Lola lifted a brow my direction. "It came to your attention, did it?" Lola had figured out why she was there. "I had a date with Randall Dayton on Thursday night."
Briggs wrote down a note. "What time did the date start and when did it end?"
Lola's eyes rolled up as if she had to give it some thought, which I knew was baloney because she had thought of little else except that date since Thursday. "Let's see. I met him at the carriage stop on Pickford Way at nine. He was about five minutes late. Then we took two rides. At nine-thirty we walked along the beach to look at the lights. Around ten o'clock, we took a stroll around the town square and along Culpepper Road just to talk and get to know each other. And there was one—" Lola paused and a pink blush rose in her cheeks.
Briggs lifted his gaze from his notes and seemed to figure out that the next word was kiss. He cleared his throat again. "Right. What happened after the walk?"
"We decided to go to Franki's and have pancakes. Franki wasn't there, of course, but Terrence, the night manager served us. I'm sure he'll remember."
Briggs finished writing. "That's all I need from you, Miss Button. Thank you for taking the time to come down here. Miss Pinkerton, if you have a few extra minutes, I have some information about the handkerchief."
"No problem."
Lola stood up. "I guess I'll head back to the store then."
"Is seven o'clock good for dinner?" I asked her before she walked away.
"I'll be there with my stretch waist mashed potato eating pants on," Lola said. "See you then."
"Mashed potato eating pants?" Briggs asked.
"You don't have a pair?" I scooted forward. "What happened with the handkerchief? Did you talk to Charlene Ruxley?"
"I did." He flipped back through his notebook. "She admitted that she did go see her ex-husband on the day of his murder. She said she had a highly personal matter to discuss with him, and she left there upset because he reacted very badly to their conversation. She wasn't being interrogated, so I couldn't pry further into the highly personal matter. But I will bring her in for a formal interview if necessary. Charlene did mention that she left him because she just wasn't in love with him. Chad was pretty broken up about it."
"Why did she lie about it when we talked to her at the campsite?"
"She was sure it would implicate her in the murder. To which I pointed out that the lying to avoid implication had moved her up on my person of interest list."
"How did she respond to that?"
"She cried. Fortunately, that woman seems to have an endless supply of those fancy handkerchiefs. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I'm any further along on this case. Anything come to you on the scents on the victim's sweater and the murder ribbon?"
"A murder ribbon. That could almost be classified as an oxymoron like pretty ugly and clearly confused. I actually walked down here with Lola to ask if I could have one more go at the sweater and ribbon. Are they still here or have you sent them off?"
"We only sent off small samples of each for the time being." Briggs stood up. "Follow me. It's a good idea for you to smell them again. Maybe the scent will be stronger inside the evidence room than outside on a cold pier soaked with fish odor."
I followed him down the short hallway. The evidence room was very 'small town', and it made me smile. There were two metal tables and a tall file cabinet. Briggs walked to a cabinet and unlocked it. He pulled out a large baggie with the sweater and a smaller baggie with the ribbon. He pulled out latex gloves from a box on top of the file cabinet and pulled them on.
He unzipped the baggies and laid the sweater on the table. I leaned down over the garment. I could still smell the onions from Chad Ruxley's last meal and the woodsy smell was there too. It was concentrated mostly around the neck of the sweater and the ribbon.
"It's definitely easier to discern the smells in this room. And I'm standing by the smell of lumber, like the Douglas Fir Dash was carrying onto his porch." I looked up at him. "And no, he's not your suspect. But, that reminds me—" I paused. "This has to do with Dash. Do you think you can handle me bringing up his name several times or should I relay this to Officer Chinmoor?"
His jaw twitched, showing he was irritated with me, but he knew I was right.
"No, Miss Pinkerton, I think I can handle it."
"Dash needs some extra work while the boat servicing business is slow. He interviewed with Randall Dayton for the Beacon Cliffs construction job. I believe he was offered the position, but he turned it down."
Briggs couldn't hold back a scoff. "Figures," he grumbled.
I tilted my head to make sure he was done with his side notes.
"Sorry, go ahead. Why did he turn it down?"
I thought back to the reasons Dash gave and suddenly wished I had something more concrete. "Dash said there was something about Dayton that he didn't like. He realized he didn't want to work for him."
I predicted the blank expression that followed, and I was silently kicking myself for bringing it up at all.
"I just wrote down Lola's statement that provides a solid alibi for Randall Dayton. And I don't think I can bring him in for questioning just because Vanhouten had a feeling."
"Argh, I knew I shouldn't have brought up his name or anything he said. I just thought it provided some character detail for a person of interest."
"Which, at this point, he's not." I hated when he talked in a curt, succinct manner.
There was a chilled silence in the room as he took the ribbon out from the bag. I leaned down to smell it. "It's a chemical smell, but I just don't know what it is. It's nothing I've ever smelled before."
Briggs pushed the evidence back into the baggies. "Miss Pinkerton, the history you brought up about Dayton's father and Chad Ruxley is important. I shouldn't have brushed it off so fast."
I didn't know how to respond. And I didn't really want to at the moment.
"While he seems to have a sound alibi, I'm going to head out to the site and talk to him. Can't hurt to ask him a few questions about his history with Ruxley."
"Do what you think is right. You're the detective." I was having a hard time getting past the hurt I was feeling.
The same chilly silence followed us out of the evidence room. He stopped by the hook in his office to grab his coat before walking me out.
"Hilda, I've got some more people to interview. I'll be back in a few hours."
I pushed out the gate and felt him right behind me.
"Miss Pinkerton."
I kept walking.
"Lacey, I'm sorry."
I stopped but didn't turn around. I wasn't sure I wanted to look at him.
"Oh my!" Hilda said, excitedly, causing me to turn around anyhow.
Briggs was standing just a foot away, looking way too appealing with his apologetic brown eyes.
"Look up," Hilda said. "Look where you two landed."
My eyes lifted up to the cluster of mistletoe. Briggs and I gazed at each other for a long moment. It seemed there was a small hurricane of emotions swirling through the air. I would be lying to myself if I thought that the idea of kissing Detective Briggs had never crossed my mind. But I was still feeling the sting of the last few minutes. Then there was the audience of one, a very anxious looking Hilda watching and waiting. Mistletoe or not, there was nothing right about the moment for a kiss.
"Good day, Detective Briggs."
"Good day, Miss Pinkerton," he said quietly.
Chapter 27
I left the police station thinking I'd come up with the comfort food dinner idea to brighten Lola's mood, only now I needed a little brightening myself. It was technically my fault for bringing up Dash, but I refused to feel bad for it. When the notion popped into my head, I thought it might add another layer of dimension to Randall Dayton's character. But I kept forgetting that he had an alibi that took him off the suspect list.
I needed some potatoes and cheese for our carbohydrate overload party and decided to stop in at the Corner Market before headi
ng back to the shop. Gigi and Tom Upton, the owners of the Corner Market, had decorated their picturesque, brightly painted shop with white icicle lights. A whimsical snowman scene had been hand painted on the front window. I always marveled at just how many goods they carried in their store. It was no bigger than my flower shop, but their incredible sense of organization and their quest to use every available inch of space had allowed them to stock everything from produce and toiletries to seasonal decorations. The front two tables in the center of the store were overflowing with perfect items for a great gift basket—cheeses, sausages, special syrups and hot sauces in small bottles.
Molly and Buddy, the Upton's dachshunds were decked out in matching green sweaters. Molly wagged her tail and greeted me as I walked past the counter.
A deep, unfamiliar voice rounded the snack food shelves. I didn't catch the words but since a feminine laugh followed, I could only assume it was something comical. I walked around the potato chip stand and had to work hard not to appear stunned. Randall Dayton, still dressed in work clothes and the yellow Dayton hat, was staring into the drink refrigerator with a blonde woman who was wearing slick black pants and a pair of ankle boots that were trimmed in fur. I'd never seen the woman before but then there were a lot of people in town for the flotilla. He glanced up briefly and seemed to recognize me, although we had only passed each other once in the diner just before the pie date.
I smiled politely and squeaked past them to the cheese section. I took a quick sniff as I passed by, but the only scent in the air was perfume. Not an expensive one but not a cheap one either, I quickly assessed before turning off my perfumer's nose. One thing I didn't smell was cigarette smoke. If Randall was a smoker like Lola had complained, then he washed well before work and he made sure not to light up on the job. It would also mean that he never smoked in his work truck because the stench of tobacco lingered on everything, even car seats.
They made their drink choices and walked up to the counter. I was incredibly relieved that Lola had gone back to the antique shop earlier. She would have been terribly distraught to see that the bum had already moved on. Maybe he figured his time was limited in town and he might as well make the best of it.
Gigi finished ringing them up. They walked out as I carried my block of cheddar and russet potatoes to the counter.
Gigi shook her head. "That man sure gets around."
"Who? The man with the yellow hat?"
"Yes."
"How so?" Tom and Gigi's market was right at the corner of Harbor Lane and Pickford Way, an intersection of the two most well-traveled streets in town. Everyone, both locals and tourists, frequented their market. The market's position gave them a portal into just about everything happening in town.
"He was in here just an hour earlier with—" Gigi paused and seemed to consider whether or not to divulge the name. I could only assume it was someone local.
"That's all right, Gigi. I understand."
Gigi smiled weakly. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Tom doesn't like it when I gossip. So many people walk through this shop that we see it all."
"That's because it's a wonderful shop."
Gigi beamed at the compliment. "Thank you." She rang me up and handed me the bag with my cheese and potatoes.
"Are you making scalloped potatoes or baked potatoes topped with butter and cheese?" she asked.
"Hmm, no, but something along those lines."
Gigi closed the register. "You can't go wrong with potatoes and cheese."
"You are so right. I'll see you later, Gigi." I leaned down and pet both dogs. "And I'll see you two later too."
"Are you going to watch the lights again tonight?" Gigi asked. "It's been bustling around here today with the news crews in town."
"I'll bet. Not sure if I'm going to be there or not. Say hi to Tom for me." I walked out of the store and was just about to turn north to head back to the shop when something caught my eye across the street.
Not wanting to be seen, I slipped around to stand on the far side of the market. The couple leaving Franki's Diner together knew that I was working with Detective Briggs on the murder case. I watched as Tim Ruxley and Charlene walked across the street and toward the pier. It was perfectly logical that two people who knew each other and who had mutually lost someone recently might meet for a meal. Just as it was perfectly logical for me to follow them. I was, after all, working on the case.
Chapter 28
With the news crews and boat owners getting ready for the evening light show, it was a simple task to follow Tim and Charlene unnoticed. I even managed to lose sight of them, once or twice, as they walked through the maze of activity on the pier. Charlene was wearing a bright blue wool coat and ivory white scarf, which made her easier to spot in the crowd than Tim Ruxley in his dark gray coat and black pants.
I thought I was directly behind them and that they were heading straight to the beach, when the flash of bright blue wool caught my eye. I stepped around one of the decorated pylons to see what had made them take a sharp left turn. Charlene and her brilliant blue coat were standing in front of a trestle style table that had been set up just past the seafood stand. I had to lean side to side to get a good glimpse of the table and the people around it. I instantly recognized Jonah and Kendra, two of the carolers. The other pair of singers had joined them as well. Adjacent to the table, they had set up a sign listing items for purchase. Along with their music CDs, they were selling candles, bells and embroidered handkerchiefs. It seemed someone had recently built the trestle table. I wasn't an expert on wood, but the table seemed to have the same hue and natural markings as the Douglas Fir lumber on Dash's new porch. Could that table have been the source of the woodsy smell on Chad's sweater?
As I pondered that possibility, the targets of my mission had continued on toward the beach. If the two had just stopped to have a meal and talk about old times or quite possibly Chad's burial arrangements, then it seemed odd that Charlene would have walked past her group to leave with her ex-brother-in-law.
I shoved my bag of food under my arm and pulled off my gloves as I scooted through the people milling about the pier. I managed to make it to the table where the caroling group was selling their wares.
Kendra was placing bells on the table. She recognized me right away. She was not in costume yet, and she wore a green knitted cap and matching scarf over a dark blue puffy parka. "Miss Pinkerton, right?"
"Yes. I see you have all your goods out for sale." I placed my free hand casually on the table as I browsed the candles and bells. "I'll have to remember to bring my wallet tonight."
"We'll be singing right here, in view of the cameras and reporters." She placed her hand aside her mouth in an attempt to speak privately. "It never hurts to have publicity. It gets us a lot more singing jobs."
"I would think so. And with your wonderful costumes and terrific voices, I'm sure you'll have too many job offers to fill." I looked around. "Where's Charlene, uh—" I snapped my fingers and realized that they were already too cold to get a good sound. "I know she wanted to be called by her maiden name."
"Carlton. Yes, she does . . . for now." Kendra's apple shaped cheeks were pink from the cold. I wasn't sure what her cryptic comment meant, but it was something that made her smile. "She's off somewhere," she added. "We're technically not open for business yet, but be sure to come by the table tonight."
"I'll do that." My hand brushed over the table. "I might just buy this nice trestle table," I laughed. "It would go beautifully on my patio."
"Isn't it wonderful? Jonah builds them himself. When he's not dressed in Victorian top hats and bellowing out holiday tunes, he's building furniture. In fact . . ." She leaned forward and back searching through the people for Jonah, who had wandered away before I reached the table. "I don't see him, but I'll tell him to bring along some of his business cards tonight."
"Perfect. Thanks."
Kendra motioned to my bare hand. "You should get yourself some gloves. Your ha
nds must be freezing."
"Yes, I have some at my shop. I'll see you tonight."
I walked toward Pickford Beach, hoping that Tim and Charlene hadn't gotten too far. I hadn't expected a lengthy conversation with Kendra to throw me off their scent, metaphorically speaking. And that thought reminded me of the wood scent. I lifted my hand to my face as I hurried down the steps to the sand. It was not easy to smell anything with the salty mist hovering over the beach, but there was a faint smell of wood. Douglas Fir, the same wood I'd smelled on the sweater and ribbon.
I struggled to hold onto my potatoes and cheese while pulling gloves onto my freezing cold fingers. There were plenty of people shuffling around the sand, waiting and watching as the news crews set up equipment. I scanned the beach for the bright blue coat but couldn't find it. As I swung back around to see if they had returned to the pier, the blue fabric flashed brightly against the gray mist.
Tim Ruxley was helping Charlene Ruxley into his inflatable boat. She laughed about something and lost her balance, making me feel a little better about my own lack of grace getting in and out of the thing. She sat down at the back of the boat. Ruxley pushed off and climbed inside.
Thin streams of smoke snaked up from the motor and got lost in the mist. But before they headed out to sea, Tim put his arm around her shoulders. Surprisingly, she turned to face him for a kiss. And it wasn't an in-law kind of kiss. It was a true blue, you-are-the-one kind of kiss.
I hurried back through the crowd and up along the pier. I needed to get back to the shop, but first, I would stop by the police station just to drop this nugget of information in Detective Briggs' lap. I was still miffed at the man, but it seemed as if I'd discovered some things that were important to his case. He was just lucky I didn't hold a grudge for long. (Unlike James Briggs and Dashwood Vanhouten.)
Chapter 29
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 12
