Marigolds for Malice

by Bailey Cattrell

  Maria shook her head. “I didn’t get to look at it for very long, and mostly I remember that weird language.”

  Indeed. But all I said was, “How odd that the same symbol showed up both places.”

  “Not really,” Maria said. “The tree of life symbol has been around for a long time, and in various cultures. And both the picture and the manuscript were in the time capsule. Maybe it was a popular motif at the time.”

  I frowned. “The manuscript was much older than anything else in the time capsule.” Turning the page, I scanned the text. “The tree of life has all kinds of meanings, including strength, wisdom, and longevity. It says here that the Celts believed people originally came from trees, so trees were magical to them. The tree of life not only represented immortality but also connected the heavens and the underworld.”

  “And then there are those spirals around the one on the brooch,” Maria pointed out.”

  I looked down again. “Yeah, that’s the main difference. This picture in the book shows the circle around the tree as made up of a tangle of roots and branches. The tree on Alma’s brooch was surrounded by . . .” I turned a few pages and stopped. “By these.” I was looking at the linked spirals that created the border of the motif.

  Maria nodded, a slight smile on her lips. “Keep reading.”

  I did. The symbolism of the spiral was also old and universal. However, I was drawn to the descriptions of its symbolism in ancient Celtic tradition. The idea of holistic growth combined with a connection to cosmic energies resonated with me the most.

  I flipped through a few more pages. “I don’t suppose there’s any mention of someone named Kell in here.”

  “Kell?” Maria asked. “As in the Book of Kells in Dublin’s Trinity library?”

  My head came up. “The illuminated manuscript of the Bible! Of course!”

  “Not the whole Bible. Just the four gospels.”

  “So, who is Kell?” I asked eagerly.

  “Not Kell. Kells. And not who. Where. It was written—or at least partially written—at the Abbey of Kells. There is no one named Kell associated with that codex.”

  Well, so much for that idea.

  I closed the book and stood in silence for a few seconds to let all the new information swirling around in my head settle a bit. Maria climbed up on the stool behind the desk and waited.

  “Huh,” I finally said, then, “how exactly do you do that thing?”

  “What thing?”

  “Figuring out what book someone might need before they know.”

  Her head tipped to the side. “I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes were smiling, though.

  “Right. Don’t mess with a good thing. At any rate, thank you for your help. I have a lot to think about.” I turned to go. “I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

  “Glad I could help,” Maria called as I reached the door.

  I stopped and turned. “Oh, and I’ll be back to take a look at that diary as soon as I can find a little time. In the meantime, let me know if Charles has anything else to say about dear, disappeared Aunt Alma.”

  * * *

  • • •

  WHEN I left the library, it was nearly two o’clock. People would start showing up in the Enchanted Garden in two hours. The grocery store didn’t seem quite as important after eating a sandwich as big as my head, and I needed to grab the food Maggie had arranged at the Roux Grill. Still, my cupboards were bare, so I decided to swing by the restaurant on the way back from the market.

  But first, I wanted to check in at Scents & Nonsense and see how Larken was coming with the online orders.

  She’d been the picture of efficiency. Boxes were stacked unobtrusively by the storeroom door awaiting pickup, neatly taped and addressed with custom Scents & Nonsense labels that showed our logo: a blue butterfly in midflutter above an elaborately scrolled perfume bottle sporting the name of the shop.

  She came out from behind the counter and joined me by the coffee urn, where there was fresh brew on offer but a disturbing lack of cookies. Keeping an eye on a teenaged boy—certainly not our usual clientele—browsing in the bath products section, Larken said, “Did you find what you were looking for at the library?”

  “Sort of,” I said.

  However, she obviously had something else on her mind. “While you were gone, Gessie King called and said one of her horses has been skittish lately. She said you gave her an aromatherapy mist for it a while ago, and was wondering if she could get some more.”

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  “What’s in it?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

  “Not at all. The combination that seems to work the best for him is Roman chamomile, vetiver, and ylang-ylang. At least if it’s for the horse I’m thinking of.”

  “Cool. Anyway, someone also called about an order.”

  “One of those?” I pointed to the boxes.

  “No, one they haven’t placed yet. It’s a boutique hotel in Silver Wells, and they heard about your lavender room sprays. They wanted to know if you’d make a smaller version for them to stock in their rooms. An added benefit for their guests.”

  Lowering the mug that I’d been sipping from, I felt a wide smile spread across my face. “What a great idea. I wonder if I could talk Felicity into doing the same thing at the Hotel California.”

  Larken waved her hand. “Of course it’s a great idea, and of course I told them yes. But I couldn’t give them pricing, so I told them you’d call them back. Then I went to check out the online shop to see if you had anything like that on there, and, Ellie—” She stopped and looked down at the floor.

  “And, Ellie . . .” I prompted.

  Her expression apologetic, she said, “It’s terrible.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Your online store! It’s difficult to navigate, and only half of what could be for sale is listed.”

  “I haven’t had time—” I started.

  “Let me do it.”

  I blinked. “You?”

  “Yes! I’m pretty good at stuff like that, actually. I could revamp the site, add whatever you want me to, make sure people know that you do custom orders. Ellie.” She frowned and shook her head. “That’s not even on there. You have a potential gold mine that you’re just not tapping into. Retail doesn’t have to be local anymore, you know. Online is the way to go. Don’t you want to take advantage of that?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly.

  “I know you’re doing okay here, but you’re not exactly raking it in. So I know you can’t really hire me.”

  I shook my head. “If more sales come in from the website, then I can certainly hire you to maintain it. How long do you think it’ll take to make the changes you’re thinking of?”

  “Oh, a couple of days to a week. Depends on how much I have to change the basic design. And if I can do it from home.”

  “You can do it wherever you’d like.” Pursing my lips, I considered. “How about a flat rate for the update?” I named a figure, and her eyes lit up. “And then we can decide on an hourly rate for future updates and maintenance once it gets going.”

  Eagerly, she nodded. “That sounds great!”

  Her gaze shifted behind me. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” She hurried behind the register, where the young man was waiting with a big bottle of vanilla-scented bath oil.

  “It’s for my mom’s birthday,” he said. “She loves this place, but I don’t think she has any of this stuff. Do you think she’ll like it?”

  “Like it? She’ll love it,” Larken said. “Here, let me wrap it in a gift bag with some tissue and a ribbon. Then you just have to get her a card, and you’re all set!”

  “A card,” he repeated.

  “You’ll find a nice one at Rexall Drugs, I’m sure.” Larken tidied the bow she’d made o
n his gift bag and handed it to him.

  He took it with a grateful smile and left.

  “Ellie, you might want to think about carrying cards,” she said as she rejoined me and poured a cup of hot water over a peppermint tea bag. “Just a small rack of carefully selected ones. I mean, people come in here all the time for gifts. You might as well offer one-stop shopping.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I admitted.

  I’d avoided carrying anything in the shop that wasn’t scent oriented in some way, but there was the “Nonsense” part of the shop, too. As for her indictment of my online store, it was true that I hadn’t given it much attention. That was probably why there were only four orders for the whole week. But I disliked spending time in front of a computer screen when I could be out in the garden or whipping up fragrant products to sell, plus I helped people find the scent they needed best when we were face-to-face.

  “I’ll think about the cards,” I said. “In fact, maybe I’ll have you pick them out.”

  She grinned. “I’m glad to help. There are some by local artists that the tourists would love.”

  “Perfect. And I have links to some online catalogs you can look at from home. Just keep track of the time you spend.” I tipped my head and watched her over the rim of my mug as I polished off its contents. “How are things with the farm?”

  It might have sounded like an unrelated question, but we both knew it wasn’t.

  “Good! I love it, I really do. And Colby does, too, despite how afraid he was to be tied to a piece of land like that. Still . . .” She hesitated, then flashed her infectious smile. “As much as I would like to be completely self-sustaining, Colby and I are both going to need to work—at least part-time. That’s just a simple fact.”

  I nodded, unsurprised. “Well, I can obviously use your help with the website, as well as a bit of part-time work here in the shop. Thea was complaining about the kid she hired, so maybe she could use some help, too. And Gessie has a basic website for the stables, but she might be willing to pay you to make it more appealing and easier to book hayrides and cookouts and such.” I was just brainstorming by then, but Larken had moved to the counter and was happily jotting notes.

  I glanced out the window to check on Dash. He and Nabby were contentedly sunning in the middle of the flagstone patio, and I let them be. “I’m going to the store now, then by the Roux to pick up food for the gathering.”

  “Right!” She smiled. “I’ll keep the home fires burning here at the shop.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I STEERED the Wrangler north on Corona Street toward the county road that would loop me around to the supermarket. I put together a mental grocery list as I drove. The farmers’ market wouldn’t open for a couple of weeks, with new greens and tender asparagus, baby carrots, radishes, and pea pods just begging to be stir-fried. In the meantime, I’d grab the makings for a few salads in the produce section. I needed chicken and mushrooms for coq au vin, and granola and yogurt since I didn’t know whether I’d ever get another cookie from Astrid, and I needed to eat something for breakfast.

  That thought made me sad.

  Sighing, I went back to my list. Pasta and rice and potatoes. A slab of salmon, maybe a couple of steaks—just to have around since I hoped to have plenty of dinners at home with Ritter in the next few weeks . . .

  A block ahead, a familiar Peugeot pulled out and headed the same way I was going.

  Speak of the devil.

  Across from the Roux Grill, it veered into a parking spot, and Astrid got out. I slowed and saw her go around and open the passenger door. A Great Dane leaped to the sidewalk, its leash firmly in Astrid’s hand. She led him over to the metal fence that surrounded the outdoor seating, and tied the leash to one of the standards. The dog bent to drink from the big water bowl that was always there, then lay down like a regal Sphinx to watch passersby. My friend didn’t notice me drive by as she pushed the front door of the restaurant open and went inside.

  I pulled around the corner and parked. After all, stopping by the Roux was on my list of things to do. If I happened to go in when my best buddy happened to be there, well, that would just be a happy coincidence—and hopefully one that would allow for me to apologize. Or at least to try to explain. I still didn’t think I’d been wrong to check into Dylan Wong’s background. After all, she barely knew the guy.

  CHAPTER 17

  MY steps slowed as I came around to the front of the Roux Grill. I’d spent plenty of long days and late nights inside that building. Harris and I had worked our tails off to get the place up and running, starting with his mother’s recipes and doing the work of four people ourselves when we couldn’t afford to hire the help we needed. We’d worked so hard for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that our marriage wasn’t the best.

  However, I was still proud of the place, and the kitchen still served some of the best food for miles around. I wasn’t sorry to be done with the heavy lifting of running a restaurant, though. Starting Scents & Nonsense had been hard work, but far more of a labor of love than the Roux had been. At least for me. It was still Harris’ first love, and probably always would be.

  The umbrellas over the outdoor tables were furled, but two couples basked in the sunny afternoon warmth. Perky pansies smiled up from where they tumbled around Oregon grape in the half-barrel planters on either side of the big wooden door. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

  As always, the smell of garlic hit me first. It was the warm, round fragrance of whole cloves slowly heated in butter for two hours before the golden liquid was poured directly into the bowls of bite-size rolls that were brought to each table when customers sat down. Despite my earlier sandwich, my mouth started watering. That reaction was as Pavlovian as it got, and the anticipation of those garlicky rolls affected most repeat customers the same way.

  The hostess station was empty, so I was surprised when I rounded the corner from the foyer into the main dining room and saw so many people. Nearly half the booths that marched down the wall to my left were full, and so were a few of the tables in the middle of the long room. Three customers sat at the heavy, dark mahogany bar on the right, which was colorfully illuminated by the light shining through jewel-toned liquor bottles lined up in front of the window.

  Maggie moved back and forth, mixing drinks for the stony-faced waitress who waited for them. She was a new hire, and my lips parted in surprise when I realized who it was. She was certainly pretty, so Harris might have hired her with or without waitressing experience. Still, it was the last place I thought I’d see Trixie Perez working.

  Harris stood at the end of the bar, watching Trixie with a pleased expression. I wasn’t sure why, since she radiated resentment. Hardly an invitation for customers to hang out.

  A man who was sitting at the bar turned so that I could see his face, and I realized it was Odell Radcliffe. Beside him, Haley leaned over an electronic notebook in her lap. Her hair formed a curtain that hid most of her face, but I could make out the edge of her thick glasses. A cup of hot tea sat on the bar in front of her.

  Her father, however, apparently had no compunction about drinking at three in the afternoon. Odell held up his empty margarita glass to Trixie, who ignored him. Maggie was busy and didn’t notice right away, but Harris did and sauntered over.

  “Another one?” he asked, taking the glass.

  Odell nodded. “Please. Your bartender makes a mean one. Not too strong, and not too sweet.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Maggie not only made the best dirty martinis, she was renowned in Poppyville for her awesome margaritas and Sunday morning Bloody Mary bar.

  “Certainly, sir,” Harris said. He took the glass back to the sink and said something in a low voice to Trixie as he passed by. She nodded, but once she turned away from him, she rolled her eyes. Then she saw me watching, hesitated, and shrugged.

  I looked arou
nd for Astrid, and realized the place was really busy, even for a Friday afternoon. The Friday Afternoon Club Maggie had told me about must be a great hit.

  Well, good for Harris.

  Detective Max Lang lounged in one of the booths, a beer in front of him when he should have been out trying to find Eureka’s killer. Thea and Gessie were chatting at a back table, and I gave them a wave. Astrid hadn’t joined them, though. Instead, she slid into a booth, facing me.

  My wave attracted Harris’ attention. He gave Odell his drink and came around the bar and over to me.

  “Ellie.”

  “Harris.”

  He was a handsome man, with dark hair worn long on top so it artfully flipped over his forehead. He had a brilliant smile when he deigned to display it, but more often his upper lip was curled into a slight sneer. I’d once made the mistake of telling him it made him look like Elvis Presley, and the idea that it was sexy must have stuck. And I had to admit he attracted a lot of women. Always had—married or not.

  “I thought you’d be selling your little perfumes this time of day,” he said.

  At one time that comment might have bothered me, but now his condescending reference to the shop slid right off my back. After all, I did make a living from doing my dream job, so who cared what the man I’d increasingly come to think of as “the jerk” thought?

  Of course, it was Astrid who’d helped me realize that.

  “I hear your boyfriend is back in town,” Harris said.

  “Ritter is hardly a boy,” I started, then stopped myself. I had almost forgotten what a challenge it was to let his comments float away like so many dead leaves, a tactic that kept me sane and made him crazy.

  “How does he feel about his little woman playing Her-lock Holmes?”

  “Oh, that’s a good one,” I said sweetly.

  “Max says you were obsessed with that old bunch of papers in the time capsule.” He shook his head.

  I smiled. “How nice of Max to take an interest.”