Lola palmed her curly red hair as it stuck out from under a khaki colored fedora. “And now you see why I don’t even bother with a flat iron. Waste of time, energy and money.” She patted the top of her fedora. “Hats are a much cheaper way to go, and they don’t give you split ends.”
I laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Lola walked over and lightly rubbed Kingston’s shiny black head. He had gotten used to her much faster than most people.
“I think my bird might have a crush on you.” I finished flattening the card shipping boxes.
“At least someone does. That dating site thing has been a bust so far. Only a bunch of goobers on there. The one good prospect has already been snapped up by someone else it seems because he disappeared off the site.”
“Don’t be too discouraged, Lola. You’ll find someone when the time is right.”
“Says the woman who has the eye of Detective James Briggs and who lives right next door to Dashwood Vanhouten.” She pressed her arm against her stomach. “Anyhow, I didn’t come in here to remind myself how pathetic my social life is. I’ve got a terrible craving for one of Franki’s cheese omelets. Are you game for a trip to the diner?”
“I could eat. I only had time for a banana this morning. My alarm went off, and I hit snooze a dozen times before the clock just shut down itself. I guess it was tired of getting slammed on the head. I’m done with the display so we can go now.”
“Great.”
We headed out, and I locked up behind me. We walked past the Coffee Hutch. Lester had added a potted marigold to each table just like Elsie. I wondered what would happen next? Cushions on the chairs? We continued on to the diner.
“Where did you go yesterday after our trip to the Mod Frock? I knocked on the flower shop door about an hour after we got back, and you were already gone.”
While Lola had slowly become the friend I could tell stuff, even secret stuff to, I hadn’t mentioned anything about the murder investigation to her. I was sure Detective Briggs did not want me broadcasting clues and theories all over a town that thrived on gossip.
“I felt like taking a bike ride along the beach.”
“You’ve got way more energy than me, my friend. The shop was slow in the afternoon, so I stretched out on that old, Victorian fainting couch and had myself a nice nap.”
“Huh, I guess it’s convenient to have furniture like fainting couches right in the middle of the sales floor. And if it’s any consolation, I fell asleep by eight last night, and, as I mentioned, I was still fighting the alarm this morning.”
We walked into the diner and were instantly greeted with the smell of bacon and waffles. The mixture of scents drifting out through the cook’s window nearly made me dizzy. I was far more hungry than I’d realized.
Franki waved from behind the coffee station. “Take a seat anywhere, girls. And grab a few menus on the way.”
Franki walked over to take our order. She plunked down a bottle of ketchup. “New batch I just made this morning.”
I was confused. “You make your own ketchup?”
Both Franki and Lola looked almost insulted that I didn’t know. “Franki’s ketchup is world renowned.” Lola twisted her lips in thought. “Wait, what does that mean? Anyhow, her ketchup is famous here in Port Danby. And it just so happens I’m going to need it because I’m having a cheese omelet.”
“I’ll have scrambled eggs and a biscuit.” I handed Franki our menus, and she walked away.
Lola watched that Franki was out of earshot and leaned forward to talk, just in case earshot was farther than she thought. “Although if you ask me, sometimes Franki puts in just a bit too much nutmeg. Makes me think I’m eating pumpkin pie instead of meatloaf.”
“I’ll bet.” I relaxed back for a second and then popped forward again. “Did you say pumpkin pie?” I grabbed the ketchup and untwisted the cap before Lola could utter yes.
I took a whiff. “Woo hoo, you are right. There’s nutmeg in that ketchup. Interesting,” I muttered to myself, but Lola figured I was talking to her. My mind shot straight back to the ketchup stain on Beverly’s blouse. I wondered if she had eaten in the diner the morning of her death. Or maybe she had a bottle of ketchup at home.
“Why is it interesting? I think a lot of people put spices in their homemade condiments.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do. Does Franki ever sell her ketchup?”
“Gosh, someone was impressed with the smell. You haven’t even tasted it yet. Maybe you won’t like it.”
“I won’t. I’m not a big ketchup eater.” I skirted around for a good response. “I just thought it would be extra income for her, you know, with all those hungry teens to feed.”
“Huh, good point. But she doesn’t sell any. She has a hard enough time keeping it stocked in her diner.”
Franki was returning with two glasses of ice water. I knew Lola was going to ask me a dozen follow up questions, but I just couldn’t let the opportunity pass. That ketchup stain had been just that, a stain. But what if there had been more to it than Beverly accidentally swiping her shirt with a ketchup covered finger.
I debated letting it go, but the question rolled off my tongue before I could stop it. “Franki, was Beverly Kent in the diner the morning of her death?”
I could feel Lola’s wide-eyed gaze on me as I waited for Franki’s response. “Beverly, not sure. Why?”
“It could be something Detective Briggs will want to know.”
“I knew it,” Lola said. “I knew you were up to something with him.”
“I’m not, Lola. But you seem to forget, I was accidently thrust into her death by finding her in the pumpkin patch.”
Franki shook her head. “Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Beverly in the diner in at least a week. I think she was trying one of those carbohydrate free diets. Her doctor suggested she lose some weight.” Franki sighed sadly. “Guess that’s not going to help her now.”
“Thanks, Franki. I’ll let Detective Briggs know.”
“I’ll bet,” Lola muttered with her mouth on her straw.
Franki tilted her head in question. “Does he think Beverly was murdered?”
I knew I’d be opening a big can of worms, but I was sure I now had some important evidence for Detective Briggs. “I’m not really at liberty to say. I think the detective is just looking at all angles.”
Fortunately, a customer across the aisle called Franki away. That still left my highly curious friend sitting at the same table. And she wasn’t leaving, so I was going to have to answer some questions.
I leaned forward. “I can’t say any more about it.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Beverly did not die from a heart attack. There is some evidence of foul play.” Her mouth formed an O, but I stopped her from blurting anything out. “But don’t say a word to anyone or Detective Briggs will put me on my bicycle and roll me straight out of town. Promise?”
“Yes, of course. Wow. Poor Beverly.” She fingered the ketchup bottle. “But what does it have to do with Beverly coming into the diner.”
“It doesn’t. I’m not sure if it means anything. I’m just looking for evidence.”
“Ooh, like a real private investigator.”
I pushed down a smile. “I do like a good mystery. Which reminds me, on the morning before Beverly’s mur—death, we ate at the diner. Virginia Hopkins was here too. I remember because she was angrily sawing at her steak.”
“That’s right. I remember.”
“Did you happen to notice if she was eating ketchup on that steak?”
Lola sat back with a satisfied grin. “That I can answer easily. No. Virginia gets hives from tomatoes. I know that because once, when I was with my parents eating dinner here, Virginia ate a piece of Franki’s meatloaf. She didn’t realize the ketchup was mixed into the meat. She swelled up like a pink balloon. The ambulance had to take her to the hospital. Scared me off of ketchup and tomatoes for months.”
“Then that’s a definitive
no on Virginia and ketchup.”
“Yep. Hey, did I just give you some evidence? Maybe I should take up investigative work.” She sat back with a laugh. “Nah, sounds as boring as watching the dust settle on a coffee table.”
Sometimes it was as if we were polar opposites.
Chapter 30
After our late breakfast revealed a plethora of interesting goodies, I made the excuse to Lola that I needed a walk before heading back to the shop. Lola wasn’t big on walks or bike rides or exercise in general, so I knew she would head back to her store, leaving me on my own to slip into the police station.
I didn’t want Lola to see me cross to the station, so I continued along Harbor Lane and turned down Pickford Way, deciding I could catch a few moments on the beach before making my way back to the station. My detour to throw my friend off the scent landed me right in front of the wharf, where conveniently enough, Detective Briggs had just parked his car. He hadn’t seen me walk up as he stepped out of his car.
“Good day to you, sir,” I said cheerily.
He spun around. I wondered what kind of expression I’d be met with this time. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses, but I was pleased to see his half smile beneath the shades. “Miss Pinkerton, it seems wherever I find myself, you are nearby.”
I stopped in front of him. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s a small town, after all.”
He nodded. “True enough. I won’t let it go to my head.”
“Where are you going?” I asked sticking by his side as he headed toward the marina.
“Police business. Where are you headed?”
“Pseudo police business.”
“I don’t believe there is such a thing as pseudo police business.”
A group of seagulls had gathered in front of us to eat up some spilled potato chips, I used that as my opportunity to stop him. “I have some information I think you’ll be interested in.” I could see my reflection in his glasses and the marina behind me. Theresa was busy moving fish from a basket to a wheel barrow. She had a mouthful of chewing gum.
“Lola and I were at the diner, and I discovered that Franki makes her own ketchup.”
“That’s hardly headline news, Miss Pinkerton. I’ve eaten her homemade ketchup many times.”
“I’m getting to the headline part. Remember when I said that the ketchup stain on Beverly’s shirt reminded me of pumpkin pie? Well, it wasn’t pumpkin pie. It was nutmeg. One of Franki’s ingredients. The ketchup must have been Franki’s because you don’t find nutmeg in commercial ketchup.”
“Maybe Beverly had something to eat at the diner.”
I enthusiastically patted his chest. An awkward moment of silence followed. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to touch your—” I circled my hand in front of him. “Your officialness. Anyhow, I asked Franki if Beverly had eaten at the diner that day. She had not. In fact, Beverly was on a diet and hadn’t eaten at the diner for at least a week.”
I could see the gears turning in his mind even with his nice, dark eyes covered in sunglasses. “Then how could she have gotten the ketchup on her blouse? Maybe Franki sold her a bottle.”
“Lola said Franki has enough trouble keeping the diner stocked with it, but you could always check Beverly’s kitchen just to be sure.”
The two little lines creased the side of his mouth. His crooked smile seemed to be a mix of amusement and irritation. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Pinkerton, I’d say you were trying to tell me how to do my job.”
“No, never. I can see that you are quite able to do it without my guidance.” The seagulls parted and he walked on.
Naturally, I scooted along next to him. “Are you on your way to talk to Theresa?”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
Theresa had left the fish cleaning station and climbed back onto the deck of the fishing boat. She was talking to William. Both of them looked quickly back at us.
“I think they know you’re coming to see them.”
“Seems that way,” he said calmly.
“Is it because of the gum wrapper?”
“A gum wrapper isn’t quite enough evidence to question someone.” He stopped before we reached the boat. “Franki’s son Taylor works out at Virginia’s farm after school. He mentioned to Officer Chinmoor that he’d seen Theresa go into Beverly’s house two days ago. He thought it wasn’t right that she was looking around the house, so he decided to tell the police.”
“Ah, then the gum wrapper was a good piece of evidence?”
“It was.” He couldn’t hold back his smile any longer. “Good work, pseudo partner.”
“Thank you. And ask her about the necklace,” I said in a hushed voice as he walked toward the boat.
“You’re telling me how to do my job again, Miss Pinkerton,” he called back over his shoulder.
I wasn’t versed on which side was starboard and which was portside, but as luck would have it, Detective Briggs, Theresa and William had their conversation on the side next to the pier. I tucked myself around the corner and managed to hear most of what they were saying. Especially with Theresa’s tendency to talk loudly, that was, when she wasn’t chewing her wad of gum.
Unfortunately, as loud and clear spoken as Theresa was, Detective Briggs kept his voice low and measured. I couldn’t make out his words, but I didn’t need to. The conversation quickly hurdled into Theresa sobbing and sputtering words about protecting her husband. I was dying to hear more.
I scooted behind a pylon, deciding it was thick enough to hide me if I turned at an angle. Right then, a seagull landed on top of the pylon. It stared down at me with shiny black eyes, almost giving me a ‘shame on you’ look for eavesdropping. Or at least that was how I read the expression, and I was fairly versed in bird communication.
“I’d heard that Beverly died of suspicious circumstances, and I worried that William and I would be caught up in the investigation.” Theresa said between sniffles. “I told you not to give her that darn necklace, you sentimental old fool. He went to the antique store to buy back that necklace because he wanted Beverly to have it again. High school sweethearts,” Theresa sobbed. “It’s ridiculous to hold on to old memories.”
Detective Briggs said something else, and Theresa came right back confidently with her answer. “I was getting a tooth pulled at the dentist’s office that afternoon. William was there to give me a ride home. You can check with Dr. Fenton.”
Briggs said a few more words and then climbed down from the boat. I walked the long way around past the wharf shops and caught up with him at the end of the pier.
“You were snooping,” he said.
“I tried. You really should learn to project when you talk. I couldn’t make out anything you said. Theresa, on the other hand, sounded as if she was using a megaphone.”
“Then you heard she had an alibi for the afternoon of the murder.”
“An uncorroborated alibi,” I added.
“It’ll be easy enough to confirm.”
“So Theresa did go in to search for the necklace. She thought it would get them in trouble, connect them to Beverly’s death.”
We walked down the steps of the pier. “Yes, it seems that way.”
“I knew that someone had been rummaging through the jewelry box.”
We stopped at his car, and he turned to me. “You’re good at this kind of work, that’s for sure. But if the dentist appointment is confirmed, we can cross Theresa off our list of suspects.”
I pulled in my bottom lip to avoid too bright of a smile.
“I said ‘we’ again, didn’t I?” He pulled his keys from his pocket.
“You did. But I’m not going to get overly excited about it. Good day, Detective Briggs.”
“Good day, Miss Pinkerton.”
Chapter 31
With Theresa quite possibly off the bubble list, I had to scratch her off my crude diagram of possible suspects and motives. That left just two people, Virginia and Daryl Featherton. But just as it
was hard to imagine sweet, little Virginia bludgeoning the head of her neighbor, it was equally hard to find any direct motive for a seemingly successful business owner in the next town to have resorted to murder. The one thing that connected my narrow field of suspects was the pumpkin contest.
As much as I disliked the idea of having a chat with the mayor, it seemed since he was the judge, he might have some insight on the contest. After Detective Briggs drove off, I turned and headed along Pickford Way to the mayor’s office. I wasn’t certain he would see me because I didn’t have an appointment. Even though it was a small town and I doubted his position was too taxing, he probably wouldn’t just invite me in for a quick chat. Especially because he seemed to have formed a negative opinion of me long before actually getting to know me. I only hoped seeing me wouldn’t remind him to look up obscure laws that would keep me from bringing Kingston to the shop.
It was a relatively quiet afternoon. Aside from a few high school kids hanging out at the town square listening to music and kicking a soccer ball around, the southwest corner of the town was nearly deserted. I took a moment to admire the lighthouse and come up with my excuse to see the mayor. I decided to ask if I was allowed to mail out flyers about the grand opening. I knew it was perfectly legal, but I could pretend I didn’t. It might make him like me just a little better if he thought I was going to him for permission. He seemed like the kind of man who liked to be in charge of things.
I walked up the front steps of the building. The mayor’s office was just a tiny brick house with white trimmed windows and columns to hold up the wide overhang. Some sorry looking geraniums were wilting in dark blue pots on the porch.
I walked inside. The receptionist looked up from her desk. The nameplate said Ms. Simpson. I’d seen the receptionist several times in passing, at the market and the diner. She was a tall, gangly, sixty something woman who had long fingers and a long nose to go with the rest of her. Her shoulders were hunched slightly forward. She looked up at me over her gold rimmed glasses.
Marigolds and Murder (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 13
