Wining and Dying

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  When it was time to dine, Lola seated us at the table. At each place setting, she’d arranged a trinket in a gold box. For the women, the potion necklaces Pepper had been hawking for Purple Unicorn Crafts. For my father, Rhett, Keller, Tito, and Marlon—who was also a no-show; police business—she’d bought hand-painted enamel quartz tie clips.

  “Mom, thanks,” Bailey gushed. “I bought one of these for Tina the other day.”

  “Yours is for calm,” she said.

  Bailey gave her the stink eye. “Who says I’m not calm?”

  Lola blew her a kiss. “Let’s just say it takes two to raise Brianna. I know you can’t wait for Tito to return.”

  “Wow,” my father said. “I’ll impress the ladies who visit the hardware shop when I wear this!”

  Lola knuckled his shoulder. “There wasn’t a lot of artsy jewelry that was suitable for you men.”

  Rhett appreciated his and said it would go nicely with his blue silk tie.

  I lifted my necklace and stared at the sparkly crystals within.

  “Yours, Jenna, is to stir your imagination,” Lola said.

  “Am I supposed to drink it?”

  “Don’t be silly. Its power emanates magically.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  A diabolical theory formed in my mind. I recalled Katie opening a teensy vial and dusting her dessert with magical sugar crystals. Was it possible that the killer had put arsenic in a necklace or some other small conveyance, merely enough to dose Quade’s drink in passing without him knowing? Artisans throughout the festival had been selling such items, including Pepper. She’d said the young were snapping them up. Yardley had given one of Pepper’s potion necklaces to Naomi. Destiny owned a few, too.

  “Sweetheart?” Rhett said. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s probably thinking about murder,” my father said wryly.

  I stiffened.

  He groaned. “Don’t tell me you were.”

  Aunt Vera took the seat next to me. “Let us help you theorize.”

  Dad glowered at her. “If you want to help someone, Sis, help Cinnamon.”

  “But that’s what Jenna is doing, Cary,” my aunt retorted. “She’s thinking outside the box.”

  “Cinnamon is perfectly capable of thinking outside the box.”

  “But Jenna has helped her in the past.”

  “Balderdash!”

  Chapter 23

  Grumbling, Dad pushed away from the table, grabbed his wineglass, and stomped out of the room. Lola dashed after him saying over her shoulder to the rest of us, “Dinner will be just a minute.”

  My aunt took a hunk of sourdough bread from the basket and pulled off part of the crust. “Talk to us, Jenna. Let us bat around your theories.”

  I mentioned my idea about the potion necklaces.

  “Hold on,” Katie said. “Both Naomi and Destiny were attacked and wound up at Mercy Urgent Care. I can’t imagine either would have done that to themselves.”

  “What if Destiny hurt Naomi because Quade liked her?” I asked.

  Bailey wagged her head. “I’m not buying it. Quade’s dead. If she’d wanted Naomi out of the picture, she would have done it before.”

  “Unless she thought Naomi killed Quade,” my aunt said. “And she wanted retribution.”

  I sipped my wine.

  Rhett slung an arm over the back of his chair. “Why hurt herself?” he asked.

  “To put the blame on Christopher George,” I replied.

  “Christopher.” Bailey took a slice of bread and slathered it with clarified butter. “In his cabana we found—” She balked and quickly took a bite of the bread.

  “You went into his room at the inn?” Rhett shot me a look.

  “For one second.”

  “One?”

  “Okay, more like a full minute. We were careful.” I told him about the odors of the tar-scented shampoo and the leathery cologne, one of which I was certain I’d detected at the crime scene. “Bailey says his travel kit had buckles on it that could match the buckle print found on Naomi’s and Destiny’s faces.”

  Rhett worked his tongue inside his cheek. “As you said earlier at the park, his alibi about watching Naomi in her house is sketchy, but it corroborates hers.”

  I gazed at him as Naomi’s name sizzled in my mind. Quade’s text to Yardley had ended on the word Naomi. Had he meant to text more? That night she’d been wearing her mother’s heart-shaped locket. Was it possible it had contained arsenic? If I recalled correctly, stained-glass artisans worked with arsenic. Cinnamon had said the initial N was on the scrap of paper found in Quade’s cabana. On the other hand, she’d admitted that the N didn’t match Naomi’s handwriting. Had Christopher George lied about his whereabouts? Had he killed Quade and, furious with Naomi, framed her by tossing the wadded-up sketches on the floor and leaving a fragment of a note? Had Naomi’s whole name been on the paper at one time? Had it been a note to entice Quade to imbibe the poison?

  Drink me, read the note in Alice in Wonderland.

  “What about Sienna?” Bailey asked me.

  I trained my gaze on her. “She has a really quirky alibi. I saw her this afternoon at Beaders of Paradise, and . . .”

  As I was filling them in on her alibi, I heard the front door open. A woman cried, “We’re here!”

  Tina, svelte even though she was clad in a puffy pink parka, jeans, and Uggs, carried Brianna bundled in a fleece blanket into the dining room. “Hope you don’t mind us barging in. I guessed you were eating by now. I left the stroller on the porch. Somebody is excited to see you,” she trilled as she handed Brianna to Bailey. “We had such a good—”

  “Everyone, I apologize!” My father returned and stood behind me. He clasped my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Sorry for my outburst. I worry.”

  Lola blew me an air kiss—she could work miracles with my father in the same way my mother could—and strutted into the kitchen calling, “Dinner in a minute!”

  “What did I miss?” Dad asked and resumed his seat.

  “A recap of everyone’s alibis,” Rhett said.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Tina plopped into the chair set for Marlon, whisked her long tresses over her shoulders, and folded her hands on the table. “May I listen in?”

  “Sure. Join the fun.” My father waggled his eyebrows comically at me.

  “Sienna Brown,” my aunt prompted. “You said she admitted to paying Quade hush money.”

  “What for?” Dad asked.

  “She’s a petty thief,” Bailey said.

  “A kleptomaniac, actually,” I revised. “She claims she was swiping something from Sterling’s jewelry store that night.”

  “Kleptomania is one thing, but that’s breaking and entering,” my father said, always looking at crimes from the perspective of the law.

  I nodded. “She’s going to come clean.”

  “I thought she had another alibi for the evening,” my aunt said.

  “She did. Drinking tea in her residential unit at the inn, but Cinnamon told me there are holes in it.”

  “You spoke to Cinnamon about Sienna?” Dad asked.

  “Briefly,” I said. “She doesn’t know about this part of the story.”

  “I saw Miss Brown near Sterling’s the other night,” Tina said.

  “What?” I turned to face her.

  “You’re talking about Tuesday, right?” She squinched her pert nose. “When that artist Quade died?”

  I bobbed my head.

  “Yep,” she continued. “I was on my way home from the Art of Baked Mac ’n Cheese at Mum’s the Word. I went there after Bailey came home. And I was heading to my father’s. It was around ten thirty. He lives in the hills south of the art school, not far from here. Anyway, as I was passing Artiste Arcade, I happened to see Sienna Brown ducking into the shadows.”

  “Sterling’s is in the arcade,” I said to the group.

  “We know,” Dad said tartly and rolled a hand, suggesting Tina continue.


  “Thinking she was acting suspiciously, I took a picture with my phone. It turned out fuzzy, so I wasn’t completely sure it was her, but then”—Tina pulled her bejeweled cell phone from the pocket of her parka and handed it to me—“I saw her a minute later, clear as day, even though it was night. On the boulevard. She must have ducked out the side entrance of the arcade.”

  I swiped through Tina’s photo app until I saw the picture to which she was referring. It wasn’t an ideal photo—a woman wearing a coat, shoulders hunched, blurred by shadows. A time stamp showed the photo had been taken at 10:32. That would not have given Sienna enough time either before or after to have killed Quade and make it to town to steal a necklace.

  “So she wasn’t lying. She was robbing Sterling’s,” I said.

  “Or she was in the vicinity,” my father countered.

  “But nowhere near the inn,” Bailey added. Brianna cooed her agreement.

  My aunt said, “Hold on. Edith McNary is a client.” She fetched her cell phone from the satchel she’d set on the sideboard and dialed a number. “Hello, Edith? It’s Vera. No, dear, nothing is wrong. Yes, I know I never call you this late, but I have a question to ask.” My aunt tsked. “Do not fret about that. I know you’ll visit when you have a spare moment. The tarot waits for you.”

  My father rolled his eyes.

  “My question is this. Have you had a robbery recently? Anything missing from the shop?” Aunt Vera batted the air. “That many? Oh, my.” She paused. “No, dear, don’t cry. No, you’re not slipping. You didn’t misplace anything. I happen to know who broke into the shop, or rather, let herself in with your key.” My aunt nodded. “Yes, you guessed it.” She sniffed. “Don’t blame yourself for having an extra glass of wine, Edith. Yes, Sienna will admit all to the police, and I’m sure she will make reparations.” Aunt Vera listened. “Bless you. That’s quite forgiving of you.” She ended the call and gazed at the group. “Edith thought she’d misplaced over a dozen pieces. She has been forgetful of late. Her daughter has been ill.”

  “So that rules out Sienna,” I said.

  Silence settled over the table.

  • • •

  Monday morning arrived too soon. I ran a quick mile before the thunderclouds overhead let loose with rain, then I fed the animals, showered, dressed in yellow to brighten my mood, kissed Rhett goodbye, and told him I loved him. He mumbled that he loved me, too. Rook, who had nestled onto the bed beside Rhett, lifted his head and yawned.

  “Yeah, buddy,” I whispered. “I’m tired, too. Be good.”

  With Tigger in tow, I drove to the Cookbook Nook. Despite the drizzle, people were disassembling the festival right and left. Vans and trucks loaded to the max were driving south as well as north. A few people lingered on Buena Vista Boulevard, but not many. It would be a slow day at the shop. I didn’t mind. I needed a couple of hours to catch up, order cookbooks and paraphernalia, and plan for the next event. There were times I wished Z.Z. would let well enough alone and allow the town to have two to three weeks of total calm, but even I knew that wasn’t wise. We were a tourist-driven town. It needed the influx of money to survive, and special events did lure tourists.

  I set a rubber mat by the front door to prevent anyone slipping as they entered with wet shoes, then I tended to the register. Tigger scooted to the top of his kitty condo and peered down at me like a ravenous eagle.

  “Cut it out,” I told him. Like a goofball, he rolled onto his back and played with his tail.

  My aunt entered and trilled, “Too-ra-loo.”

  Gran followed with her cheery, “Hello-o!”

  Then Bailey swept in with Brianna, tucked beneath the stroller’s rain guard. “Good weather for ducks,” she chirped.

  “We only get a few of these kinds of storms a year,” I said.

  “True. I won’t grumble. What’s on the agenda?” she asked as she transferred Brianna from the stroller into her owl floor seat.

  “Replacing stock. Ordering cookbooks for Cinco de Mayo.” We carried numerous Latin-themed cookbooks like Salsas and Moles: Fresh and Authentic Recipes for Pico de Gallo, Mole Poblano, Chimichurri, Guacamole, and More, but having some new ones on hand would be a good idea. “And creating a display window for the event, too.”

  An hour later, as I was kneeling at the front of the shop, removing art festival items from the display window and arranging a couple of colorful items I would use for the upcoming Cinco de Mayo festival, a woman said my name, followed by, “Oh, no! Oh, heck!”

  Smack!

  I turned toward the sound. Naomi was propped on her hands and knees on the rain mat, the hood of her loden green slicker flopped forward, hiding half her face. “Naomi! Are you okay?” I hurried to help.

  “I didn’t see the rubber mat,” she said and groaned when she spied the contents of her crocheted purse scattered to one side—pens, paper, sketches, a pack of Marlboros, and cell phone.

  Had she put the cigarettes in her purse for my benefit, to corroborate her alibi? I wondered, but recalled having seen a cellophane wrapper spill out of her purse with other items in the workshop room last Monday. Had the wrapper been the remains of a pack of cigarettes? Had she told the truth about being a smoker?

  “Sorry.” She pushed off her hood, shoved everything into the purse and scrambled to a stand, brushing raindrops off her slicker. “I wanted to talk to you if you had a free moment. About yesterday. At Azure Park. With Christopher.”

  Bailey and my aunt watched as I guided Naomi into the breezeway. Katie had set out a three-tiered serving dish filled with mini lemon-coconut muffins. I gestured for Naomi to take one.

  “Not hungry.” She finger-combed her brown hair forward over her shoulders. “When I told Christopher I’d gone around the back for a smoke, you seemed shocked,” she said. “I’ve been hiding my habit. I wish I was a stronger person and could quit. My mother was a smoker, and she . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  She’d died of lung cancer, I recalled.

  “Ever since I ran away from Christopher, I’ve been edgy. Smoking calms me.” Naomi’s mouth twitched with sadness. “I wasn’t lying. I did go around back for a smoke that night. I went out the front because that’s where my purse was, but I went inside through the rear door. And”—she fiddled with a toggle on the slicker—“if I’m being honest, I saw Christopher out there. Hanging by a lamppost. It’s why I didn’t go back inside through the front and why I didn’t switch off the lights. I was afraid. I probably shouldn’t be. He says he loves me.”

  “He hurt you.”

  “Once. Only once. Which was why I took self-defense classes.”

  “That explains how you were able to grab his wrist midair.”

  “My instructor said I was a natural. Look out, Karate Kid.” She chopped the air with glee, a smile brightening her face. “I’m going to call Christopher. I’m going to let him see Nina.”

  “Are you sure? He might have been involved with Quade and the forgeries.”

  “I can’t believe he would do that and risk ruining his lifelong reputation.” She shook her head. “I had a Zoom meeting with my therapist last night. She’s in favor of me owning up to the truth.” She snuffled. “But I hate the name Nancy George, so I’m never going to own up to that.”

  “Naomi, may I ask you something? It’s quite sensitive.”

  She lowered her chin and gazed at me from beneath her long lashes, looking like a child ready for a scolding. “Sure.”

  “Quade wrote Yardley a text right before he died. At the end of the text, he wrote your name. No message. No instructions.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “Is it possible Christopher stole into the room, poured a glass of wine, and left Quade a note that the wine was from you? Maybe it said something like Congratulations, love NG.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Why would he do that?”

  “To lure Quade into drinking something laced with poison.”

  She tilted her head, confused. “I thought Quade was
stabbed with Keller’s tool.”

  “He was poisoned first. With arsenic. I think it was in something he drank.” I didn’t think Cinnamon would mind me revealing this clue. “I believe the killer—possibly Christopher—came back and tore up the note, leaving the scrap of paper on the floor with your initial on it.”

  Naomi’s eyes sparked with anger. “Do you suspect me of colluding with him?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “I use arsenic in stained-glass preparation.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You’re staring at my locket.” She clasped the necklace, her voice crackling with indignation. “Do you think I keep a trace of arsenic in it? Do you think I gave the locket to Christopher to use?”

  “No, I don’t. I really don’t.” I held out both hands, palms up, to reassure her. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to have slipped into your house or your art room and stolen arsenic. You said you work out of your house. Do you keep arsenic on the premises?”

  “In a locked cabinet.”

  That gave me pause. Whoever had killed Quade was adept with opening padlocks. He had broken into Keller’s garage and possibly into Naomi’s cabinets.

  “Is Christopher handy with tools?” I asked.

  “As handy as anyone who fixes TV boxes and computers, I suppose. Why?”

  I explained about the padlocks.

  “How would he have gotten into Quade’s cabana or the communal room?” Naomi asked.

  “Maybe he stole a key off a housekeeper.” Or he’d paid an employee to look the other way, as Bailey had.

  In my mind, I replayed the scenario of Quade finding a note beside a glass of wine. Imagining Naomi was softening to the idea of dating him again, he toasted her and drank. Soon after, he started to weaken. He didn’t put two and two together. He texted Yardley to say he wasn’t feeling well and had wanted her to tell Naomi thank you for the congratulations, or whatever else might have been on the note, but the poison made him too sick to finish.