Murder Rings a Bell

by Thea Cambert

  “There’s his car,” said Alice, pointing to where Norman’s old yellow pickup truck was parked in front of the Blue Beauty Spa. “Let’s take a peek inside. Just in case.”

  They all attempted to act casual as they strolled around Norman’s truck, nonchalantly glancing into the windows. Unfortunately, the truck was neat as a pin inside. There was nothing on the seats or the floorboards, as far as they could tell.

  “I mean, what were we expecting to find?” Owen said, stepping back onto the sidewalk in front of the spa. “A meat cleaver or something?”

  Franny gave a little laugh. “It’s seriously getting late now. Let’s go home,” she said.

  “Uh-oh,” said Alice, still looking at Norman’s truck.

  “Uh-oh, what?” said Owen.

  “We were looking in the truck. Not on it,” said Alice, pointing at the back tires.

  “Ew,” said Owen, wrinkling up his nose. “Is that where the stinky smell is coming from?”

  “What’s that caked all over the tires?” asked Franny.

  “I’d know that mud anywhere,” said Alice.

  “Smells familiar,” said Franny. “I’ve got it! It’s from the lake!”

  Chapter 14

  “You look awful!” Franny said when she saw Alice early the next morning.

  “Coffee!” Alice said in a moan. She’d just dragged herself out into the garden after her alarm clock hit the floor for the second time that week—this time, because Alice had literally only fallen asleep forty-five minutes earlier and had been dreaming that someone was shrieking at her in a high-pitched, obnoxious way. So, she’d instinctively whacked at the thing making the noise.

  She plopped down into her chair and reached cautiously up to touch her hair, finding it had grown exponentially in the July humidity, and cursing herself for leaving the windows open overnight. Now, her head resembled a big, red, frizzy ball.

  “This should help,” said Franny, filling Alice’s mug.

  After her first sip, Alice became aware that it was a glorious morning. The rooftop garden, touched with silvery dew, was gleaming in the sun as it crept over the mountains. Early morning tourists could already be seen, moving around on Main Street, walking down to the Parkview Café, Crumpets, or Sourdough to find breakfast before the day’s events got underway.

  “Oh, my. You have bags under your bags,” said Owen, taking a look at Alice after coming out of his apartment smelling like fresh-baked bread. He set a still-warm cinnamon raisin loaf on the table.

  “Thanks, guys,” said Alice, taking another long drink of coffee and helping herself to a thick slice of the bread. “I was up almost all night.”

  “You were supposed to hit the hay after we came home!” said Franny.

  “I did. But, I couldn’t sleep, thinking about Norman . . . and Dr. Steve . . . and Alexandra . . . and peach jam.” Alice shook her head dolefully, then laid it down on the table. “My head weighs a ton.”

  Poppy hopped up and swatted at Alice’s hair.

  “Cut that out, Poppy,” said Alice. “I texted Ben, by the way, to make sure he knew about Alexandra’s argument with Dr. Steve. He said they’d questioned Steve and that he’s no longer a suspect. Seems he’d claimed to have returned to the inn by eleven that night, and witnesses corroborated that. So, he’s not our killer.” Alice yawned. “I finally gave up trying to sleep, got up, and read through Alexandra’s blog again. I didn’t even go back to bed until a little while ago.”

  “Find anything new?” Owen asked.

  “I think I might have.” Alice scrolled through her phone until she found what she was looking for. “I was reading the comments again, on the blog posts. Did you notice there were times when PeachJam left more than one comment on a single post?”

  “No,” said Franny, coming around the table to peer over Alice’s shoulder at the phone.

  “Sometimes, if you scroll further down through the comments . . .” Alice pointed to the screen.

  By this time, Owen was peering over Alice’s other shoulder. “’I hate you, Alexandra! You have absolutely zero cellulite, and you make me sick!’” he read.

  “What? No, not that one.” Alice squinted at her phone. “This one.”

  “’Doctors are supposed to be healers. Not killers,’” Franny read. “Oh wow. We missed that one because PeachJam had made a more recent comment, up near the top. We didn’t think to scroll further down through all of these.”

  “Did Alexandra not vet the comments on her blog?” Owen scoffed, sitting down in his chair. “I mean, what kind of social media suicide is that? Everyone knows you censor the comments!”

  Alice and Franny looked at him.

  “Owen, I had no idea you were so savvy,” said Franny.

  “You censor the comments on the Sourdough blog?” Alice asked.

  “Of course.”

  “So, that time when you were making those licorice-filled pastry puffs, last October . . .” Alice raised an eyebrow at Owen.

  “Ah, yes. The licorice puff debacle,” said Owen, rolling his eyes. “You’re darn right I censored those comments. People were actually leaving those little barf emojis.” Owen dusted an imaginary crumb off his shirt. “I only kept the nice remarks. Like when Bea said she couldn’t wait to try them.”

  “Bea? As in my mother?” Alice asked.

  Alice never ceased to be surprised that Owen had a whole fun relationship with her parents that she never knew anything about until he’d mentioned something like going birdwatching with her father or baking cookies with her mother. Hearing that her mother followed and commented on Owen’s blog—or any blog for that matter—was a bit of a shock.

  “Of course. Bea’s my biggest fan,” said Owen.

  “You’re her favorite. I know it,” said Alice with a sniff.

  “Now, now,” Owen said in a comforting tone. “It’s not a contest, Alice.”

  “As we were saying,” Franny interjected, getting back to the subject at hand. “PeachJam said doctors are supposed to heal people. Not kill them.”

  “Right,” said Alice.

  “When did they make that comment?” asked Owen.

  “A year ago. This was the first post PeachJam commented on—the What’s-in-my-bag post.”

  “So last July . . .” said Owen, taking out his phone. “Which hospital did Alexandra work at?”

  “Tennessee General, Nashville. In the ER,” Alice said, scratching Poppy behind the ears.

  “Let’s see here,” Owen tapped away at his phone, scanning and scrolling as he went. “Here we go,” he said finally. “Obituaries for this time last year in Nashville. Seems like there weren’t all that many deaths that month . . .”

  “You might be on to something,” said Alice, pulling up the obituaries on her own phone. “Maybe PeachJam was angry at Alexandra because they’d lost someone they loved in her ER.”

  “That makes sense,” said Franny, taking out her phone as well.

  They all scrolled and studied in silence for a time.

  “How will we know which one of these is connected to PeachJam?” Franny finally asked.

  “Look at who the deceased was survived by,” said Alice. “Look for any information about where they died and who they left behind.”

  “I’m also checking the hospital data,” said Owen. “Seems like Tennessee General has an excellent record.”

  “Hold it!” Alice sat up straight in her chair. “Ethel Grant, died July 2, last year—two days before PeachJam made that comment. Age eighty-nine. Heart attack.”

  “Not to sound callous, but that seems like a pretty natural death,” said Owen.

  “’Survived by her devoted granddaughter, Olivia Grant-Nutley.’” Alice set the phone on the table and looked at her friends with wide eyes.

  “Oh. My. Gosh.” Owen picked up Alice’s phone and re-read the notice.

  “The Olivia Nutley we met at the campground?” Franny asked.

  “The Olivia Nutley who was so nice?” Owen added, lookin
g disappointed.

  “The Olivia Nutley who’s handwriting looked like the handwriting on the threatening letter in Alexandra’s room at the inn!” said Alice.

  “What? Really?” asked Owen. “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

  “I was so busy trying to figure out what you two were up to, and then we went to the Smiling Hound, and I completely forgot. Besides, I can’t be sure. It all comes down to a little loopy thing on the letter A. The notes are being compared by an analyst.”

  They all sat in stunned silence for a moment, sipping coffee and eating cinnamon raisin bread.

  “We need to recap, because my brain is starting to overload,” Owen said finally. “First, we know Norman’s recently been at the lake—because of the stinky mud on his tires.”

  “And he was seen with Alexandra right before she died—and, her body was found at the lake,” added Franny.

  “Then, there’s Dr. Steve,” said Alice. “We know he argued with Alexandra the night she died.”

  “And that he has the hots for you,” said Owen.

  Alice scowled at Owen. “But, we also know Dr. Steve said he was back at the inn around eleven, and Alexandra didn’t die until after midnight.”

  “Let’s keep him on the list anyway,” said Owen. “For all we know, he’s a murderous sleepwalker.”

  “Right,” said Franny. “We know that Olivia Nutley—”

  “Who may turn out to be an actual nut—” Owen interjected.

  “May be PeachJam-whatever and may feel that Alexandra killed her beloved grandmother.”

  “Almost exactly a year ago,” Owen finished. “It’s not looking good for Olivia.”

  “I’m late,” Alice said, checking the time on her phone. “We’d better get over to the lake. Franny, bring the coffee.”

  Blue Lake was shimmering in the sunlight as Alice, Franny, and Owen pedaled their bikes through the trees along the winding Lake Trail to Ben’s house.

  “There you are!” Ben said when he saw his sister walking down to the water’s edge where the Maelstrom bobbed at the edge of the dock. “And Owen and Franny, too!” Ben jogged over to his fiancé and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Here to cheer us on?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Franny, patting Ben on the back.

  “We’re here for many reasons,” Owen added.

  Ben gave the three of them a skeptical look. “What are you up to?”

  “We have an idea about who killed Alexandra,” said Alice.

  “We have many ideas,” Owen added.

  “We’re trying really hard to narrow them down,” said Alice. “We’ve been reading Alexandra’s blog—”

  “You’ll have to tell me about it on the way,” said Ben, glancing at his watch. “We’re already late, and we still have to paddle down to the town dock.”

  “We’ll meet you there!” said Franny, giving Ben a quick peck.

  She and Owen jogged off through the trees in the direction of the town dock.

  Alice glanced at the little walking path that led from Ben’s house to Luke’s cabin. “I wonder if Luke’s coming,” she said.

  “He’ll be at the race,” Ben assured her, holding the boat steady as Alice climbed in. “Tell me your ideas about the case.”

  By the time they pulled up at the town dock, where starting-line banners were flapping in the breeze, Alice had filled Ben in on their three main suspects.

  “I should have the results of the handwriting analysis any time now,” said Ben. “Do you see the Nutleys anywhere?”

  Alice scanned the various contestants, climbing into pedal boats bedecked with flags and streamers. She quickly caught sight of Olivia’s sunflower-colored hair. She and Seth were getting into their boat on the visitors’ side of the dock.

  “There they are,” Alice said, subtly pointing them out.

  “Good. We’ll keep an eye on them, just in case.”

  “Look—there’s Mom and Dad!” said Alice, pointing to where Martin and Bea Maguire were standing on the dock, waving furiously and snapping photos of their children. Alice and Ben smiled and waved back.

  “Enough socializing. Let’s size up our competition,” Ben said, as he and Alice scanned the locals who’d entered the race.

  “There’s Norman and Pearl Ann,” said Alice. “Oh, my gosh! That explains the mud on Norman’s truck tires.”

  “Sure does,” said Ben. “They’re in a custom pedal boat. Norman would have hauled it over here yesterday and probably backed up to the boat launch in his truck.”

  “Look. Their boat is called the Pearl Ann,” said Alice. “There’s even a special seat for Polly! How sweet is that?” Pearl Ann’s corgi, Polly, looked perfectly content, seated in her cushioned nest between Pearl Ann and Norman.

  “Who else is entered this year?”

  Ben and Alice looked down the line of pedal boats. They saw Faith Lindor, who owned Crumpets, and her fiancé Beau—who might’ve been stiff competition, but their boat looked old and slow. Marge Hartfield, who’d named her boat Flicker in honor of her passion for candle making, was sharing a boat with Koi Butler, the town’s favorite yogi. But, Marge wasn’t what you’d call an athlete, and Koi looked like he was having too much fun rocking their boat to take the race seriously. Next were the Whitmans, who owned the local grocery store. They were an older couple and unlikely to pose a threat.

  “Wow, look at that boat,” Alice said, leaning to see down the row where a gleaming pedal boat bobbed in its slot.

  “What’s it called? The . . . The Valkyrie?” Ben abruptly stood, rocking the boat and almost falling over. “My gosh, Alice! It’s a work of art!”

  Alice stood up as well, to get a better look. “Who else besides us would name their boat for Viking mythology?”

  “The Valkyries . . .” Ben said thoughtfully.

  “Odin’s own maidens,” muttered Alice.

  “Would you look at that? It’s a Sailfish. That’s the nicest pedal boat in existence. It’s got a kick-up rudder system, double sun shade, extra-large, built-in cooler compartment, and non-slip pedals. Look at that shine! That’s high-density polyethylene, Alice!”

  “Oh, for the love of . . . We’re in trouble.”

  “Who—”

  At that moment, Alice and Ben saw their opponents boarding the Valkyrie.

  “Franny? And Owen!” Alice let out a gasp.

  “They’re in the race? Since when? When did they register?”

  At this point, Owen had spotted them gaping, and gave them a friendly wave as he helped Franny into the boat. When Franny peered over the other boats and saw Ben and Alice, she smiled and blew a kiss to Ben.

  “So that’s what they’ve been up to!” said Alice.

  “They’ve secretly been plotting against us!” said Ben, sitting down and gripping the rudder. “Just look at them over there. So confident. You can tell they think the Champion’s Cup is theirs.”

  Alice sat down and put her feet snugly onto the pedals. “Not today,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Hey, Alice!”

  Alice turned and saw Luke, standing on the shore with Finn, who was furiously wagging his tail, by his side.

  Alice waved back happily. “Luke looks better today. More rested, don’t you think?”

  “Focus, Alice,” Ben warned.

  “Get ready, everybody!” Mayor Abercrombie was standing at the end of the town dock, holding a megaphone and a bullhorn. “Now, I want a fair, clean race. No horseplay out there.”

  “Why is he looking at us?” asked Ben.

  With that, the mayor sounded the bullhorn, and the row of pedal boats were off, moving out into the lake toward the bright orange buoys near the middle, where they would turn and head back to the finish line.

  Alice and Ben took an early lead but were slowed down a bit when the Whitmans accidentally pedaled into them. Pearl Ann and Norman were too busy laughing and yelling greetings to the other boats to get up much speed. Faith and Beau were a force to be reckoned with until
they lost their rudder and ended up having to paddle home using their emergency oar—a necessity that disqualified them from winning.

  It came down to the Maelstrom and the Valkyrie for the win. Alice and Ben pedaled with all their might. Alice’s legs were burning from the effort. Owen and Franny edged out in front, and as they all neared the shore—the crowd going wild—Finn started barking furiously, dragging Luke away from Zeb Clark, who he’d been chatting with, into the shallow water at the edge of the lake. Alice saw this, and her heart melted. Finn had recognized the Maelstrom and was trying to get to it. He remembered Alice and Ben! The distraction was enough to cause Alice to lose her edge, and Owen and Franny drove the Valkyrie home to victory.

  “The Maguires have been toppled, after winning this regatta seven years straight! The Champion’s Cup passes into the hands of Franny Brown and Owen James! Be sure to come again next year because all bets are off!” Mayor Abercrombie announced, then added, “Everyone, go enjoy the carnival and food—and bring your blankets and lawn chairs out tonight for fireworks over the lake!”

  A few moments later, the mayor presented the cup to Owen and Franny, who waved graciously at the cheering crowd. Alice saw that the Nutleys had won a prize as well—a gift certificate from the Smiling Hound. Watching them accepting the award with genuine gratitude and excitedly hugging first the mayor and then one another, Alice found it hard to believe that Olivia Nutley was a cold-blooded killer. But, then, she also knew that people sometimes did crazy things for love.

  Ben’s cell phone buzzed, and he stepped aside. The next thing Alice knew, he was walking quickly up to the Nutleys, and taking Olivia by the arm.

  Alice felt her heart sink.

  “Mrs. Nutley, I’m going to need you to come with me,” Ben said, showing her his badge.

  Olivia looked shocked at first, then furious, then she began sobbing.

  Alice felt almost dizzy, between her sleepless night, the exertion of the race, and now, seeing Olivia being arrested.

  “I guess the handwriting analysis came back,” Luke said quietly, putting a supportive arm around Alice. A damp Finn sidled up and gave her calf a comforting lick.