by Sarah Fox
The blond woman I’d seen in the dining room the other day descended the last few steps to the marble floor. The black ballet flats she wore with her skinny jeans and white blouse allowed her to move silently.
Heat flared in my cheeks. I scooted out from behind the reception desk, terrified that Gemma and Brad might have heard her.
“I wasn’t . . .” I tried to come up with an innocent explanation for my presence behind the desk, but my mind went blank.
The woman winked at me before slipping on her oversized sunglasses. “I won’t tell.”
With a pink designer handbag hanging from the crook in her arm, she strode out of the hotel with the haughty confidence of a runway model.
I didn’t dare risk any further eavesdropping. Getting caught once was bad enough and the next time I might not get off so easily. I hurried out the front door and then slowed my steps, not wanting to catch up with the blond woman in case she brought up my eavesdropping again. She was headed around the building toward the parking lot, just as I was, so I stopped for a moment, pretending to admire the beautiful blooms on a rhododendron bush. Once the woman had climbed into a silver sedan, I hurried to my own car and headed back to the Inkwell.
* * *
A familiar voice called my name as soon as I climbed out of my car. Joey Fontana, a friend of mine who co-owned the local newspaper with his father, was walking up the road. He broke into a jog to catch up with me as I reached the footbridge that led across the creek to the pub. A breeze had picked up since earlier in the day and it ruffled Joey’s dark hair as he fell into step beside me. He held a white paper bag in one hand, imprinted with the logo of Sofie’s Treat, the local bakery.
“I see you’ve been indulging,” I said with a glance at the bag.
Joey grinned. “I brought something for you too.”
“That must mean you want something in return.” I didn’t give him a chance to confirm or deny that. “Let me guess—you have questions about Marcie Kent.”
“Got it in one.”
Joey wrote many of the articles for the Shady Creek Tribune himself, and he wasn’t one to shy away from asking questions.
“You’ve had more contact with her than most people in this town,” Joey said as I unlocked the Inkwell’s red front door. “The Honeywells won’t give me anything other than a two-line statement, and the author Marcie worked for is unavailable for comment.” He hooked air quotes around the last three words.
“Of course she is.” I pulled open the door and Joey followed me inside. “She’s distraught. She doesn’t need to be pestered by reporters.”
“Would I pester anyone?” Joey asked with mock innocence.
“Seriously, Joey,” I said as we made our way across the dimly lit pub.
“Hey, I hear you,” he assured me. “That’s why I’m here instead of hanging around the manor like a vulture.”
When I reached the bar, I slipped behind it and flicked on the overhead lights. Joey took a seat on one of the stools, setting his bakery bag on the bar. He produced a chocolate-drizzled croissant and then held the bag out to me. My mouth already watering, I accepted the remaining croissant.
“Thank you.” I pulled a piece off the end of the buttery treat. “But don’t think I’m going to be dishing out any juicy rumors in return.”
“So there are juicy rumors about the author’s assistant?”
All I could do was shake my head, since my mouth was full of chocolate and croissant.
He studied me from across the bar, a little too closely for my liking. “I’m not sure I believe you, but we’ll let it go for the moment.”
I didn’t want to share with him that Eleanor had made insinuations about Marcie’s past. Even though I was just as curious as he would be to know more details, I felt protective toward Linnea. She probably wasn’t likely to read the next issue of the Tribune, but I still didn’t want to be responsible for upsetting her if what Joey reported somehow reached her. Maybe once I knew what it was about Marcie’s past that Eleanor had referred to, I could reassess whether I’d share the information with Joey. Until then, I was determined to keep quiet about it.
After savoring another delicious bite of croissant, I decided to turn the tables and do a little digging for information of my own.
“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time at the bakery lately,” I said. “Any particular reason?”
It was hard to tell for sure, but I thought Joey’s cheeks flushed slightly. I envied him the fact that his cheeks didn’t turn a flaming shade of red like mine had a tendency to do.
“Sofie’s a magician with flour, sugar, and butter,” he replied.
“She is,” I agreed.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes and I decided to take pity on him and not press the matter any further. The rumor was that he’d started spending so much time at the bakery because he had a crush on Sofie. Judging by Joey’s reaction to my questioning, the rumor was true.
It wasn’t hard to see why he’d like the baker. She was cheerful, friendly, and pretty. She was probably in her late twenties, like Joey was, and she had a head of thick, dark curls that cascaded down her back, at least when she didn’t have them tied back for work. For Joey’s sake, I hoped his feelings were reciprocated. I considered Joey a good friend and I wanted him to be happy. His new crush also brought me some relief. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d had an interest in me. Since I hadn’t felt the same way, I’d worried about how that might affect our friendship. It seemed I didn’t have to worry about that anymore.
“Anyway,” Joey said, meeting my eyes again, “I came to talk about the murder, not baked goods.”
I sighed in disappointment, not because of the change in topic, but because I’d just finished my last piece of croissant.
“I’m guessing you heard I was at the manor when Marcie died,” I said.
“Yep.” He sobered. “How are you doing? That couldn’t have been nice.”
“No, it definitely wasn’t. But I’m doing okay.”
“So you’ll give me your eyewitness account?”
I didn’t see how that could hurt, so I agreed. If he hadn’t already talked to other people who’d been at the manor at the time, he would soon. I didn’t venture beyond the basics, however, and I left out the fact that I had suspicions about Brad Honeywell. I also didn’t mention that I’d done some eavesdropping at the hotel.
When I’d finished relaying my account of the tragedy to Joey, I asked if he knew anything about the police investigation. He didn’t—not yet, at least—so I was left with all my unanswered questions about who’d killed Marcie and why.
Joey left the pub shortly before I opened it to the public and I kept busy throughout the afternoon, mixing cocktails and serving customers with Mel’s help. After Mel’s shift had ended and Damien had taken over for her, I slipped into the kitchen for a short break and a dinner of The Red Cabbage of Courage, a salad made with crispy ramen noodles, grated carrot, sunflower seeds, red cabbage, and a vinaigrette. The nacho platter Teagan had just put together for a customer made my mouth water, but I forced myself to resist temptation and choose the healthier, but still delicious, option of the salad.
“Did you buy a masquerade ticket?” I asked Teagan between forkfuls of salad.
She removed a tray of crostini from the oven. “Yep. Zoe too. We made sure to get them early in case they sell out.”
Zoe was Teagan’s identical twin sister. If not for the streak of red through Teagan’s dark blond hair, I would have had trouble telling them apart whenever I saw them together.
“Do you have a date?” she asked as she flipped burgers on the grill.
“No date and so far no dress,” I said. “You?”
“Zoe’s going with her boyfriend, Cal, but I’m going solo. I do have a dress, though. You don’t have much time left to get one.”
“I know, but Shontelle and I are going shopping tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to see what you choose.”
&
nbsp; “Same here,” I said with a smile before scooping the last of my salad onto my fork.
When I left the kitchen moments later with a full stomach, Olivia Lo was taking a seat at the bar. Not a single strand of her jet-black hair was out of place, despite the fact that she’d just come in out of the stiff breeze that was causing tree branches to wave and dance outside the windows. She wore the same black leather jacket as I’d seen her in before, and when I drew closer I noticed that her fingernails were painted a dark shade of red.
“Sadie, right?” she asked me as I approached.
“That’s right. And you’re Olivia?”
She confirmed that with a brisk nod. “Grayson spoke to you about getting some shots of the pub for the episode?”
“He did. Can I get you anything to eat or drink before we talk? It’s on the house.”
“A glass of Merlot, please.” Her gaze dropped to her phone and she tapped at the screen, pausing our conversation for the moment.
I had hoped she’d want to try one of the literary-themed cocktails from the menu so she could get a taste of what made the Inkwell unique, and hopefully decide to showcase that on the episode, but I didn’t dare attempt to steer her that way. Her manner was cool and she seemed a bit tense. I didn’t want to annoy her and have her change her mind about including the Inkwell in the Craft Nation episode.
When she had her glass of wine, we moved to a small table in a quiet corner to chat. It didn’t take long for Olivia to fill me in on her plans for filming at the pub. She got straight down to business, not bothering with any small talk, only pausing now and then to take generous sips of her wine.
“You open at noon tomorrow, right?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“We’ll get some exterior shots of the pub around nine in the morning, if the weather’s right. Can you get a dozen or so people to come in and eat or drink while we get a few interior shots? We don’t want to do it during your regular business hours. No telling how many people would rush the doors, hoping for a chance to get their face on TV.”
“A dozen or so shouldn’t be a problem,” I said, already thinking about whom I should text that evening. Aunt Gilda topped the list, followed by Shontelle.
“Good.” Olivia tapped at her phone while she talked. “Get them here by ten. I don’t want this to put us behind schedule.”
She tipped her glass to drain the last of her wine and then she pushed back her chair and grabbed her handbag.
“Nice talking to you,” she said, although the words sounded automatic rather than sincere. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you.” I barely got the words out before she was striding across the pub and out the door in her high-heeled boots.
Despite the director’s somewhat prickly personality, the meeting left me with a smile on my face. After what had happened the day before, it was nice to have something exciting to look forward to.
Chapter 9
I woke up the next morning with a flurry of excitement in my stomach. The film crew would be arriving in a couple of hours and I was thrilled to have the chance to show off the Inkwell to the Craft Nation audience. I knew full well that any footage shot at the pub could end up on the cutting room floor, or the pub might get only a few seconds of screen time, but I was choosing to stay positive and holding on to the belief that the Inkwell would get enough coverage to capture the interest of at least some viewers.
Since I was so eager to get on with the day, Wimsey didn’t have to employ any of his usual tactics to get me out of bed. I threw back the covers without any assistance from him and almost beat him out of the bedroom. Once he was fed and satisfied, I got myself ready, taking a bit of extra time to make sure I was looking my best. Olivia hadn’t said that I’d be in any of the shots filmed at the Inkwell, and I didn’t mind if I wasn’t, but I wanted to be camera ready just in case.
I was too antsy to cook a bowl of oatmeal or even to make some toast, so I decided to walk over to the Village Bean to pick up one of Nettie Jo’s delicious carrot muffins and some coffee. Wimsey followed me out the front door, but had no intention of going any farther. He hopped up onto one of the two whiskey barrels that flanked the door and set to work washing his face.
“Stick around and you might end up on TV,” I said, giving him a pat.
He shook his head to dislodge my hand from his fur and got back to his grooming. He certainly didn’t seem interested in a few seconds of fame.
Leaving Wimsey on his barrel, I set off across the footbridge. I hadn’t yet made it to the other side when I stopped in my tracks. A police cruiser was parked up the street, outside of the Creekside Inn. I hoped nothing bad had happened to Cordelia or her grandmother, Grace.
I temporarily abandoned my plan to visit the Village Bean and hurried off in the opposite direction. When I reached the beautiful Queen Anne that housed the Creekside Inn, I started along the paved pathway to the front steps. As I drew closer to the house, I heard voices coming from nearby. Instead of heading up to the porch, I followed the narrow path that led around to the side of the property. A gravel driveway gently curved from the road to a small parking lot surrounded by maple trees with green leaves waving gently in the hint of a morning breeze.
When a head of crinkly red hair came into view, I picked up my pace. Cordelia stood at the edge of the parking lot, wringing her hands and looking on as Olivia Lo, Alex Nevarez, and a young man I didn’t recognize spoke with Officer Eldon Howes of the Shady Creek Police Department.
When Cordelia saw me coming, she left the others to their conversation and met me on the pathway. By the time she approached, I’d noticed that a black van parked in the small lot was sitting at a tipsy angle, one of its rear tires completely flat.
“What’s going on?” I asked Cordelia. “Are you all right?”
“I am, but . . .” She cast a glance over her shoulder, her red hair practically glowing in the sunlight. When she turned back my way, her blue eyes were filled with worry. “Somebody smashed the windshield of the film crew’s van and slashed one of its tires last night. Right here in the inn’s parking lot! Olivia’s terribly upset. Before the police got here, she was yelling at me, asking why we don’t have security cameras.” Cordelia’s voice rose in pitch. “This is Shady Creek! We never needed security cameras before!”
“But nobody’s hurt?” I checked.
“No, thank goodness. Do you think Olivia will sue us?”
“I doubt it,” I said, hoping to ease Cordelia’s concerns. I didn’t actually know if Olivia would or wouldn’t, or even if she had grounds to sue the inn’s owners, but I hated that Cordelia was so distraught over what had happened.
Fortunately, my words seemed to have the desired effect. Cordelia at least stopped squeezing the life out of her fingers.
“I’m going to move Gran’s station wagon out of the garage so the crew can park their vehicle inside at night. Hopefully that will satisfy Olivia. It would be awful if they all decided to move elsewhere for the rest of their stay. The host of the show just checked in last night.”
Officer Howes passed by us on his way back to his cruiser. “Ladies,” he said as he tipped his hat.
I would have liked to ask him questions about the vehicle damage and the murder investigation, but his stride was quick and purposeful, and I suspected he had more pressing business to attend to than my curiosity.
Over in the parking lot, Olivia threw her hands in the air. “I can’t deal with this! We’re supposed to be filming in less than an hour!”
“I’ll change the tire and call the garage about the windshield,” Alex said calmly, his cell phone already out.
“I’d better go clean up the broken glass,” Cordelia said as we watched their exchange.
“I’ll help you,” I offered.
“Really? You’re the best, Sadie. Thank you.”
She hurried inside to fetch brooms and dust pans. Seconds later, Olivia stormed into the inn through a side door while Alex paced slow
ly back and forth, talking into his phone. The crew had already had their windshield smashed when they first arrived in Shady Creek. As far as I knew, there hadn’t been any other recent acts of vandalism around town, so did someone have it out for the Craft Nation crew?
* * *
By the time Cordelia and I had cleaned up the last of the broken glass, Alex had changed the tire and had driven away, heading for the local auto body shop. Fortunately, he was able to make the short drive, despite not having a windshield. I left the inn soon after we’d finished the cleanup job so Cordelia could get on her way. She’d promised to go pick up Alex to give him a ride back to the inn. That was a good thing, since Olivia was still fuming when she arrived at the Inkwell. I could tell she was about to share her frustration and complaints with me, but when Grace King’s ancient station wagon drove up the street toward the Creekside Inn, with Cordelia at the wheel and Alex in the passenger seat, she calmed down. Slightly.
I decided to forgo my trip to the Village Bean and tried my best to ignore my rumbling stomach as Alex carried some gear out of the inn and along the road to the pub. He set everything on one of the two picnic tables on the lawn before hefting his camera up onto his shoulder. Without wasting any more time, he started filming the Inkwell under Olivia’s direction.
I could have slipped inside between shots to grab something to eat, but everyone I’d invited to come by the pub for the interior shots would start arriving soon and I wanted to be there to greet them. I was afraid to leave them completely in Olivia’s hands. She was calmer now, and focused on the job at hand, but her words had a sharpness to them that made me suspect she’d be quick to anger.
After getting a few shots of the old gristmill from the vantage point of the village green, Alex and Olivia crossed the footbridge to film from another angle, one that would encompass the front door. Wimsey was still on the whiskey barrel, settled down now with his front paws tucked beneath him, and I was pleased when Olivia told Alex to make sure he got a close-up of the cat.
