by Polly Holmes
Logan held the chair steady and Margarete sat, the throbbing in her foot had started to work its way up to her head, but she wasn’t about to tell Logan. “I’ll do my best.”
Kayne reached over and pressed a few keys and the footage started playing on the computer screen before them. “See, right there.”
Her blood pumped through her body as she watched the disguised figure head toward the back entrance of the kitchen. The clock on the bottom, right-hand side of the screen read seven-thirty-three. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Were they looking at the murderer?
Logan placed his hand on the desk and leant in towards the screen, his eyes squinting for a better look. “You can’t see their face. It could be anyone. Male or female.”
“Exactly. That’s the dilemma. We think it’s a woman,” Kayne said as he ran his hand through his hair. “We’ve tried to find her, but no-one seems to know who she is or remember her. Do you recognise her or her clothing?”
“I’d say female by the way she walks. There’s definitely a sway to her backside,” said Logan.
Margarete raised her eyebrows and looked at the stunned expression on Logan’s face. As did Kayne. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn he was blushing under the limited fluorescent lighting. “I didn’t realise you knew so much about women’s backsides?”
“Don’t be silly.” He swatted her playfully on the shoulder. “Men and women walk differently. Anyone can see that. I just think it’s a woman.”
“Agreed. Do either of you recognise the clothing?”
“I’m drawing a blank. How about you?” She motioned toward Logan.
He shook his head. “Nope, can’t say I remember her. But then again, I wasn’t exactly watching the guests that evening.”
The flutter in his voice had Margarete’s stomach turning upside down. No, he’d been watching her instead. Giddiness filled her head and she felt like a schoolgirl sitting next to her first crush. Focus.
Her gaze reverted back to the screen and her back stiffened. “Wait a minute.”
“What is it? Do you remember something?” Kayne asked impatiently.
“The hat,” she said, almost surprising herself. “I’m pretty sure I remember picking up that black, frilly hat off the floor as I was refilling the entree station earlier in the evening.”
“Think carefully, now. Where exactly was it?”
Margarete’s eyelids lowered, transforming her back to the night in question. The party was in full swing. Stunning women greeted her from all angles, emerald-green party decorations were scattered throughout the room, along with bunches of helium balloons that read thirty and one. Handsome McDreamy was standing over by the food table, scanning the delights on offer.
Probably trying to work out which delicacies had nuts in them. Her lips turned up in a smirk.
“What are you smiling about?” Logan asked.
“Shhh,” she said, flapping her hand in his direction for silence. She’d just finished getting an update from Clair and turned to head toward the kitchen and almost stepped on the hat in question by the present table. Her eyes flew open. “It was on the floor by the present table when I picked it up. I put it on the nearest guest table, but I can’t say I saw the scarf or glasses anywhere on the table or surrounding chairs. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
Kayne grabbed his notebook and flipped open to the floor plan of the party. “So, you say you found it about here?” He pointed to the front of the present table.
“Yes, but it could belong to anybody. They may have dropped it as they walked past.”
“That may be so, but the real question is why bring a wide-brimmed, black sun hat, albeit an elegant one, to a party that was inside, at night, in March.”
Why indeed, unless you needed a disguise?
“Listen, you’ve been most helpful.” He hastily held the door open for them. “But I’d like to get moving on this new information.”
“Of course.” Logan helped her up, but she stopped abruptly in the doorway. “Before we go, is there any news of this Ryder Stone fellow from Watsons Creek Motel?”
“Dead end, I’m afraid.” Kayne snapped his lips shut.
“So, you questioned him?” Logan asked.
“We did.” He paused refusing to disclose any further information.
“That’s it? you’re not going to tell me?” Margarete saw red and felt her cheeks flush. “Suit yourself.” She turned and returned to her chair, refusing to budge from the spot. “I guess I’ll just wait here until you see it in your heart to share.”
“Seriously?” Kayne glared at her. “It’s an open investigation, Margarete.”
“Ryder Stone was a lead you might not have had, if it weren’t for me. It’s not like I’m going to go blabbing to the whole world, Kayne, but it is my life on the line here.” She hoped the guilty treatment would work. “And who is going to look after my Oma if I’m sent to jail for murder? She’ll be all alone, and I will be stuck in some God-awful, green prison uniform, rotting away in a cell.”
Kayne threw his hands up in resignation. “All right, all right. I guess it will get out soon enough. Turns out, Ryder is a private investigator. Apparently, his father, on his death bed confessed to a robbery he pulled with Pierre Bellamy. Ryder’s father got community service and Pierre got off Scott free…with the money. Ryder found a picture of his father and Pierre and traced him to Ashton Point.”
“So Pierre was not only a fantastic cook, but a thief as well,” Margarete said, as the new information churned over in her mind.
“Appears so,” Kayne said, folding his arms across his chest. “The web doesn’t stop there. Ryder’s investigation uncovered two important pieces to the puzzle. We now know the real Pierre Bellamy had a son. And the deceased Pierre’s real name is Dario Bates.”
“Dario Bates?”
“They’d arranged to meet after the party. Which, of course, never happened. When challenged about his alibi, Ryder was quick to point out the fact that you can’t get money from a dead man. He just wanted to confront him for his father. He’d planned to turn him in after they’d spoke, but someone got to him first. Ryder’s alibi checked out. His only crime was crashing the party uninvited.
Interesting. More pieces to the puzzle.
Kayne looked at his wrist. “If I’m not mistaken, you have a high tea in half an hour.”
“What?” She shot off the chair, forgetting her injury. Pain bolted up her leg and nausea lodged in her gut. Her knees gave way and she would have hit the ground if there hadn’t been two strapping men there to catch her.
“For goodness sake, woman.” Logan’s irate tone snagged at her heart. “You’re going to do yourself a major injury if you’re not careful.”
Margarete held on tight to Logan and Kayne waiting in earnest for the nausea to pass.
“Maybe you should go straight home and rest,” Kayne suggested, sweet concern echoed in the depths of his eyes.
“No. I said I’ll be there.” She sucked in long breaths through her nose. “I’m sure I’ll be able to get some pain killers from Edith when I get there. I just jumped up too quickly, that’s all.”
“Are you sure,” Logan asked.
Margarete straightened her back and plastered a smile across her face, perfectly masking the increasing pain soaring out of control. “Positive. Now, is someone going to take me to this party or not?”
Logan shrugged. “Far be it for me to stop a woman when she’s set her mind on something.”
Exactly. Two Panadol and two Nurofen should do the trick.
Chapter Fourteen
Bubbles of champagne tickled Margarete’s nose as she sipped her second glass. Giggles working their way up from her belly. A surprised hiccup escaped her lips and she gasped, blocking another with her hand. “Excuse me,” she said between giggles.
“Are you sure you should be drinking?” Edith McCorrson asked as she placed another plate of salmon and cream cheese sandwiches on the coffee
table. “I thought I saw Clair give you some medication not long after you arrived. Should you really should mix them with alcohol?”
Oops. Caught in the act.
“It’s okay, Mrs McCorrson. This is my last one.” Another hiccup escaped. “Promise.”
Edith smiled and handed Margarete a plate of yummy treats. “I suppose one wouldn’t hurt.”—One?—“Here you go. Try and eat something with it.”
Once a mother, always a mother. She missed not having her mother live close by. Longing plagued her heart. It had been far too long since she’d spoken to her mother. An error she would rectify, and soon. “Thank you, Mrs McCorrson. They look delicious and thank you for inviting me.”
“I’m just glad you were still able to make it after your mishap last night.”
Margarete squirmed with embarrassment in her seat. A self-inflicted mishap.
A cheeky female voice spoke from behind Margarete’s chair. “And aren’t you lucky to have Logan Hunter at your beck and call? What would you do without your knight in shining armour?”
“Clair!” Margarete giggled, swatting her joyously on the arm. “I’m sure I would have managed.”
“I’ll leave you two ladies to it,” Edith said turning to join some guests on the other side of the room.
Clair joined her on the couch snuggling into her personal space. “So, spill.”
Margarete emptied the last few drops of her champagne glass. “What are you talking about?”
Clair smiled and rolled her emerald-green eyes coyly. “Don’t play dumb with me, young lady. I want to know all about McDreamy, Logan Hunter. Has he kissed you yet?”
“Clair…really?” Margarete asked, her chest tightening under her friend’s scrutiny. “That would constitute as gossip, now, wouldn’t it?”
Logan had been the perfect gentleman when he’d dropped her off at the high tea. He’d even helped her walk to the door. She hadn’t expected anything other than a, “see you tomorrow” or “can I call you later.” The last thing she’d expected was his lips on hers in an erotic kiss that left her heart racing and her mind jelly. His lips remembered the sweet afternoon air and she locked herself in his embrace, never wanting his sturdy arms to let her go.
Clair smirked. “That good, huh?”
Margarete giggled like a smitten schoolgirl. She glanced around, checking that the coast was clear of nosy eavesdroppers. She whispered, “One usually doesn’t kiss and tell, but yes. That good.”
Clair clapped her hands together triumphantly. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Mary-Jane asked as she sauntered into the room, a full glass of champagne in one hand and a stacked plate of nibbles in the other. She squashed her backside into the remaining seat on the lounge. “What do you know?”
No, no, no, this is not going to happen. Margarete stared at Mary-Jane, her mind a sudden blank.
Clair sighed. “I suppose there’s no use keeping it a secret.”
Margarete’s jaw dropped into a rounded “O” and her throat seized as if a vice was squeezing the last ounce of air from her lungs. Please don’t do this. Don’t tell her. Her eyes pleaded with Clair for discretion.
“If you must know. I have finally convinced Margarete to enter her famous apple strudel into the annual dessert competition at this year’s Easter Fair.”
“What?” Margarete and Mary-Jane asked in perfect unison.
“But…” Mary-Jane paused to finish eating a mini, lavender-and-blueberry cheesecake. “That means you’ll be in direct competition with Charlotte. You know she loves to enter her cupcakes and she’s won the last few years in a row.”
Margarete felt the blood drain from her face, or was it the champagne going straight to her head? “I…um…I didn’t exactly say I’d enter. I think I said I’d think about it. Anyway, unless they find Pierre’s real murderer, I won’t be able to enter. I’ll be stuck in prison.”
“Minor detail,” Clair said, brushing off Margarete’s concerns. “I’m sure they’ll find the real murderer in no time.”
Mary-Jane popped another of the mini cakes into her mouth and leaned in towards the woman. “Speaking of murder, I can’t believe a woman could do such a thing to poor Pierre.”
“What the? Where did you hear that?” Margarete froze. How can she possibly know that? I only found out earlier today.
“It’s all over town.” Mary-Jane’s brow wrinkled like a crumpled chip packet. “I think it was Shelly at the hairdresser…or was it Kelly at Snip ’n’ Sew, who heard it from someone close to the investigation?”
“Who?” Margarete asked impatiently.
“It doesn’t matter now. I guess that means you’ll be their number one suspect again, considering you don’t have an alibi.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charlotte said, joining the ladies in the lounge room. Cassidy was close behind. “If it was a woman, then it could have just as easily been you, Mary-Jane.”
Mary-Jane coughed and sputtered her food, almost choking on it. “I don’t think so. I am not a murderer. Besides, I have an alibi.” She paused and gestured for the ladies to tighten the circle. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Shelly at The Classic Curl told me her boss, Stephanie, has been in a right grumpy mood since the murder. And she left town in a hurry this afternoon. Goodness knows why, although, she was behaving rather peculiar at the party on Friday night. I don’t remember seeing her at the speeches, do you?”
They paused and Margarete did a quick recount, trying to remember where Stephanie had been during the speeches. Her mind blanked. The speeches had been a blur after being accused of murdering Pierre. “I can’t say that I did.”
“Actually, come to think of it, the last time I saw her, she’d just come in from outside. Her face had been as red as a beetroot, as if she’d had an argument with someone,” Charlotte added.
Cassidy’s inquisitorial expression was not lost on Margarete. “Then I guess the police had better widen their search.”
Mary-Jane stood and gathered her belongings. “You’re probably right. If you’ll excuse me. I must get going, I promised Noel we’d begin planning his promotion party this evening. Bye, ladies.” She turned toward Margarete and smiled. “Good luck in the Easter Fair with your apple strudel. I must say goodbye to Edith before I go. Ta ta.”
Cassidy huffed and folded her arms as they watched Mary-Jane swagger off toward Edith. Mary-Jane’s navy-blue-and-yellow, calf-length dress swaying as she went. “If I ever turn out as conceited as that woman, someone please pull the carrot out of my backside.”
A ruckus of laughter filled the room and a warmth filled Margarete’s heart. She gazed at the glowing faces of the three McCorrson woman. She cherished their friendship. With their passions as fiery as their red locks and hearts of pure gold, the sisters were invaluable friends.
“By the sounds of it, I might have some competition at the Easter Fair dessert competition,” Charlotte said, looking toward Margarete with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Margarete shook her head. “No, no. That was just Clair making small talk. I am not entering this year or any other year.” Shock expressions greeted her words.
Charlotte cleared her throat, giving a cheeky grin. “I do have a new recipe I’m dying to try, but it will have to wait until later in the week. Liam and I are heading to up to Coffs tomorrow. He has to go for work, so I thought I’d tag along. I’ll pop in early to the shop before I go and bake extra for the lunch rush. But, Clair, we’re going to have to advertise for a new chef soon, aren’t we?”
Clair nodded. “I know, we were lucky to nab Dannielle Curzon when we did for CC’s Cupcake Haven. That reminds me. Isn’t Finn due back from Vietnam soon?”
Cassidy’s hazel-blue eyes sparkled at the mention of her boyfriend, Finn. “He sure is and I cannot wait. I’m leaving at the crack of dawn to meet him in Sydney and then we thought we might visit his parents. They’ve brought a new apartment in Coogee Bay.”
“Coogee Bay. Ooooh, aren’t we moving up
in the world.” Charlotte taunted Cassidy with her playful banter.
“Margarete, there you are.” Katie’s voice sailed across the room, cutting the chatter in half. “I looked for you today at the café as agreed, but Savannah said you’d sprained your ankle.”
Margarete slapped her forehead. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. Guilty as charged. My day hasn’t exactly gone as planned and I should have rung you, but it totally slipped my mind.”
“So, do I get the scoop on how you sprained your ankle?” Katie asked with a hint of mischief in her eye. She sat in Mary-Jane’s vacated spot. “Don’t tell me, you were chasing a possible suspect down the street, you fought, and he went down after you. And then you karate chopped him with your foot.”
If only you knew.
“Now, that would make a great story,” Cassidy chuckled.
Margarete shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. I just misjudged my front porch steps, that’s all. It’s not too bad and I’ll be up chasing the bad guys sooner than you can say chocolate caramel cupcakes.”
A moan echoed from Cassidy’s direction. “Why did you have to say chocolate caramel cupcakes? You all know they’re my favourite.” She shot up from the lounge, her hands on her hips.
She glared a disgruntled expression at Margarete. “Now, I’m going to have to have another one. Thanks very much, Margarete.”
“What did I do?” Margarete asked, shocked by Cassidy’s abrupt exit.
“Nothing at all,” Clair said, dismissing Margarete’s worry with a simple eye roll. “Cassidy is obsessed with Charlotte’s chocolate and caramel cupcakes. She has been ever since she came back from New York. Now we try and avoid even the mention of them.”
Oh, how she loved these ladies. She ran her hand over her forehead. The effects of the champagne seemed to be wearing off.
“Are you okay?” Katie asked.
A slow burn crept back into Margarete’s leg as she shuffled on the couch. “I think I may have overdone it a little today. My ankle has decided to let me know it’s not too happy with me.”
