by Sarah Fox
I wasn’t surprised to see fellow redhead and mystery-lover Cordelia King brighten and quickly whisper something to the other members of her team. If I’d read her lips correctly, she had the right answer—Agatha Christie.
Over at the next table, Sybil Hawkes said something to her fellow members of the Knitters’ Guild team. Her knitting needles flashed as she worked away at a pretty green scarf. Penny Blaine was on the same team and had a knitting project on the go as well. I wondered how she felt about Freddy’s death. I couldn’t tell from looking at her. She wasn’t smiling, but she also didn’t appear to be devastated. I couldn’t tell what she was knitting—a sweater, maybe—but her yarn was a beautiful shade of blue. The other members of the Knitters’ Guild had left their projects at home. Bakery owner Sofie Talbot, who was apparently the team’s scribe for the evening, wrote something down on their answer sheet.
At a table to my left, Harriet Jones, the oldest and liveliest member of the Inkwell’s romance book club, sat with members of her Zumba class, all of whom were at least ten years younger than her.
She sat back in her chair. “These questions are too tough for my old brain.” She picked up her Evil Stepmother cocktail, as if to toast her teammates. “I’ll do the drinking while you young folks do the thinking.”
I smiled as she downed her drink and signaled to Damien that she wanted another.
It appeared as though every team had written down an answer to the last question, so I moved on to the next one.
I continued down my list while Damien took care of the food and drinks. Everyone participating in the quiz seemed to be into it, to my relief and delight. Over the next half hour, we worked through several more questions until only one item remained.
“This children’s author and illustrator, born in 1866, was also a prize-winning sheep breeder,” I read out, wondering how many people would know or guess that I was referring to Beatrix Potter.
I gave the teams a couple of minutes to come up with a response before I slid off my stool. “Okay, time’s up, everyone. Please hand in your answers.”
I made a circuit of the room, gathering up the answer sheets. When I had all of them in my hands, I returned to the bar. “The winning team will be announced shortly,” I said to the crowd.
Leaving Damien in charge, I retreated to my cubbyhole of an office beneath the stairs that led up to my apartment. I sat at the battered wooden desk that had come with the pub and quickly marked the answer sheets. Only about a quarter of the teams had correctly answered the first question with The Mystery of Edwin Drood, but most had connected Agatha Christie to Mary Westmacott.
A team made up of all men who’d already been on their third round of beer by the time the quiz started had earned last place, with only two questions answered correctly. Most teams had fared far better. I was double-checking the results when a shadow appeared in the hallway outside the open office door.
“Mel!” I jumped up when she appeared in the doorway. “Congratulations!” I gave her a hug before stepping back, beaming at her. “Your sculpture is incredible. You definitely deserved to win.”
“Thanks, Sadie,” she said with a smile. “How’s the trivia night going?”
“Great, I’m happy to say. We had a fantastic turnout and I’m about to announce the winning team.” I pulled open a desk drawer to fetch the gift certificates for the winners.
“Have you seen Jade in here this evening?” Mel asked, an unusual note of worry beneath her words.
“No,” I said slowly. “Should I have?”
“We were going to meet here.”
“I saw her on the green earlier when you were getting your prize.” I hesitated for a split second before continuing. “She left with Detective Marquez.”
Mel’s blue eyes seemed to darken. “Voluntarily?”
“I think so. She wasn’t handcuffed or anything.”
“I’d better go to the police station.” She took a step back out of the office.
I opened my mouth to ask if that was a good idea, but I didn’t get the chance. Mel was already disappearing out the mill’s back door. There was probably no point in asking, anyway. Mel seemed determined to go, and maybe it wasn’t a big deal. I had my doubts about Jade’s innocence, but if Mel was right and she wasn’t guilty, Jade would probably appreciate the sight of a familiar face.
If the police would let Mel anywhere near her.
I figured that depended on how much jeopardy Jade was in.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I gathered up the gift certificates and returned to the pub. It took me a moment to get everyone’s attention again. When the quiz had ended, previous conversations had resumed and new ones had started up.
Bobby helped me out by hollering again, and the room fell quiet.
“Thanks so much to all of you for coming out for this event,” I said, the gift certificates clutched in my hands. “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves, and be sure to check out all the other events going on during the Winter Carnival.” I smiled at the room. “I’m pleased to say that the winner of the Inkwell’s first-ever trivia night is . . . Knitters Gone Wilde!”
The Knitters’ Guild team erupted into cheers while everyone else clapped. I handed out the gift certificates to Sybil, Penny, and their teammates. It made me happy to see how excited they were to receive their prizes.
With the trivia contest officially over, I got to work helping Damien with serving drinks. The kitchen had shut down for the night, but no one seemed in a hurry to leave the pub now that the event was over and, to my delight, everyone seemed to be thirsty.
I was in the midst of mixing two Evil Stepmother cocktails—made with white grape juice, ginger ale, sour mix, and vodka—when I noticed Leo Mancini sitting at the bar with Sibyl Hawkes’s husband, Eli. Leo was halfway through a pint of beer. I didn’t know if it was his first drink of the night, since Damien had served him.
“He deserved what he got,” Leo grumbled into his drink.
Those words drew my attention. Was he talking about Freddy?
A moment later I knew for sure that he was.
“No one deserves to be murdered,” Eli said, his voice gentle yet stern. “Freddy let his success go to his head, but underneath it all, I’m sure he was still a good guy.”
Leo snorted. “If he ever made you think that, he was conning you. Freddy never cared about anyone but himself. Not you, not me, not anyone. And I’m telling you, it sure felt good when I—”
“Leo,” Eli said sharply, cutting him off, “you’re letting the booze talk for you. Come on, let me walk you home.”
Leo protested at first, but gave in after more cajoling from Eli. He drained the last of his beer before getting up off his stool. Fortunately, he hadn’t had enough to make him unsteady on his feet.
Eli put a hand to Leo’s back, guiding him to the door.
I wanted to know what Leo had been about to say. What had felt good? Driving the ice pick into Freddy’s chest?
I shuddered at the thought. Leo certainly had enough hate for his half brother to have struck out at him in anger. I was sure the police would have questioned Leo, as one of Freddy’s family members, but how much did Detective Marquez and her colleagues know about him? Were they aware of the distinct lack of brotherly love between them? Had Leo or anyone else informed them about their unpleasant exchange at the chili supper?
In case no one had, I slipped into my office and left a short voice mail for Detective Marquez, telling her about the incident. I added that I hadn’t thought to mention the confrontation when I’d spoken to Officer Rogers on the night of the murder. My mind had been spinning too much at the time to realize it could be important.
With that out of the way, I delivered the Evil Stepmother cocktails to waiting customers and took down an order for two pints of stout, a Happily Ever After cocktail, and a Milky Way Gargle Blaster. On my way back to the bar, I paused by Cordelia’s table. She and her teammates were getting ready to leave, pushing back their chairs
and gathering their jackets and other gear.
“Thanks for coming to the trivia night,” I said to the group. “I hope you had a good time.”
“It was so much fun,” Cordelia enthused as she pulled a hat down over her crinkly red hair.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said, smiling. “Have a good night.”
I was passing the Knitters’ Guild table when Penny picked up her tote bag. She grabbed it by a corner, causing it to tip some of its contents onto the floor.
I crouched down to help her retrieve a pen and a tube of lipstick. Something else rolled beneath the table, so I reached out and snatched it up. When my hand closed around the ball of soft, burnt-orange yarn, an icy chill spread through my body.
It was the same shade of orange as the wool I’d seen on the murder weapon.
Chapter 9
It didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Ten minutes later, I was still repeating that in my head, still trying to convince myself. Somehow I’d managed to return the yarn to Penny with a smile on my face, despite how unnerved the sight of the ball of wool had left me. I really didn’t know Penny, but she seemed harmless. Could she really have killed Freddy?
Yes, I decided. It was possible.
She certainly had a motive, after the way Freddy had snubbed her and reduced her to tears on the day of his death. And I knew from experience that even someone who seemed to be an unlikely suspect, or someone who wasn’t a suspect at all, could be a killer. The murder of my ex, Eric, had taught me that.
The Inkwell’s crowd eventually thinned out after the trivia contest ended, and with Damien on hand to help, the pub wasn’t quite busy enough to keep my mind from going over the mystery of Freddy’s murder again and again. Thinking about it didn’t accomplish anything, unfortunately. I was still left with all the same questions and worries.
When I spotted Shontelle threading her way through the tables toward me, I welcomed the distraction.
She met up with me as I was coming out from behind the bar. “How are you holding up?” she asked as she pulled me into a hug.
“I’m okay.”
She stepped back and searched my face. “Are you sure? It must have been awful to see the body. Another body.”
“At least it wasn’t someone I knew well this time.” I realized what I’d said. “That sounds terrible.”
“No. I know what you mean and it’s totally understandable.” She gave my arms a gentle squeeze before releasing me.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered.
“I can’t stay. My mom’s at my place with Kiandra, but I promised her I wouldn’t be long. I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”
“I am,” I assured her.
“Evening, ladies.” The familiar voice drew our attention.
Grayson shrugged out of his suit jacket. He claimed a stool at the bar, setting his jacket on the empty seat to his left.
“Evening,” Shontelle returned, flashing him a smile while she gave me a subtle nudge with her elbow.
For some reason she thought Grayson and I would make a good couple. I’d pointed out to her on several occasions that we barely got along, but she always ignored me, a knowing smile on her face. I’d admitted to myself—though not to Shontelle or anyone else—that he’d given me butterflies once or twice, but that didn’t change the fact that he had a habit of getting on my nerves. Besides, after all the lies I’d endured in my last relationship, I wasn’t in any hurry to trust a man with even a small piece of my heart.
“I have to get going,” Shontelle said.
“Already?” I suspected she was cutting her visit even shorter than planned because of Grayson’s arrival.
“My mom will be wanting to get home.” She gave me another quick hug. “We’ll talk soon.”
As Shontelle left, nervousness skittered through me. Knowing that she’d wanted me to be alone with Grayson made me all too aware of the fact that I was.
Except, we weren’t really alone. There were other people in the pub. Not at the bar with us, but it wasn’t like we were completely on our own. That thought helped to ease my nerves.
“I was thinking of trying the Malt in Our Stars tonight,” Grayson said.
I gave myself a swift mental kick. He was a customer, and here I was forgetting to ask for his order.
“A good choice,” I said. I set to work mixing the cocktail and soon placed it in front of him on the bar. I waited with anticipation as he took a sip.
“That’s really good,” he said once he’d swallowed. “The flavors are nicely balanced.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, and the last of my nervousness slipped away.
“How was the trivia contest?” he asked before taking another drink.
“I think it went really well. We had a great turnout and people seemed to enjoy themselves.” I wrestled with my curiosity, but it was a battle I quickly lost. “How was your dinner?”
I thought I did a good job of making the question sound casual.
“Dinner?”
“I saw you going into Lumière earlier,” I explained.
“Ah. I didn’t end up eating there. I was supposed to meet someone, but she called to cancel after I’d been waiting half an hour.”
She. So he had been on a date. Or had planned to be.
“First date?” I passed him a bowl of pretzels. “If so, it doesn’t sound like things are off to a great start.”
“Not a date,” he said.
I tried to ignore the tiny spark of relief kindled by his words. I was glad it wasn’t a date, but I shouldn’t have cared. Since ending my relationship with Eric, I’d told myself time and time again that I wasn’t ready to fall for anyone else. Unfortunately, it seemed my heart wasn’t a good listener.
Grayson took a pretzel from the bowl. “It was supposed to be a business meeting with a producer from Craft Nation.”
“Right!” I said. “I heard the show was going to feature your brewery in an episode. That’s got to be exciting.”
“It was. But the network got wind of Mancini’s murder and now they’re worried about filming an episode here while there’s a killer on the loose.”
“For safety reasons or for PR reasons?”
“Both, I gathered from the call I got this evening.”
“So they pulled the plug?” I guessed.
“Temporarily, at least.”
My heart sank for him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I could tell he was disappointed. I would have been too, in his shoes. Craft Nation was a popular television show that featured craft breweries across the country. Getting coverage in one of its episodes would have given the Spirit Hill Brewery invaluable exposure. Heck, it would have been good for all businesses in Shady Creek if it had inspired more tourists to check out our town.
“Your drink’s on the house tonight,” I said, wanting to cheer him up, even if only a little bit.
“You don’t have to do that,” he protested.
“I want to. No arguments.”
“Thank you. Will you join me?”
I glanced at the clock. “I wouldn’t mind some tea.”
A woman at a nearby table caught my eye.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I told Grayson.
The woman requested another Happily Ever After cocktail, so I returned to the bar and mixed the drink while my tea steeped.
“What’s that one?” Grayson asked as I poured some coconut rum into the glass.
“Happily Ever After,” I said. “It’s one of the first drinks I put on the menu. The tropical flavors always make me think of romantic beach holidays, sun-warmed sand, ocean breezes. . . .”
I realized I had a dreamy expression on my face. I hoped Grayson hadn’t noticed, but when I saw the amusement in his eyes, I knew I was out of luck there.
“Have you been on a lot of those?” Humor still danced in his eyes.
“No, actually,” I said, sensing that my cheeks were turning red
. “But a girl can dream.”
I delivered the drink to the woman who’d ordered it and glanced around the pub. Damien had everything under control, so I fetched my tea and perched on the stool to Grayson’s right. He’d shaved and donned a suit in preparation for his business meeting, but if he’d worn a tie, he’d shed it at some point. He’d also undone the top button of his shirt and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.
I tried not to get distracted by how close we were sitting or by his muscled forearms resting on the bar, but it wasn’t an easy task, especially when our arms brushed.
I took a sip of my tea to give myself a second to focus.
“Is there anything you can do about the show?” I asked. “Any way you can change their minds?”
Grayson nudged the bowl of pretzels my way. “I don’t think so. My only hope is for the murder to get solved quickly, which I’m sure everyone in Shady Creek would like.”
“Definitely,” I said before snacking on a salty pretzel.
“I heard you were the one to find Mancini. Are you all right?”
I had to avert my eyes when I saw the genuine concern in his. I didn’t want my heart getting carried away.
“A little shaken up,” I admitted. “But otherwise fine.”
“That’s two bodies you’ve found in less than three months.”
“Technically, your dog found Eric’s body in October,” I reminded him. “It’s not like I’m a cadaver magnet.”
“I also heard that Mel was second on the scene.”
It was more than just a casual statement and I wondered what he was getting at.
“She came running when I called for help.”
“And with Mancini dead, she won the competition.”
I spun on my stool to face him, my knees hitting his leg. “She would have won anyway! Did you see her sculpture?” I turned back to the bar and crunched down hard on a pretzel.
“Her ice pick was the murder weapon.”
“How did you hear about that?” I didn’t think it was widespread knowledge. I hoped it wasn’t.
“I have my sources.”
