun all day. I debated avoiding Main Street with all the Seaside Days’ festivities, but it really was the best way back through town.
From the stop-and-go traffic, last night’s drama hadn’t affected the crowds. The carnival was in full swing, and the grandstand lawn was packed in anticipation of tonight’s concert. Vendors were already walking the grounds, twirling glow sticks and blinking doodads. If I seriously didn’t still have a ton of work to do before tomorrow, I’d be ringing up Aria to head out. We couldn’t do it tonight, but a girl’s night was definitely in order soon. We both needed it. Aria perhaps more than I.
“I meant to ask. Who else was close to Paulette? Besides Mayor Potts?” I asked Mrs. J. as we inched forward.
Mrs. J. chewed her lip for a moment. “Well, Suzanne Butterfield was her girlfriend. Mind you, I don’t like her either. Those old biddies were two birds of a feather.”
“I forgot about her… That’s right, she was a judge too. What else does she do?”
“She owns Suzy-Bee Honey, you know, all those fancy honeys and what not? She makes those. Thinks she’s so high-class with her honey bees.”
I vaguely remembered seeing the honey for sale around town. “She live in town?”
“You thinking of paying her a visit?”
“Maybe. I need a local source of raw honey and honeycomb for my beauty line. I’m paying a fortune in shipping right now.” That wasn’t the real reason I wanted to know where she lived, but it was true nonetheless.
“I suppose that’s all right. Her farm’s off Miller Road, past Granger Bridge.”
“Yeah, I know right where that’s at. Thanks.”
“Like I said, she and Paulette got along real well.”
“What about on the opposite end, anyone dislike her as much as you?”
“Well now, that’s a toughie. If I had to come up with a name, I’d say Vicki Kline.”
I thought for a minute, but her name didn’t register. “I don’t know her.”
“Well, she was a friend of theirs, I guess you could say. Quite a bit younger, but she was always following Paulette and Suzanne around. They obviously didn’t like her, but she constantly wanted their approval. It’s a shame she gave two licks what those other two thought of her.”
“Where does she work now?”
“Well, it used to be the library, but now she’s at the conservatory. She’s all about flowers. A little cuckoo over them, in my opinion, obsessive really. Although, I gotta say, she’s one rose that never bloomed.”
I was thinking there was more to it and was surprised, for once, that Mrs. J. didn’t know more. She must be slipping.
“What is it with you and Paulette anyway? You two used to be friends, didn’t you?”
“She never was a friend, stealing from me the way she did.”
“Steal?” I had never heard anything about a theft.
“My recipes!”
“What?”
“I tell you, we were going to open a bakery together back when we were younger. I turn around one minute and the next she’s opening it by herself, selling my recipes off as her own. You see what I’m saying? That’s the type of woman Paulette was. It’s no wonder she was murdered.” Mrs. J. scowled.
I nodded and added backstabber to my list of Paulette’s character traits. So far, that only made Mrs. J.’s motive stronger. I also thought that explained why she would never share her recipes with anyone.
“Does she still own the bakery?” I asked.
“No, she sold it, and made a pretty penny too.” Mrs. J. folded her arms and settled further down in her seat.
Yeah, that would rub me the wrong way. “I see. No wonder you two didn’t like one another. I heard you yesterday, too, saying you wanted to put a little extra something in her slice of cake. You’d better hope no one else heard it.”
Mrs. J. gave a little chuckle and perked up a bit. “Ah, sug’. I meant a laxative. Make her get the tootsie trots in those white capris she always wore.”
I laughed, even though I shouldn’t have. “You would have. You totally would’ve, but you’d better be careful. Detective Roxy isn’t messing around. You might want to, I don’t know, act a little sad or something. Like maybe you’ll miss her.”
“Miss Paulette? Ha, that ain’t happening. Of course, it would’ve been nice if she’d just moved away and not taken a dirt nap, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I raised an eyebrow and hid another smile. “And keep that to yourself, too.”
6
I was so nervous Sunday morning I couldn’t think straight. I’d done hundreds of beauty demos, but they were all for Beauty Secrets. This time, I was representing my own brand. When I arrived at the market, I skipped setting up for a minute to jog over to the carnival grounds and beg for a funnel cake. Surely, someone had to be working. I found a vendor, piping fresh ones out, complete with custard, powdered sugar, and hot-fudge sauce. I was in heaven and inhaled that baby. It was glorious, and the sugar buzz was just the confidence boost I needed to tackle the day.
Of course, my buzz was short lived when I reached my booth and saw Justine setting up directly across from me. Why me? The last time we did an event beside one another, it ended up a mess. Well, for her anyway. I thought it had been quite laughable. At least she was out of the beauty business, for now. She had a large black banner with hot pink writing that said Puptastic Fashions. Although, the script writing had so many loops and curls that it looked like “Pooptastic Fashions.” That made me smile. If anyone was pooptastic, it was Justine. It looked like she specialized in tutus and headbands for her furry friends. She had racks and racks of little outfits set up, all color-coordinated and almost all featured tulle and sequins. Of course, she had Candy with her too. Today, the miniature poodle was dressed like a princess with a sparkly yellow satin dress and light blue tulle petticoat. Her look was complete with a little rhinestone tiara and painted pink nails.
“Breakfast?” Justine held up a dog biscuit.
“Would hate to steal yours,” I said with a smile.
“Good heavens, child. What on Earth happened to your hair?” Mrs. J. startled us both.
“What? What’s wrong?” Justine turned side to side, trying to inspect her own head.
“It’s supposed to look like that,” I remarked, knowing exactly what Mrs. J. was talking about.
“Well, it looks terrible.” Gotta love a woman who tells it like it is.
Justine favored “chunky” highlights, which amounted to giant strips of her naturally red hair being bleached various shades of orange. I liked to believe she did it herself as no professional should ever do such a horrendous job. Justine also tended to favor volume, which, in her case, meant making her head look like a giant cheese doodle.
Justine stuck out her tongue at me because she had the maturity of a ten-year-old. I looked for something to throw at her, but then remembered I was an adult. Instead, I got back to work.
As luck would have it, Suzy-Bee Honey was setting up next to me. I didn’t know Suzanne personally, but I hoped to strike up a conversation with her. She reminded me of Christina, looking all-business in her pressed khaki Capris and a crisp white shirt. I watched her tie a black apron on that had been embroidered with her name, with a beehive next
to it. She wore her blond hair in a similar style to Paulette’s: bangs out of her face with a headband. And she wore a gold watch on her wrist, like Paulette. They could’ve passed as sisters.
“Jeffery, not there. I meant here!” I jumped a bit at her command to the younger man who was with her. He sported slim jeans and a gray polo shirt with the same logo, and was setting up signage, apparently in the wrong spot. He was tall and thin, with black wire-framed glasses. Just watching him rearrange everything, I could tell Suzanne was difficult to please. “Oh, never mind. Go get the rest of the boxes,” she snapped at the poor guy. He did as he was told, as I assumed he did every day.
I looked down the row and saw Mrs. J. setting up her bakery booth just a couple down from me. I was glad we weren’t right next to one another, or I would’ve eaten all her inventory. Thankfully, the market kicked off right about then and I was able to forget about Mrs. J.’s cupcakes.
I had put out a couple testers to let my products speak for themselves, and my strategy appeared to pay off. The lotion bars were a big hit, especially the chocolate ones. Even my lush lemon bath bombs sold well, no demo needed. After all, who didn’t want to experience a colorful, fizzy bath that smelled amazing too?
The crowds picked up and I spotted several familiar faces, friends from high school, people from church; it seemed like the residents of Port Haven were in full attendance.
“Hey, Ziva, how’s it going?”
I looked up to see a good-looking guy who obviously knew me, but I had no idea who he was. I hated when I couldn’t place a face.
“Going well, how are you?” I played along, hoping his identity would pop into my brain.
“Doing just fine.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, but then abruptly changed his mind and turned and left.
That was weird. I didn’t have time to dwell on it as just then I heard Mrs. J. causing a commotion. I didn’t recognize who she was arguing with, but Suzanne did.
“That Vicki Kline again. I’m not sure which one of those women are worse,” she said to Jeffery.
I took a closer look. Vicki wore her dark hair in a long braid down her back. She, too, wore glasses, only her black frames were a thicker plastic. Very librarian. I highly doubted she was used to causing a ruckus.
Vicki’s booth was next to Justine’s, so kitty-corner from mine. I was worried Mrs. J. might be accusing her of murder, or something like that, which could’ve very well been the case given what Mrs. J. said about her the night before. But it turned out to be an argument over flowers. Yes, you heard me correctly. Vicki was selling a variety of potted plants and rose bushes to anyone and everyone, except for Mrs. J.
“You always kill them!” Vicki was saying. “I can’t, in good conscience, sell you one.”
I thought back to Mrs. J.’s porch. She did always have different flowers set out. I just thought she liked to switch it up. It never occurred to me she was killing them off.
“What do you care? They’re plants. Now give me that pink one right there.” Mrs. J. plucked a leaf off one and dropped it to the ground. I thought Vicki was going to blow a gasket.
“They’re my plants.”
Mrs. J. plucked off another leaf.
“Don’t touch them again.”
Pluck.
“Birdie Jackson, you’re impossible! Now get!”
“I’ll get once I have my plant.”
“That is not happening. Now don’t make me call the police.”
“You’re going to call the cops over a plant?”
Vicki reached for her cell phone.
“Oh, go sit on a rose bush, you nut.” Mrs. J. batted her hand toward her. “Humph. See if I donate to the conservatory anymore, with the way their employees treat me.” Mrs. J. said the last part mostly to herself. I could tell she was in a bad mood, and I wasn’t sure it had all that much to do with Vicki.
“How’s it going, Mrs. J.?” I was surprised she had left her baked goods in the first place.
“This here’s been real disappointing. Haven’t sold a single pie, cupcake, cookie, you name it. It’s been down-right insulting. Shame on all of you!” Mrs. J. shouted to the passersby, causing a couple people to jump and maybe a baby cry (hard to tell with the little ones). I had been too busy to notice how bad her business had been, but now that I looked around, I realized people were clearly avoiding her.
“That’s ridiculous. Send some of your sweets my way and I’ll set them out on my table.”
“Good idea. Thanks, sug’. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. J. brought an assortment of desserts over and I gladly displayed them. I was surprised by how much table space I had, but then again, I shouldn’t have been, seeing that I was almost out of inventory. Hopefully, I’d have the same luck with Mrs. J.’s baked goods.
I saw Mayor Potts making his way through the crowd, doing his mayor shtick: shaking hands, chuckling, telling a joke to whomever would listen. Could he be a killer? He doesn’t look like one. I watched as he played an impromptu game of peek-a-boo with a baby. No, definitely not a killer.
“Morning, Mr. Mayor,” I said when he stopped by.
“Well, don’t those just look delicious.” Mr. Potts eyed up the tuxedo cupcakes. They were chocolate cupcakes dipped in ganache and then topped with white cream frosting. Sounds amazing, right?
“They are. I love them.” Well, I was sure I would once I ate one. I had already planned on buying a baker’s dozen from Mrs. J. Those were a personal favorite of Finn’s. Oh, never mind. What was I thinking? They would be stale by the time he got back.
My mind went back to the sale and making Mrs. J. some cash. “Do you want to sample one?”
“Oh yes, yes I would. That would be wonderful.” Mr. Potts took a healthy bite and I found myself a little jealous. I was thinking I should try one too. That is, until I remembered my delicious funnel cake from just a couple hours ago. I needed to show some self-control, especially with how horrendous my eating habits had been. And working out? Yeah, that hadn’t been happening either. Okay, self-control starts NOW.
“What do you think? Would you like to purchase a few?” I thought Mr. Potts was about to say yes. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. My smile vanished. Oh my gosh, is he choking? What in the world is going on?
“Are you okay?” No sooner were the words out of my mouth did his eyes roll into the back of his head and he crashed onto the ground.
Sweet sugar. I killed the mayor.
As it turned out, he wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t doing well either. Once the ambulance left and the chaos settled, I found myself face to face with Detective Roxy, again. Oh boy, here we go again.
Detective Roxy had on a pair of skinny jeans, a pink tank top, and pink Converses. I liked her style. Except for her makeup. Today, everything was pink—her lipstick, eyeshadow, blush. The explosion of pink on her face, plus her outfit, was just way too much. I couldn’t think of a polite way to clue her in that she looked like a giant ball of cotton candy.
Unfortunately, Detective Roxy wasn’t here to talk about her style, or lack thereof. She got right to work. “Pretty convenient you found Paulette, and now this business with the mayor.” Convenient wasn’t the word I would’ve used. She waited for me to explain.
“I was just helping out a friend. Her business was slow and I thought I’d give her a hand. I let her set up her baked goods on my table.”
“Would this friend be a Mrs. Birdie Jackson?”
“It would.” I eyed the crowd, looking for Mrs. J., but I couldn’t spot her. I didn’t want to throw her under the bus, but I didn’t want to lie. The fact was Mr. Potts ate one of her cupcakes and then keeled over, and no one else had eaten any.
“Is he going to be okay?” Detective Roxy knew who I meant.
“Not sure yet.” I had no idea if she’d tell me the truth, even if she did know. Detective Brandle would’ve.
“Let me know how else I can help. I’ve never seen anything like that,” I told her.
Detective Roxy seemed to see that I was sincere. “Tell your friend to give me a call. She seems to have disappeared.”
I looked around again, but the detective was right. Oh great. Next thing I knew, there’d be an APB out for Mrs. J. What was she thinking? Unless she’s turned into a psychopathic killer… I told Detective Roxy I would keep her updated, and turned to get back to work.
“What are you selling?” Detective Roxy asked.
“I started my own beauty line. All my products are handmade with natural ingredients like honey, coconut oil, beeswax, essential oils, things like that. So, they’re super moisturizing, and they smell delectable.”
“Really?”
Finally, an opening.
Detective Roxy left my booth with several of my products, including a few lotion bars, lip balms, and bath bombs. I also told her about Beauty Secrets and slipped her a catalog. I couldn’t do anything about today’s pink fiasco, but I could offer her a mini makeover, which is exactly what I did.
“Hi, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking. I would love to try out one of your lotion bars. My hands get so dry from working in the dirt.” Vicki, the plant lady, stood before me, completely shy, with not an ounce of anger left.
“Oh yeah, um, that was my last one. But … I have an extra bar in my purse that you’re more than welcome to.” It was from a previous batch, but still worked great.
“If you’re sure?”
“Absolutely. This a lemon scent I was experimenting with. You’ll have to let me know what you think.” Vicki took the bar and sniffed it. “Sweet, huh? All you need to do is hold it in your hands and let it melt just a little, then rub it in. Your hands will be super soft and hopefully protected a bit from the soil.”
“Thanks, I’ll definitely give it a try.”
“You really like plants,” I said. Vicki blushed slightly. I had a tough time believing she was the same person shouting moments ago.
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