Marriage Is Pure Murder

by Staci McLaughlin

  She seemed so sincere, I felt a pang of guilt for questioning her motives. But I wasn’t a total idiot.

  “You know, now that I think about it, last time I was out that way, all the flowers were gone. But I saw a few plants over by the pigsty.” While the pigsty wasn’t exactly as busy as someplace like the San Francisco airport, it was a lot better than the isolated woods on the backside of Esther’s farm.

  “Sure. We can look there.”

  I led her over to where Wilbur was lolling in the mud with the other pigs, and pointed out a few groupings of wildflowers that I’d noticed when I’d visited the sty earlier in the week. While she looked at the flowers, I leaned over the fence and chatted with Wilbur. He flicked his tail a few times in response but didn’t bother to come over and see me. Maybe he knew I was going away and was giving me the cold shoulder. My mom’s cat used to do the same thing whenever the family went on vacation.

  “I’ll only be in Hawaii a few days,” I told him. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

  “What’s that?” Violet asked as she joined me at the fence.

  I nodded to the cluster of pigs. “I was just talking to Wilbur here.” I realized how ridiculous that sounded and felt my face flush. “Never mind.”

  Violet smiled. “I talk to my goldfish all the time. My mom never did understand why. Guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” She gazed at the pigs, her mind seemingly a million miles away.

  I’d been planning to wait until we got back to the farmhouse before I asked her about the day her mom died, but standing here with nothing but the pigs for company and no interruptions, now seemed like the perfect time.

  “Violet, I need to talk to you about something.”

  She tore her focus from the pigs. “What?” she asked slowly.

  I took a deep breath. “I could have sworn you said you didn’t go to the flower shop the day your mom was killed.”

  Her head snapped back. “That’s because I didn’t.”

  “But someone saw you there that day.”

  She squeezed her hands into fists. “Who told you that?”

  I scrambled around in my mind for a suitable answer, not wanting to put Esther in a potentially awkward position, if she ever bought flowers from Violet. “What difference does it make?”

  “I want to know,” she said.

  She took a deep breath as if getting ready for something, and my whole body tensed. I wasn’t sure whether she was about to lunge at me . . . or run.

  Chapter 29

  “Who told you I was there that day?” Violet repeated. Her eyes darted around, as if the witness might be lurking behind one of the hedges, ready to jump out and point an accusing finger her way.

  “It’s not important who told me, just that someone saw you there. Is it true?”

  Violet’s hand flew to her mouth. She started gnawing on her fingernail. “I only stopped in for a minute.”

  Every nerve in my body lit up. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  “What for?”

  “Why do you need to know?” Violet asked, a pleading tone creeping into her voice. “It doesn’t make any difference why I stopped by. I didn’t kill my mom.”

  I didn’t say anything. From the strained expression on Violet’s face, she seemed to be fighting an internal battle with herself.

  She released a heavy sigh and dropped her hand. “I forgot my sunglasses, okay? I stopped by to get them.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Surely I’d heard her wrong. “That’s it? You lied about picking up your sunglasses?”

  “Gah! You don’t get it.” Violet let out a strange grunting noise that made Wilbur’s ears perk up.

  Rising to his feet, he trotted over to the fence and stuck his nose through the rails. He nudged Violet’s hand. She snatched it back, but then looked at Wilbur with his upturned snout and wagging curlicue tail and reached out to pat him.

  I leaned against the top rail. “Maybe you could explain it to me.”

  “I was on my way to meet some actor friends in the park. I told you how I’d been secretly writing at night, but I wanted to see my script in action. Make sure I was getting the emotions right, that the scene would play out like it did in my mind. When I stopped by the shop, I made the mistake of telling my mom where I was going. She immediately got on my case about how I was wasting my time with this writing nonsense, as she liked to call it. Said my place was at the flower shop with her.” She paused and patted Wilbur again. “We started arguing. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I even told her I was quitting.”

  Wow. Good for Violet. I’d gotten the impression she never stood up to her mom, but apparently, given the right incentive, she did have a backbone. “What did Bethany say when you told her that?”

  Violet scowled. “She laughed at me. Acted like my idea of being a professional writer was some big joke. But when she saw how serious I was, she started in on the guilt. Told me what an ingrate I was. How she’d given me a job when I was down on my luck, and that I owed her. By the end, we were both yelling at each other.”

  So Nicole at the ice cream shop hadn’t overheard me talking to Bethany. She’d heard an honest-to-goodness argument between Violet and her mom. That fight could have been the precursor to Bethany’s murder.

  Wilbur wandered down to where I stood and waited for me to pet him since Violet had stopped. I obliged, scratching behind one of his ears. “So that’s why you didn’t admit you were at the shop.”

  “How could I? Sure, the fight happened hours before my mom was killed, but the detective would probably think I went back later to shoot her.”

  “You don’t have an alibi for when your mom died?” I asked. Maybe the detective had good reason to be suspicious.

  She shook her head. “I spent the afternoon at the park, then went home to revise my script. Whenever I had a day off, I usually worked on my writing. I was alone in the house all evening until a neighbor called to tell me about the emergency vehicles at the shop.”

  Her story made sense. And I could understand why Violet would hesitate to tell the detective about the argument with her mom. Still, wouldn’t she want to tell him everything she could to help find her mom’s killer? Unless this story was one giant fabrication. She was a writer, after all.

  I looked around and licked my lips, noticing how alone we were out here. Even this close to the house, I hadn’t seen another living soul the entire time we’d been talking.

  Trying not to be obvious, I sidled away from the pigpen and toward the path. When I felt my shoes touch the smooth dirt, I started walking backward while talking to Violet, casting the occasional glance behind me to keep from tripping. Violet had done nothing to imply she was dangerous, other than chopping off a bunch of flower heads in her shop, but why press my luck?

  “Now that you’ve explained everything, I can understand why you didn’t want to talk to the detective. That argument does make it look like you had a reason to hurt your mom—” Wait, should I have said that? “But I’m sure he knows what a nice person you are,” I added.

  Violet watched me walk backward with a puzzled look on her face. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed me. I only needed to lead her to the back patio, where the farmhouse—and Zennia and Gordon—were within easy reach.

  “I know I should tell him the truth,” Violet said, “but I’ve waited so long, I’m worried it’ll make me look worse.”

  I reached the redwood tree on the edge of the patio, turned, and stepped through the gap in the bushes. Safe at last.

  “Nonsense,” I said. “It’s better to tell the detective later than not at all.”

  Violet stepped onto the patio after me and chewed on another nail. “I suppose you’re right, but I don’t want to get in any trouble.”

  I heard a noise behind me and glanced over my shoulder. Gordon was coming out one of the French doors from the dining room.

  With him so close, I turned to Violet and said all in a rush, “I’m glad you feel
that way because I convinced the person who saw you downtown to call Detective Palmer this morning, and you’ll want to call him as soon as possible to tell him your side of things.”

  Violet only had time to say, “What?” and clap a hand over her mouth before Gordon reached us. If he noticed Violet’s pale face and startled expression, he showed no reaction.

  “Good, I see your friend was able to locate you,” he said to me.

  “Yes, thanks for pointing her in my direction.”

  Violet still had her hand covering her mouth, as if trying not to throw up. “I have to go,” she mumbled between her fingers, not looking at either of us. She darted off in the direction of the parking lot.

  Gordon twisted one of his pinkie rings. “Was it something I said?”

  “No, more like something she didn’t say.” Whoo-hoo, wasn’t I the witty one today?

  “Okay, whatever. I need to check with Gretchen about her work schedule. Excuse me.”

  With Gordon on his way to the spa and Violet out of sight, I headed to the back door. In the kitchen, Zennia was pulling a tray out of the oven. She set it on top of the stove and removed her oven mitts.

  I caught a whiff of cheesy goodness, and my mouth watered. “What is that?”

  She smiled. “I call them golden cheese rounds, for lack of a better name. I put them alongside my salads on occasion when I want a special treat and thought I’d make a small batch for the guests this afternoon. If they like them, I can serve some at your wedding and top them with microgreens or perhaps sour cream and chives.”

  I reached for one but stopped. “Wait. Are these made with actual cheese? Or some sort of weird healthy version?” Just because I was trying to eat better didn’t mean I wanted to do it all the time, especially where cheese was involved.

  Zennia swatted me with an oven mitt. “I already told you, for your special day, I won’t hold back on the butter or cheese for one or two dishes.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.” I grabbed a cheese round off the tray and popped it in my mouth. The crispy disc burned my tongue, but the decadent flavor more than made up for the pain. “Delicious. Better than your stuffed mushrooms, even.”

  Esther came into the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the cookie sheet, and she made a beeline for the stove. “What have you got there?” She tried one and let out a moan of pleasure. “My goodness these are yummy. They’d be a real hit at my Bunco games.”

  “I can always give you the recipe. There are only three ingredients.” Zennia gestured to the tray. “Have another one.”

  Esther eyed the rounds as if considering it, but then shook her head. “I really shouldn’t.” She turned to me. “Dana, is there any chance you could clean out the pigsty this afternoon? I have some errands to run, so I’m afraid I won’t have time to do it myself.”

  I suppressed a sigh. From cheese rounds to pigsties. Not quite how I’d envisioned my afternoon, but work was work, after all. “Yes, I can do it. Wilbur was just giving me a hard time about how I’m leaving him for a few days, so maybe this will get me back in his good graces.”

  Zennia raised her eyebrows. “How exactly does a pig give someone a hard time?”

  “I could see it in his eyes. They spoke volumes.”

  Esther laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re going on your honeymoon. Sounds like you need some time off.”

  I wagged my finger at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when he goes on a food strike.”

  I resisted the urge to grab another cheese round and went out the back door to the tool shed. I grabbed the broom, rake, and shovel, slipped on the boots that always waited near the sty, and stepped inside the pen. Thanks to the rain, the outside area had already turned muddy, and I had to step carefully to avoid slipping. I’d had more than a few accidents when cleaning out the sty, and I didn’t feel like having another one today.

  As I shoveled out the old straw and shavings, I thought about my talk with Violet. She’d provided a decent reason for lying to Detective Palmer. I’d been in an absolute panic when the detective had thought I’d been arguing with Bethany, and I barely even knew the woman. Here, Violet was her own daughter, someone who stood to gain from her mother’s death. If the fight had been as big and loud as she claimed, no wonder she’d lied.

  I finished shoveling and grabbed the hose. Wilbur and the other pigs watched from the sidelines as I continued my musings.

  A big argument might also explain why Violet was so conflicted about selling the shop. She’d finally gotten up the guts to tell her mom she quit; then her mom was murdered only hours later. That would definitely make me think twice about selling the store my mother had poured her heart and soul into. But again, she might also hesitate to sell if she’d killed her mom and regretted it. Talking to Violet hadn’t cleared up nearly as much as I’d hoped.

  I squirted water into the far corner of the pen. The water bounced off the boards, raising a spray of droplets into the air.

  Maybe Violet would decide to keep the business after all. She’d certainly seemed excited when she’d been walking around the farm with me. She wouldn’t get to work on outdoor weddings every day, but surely enough people got married in Blossom Valley to keep her busy. Then again, she didn’t seem that enthused about the flowers themselves, certainly not as much as someone like Carter’s wife.

  While I had the hose out, I moved over to the water trough. The pigs tended to keep the area clean, but I liked to spray any extra gunk out. I aimed the nozzle and targeted the very bottom of the trough while I continued to think.

  Carter’s wife had been nothing like I’d expected. I’d pictured a frail, fussy debutante who didn’t lift a finger to help herself. Instead, Patty was a strong, vibrant woman who clearly didn’t need coddling. After meeting her and seeing how friendly she was, I had to wonder why Carter was cheating on her. But then, why did any guy cheat?

  I turned off the hose and rolled it up, then returned to the tool shed to drag over a new bag of shavings. As I backed into the pen, I kept an eye on Wilbur and his pals, but none looked as if they were about to make a break for it, or even stand up for that matter.

  I tried to tear open the bag with my hands, but gave up and went back to the tool shed. I found the pair of old scissors Esther kept there and returned to the pen. I cut open the bag, set the scissors on a fence post, and started spreading the shavings around.

  One piece stood out among the paler shavings. It was a dark red color, much like the color of the flower Carter had mentioned to his wife. He must have been talking about Bethany’s fire lily.

  A shiver ran up my spine. How had he even seen the flower? When Bethany had shown it to me, she’d mentioned it had arrived that very day and she was keeping it in the back room away from customers. Had Bethany shown Carter the flower as well, since he was a regular? But I’d seen him pick up his weekly flowers a couple of days later from Violet. If he always picked up his roses on the same day, he wouldn’t have needed to stop by the shop the day Bethany died.

  I shook my head, dismissing the thought. Seeing a rare flower didn’t make a man guilty of murder. He might have gone to Bethany’s shop that day for another reason, perhaps to send flowers to a sick coworker or something. Even so, when I finished up here, maybe I’d call Detective Palmer. Every little bit of information could help his case.

  I hurriedly finished my work, anxious to get in the house and to my phone. When I’d dumped out the last of the shavings, I gathered up the empty bags, my mind already on my call to the detective. I turned to head out of the pen and froze, feeling as if my heart might stop.

  Carter was waiting for me at the gate, a calculating expression on his face.

  I might be in some trouble here.

  Chapter 30

  My breath caught in my throat. Panic fluttered in my chest. I told myself to calm down. Carter wasn’t a mind reader. He couldn’t possibly know I was planning to call Detective Palmer about the flower.

  I forced myself to speak, in cas
e he wasn’t already suspicious of what I knew. “Hi, Carter. Where’s Patty? Finishing up at the spa?”

  He stared at me, stone-faced. “Yes, I wanted to talk to you privately.”

  “Me?” I asked, my voice an octave higher than usual. “About what?”

  He let himself into the pen. I watched as his shiny black dress shoes sank into the soft mud.

  “You’ll ruin those shoes,” I said.

  Carter glanced down, his face still expressionless. “I can buy more.”

  He stopped a few feet away and leveled his gaze at me once more, causing my stomach to twist into a knot. “I realize you might know more than you should.”

  “Me?” I said again.

  He edged closer, and I shifted back, my mind racing. Was Gordon at the spa with Gretchen? Was Zennia in the house? Was anyone close enough to help me?

  “You saw that flower in Bethany’s back room,” he said.

  I felt like a swarm of insects was crawling up my back. I suppressed a shudder. “That’s right. I’d forgotten where I’d seen it,” I lied.

  “Bethany’s place is the only flower shop in town. You couldn’t have seen it anywhere else. And you know I saw the flower, too.”

  Carter was way too concerned about the lily. That didn’t bode well for his involvement in Bethany’s murder. Or for my safety at this very minute.

  I tried to placate him. “Bethany showed it to me when I stopped in that day. Just like she must have shown you, too.” Maybe he’d seize on my offered excuse and go away. But in case he didn’t, I took a step back. I didn’t have much space before I bumped up against the water trough, but every inch of distance helped.

  “Even though you knew about my relationship with Phoebe, I was willing to let it go,” Carter said. His gaze never wavered, increasing my anxiety. “After all, you don’t come across as the blackmailing type, so I trusted you not to tell my wife.”

  I nodded. “I already promised you I wouldn’t. You have nothing to worry about.” But I clearly did.