At the entrance to the boardwalk, a band of minstrels in green fitted jackets, green-and-red doublets, and red hose greeted us with a sprightly tune on their lutes. Along North Street, a group of female madrigals in matching honey-toned, long-sleeved gowns sang “Greensleeves” in three-part harmony. They were competing with a noisy bagpiper who merrily danced about them. Cinderella’s stepsisters couldn’t have looked more peeved by his presence.
I spotted Rhett and shouted, “Hi-ho, Rhett!”
He escaped a swarm of jovial fairgoers and strolled toward me looking dashing in his Robin Hood outfit. Even better, he was carrying chicken kebabs. I was starved. He offered one to me. “For you, my lady.”
“Thankee.” I pecked his cheek and took my dinner from him. “Lola’s?”
“None other.” He handed me a napkin.
I bit into the kebab and wiped juice off my face. “Scrumptious.” The blend of ginger and soy sauce was perfect.
“Rhett, where did you buy those?” Tito asked.
“Lola’s Lusciousness is on South Street, near the Word.”
“Babe, can you hold this for me?” Tito asked Bailey. “I’ll be right back with dinner.” He handed her the large bell he carried to complement his town crier outfit and dashed off.
“My mother is a riot.” Bailey snickered. “Honestly? Lola’s Lusciousness? Hey, there’s Dolly. Yoo-hoo, Dolly.” She waved. “Join us.”
Dolly, who had changed since her clinic at the shop, was wearing yet another green gown, this one a rich loden green with a beaded bodice and puffy sleeves. She strolled in our direction carrying a staff filled with garlands. The ribbons on the garlands fluttered in the air. Colorful beads strung together on silk ropes clacked together. Dolly’s face was a tad flushed and her hair was bedraggled, as though she’d rushed through a wind tunnel. Otherwise, she seemed in good spirits.
“Your clinic was amazing,” Bailey said when Dolly drew near. “Everyone was ecstatic. I bet you’ll see many of your students sporting their artwork tonight.”
“Bailey’s right,” I said. “It was awesome.”
The workshop had lasted forty-five minutes and had gone off without a hitch. Twenty adults and children had shown up to learn how to make a garland. A few had chosen to make caps with feathers. Around five p.m., Dolly remembered an important appointment and apologized profusely for not being able to stick around to see her students’ finished products.
“Where did you run off to?” I asked.
“An errand,” she said curtly. No elaboration.
“Off with your head!” a woman bellowed.
We all turned to see who was making the disturbance.
A woman dressed like the Queen of Hearts in a gorgeous red-and-black gown with three red hearts down the center of her skirt paraded along North Street swinging a croquet mallet. Behind her trooped a battalion of men dressed as playing cards.
A dimple-cheeked man in a simple brown frock preceded her and chanted, “The queen is playing croquet. Come see the queen play croquet. Challenge her if you dare.”
The group, as a unit, continued to plow toward the far end of the Pier.
Rhett said, “If you haven’t seen this spectacle, you should.”
“When did you see it?” I asked.
“On my break. They held a match this afternoon. Near the petting zoo, they’ve laid out a large square of green grass and installed croquet wickets. Vendors closed up shops. Everyone was there. The guy selling the poetry scrolls and Dolly and . . .”
Dolly clapped her hands. “It was so much fun. It took place right before I came to the Cookbook Nook.”
Bailey said, “When we were meeting with Nick.”
“The queen is a hoot, as you can plainly see,” Dolly continued. “She’s an actress from Los Angeles and travels all over California to do these fairs.” She tapped my arm. “By the way, Jenna, I saw Melody Beaufort a minute ago. She’s at her booth. No cause for alarm.”
“Alarm?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I saw the way you reacted at the shop, like you were worried her husband might have . . .” She leaned in close. “I told you he was overly protective, and you freaked.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. You worried that he might hurt her when he caught up with her. Did a guy abuse a woman you knew?”
“Years ago.” When I’d worked at Taylor & Squibb. The woman who had come up with the campaign for Poppi’s Spicy bite-sized Poppers was delicate and sweet. Her boyfriend had mistreated her for years, but she had kept quiet. When she showed up in the emergency room with a busted arm and jaw, she caved and came clean.
“Well, Melody is fine,” Dolly said. “She told me business was light so she’d gone for a stroll. P.S., given your, um, concern, I did a quick assessment. I didn’t see any signs of abuse. Not even the telltale bruises from someone pinching her arms.” Reassuringly, she petted my shoulder. “My college roommate was abused, as well.”
“I don’t know why I was worried. I barely know the woman.”
“Because you are female and you care. In my humble opinion, I think Sean is madly in love with her and wishes he could put her in a bubble.” She hoisted her staff of goods. “And now, lo, I must bid you leave and hawk my wares. Garlands! Garlands for sale. Prithee, who shall be my next taker?”
“Hey, everybody”—Tito raced up with two kebabs and clasped Bailey’s arm—“you’ve got to see this. Rhett, Jenna, follow me.”
He darted into a cut-through. We followed him out the other side to the railing. He pointed toward the beach, where klieg lights highlighted a man in a black troubadour costume who was kneeling on one knee, facing a young woman in a baby blue gown. A half dozen similarly aged women stood in a semicircle behind the girl in blue. A child in a Little Boy Blue costume, complete with a plumed hat, stood beside the man. He was holding a pillow. On top of the pillow—a jewel case.
“Tara-tara!” an angular man standing along the railing sang through a long antler-style horn. “Behold, the engagement!”
“That’s a Savernake horn,” Tito said. “It’s from the Middle Ages.”
“Or a replica,” Bailey joked.
“The decorative bands near the horn’s mouth are carved with creatures that include hawks, unicorns, and lions,” Tito added.
“Is this a put-on?” I asked.
Tito shook his head. “Nope. They’re really getting engaged. You can sign up to get engaged or renew your vows at the admission booth.”
“Aw. How romantic.” Bailey wrapped her arm around her fiancé, his town crier bell still clutched in her hand.
“Let’s do it, babe.” Tito thrust the kebabs at Rhett. “Hold these, will you? Eat them if you must. I’ll go fill out the paperwork. There’s an opening in an hour.”
Bailey batted his shoulder. “Stop.”
“I mean it.” Tito took her free hand in his. “I love you so much. I want to renew our vows.”
“We haven’t said our vows yet, dufus. We aren’t married. Speaking of which, I met with Nick Baldini today. We went over the menus, and I took photos of the venue.” She pulled her cell phone from her silk clutch.
“Put that away,” I said. “It’s bad luck to have it out.”
Bailey scoffed. “Get out of here. Bad luck?”
“You’re the one who was worried about vibes.” I wiggled my fingers.
She gazed at the cell phone screen. “I’m over that. I—” Her mouth pulled down in a frown. “Speak of the devil, I missed a message from Nick.” She entered her password and pressed the Phone icon. She listened to her message and tears sprang to her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Bailey shoved her cell phone at me and pressed Play.
“Bailey? Bail—” It was Nick. He sounded panicked. The time stamp showed the message came in about an hour ago.
I clicked Redial. Nick’s voice mail engaged. Calmly, he asked the caller to leave a message.
“Something has happened,” Bailey
said, snatching her phone from me. “I’m sure of it.”
“What’s going on?” Rhett asked.
I recapped the cryptic message.
“Did you hear something else, Jenna?” Bailey asked. “It sounded like Nick was struggling with someone.”
“I’m not sure. I heard a bird caw. In the background.”
“I heard that, too.” Bailey nodded. “It had to be Alan’s crow. We’ve got to get over there.”
“Hold it,” Rhett said. “Why?”
“Nick and his brother had a fight earlier,” Bailey said. “What if Alan hurt Nick this time, and Nick needs help?”
“C’mon, babe.” Tito opened his hands. “Aren’t you overreacting?”
“No!” Bailey shouted.
The vibes premonition was definitely fueling her worry. Mine, too.
Minutes later, all of us piled into Rhett’s Ford F-250. I took the passenger seat. Bailey and Tito scrambled into the Super Cab’s rear seat. As we drove, I reflected on how calm Rhett and Tito were acting. I hoped they were right. Maybe Nick had called Bailey, but Alan showed up so Nick ended the call mid-stream. Brothers fight, he’d said. Nick needed to have it out with Alan one more time. That was all. Nothing to be alarmed about.
However, when we arrived at Nick’s house and I saw the front door was wide open, my stomach flip-flopped.
Bailey bolted out of the truck. “Tito and I are going in.”
“We are?” His voice cracked.
“Nick might need our help.” She tore into the house.
“Wait!” I called.
“Better to forge ahead as a group,” Tito said and hurried after her.
I darted past him into the foyer. The lights were on in the kitchen but nowhere else. I gripped Bailey by the wrist. “Hold up. You don’t know if—”
Something went clack. I snapped to attention.
“That was the ice maker,” Bailey hissed and wriggled free. She rushed to the kitchen but paused in the archway and gasped. “Nick!” She charged forward.
I trailed her and skidded on my heels when I saw Nick lying facedown, motionless on the floor, his head in the direction of the computer, his feet toward the door leading to the verandah. Blood oozed from the back of Nick’s head. I shoved a fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. Tears pressed at the corners of my eyes.
Tito and Rhett entered the kitchen and moaned.
Bailey bent and clasped Nick’s wrist. “He’s dead.” She peeped over her shoulder at us. “Alan must have killed him.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I warned.
“You heard them earlier. Nick yelled, ‘Over my dead body.’ I’ll bet Alan inherits everything. Look at this place. He’ll be wealthy beyond his dreams, and Nick—” She sucked back a sob. “Poor Nick.”
Tito lifted Bailey to her feet and hugged her. “Shh, mi amor.”
“The wedding,” she stammered.
“Shh, it’ll work out. Shh.”
The horror of the scene cut through me. I began to shiver. Rhett threw his arms around me. Gazing over his shoulder, I scanned the kitchen. I didn’t see anything that appeared out of the ordinary. The plates and glasses had been washed and put away. The bowl of vegetables, which now included more tomatoes, sat on the windowsill. The long-necked piece of pottery stood beside a companion piece—a vase with a rose. The computer was in sleep mode. Had Nick been researching something? If so, his back would have been toward the door. Did Alan—or whoever killed him—steal in and bash his head? Or had Nick spun away from his assailant? What weapon had been used? The gash looked irregular and gnarly.
“I’m fine,” I assured Rhett and pressed apart. I inched closer to the computer and reviewed the Post-it notes. One read: Fix it. Another read: Get MEDS. Nick had drawn a heart symbol beside that. Another note contained his to-do list: lunch, grocery store, pepper, p/u napkin rings, art supplies, dry cleaning. Normal stuff. He was supposed to rise tomorrow and do errands. Live a normal life. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I mopped them with my fingertips.
“We should call 911,” Rhett said.
“Forget 911,” I muttered. “I’m calling Cinnamon.” I have her on direct dial.
After I told her where I was and what had happened, she said, “You’ve got to be kidding. You found another dead body? Again?” She said she would arrive shortly and ended the call.
Bailey broke free from Tito and gripped my arm. “This must have been the bad vibes my mother was picking up.”
Another sob caught in my throat. “Why did Nick have to die? He was such a good guy.”
“Bad things happen to good guys.” Rhett ran his hand along my back to comfort me. Sad to say, his caress didn’t help.
I slogged to the verandah and gazed over the railing, scanning the dark horizon for Alan. Had he killed his brother? Was he lurking in the vineyard below?
Rhett, Bailey, and Tito followed me.
“Do you see Alan?” Bailey asked. “Or his bird?”
“No.”
“Hey.” Bailey lunged to pick up a cell phone lying on the tile beside the stone table, its face smashed to smithereens.
I said, “Don’t touch—”
Too late. She scooped it up and, despite its decimated condition, swiped the screen. “Darn. It won’t open.”
“No surprise,” I said.
Out of nowhere a black bird soared over our heads. It had to be Alan’s crow. Was Alan nearby? The bird cawed shrilly and dive-bombed us. We all ducked. It landed on the tile and pecked at something shiny lodged against the railing.
“What is it after?” I whispered.
The bird cut a quick look at us. I whipped my cell phone from my purse, opened the camera app, and snapped a photograph of whatever it was trying to retrieve with its beak. The flash went off. The crow squawked, clearly agitated by the distraction.
“That’s the sound I heard on the voice mail,” I blurted.
Bailey nodded. “Me, too.”
The bird nabbed its shiny reward and took to the sky, its jesses flapping like streamers.
• • •
Chief of Police Cinnamon Pritchett, clad in her brown-on-brown uniform, no hat, her bobbed haircut looking recently trimmed, banned us from the house but not from the premises. She wanted to question us after she was certain the investigation was properly under way. The four of us sat in the bed of Nick’s truck, Bailey softly bemoaning that her wedding was cursed. Tito whispered sweet nothings in Spanish, but no words could console her.
Around ten p.m. Cinnamon exited the house and tramped toward us. At times, she could be perky and approachable; when she was on the job, however, she was as sober as a judge. She was carrying something long and irregular, a towel wrapped around its handle.
I leaped from the truck and met her halfway. “Is that—”
“The murder weapon.”
It was a foot-shaped winepress like the one Nick had purchased.
“Hannah Storm is selling those at the fair,” I said and stiffened as I recalled Hannah standing at the juncture of the neighboring vineyards, spying on Nick. When I had acknowledged her, she’d dug the ground angrily with what I assumed was a shovel. What was her beef with Nick? “Where did you find it?”
“In a bush down the slope.”
Bailey joined us. “His brother must have thrown it there.”
Cinnamon regarded my grief-stricken friend. “Alan?”
“He killed him.” Bailey rehashed the afternoon conflict, what little we had heard.
Cinnamon repeated a segment. “Nick said, ‘Over my dead body’? That’s not much to go on.”
“A bird cawed when Nick telephoned me,” Bailey added. “We saw a bird on the verandah. A crow. Alan’s—”
“Nick called you?” Cinnamon asked, cutting her off.
Bailey pulled her cell phone from her silk clutch, swiped the screen, entered her pass code, and clicked the Phone icon. She handed it to Cinnamon. “Listen.”
The call was so short that Cinnamon re
played it twice. “Why did he call you?”
“Maybe it was accidental, you know, a pocket call.”
“Except he said your name.”
I said, “What if during the struggle, he pressed the number of the last person he’d dialed, and knowing it was Bailey, he cried for help.”
Cinnamon nodded. “Possibly.”
Bailey said, “Were your tech guys able to open Nick’s phone? The screen was smashed, but—”
Cinnamon sprinted to the front door and yelled, “Appleby! Bring me Baldini’s cell phone.”
Although Deputy Marlon Appleby was a massive guy and in his fifties, he jogged out the door like a teenager. “Here you go.” He thrust the smashed cell phone at his boss.
She didn’t take it. She wasn’t wearing Latex gloves like he was. “Did you find anything on it, or was it impossible to open?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” He whispered something in Cinnamon’s ear then scratched his moose-shaped jaw, which was all the more prominent because of his new buzz cut.
Cinnamon scrunched her nose with distaste. “Yeah, okay. Let’s hear it for fingerprints.”
Ugh. I shuddered. They must have needed to use Nick’s finger to decode the password.
“Show me the telephone records,” Cinnamon said.
Appleby swiped the screen, pressed a button or two, and displayed it to her.
“Huh,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The call records have been erased.”
Chapter 6
When Cinnamon released us, Rhett took me to the shop so I could fetch my VW—my aunt had brought Tigger home earlier. Afterward, he followed me to my place. My cottage isn’t big, but I am thankful that my aunt, who lives in the main house on the beachfront property, lets me live here. I love waking to the sound of surf. I adore going for a walk or run to clear the cobwebs. The cottage is one expansive room with a bay window, a red brick fireplace, a wall of books, and a niche for my art supplies. The bachelorette kitchen is barely big enough for one person to move around in, let alone two.
Pressing the Issue Page 6
