Carnations and Chaos

by London Lovett

  The graveyard, on the other hand, was filled with gray tombstones, which might have been the reason for the ill-fitting name. I left my bicycle on the side of the path and walked through the stones to the fenced-in plot at the rear of the cemetery. The black wrought iron fencing around the Hawksworth family plot had been recently painted with a shiny black lacquer, a color that looked stark compared to the speckled gray stones behind it.

  Two white columns supported a pretend Greek style portico across the top of the massive Hawkworth stone. The family name had been carved in fancy script. Below the surname were the names Bertram and Jill. There were two smaller plots and less impressive headstones on each side of the larger one. I walked along the fence and craned my neck to read the names and dates. Apparently, the horrible tragedy took place in 1906. Phoebe Kate Hawksworth was fifteen years old when she was murdered by her father. Next to her was a headstone with a train carved in it. William Chandler Hawksworth was twelve according to my mental math. I walked to the other side. Cynthia Elizabeth was only ten. I briefly wondered who'd died first and which of the poor children had to watch their siblings die, and at the hand of their father, no less. I had to quickly push the thoughts from my head. They were too awful to contemplate. The plot next to little Cynthia had an unmarked stone. A family pet? Did they bury pets in those days? Perhaps a champion hunting dog? I'd have to research it and see if Bertram had a dog or another pet who he'd considered important enough for burial in the family plot. Of course if he had, why wouldn't he have had the grave marked? It was yet another mystery to add to the list surrounding the Hawksworth family murder.

  A cold breeze tugged a strand of my hair free from the band I'd used to tie it up. I pushed the hair back into place and gazed down at the ocean. Occasionally, I could smell weather coming on, like the distinctive smell of rain or even the bitter, burnt smell of lightning. Those clouds were heading this way. It seemed they were going to fizzle out any of the food fair's remaining activity. That meant people would be cleaning up early, making it even more urgent for Detective Briggs to solve the case.

  I headed out of the graveyard and pedaled back up the hill to my house. It seemed I was going to need my shabby little car today after all.

  Chapter 25

  Elsie called to me as I turned the key to the door. I pulled the key out and walked over to her shop. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "I should be asking you the same thing. I had a shipment of ingredients come in on Friday. It's been so busy, I haven't had a chance to unpack the boxes and put the stuff away."

  "It has been a busy weekend, hasn't it?" I glanced across the street. "I've hardly seen Lola in days. Yolanda certainly has to be thanked for bringing a lot of business to town this weekend." I turned back to Elsie. "I thought I'd open up for half the day and try and get some Thanksgiving centerpiece orders." I squinted up to the sky. It was half blue and half slate gray. "At least until the rainstorm moves in."

  "My phone says it won't start raining until this evening. But then that could change at any second." Elsie had been her usual cheery, energetic and talkative self the night before, but it seemed as if something was off this morning.

  "Everything all right, Elsie?"

  "Yes, just feeling a little blue because Hank called and said he wouldn't be home for Thanksgiving. It's usually just the two of us. We make it into a nice romantic evening. He starts a warm fire and I bake his favorite yeast rolls and the sweet potatoes with the marshmallow topping. Guess I'll be alone."

  Even though I'd spent a week designing and creating centerpieces for Thanksgiving tables, I'd been too busy to think about the upcoming holiday. I'd planned on buying a plane ticket home. I needed to do that today. My mouth had been watering for my mom's cranberry and sourdough stuffing.

  "What about Lester? Won't he be alone?"

  She rolled her eyes. "After he retired, Lester started a tradition of spending Thanksgiving down at the fire station with the guys who have to work on the holiday."

  "That's sweet. Good for Lester. Well, if you want to fly home with me, you're welcome to it. I'm sure my mom would love to have you."

  She laughed at the notion as I figured she would.

  "Don't work too hard, Elsie." I walked back to the shop and pulled out my chalkboard announcing the centerpiece choices.

  I spent a half hour organizing ribbons and cards and doing all the things I'd been neglecting during the hectic weekend. I sat down at my work island to start a list of evidence for the case so far. The hand lotion turned out to be a non-starter, considering just about every person to pass through the fair had some form of it on their skin. There was so little to go on that it made me feel extra bad for Briggs. Apparently, death by an allergic reaction didn't leave much in the way of weapons or marks on the body. It all had to do with that creamer. The killer had to have known that Marian suffered from a lethal peanut allergy and that she never drank coffee without her special creamer. That narrowed the field down to about fifty thousand, the number of followers she had on her blog. Of course that field could technically be narrowed down to the people who were in town or nearby by Port Danby at the time of her death. But that left a pretty wide number as well, considering most of the people participating and visiting the fair knew Marian and the Sugar Lips blog. If only there was something more direct to connect her nephew to the fatal dose of peanut butter. But he was either very good at planning a murder or he wasn't the right suspect.

  Peanut butter. That term went through my head once more, and I wrote it down to remind myself to let Briggs know that Twyla, the woman who had suffered near personal and financial ruin all due to Marian Fitch, served fried peanut butter balls at her booth.

  The bell on the door rang. I had to hide my surprise when Kate Yardley, the owner of the Mod Frock Vintage Boutique, walked inside. It was the first time she had visited my shop. I had only been to hers twice, once to try on some boots that were no longer available and the second time to try on the boots that I'd worn to the food fair dance.

  After a quick hello, she headed straight to the window with the centerpiece displays. It seemed I was about to get my first order of the day.

  "Just let me know if you want me to pull them out of the window," I said.

  Kate was an extremely attractive woman with curves in all the right places and a face that looked good in any light. She had a terrific sense of style and always looked as if she was ready for a magazine shoot. She mostly dressed in the sixties mod style, the fashion pieces from her shop, and she knew just what to do with the crazy colors of the Twiggy decade. Today she was wearing a tight, short dress that had alternating panels of black and white fabric. She had a small black and white matching clutch to go with it. Kate also changed hair color like most people changed socks. She had recently given up white blonde for a toffee apple brown. And darn if it didn't suit her just as well as the blonde.

  Kate Yardley was the one shop owner on Harbor Lane who I'd only formed a casual, acquaintance style relationship with. She didn't seem interested in more, which was fine by me. And from what I'd heard, only through loose rumors, Kate and Dash had dated at one time.

  Silently, I hoped she wouldn't ask me about the boots because after the first trial run in them, I was reluctant to put them on again.

  "I'll take two of the Simple Elegance."

  "Terrific." I pulled out my order book. "I'll write up a ticket."

  Kate walked up to the island. "How do you like the boots?"

  Darn. "The boots? Oh, they're wonderful. They weren't great for dancing, but otherwise, you know for just kicking around in, especially when I want to look extra groovy, they are perfect."

  Kate's hair was teased up on top and her bangs dropped down close to her eyes. The entire look stayed perfectly in place with a helmet of hair spray as she tilted her head in question. She really took the mod thing to an unsurpassed level. "I've worn mine dancing a lot. Why weren't they working for you?"

  "Just a little tight in th
e toes. I'm used to wearing sneakers and sandals."

  She nodded. "Your feet are probably just too wide for the boots." Kate was also a master at slipping in insults.

  "Or the boots were too narrow," I smiled. "Guess it depends which way you look at it."

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  I decided to leave the boots topic or risk talking myself out of an order for two centerpieces. "Have you been to the fair to try the treats?" I asked.

  "I was just there this morning. First chance I got after the rush of customers all weekend."

  "Yes, it's been great for business. I sold all my flowers yesterday for—" I paused when I remembered that I'd sold out of flowers because a woman had died.

  Kate was glad to finish for me. "Yes, I saw the flowers on the booth." She didn't add any of the usual comments about how sad or what a tragedy but then I hadn't expected it of her.

  "Now that was two Simple Elegance centerpieces. Do you like them just the way they are, or would you prefer any substitutions on the flowers?"

  "No, they're fine like that. Do you provide the pillar candles?"

  "I don't but I can order you some."

  "No actually, I have a place I buy candles. I don't want anything that will overwhelm the aroma of the meal I'm preparing."

  I totaled up the receipt. "Are you having a big crowd?"

  "Just some friends. You might know one of them—Dashwood Vanhouten?" She asked it as if she wasn't well aware we were neighbors. Interesting that he was going to her Thanksgiving dinner but then he hadn't mentioned any trips to see family. In that case, I was glad he had a place to celebrate. (Well sort of glad.)

  "Yes, Dash, of course. Sounds like fun."

  "It's just close friends from back when we were a couple. You understand. Otherwise I'd be happy to invite you."

  My face popped up in the middle of calculating sales tax. "Oh, no, I wasn't—that wasn't a—I'm flying out to see my parents. I never miss one of my mom's Thanksgiving feasts. I just meant, I'm sure it'll be fun." So it was official and the rumors weren't just loose. Dash and Kate had been a couple, a couple with mutual friends. And now he was spending Thanksgiving with Kate and their mutual friends.

  Apparently, I was pressing the pen just a little hard on the receipt pad, and it ripped through. "Oops, thin paper on this pad," I chuckled and wrote the total next to the rip. "What day will you pick them up? I recommend Wednesday. That way I can keep the flowers fresher in my cooler."

  "Wednesday at ten?" she asked.

  "Perfect." I showed her the total.

  "Can I pay now?" She placed her shiny clutch on the island and opened the latch.

  "I never turn down a payment."

  The purse was cute as heck but impractical in size. She tried to get to her wallet, but there was a folded paper in the way. She huffed in frustration and placed the paper on the island. It unfolded and revealed a recipe for a cucumber facial mask with the Sweet Cherry Pie logo on it. I glanced at it for just a second and then something drew my focus back to the paper.

  "A cucumber facial mask?" I asked and used it as an excuse to get a closer look at the paper.

  Kate opened her wallet and pulled out her debit card. "It sounded interesting. Here you go."

  I stared down at the paper. The font for the recipe was printed in bold italics. I was sure it meant nothing, but I decided to make a mental note of it.

  I took the card from Kate. "Thank you and thank you for your business."

  Chapter 26

  Several neighbors and Gigi Upton from the Corner Market put in orders for a centerpiece. My idea to come in on a Sunday had paid off. It was close to noon and my stomach was growling for something to fill it. I went to the front window and looked out. The rain I'd predicted with my nose had been stalled out over the sea. It seemed there wouldn't be rain for a few more hours.

  Even so, I decided to drive my car around to the town square. That way if the clouds broke, I could just take off from there and head home. I drove down Harbor Lane. I'd seen Detective Briggs drive past the shop an hour earlier, when I was in the middle of helping Gigi decide between the Berry and Orchid Splendor and the Harvest Basket (she settled on one of each). I was of course dying to know where Briggs was heading when he drove past. I was disappointed I wouldn't be able to stop in and tell him a few of the tidbits I'd picked up since I last saw him. Not that they were worth much.

  I parked on Pickford Way, across from the marina. A bitterly cold wind caused some of the smaller moored vessels to bounce off the bumpers running along the pier. It seemed that the storm was imminent. I was glad to now have an ample supply of flashlights in case of a power outage.

  Most of the bloggers had braved the blustery weather and kept their booths open. They had to pay a sizable fee to rent a booth and sell foods at the fair, so they wanted to get their penny's worth.

  Celeste was covering her chicken coop with a tarp as I walked past. I decided to ask her about a copy of the cucumber facial mask recipe. She was having a hard time tying the tarp to the pop-up coop. The hens weren't too thrilled about the flapping canvas. I scooted around to help her. She startled at first, apparently unaware that I had been standing at her booth. We got the tarp secured.

  "Thank you," she said. "They hate the rain."

  I was just about to agree and mention my crow's aversion to the rain, but I decided not to bring up the sore subject. Her last encounter with my bird had been rather disastrous.

  "I was just stopping by to ask about a recipe for a cucumber facial mask. A friend of mine was telling me about it."

  "Yes, of course." She turned around to a file box, thumbed through it and pulled out a copy. She handed it over with a grin. Celeste was much more pleasant when I didn't have a crow hovering around me.

  I glanced at it and its bold italics font. "That's it. Thank you so much. Do I owe you anything?"

  "Nope, it's complimentary. Although, after you try it, if you could leave a comment or review on my blog that would be great."

  "I will do that. Thanks again and looking forward to trying it." I folded the paper and pushed it into my coat pocket. I was craving something tasty but light and decided to stop at the DAB booth for a vegan sandwich.

  Byron and Daisy looked much more weary and less enthusiastic than they had a few days ago. Byron had switched out his purple beanie for a black fedora, and he had fashioned some of his beard into tiny braids. "What can I get you?"

  "I'd like the vegan special on wheat."

  "Oh, sorry, we're down to just flatbread."

  "That works."

  Daisy was huddled in her coat, sitting on a fold-up chair and reading her phone. It seemed she had checked out for the rest of the fair and it was up to Byron to run the booth. He pulled out his cutting board and a baggie filled with fresh veggies.

  "Looks like we'll all be closing up early this afternoon," Byron said as he prepared my sandwich. "That cold storm sort of fits the mood around here today."

  "Oh? Because of Marian?"

  "That and it seems like we're all stuck in one of those big houses on an island where someone gets murdered and all the guests are eyeing each other suspiciously."

  "A who-dunnit movie," Daisy piped up without looking away from her phone.

  "That's it. Most of us knew Marian. And she had a lot of enemies. People who had been wronged by her in some way, like Twyla with her stolen recipe and Celeste with her book. But I still think it was her nephew. He was her heir, you know? He's going to be rich."

  "I've heard that." It seemed to be leaning toward the obvious, the emotionally abused nephew who stood to gain the most from her death. I glanced over to the Sweet Cherry Pie booth. Celeste was starting to pack up. I scooted closer to where Byron was working on my sandwich. "What about the book?"

  He looked up confused. "Oh yeah, that." He lowered his voice. "A few years back, Celeste was about to land a killer book deal with a major publisher. At the last second, Marian Fitch's agent swooped in with the Sugar Lips book
proposal. Celeste lost the deal and never found another publisher for her book." He handed me the sandwich. "Daisy and I had the same agent as Celeste at the time, so he told us all about it."

  "That's a shame. Must have been a big disappointment to her."

  "Yeah, just about everyone here has some horror story connected to Fitch. Daisy and I managed to stay clear of her. Other than her griping that our smoothie blender was too loud at the last fair, we didn't have any run-ins with her."

  "That's good." I paid him for the sandwich. "And thank you." I lifted the sandwich, but silently I was thanking him for providing a puzzle piece I'd been missing.

  I decided to eat my sandwich in the warmth of my car. I was nibbling away enjoying it when a car pulled up in front of me. Surprisingly, Parker Hermann climbed out of the driver's seat. He looked fairly spry as he lifted the collar of his coat up around his ears and hurried across to his aunt's booth slash memorial shrine. The flowers were working hard to keep their petals in the breeze.

  I watched him in the side view mirror as he collected up some of the cards and signs that people had placed on the booth. Most of the other bloggers watched him but no one went up to talk to him. Moments later, he returned to his car with the cards. It seemed he had just come to collect the notes before the rain fell and washed away the sentiments. It was commendable.

  I wondered how much longer he would be required to stay in town. It seemed if Briggs didn't get any solid leads or evidence soon, he'd have no choice except to let Parker leave.

  Parker started the car and took off around the corner to Culpepper Road. I wondered why he hadn't turned around and headed back toward Mayfield.