She walked toward me, holding aloft what appeared to be a bundle of rags. I could clearly see the smears on them—the same color as on my shoe.
"Merry, there is no way that someone would be so silly to drop something with blood on it and just leave it there." I glanced down at my shoe again. "Besides, blood dries after a while. It doesn't stay wet so someone can leave it behind like a clue."
"And I'm right there with you, Caro. But I'm going to play this safe and give Scotty a call." She pulled her smartphone from her jeans pocket, adding, "Actually, I'm going to text him first. His schedule has been so crazy lately."
I raised one eyebrow as I watched her rapidly tapping the keys on her phone. "You keep track of his schedule now?"
"Umm," was her only comment, but I could see a telltale blush rising up her face.
"Do you have a paper bag or a large envelope to put this in?" I nodded at the bundle of stained rags lying between us. "Nothing plastic, of course."
"I've watched CSI too, Caro." She tossed a grin my way and got up from the couch. "In fact, I just happen to have the package that all of Sarah Lawson's giveaways were mailed in." She laughed. "How apropos is that?"
"It's perfect," I agreed. "Still want to head to the hospital?"
"Yes," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the back of the store. "I mean, getting the info straight from the horse's mouth is usually a good idea, right?"
"Right." I looked down at my shoe. "Do you happen to have something I can wear instead of these?" I pointed to my feet. "Anything's fine."
Her forehead wrinkled in thought. "Let's see. I might have a pair of flip flops that I use whenever I'm here by myself. Would those be all right?"
"Sure." I slipped my feet out of my shoes and held them out. "Maybe we should put this in the evidence bag as well."
"Evidence bag?" Merry laughed. "What are we, Cagney and Lacey?"
"And why not?" I asked, a little miffed. "We helped solve that issue with the Dragon Lady last year, didn't we?"
Merry nodded, her eyes still twinkling. "We sure did. Of course, Scotty and friends weren't exactly happy with us, but oh well."
I smiled wryly, recalling last summer and the craziness that was Seneca Meadows' Chamber of Commerce before Merry became the president. Of course, this year's C of C outing wasn't exactly a bowl of cherries, but that wasn't our fault. At least I hoped that it wasn't. Hopefully a face-to-face with Lisa Caldwell would help clear a few things up for us.
Ten minutes later, I was doing a fairly accurate impression of a penguin as I walked, flapping beside Merry as we made our way into the lobby of the local hospital. The sandals were too large for me and definitely did not complement my outfit, but at least they weren't smeared with whatever it was I'd picked up on my shoe.
The front reception desk was overseen by one of the tiniest ladies I'd ever seen. With sparkling brown eyes sunk deep within a veritable map of wrinkles and a cotton ball of hair on top of her head, she smiled up at us as she gave us the directions to Lisa's room.
"Now I'm sure that you gals know that visiting hours are over in twenty minutes. Don't you make me come up there and run you out," she added with a mischievous grin and a shake of her finger.
"No, ma'am," said Merry, her southern upbringing kicking into high gear. "We certainly won't, ma'am."
"I'll make sure we're out on time," I said, giving Merry's arm a tug. "Thanks for your help."
"And might I ask where you're from?" She smiled at Merry, then turned curious eyes on me. "She's definitely a Georgia peach." She stared at me, eyes narrowing even more as she tapped her chin. "Let's see. Are you Canadian? You don't sound like you're from Seneca Meadows."
I managed to keep a straight face as I answered. "No. I'm from New York City."
Lisa Caldwell was in a private room on the recovery floor, its window bracketed with sheer draperies that fluttered in the breeze from a small fan that sat near the bed. She was awake, holding an electronic reader in one hand and a water bottle in the other. I saw that she had one bare foot peeking out from the covers, and I smiled inwardly. I did the same thing, even in the coolest of weather. Greg called it my "regulator." I called it my temperature gauge.
"Lisa, I hope this isn't a bad time." Merry stepped forward and offered the small vase of pink carnations that we'd picked up in the gift shop. "We just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."
Lisa Caldwell laid her reader facedown on the covers and motioned toward the small sofa that sat under the window. "No, it's fine. I'm actually waiting for my doctor to swing by and tell me when I can check out of this god-forsaken place."
I wasn't sure if that was a reference to the hospital or the town.
"I totally get it," Merry said. I knew her well enough to hear the underpinning of irritation in her voice. "Small places can feel confining. Kinda like that booth we had set up for Sarah Lawson." The smile on her face was more feline than the Cheshire Cat's. "It's really too bad that you couldn't wait for your turn."
"Yeah, well, you know," muttered Lisa, her eyes firmly fixed on the water bottle.
"No, we don't know," I said, stepping in to ward off any further verbal sparring. "And that's why we're here. Could you please explain why you attacked Sarah?"
Lisa's head jerked up. "She was asking for it. And if I'd have known that she was going to be here," she added with a frown, "I wouldn't have given you the time of day."
Merry and I exchanged glances. I'd been under the impression that Lisa had known about Sarah's agreement to appear at the fall festival and to hold her book debut in Seneca Meadows.
"And if you hadn't sent me that email confirming the time, you can bet your bottom dollar I would've still been in NYC." This comment was fired at Merry, complete with crossed arms and a scowl. If she hadn't been lying in bed, Lisa Caldwell would have probably stomped her feet.
"Hold on there," Merry shot back, palms held out. "The only email that I sent to you was in response to the one that you sent to me. This whole thing was your idea."
My head was on a swivel as I looked from one angry woman to the other. I probably should have stepped in and donned the referee stripes, but truth be told, this was quite entertaining.
Lisa struggled up from her nest of pillows, her face flushed and eyes narrowed. "I did not send you an email. In fact, I'd never heard of this horrible town or your little bookstore until you contacted me."
This was getting confusing. And it was time to wave the proverbial white flag between the two combatants.
"Ladies," I began, "let's take a moment and breathe, all right?" When neither one responded, I added, "It sounds to me as though someone has played the two of you against each other. Any idea who this might be? And why?"
"Sarah Lawson."
Merry and Lisa's duet was not a surprise. What astonished me was the vehemence behind the words. There was certainly bad blood between Lisa and Sarah, and it made me wonder if it had spilled over onto Viviana and Victoria unintentionally.
"Merry, do you still have the email you thought was from Lisa?" I'd gotten her to take a seat beside me and poured her a glass of water from the carafe sitting on the side table.
"I think so," she said slowly, sipping the water and looking down at the floor. "In fact, I believe I put it in the folder I made for the festival. It was just something to help me stay organized," she added to no one in particular.
"All right, that's good. Lisa?" I looked over at the bed, happy to see that her color had come down. "How about you? Would you still have a copy of the email that you say you got from Merry?"
She shrugged. "Probably. To be honest, I don't deal directly with these things. I let my assistant handle emails and the like."
"When was the last time you spoke with her?"
"Him. His name is Zayne Tillmon." She gave a dry laugh. "And he is not happy with me, I can tell you that."
I nodded sympathetically, but my mind was already formulating a plan. "Would it be all right if I contacted him?"
<
br /> Another shrug. "Sure. I don't see why not. I'd rather not talk to him right now anyway." She smiled and then winced. "And I don't want to see him until this shiner is gone." She gestured toward the dark bruise on her cheekbone, a mass of purple and blue that clashed with her red hair.
"You could've prevented that," Merry muttered under her breath.
Lisa glared in her direction, and I held up one hand.
"Let's not get back on that train again, girls. Lisa, do you know his number off the top of your head?"
"No. If you can hand me my bag," she said, pointing at a tall cabinet, "I can get it from my cell phone."
I retrieved the bag and waited while she fished around inside and pulled out a surprisingly outdated flip phone. I glanced at Merry and saw that she was grinning. Luckily, Lisa was too busy thumbing through her contacts list to notice. I had no desire to referee another argument.
"Okay, ready?" Lisa held the phone up and looked at me.
I nodded, my own cell phone already out and primed.
"Zayne's number is"—she rattled off the ten digits, and I typed them into my own contacts list.
"Got it," I said, then slipped my cell back into my pocket. "I'll call him later." I smiled at her and turned to look at Merry. "It's been nice talking with you, Lisa. Maybe we'll run into each other someday."
Lisa snorted. "Unless you plan on spending some time in the big city, I highly doubt it."
"What Caro means is that you might run into each other at a writers' conference." She pointed at me with her thumb. "She happens to be a USA Today bestselling author, Lisa."
"Is that so?" Lisa looked at me with more interest. "Would I have read anything of yours?"
I have to admit that this question is one of my least favorite. How does one answer that? Thankfully, I did not have to try. Instead, Merry hopped into the breach for me.
"Unless you read something besides Amish mysteries, I doubt it. Caro writes an award-winning cozy-mystery series." She grinned at me. "It's called the Harried Hairdresser and it's really funny."
"Is that so?" Lisa said again, only this time with more enthusiasm. "My mom loves those books. Just wait until I tell her I met the author."
"Send her name and address to Merry, and I'll make sure she gets an autographed copy of my newest when it comes out." I hoped my smile appeared genuine. Inside, I was pushing closer to the irritation threshold. The woman was a complete hypocrite.
"Oh, absolutely." Lisa Caldwell now sounded positively friendly. I fully expected her to offer me a fist bump, and I instinctively put my hands behind my back.
"Knock, knock." The door opened and a cheerful face peered around the corner. "Ms. Caldwell, I'm with the dietary department, and I need to see what you'd like for dinner tonight." Sporting brightly colored scrubs, the smiling young woman headed for the bed, menu in hand.
I motioned with my head toward the door, and Merry nodded.
"Lisa, we're going to take off, but please keep in touch and let us know how you're getting on, okay?"
"I thought I was going to go home?" Lisa had already forgotten about us and was frowning down at the menu.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's just precautionary in case they decide to keep you longer."
We left the room quietly, leaving the kitchen worker to handle a very unhappy patient.
CHAPTER NINE
"Well, she is definitely one piece of work." Merry gave the Mini Cooper's steering wheel a thump with both hands for emphasis. "If we hadn't left when we did, I was going to show her how to be a nice, polite visitor to Seneca Meadows." She looked at me, the color on her face higher than normal. "Did you hear what she called my bookstore?"
"Mmm," I said, taking more than enough time to fasten my seat belt. I had heard Lisa's condescending comments, of course, but it was what I hadn't heard that interested me more.
"So what's the next step, Miss Marple?" Merry threw the car into gear and we leaped forward with a squeal of the tires.
Clutching the sissy strap that hung next to my right ear, I held on for dear life while I tried to think. We'd gotten an interesting tidbit from Lisa Caldwell (the "who dunnit" email trail) and nothing else. It was that nothing else that was niggling at my brain. She had never said anything about why the attack on Sarah Lawson. And since Sarah had gone underground, leaving only her pit bull dog of a personal assistant to deal with, this was just a dead end.
"Speaking of dead ends," I said, causing Merry to give me a strange look. I didn't bother explaining my thought process. "Have you heard back from Scotty concerning the rags?"
"I completely forgot." She leaned back in her seat a bit and fished in her right front pocket for her cell phone. "Here. It should already be unlocked."
"You're going to give yourself some sort of crazy disease if you carry this next to your body all the time," I said reprovingly. I glanced down at the screen and grinned. Merry's screen saver was a snap shot of Officer Scott, his round face alight with a warm smile directed at the person behind the camera. Maybe I'd get to be a matron of honor sooner than I thought. I just hoped she wouldn't have one of those typically southern garden weddings, all bouffant hairdos and ruffles out the… My train of was thought was abruptly interrupted, derailed by an irritated "hmmph" from the driver.
"No text yet," I said, adding, "and cute picture, by the way."
"He's such a hunk."
I started to laugh and then decided against it in case she was serious. I wanted to be in the wedding, not read about in the Seneca Meadows Journal.
"Let's head over to Candy's for some nourishment," I suggested as my recalcitrant stomach gave a rumble. "I could use something sweet right now." I tapped my forehead with one finger. "Helps get the ol' noggin working in tip-top shape."
Merry snorted but turned right on Main Street. "When aren't you wanting something sweet, girl?"
I pretended to be insulted and gave her a gentle poke in the side with one of my elbows. "Whatever," I said, causing her to laugh aloud.
"I'm loving this new sassy American you," she said. "What's next? Wearing your jeans down on your hips? Calling Greg your boo?"
I gave an exaggerated shudder. "One can only take things so far, Merry."
We were still chuckling when we pulled in front of Candy's Sweets and Treats.
The interior of Candy's was warm and inviting, the air redolent with the scent of freshly baked cookies. I sniffed appreciatively, glad that this was still a calorie-free indulgence since most sugary treats migrated directly to my hips and thighs.
"Mrs. B, Merry," came the cheerful greeting from behind the counter. "We just pulled out a batch of snickerdoodles." She mimed waving the scent our way.
I groaned, but it was for show only. I was here to enjoy a treat, not drool over the counter.
"I definitely will have a few of those, Candy." I gestured at the handwritten menu hanging behind her. "And I'll have a large iced mocha too. Might as well go all the way." I turned to Merry. "My treat today."
"Awesome." Bending down, she pointed to a fat bear claw, its outside sealed in Candy's homemade vanilla icing. "I'll take that," she said. "And could you heat it up?"
"Absolutely. Just give me just a sec and I'll check to see if we've got more of these in the back. We had some come out of the oven just a bit ago," she added over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door.
"Yum." Merry rubbed her stomach and closed her eyes. "I just love this place. Wouldn't it be cool to combine this bakery and the bookstore?"
I nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. Why don't you add a small area where you could sell cookies and maybe have a coffee pot going? You could charge a little bit more but not too much. I wouldn't think that making a profit would be your goal."
"I agree. And maybe she could create a special dessert or drink each month to go with a featured book." She looked at me approvingly. "I think I could do it, Caro. Great idea."
"Of course." I reached over and gave her an impulsive hug. "
You rock, Merry."
"Why, yes, I do." She gave me a small bow and promptly bumped her forehead on the edge of the counter.
"Well, good grief, you two." Candy came back through the kitchen door carrying two plates, shaking her head as she watched Merry rubbing the red mark on her forehead. "Just can't leave you alone without something happening." She slid the plates to us, adding, "Speaking of something happening, are you going to be looking into those murders?"
Merry and I glanced at each other.
"Well, since it happened on my watch, I'm feeling responsible, you know?" Merry motioned toward me. "And since Caro was supposed to be the corpse to begin with, well, I guess she kinda dodged a bullet there. Or a ligature."
When someone says, "My life flashed before my eyes," trust me: they mean it. I hadn't even considered that possibility until Merry said it, and I felt that I couldn't breathe. Memories of my childhood, of meeting Greg, of marrying him and of coming to America: all of that moved through my mind as quickly as a slideshow.
"Caro, are you okay?" Candy's expression mirrored the concern on her face.
I shook my head, feeling my knees and hands beginning to tremble.
"Oh, my goodness, Caro," exclaimed Merry. "I am so, so sorry—I really thought you'd already considered that angle." She grabbed my arms and led me over to a table. "Here, sit down and let me get you some water."
I folded into the chair as limp as a rag doll. Had I really been that close to death? I lifted the glass of water to my suddenly dry lips and drank deeply. Cotton on the stalk in an arid field had more moisture than the inside of my mouth did at the moment.
When I'd recovered somewhat, I looked directly at Merry and said, "Do you think I was the target all along? And maybe whoever killed Viv didn't realize that it wasn't me?"
Merry's eyes widened and her face paled. "Are you thinking that maybe this whole thing was a writer versus writer issue? Maybe Sarah or Lisa—or both—wanted you out of the way for some reason?"
Candy slipped into an empty chair beside us. "That wouldn't be the first time someone did away with the competition. Remember that killing last year, where one chef poisoned the other because they were afraid the other had more publicity than they did?" She shook her head. "I'm telling you. It happens all the time: drug dealers bumping each other off, politicians ordering hits on their rivals…and writers killing each other for more readers."
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 8
