“Wow. I guess you had to stay clear of that new garden hoe she was holding, eh?” I laughed to assure her I was joking.
Patty tapped the side of her chin. “Nope. She wasn’t holding any garden tools. In fact, she was sort of marching like this.” She demonstrated a march while swinging her arms back and forth. “I think I would have remembered if she was holding a long stick in those swinging arms.”
“I’m sure of it. Have a good evening.” I turned my bike around and rolled it toward the road.
A whistle drew my attention across the parking lot. “Miss Pinkerton, put your bike in the trunk of my car. I’ll give you a ride back.”
I pushed the bicycle toward him. “That’s not necessary.”
I reached the car. “That’s an order. Not a request. The sun is at a low enough angle that it will be blinding drivers on the highway. It’s not a safe time to be riding on the bike path.”
“Why, Detective Briggs, it seems you’re worried about me. And here I thought I was just a nuisance to you.”
“That you are. But I still don’t want you out there on that highway.” He popped the trunk open, and I pushed the bike to the back. “Besides, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you about the case.” He lifted the bike into the trunk.
I couldn’t hold back my smile.
“Don’t get too excited,” he warned. “But it seems your intuition and that incredible nose of yours could be of some value in the case. That stain on his pants could have been anything, but you knew it was pumpkin.”
I tapped my nose. My smile widened even more.
“I told you not to get too excited.”
I sucked my lips in to erase the smile. “Nope. Washing away the excitement. And I’ve got something to tell you that I think you’ll find extremely interesting.”
He shut the trunk.
I held up my fingers. “Two questions—do I have to ride in the back?”
“Nope.” He opened the passenger door and I sat down. “What’s the second question?”
I patted the portable light sitting on the console. “Can we put the siren and light on?”
“Nope.” He swung the door shut and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Detective Briggs pulled out onto the road. I took the opportunity to glance around his important looking car. Aside from the communication system, there were some other technical looking gadgets.
“Is your weapon in the glove box?” I asked.
“No, it’s not. What did you find out that was extremely interesting?”
“There were some inconsistencies in Mr. Featherton’s answers.” I twisted slightly in my seat. He had one of those perfect profiles, with a strong nose and nicely chiseled jaw line. And eyelashes. Why did men always get the nice eyelashes? It was almost as if mascara companies arranged it in some genetic programming scheme. Give women the skimpy lashes and they will make us all rich.
“Are you referring to the counter height in the lab and position of the pumpkin stain on his pants?” he asked.
I quickly tried to pull the image of the lab up in my head, but I hadn’t paid much attention to counter height. “Well, no. What about it?”
“They don’t match up. The lab table where he had all the, as you called them, pumpkin guts was much higher than the spot on his pants. Unless, he was holding a pumpkin on his leg as he chopped into it with a knife, the position of the stain doesn’t make sense.”
“I guess that’s why you’re the detective, and I’m just a nosy woman with a good nose. I would never have noticed that. But my information was much easier to deduce. Beverly did not come in to buy a garden hoe.”
He looked over at me. “No?”
“I spoke to Patty, his assistant. She was out by the recycling bin. She mentioned that Beverly left the nursery yesterday with an angry red face. She didn’t even say hello to Patty, and she was marching out of the store with empty hands. I’m pretty sure a garden hoe wouldn’t fit in a pocket or purse. And Patty was coming in because Mr. Featherton had the afternoon off.”
“Good detective work, Miss Pinkerton.” He turned his car onto the highway. He was right. The sun was blindingly low in the sky. I pulled down the visor above my head, and a waterfall of notes and business cards cascaded down from the clip. “Oops.” I leaned forward, straining against the seat belt to gather up the pieces.
“That’s all right. Just leave it.”
The last piece of paper I picked up was a piece of notepaper with the name Rachel and a phone number. Suddenly, I was trying to picture Rachel, no doubt, with her long blonde hair, baby blue eyes and …
“Miss Pinkerton?”
I turned to look at him.
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry. I was temporarily distracted.”
“Even though Featherton’s stories don’t line up with the truth, what motive would he have to kill Beverly Kent? After you left, I asked a few questions about how they knew each other and it seemed to be strictly a customer and merchant relationship.”
I sat back to give it some thought. “It’s true there is no motive that jumps out of all this.” And then my mind went to the seeds. “Except there is one thing that keeps crackling in my head. Hybrid seeds.”
“How could his scientific hobby give him motive for murder?”
“I’m not sure, but I know Beverly’s neighbor, Virginia, used his special hybrid pumpkin seeds in her patch.”
We turned onto Culpepper Road. Both of us instinctively looked down Dawson Grove. It was quiet. Virginia’s house had a light on, but her neighbor’s empty house was dark.
“You live on Loveland Terrace, right?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“How do you know what kind of seeds Virginia used?”
“It’s just circumstantial, but I found an empty packet of Featherton’s hybrid pumpkin seeds in her service porch when I was—”
“Searching for your lost key?” He finished with a throat clearing. “I’ll make note of the pumpkin seeds.”
We drove along Myrtle Place. Hawksworth Manor loomed high above the other houses. An involuntary shiver raced through me when I thought about being locked in the dark entryway.
Detective Briggs missed very little. “Are you cold?”
“Yes, a bit. I think I’ll take a hot bath when I get home. Thank you again for the ride. It’s this first house.”
He pulled into the driveway. We climbed out. As Briggs was pulling my bike from the trunk, Dash pulled into his driveway in his truck.
Dash climbed out. His smile faded when he saw Detective Briggs. Briggs was wearing a mask of stone as well. Dash didn’t stay to talk or even say hello. He disappeared quickly into his house.
I took hold of my bike. “Thanks again for the ride.”
Briggs pulled out of the chilly trance he’d been in and looked at me. “No problem. I’ll see you later.” He climbed back inside the car.
I pushed my bike up to the porch and watched as he drove off.
After the glacial moment between Detective Briggs and Dash, I was really going to need that hot bath.
Chapter 25
I’d set up a convenient potting station on the back wall, and my forethought and planning had paid off. I was able to quickly plant all the marigolds in the small pots with the shop name. I stood back and admired them. They would be a fun marketing tool for the shop’s opening.
I walked over to the basin sink and washed my hands. As the dirt ran down the drain, I thought about the day before at the nursery. While there was no way to come to a concise motive, there sure were a lot of inconsistencies in Mr. Featherton’s answers. And if Beverly hadn’t gone to the nursery to buy anything, why was she there? And why on earth would Featherton lie about it? There were so many unanswered questions and fuzzy details it made my head spin. When I got home tonight, I planned to make a list of the things we’d learned since the discovery of Beverly’s body.
I turned off the faucets and reached for a paper t
owel but then stopped and shook them, using Featherton’s technique. But I grew impatient fast and grabbed a towel. It was a strange habit for a man who had to spend a lot of time washing his hands.
My phone rang as I tossed the used towel in the waste basket. I picked it up. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, my sweet, how is everything going?”
“Very well, thanks. How’s Dad?”
“He’s walking around like he’s wearing shoes filled with helium. He’s been chosen to be a judge in a craft beer contest.”
I laughed. “That sounds right up his alley.” She continued on about some of the details, but my mind drifted to the notion that there must be judges for the pumpkin contest. I was still convinced Beverly’s death had something to do with the contest. I made a mental note to find out about the judges and pushed my focus back to the phone call. Mom was still talking, so she hadn’t noticed my momentary lack of attention. Hopefully she hadn’t mentioned anything too pertinent like the hiding place for the family will while I drifted off.
“By the way, Lacey, thought you might be interested. Jacob has been promoted to CEO of the perfumery. Apparently, his father decided to retire.”
“That’s nice.” I hoped that she would eventually stop obsessing about the fact that her only daughter gave up a life of luxury and, no doubt, perpetual heartbreak to live a quaint, idyllic life by the sea.
“Are you and Dad ready for that cruise next month?” I had given them a two week cruise around Europe for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. I thought it was the coolest gift ever. When I gave it to them, I’d expected them to dance around the room like I used to do as a kid on Christmas morning. But they were both a little perplexed and even dismayed. Almost as if they thought I was sending them off to a work camp or retirement home. After I sent them a lot of pictures of other people their age sipping wine and chatting as they watched Bavarian castles float past on the shore, they started to warm up to the idea.
“Ugh,” Mom grunted. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. You need a lot of fancy clothes for those cruises. Then there are the warm clothes for the excursions on shore. But I’ll manage. Your dad insists the clothes in his closet are fine. So I will either have to sit at a different dining table and pretend we’re not together or we’ll order room service so we don’t have to leave the cabin.”
“That’s silly. Remind Dad if he’s going to judge the craft beer contest he’ll need a nice modern suit. Then he’ll have one for the cruise.”
“And that’s why you’re my brilliant little girl.”
The goat bell clanged, and Elsie walked in with a plate of cookies. “Well, Mom, Elsie just walked in with—” I took a whiff. “Freshly baked snickerdoodles, so I’ve got to go.”
“All right, sweetie. Talk soon. Bye.”
Elsie was admiring my flower pots as I hung up. I went straight to the cookies. Nevermore, who had tagged along for the day, circled my legs hoping they were for him. The cat taking action for a cookie immediately sent Kingston into dance mode. “Neither of you are getting a cookie. They’re for me.”
Elsie took a moment to scratch Nevermore behind the ears and then straightened. “Do you think I could have a few of these pots? I just need three. I think they’ll be a nice addition to my seating area.”
Lester’s tables had filled up faster than Elsie’s this morning. She’d spent a good hour dragging around her tables and chairs, looking for a more suitable arrangement. Soon there wouldn’t be any cement left on the walkway in front of her bakery.
“I have quite a few. You can have three. It’ll be good advertisement too.” Elsie walked to the potter’s table and surveyed the choices before picking up the pots with the biggest blooms.
“Hold on.” I walked to the center island and opened the drawer with the museum wax. I pulled a chunk of wax from the jar and put it in an empty pot. “I use this to keep the vases from falling off the shelves. Stick a wad under each pot and then stick them to the table. Otherwise, one good breeze and the flowers will be gone.”
“Thanks, Pink. You’re a doll. Enjoy the cookies.”
“That will not be a problem,” I said over a mouthful of buttery cinnamon cookie.
Elsie walked out and Lola popped in right after, not even giving the goat bell a chance to stop clanging from Elsie’s exit.
“I need your help, Pink.” Lola made a bee line for the cookie plate.
“What do you need?”
“I’m trying to hang up a Halloween garland across my front window. I need you to hold up one end. I’ve got extra too, if you want to hang one across your window.”
“Sounds like a deal. Let me just pour Nevermore some food before he trips me on my face.” I filled the cat’s food bowl and dropped some sunflower seeds and cat food into Kingston’s bowl.
We walked across to Lola’s shop. She had a small, primitive step ladder, a relic I’d seen in the store, set up in front of the window. Lola picked up the garland, a glittery strand of pumpkins, ghosts and bats and carried it to the step ladder.
“Will that hold you?” I asked. “The rungs look kind of brittle.”
“Of course. If you know anything about antiques, you know that the old stuff was made way better than the new.”
“Good point.” I picked up my end of the garland and held it as she draped and taped the garland festively across the front window. I could see Elsie in the reflection, sticking the marigold pots to the tables. They looked cute.
Lola moved the ladder and took the last end from my hand. Something in the distance caught her eye. “Ooh, I like the view from up here,” she said excitedly enough that the ladder wobbled beneath her.
I grabbed hold of the sides to steady it. “Watch yourself up there. Sturdy ladder or not, your bones will break if they hit that cement.”
She pulled her attention from whatever had caught it and finished taping up the garland. “How does it look?”
I backed up and stared up at the newly decorated window. “Very Halloweenish.”
Lola climbed down from the ladder and motioned with her head. “If you’re wondering why the view was so nice, check out the tall stack of gorgeous coming down the sidewalk.”
I followed the direction of her head motioning. Dash was walking along my side of the sidewalk with Captain trotting along next to him. “Oh, it’s Dash.”
“Do you know him?”
“He lives next door.”
“That’s right. I forgot you moved into the Beeker’s old place. Lucky girl. I sure would love to watch that man mow his lawn.” She elbowed me. “If you know what I mean.”
“I assume you mean you want to watch him mow his grass. He is very nice though.”
Lola rolled her eyes. “Please, very nice. A stroll through a park is very nice. Watching a good movie while chewing on Milk Duds is very nice. Living next door to the brilliantly beautiful Dashwood Vanhouten, the third is spectacularly nice. Look, he’s nearing Mod Frock. Cue Kate Yardley now.”
And as if Lola had some uncanny ability to predict the future, Kate Yardley, the owner of the vintage clothing boutique two shops down, stepped out onto the sidewalk. Dash’s reaction to seeing her was less than enthusiastic. Kate Yardley, who I had only exchanged a few good mornings with, was a beautiful, curvy thirty something who changed her hair color dramatically from week to week. Right now it was a pale, Marilyn Monroe style blonde. She’d tied a thick paisley scarf around it like a hair band. She was wearing a tight fitting mod style dress and short black boots. I had to admit I was envious of her fashion sense. She could pull together a great look and all with clothes from a different decade. I had yet to walk into her store, but I was sure it would be a fun place to shop. One thing I’d noted about Kate was that she wasn’t nearly as friendly as the other shopkeepers on the street. That might have been why I hadn’t ventured into her store yet.
But she was certainly friendly with Dash. She must have touched him five times in the first few moments of their meeting, a meeting
that seemed purely accidental to him but seemed quite planned on her part.
Lola stood next to me and watched the scene down the street unfold. “Supposedly, they were a thing a few years back. Kate insists she broke his heart. But every time I see her shoot out of her store like a hungry bear when that six foot plus pot of honey walks by, I wonder if it wasn’t the other way around.”
“There does seem to be a lopsided amount of energy in the greeting. There’s Lester at my door with a cup of hot coffee. Something tells me he’s come for a few of my flowers. I’m thinking of finally taking a look around Kate’s shop later. She’s had a shiny pair of boots in her window the last few days that keep calling my name as I ride past. And I think it would be neighborly of me to finally introduce myself.”
“I’ll go. I could use some new earrings. Just stop by when you’re ready.”
Chapter 26
I had finished ordering the last of the fresh flowers, greenery and baby’s breath for opening day. It would arrive two days ahead to give me plenty of time to put together pretty arrangements. Nevermore had curled up beneath the potter’s table, and Kingston slept quietly with his beak tucked under his wing. I decided to see if Lola was ready to walk down to the Mod Frock. I wanted give those boots a closer look.
I was surprised to see Detective Briggs’ car pull up in front of the shop. He didn’t get out but slid down his passenger side window. “Miss Pinkerton, the shop looks nice.”
I leaned down to the open window. “Thank you. I’m quite thrilled with the way it turned out.”
“Just thought you’d want to know. The lab results showed that the blood on the hoe did not belong to Beverly Kent.”
Marigolds and Murder (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 11
