The big day had finally arrived, with much fanfare, and I was sick. Figured. My body must have been subconsciously trying to keep me away from the festival. "Maybe I should take this as a sign not to participate," I said to Jasper, who gave me a knowing look in return. "I know, I know," I said, "I need to pull myself together." It was not the day to call in sick. I was just going to have to suck it up and do my best.
I fluffed my hair in the mirror and applied about twice the makeup I usually do, hoping that it would help to cover up my puffy eyes and slightly green pallor.
Still, as I headed out the door, I considered turning back and burrowing under the covers.
But the excitement of the day seemed to pull me down to the center of town, and before I knew it, I was in the center of the festivities. I realized I'd made the right decision to leave Jasper at home because walking through the center of town was like trying to wade through thick mud; it was so full of people hustling and positioning their stalls and their finest creations. There were even news cameras. Quite a few of them, actually. I grinned at one of them and shot the anchor a wink, suddenly feeling not so ill.
I started to think that maybe, just maybe, this thing might turn out to be quite enjoyable after all. I did like a celebration, and a camera.
Now, focus. Time to find Brenda. I can't go having too much fun.
It wasn't just the arts and crafts that were on display that weekend, though of course that was the main attraction. There were live bands and music flooded the street. There were also rows and rows of stalls with street food, and local produce such as cheeses and fruits and vegetables, and fancy jams and jellies. There was even a stall of gourmet dog treats. I stopped for a second and pulled out my purse, buying a couple of pig's ears for Jasper. I also bought a small one for Casper, for when she returned. I still knew she would.
Even though there was a nervous energy in the air, there was a sense of joyfulness and for a moment I forgot everything—my sore throat, Erika, and my apprehension about the festival. I purchased a corndog and a funnel cake and sat at a picnic table to eat them. When was the last time I ate like this? I couldn’t remember. Had I even eaten a corndog since I became an adult? I was really missing out.
And then, of course, the heat wave chose that moment to break. Thankfully, I had just stuffed the last bite of funnel cake into my mouth.
People started to shriek as heavy, sharp rain suddenly poured down. Anyone who had a cover over their stall quickly pitched it and others scrambled to hide their prized possessions from the rain. The band quickly pulled their amplifiers clear and unplugged their guitars, and suddenly there was silence, apart from the sound of the rain splashing on the ground and people wailing.
Hmm. Almost seemed like a higher power didn't want this festival to take place. The rain temporarily took the wind out of my sails and I started to wish I'd stayed home.
But the festival couldn't be killed off. It had a life of its own and nothing was going to stop it from forging ahead and sucking all of us in with it. Soon the storm had passed and everyone rallied, mopping up the puddles on their stall tables and shaking themselves off.
The band started up again and folk guitars once again filled the air.
There was no getting out of it. I was going to have to find Brenda and face the music.
"Don't touch that!" Brenda said, swatting my hand away from her vases. "I want the judges to see them just as they are."
"All right, all right," I said, staring down at the green, glossy clay creations. This was what she was entering into the big competition? Oh well. I supposed that was her choice. "I won't touch them again," I said, holding my hands up in the air before I handed some passersby our business card. "If you're still in town on Monday, please come by and see us! We're having a half-price sale!"
"We are?" Brenda asked.
"We might as well capitalize on the tourism."
Lisa shoved past Brenda and I with her nose up in the air. Not even a hello. I, personally, wasn't expecting a hello after I'd accused her of murder, but I was shocked to see her snub her honorary sister, Brenda.
"What's up with you and Lisa?" I asked, surprised that the besties were on the outs with each other. "I thought you two were as thick as thieves."
"We have to put friendships aside for this weekend," Brenda said through gritted teeth. "This isn't about friendship. It's about competition. It's every woman for herself."
"Surely you can say a polite hello to each other."
"You have a lot to learn about this competition, Georgina."
Apparently. But Brenda always thought I had a lot to learn about everything: business, manners, festivals, life. I'd been hoping that Lisa's stall was going to be near us so that I could keep an eye on her, but she disappeared into the crowd and I lost sight of her. I was going to have to track her down later.
"Does Lisa stand any chance of actually winning the top prize?" I asked Brenda casually.
"Ha, she wishes," Brenda replied, surprising me to hear her throw her friend under the bus like that. "Maybe if she took out the rest of the competition first."
The competition was serious business and after the early joviality, nervous tension broke out everywhere. It seemed it wasn't just Brenda and Lisa keeping each other at arm's length; the competition seemed to have turned all friends into foes on that day. None of the ladies in the gaggle at Brenda's—sorry, my—craft circle even acknowledged her on that day. They didn't acknowledge me either, but that was nothing unusual. It was sort of funny to see Brenda be on the outs. But she ignored them just as hard back.
I couldn't help but think about what Brandi had said, and I agreed with her. The competitive aspect wasn't really my vibe. Couldn't we all just get along? The tension in the air was getting to me and that, combined with the throngs of people, was making me feel a little claustrophobic.
I was just about to excuse myself for a minute when Lisa came wandering back over to our table. This time, she managed to give Brenda a curt hello, but I got nothing but the evil eye.
"Are these what you plan to enter into the competition?"
Lisa scowled at my bracelets. I wondered why she was giving them such a dirty look if they were so terrible. It's not like they were competition for her, were they? If they were as tacky as Brenda claimed, surely she would be happy to see them
"Yes, they are, actually," I said proudly. I gave Lisa my widest grin. She may have hated me at that moment, but I planned on killing her with kindness. "And I think they actually stand a chance."
A look of worry suddenly crossed Lisa's face. "Well, good luck," she said, scurrying away.
A man with glasses carrying a clipboard started to walk toward us and Brenda straightened up. "Oh my goodness. He is one of the judges," she whispered nervously.
"What, is it already judging time?"
Brenda shot me a you are so stupid look. "No, Georgina. The actual competition is tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Oh, great. I had to get through another full day of this. "Then why am I even here?"
"Because it is the preliminary judging," Brenda whispered, nodding toward the man who was drawing closer. "He decides on the finalists, those who actually get to compete tomorrow, based on what he likes." She was so nervous that she could barely speak.
The man was wearing a paper nametag that said Ken on it. By the time he reached our stall, Brenda had practically keeled over. He inspected her vases first, picking one up and turning it over before placing it back on the table with an "oh."
I saw Brenda's face turn bright red. I had to wonder what 'oh' meant in this situation. Maybe it meant nothing. He was probably like one of those judges on TV, staying neutral and unimpressed by everything. There was probably no reason for those veins on Brenda's neck to look like they were about to pop.
But then he got to my bracelets. "Wow. These are very, very good," he said, scribbling something down on his clipboard. He looked up and shot me an impressed look. "I can't say too much, but don't make
any plans for tomorrow."
I straightened up proudly. "Well, thank you very much, Ken. And enjoy the rest of the festival, and your time here in Pottsville," I said with a wide grin, which he returned.
I suddenly turned and glared at Brenda. Had she just been trying to get into my head all this time, not because I was in danger of embarrassing her but because I was in danger of actually beating her for the crown?
Now I was on to her, though. "Are you going to congratulate me?" I asked, but she turned away and stuck her nose up in the air.
Shoot. Maybe I really had a shot at this thing.
"Don't go getting too ahead of yourself."
These were the first words Brenda had managed to speak to me in an hour.
"I'm not," I said. "I don't think it's getting ahead of myself to assume that I'll be in the finals tomorrow. The judge wasn't exactly ambiguous with his comments."
"Erika probably would have won if she was still alive," Brenda commented. "So count yourself lucky."
I turned and stared at her. Had she really just said that? Did she realize she'd actually said that?
"And what do you know about Erika?" I asked Brenda, looking her up and down carefully. "I thought you didn't know anything about her."
She took a moment to collect her thoughts before she answered. Probably smart. "I know that she was a skilled crafter. She almost won the competition last year. She was runner-up."
"Hmm," I said. "Maybe someone killed her to take her out of the running."
"You're not really suggesting that are you, Georgina?" Brenda held her hand up to her cheek like she was shocked by the very suggestion.
I shrugged and glanced down at my bracelets. "Maybe I'm lucky that I escaped with my life intact," I said. "Considering how well received my jewelry has been."
Brenda turned red. "I think you'd better be careful what you are saying, Georgina. And what you are accusing people of."
Ha! So she had spoken to Lisa, hadn't she! Brenda sure was a crafty one. And I wasn't talking about the lime green vases sitting in front of us.
In fact, I'd never seen so many crafty people in one place.
Was one of them the killer?
I never would have guessed that Brenda would be the one to leave early on that day, leaving me there all alone. My success had clearly left a sour taste in her mouth and she excused herself before the day was done, asking if I wouldn't mind packing up. She took her vases with her.
The place was finally beginning to clear out a little. Which was lucky for me, considering what was about to happen. I just didn't realize it yet. For just a moment, I was starting to miss the crowds, and the excitement of the day, as Ryan Mathews approached me.
"Hey there," I said, grinning at him as I waved my hand over my display. "Come to check out the talk of the festival, have you?" I asked. "You're never going believe this—I mean, really not going to believe it—but it looks like I might actually..."
I stopped talking when I caught the look on his face. He did not look amused. Or happy. Or impressed. He looked dark and stormy.
"What is it?" I asked, my stomach dropping. For a moment I thought he might have some bad news about Casper. Did they send police officers to give bad news about pets? Maybe in a small town they did.
"George, I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station with me to answer a few questions."
Escorted by the law to the back of a police car, yeah...I was relieved that the crowd was thinner. But there was Lisa Riemer, watching me get driven away, wearing the smuggest smirk I had ever seen in my life.
"This is outrageous," I said. "I've never been this insulted in my whole life." Well, I had been, many times. But this was one of the worst. "Am I a suspect?"
We were in a room with a plain table and a couple chairs. I wouldn't necessarily call it an interrogation room, but that's what it felt like. And from Ryan's demeanor, I very much felt like he was interrogating me.
Part of me—an itsy bitsy part—was pleased to be away from the festival and getting out of packing up the stall. Brenda wouldn't be pleased about coming back into town to do that, but she'd have to grin and bear it. Even though I had been practically picked as a finalist, the whole competition thing and the festival itself had still been stressing me out. I was even starting to have cold feet about actually competing the next day.
Well, at least I had a change of scenery. "It's very cold in here," I stated. I wondered if that was on purpose. Ryan still didn't answer. He was poring over his notes.
Surely being questioned by the police gave me an excuse to miss the rest of the weekend's festivities, if I really wanted to. Surely it let me off the hook. Maybe even for the whole weekend. With Brenda, you never know though. She'd probably expect me to compete behind bars.
That was if she even wanted me to compete. Sure, she'd been a little bitter that day, but I think deep down she would prefer that one of us represented the store rather than no one at all. I was sure that once she'd cooled off a bit, she wouldn't let me back out of the finals unless I was dead.
Ryan switched on a tape recorder and gave his name for the record. Mine as well. "Miss Georgina Holt."
He could barely make eye contact with me as he began the interview. "I need to ask you a few questions in relation to the death of Erika Joyce."
"How can you possibly think that I had anything to do with this?" I asked Ryan. Why was he the one interviewing me? Surely they had other officers in the station, or detectives for that matter. Ryan wasn't even a detective. Things just weren't adding up.
"It's all hands on deck for this investigation," Ryan mumbled, shuffling the papers in front of him. "So I'm sorry you're stuck with me here today, George…I mean, Miss Holt." He cast a quick glance toward the tape recorder.
Sure, I thought.
"Can you tell me where you were last Friday night?" Ryan asked.
"I was out looking for my dog," I said. "She went missing earlier that day."
"Can anyone verify what you were doing that evening?"
"Only my dog, Jasper," I shot back quickly.
"Not the most reliable of witnesses, I'm afraid," Ryan said. It sounded like a joke. Did he really think any of this was funny? I certainly didn't find it amusing that my only alibi was my dog. Though, to be fair, I think that Jasper would make a VERY reliable witness, if only he could actually speak.
"You did find the body," Ryan said. He shifted the notes in front of him uncomfortably.
My mouth dropped open. "That's why I'm here? I already told you, I was only out there in that clearing because I was looking for my dog. I mean, not the one who is my alibi. My other dog."
"So on any other night you wouldn't be creeping around that clearing?"
I paused for a second. Was this a trap? "No," I said carefully. "I don't believe I would be."
Ryan let out a low "hmm" and searched through his pile of notes for a minute. "Are you sure about that, Miss Holt?"
"Well..."
"Because we have a witness here saying differently. You were spotted snooping around the scene of the crime several days later."
I thought about how killers often return to the scene of the crime. That had been my exact reasoning for going there that night. Now it had turned around to bite me on the backside.
"What witness was this?" I asked indignantly. I would have put money on the name starting with either an L or a B.
"So you were there that evening?" Ryan asked.
"Yes. That's when I found that bracelet!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "You know that. I handed the bracelet over to you." I crossed my arms. This was unbelievable.
"Yes. Er. About that." Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at the clock on the wall. Did he have somewhere better to be? "Tell us, Miss Holt, where did you really find that bracelet?"
I was speechless. Literally. I didn't even know what to say. I didn't even know what he was accusing me of. I started to wonder if I should say anything else without a lawyer pr
esent. Were there any lawyers in Pottsville?
Ryan tried to keep a steady voice. "Our officers and detectives swept the crime scene and they found no trace of it."
"I can't help it if this town's police force is incompetent!"
A blush of red tried to creep up Ryan's neck, but he managed to keep it at bay and held his cool.
"Aren't you a crafter, Miss Holt?"
I hesitated a moment before considering my answer. Could I take the fifth on the grounds that my answer might incriminate me?
I had nothing to hide, though. Might as well speak the truth, with or without a lawyer present. "Yes. It's one of many things I do. One of many things I am good at."
"And you had planned to enter the competition at the Pottsville Arts and Crafts show?"
I frowned. "Well, no, well, yes." I was stumbling over my answers and I didn't like how foolish I was sounding. I reached for the glass of water and quickly took a sip. "I was sort of railroaded into it. I hadn't even decided if I was going to enter my pieces."
"And what pieces would they be, Miss Holt?"
"What do you mean?"
Ryan leaned forward a little. "Is it jewelry that you make?"
I stared back at him. He knew very well that it was. He was treating me like I was a total stranger. But I had to answer for the record, for the tape recorder. "Yes," I replied flatly.
"What kind of jewelry, Miss Holt?"
The question hung there, heavily, for a moment like rain about to fall from the clouds before I finally answered. "Bracelets," I whispered.
"Hmm," Ryan replied, finally leaning back. "The same items Miss Joyce made. Sounds like she was your biggest competition, Miss Holt." He had one last question for me.
"And aren't you a finalist in the competition tomorrow?"
Saved by the bell. There was a knock on the door and Ryan was called away for a moment. I shook my head and tried to calm down, using the opportunity to check my phone.
I sat up straighter when I saw that I had numerous missed calls and texts from the same unknown number. I read one of the texts.
Craft Circle Cozy Mystery Boxed Set Page 14
