by Emma Belmont
“Well,” Guy said quietly. “I don’t know if I’d say that.” He slid the card through the reader. “It’s more like he treats them like he would a man.”
“Hmm,” Maris said. That wasn’t how it appeared at the picnic. But Maris decided not to press the point. Guy was his employee, after all. She signed the credit card slip.
“Would you like a bag?” he asked, reaching under the counter.
“No,” she said, stowing her card in the wallet and dropping it into her purse. “The box is fine.”
He handed it to her with a smile. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for shopping at Superior Hardware.”
She took the gloves, and smiled back. “Thanks for your help, Guy, and nice to meet you too.”
10
Maris carried the cardboard box of amazing smelling Italian food through the living room and out onto the side porch. She set it down on the table and headed to where Cookie was working in the garden. Today it looked like she was pruning and collecting some herbs. A small basket on the ground beside her was full of fresh cuttings.
“Lunch is on,” Maris called to her from the garden’s edge. “I’ll go get Bear.”
Cookie waved back. “I’ll put some tea on. I think Bear is still up in the lighthouse.”
Maris glanced up to see him looking down at them. She waved him down and pointed to the porch. He wasted no time in disappearing from view.
As Maris unpacked the box, she saw that Max had provided all the napkins and plastic cutlery as well. Each calzone was in its own wax coated, paper box and, if Maris was careful, she could spoon some of the creamy Caesar salad into each. She was just finishing when Cookie returned with a tray of three tea cups.
She nodded at the boxes of golden brown calzones. “Those look amazing.”
“They smell even better,” Maris agreed. “The drive home seemed longer than usual.”
By the time Cookie had distributed the tea, Bear had joined them. “Calzone Vesuvio,” she said, and pushed one of the boxes toward him. She handed him a fork, knife, and napkin. “With a creamy Caesar salad on the side.”
Like a small pizza that had been folded in half, the semi-circular dough had been crimped on the round edge and slit on top. Tomato sauce and cheese had bubbled from the slim openings.
As the three took their seats, Bear said, “Thank you.”
“Yes,” Cookie said. “Thanks for picking these up.” She took one of the large croutons from the salad, and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm,” she said chewing. “Just the right amount of garlic in that dressing and…” She speared the tender romaine with her fork. “…a hint of anchovy paste. Classic.” She took a bite of the salad. “Mmm hmm.”
Her interest piqued, Maris tried the salad too, while Bear carved into the calzone. Max had used a light touch on the tangy dressing, and added curled shavings of Parmesan that were as big as the oversized croutons. If she’d simply ordered a whole salad for herself, that probably would have been enough.
“Mmm,” Bear said, covering his mouth with one of the little napkins. “Just like my grandmother used to make.” He nodded as he chewed. “Egg in the middle.”
“Egg?” Maris said, astonished. She peered at his calzone. In the center was a whole egg that looked as though it’d been poached in the middle of the sauce and cheeses.
“Is that traditional?” Cookie asked, as she cut into hers.
Bear shook his head and picked up his tea. “It depends on the region.”
Maris decided not to start at the end, but cut right into the center. She was immediately rewarded with the sight of the yellow yolk. “This is amazing,” she muttered. She took a forkful and gave it a try.
Though the ingredients were much the same as in pizza, Maris knew from the menu that the delicious baked calzone had three kinds of cheese: mozzarella, ricotta, and pecorino. Combined with the zesty tomato sauce and egg, the texture of it was incredibly smooth.
“Anchovies,” Cookie said, sounding surprised and then she grinned. “No salt needed.”
Maris took a sip of her tea. “Perfect compliment to the salad too.”
The chef nodded in agreement. “He certainly knows his stuff.”
Bear had finished with his first calzone, but didn’t take the next. Instead, he sat back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Very tasty.”
Maris eyed him. “There’s another for you, Bear.”
But the big man shook his head. “I was so hungry.” He patted his tummy again. “But now I’m full.”
Maris’s eyebrows flew up, even as she had another bite of salad. She’d never seen Bear stop at a single helping—of anything.
“I was hungry too,” Cookie said, “and tired. But now I think I’ll finish pruning the rest of the garden.” She paused for a moment, and stared down at the food. Then she looked at Maris. “And you, Maris? How are you feeling now that you’ve eaten?”
Maris looked down at the half-finished calzone and salad, and thought for a moment. “Relaxed,” she said. She glanced in the direction of town. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think the visit to Superior Hardware had me stressed out.”
Cookie nodded. “I can understand that.” She gazed at all their meals and smirked. “But isn’t it interesting that all three of us got exactly what we needed?”
“It is,” Maris agreed, gazing down at her lunch. She really did feel calm. “I wonder…”
“If Max is one of the magick folk?” Bear finished for her. He looked at Cookie, who nodded.
“It’s like my tea,” the chef said, with a tinge of awe in her voice. “I’ve never run across the same talent in a cook.”
“So no matter what ails you,” Maris said, “even if it’s just being hungry, Max’s food is exactly what you need.”
Bear shrugged. “But it also tastes good.”
Cookie laughed. “Oh that’s for sure. The pizzeria is going to be a wonderful addition to the town.”
“If he can keep his ovens running,” Maris said.
Bear sat forward. “Are they broken?”
Maris nodded. “One of them. Something about a draft and uneven heating. He wasn’t having any luck with it.”
“Hmm,” Bear said. He glanced up at the lighthouse, then back to Cookie and Maris. “I finished cleaning the storm panes, so maybe I’ll see if I can’t help Max?”
Maris smiled at him. “I’m sure he’d appreciate any help you could give him. Thank you, Bear.”
Cookie started to fold the top of her box over the remains of her food. “Maybe you should take your other calzone with you,” she said to Bear. “In case it gets late by the time you’re done.” She finished her tea. “And I think I’ll go tackle the rest of that garden.”
“And I’ll get back to the lens,” Maris said, “now that I’ve got the gloves.”
All three got to their feet, picking up their boxes.
“Sounds like a plan,” Cookie said. She paused for a moment as she picked up her leftovers. “Excellent lunch.”
11
Maris took her time with the microfiber cloth. On the step ladder to reach the highest elements of the fresnel lens, she carefully smoothed the soft, dry material from one edge of the element to the other. As she passed over it, just the barest hint of a brighter gleam greeted her. There wasn’t much dust on it but there was some. She folded the edge of the cloth so as not to contaminate the rest of the glass with its dust, and gently swiped in the opposite direction.
“Think of it like painting,” Bear had told her. “Nice and easy.”
For several minutes she simply wiped off one piece after another. But as she thought back to purchasing the purple nitrile gloves she was wearing, she suddenly remembered Max. He’d been worried about the cause of Joy’s death.
She set down the cloth, descended the ladder, and backed away from the optics. Only then did she take out her phone. Mac picked up right away.
“Good afternoon,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice.
; “Good afternoon,” she said grinning. They’d been on a half-a-dozen dates at this point, and were settling into a pleasant familiarity.
“How are things over at the B&B today?” he asked.
“Actually, I’m in the lighthouse. Bear showed me how to clean the fresnel lens. I’m trying to learn more about the technical aspects of being a lightkeeper.”
“Good for you,” he said. “It sounds like a bit of work.”
Maris looked at the stack of clean cloths waiting for her. She had at least a few hours of cleaning ahead. “It is that, but it’s also fun to learn something new.”
“I agree,” Mac said. “It helps keep things fresh.”
“Exactly,” she said, and paused, trying to segue smoothly to the autopsy results.
“You want to know about the coroner’s report,” the sheriff said.
Maris laughed. “Am I so obvious?”
She heard papers rustle. “Obvious is not a word I’d ever apply to you.” There was silence for a moment. “Here we go. They found botulinum toxin in her system, and also in the homemade salsa that she had at the picnic. No other poisons or underlying medical conditions were discovered. She was in good health.”
“Other than ingesting a neurotoxin,” Maris said.
“Other than that,” Mac agreed.
“And was all the other food tested?”
“Yes,” he said. “The bento lunches, the pizza, Joy’s other food. Everything else was clear. It’s a miracle that there wasn’t cross-contamination.”
Maris exhaled a little with relief. Max would be glad to know. “That’s for sure. From what Lucille said, it would have taken so little to be lethal.”
“Exactly,” he said. “We’re about to head to Ms. Castro’s house right now as a matter of fact. See if we can determine how the salsa became contaminated.”
“Then I won’t hold you up,” she said.
“You’re not holding me up,” he said. “Well, maybe just a little. It’s always a pleasure when you call.”
Maris found herself grinning again. “I’m glad to hear it.”
There was an awkward pause. “I’ll get going then.”
But a thought occurred to her. “Are you going to Max’s grand opening?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said.
“I’ll be there,” she told him.
“Then I’ll most definitely be going,” he said, and she heard that smile in his voice again.
“Great,” she said. “Then it’s a date.”
Working steadily, though in no hurry, Maris found a good rhythm for the repetitive task. As she smiled to herself, she wondered if she’d stumbled upon the Zen of lighthouse maintenance. It was quiet work and calming. Surrounded by breathtaking views in every direction, she instead focused her attention on the center of her little glass world. Piece by piece, she whittled away at the task, folding the cloth, cleaning a section, and moving the ladder.
Now she stood on the platform, working on the pieces toward the middle. Although her back ached a bit, and her arms were getting tired, she didn’t mind. There was no hurry to get it all done in one day.
But as she swiped the cloth over one of the pieces, it began to sparkle. Tiny points of multi-colored light seemed to dance inside it.
“Wow,” she muttered, realizing what was happening. Claribel was giving her a remote viewing. Maris had often appealed to the magical being of the lighthouse, hoping for some insight into a crime. But she wasn’t investigating anything right now.
Nevertheless, her vision was taken over by a closeup view of a tiny office. It was little more than a closet and it was a mess. Papers of all types littered an old metal desk. An out-of-date computer monitor was on it as well. Some cardboard boxes were scattered on the floor.
Not only did she not recognize this place, she didn’t know why it was being shown.
Then the remote viewing winked out in a tiny puff of sparkles.
Her brows knit together as she gazed up at the fresnel lens. Why in the world was Claribel showing her some dingy, little office?
“Is there trouble there, Old Girl?” she asked.
But of course there was no answer. And really Maris knew the answer anyway. There was trouble there. Otherwise Claribel wouldn’t have shown her.
She regarded the entire assembly of steel and glass. “Thanks,” she said. “I don’t know what it means but thanks.”
But as Maris returned to the cleaning, her mind wandered back to the only dead body she’d seen—Joy Castro. But Mac had told her only this afternoon that she’d died of food poisoning. She thought back to the picnic, the argument, Jill Maxwell doing CPR, the ambulance, the Pages, and finally Mac and Rudy.
At a good stopping point, she stood back and surveyed her work. The heart of the Old Girl was starting to look magnificent and Maris had to smile. If this wasn’t rewarding, she didn’t know the meaning of the word. As she gathered her dirty cloths, she also came to a decision. It was time to look in on Minako and Alfred. She could see how they were doing after the death of their friend—and maybe ask a few questions about her.
12
Though Maris had gone to her bedroom to change out of the work clothes, she took a little detour to the seat of the bay window. Her pudgy little cat was curled up in the sun but raised his head when she approached. He gave her a tiny, tinny, harmonica-like meow.
“Hey there, Mojo,” she said quietly, stroking the silky fur on top of his head. “Catching some rays?” His big amber eyes looked up at her, all the brighter against his jet black coat. He pushed his head against her palm, and she obliged with some scratches behind his velvety ears. “Don’t bake over here, okay?” His only answer was a purr. She smiled as he closed his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
She went to the armoire, selected a new set of clothes, and changed into them. Like her aunt, she favored skirts and blouses. The aqua top with its ruffled collar complimented her blue eyes, as well as matching the small floral print on the cream-colored skirt. But as she stepped into the usual low heels that were her go-to for visiting the Towne Plaza, she felt something moving inside one.
With a small shriek, she jumped back. Although she landed awkwardly, with one foot in a shoe and one foot bare, she managed to stay upright. Mojo flew past her toward the shoes.
“No, Mojo!” she gasped and made a grab for him—only catching air.
What if it was some sort of reptile or rodent? She didn’t want it to hurt him, and vice versa.
But by the time she picked him up, he had it in his mouth. “Drop it,” she ordered, just as she saw what it was. “Oh no,” she muttered and reached for it. “Really, Mojo?”
Quickly, she grasped the tarot card, but he didn’t let go. “Mojo,” she said, her voice stern. His big amber eyes looked up at her, though he didn’t open his mouth. “If you don’t let that go, there’ll be no snack for you tonight.” He blinked at her and his jaw dropped open. She smiled at him and nodded. “That’s my good boy.”
As she set him down, he gave a brief little mew.
“Yes, yes,” she told him. “I’m looking at it now.”
It was the seven of swords. A man carrying five swords in his arms was looking over at the two upright swords he’d apparently left behind. He appeared to be near a military encampment and he was definitely skulking away. His satisfied grin said he’d got away with something.
Maris tapped her temple and used her photographic memory to look at the tarot interpretation booklet. The seven of swords was the card most associated with criminal activity. The man with the swords was up to no good.
“Hmm,” Maris said. “Another clue.” She looked down to where the little cat sat cleaning his face. “But to what?” Now he ignored her.
She returned her attention to the card and frowned. First Claribel, and now Mojo. Something was definitely going on. It was time to get to town and do some snooping.
As he watched, she reached down and gave him a little tap on the head with the
card. “Thanks, Mojo.”
13
At Inklings New & Used Books, Maris found Alfred helping a customer, while Minako was at the register ringing up someone’s purchase. At least the death at the picnic hadn’t put people off shopping. As she waited for them to be free, she went to the dispenser with the complimentary apple cider, and poured some into one of the paper cups. As she sipped it and sauntered slowly toward the books, she admired the gorgeous display of indoor plants that covered the brick wall behind the counter and ran the entire length of the store. How they managed to get them to thrive in their little baskets, suspended from hooks, Maris had no idea. But she suspected that a good deal of time was spent watering.
Still waiting, Maris went to the main display table where the new books were usually found.
When she’d trotted the globe for her hospitality career, she’d always had a good book with her. Whenever possible, she’d try to find something that took place in whatever part of the world she happened to be in. Often they were novels, but occasionally non-fiction was nice too. Today it seemed the theme of the display was coffee table books. With their big glossy covers that had amazing images, Maris was immediately captivated.
“The Secret Life of Redwoods,” she read out loud, touching it. The cover showed a thick forest of the giant trees, not unlike those just east of town. Their crowns seemed to converge in the center of the photo, with just a glimpse of a bright blue sky above them. Shafts of sunlight sliced at diagonals across their red, rough, and massive trunks. Inside the book, the very first picture was of a tiny seedling, bathing in light. It would have looked at home in Cookie’s garden. A slender brown stem was topped with four thin leaves, fanning out like a palm tree. It was hard to believe that it could grow to such an enormous size.
