Marigolds and Murder (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by London Lovett

  “If you have a suggestion for the suggestion box, it’s right over there on that side table. There are squares of paper and pens provided. But please don’t walk off with a pen. Our office budget is tight.” She went right back to her computer. Her long fingers flew over the keys. I walked to the suggestion box table and pretended to busy myself with a suggestion as I glanced around the room. I could hear a deep voice behind the door with the mayor’s brass nameplate nailed to it. He was in. Ms. Simpson’s desk was neatly organized with a red inbox basket, a white outbox basket and a blue finished work basket. The three baskets sat across the front of her desk in a patriotic red, white and blue display. It was quite possibly the only thing of color or charm in the otherwise bleak reception area. One wall had four portraits of stuffy looking old men, including Mayor Price. They were obviously the long proud line of Port Danby mayors. It was easy to see the family resemblance in their glowers.

  I wrote a suggestion for the reception area in the mayor’s office to be given a facelift so that it was more welcoming and charming like the shops on Harbor Lane. I pushed it into the box and walked confidently back up to her desk.

  “I don’t think we’ve met.” I put out my hand. “I’m Lacey Pinkerton, new shop owner.”

  Annoyed by the interruption, she pulled her top lip down, stretching her nose even longer as she removed her glasses. “How do you do,” she shook my hand. “Hannah Simpson.”

  “Nice to meet you. I was wondering if I could get a quick word with Mayor Price?”

  “Certainly, let me just open the appointment window up.” She reached for the computer mouse.

  “Actually, this is just one question. It won’t take but a minute. It’s rather urgent because it is in regards to the grand opening of my flower shop.”

  I stood tall in front of her desk to let her know that I was resolute. She did the funny top lip stretch again and scooted back from her desk. “He’s in a phone conference right now, but let me see if he has time.”

  She walked to the mayor’s door, knocked twice and entered after he invited her inside. She shut the door behind her, which meant she was probably not going to speak favorably about my pushiness. I used it as an opportunity for some light snooping. There were several file folders and printed memos in the finished work basket. Everything was dated. Today’s date was on the top memo. It was a brief memo to the council members mentioning that the pumpkin contest would continue as scheduled. I could still hear a conversation between the mayor and Ms. Simpson, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  I quickly fingered through the papers in the basket and saw that they were piled in order by date, with the latest date on top. My fingertip grazed over a thick sheet of vellum. I pushed aside the papers on top of it. It was a nicely printed certificate of award for the first place winner of the pumpkin contest. Strangely enough, the name Virginia Hopkins was already printed on the line in a fancy script style font. I pushed back the paper directly on top of it. It was dated three days before the murder. Apparently, the mayor was clairvoyant enough to know who would win the contest weeks before the actual event.

  The door opened. I stepped back from the basket and desk and grasped my hands behind my back. I smiled.

  There was no return smile. Ms. Simpson walked to her desk and sat down. “As I’ve said before, I can make an appointment for you. The mayor has no spare time on his agenda today.”

  “Actually, never mind. I think I’ve answered the question myself. Nice meeting you.” I could feel her confused gaze on my back as I hurried out of the office.

  Chapter 32

  Nevermore had positioned himself on the kitchen rug so that I had to walk around him as I baked chocolate chip cookies. After my brief failed visit to the mayor’s office, I’d stopped at the police station. Officer Chinmoor, who looked grumpy from behind a mountain of paperwork, said Detective Briggs had been called away to Mayfield, a town just east of Port Danby. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have a chance to tell him about the preprinted pumpkin certificate. So I headed home and decided to continue my quest for information. Dashwood had mentioned that Helen Voight was also a judge in the contest. (Although one could hardly consider it a contest if the winner was pre-chosen.) Helen lived at the end of Loveland Terrace in a cute yellow house. I’d seen her drive past my house a few times in her bright blue car. We had waved politely to each other, but there had not been a formal introduction. The chocolate chip cookies were a nice neighborly gesture and a perfect excuse to have a chat. I only knew a few details about Helen and her husband, Gary. Their three kids had already left home for college and careers, and they both worked at a bank in Chesterton.

  My cat’s ears perked up as I filled a plate with cookies, taking time to eat one or two myself along the way. I was still getting used to the oven in my new place, but the cookies had turned out nicely. Nevermore popped up to his paws and curled himself around my legs.

  “Never, when have I ever fed you chocolate chip cookies?” I reached into the cupboard for one of his chicken flavored treats. Kingston made a cooing sound the second he heard the foil package rattle. I fed them each a treat and covered Kingston’s cage for the night.

  I checked my hair in the entryway mirror. It was a waste of time because of the mass of curls would be made even wilder by the evening fog. Maybe Lola had a good point about the hats.

  I walked out into the cool night air with my plate of warm cookies and headed down the street. Helen’s house was at the end where the street curved into a cul-de-sac. The short walk gave me some time to gently formulate a few questions about the pumpkin contest.

  A flickering television light glowed through the front window. I walked up the pathway and up the steps. A cute painted sign made of wooden letters and spelling out welcome hung over the dark blue front door. The shutters along the front windows were also painted dark blue, a nice contrast to the yellow facade.

  I knocked on the door and wondered if I’d get Mr. Voight instead of Helen. I heard the latch of a peephole open. I put on my best smile. The door swung open. Helen’s smile grew wider when she noticed I was holding a plate covered in foil.

  “I’m Lacey Pinkerton. I just thought it was time to come by and introduce myself,” I said. “I don’t want to intrude on your night, but here are some cookies.”

  Helen had one of those soft pillowy faces that made it hard to see any cheekbones or chin line. Her blue eyes were sparkly and kind, and she had long brown hair that was tied back with a hair scrunchy.

  “Aren’t you sweet. I’m the one that should have introduced myself to you.” She took the plate of cookies. “Just like I think I was supposed to be the person delivering the cookies. I’d introduce to you to Gary, but he’s busy watching football right now.” She followed with an eye roll. “Can’t get his attention for five seconds with that game on.”

  “I can’t stay anyhow. I just wanted to let you know that I’m just on the end if you need anything. And don’t worry if there’s a shifty eyed crow hanging around the street. It’s just my pet, Kingston.”

  She laughed loud enough to earn a shush from her husband in the next room.

  Helen turned her face that direction. “Shush yourself, Gary, or I won’t fix you any cheese dip for the game.” She turned back to me. “I’ve heard all about the crow. I think it’s wonderful. You hardly need to bother with Halloween decorations when you have a live raven to perch on your porch.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Her pillowy face smoothed some and her brow flattened. “You poor thing, I heard you were the person to discover Beverly out in her pumpkin patch.” There was a hitch in her voice during the last few words. She fanned her face with her free hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s still so hard to believe she’s gone.”

  “It’s very sad.” It turned out I didn’t need to come up with a way to bring up the contest. Helen had given me an opening. “Have you heard whether or not the pumpkin contest has been cancelled? I’ve hear
d you were a judge.”

  Her generous smile faded, and her lips pulled tight and thin. “I’m not sure, and I’m no longer a judge.” She turned her head into the house. “I’ll be right there, Gary,” she called to her husband. Even though I’d heard his shush, I hadn’t heard him call her.

  Helen backed up. “I need to fix him his snacks. Thank you so much for the cookies. It’s been a delight meeting you.” She spoke so quickly I didn’t have a chance to respond.

  Seconds later I was standing in front of the shut blue door.

  “Well, that was interesting,” I mumbled to myself as I turned around and headed home.

  Chapter 33

  I’d thought it and boom, it happened. Only it was Elsie and not Les who decided to invest in some colorful seat cushions to go on the outdoor chairs. She had just finished tying on the last one when I stepped out to walk to the corner market.

  She waved her hand around the patio area. “Ta da! What do you think?”

  “I still say it’s your scones, cupcakes and cookies that bring people to your shop, Elsie. But I’m sure customers will be more than pleased to rest their bottoms on something soft while they nibble on a ginger scone.”

  “I think so too. And Les just has those cold hard seats, so I’m sure his coffee drinkers will wander over here to sit.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m on my way to the market. Gigi put out a new batch of pumpkins. I’ve decided to buy one for the store window.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’m just about to start baking my pumpkin shaped sugar cookies. Drop by later for a sample.”

  “I certainly will.” The sun had come up early today. It was unseasonably warm as I headed along the sidewalk to the market. I was disappointed to see Detective Briggs’ car was not parked in front of the police station. He had been busy with some other cases and had been neglecting the Port Danby murder. It seemed I needed to pick up the slack some. I had plenty to tell him but nothing definitive. Nothing that stood out like a smoking gun. Nothing that said, ‘ah ha, this is exactly what happened’.

  I wondered if Beverly’s murder would ever be solved or if it would eventually fade into one of those cold cases. That thought depressed me. No victim should end up a big question mark in a storage box at the back of the police station.

  With that, I was more determined than ever to find out what’d happened to Beverly Kent. Maybe it would help to take another look and sniff around Beverly’s farm.

  My pumpkin decision didn’t take long. I grabbed one nice jolly ten pounder and hauled it inside to pay. Tom Upton was busy sweeping up a bag of cheese puffs that had broken on the floor. He had to work hard to sweep them up before the dachshunds, Molly and Buddy, gobbled them.

  I couldn’t stop a laugh. “Maybe you should just throw in the towel and let them clean up for you.”

  Tom pushed the dogs back and kept sweeping. “I would if I didn’t know that in three hours I’d be cleaning up orange tinted dog barf. Gigi,” he called. “Come ring up Lacey’s pumpkin.”

  Gigi hurried out. “Just one? What about for your house?”

  “Uh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Gigi, stop pestering people about the pumpkins,” Tom said over the cloud of cheese dust. “We can always sell them after Halloween for pumpkin pie. We both ended up ordering pumpkins. Now we have way too many.”

  “Tell you what, I will buy two for my porch later this week.”

  “You’re the kind of customer we love.” Gigi smiled as she handed me back my change.

  I carried my newest orange buddy out of the store and back to the shop. I set the pumpkin down below the potter’s table until I could figure out exactly how to decorate it. Kingston dropped down from his perch and sauntered over to the strange new addition. He circled it and pecked at it a few times, but soon grew bored and returned to his window.

  I’d gotten an idea to dress up my marigold pots with some thin orange and black ribbon, and I had a few more to finish. I reached forward to the spools of ribbon. As I brought my arm back, my elbow pushed the potted plant off the table. It landed directly on the pumpkin before hitting the floor and shattering into shards of broken pottery, mounds of dirt and broken marigolds.

  “Darn it.” I stooped down to start picking up the shards and noticed that the filled pot had barely even registered as a mark on the thick pumpkin shell. As I finished cleaning up, I thought about how badly destroyed Beverly’s prize pumpkin had been. It had already been determined that Beverly died from a blow to her head. The injury had nothing to do with the pumpkin. Yet the pumpkin was smashed open.

  I grabbed the broom to clean up the rest of the mess. Clean up the mess. Someone killed Beverly and then tried to ‘clean it up’ by making it look like an accident. Or maybe Beverly caught them smashing the pumpkin, and she tried to stop them. And a tussle followed. There were more answers out in that pumpkin patch. My nose and I were going to take a ride out to look for them.

  Chapter 34

  I’d locked up and was about to climb on my bike to head out to Beverly’s farm when I spotted Briggs’ car out front of the station. He had certainly been scarce lately, and there were things I needed to tell him. I rested my bike against my bench and walked in the direction of the station.

  Franki’s Diner was busy for breakfast. As I swept along the crowded parking lot, I glimpsed a small white pick-up with a magnetic sign on the door. It was from Featherton’s nursery. I took a detour and turned up the path to the diner entrance. I didn’t need to snoop too long into the front windows. Daryl Featherton was seated at the first table by the window with a plate of steak and eggs in front of him. Both the eggs and the meat were swimming in Franki’s special ketchup.

  I glanced across the street. Briggs’ car was still out front, but there was no sign of him. I didn’t want to miss talking to him. It seemed I had time to buy an iced tea and do a little snooping along with it.

  I walked inside and was blasted with the usual smell of bacon, eggs and maple syrup, a pleasing combination for the average nose, but for me it was somewhat overwhelming. I worked to shut down my senses and walked to the counter.

  Franki and her servers were busy. I hated to bother them for an iced tea that I really didn’t need, but I had a plan. I peeked over my shoulder at Featherton. Fortunately, he was too involved in his breakfast to notice me. The unwieldy gauze and tape on his arm had been replaced by two bandages. The cut was on the top side of his forearm, an odd place for an injury. Aside from a half empty bottle of ketchup on the table, there was a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and, most importantly, a stack of napkins. And from the looks of his fingers, he hadn’t bothered to use one.

  “What can I get you, Lacey?” Franki asked.

  I turned back toward her. “Just an iced tea to go please. If it’s not too much bother.”

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. “Nope, we’re all caught up now.” She left and returned with an iced tea. I grabbed a sugar packet from the container and plucked the lid off the cup to add the sweetener. I went to snap the cap back on the cup and tipped it just enough to splash tea on the floor.

  Daryl glanced at the spilled tea, then got right back to his breakfast.

  “Excuse me.” I reached for one of the napkins on his table. “Do you mind if I borrow a napkin?”

  “Take ‘em all. I don’t need them.” He glanced up just for a second and seemed to finally recognize me. “You’re the flower shop owner.”

  “Yes, nice to see you.” I crouched down, cleaned the floor and walked out with my tea.

  Now there was one more thing on my list for Detective Briggs. Daryl Featherton eats at the diner, and he loves Franki’s ketchup.

  The napkin aversion didn’t gel in my head until I stepped up on the curb in front of the station. Detective Briggs was just walking out.

  He pulled his sunglasses down over his brown eyes. His eyes were nice, but the man did looking dapper in sunglasses. The sunglass
es quickly reminded me of a college professor who I’d had a little crush on. He always came to class in sunglasses.

  “Professor Dunbar.” His name popped from my mouth before I could stop it.

  Briggs turned around as if he thought maybe Professor Dunbar was behind him. He turned back to face me. “And good morning to you too, Miss Pinkerton.”

  “Professor Dunbar, of course. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “I don’t know?” Briggs said as a question, rightly confused with my one-sided conversation.

  “Professor Dunbar was my microbiology professor. He had the best handlebar moustache and dreamy blue eyes that could look right into your soul. But I digress.”

  He pinched his forefinger and thumb together. “Just a little bit.”

  “Microbiology lab requires a lot of hand washing in a harsh sanitizer so that samples aren’t contaminated. Professor Dunbar’s hands were always rough and raw. The university had to supply him with baby soft hand towels because the paper towels in the lab were too harsh and painful on his chapped hands.”

  “Miss Pinkerton, I was just on my way out, so if that’s all you needed to say—”

  “No,” I said abruptly. “I’m getting to my point. And it’s a doozy. I was just in the diner where Daryl Featherton was eagerly eating a breakfast of steak and eggs … doused in Franki’s ketchup. And he wasn’t using his napkins, even though, trust me, he needed to.

  “When I spoke to him at the nursery, he was busy washing his hands. Then he shook them dry. I offered to get him a paper towel but he said no. Featherton’s hands are too rough and chapped from gardening for paper towels. Just like dreamy eyed Professor Dunbar.” I finally stopped to draw in a breath.

  Briggs’ gaze flicked across the street to the diner. Featherton’s truck was still in the parking lot. “So someone who likes to eat Franki’s ketchup and who hates to use napkins might have touched Beverly’s blouse, explaining how she got the ketchup stain. It’s flimsy but plausible.”