"There is only one. Take Harbor Lane to Pickford Way. That will take you directly to the lighthouse."
The front door opened as Nora turned around to say her goodbyes to Kingston. A woman in her mid to late thirties walked in wearing a blouse with a bright floral print and white jeans. Her brown hair was brushed up into a tight bun at the back of her head, a hairstyle that was more suited to someone much older. Her brows were penciled in with uncommon precision and at such an arch that they gave her a somewhat permanently surprised look. Her footsteps were sharp and efficient, reminding me of Elsie's stride, as she walked across the floor with her hand out in front of her.
"You must be Lacey Pinkerton. I'm Barbara Malcom." She took hold of my hand before I could answer.
"Yes, hello. I am Lacey." I waved briefly at Nora as she walked out of the shop, then turned my attention back to Barbara. "You're certainly dressed for arranging flowers." I smiled at the blouse that was covered with yellow peonies and pink carnations.
She glanced down at her attire. "Yes, I believe in thoroughly immersing myself in my work."
Amelia cleared her throat to remind me she had yet to meet the new assistant.
"Oh, yes, Barbara, this is Amelia, my other assistant. She handles the customer service and phones."
Barbara and Amelia shook hands and nodded politely. I was getting a good feeling. Maybe I'd finally found my team. I'd already decided that even with Ryder's return, the business was doing well enough to add on additional employees. As it was, I'd had to turn down a few large orders because we were too booked. I was slightly giddy at the notion that the shop was doing so well that I needed more help. And now, with any luck, I'd found that help. Of course, Barbara still needed to prove herself as a flower arranger, but after seeing her resume, I was certain I wouldn't be disappointed.
Barbara and Amelia ended their little impromptu chat, then Barbara turned to me. "Point me in the direction of the flowers and we can get started."
Chapter 3
Pink's Flowers was running like a well-oiled machine. Amelia covered the flow of morning customers, while Barbara and I created splendid cornflower bouquets. Barbara was fast and accurate with the flowers. Every bloom in its place and jutting at just the right height and angle. She might have been just a little too exact. Both Ryder and I leaned more on creativity and spontaneity while creating bouquets, but I was pleased with her efficiency. The only flaw I could find was that she insisted on tidying up each one of my bouquets too. I tried not to be insulted and thanked her for correcting my imperfections. (Even if I didn't truly find them to be imperfections.)
After a whirlwind morning, the shop had finally hit a lull. Kingston was feeling ignored after the chaos. He let out a sharp caw to remind me he was sitting on his perch, neglected and hungry. The unexpected sound startled Barbara, causing her to drop a spool of pale blue ribbon. The spool rolled along the floor, leaving a long tail behind it. She looked miffed about the whole thing, but I couldn't tell if she was angry at herself for dropping the spool or at the crow for startling her. I soon discovered it was the latter.
Barbara had been focused and mildly pleasant for the entire morning but now her face stiffened as she stared across the shop at Kingston. "Does that bird stay in the shop at all times?" she said it with a slight grimace of disgust. "Surely, he'd be happier outside with the other birds."
It seemed I was about to once again enter into a debate about my bird's happiness. Her sudden change in demeanor and attitude put a kink in what I'd otherwise deemed a successful morning.
"Kingston loves being in the shop," Amelia piped up. "And most customers adore him." She was right to add in the qualifier most. While he had a slew of fans, Kingston was not universally adored. Mayor Price, for example, was terrified of him. Unfortunately, Barbara seized on that one word.
"Most." She laughed airily. "Even if most customers find the bird an interesting fixture in the shop, you don't want to risk scaring off the people who don't enjoying having a big black raven scowling at them while they pick out flowers."
Amelia opened her mouth to respond, but I smiled and winked her direction to let her know I would do the responding this time. Barbara had done a great job. She was exactly who I needed for the busy bridal season, so I didn't want to upset her. I also needed to set her straight.
"Kingston is part of my family," I started and continued right past her amused grin. "He is a crow and not a raven. He is not a fixture. He is a member of this flower shop and people enjoy seeing him. I think we can put an end to this conversation. I've got a list of single arrangements to create, two birthdays and three anniversaries. Would you like to start on those while I do some paperwork?" I knew my safest bet was to pull Barbara's attention away from Kingston and back onto flowers. She would get used to him soon enough and possibly even discover why so many people adored him. Hopefully.
Barbara wiped her hands on her work apron. "Yes, I'm happy to help with the single arrangements. Just give me the list, and I'll get started right away."
I was relieved that the crow topic had been dropped. I headed into the office to grab the list of orders.
Amelia's cheery tone rolled down the hallway. "Good morning, Detective Briggs." She giggled. "Or I guess I should say good afternoon since it's nearly lunchtime."
I headed back out to the front of the shop. Amelia was introducing Briggs to Barbara. Barbara seemed suddenly much less strident and more frilly, almost flirty.
"Nice to meet you, Detective Briggs," Barbara said with an overly gracious smile. She took a second to tuck the one thin strand of hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. She smiled again.
Briggs seemed relieved to see me."Lacey," he said abruptly. "I just stopped by to—" He paused when he realized Barbara and Amelia were still quite engaged in his arrival.
I motioned discretely with my head for him to follow me into the office where we could speak without an audience.
"Nice to meet you." Briggs nodded politely to Barbara and Amelia before hurrying after me down the hallway.
"I wasn't expecting you, but you sure sent a flutter of interest through my staff," I said quietly as we walked into my office.
Briggs wore a grin as he shut the door. "Your staff?" he asked. "Sounds very official."
"That's right. Pink's Flowers has a staff just like any successful business," I said proudly.
Briggs rarely missed an opportunity for a kiss. I certainly didn't mind. He pulled me closer and pressed his mouth briefly over mine. "You've done a great job with this business. You should be very proud of yourself."
"Thank you. I am."
He lowered his arms. "How is the new assistant working out?" he asked.
His question gave me pause. I had to think about it. I kept my voice low. "Not entirely sure yet. I think it's too early to tell."
Briggs had left his suit coat back in the office. He always looked great in a dress shirt, especially when he had the sleeves rolled casually back, exposing his strong forearms. Today, with the summery weather, he had even loosened his tie. The casual detective look was really working for him. No wonder Barbara and Amelia were in such flirty moods.
"Was she clumsy with the flowers?" he asked. Briggs knew that Amelia had worked out great with everything except flower arranging. He was always tuned into my business, almost as much as I was tuned into his work when there was a good murder case on his plate.
"Actually, she's great with arrangements. Fast, efficient and knows exactly what she's doing." And all of it was true. I couldn't think of one deficiency in that department. Still, there was something that didn't sit right. Briggs always knew when I had something on my mind.
"But—" he started for me, knowing full well I'd fill in the blank.
"Well, it's silly really. I shouldn't even care because she'll be a big help to me."
"But—" he repeated and stretched the short word out to a long one.
"It's just that she kept putting finishing touches on my bouquets. Mostly, i
t was just a little adjustment here and there, but it felt a little insulting. Like I was an apprentice and the master was showing me how to do it right." I waved my hand. "I feel stupid even talking about it. It was no big deal. She has a keen eye for detail and obviously likes everything to be perfect."
"Is that really necessary for flower bouquets?" he asked. "It seems like flowers are in themselves less than perfect. Each one a little different?"
I smiled at him and reached up to straighten his collar. "Aren't you the philosophical nature lover today? I like this side of you. Although, if I'm being honest, I like all sides of you."
I laughed as he pulled me in for one more kiss.
"Can you overlook her quest for perfectionism?" he asked. "It's better than—let's just say, if she's from this planet, she's already a better candidate than some."
"You've got a good point," I agreed. We kept our voices low. "Also, there was a little tense moment about Kingston. She doesn't seem too keen on the idea of a crow hanging around the flower shop."
Briggs nodded. "I can see where he might take some getting used to, but after she has realized he's really more human than bird, she'll forget he's even there." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to get back to the office for a conference call with some of the higher ups. They are considering adding a second detective to the area."
My mouth dropped. "Wow, that's a big deal. So you might get a partner?" I shook my head. "Never mind, you already have one."
He laughed quietly. We had debated about my unofficial title many times. I considered myself a partner, but he insisted I was an assistant. I just let him go on thinking that.
Briggs took hold of my hand. "How about we meet at Franki's in an hour for lunch? Then we can talk freely and not at a weird, low whisper."
"As wonderful as that sounds, I've already got a date for lunch. I'm meeting Marty Tate. He said he found another picture of Jane Price." Marty, the wonderful, old character who had been in charge of the Pickford Lighthouse for decades, had a collection of very old photos that belonged to his mother. His mother had been friends with Jane Price, the mayor's great aunt. I was sure Jane Price had been having an affair with Bertram Hawksworth, a romance that might very well have cost the entire Hawksworth family their lives. Marty's photos were all part of my research into the century old murder.
"I see, so I've been replaced by someone older and wiser," Briggs said. There was a smidgen of genuine disappointment in his tone.
"You could join us," I suggested.
"No, that's all right. But save a spot on your calendar for your boyfriend in the near future." He opened the office door.
"I will pencil you in, sir."
Chapter 4
Marty Tate and I met in Franki's parking lot. He looked a bit more hunched over than the last time I saw him, but his eyes sparkled like a kid's. His feet scraped the asphalt as he shuffled toward me. "Well, if it isn't my favorite florist?" His voice was a little more wobbly too. No one seemed to know quite how old Marty was, but it seemed he had experienced a great deal of Port Danby history. It was always a treat to hear him tell a story from a previous era.
I took hold of his slightly shaky hands. "And if it isn't my favorite lighthouse keeper." People inside the diner were already hopping up and peering out the windows. Marty was somewhat of a celebrity about town and for good reason. He was amazing.
"We should probably go in before your fan club rushes out here to greet you in the parking lot," I quipped. "I'm already preparing to be utterly ignored by Franki as she fawns all over her favorite Port Danby customer."
Marty's chuckle was low and had a marvelous gritty quality that I loved. "I suppose we should make our appearance. I'm hungry too. I was out of my usual frozen waffles this morning, so I had to settle for a banana."
I looked at him sideways as we headed inside. "Frozen waffles? I had you pegged more as an eggs and toast kind of guy."
Marty smacked his lips. "I've been eating a waffle every morning for forty years. Maybe that's the secret to living a long, healthy life. Frozen waffles and maple syrup."
"Sounds right to me," I said.
A chorus of shouts met us as we stepped into the diner. "Marty! Hey, Marty. What pried you out of that great white tower?"
Franki came sashaying over with a smile that she saved especially for Marty. It was sort of a cross between a flirty school girl grin and a glowing look of admiration that I was sure women in the fifties sported whenever Cary Grant or Gary Cooper walked on screen.
I'd already discovered that I became invisible whenever I was with Marty, so I didn't feel too insulted when Franki smiled directly at him. "I've got your table all ready." She practically sang the words. Franki was generally a polite and well-rounded pro at customer service, but she turned into an entirely different person altogether when Marty walked into the diner. It was amusing to watch.
Marty, always the gentleman, waved me ahead. I followed Franki to Marty's usual table, a nice little double booth next to the front window. It had an unobstructed view of the lighthouse, in case he forgot what it looked like while eating a bowl of chili. Franki put the menus on the table and spun around with a smile that would win an Oscar. It slipped back to her regular smile when she realized it was only me behind her. Marty had, as usual, gotten tugged aside for a chat with three fishermen sitting two tables down.
"Oh, Lacey, hello," Franki said and then leaned to the side to make sure Marty hadn't slipped out unnoticed. "Hey, guys, let Marty sit. I'm sure he's hungry for lunch."
The fishermen ended their chat, and Marty shuffled toward the table. I slid onto the seat. With some effort and a few grunts, Marty settled himself into the seat across from me.
Franki started right in before Marty even had a chance to place the napkin on his lap. "I've got some excellent tuna salad, Marty. Or maybe you'd like one of those special cheeseburgers with the Thousand Island and pickles."
Marty smiled at me. The crinkles on the sides of his eyes proved he had lived with a lot of laughter. I hoped mine would look the same one day. (Hopefully, not any time soon.) "What are you having, Lacey?" he asked.
"Cheeseburger sounds good to me, and a glass of lemonade to wash it down." I handed Franki my menu.
"Make it two cheeseburgers and two lemonades," Marty said. "And a few extra fries," he winked up at Franki.
"You know I always give you extra," Franki gushed. She winked back and walked away.
I held my hands out pretending to measure the table. Marty's fuzzy gray brows did a little dance on his forehead.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"The last time we were here, Franki brought you a platter of cornbread big enough for the entire diner. I was just wondering if this table will be big enough to hold the mountain of French fries."
Marty laughed. "That wit of yours. It's superb. Does James know how lucky he is?"
I tapped my chin. "I'm not sure. Maybe you should tell him next time you see him." I laughed to let him know I was only kidding. (Unless he felt inclined to do so.)
"You know something, I think I will," Marty said with a nod. He sat back and reached into the pocket on his sweater. It was a dark gray cardigan that had been worn so often there were dozens of tiny balls of wool all over it. He always wore a sweater, even in summer. I remembered my grandmother doing the same. His trembling fingers emerged with an old photograph. "I have no idea why my mother had this particular picture of Jane. It seemed to be addressed to someone Jane referred to as Teddy. My mother never had the nickname Teddy."
I nearly slipped off the seat at the mention of it. "Teddy," I said excitedly as I reached for the photo. Jane Price was standing in the town square wearing a flower adorned straw hat and a pale colored dress.
"It's a beautiful picture. She has a wise face, doesn't she?" Marty asked.
"She certainly does." I turned the picture over, finding it hard to contain my excitement. "To Teddy from Button," I read. "Oh, Marty, if it wouldn't make Franki jealous, I
would lean over this table and kiss you."
His grin was ear to ear. "You make an old man blush, Lacey. Does this photo help? I hoped it would add to your collection of important evidence."
Our chat was temporarily halted by the arrival of our lemonades. Marty got an extra big glass with a slice of lemon resting prettily on the top. "Your burgers will be right up," Franki said, smiling only in Marty's direction. She hurried away.
I shook my head as I leaned forward. "I'll bet she ran out and freshly picked the lemons in your glass."
"Franki's a good girl. She's always very attentive," he said in the greatest under exaggeration of all time. He pushed his sweater sleeves back and rested his arms on the edge of the table. "So, let me guess—Bertram Hawksworth is Teddy."
"You are a great investigative partner." I took a sip of my lemonade and pursed my lips from the tartness. I picked up a package of sugar and set to work making it sweeter. "In my research, I've come across some love letters. They were hidden in a trunk in the gardener's shed, the makeshift Hawksworth museum. The trunk belonged to Bertram. The letters inside were written to Teddy and signed love Button. Naturally, I first considered that they were from Mrs. Hawkworth, his wife, Jill, but this photo confirms my suspicions. Jane was having an affair with Bertram, and she was carrying his baby when she was sent away from Port Danby."
Marty rubbed his chin. There were several thick, white hairs sticking out from it here and there. "Here's a theory, and remember this is my first try at detective work," he added. "What if Jill Hawksworth found out and went mad with rage and killed the family?"
I nodded. "Yes, she would have reason to be angry, but would she kill her own children? And if she had been the culprit, how did the gun end up in Bertram's hand?"
He sat back slightly deflated. "Of course, you're right. That's why I'll leave the detective work to the expert."
"Hey, that was a good theory. If I'm being honest, I never even considered the possibility that Jill Hawksworth had killed everyone in a fit of rage. She certainly had motive."
Cornflowers and Corpses Page 2
