“Which plants should we add?” Fiona asked the boy.
He huffed. “Nothing grows on the moon.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Have you been there?”
He frowned.
Fiona tittered.
“Let’s use a few dark-colored succulents to be moon plants,” I suggested. “How does that sound?”
Grudgingly, he agreed.
Last but not least, he chose a miniature blue rocket. About a month ago, I’d added teensy cars, trucks, and space vehicles to our environment collection. Not all children, or adults for that matter, wanted their gardens to be fairy tale-like. Some wanted their displays to be rooted in reality. Whatever stirred their creative juices was fine with me.
An hour later, the boy and his grandmother left with a ten-inch-round moonscape fairy garden, free of charge. The other attendees each made a purchase and vowed to spread the word. Some said they’d had a supersonic blast. Others said fairy gardening was out of this world.
As I bid the last member of the class good-bye, I caught sight of Petra Pauli speaking to a customer near the entrance of the shop. Dressed in a tight-fitting jacket over a matching pencil skirt, she looked as though she’d just come from a power meeting, even though she had her collies in tow.
The dog with the brown muzzle began to strain at his leash. “Zeus, stop,” Petra begged.
Zeus could use a few training sessions with Gregory Darvell, I mused. I hoped the dog’s head wouldn’t butt against any of the displays and unsettle our wares. We allowed customers to bring in pets, but we expected them to be obedient.
Petra ended her conversation with the other customer and allowed the dog to drag her forward. The dog with the white muzzle tagged along. Halfway into the shop, Petra stopped by a display table and yanked on Zeus’s leash. This time he obeyed. One by one, she lifted the various tea sets. After checking the prices of each, she held a few of the individual teacups up to the light.
I joined her. “The finer the bone china, the better the light shines through.”
“They’re all so pretty.” She thrust her dogs’ leashes at me. “Here.”
I gladly took hold. With a gentle tug and a tap to his rump, I made Zeus sit. He looked at me as if expecting a treat. I made a mental note to stock some in the future.
“Which is your favorite?” Petra asked.
“The Royal Albert bouquet.” I pointed to the teacup sporting a bouquet of roses with the modern yellow edge and rich gold trim.
“Do you think they’d work in a teacup chandelier?”
“A what?” I’d never heard of such a thing.
“I saw it on TV the other day. Martha Stewart said I’ll need at least five to seven cups and saucers to create it. You drill holes in them and insert the wires. It’s quite complicated, but I’ll hire an electrician.”
I chuckled. Martha Stewart was a hoot. What couldn’t she bake or make? “You might consider going to Goodwill or a discount store to buy teacups. These are probably too expensive for the kind of project you have in mind. If you drill holes in china, there will be breakage, I imagine.”
Petra fanned her hand. “Don’t worry. I can afford these. Martha said to use only the best.”
Of course Martha would suggest that. She had an extraordinary budget.
Petra called Joss over, indicated seven individual teacups and saucers, and gave her a credit card. “Better make that eight,” she said, choosing one more, “in case, like Courtney said, there’s breakage. And sign my name while I tour the patio.” She took the dogs from me.
Joss raised an eyebrow. Privately, I made a goofy face meaning Petra was used to getting her way. Joss bit back a smile and proceeded to ring up the purchase.
“I want to make a fairy garden,” Petra said as she steered her dogs through the French doors to the patio.
I didn’t believe her because, instead of perusing the fairy garden items on the shelves, she made a beeline to the fountain. Right where Mick had been murdered. Did Petra know the location because, as Fiona had speculated, she was the killer? Or had the police leaked the information? What would Petra’s motive have been? Would she have killed Mick if he’d called off their affair? Wouldn’t she have murdered Emily instead, as I’d theorized, and tried to win Mick back? Oh, my. The travails of a broken heart.
As Petra toured the fountain murmuring how unique it was, Gregory Darvell strode onto the patio like a man on a mission. Had I psychically summoned him when I’d mused about Petra’s headstrong dog?
I approached him, stopping short of a wrought-iron table. “Good afternoon.”
“Your girl said you could help me,” he said.
“My girl? Do you mean Joss?” I snickered. “She’s hardly a girl. She’s your age.”
“She’s teeny.”
Since when did people determine age by size? “Don’t tell me you want to build a fairy garden.”
“No.” He held up two tins of tea: chamomile and plum flower ginger. “I was reading online that there might be teas that could calm my bichons. I’ve read that alternative medicines might be a good thing to try.”
“Both of those teas are good for calming humans, and I’ve heard that giving a dog a treat soaked in chamomile will help calm its tummy, but I’m not a vet and I have a cat. I’ve never owned a dog.” I jutted a finger at Pixie, who’d sauntered to the patio, intrigued by the collies. “Aren’t you the expert?”
“Sure, when it comes to getting them to sit, heel, and jump through hoops.” Gregory sighed. “But my two babies are quite quixotic. I’ve tried everything. Long walks. Going to the beach. I think their age is getting to them. They’re eighteen.”
“Wow, that’s old for dogs, isn’t it?”
“Not for smaller breeds.” He swung his head left and right, scoping out the patio. “By the way, this is a nice place. It’s got a good spirit.” He leaned in and whispered, “I hear there is a fairy living here. Is it true?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “Nice fountain.” He strode to it and dipped his hand in the water.
A shiver shimmied down my spine. An image of Mick lying at the base of the fountain flashed before me. I felt faint and gripped the back of a chair.
Fiona whooshed to my side. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t. Why had Gregory touched the water? Was I being overly sensitive to the environment?
Petra’s dogs yipped and tugged her to Gregory. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“No worries.” Gregory set the containers of tea on the nearby table and extended a hand toward the dogs so they could smell him. When they were content, he knelt and rubbed them warmly behind the ears. “Hey, fellas, what are you up to?” Zeus nudged the pocket on Gregory’s red plaid shirt. “You want a treat?” He gazed up at Petra. “Is it okay to give them a treat? No corn or wheat fillers.”
I knew I’d guessed right earlier. The dog was a good little beggar.
“Sure,” Petra said. “That’s fine.”
Gregory obliged and continued to stroke the dogs as they chomped. “Yes, yes, I love you, too.”
“Would you care to take them off my hands?” Petra joked. “I’ll sell them for a song.”
Gregory rose to his feet. “Sorry. I have two dogs of my own. That’s about all I can manage.”
“Aren’t you a trainer?” she asked.
“Yes, but I’m not like one of those cat ladies with twenty cats, and I don’t board any of my show dogs.”
Petra swiveled and peered at the fountain again. “Isn’t it eerie standing near where Mick Watkins died?”
Gregory jolted and took two steps backward. “He died here? On the patio?”
“Courtney found him. Isn’t that so, Courtney?” Petra gazed at me, her eyes glazed with moisture. Was she keeping her tears in check? Did tears exonerate her? “I heard a customer talking about it inside.” Petra aimed a finger toward the main showroom.
How had that person learned the tr
uth? If only I could stop everyone from spreading the word, but that was a pipe dream.
“It must have been ghastly, Courtney,” Gregory said. “Is it true you’re a suspect? I know you and Mick didn’t get along, but I don’t think you did it.”
Petra gasped. “You’re a suspect, Courtney? What non-sense.”
My cheeks warmed. “Thanks for that vote of confidence, you two, but, for the record, Mick and I got along fine.” I flapped a hand. “Yes, he could be crusty at times, but only because he thought I wanted to lease his shop’s space.”
“Do you?” Gregory asked.
“No. This is ample for me.” The better question was what did Gregory want? What had he and Emily been discussing when Joss and I had shooed Ulani Kamaka from the shop?
Petra placed a hand on my shoulder. “Where were you at the time, Courtney, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I did mind, but I had no qualms about sharing my alibi. “I was at home, chatting online with some fairy garden aficionados until two a.m.”
Petra frowned. “Oh, dear. You were alone? That’s such a weak alibi.”
“No, it’s not. I—”
“I wish I’d seen you there,” Gregory said.
“I wish you had, too.” I offered a thankful smile. “But that would have been a fluke. You don’t know where I live.”
“Sure I do. I have a client a few doors down from you. Tish Waterman.”
“Tish.” Petra sniffed. “That woman is as tart as a lemon.”
On that point, Petra and I agreed. Tish was a spa owner who vocally espoused that fairies weren’t real and that somehow my business—she was never clear on that point—was stealing clients from hers.
Petra’s eyes widened. “What if she killed Mick? I’ve heard her rail about Open Your Imagination. Maybe she sneaked in here hoping to come upon you, but she ran into him instead and, believing a murder on the premises would ruin the reputation of your shop, she—” Petra sliced her throat.
I gagged. Could the theory be true? Tish Waterman had stolen in hoping to clobber me and encountered Mick instead?
Petra bobbed her head, convincing herself. “At every opportunity Tish posts notices around town urging her neighbors to boycott your store.”
Perhaps Tish associated me with whatever accident had befallen her and marred her face.
“Nah, not Tish,” Gregory said. “She’s a lot of hot air, but she wouldn’t hurt a flea. She dotes on her dogs.”
“Dog owners have killed people,” Petra countered.
Gregory said, “Courtney, you should canvass your neighbors. Get the word out that you need help. You never know who might have seen something.”
“If we had a phone tree in town, I’d get right on it,” Petra said.
“A phone tree. Great idea.” Gregory aimed a finger at her. “We should have something like that anyway, in case of emergencies. Why don’t you bring that up at Monday’s city council meeting, Petra?” He glanced at his watch. “Gee whiz. Sorry. I’ve got to go. Duty calls.” He collected the tins of tea and headed toward the archway.
Petra caught up to him and handed him the leashes to her dogs. They responded to him as if they’d been his responsibility for years.
As the group paraded into the main showroom, Fiona flew to me, her face flushed. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not? He seems quite nice, and he adores animals.”
She scowled.
“I, on the other hand, don’t trust Petra Pauli,” I said, watching the councilwoman through the windows glad-handing customers in the shop. “Why was she circling the fountain? Was she looking for a bit of evidence she’d left behind?”
“Oho.” Fiona folded her arms triumphantly. “Last night when we were playacting, you dismissed the possibility that she could have done the deed.”
“Well, I’m allowed to change my mind. I’m human.”
“Fairies change their minds, too. All the time.”
“Good to know.”
Fiona alit on my shoulder and toyed with a lock of my hair. “Petra mentioned Tish Waterman. What do we know about her?”
“Not much.”
“You should make sure Detective Summers puts her on his radar.”
Chapter 10
The longing of my heart is a fairy portrait of myself: I want to be pretty; I want to eliminate facts and fill up the gap with charms.
—Mark Twain
Later that afternoon, after leaving Detective Summers a message to touch base with me—I didn’t mention Tish Waterman; the theory about her sneaking into my shop to sabotage it was iffy at best—I bid good night to Joss and headed out with Pixie in tow. I heard voices and turned to see Yvanna Acebo standing outside Sweet Treats with Logan Langford.
When not working at the bakery, Yvanna made goodies for our high teas. I don’t think she ever took a day off. She had endless energy and a family of six to feed—two cousins, her grandparents, her younger sister, and herself. How she had muscled through after losing both parents in a car crash when she was twelve, I would never know.
As Logan spoke, Yvanna removed her pink apron and baker’s hat and folded them neatly over her arm. Then she removed the scrunchie that was holding her dark hair in a knot and let her hair tumble to her shoulders. She nodded at something Logan said, added, “Thank you,” and turned to lock the front door of the bakery.
With my kitten in my arms, I strolled through the courtyard, taking the stairs two at a time while glancing at Logan’s retreating figure. “Hey, Yvanna. How are you?”
She spun around and smiled. Bright white teeth, beautiful mouth, caramel brown eyes. “Hola, Courtney. The better question is how are you?” She tickled Pixie’s chin and cooed to her. “Hola, gata. You are muy hermosa.”
Pixie leaned into the love.
“You must be devastated,” Yvanna said to me. “Poor Mick. Dead. In your store.” She caressed the silver cross she wore around her neck. “How horrible.”
“It’s tragic.”
“Do you want a cookie?”
“No, thanks.”
“I made a new chocolate chip cookie using chiles for tomorrow’s tea. Mi abuela says sugar eases the sorrows of the heart.” Yvanna was known for her Latin-based flavors. My favorite was her spicy coriander sugar cookie. “I also made lemon cupcakes sprinkled with lavender petals.”
“Those sound scrumptious, but I’m not hungry.”
“How about a cup of homemade custard?”
She knew I adored her custard. It was so creamy and paired perfectly with fresh berries, when in season.
“No, thanks.” I hitched my chin. “What did Logan want?”
“He asked to speak to my boss. I told him she’s not here. She’s on vacation in San Diego.” Yvanna lowered her voice. “Do you think it’s true that a developer wants to buy the courtyard?”
“What?” I blurted. “No way. I haven’t heard that.”
“Rumor has it that Mr. Langford intends to kick out all the tenants so the developer can raise the rents.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Inwardly, I groaned. I did not want to move, nor could I afford to do so.
“I heard Mr. Langford threatened Mr. Watkins,” Yvanna said.
“He did. I witnessed it. But I thought he just wanted the grooming business to be gone.”
“Do you think Mr. Langford killed Mr. Watkins?”
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine he did, but Logan was miffed with Mick from the get-go. When Mick wouldn’t give up his lease, Logan got angry. At the time, I thought Logan was carping for no apparent reason. Looking back, maybe it was because he was in negotiations with an interested developer.” I recalled my roleplaying with the fairy figurines last night, when “Logan” had been over-the-top angry. Did I honestly believe he was guilty of murder? I stroked Pixie’s foot to calm myself. “Who told you Logan wanted to kick us all out?”
“My boss. That’s why she went on vacation. She heard from Glinda.�
�� Glinda owned Glitz, the jewelry store in the courtyard. Yvanna lowered her voice to a basso pitch. “My boss wanted to avoid Mr. Langford while considering her options.”
“Are you sure she’s not overreacting? Logan hasn’t said a word to me, and Meaghan hasn’t mentioned anything.” Flair Gallery was the third largest physical space in the courtyard. Wouldn’t Logan oust the biggest first? “I still can’t imagine why he would want us vacating. I’d think a developer would appreciate full tenancy.”
“Like I said, rumor has it the developer wants to hike up the rents.”
Yes, that made sense.
“My boss thinks Mr. Langford is in debt and that’s why he’s selling. She said he used to leave big tips in the tip jar, but lately not so much.”
“Interesting.”
“And Sonja told me—” Yvanna looked right and left. “You know Sonja. She doesn’t talk much, but she listens. She said Emily Watkins has already discussed ending the lease with Mr. Langford.”
“Really?”
“Sí. She said Emily hates the business and wants to sell everything, including hair dryers and dog crates.”
I thought again of Emily and Gregory’s handshake. Was he interested in getting out of dog training and buying Wizard of Paws? If so, would he be able to talk Logan or the new developer into extending the lease?
“Emily is passionate about riding horses nowadays,” Yvanna went on.
“So I heard.”
“Selling the business would give her the financial freedom to do everything she wants.” Yvanna did a head slide, right and left, like an Egyptian dancer. “Even finding a new husband.” She covered her mouth. “Dios mío. That was horrible of me. Don’t repeat that.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run. My grandparents like to eat at the same time every night, and my sister is the worst cook.” She clasped my arm and said, “If you need anything, let me know. See you tomorrow for the tea.”
As I watched Yvanna scurry away, I couldn’t help thinking Emily’s motive for murder might be becoming stronger by the second.
* * *
Walking home at night always brought me comfort. I loved when the sun started to wane and soft light filtered through the trees. I enjoyed listening to the birds as they sang their last songs before settling down to sleep. I appreciated being able to take in the various houses, one by one, each designed with a different flair. A Cape Cod, a gingerbread with thatched roof, a wooded retreat. My favorite, other than my own, was a yellow storybook cottage, teensy in scale, its trellises dripping with lush wisteria and its flowerboxes and garden rife with white and purple impatiens. I hadn’t met the owner yet, but I hoped to. Neighbors said she owned one of the by-invitation-only antique galleries in town. I didn’t own antiques other than what Nana had left me, so I hadn’t tried to solicit an invitation. According to gossip, the woman was quite private.
A Sprinkling of Murder (A Fairy Garden Mystery Book 1) Page 11
