"Good thinking, Caro." Merry put on her indicator, changing lanes and heading for the exit to Seneca Meadows. "I think what I'll do is create a spreadsheet so we can just plug in names and other data."
"What in the world for?" I asked with a laugh. "I don't think I've ever heard of that particular plan of attack before, at least when it comes to solving a crime. And believe me, I've done my research."
"There's always a first for everything," said Merry airily. "And I happen to think that we'll be able to see who's who a bit clearer if it's on a spreadsheet."
"Hercule Poirot, eat your heart out," I muttered.
I could just picture the great detective working his "little grey cells" over a computer program. That would absolutely take the romance out of Dame Christie's stories for me, I was certain.
And poor Captain Hastings would have nothing to do.
* * *
Greg was glad to see me. I couldn't tell if Trixie was or not, but she did allow me to scoop her up and give her a squeeze. Her little belly felt a bit rounder than when I had left her that morning, leaving me to wonder just how much the little darling had eaten.
"Did you get everything accomplished that you'd set out to do?" Greg carried a mug of chamomile tea to my side of the bed, dropping a kiss on my forehead.
I took a grateful sip, eyes closed, and smiled. There were times that I felt like the luckiest woman in the world, and this was certainly one of them.
"I think so," I said, patting the covers. "How was your ride?"
'It was good. We have a new member of the group, so the rest of us made sure to pace ourselves."
"You paced yourselves to keep up with him or slowed down so he wouldn't feel badly?"
"Her. And to keep up. She's an absolutely phenomenal rider."
I gave him a sharp look. I didn't care for the enthusiastic tone I was hearing. Maybe I'd need to check out this new cyclist myself.
"I see." I took another sip of the tea. "Well, Merry and I might have just solved the current murder mystery."
Take that, phenomenal rider, I thought. I smiled sweetly at my husband, enjoying the consternation on his face. Well, if he wanted any more information, he'd have to drag it out of me.
"Of course, we haven't verified the facts yet, but we've got the basic plot of the issue," I couldn't resist adding.
Greg snorted. "It's nice to know that some things don't change, Caro. You and Merry just can't keep your noses out of others' business." He stood up, giving Trixie's ears a quick rub. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I want to email the group about today's ride."
"It is too our business," I called out to his back. "They were killed because of us."
I could almost hear him shaking his head as he walked down the hall.
"Well, it's true," I said to Trixie.
She gave me a long look, then turned her back on me and tucked her nose under her tail.
"Fine. Be that way. Just wait until tomorrow. We'll have it all solved and then see who's the crazy one then."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After a very restless night, I woke up to rain, rain, and more rain. Even the mug of coffee that was awaiting me didn't lift my spirits, and I was so snappish that Greg was glad to leave for work.
"Take time for yourself today, Caro. Go get a pedicure. Buy a new handbag." He leaned over to kiss me, adding, "And I'll take you out to dinner tonight, all right?"
What I wanted to say was that there was no way that I'd go out into the rain just to buy a new purse, but I just nodded dumbly. I hated it when he was so understanding; I couldn't vent my feelings without appearing like an absolute infant. Maybe Trixie would be snooty enough to validate my bad mood.
I moved into my office after Greg left, swinging back and forth in my chair and watching the rain. I hated having to be out in it, I truly did, but I had to admit there was something almost hypnotic about the drops sliding down the window. I'd almost meditated my way to a better mood when my cell phone began singing "Hakuna Matata," my latest choice for a ringtone.
"Caro here," I answered, moving my chair farther away from my desk and putting my feet on its top. It was Merry, so I figured I might as well get comfortable.
"Guess who lives just ten miles from Seneca Meadows?" Merry asked, jumping right into the conversation without a greeting.
"I have no clue," I replied. "Why don't you just tell me?"
"You're no fun this morning," she said, then added, "Zayne Tillmon. As in zany boy himself."
"Lisa Caldwell's assistant?"
"The one and only." There was a slight pause. "Aren't you going to ask me how I found out?"
"No. You're going to tell me anyway, so go ahead."
"Wet blanket. He called me. Well, he called the bookstore, I mean. He's coming this way today and wants to get Lisa's books."
"That's convenient," I agreed. "And I suppose you'll take the opportunity to find out where he was when Viviana and Victoria were killed?"
"I thought we could tag-team, Caro."
"Merry, have you looked outside?"
She laughed. "Yep. And that's exactly why I'm calling instead of sitting at your kitchen table or still lying in bed, cup of hot tea in one hand."
"Is it going to rain all day?" I inquired, squinting at a crack in the curtains and seeing nothing except gray.
"We do have those contraptions called umbrellas, you know," Merry commented. "Super easy to use, I've heard. And—believe it or not—I spotted one in your hallway last time I was over."
"Why, thank you, Ms. Helpful," I said dryly. "I'd been wondering what that thing was hanging from my coat rack."
"That's what friends are for," she said cheerfully. I could hear the sound of bedclothes rustling in the background. "And now I'm up and at 'em. Could you be ready in, say, one hour?"
I groaned. "One hour? I haven't even had my second mug of coffee yet."
"Well, get a move on, girlfriend. See you in one!"
I glared at the phone, then jabbed the disconnect icon with one finger. You could probably guess which one I used.
"Well, Trixie, looks like you'll get your wish. I'll be gone for a while so you can sleep the day away in my bed."
She merely tucked her nose more firmly under her tail, her way of telling me to get lost.
Sighing, I shuffled toward the bathroom. Maybe a shower would clear the cobwebs out of the old noggin, wash away last night's restless sleep. At the very least, it would get the gunk out of my eyes and make me appear awake. If I knew Merry, she'd be bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball gone wild.
True to her word, Merry was ready to leave in one hour. Huddling under the biggest umbrella I could find, I hurried out to her car and went through a series of contortions as I attempted to get into the front seat, fold up the umbrella, and close the door—all without getting wet. Needless to say, I wasn't that successful.
"I sincerely hope that he's meeting us there soon, otherwise I'm going to have your hide for dragging me out in this weather." I scowled in Merry's general direction as I shook the rain from my coat sleeves.
"If you don't mind, Susie Sunshine, I already took a shower this morning." Merry brushed off a stray drop from her face. "And yes, he's supposed to be there within a few minutes of opening. Apparently he's here to meet Lisa and he's swinging by here first."
"Thank goodness for small mercies," I muttered, settling back into the seat and trying to ignore the damp feeling. "I don't think I could bear seeing her this morning."
"In addition to the rain?" Merry's voice held a teasing note, and I had to smile.
"Something like that," I admitted. "Do we have time to swing by Candy's?"
"Maybe. Why?"
"I think this is going to be a bakery sort of morning, Merry. My treat," I added, reaching over to give her arm a squeeze. "As a kind of 'thank you' for driving."
"Oh, sure," she said, shaking her head as she changed lanes and headed for Main Street. "Say that again after I've put you to work dusting bookshe
lves."
"Such a pal," I drawled. But I was still smiling. Merry could do that to me, even in the rain.
* * *
Zayne Tillmon in person was exactly as he seemed to be on his voice mail message. He fairly floated into the bookstore, exclaiming over the weather—"It's absolutely unbelievable, dears. Unbelievable!"—and gesticulating at the bookstore. The verbal italics were as obvious as the rain outdoors.
"Such a quaint place. Have you had this for long?"
"Oh, I've been here a while," replied Merry vaguely. "Do you need help getting the boxes out to your car?"
"Boxes? How much junk—oopsie! I mean books—did she have sent here?"
"A bit. Maybe she was looking for a successful signing," she threw over her shoulder as she led him to the back of the store. "Caro? Can you give us a hand?"
Indeed I could. I wasn't about to be left behind in case Lisa Caldwell's talkative assistant dropped more interesting tidbits about his boss. And, to be honest, I didn't want her left alone with him in case he did turn out to be our killer.
Zayne's nose wrinkled in apparent distaste when he saw the neat stack of boxes on the floor. "She actually thought she was going to sell that many?"
Merry shrugged. "Perhaps. The books were sent from the publisher's, so maybe they thought they'd go over well."
Zayne hooted. "Have you read her books? I mean really, dearies. They're absolute trash."
"And does Lisa know how you feel?" Merry asked, arms crossed and eyebrows lifted.
He shrugged, running one hand through his highlighted hair. "She's a paycheck."
"Shouldn't you at least be supportive of her?" I was surprised by his blunt comments. And thankful I didn't have a personal assistant. If that's how it was, it was best I didn't indulge. I could be my own critic perfectly fine, thank you very much.
Again a shrug. "When I have to. I've always wanted to be an actor," he added with a shrill laugh. "This is as close as I can get right now." He pointed at his chest with both thumbs. "Oscar worthy, that's me."
I was disgusted. "Merry, I'll wait out front. I'm sure Mr. Tillmon can carry those boxes by himself. He seems able to carry that gigantic ego without help just fine."
"Well, isn't she just little ray of sunshine," I heard him say as I walked into the store. I hoped he'd get soaked.
I waited on the sofa until he had left Murder by the Book, noting that Merry's farewells were clipped and formal. I had to shake my head. People such as Zayne Tillmon just didn't understand how offensive they could be. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up in one of my books.
"Any joy with that one?" I wrinkled my nose as if I detected a lingering malodor.
Merry shook her head, collapsing down on the sofa next to me. "All I had time to say was, 'And what have you been up to lately?' and he was off like a jack rabbit, giving me a complete rundown of everything he'd be doing lately, and I do mean everything." She gave a theatrical shudder, and I grinned.
"Sounds a bit like a verbal selfie," I commented.
"Definitely worse than a Kardashian overexposure, that's for sure," she agreed. "So, now what? I've got a girl coming in to watch the store in about thirty minutes."
I raised my arms above my head, giving them a good stretch. "I don't know. Maybe we could enjoy some of those goodies from Candy's first? My rain-soaked brain needs a dose of sugar right about now."
"Rain-soaked." Merry snorted. "Last time I checked, this place had a pretty solid roof, you sissy."
"Oh, you know what I mean," I said crossly. "I. Hate. Rain."
"Have a cream cheese pocket, Caro."
I did.
* * *
We were able to cross Zayne I-Love-Myself Tillmon off our suspect list. Even if I'd still had my suspicions, I had a hard time believing he'd have been able to keep his role under wraps. He'd have spilled the beans on himself. All the boy needed was a camera crew for his life to be complete.
I suggested that we head back home after we demolished the entirety of the bag of pastries. Merry, leaving her helper in charge and dusting the bookshelves, agreed to run me back home.
"if you don't mind, I'm going to hang out at the store for a while this morning," she said. "Even though I know it's perfectly okay to have paid help, I start feeling guilty if I leave it alone for too long."
Waving a hasty good-bye as I attempted to dodge the still-falling rain, I dashed inside my house to be greeted by a very grumpy Trixie.
"Now what?" I hung up my umbrella and slipped out of my wet shoes, shivering with the damp. "I need to change my clothes, missy, so if you want my attention, you'll have to follow me."
I headed down the hall to my room, grinning as I heard the sound of a dachshund waddling behind me. The longer we had her, the more I was convinced she understood English perfectly well.
Dressed in a velour tracksuit—one that was obviously never meant for real exercise—I reached down to scoop up the dog and give her a hug. To my surprise, she submitted without a fuss. Hmm, I thought. Something's up.
I found the something in the middle of the kitchen floor.
"Trixie! What were you thinking?" I exclaimed as I surveyed the torn bakery bag, its contents clearly gone. "Dogs don't eat cinnamon rolls." I held her out and made her look me in the eyes. "Now you'll have a tummy ache for the rest of the day. I'm tempted to put you outside."
But I didn't. If there was anyone who detested precipitation more than I, it was Trixie.
I laid her in her basket while I cleaned up the evidence. I really needed to get some story line plotting completed for my next Harried Hairdresser book, especially since I'd just signed another contract with Devin Cotton.
I couldn't let go of the investigation into Viviana's and Victoria's murders, though. The rest of the afternoon found me sitting at my desk, clicking through various sites on my laptop as I tried out various motives against the list of suspects.
Finally, feeling quite irritated with the lack of forward progress, I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair. What was it that was rolling around in the back of my mind? There was something I was missing, I was sure of it.
I got up and headed for the kitchen. My Keurig was calling my name and I was ready to obey, slave to the caffeine that I was. I stopped in midstride, trying to uncover what it was I'd just been on the verge of recalling. That "slave to caffeine" thought had prompted something, I was sure of it. Sighing, I resumed my walk down the hall. Maybe a mug of Peppermint Bark coffee would wiggle things loose.
Trixie lifted a heavy head as I fiddled around with the coffee machine, her chocolate brown eyes still sleepy. I knelt next to her basket, running my fingers over her soft fur.
"So, girl. How's the ol' tum tum? Still feeling poorly?" A small nip at my hand answered that query. "Well, I'm having coffee. How about some fresh water for you?"
I suited action to my words and left the kitchen with a steaming mug of fragrant coffee in my hands. Maybe a caffeine jolt would help me think.
Settling back in at my desk, I glanced idly out the window and was surprised to see it had begun to clear. Good—at least it wouldn't be dripping wet when Greg and I headed out to dinner that evening. Frizzy hair just didn't complement my upbeat mood when dining out.
I got no further with either my writing or my sleuthing. When Greg came home, I was seated at the kitchen table, chin in hand and a frown on my face.
"So I see there's been some progress today," he said, nodding at my clothes. Bending down to kiss the top of my head, he ran one hand over my back. "Going to change before we go out?"
I decided to play dumb. "I did. I figured wearing wet clothes all day wouldn't be good for the skin."
"Wet clothes?" Now he was frowning. "Don't tell me you actually went out in it, Caro."
"Of course," I said, one hand on my chest. "Wasn't it you who told me to go shopping?"
"And so I did." He sat down across from me. "Go on—give it to me. How much did you spend?"
I looked up at the ceil
ing as if taking my answer from there. "Let's see. I think it was around seven dollars."
"Seven? Total?"
"Of course, silly. Candy's prices are still fairly acceptable, Greg."
He just shook his head at me. "Look, I'll go and change. If you want to go out in that," he said, motioning at my velour track suit as he stood, "be my guest."
"Why, thank you, kind sir," I said sweetly. "I just might."
I followed him down the hall. Why did I feel like this was a repeat of my trek with Trixie just hours before? It occurred to me that I was in the role of the waddling dog, and it made me smile. Greg caught sight of my face in the bathroom mirror's reflection.
"What? Did I say something funny?"
"No," I said, shaking my head and going over to put my arms around him. "Just remembering something from earlier today."
"Well, maybe I can convince you to share your thoughts with me," he murmured, lowering his face to mine.
I'm afraid all other thoughts were forgotten for the next half hour or so. And needless to say, we were a bit late for our dinner reservations. I wasn't complaining, though, and neither was my hubby.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In our part of upper New York State, there are any number of little towns and burgs. Most of them were built around a specific industry, anything from thriving dairies to lumber mills. The Erie, Oswego, Champlain, and Cuyaga-Seneca Canals run through most of the state and have allowed for distribution of these goods and more for the best part of two and a half centuries. And thanks to the intricate canal system's history, we were seated at a table for two overlooking the famed Erie Canal.
"This is quite charming, Greg." I set my goblet of water down and looked around at the inside of the refurbished canal boat. "How did you find out about this?"
"You remember the newest member of our cycling group? The one who out-rode all of us?"
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 12
