Carnations and Chaos

by London Lovett

  "Oh my gosh." I could smell the barbecue sauce on Lola's breath as she spoke. "Detective Briggs in jeans and a black shirt and riding a motorcycle. Heart be still. Who knew he had a wild side?"

  I did, I said inside my head.

  A hand wrapped around mine, and I was swung the opposite direction. Dash bowed down low. "Milady, we still have not had that dance you promised me."

  "I don't know, Dash. My toes are kind of numb and . . ." I stopped talking because it seemed he wasn't taking any excuses.

  Dash pulled me along to the floor. I wasn't three painful steps into the dance when I heard the motorcycle roar back to life. Its shiny chrome fenders glinted under the street lights as the motorcycle turned the corner and took off along Culpepper Road.

  Chapter 10

  My last customer walked out. I was sure I wouldn't have much business for the weekend, but I'd had a steady stream of people all morning. People from neighboring towns were planning ahead for the holidays. And I had a stack of orders for winter bouquets. After my tenth order, it dawned on me that I had to find an assistant who could also do local deliveries. I had never planned to do much commerce any farther than a fifty mile radius, but even for a small operation like mine, it seemed I was going to need some help.

  I was scribbling out a help wanted ad to post after the busy weekend when Lola cruised into the store. "The food smells have penetrated every dusty corner of the antique shop. I have a hankering for something tasty. I see the customer rush has slowed on this side too. Why don't we stroll down to the fair and see what's cooking."

  I put down my pen. "Or grilling? Which of the two Barbecue Boyz do you have your sights set on?"

  She walked with heavy, disappointed steps to the counter. "Neither. They are both a couple of goobers, and they smell like ketchup and charcoal."

  I grabbed my wallet and my keys. Kingston let out a low squawk signaling that he needed to go out. "Let's go, buddy. And no harassing people at the fair or you'll be staying home the rest of the weekend."

  I opened the door. Kingston left behind a few downy feathers as he soared outside.

  "You do realize that you talk to that crow as if he understands English," Lola mentioned on our way out the door.

  "Not sure what your point is."

  "No point, I suppose. I guess I talk to Bloomer the same way."

  We turned toward Pickford Way. Cones had been set up for designated parking along Harbor Lane, Pickford Way and Culpepper Road. It seemed every available spot was taken. The roaring murmur of voices could be heard all the way down the street. Thin white trails of smoke, laden with rich fragrances, curled around the thinning branches of the trees. The fair was a success.

  Lola wrapped her arm around mine. "Sooo, are you going to talk about the incident, or are you going to pretend it didn't happen?"

  I looked over at her. She gazed back with an expectant smile.

  "I have no idea what incident you're talking about."

  She released my arm with a frustrated huff. "Sometimes you are so aggravating. The handsome, cool detective shows up to the dance on his shiny, silver and black motorcycle, no less, and the moment the dashing, charming neighbor drags you off to the dance floor, handsome, cool detective climbs back onto shiny, silver and black motorcycle and roars off into the night. Any of that scenario sound familiar?"

  "I remember it, but I don't think it had anything to do with me."

  We crossed the street. Detective Briggs' car was parked outside of the station. It seemed he was working this weekend. Most likely because of the fair. After I saw Briggs ride off, I briefly wondered if he'd done so because of me. But it was silly and vain of me to even entertain the notion. I was sure Briggs saw how crowded it was and decided not to stay.

  I hadn't noticed Lola shaking her head at first. "Oh, Pink, you have a lot to learn about men."

  "Said the woman who nearly gave her heart over to one of two men who smelled like ketchup and charcoal."

  "Oh please, that crush lasted all of three songs at the fair and then I was over it."

  We stopped at the entrance to the town square. After a morning of clouds and coastal breezes, the sun had arrived. But the booths and the participants all looked a little more weather worn than the night before.

  The longest line was at the Sugar Lips booth where people waited patiently with their copies of Marian Fitch's cookbook. She was wearing a disingenuous grin as she hastily scrawled her name inside each book. I wondered how many of her fans felt a little less enamored with her once they met her in person. Her nephew stood nearby selling more copies of the book. They were the one booth with little to offer in samples and treats. It seemed they were all about profit. Not surprising.

  "I want to try one of those hoagie sandwiches at the Sandwich Queen booth, and I've heard that Down Home Comfy has amazing sweet potato fries." Lola had her menu already picked, which with all the tempting choices was probably a good idea. Otherwise, I could very well spend my entire break just trying to decide.

  Even with the crush of people in the square, I noticed Kingston's shadow pass overhead. I squinted up to the sky and watched my clever and scheming bird land gracefully on a thin branch. Four smaller birds took off in a hurry with the arrival of their big menacing nemesis. I quickly scanned the crowd for hats with fake fruits or nuts to make sure he wasn't planning to nibble on someone, but I saw nothing that could attract his attention. Especially because he had already zeroed in on something down below. The tree he'd landed on was directly over Celeste Bower's Sweet Cherry Pie booth. I could hear her two chickens clucking up a storm and hoped Kingston wasn't the cause of it.

  "Go ahead and get your sandwich, Lola. I need to see what my bird is up to. I'll meet you at Twyla's booth for sweet potato fries."

  Lola waved and was instantly swallowed up by the crowd. I made my way to Celeste's booth and casually glanced up to give my bird a scornful look. Kingston stared straight down at me and then I saw his shiny black eyes focus on a bag of grain that Celeste was holding. It must have been something tasty for chickens because they, too, were dancing and strutting in excitement.

  Celeste stuck her nose in the bag and made a funny face. She tossed the entire bag into the trash she had set up below her stand. She noticed me watching her with interest. "Flax seed. It goes bad fast. The chickens love it, and it makes the eggs higher in nutritional value. Fortunately, I brought a second bag."

  "Yes, I can see they love it." I smiled cheerily at her chickens and then scowled back up at my bird. I shook my head once at him, and he seemed to understand. I hoped.

  "Have you sampled my honey lavender hand lotion?" Celeste's eyes were round and a clear sapphire blue. No wonder Dash had danced several dances with her. Not that I was counting.

  "I haven't." I held out my palm and instantly knew the lotion was going to be far too strong for my sensitive nose, but I decided to be polite. She squirted in a dollop, and I rubbed it over my hands. "It's silky."

  She handed me a card. "Everyone loves it. I've already sold out of the bottles I brought with me, but you can order more from my site."

  "Great. Thanks." I pushed the card back into my pocket and took another glance up to the tree top. This time Celeste noticed my interest in the branches above her head.

  "Go away, crow. You're scaring my chickens." Celeste flailed her hands, which, if I knew my bird, he was silently laughing at the woman and her useless antics. I decided to help her out.

  I waved my hand sharply and gave Kingston another scowl. Reluctantly he lifted off the branch, leaving a waterfall of leaves behind as he flew away.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that my pet wouldn't be making a ruckus at the fair. Things had been going so smoothly, I certainly didn't want to be the person to throw a wrench in it.

  I moved through the crowd. Lola met me with a paper cone filled with sweet potato fries. "Try one," she said. "They have a spicy coating. They don't need ketchup." She held up a crispy, brown sphere on a napkin. "This is one
of her deep fried peanut butter balls. I can't wait to try it."

  I plucked out a long, hot fry and tasted it. "Hmm, if I could taste them over the honey, lavender smell on my hands, I'd bet the fries were delicious."

  "Ah, so you sampled the hand lotion. I thought it was a little too fragrant."

  "I agree." I tilted to the side and craned my neck to catch a glimpse of Twyla. She still looked her usual tense, uptight self, but it seemed she'd put the scene with Fitch behind her to have a successful fair day. People were lined up for her samples.

  "What are you looking at?" Lola pushed another sweet potato fry between her lips.

  "Just wondering how Twyla was doing after her little rant at the dance. Seems she's gotten over it. And the craft beer." I turned back to her. "I'm going to grab one of those peach smoothies at the vegan stand and then head back to the shop. How about you?"

  Lola nodded absently. Her attention had been pulled away by the triple display of French pastries. "I think I'll stay here for a little longer and sample goodies."

  "All right. See you later."

  Chapter 11

  Lester had been dragging around all day after overindulging on barbecued short ribs the night before. Robyn, his part-time coffee barista, had left early for a date, and I'd volunteered to remove and bring inside the cushions from the outside chairs so he could go home. I had just finished up and was about to head back to my own shop to clean up for the night when I saw Detective Briggs walk out of the station and toward the food fair.

  I had no real reason for catching up to him other than I enjoyed talking to him. It was so rare when he had free time. And, of course, I was dying to ask him about the motorcycle. I'd gone over what Lola had said a few times in my head, but I was convinced he hadn't turned around and left because I'd gone off to dance with Dash. While it was true the two men seemed to dislike each other immensely, I was sure the dance had nothing to do with Briggs leaving. He'd told me himself that fairs and dances weren't his thing. I was sure he was put off by the packed, boisterous crowd he saw in the square.

  I hurried along the sidewalk after successfully walking past Lola's Antiques without my nosy friend popping out to see where I was going. I didn't need her making up conclusions about my race down the street to catch up with Detective Briggs. Besides, it wasn't really a race. It was more of a speed walk.

  I rounded the corner on Pickford Way and wasn't too surprised to see that most of the booths had closed up for the night. Barbecue Boyz, Sandwich Queen and DAB, the vegan booth, were the only participants left. Even Celeste's two hens had gone in for the night. The sun was dropping low in the sky, and the fair would close up officially before dark. Most of the visitors had filled themselves to their eyeballs with sugary treats, savory meats and all the goodies that didn't fit into a normal food category.

  The Barbecue Boyz had turned off the grills, but there were still several trays of burgers displayed at their booth. That was where I found Briggs handing over money for a cheeseburger.

  He was just about to take a bite when he saw me.

  "Don't let me stop you," I said cheerily. "I hear their burgers are delicious."

  Detective Briggs chewed and swallowed. "Very good. This was the first chance I had to visit the fair today. Guess I missed most of the vendors. But I probably still would have chosen the burger."

  I walked with him toward the cluster of tables. Yolanda had paid some of the high school kids to clean up trash in the afternoon. Taylor and Tyler, Franki's twin sons, were amongst the helpers.

  "Yolanda thought of everything," Briggs remarked as we sat at a table. It was probably the first time the benches had been empty all day.

  "You might not have had many food choices, but I can assure you there was no place to sit or hardly even stand just a few hours ago. You were wise to wait."

  "No choice. I was buried under a mound of paperwork. The worst, most tedious part of my job." He took another bite and opened the water bottle he'd brought along.

  "Mine too. Not that I'm comparing flower arranger to police detective, but I hate the paperwork that goes along with the business. If I could, I'd just spend all my time with the flowers. And I'm sure you'd prefer to spend all your time with the—" I stopped. I'd talked myself into a corner, not sure how to fill in the blank.

  Briggs smiled as he swallowed. "Dead bodies?" he finished for me.

  "I suppose I started that analogy and didn't think about where it led for your line of work. Anyhow, I'll change the subject so my cheeks can cool down from the embarrassed blush." I switched topics too hastily without thinking it through. "Where did you ride off to so quickly last night? And how come you never mentioned you had a motorcycle?"

  Briggs looked a little put off by my questions. He took another bite of burger and gazed out at the coastline and the lighthouse. I was almost convinced he wasn't going to answer, which would have made me feel even sillier than a few minutes earlier. Then he swallowed and took a long sip of water.

  "I was out for a ride on my motorcycle." He tilted his head my direction. "Which I didn't know I was required to mention, so I apologize for that indiscretion."

  "Apology accepted as long as I can have a ride on it someday."

  A slight grin appeared behind his napkin as he wiped his mouth. "Anyhow, I was mostly checking to see if parking and fire codes were being followed."

  "Detective Briggs, the code enforcer," I chirped.

  He ignored my tease. "It was so crowded, I decided not to stay."

  I shouldn't have been disappointed in his reason for leaving, but deep down, it was possible I wanted Lola to be just a little bit right.

  "Yes, it was terribly crowded. I'd made a bad choice on foot attire, and my feet were too sore for the dance floor."

  "Oh, is that right? Thought I saw you dancing with Vanhouten." He said the name with more than a smattering of derision.

  I lifted a brow at him. "You certainly are a good detective. You weren't off your bike for two minutes, yet you knew that I'd danced with Dash."

  Rather than verbally agree with my assessment, he just nodded as he took a large bite of burger.

  "If you'd stuck around long enough, you would have also seen that I ended the dance early in the song. Not because of my dance partner. Dash is a very talented dancer. And chivalrous."

  Briggs didn't say any more. I was stupid for needling him with more details. I knew darn well he didn't care for Dash.

  It seemed I'd overstayed my welcome. "I guess I should head back to the shop. I've got a few things to do before I close up for the night."

  He drank his food down with a swallow of water. "It was nice talking with you, Miss Pinkerton."

  "You too." I climbed off the bench just as tires shrieked to a stop in the distance.

  Briggs and I both looked down the long aisle of food booths. The black and white police car had stopped on Pickford Way. Officer Chinmoor, Briggs' young and slightly goofy partner at the police station, came lumbering across the grass. He was holding up his two way radio.

  "I tried to call you," he said urgently. Even with his partner striding across the square as if his hair was on fire, Briggs kept his cool. He took his radio off his belt and turned up the volume.

  "Just wanted to unplug while I ate my lunch," he told Chinmoor. "What has you huffing and puffing?"

  Officer Chinmoor stopped to catch his breath. "There's a body, a dead body. At the Mayfield Hotel. The medics are there, and they say the woman is dead. What should I tell them?"

  Briggs wrapped up what was left of the burger and wiped his hands. "Tell them I'm on my way."

  "Right." Officer Chinmoor walked away on his long, gangly legs, talking into his radio as he went.

  I kept my eager grin hidden as Briggs stood from the table. "Why are you grinning at me, Pinkerton?"

  "I thought I was hiding it."

  "Nope." He pointed to the corner of my mouth. "I can see the little curl right there."

  "I was just thinking that
it's been awhile since we were on a case together."

  "We were never on a case together."

  I put my hands on my hips and sighed loudly. "You needed me and my nose for Beverly Kent's murder."

  "That's true."

  "What if you need me and my nose this time? Couldn't I just drive along with you? I'll stay out of your way and just sniff around."

  "It might just be a natural death."

  I blinked at him and smiled weakly.

  His sigh of surrender bordered on a grunt. "Fine. You can come along. But don't get in the way."

  I hurried along next to him. "Nope, you won't even know I'm there."

  "Somehow I doubt that."

  Chapter 12

  A cluster of emergency vehicles were parked at the lobby entrance of the Mayfield Hotel. I'd seen the gray roof of the multistory hotel just in passing on my way through Mayfield, but this was the first time I'd seen the hotel in its entirety. It looked to be an older building but with fresh white balconies outside each window. The long portico leading to the glass doors of the lobby was held up by thick white columns. Billowy, feathery asparagus ferns cascaded from the hanging baskets along each side of the portico.

  On the drive to Mayfield, Detective Briggs had been in constant contact with an officer on the scene. He had no time for idol chat with his tag along passenger. He was in full detective mode by the time we stepped out of the car. The officer, an Officer Pritchett, was from the Mayfield Police Department, but she seemed to know Briggs well as she filled him in on the radio. Apparently we were about to arrive at a scene where a woman had mysteriously dropped dead in her hotel room. My few years of medical school had not ended in a medical degree, (much to the dismay of my mom) but they had prepared me to see dead bodies without the usual squeamish or shocked reaction of most people.