Ritter and Cynthia were gone, their half-finished drinks holding down a couple of ten-dollar bills. The remaining customers, along with a table of newcomers, watched Astrid and me as we made our way back through the dining room. A few murmured comments in our wake, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“What on earth happened back there?” Maggie asked.
“Just an everyday kitchen mishap,” I said. “Though you might run out of mac and cheese a bit early tonight.”
She frowned, then her face cleared, and she shook her head. “Dropped it?”
I nodded. “Just one pan.”
“That Karl. He is a clumsy one.”
“Will Harris fire him?” Astrid asked, placing money on the bar for her drink and waving away Maggie’s offer of change.
“Nah. At least he hasn’t so far, and it isn’t the first time. I think that man of yours just likes to yell sometimes.”
“Not mine, Maggie. Not for a long time.”
“Good for you, honey. Boy, he and Josie sure got into it last night . . .” she trailed off.
“They fought?” I prompted.
Maggie whispered. “By the time we closed, they weren’t even speaking to each other.”
“Come on, Ellie.” Astrid tugged on my arm.
But I leaned closer to the bartender. “When did she leave?”
Maggie shrugged. “The usual time. Around midnight.”
“And what were she and Harris arguing about?” I asked, wondering if it was because she’d told me they were dating.
The door to the kitchen banged open, and Harris filled the door. Suddenly I didn’t care what their fight had been about. I was ready to leave.
Astrid pulled at my arm again, and this time I didn’t resist. “Gotta go,” I said. “See you later, Maggie.”
CHAPTER 7
ON the boardwalk outside, foot traffic was increasing as the dinner hour approached. “I never got my martini,” I said ruefully.
“I have an idea,” Astrid said. She was grinning.
“What?” I asked, instantly suspicious.
“I have a key to Josie’s apartment. Let’s go over there.”
“Are you insane?” I asked.
“Listen, from what you’ve told me, the police consider you a serious suspect, Ellie. Harris only made it worse with his lies. I don’t get the feeling he’s going to retract what he said, either. So it might just come down to you finding out what happened to that poor girl yourself.”
“You are insane,” I said. But that didn’t mean she was wrong.
“There’s a fish,” she said.
“A . . . what are you talking about?”
“Josie had a fish,” Astrid said. “I know because she hired me to feed him when she had to be gone for a few days—which is why I have her key. Pretty little betta fish, all by his lonesome in his little acrylic tank, with no one to feed him now. He could starve to death.”
I made a face. “That’s dirty pool.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I just have to pop by my place to pick up the key. And we don’t have to look around if you don’t want to. Just grab the fish and run.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, then stopped. I looked at my watch. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to take a look. And there is that poor fish.”
“Now?” Astrid asked with a smile.
I hesitated for moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”
We hurried back down Corona. I had to double step to keep up with my taller friend.
“God. I hope her apartment isn’t some love nest for those two,” I said.
Astrid made a noise of derision. “Please. It was a perfectly nice little apartment when I was there before.” Her eyes cut to me, but she didn’t break stride. “Or is Harris into something weird?”
I snorted a laugh. “Hardly.”
“Well, they probably spent all their time in your old house, anyway,” she said.
We’d reached the corner of Corona and Gilpin, and she turned right. “I’ll grab the key and ride over on my bike.”
She owned an old Peugeot, but drove it only when she had to haul her animal clients—or other people—around. Otherwise she was always on her bicycle. I, on the other hand, was more of a walker.
“Okay. See you in a few,” I said.
She strode away, and I continued toward Scents & Nonsense.
I eyed the yellow crime-scene tape out on the boardwalk and on my gate, then let myself into the shop and locked the door behind me. As I stepped out the back door, I thought about the ranch-style home Harris and I had lived in. I’d liked it well enough, but it hadn’t been hard to give up as part of the divorce settlement. Pseudo-suburban living hadn’t really been my style, I reflected as I made my way down the path to my current abode.
My steps faltered as my situation really hit home. If I didn’t fix this, I could go to prison. I stopped and looked around the garden I loved so much and at my dream business, closed for the day. I’d be darned if I was going to give up all that I’d worked so hard for over the last year.
I grabbed my car keys and a light jacket, then let Dash out to enjoy the garden. He followed behind me as I returned to the back patio. It would be nice when I could use the garden gate again.
“Now, will you just look at that!” I stopped and reached for the bowl of the fused-glass birdbath at the edge of the patio. Someone had knocked it askew, and it teetered precariously on its stand, on the verge of falling and shattering into a bazillion pieces. Carefully, I snugged it firmly back into place. “I’ll have to remember to refill it when I get back.”
I checked once more to make sure the birdbath was stable and noticed a thread-thin bright green tendril breaking through the moss at its base. Probably bindweed, I thought. Better pull it out before it can spread.
“I won’t be long,” I told Dash. He gazed up at me with liquid brown eyes. “I promise.”
He grinned easygoing agreement, then went to his bed on the back patio, turned around three times, and lay down with his chin on his paws to await my return.
Astrid was waiting out front, checking the messages on her phone. When I came outside, she stuck the phone in the pocket of her skirt, and we quickly walked to the Wrangler.
Once she’d climbed into the seat, she held up a key hanging from a purple beaded fob. She turned her hand so I could see the name stitched onto it.
JOSIE
Then she put it on her lap and folded her hands over it. “Do you know where she lived?” my friend asked. “Or do you need directions?”
“I took her home a couple of times when her car was in the shop,” I said.
Her car. When I’d returned from the Roux Grill, the Fiesta hadn’t been parked down the street anymore. As I pulled away from the curb, I imagined it sitting in the police impound lot out by the fairgrounds and wondered who would end up with it. Most people her age didn’t have wills if they didn’t have children, and try as I might, I couldn’t remember Josie talking about her parents or any siblings.
• • •
I PARKED the Wrangler in the lot of a convenience store, and Astrid and I hoofed it down the block. Josie had lived in an eight-plex on the west side of Poppyville, four up and four down. Hers was an upstairs end unit. Astrid and I looked at each other.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said.
I glared at her. “This was your idea.”
At least to start with.
She shrugged.
Now that we were here, I was curious about what we might find in Josie’s home. Though I’d dropped her off, I’d never been inside. I could only hope we might find something to help clear my Harris-smudged name.
“Come on,” I said, and strode up the steps as if we were expected.
Astrid hurried after, then stood behind me as I work
ed the key into the door lock and gave it a twist. Quickly, we slipped inside.
Standing with our backs to the closed door, we surveyed the living room. Though small, it was quite a bit larger than mine, boasting a sofa and recliner, with a nondescript floor lamp between them. The carpet was sculpted, neutral beige, and the walls were painted a slightly lighter shade of the same color. To the left, a nook held a small table and four chairs, and the open kitchen farther down on the left offered additional seating at the short counter that divided it from the living room.
The walls were covered with enlarged photographs, most of which depicted nature or animals. We took a few tentative steps into the room. The air smelled of toast. The strains of seventies rock and roll sifted through the thin wall from the adjoining apartment.
“What are we looking for?” Astrid asked.
I shot her a look. “This was your brain wave.”
But she just shook her head, her gaze sweeping the room, back and forth, eyes glistening. “God. I can’t believe she’s never coming back.”
The feelings of loss and disbelief had been circling through my psyche all day, and in that short amount of time I’d grown used to, if not comfortable with, the idea that I’d found Josie’s body that morning. Astrid had seen her for only a brief moment, though, and I realized Josie’s death had been largely theoretical to my friend until right then.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we can help find her killer.”
She sniffed and patted my hand with her own. “Right.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Clues. Look for clues.”
“That’s helpful,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t touch anything. The last thing we need is for the police to find our fingerprints in here.”
“Good point,” she said, walking to the short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. “I’ll look in here.” Using her elbow, she pushed aside the beaded curtain and went into the other room. The strings of beads clicked and rustled behind her.
I left her to the bedroom, suddenly unwilling to stumble into some blatant evidence of Harris sleeping there.
Not that I cared where he slept. It was just . . . unsettling.
I walked around, inspecting the pictures on the walls. There was a stunning close-up of a mariposa lily, the red spots at the base of each of the three petals like spots of blood on white linen. Another photo showed collections of new cattails and alien-looking pussy paws. I was impressed by how Josie had captured the dignity of yerba santa—blessed herb—a gummy purple-topped weed that grew nearly seven feet tall. Gamma had called it nature’s Band-Aid.
Next to it were photos of a field full of blue lupine, goldenrod, and clarkia. Another field was overrun with drifts of daisies. My breath caught, and I began to touch my finger to the frame before remembering and jerking it back. Gamma’s voice rang in my mind:
Daisies for innocence. Chestnuts for justice. Chrysanthemums for truth.
I swallowed, and moved on.
The next picture revealed a steep mountain trail I was pretty sure wound up to Kestrel Peak. Yes: I recognized Falcon Rock, its base worn away by water long rerouted by geologic time to the underground spring that now ran beneath Poppyville. The wide, swooping extensions at the top of the formation did resemble a bird if you stared at it long enough—or if you possessed the talent for photographic composition that Josie obviously had. The stone bird marked the trail halfway to the summit, and, given the flowers in bloom around it, Josie had taken the pictures in the spring.
Only two photos were portraits: one of Josie herself and one of a man wearing a dark suit and a stern expression. He looked a bit older than Josie, but there was something about the shape of the eyes that told me she’d had at least one sibling.
I stepped back and looked at the array as a whole. There was a picture missing. The blank space off to one side in the arrangement had the hanger still protruding from the wall.
Maybe she sold whatever was there and didn’t have a chance to replace it.
I spied a shoebox of loose photo printouts sitting on the coffee table. Settling on the edge of the sofa, I carefully dumped them out, using my fingertips on the cardboard and then slipping my jacket over my hand in order to spread them out.
Most had been taken inside the Roux Grill. These weren’t arty in the least, but a record of Josie’s friends and coworkers. Most were group photos with the subjects grinning into the camera, arms slung around one another in camaraderie.
I recognized many of the waitstaff I had worked with for so many years. There was Maggie, of course, standing behind the bar while Linda and Raleigh mugged on the stools in front. Another showed two waitresses and two waiters in the same logo T-shirt and jeans combo Josie had been wearing when I found her. One of the waitresses had been hired since I’d left, though I knew Rhonda, a rabbity-looking woman who’d occasionally accompanied her mother into Scents & Nonsense. As I recalled, she had a particular fondness for Astrid’s amaretto cookies.
Then there was a picture of the new waitress and the redheaded cook who had dropped the vat of macaroni and cheese. The cook looked considerably happier than when I’d seen him last, his arm pulling the waitress to him. There were no customers in the background, so my bet was the photo session had been after hours.
I moved some of the pictures around, revealing one of Harris alone in the office. He was looking up from his desk with an expression of surprise on his face. Josie had caught him unaware and without any of his many masks. I stared at the picture, seeing a flicker of the man I’d once fallen so hard for.
Next was one of Harris and Josie, laughing. It looked like a candid shot, and I wondered who had taken the photo. They looked shockingly happy.
Did Harris and I ever look like that?
I couldn’t remember. I shoved the photos back into the box and stood.
Shelves filled most of the back wall of the living room, and, in the middle of the unit, a drop-down desk was open. The surface was clear. I moved closer, peering at the spines of books tucked between items Josie had culled from nature: a pile of smooth pebbles, gnarled chunks of driftwood, a rock studded with pyrite and mica, and dozens of swirly snail shells piled into a glass bowl. The titles were mostly nonfiction, with lots of natural history and photography books.
On another shelf, a small acrylic tank with a blue lid held the supposed reason for our visit. The betta fish’s elaborate, blue-and-red fins waved languidly as it nosed the glass. I grabbed the jar of food granules and pinched some between thumb and forefinger to sprinkle into the water before remembering my own admonition not to touch anything. I put the cap back on and tucked the fish food in my pocket.
Cubbyholes behind the desk held various office supplies. Leaning forward, I inspected the contents. Nothing stood out—until I realized there were no bills or paperwork. Then I saw the faint rectangular outline of dust on the surface of the desk—a shape very much like that of a laptop computer.
Straightening, I took in the room details with new eyes. Items had been shifted, and the sofa cushions were slightly out of kilter. Going into the kitchen, I saw two drawers had been left open a few inches.
“Astrid?” I called. “What do you see in there?”
Her head popped through the vertical curtain. “Not much. But something’s off. Her bed is pristine, but the closet door is open and there are a couple of things on the floor. She wasn’t much of a clothes hog, but the girl had a real thing for boots. There are eight pairs in there. Nothing looks to be missing, but her dresser drawers are messier than I’d expect from someone who folds their socks so neatly, and one was hanging open. You know what I think?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Either someone was looking for something, or the police have been through her stuff already.”
She pointed her finger at me. “Bingo.”
My cell buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to loo
k at the display. The number looked familiar, and when I realized why, I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Ellie?” Astrid closed the distance between us and peered over my shoulder.
The phone buzzed again as I fished in my wallet and pulled out the card Lupe Garcia had given me that morning. Sure enough, that was the number on my phone’s screen.
Panic arrowed through my solar plexus. “It’s Detective Garcia.” I met Astrid’s eyes. “Do you think she knows we’re here?”
“Nah. How could she?” But she sounded unsure.
The phone stopped ringing. Slowly, I slid it back into my pocket. I thought of my Jeep parked at the convenience store down the street. Was Garcia calling because we’d essentially broken into a murder victim’s apartment?
“The police would have found any clues here already.” Astrid’s disappointment was obvious, and I realized that in spite of her earlier nervousness, she had been kind of enjoying herself.
“Guess we’d better go,” I said, turning toward the door and putting my hand in the pocket of my jacket. My fingers wrapped around the canister of fish food. “Darn it,” I said, pulling it out and looking across the room at the betta fish on the shelf. “I almost forgot the fish.”
It eyed me through a plastic plant frond. I could simply wipe off the food container and put it back on the shelf and hope Harris or someone else would take care of the little guy. But, of course, that wasn’t what I was going to do. I marched over, unplugged the acrylic tank, and picked it up.
I lifted the betta fish up to eye level. “Hi, there. How about you come and live with me for a while?” I looked at Astrid. “Unless you want to take it?”
She shook her head. “I have enough critters to deal with. He’s a pretty little guy. Keep him in the shop.”
“Nabby will love that,” I said wryly, checking the room one more time. The faint toast smell still hung in the air, from at least the day before. I wondered if Josie liked jam on her toast.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded at the door. “Let’s blow this joint.”
Astrid turned the knob and stepped out to the small deck with me on her heels.
Daisies For Innocence Page 7
