“Alibi?” a man asked between coughs. “Who needs an alibi, hon?”
Sean swooped past me, a local pharmacy bag in his hand. He stepped next to his wife as he pulled a box of allergy pills from the bag. “I asked a fellow vendor to oversee the shop for a few minutes so I could get these. I hope you don’t mind. I’m so stuffed up. It’s got to be the pollen.”
“Or a cold,” she said, looking relieved that he had come to her rescue.
“I don’t get colds.”
She rolled her eyes in jest. “Me, either.”
He chuckled. “Now, why aren’t you in the theater?” He unpacked the pills and popped one without water into his mouth. “And what’s this about an alibi?”
Melody frowned. “Jenna wants to know where I was when Nick Baldini was killed.”
“Why?” her husband asked.
Melody swung her gaze to me. If looks could kill. “I was walking on the beach. Satisfied?” She sucked back a sob and hurried away, grabbing a fistful of skirt to make haste.
Sean said, “She’s telling the truth. I was with her.” He shoved the pills back into the bag and tore after her. “Honey, wait up!”
Chapter 17
Disappointed that I hadn’t garnered more information from Melody but satisfied that her husband had verified her alibi, I sped back to the Cookbook Nook. When I arrived, the place was hopping. Dozens of people, mostly women, crowded the aisles. I searched for another twofer sale sign but didn’t see one.
I approached Tina, who had switched into a cheery all-yellow milkmaid outfit complete with white apron. “Don’t you look adorable?” I twirled a finger. “Turn around.”
She did. The skirt billowed. “Do you like it? I bought it at Dolly’s shop on Buena Vista during my coffee break. Half price. Did you know she sold medieval costumes?”
“Indeed, I did, but it’s a well-kept secret. The garlands and crafts are the lure. Speaking of lure”—I rounded the sales counter and started stuffing shopping bags with decorative tissue—“why are we jam-packed?”
“Ha! I knew you’d forget. The Cheese Lady is partnering up with Katie to share a cheese meat-pie recipe. She’s bringing all sorts of cheese samples.”
The Cheese Lady was none other than Charlene, who owned Say Cheese Shoppe, the charming store up the street.
“She opted not to have a stall at the fair since she’s a one-woman operation,” Tina added. “This is her way of participating. I can’t wait.” She rubbed her hands together. “I hear she’s bringing manchego, cheddar, and Gouda—my favorite.”
“All three of them?” I teased.
“Well, sure, but especially Gouda. I love the smoky flavor.”
I nodded in the direction of a lean woman with thick black-rimmed glasses. “Who’s that?”
“A saleswoman. She wants to show you cookbooks and fiction related to the Fourth of July.”
“Does she have an appointment?”
“Nope. Do you want me to ask her to come back?”
“Yes, please. I’ve got so much to do today.” We often ordered merchandise a month or two in advance, but I didn’t have an ounce of room in my brain. Thoughts of Nick’s murder were still running roughshod through it. Who had killed him? What was the motive that had pushed someone over the edge? A secret past, jealousy, or revenge? Or did Alan kill him to get control of the property—trust or no trust in place?
Tina saluted and said, “I’m on it.”
Minutes later, Charlene, who was as boxy and peach-toned as the cooler she carted in, bustled to the sales counter. “Long time no see.”
“Too long,” I said and gave her a hug.
“There you are!” Katie exited the breezeway wheeling in a preparation cart. “Let’s get cracking.”
“We’ll catch up another time, Charlene,” I said.
“We’d better,” she warned with a teasing shake of her finger.
Quickly, the two women gathered customers into an orderly circle around the preparation cart. Neither Tina nor Bailey had set out chairs. This was to be a quickie demonstration. Katie was already handing out preprinted recipes.
While the crowd quieted, I took the time to corner Bailey to tell her what I’d learned about Melody.
When I finished, she said, “Well, that’s that. They have alibis.”
“Unless one or the other is lying.”
“True. Married couples don’t have to testify against each other. Shoot.” She clasped my hand. “Come with me. We have to hash this out over a snack. I’m starved.”
“I’m not hungry, and we’re going to be slammed once the demonstration concludes.”
“Tina can handle the customers.” Bailey signaled Tina. “Can’t you?”
“You bet!” She offered a thumbs-up gesture.
Bailey steered me into the Nook Café.
The moment we entered, the aroma of warm maple syrup wafted toward me. My stomach grumbled. Guess I was lying about not being hungry.
After ordering each of us a cup of coffee and a plate of French toast, Bailey jutted her chin to the right. “Psst. Look who walked in.”
I peered over my shoulder. Cinnamon entered the café with Bucky Winston, a handsome fireman who ought to be the poster boy for firemen everywhere. Somewhere along the way, his parents had hit the DNA jackpot. With him in a yellow polo shirt and jeans and Cinnamon in her camp counselor–style police uniform, the duo looked like the All American couple.
“Get a load of the bauble on her hand,” Bailey said. “That’s an engagement ring if I’m not mistaken.”
Cinnamon and Bucky followed a waitress into the café.
As they neared our table, I wiggled my ring finger. “Congratulations, you two.”
Bailey said, “Yeah, congrats!”
“Thanks.” Cinnamon signaled her waitress that they would continue in a second and pulled to a stop. Her eyes glistened as luminously as her ring.
“Hi, Bailey . . . Jenna.” Bucky grinned. Even his teeth were DNA perfect.
If I didn’t already have a gorgeous boyfriend, I might have swooned.
“What a beautiful halo diamond,” I said to Cinnamon. “Have you set a date?”
Bucky hooted. “That’s the big question. Getting a yes out of her was the easy part.”
“Ha-ha.” Cinnamon elbowed him. “Next year sometime. My mother wouldn’t think of letting me do it any sooner.”
I pictured Pepper managing the event for her no-pushover, adult daughter, and imaginary fireworks—not the good kind—exploded in my mind.
Bailey said, “Hey, Chief, I never asked and I’m not sure you’d tell me, but did you ever find out who Nick might have telephoned besides me, seeing as his cell phone was smashed? I mean, that had to be significant, right? I think the killer shattered it to disguise his or her identity.”
Cinnamon raised an eyebrow. “Why would you assume that? It could have fallen on the floor and cracked in the scuffle.”
“Nah.” Bailey wagged a hand. “It was whacked on purpose. The brunt force was right in the center of the phone. Like someone jammed a heel into it.”
Bucky mock groaned. “Way to go, Bailey. Ruin our date. Now her wheels are turning.”
“They are not,” Cinnamon said. “Okay, maybe they are.” She regarded Bailey soberly. “Since you asked, my techie said he was able to retrieve a call list, and the last call before the one to you was made to my mother’s house. Apparently, Nick was checking up on the napkin rings he’d ordered for your wedding.”
“Your techie got that from a telephone number?” I asked.
Cinnamon’s nostrils flared. “No. I spoke with my mother’s tenants. Mrs. Beaufort told me about the message.”
“Your mom is making napkin rings for us?” Bailey said. “That’s nice.” She gave me a cautious look that meant she wasn’t so sure about that. She didn’t like anything that was beaded other than dangly earrings and maybe the topmost edge of the bodice of her wedding dress.
“Why did Nick call your moth
er’s house?” I asked. “Didn’t he know your mother would be at the fair at that time?”
“I would presume he didn’t want to bother her at work.” Cinnamon made a move to continue on.
“Wait,” I said. “Did you hear the message?”
Cinnamon knit her brow. “No, I didn’t hear it. Mrs. Beaufort erased it. What’s this about, you guys?”
I cocked my head. “What if Nick wasn’t calling your mother?”
“What are you insinuating?”
“I think Nick and Melody Beaufort had a past.”
Cinnamon sighed and nudged her fiancé. “Let’s go, Bucky.”
I leaped to my feet. “Hear me out. Please.”
Bailey joined me, giving me the support I needed. Quickly, I explained what I considered to be true.
“Can you prove it?” Cinnamon asked.
“No. Not yet.” Oops. Not yet implied I was investigating. Bad, Jenna.
Cinnamon arched her eyebrow. Needless to say, I did not add that I’d scared off Melody after asking her about her alibi, nor did I ask if Cinnamon had received my message about Alan and Hannah. Loose lips sink ships.
Bucky said, “How else would Mrs. Beaufort have known about the napkin rings, Jenna?”
“I don’t know. I—” I snapped my fingers. “Wait! Yes, I do.” I pictured the Post-it notes on Nick’s computer. “There was a memo in Nick’s kitchen. It read p-slash-u napkin rings. P-slash-u for pick up. What if Melody—”
“Chief, did you question your mother?” Bailey asked, cutting me off.
“I had no reason to.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between the four of us. Cinnamon stared at me. I squirmed under her searing gaze.
“The notes are still there,” she said. “I’ll check them out, but that won’t prove anything. Have you got something else to share? And yes, I got your voice mail.”
The sarcasm in her tone was unmistakable. I didn’t let it hinder me. “Did your mother tell you that she heard the Beauforts arguing about Nick? It had something to do with camping, and I think—”
“Uh, Jenna,” Bailey said. “We already agreed. They both have alibis for when Nick was killed.”
I swung my gaze between Cinnamon and Bailey. “Unless one of them is lying to cover for the other. Chief, your mother heard Melody tell Sean that she was going for a walk on the beach. But what if she didn’t go for a walk?”
“Sean said he went with her,” Bailey countered.
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“When did you ask either of them about an alibi?” Cinnamon’s glower was as good as my father’s.
My boss at Taylor & Squibb had been an ace glowerer, too. I didn’t squirm. “I was at the theater for the production of Omelette: Chef of Denmark when I ran into Melody. We got to talking. Sean came upon us as she was sharing her alibi with me.”
“Sharing?”
I nodded.
Cinnamon grunted. “Why would she think she needed one if she barely knew Nick?”
“Exactly my sentiments. Melody hurried off—”
“To get away from your prying questions?”
I matched her stare. “That’s when Sean added that he’d gone walking with her, but what if he was covering for her?”
A couple of patrons tried to squeeze past the four of us.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Why don’t we take this discussion outside?”
Cinnamon agreed and led the way.
We convened in the passageway between Beaders of Paradise and the café, and I replayed the spat Pepper had overheard between Melody and her husband. “Your mom said they were bickering about camping, but I think they might have been discussing Ren Camp.” I gazed at Bucky. “That’s Renaissance Camp, for the uninitiated.”
“Got it.”
“Nick was devoted to it,” I said to Cinnamon. “He went every year as a kid. As an adult, he taught camps each summer. There are tons of photographs on his Facebook site.”
Bailey added, “Jenna skimmed the photos.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Cinnamon said, her disdain evident. “Did you see Melody Beaufort among them?”
“No, but—”
“That’s it.” She held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough.”
“Let me finish,” I pleaded. “What if Nick called Melody at your mother’s house, and Sean caught them talking on the phone?”
“And he got jealous,” Bailey offered.
“Okay, you two,” Cinnamon said.
“Three,” Bucky chimed. “I’ve got to admit jealousy is a powerful motivator. I’ve been jealous a time or two, especially when you have a private conversation with that handsome hunk Old Jake.”
Cinnamon threw him a baleful look. Jake is well over seventy and as weathered as the day is long.
Bucky bussed her cheek, and her eyes instantly softened. Man, he was good at defusing her anger.
After a moment, Cinnamon said, “Can it, all of you. I’ll follow up on this. It’s obvious I won’t get any rest until I do.”
“How about speaking with your mother right now?” I hooked my thumb toward the beading shop.
“She’s not there,” Cinnamon said. “She’s at the fair. I’ll touch base with her after I eat. You”—she poked Bucky—“feed me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed. She nailed his chest with the crown of her ring. He winced.
Isn’t love grand? I mused as the two returned inside and proceeded to their table.
Bailey and I followed. We ate our meal while quietly rehashing our frustration. We wanted answers. We weren’t getting any.
By the time we made our way back to the shop, Charlene and the audience had left. For the remainder of the day, I straightened and dusted shelves or I organized and took stock in the storage room. Midafternoon, I took a breather and watched Tigger enjoying his new digs. I sure hoped my father was constructing a duplicate for my cottage. What a find!
At six p.m., Bailey sidled up to me and said, “Are you up for a road trip?”
“Where to?”
“Baldini Vineyards.”
I offered to drive, believing Tigger and I were accompanying her to a wedding-planning meeting with Alan.
Fifteen minutes later, as the sky grew dark and the first few stars came into view, we neared the property. When we reached a Y in the road, she directed me to drive southward, away from the main house.
“Why?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
At the juncture where Baldini Vineyards met Hurricane Vineyards, she cried, “Stop!” She plucked a pair of binoculars from my glove compartment and popped out of the passenger side. Why do I have binoculars? For the occasional whale sighting in the winter, of course.
Bailey had no intention of looking toward the ocean, however. She hightailed it through the Baldini Vineyards’ gate. Without sunshine highlighting the area, the rows of vines looked scraggly and bleak.
“Where are you going?” I chased after her. “Slow down.” Whatever she was up to, I wasn’t willing to let her go alone.
“What you said earlier about the Beauforts lying for each other resonated with me.”
“You won’t see them here.”
“I’m not concerned about them. I’m interested in Hannah and Alan.”
I caught up to her and was ecstatic that the ground was firm. At least I didn’t have to slog through pockets of mud. Medieval leather sandals are never good in mud.
“What if one of them lied to protect the other?” Bailey peered through the binoculars while fiddling with the lens adjuster.
“Alan didn’t lie. He was simply mistaken. He believed he’d seen . . . heard . . . Hannah in the field. It must have been someone else.” Like Dolly, I thought, the only viable suspect on my list without an alibi.
Bailey threw out an arm to block me. “Aha! As I suspected. Look up.” She thrust the binoculars at me. “Can you make out her house in the distance? Over the crest.�
��
I positioned the lenses over my eyes. “Yes.” Hannah’s home is more of a mini castle with a couple of turrets and multiple chimneys. We were looking at the side of the house; the front was out of view.
“Focus on the second-story window. Hannah said she was looking out from it when she spied Alan, remember?”
I gasped. “There’s only one window facing the vineyard, and it’s boarded up.”
“Right. Unless that window was covered over in the last two days—and it doesn’t look likely; even in this dim light, the wood looks weathered—then Hannah lied about seeing Alan.”
A bird cawed. I glimpsed overhead but couldn’t make out a thing in the gloom. Suddenly a creature dive-bombed us. It came within inches of taking out my nose. I flapped my hands. Bailey flailed her arms.
“Crow!” a man bellowed. It was Alan. Even in the dark I could make out his hat with the feather. “Crow. Perch!”
The bird continued to soar.
Alan charged toward us, arm extended. He drew to a sudden halt. “Who’s there? I see you.”
But we knew he couldn’t make out our faces. So we fled.
Chapter 18
After dropping Bailey at her car, I drove home with Tigger, my insides in a knot. I considered calling Cinnamon to tell her about Hannah’s lie but decided to sit on it. Why did she lie? She had to know her claim could be disproven. I needed an answer before I restored her to person-of-interest status.
Restless, I dabbled at the painting of my siblings and me for an hour. Tigger, equally agitated, chased a ball of yarn the entire time. For dinner, I ate a vegetable omelet. A short while later, I slipped into bed with my book. Unfortunately, I was too tired to read a page.
Sunday morning started with a bang followed by another bang and the roar of an engine. I dashed outside in my pajamas, Tigger at my heels.
Marlon Appleby’s Jeep was speeding down the driveway. His taillights glowed red for a split second before he made an abrupt left onto the main road. Aunt Vera, who was clad in her robe and slippers, was on the side of her driveway. Paper garbage lay on the pavement at her feet, including a pizza box and empty bags of potato chips. She was putting the trash into the trash can piece by piece and slamming the lid after each deposit.
Pressing the Issue Page 18
