Marigolds for Malice

by Bailey Cattrell

  Spence took a step backward and folded his arms over his chest.

  “I’ll be okay. The team is taking a little break, and I thought I’d check in with you. I’m really sorry I ruined our evening,” Ritter said.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said, though I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. Spence noticed and quirked an eyebrow.

  I turned away. “We’re planning a memorial for Eureka in the garden at four, but we can go out afterward.”

  “That sounds great, hon. What are you up to tonight?”

  “Just catching up on some work in the shop,” I said.

  “Hey, Ritter,” Spence called.

  I spun around and gave him a dirty look. “And Spence saw the light on and dropped by. He was just leaving.”

  Spence smiled.

  Ritter was quiet for a few moments, then said, “Well, give him my regards. I’ll call you later if I can.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait up.”

  “No need. Hard to tell how late this will go. Good night, Elliana.”

  “Night.”

  He hung up.

  I put the phone down and gripped the counter with both hands. “Some friend you are. Now Ritter thinks there is something going on between us. Thanks a lot.” I felt tears threaten again.

  Too little sleep and too much wine.

  Spence stared at me, then ran both hands over his face. “God, Ellie. You really love him, don’t you? He’s the one you want.”

  “I told you that!” I said, feeling flummoxed. Never mind that things between Ritter and me on his first day back had been fraught with awkwardness and a distance that felt all the worse since he wasn’t off in the wilds of Alaska anymore.

  “All this time, he’s been out of the picture, and you’ve talked about him, but he never seemed real to me,” Spence said. “He just seemed like your excuse for not wanting to get involved with me.” He straightened, and his eyes met mine. “I thought as we got to know each other I’d have a chance. I mean, we get along, you and me. But Ritter Nelson has really been your guy this whole time.”

  “Yes!” I sighed. “I thought you understood that.”

  In a tight voice, he said, “Listen, I’ll leave you to . . . whatever you were doing.” He turned, walked quickly to the door, and twisted the lock. “See you around.”

  “Spence—” I began to protest but fell silent as the door closed behind him.

  Slowly, I locked the door again and went back to the office. Those online orders still needed to be filled and e-mails answered.

  An hour later, exhausted to my core, I shut off the computer and checked my phone for the billionth time only to find Ritter hadn’t called again.

  “Come on, Dash. Let’s hit the hay.”

  Knuckles rapped on the glass of the door.

  Ritter? Spence again?

  I groaned to myself as I walked out of the office, Dash at my heel. A quick glance showed it was neither one; Astrid stood on the boardwalk, the wind tossing her copper hair in the glow of the streetlight.

  CHAPTER 13

  OH, good! I thought I saw a light on in here!” Astrid exclaimed. “Brr. The wind is getting crazy. Let me in.” She stomped her feet to warm them, then breezed past me into the dimly lit shop.

  “Man, you look bodacious.” She grinned as I shut the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that blouse before. Ooh la la!”

  She was making a pair of jeans look amazing and had added a plain white T-shirt and denim jacket for her date at the pool hall. The scents of beer, grease, and yes, mustard, drifted to my nose. There was something else, too. Smarmy aftershave.

  My estimation of Dylan lowered another half notch.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be out running the tables or whatever pool sharks do?”

  “Already did that.” She grinned and tapped her watch. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Nearly eleven.

  “Well, this girl has a date to walk a Great Dane at seven in the morning, so I left Dylan at Willie’s.”

  “How did he like that?” I led her over to the rocking chairs by the back window and flipped the switch on the instant teakettle. I had a feeling I was going to need more caffeine.

  “Oh, he’s one of those guys who gets along with anyone and everyone, so he’s having a great time.” She plopped into one of the chairs.

  I turned on a lamp and settled into the chair next to her. Dylan hadn’t struck me as particularly personable, but I let it go.

  She suddenly leaned toward me, eyes searching my face. “You look terrible.”

  “Funny. You just said I look bodacious.”

  “You do, except your eyes. Have you been crying?”

  Maybe a little. “Nah. Just tired.”

  “Bull pucky. It’s Ritter.”

  Sighing, I handed her a cup. “Well, sort of. We haven’t had a chance to really spend any time together since he got back . . .”

  “Which was just this morning,” she pointed out.

  “True. But then Spence threw a wrench into things.” I told her about how Ritter had walked in on Spence holding my hand, and then how Spence had shown up after Ritter rain-checked our date—and had been happy to let Ritter know he was with me. “It looks like you might be right after all. Spence has been more interested in me than he let on.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes. “Of course he is. But it’s not like he made a huge secret of it. You are so naïve, Ellie. You were with Harris, who has always been a complete putz, and then you believed Spence only wanted to be your pal.”

  “Naïve? I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  She shrugged. “You weren’t ready to hear it. You went through a time when your self-esteem was pretty much bottomed out. Now you have Ritter, and you know he’s a good guy. So maybe you will listen when I say that, from what you’ve told me, Spence is in love with you.”

  “Astrid . . .”

  “And as of today, he feels justified in taking the gloves off when it comes to winning you over. See, now Ritter is back in the picture and a real competitor. After all, you can’t compete with a ghost, and for all practical purposes, that’s what Ritter has been to Spence these last few months.”

  Even though Spence had said almost the same thing, I stared at her as a defensive anger began to rise. Then I thought of all the fun Spence and I had had. Hikes and hanging out. We’d gone to the movies a few times. He’d drop by the shop.

  Come to think of it, he dropped by the shop a lot.

  And then I thought of how often he’d touch my hand or my arm, how sometimes his hello or good-bye hugs seemed to last a little too long, how often he showed up wherever I just happened to be. How he always seemed to change the subject whenever I started to talk about my latest phone call or video chat with Ritter.

  “I’m an idiot,” I said, my anger fading to embarrassment.

  Astrid laughed. “No, you’re a nice person. A little gullible, but with a good heart.” She leaned forward. “A really good heart, and as loyal as they come. You’ve waited all this time for Ritter to get back, and Thea told me he came home early because he missed you so much. Don’t let that go to waste. You need to set Spence straight, and the sooner, the better.”

  “Oh, God. I think I did, but maybe I wasn’t clear enough.” I rubbed my eyes, which probably smeared what was left of my mascara into raccoon circles. “I’d had a little wine.”

  She quirked an eyebrow.

  “A little.” I took a deep breath. “Hopefully, I can make Ritter understand.”

  “Well, you send him over to me if you need backup. I’ll set him straight about the whole Spence situation.”

  I flashed a grateful smile. “I think I can handle it, but thanks.” I paused, then changed the subject. “So, you an
d Dylan had a nice time tonight?”

  “Sure. He’s such a flirt! Cracks me up. Plays a mean game of pool, too.”

  “So, uh, how did you guys end up going out last night?”

  She waved her hand. “We got to talking after you left yesterday afternoon, and he asked me to meet him for a drink at the hotel.” Her eyes twinkled. “Which saved me the trouble of asking him, you know?”

  I forced a grin. “What time did you meet?”

  One side of her mouth pulled back. “Kind of late actually. Ten thirty. I’d have liked to meet earlier, what with work this morning and all, but he said he had something to do.”

  Ten thirty. That would have given him an hour window in which to kill Eureka and steal the Xavier manuscript.

  Astrid’s smile had become tenuous. “Why?”

  I hesitated, then dove in. “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

  “Yeah . . .” She drew the word out, her voice full of suspicion.

  “Well, as long as we’re being honest with each other, I have a little bad news about your new boyfriend.”

  The smile dropped altogether. “Dylan? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a, you know, a fling.”

  “Honey, I hate to tell you this, but he’s a crook.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come here. I’ll show you.” I got up, led her into the office, and turned on the light. Dash blinked up at us from his bed in the corner, where he’d had the good sense to collapse.

  Twenty seconds later, I’d brought up the article I’d found in the Chronicle. I got up out of the desk chair, and Astrid sat down to read. When she had scrolled down to the bottom, she sat back with a huff.

  “I can’t believe you did this, Ellie.”

  “Why not? You barely know the guy, and it’s pretty suspicious that there was a murder right after he came to town.”

  She swiveled in the chair and gaped up at me where I stood by the filing cabinet. “Murder? Now you think Dylan is a murderer?”

  I threw up my hands. “I don’t know! But neither do you. I mean, you can’t tell me that you know all about him in such a short amount of time. He might have wanted the Xavier manuscript for himself. Or maybe he has a client he knows would be willing to pay him a lot of money for it. He’s done that kind of thing before, after all. You can’t possibly trust him.”

  Her eyes widened. “That, my dear, is exactly where you’re wrong.”

  “Now who’s being naïve?” I asked.

  She bolted out of the chair, brushed past me, and went out the door. By the register, she whirled to face me. “Okay, I can see how it might look like that. But sometimes I can just tell about people. I can sense that they’re okay. You know how that goes, don’t you, Ellie?”

  “Yes.” I took a step toward her. “Yes, I know exactly how that goes. And I’ve known there was something off about that guy since the first time I saw him.”

  She stared at me. “I think you’re making that up.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” I demanded.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because when I tried to steer you clear of certain guys before, you ignored me. Or you get mad, just like you’re doing now. You remember Greer Grissom?”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled. “But even I knew he was a loser. We only went out twice.”

  I held my palms up to the ceiling. “See?”

  Her expression hardened. “But you’re wrong about Dylan. He’s not a crook. That article said he was hoodwinked by the guy he was brokering the deal for.”

  “The article says that’s what Dylan says—which is a little different.”

  “God, Ellie. I’m sorry you’re having man trouble, but don’t take it out on me.” With that, she turned and stalked to the front door.

  “Astrid!” I called, but the door had already closed behind her.

  What the heck? Was she really falling for the guy so quickly?

  Sighing, I locked the door yet again, grabbed the wine bottle, called Dash, and made my way through the garden to my little house.

  My stomach was in knots. I’d known Astrid since college, and we’d been through a lot. She and Harris had disliked each other, so my marriage had put a strain on our relationship. Still, through it all, we’d never actually fought.

  The wind rustled through the leaves, but the chimes had settled enough that I could hear the whispers rising from new growth, green shoots extending above the fertile earth, sprouts unfurling from their seed pods beneath the ground. Clouds scudded above, revealing the waxing gibbous moon and brightening the path before us. A late daffodil nodded to me as I went by, more to garner attention for itself than as a greeting, I imagined. A lingering giggle ebbed and echoed from near the apple tree, so high and faint it could have been my imagination but familiar enough that I was pretty sure it wasn’t. It seemed the longer the fairy tableaus were in the garden, and the more of them I made, the stranger the things were that happened at night when the customers and clients were long gone.

  I paused at the door before going inside. The primroses by the step had their little white faces turned up to me, looking so innocent and appealing in the cool light of the moon. Then Dylan Wong’s image came to mind, along with the memory of one of Gamma’s lessons in floriography.

  Primroses mean I can’t live without you . . . so lovely, yes? But evening primroses are for inconstancy.

  As in changeable and capricious. And very probably lying.

  My best friend in the whole world, who was so mad at me right now, might have a good feeling about Dylan for whatever reason, but the guy was lying about something.

  Not long after that thought, I was snuggled beneath my down comforter, plunging into sleep with the speed of a skydiver who couldn’t find her rip cord.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE next morning, I woke one minute before my alarm went off. The wind had wuthered around the eaves for most of the night, and I’d risen a few times from the firm grasp of sleep enough to hear the soothing sound of raindrops spattering against the skylight. Droplets still lingered on the glass above my head, glittering gems in the angled sunlight edging over Kestrel Peak.

  Downstairs, I checked Gamma’s journal while coffee brewed, but it was cool to the touch. The drawings of the mystery woman and the marigold were still there, but no new information awaited. That was frustrating, but at the same time, I was a little relieved. It seemed like every time a new piece was added to the puzzle, it only served to confuse me more about what the overall picture was supposed to look like.

  A gentle fog rose from the damp meadow when I let Dash out back. Not the heavy tule fog that sometimes rolled in during the winter months to snaggle traffic on the highways and make it hard to see even a few feet in front of you, but a light haze that cast everything with the sunrise glow of hope.

  The steam from my mug curled into the heavy, humid morning as I considered the evening before. I needed to straighten things out with Ritter. I made a mental note to make reservations for dinner at the Sapphire again that night. I also needed to have a serious talk with Spence. Astrid had been right that I’d been ignoring the signs that he wanted to be more than friends. In love with me, though? I still had a hard time wrapping my mind around that.

  It was ironic that when I’d tried to tell her about Dylan, she hadn’t taken it well at all. I could only hope she was over it by now. Astrid was the type whose temper flared and then quickly extinguished itself. Maybe it would help if I could point to more than a single newspaper article to show her that at the very least Dylan wasn’t good dating material and at the worst a possible murderer.

  I thought about the online background check again. In the light of morning, I would have happily broken out my credit card if that was the only way I could p
rotect my friend.

  However, calling Lupe would be easier.

  I looked at my watch. Too early for that.

  Astrid might get angry at me all over again if I brought Lupe in, but what if there were more things in Dylan’s background than those stolen artifacts?

  What if there was a murder motive?

  If so, it had to be the Xavier manuscript. My heartbeat quickened at the thought. It could be in his room at the Hotel California at that very moment.

  But why had Eureka’s house been broken into and her laptop stolen? Had she found out something about the old manuscript? Or had the burglar been after something else altogether? Maybe the book she was writing? That was hard to fathom.

  I shook my head, confused, and drank some more coffee. There had to be something else on that laptop that someone wanted. The clearest suspect—or suspects, rather—were Warren and Trixie Perez. I mean, looking for her will less than twenty-four hours after Eureka had passed? That was downright mercenary. Maybe Maria was right. Maybe they were the ones who broke into her house. If they hadn’t, I could only guess they’d intended to, since they didn’t have a key. Trixie’s story about hoping someone would be there to let them in—like that would have happened—was as thin as my explanation to Chief Gibbon about why I’d been at Heritage House in the middle of the night.

  And what about Chief Gibbon? How effective could he be if he was trying to investigate Eureka’s murder between meetings and budgeting and running his department?

  I sighed. The peaceful frame of mind I’d begun my morning with had dissipated along with the fog. I turned to go back inside.

  Movement in my peripheral vision made me stop and look toward the stand of evergreens at the edge of the meadow. I was hoping to see the white doe again, whom I’d started thinking of as a sign of encouragement and strength.

  Instead, a mountain lion slowly prowled along the perimeter of the trees. I caught my breath, stunned, then said in a low voice, “Dash, come.”

  He trotted over from where he’d been sniffing the morning dew sparkling on a spray of bunch grass, oblivious to our feline visitor across the meadow. Bounding up the steps, though, he looked over his shoulder to where my eyes were glued to the big cat, and grew very still.