Hilda peered up over the counter as I walked into the station. I glanced up at the mistletoe and walked a wide circle around it to the counter.
"You're back," Hilda said. "Did you run into Detective Briggs on your way?"
"No, actually I came by way of Pickford Beach. So he's not in his office? I have a few things to tell him."
Hilda stood. She was wearing a coy smile. "To be honest, and don't tell him I told you this, he said he was going to the Coffee Hutch to get a hot coffee. But I think he was hoping to see you."
"Was he? About what?"
Her round shoulders came up closer to her ears. "I might be stuck behind a ridiculously tall counter talking through headphones, but I was once a darn good police woman. I can sense things like tension in the air that's thicker than that block of cheddar in your bag. And I think I only added to the tension by pointing out the mistletoe. I apologize for that. I was only having some fun, and since it seems like you two—" She stopped . . . thankfully. "Anyhow, I think Detective Briggs was feeling a little out of sorts about the whole thing. I think that's why he decided to buy some coffee. I imagine he was planning to stop in and see you too."
"Hilda, I'm afraid you're reading way too much into it all. We just had a little disagreement about some evidence. There is no need for you to apologize about the mistletoe, and I'm sorry if we both acted like grumpy Scrooges after you pointed it out. After all, you were just getting in the spirit of the season."
"No, no, I was being a busy body. Anyhow, I think if you head back to your flower shop, you'll meet up with Detective Briggs somewhere along the way."
"Thanks, Hilda. I'll keep a lookout for him."
I walked back to the sidewalk and headed toward Pink's Flowers. I spotted Briggs sipping his coffee as he walked into my shop. I was going to put the unpleasantness behind me. There was a case to solve, and I was sure this time I had something significant to report. On my walk back to Harbor Lane, a few notions had coasted through my head. Was it possible that the highly personal conversation Charlene had with her ex-husband had to do with her relationship with his brother, Tim? How long had they been seeing each other? Had their affair been the real reason she left Chad?
I reached the door. Both Ryder and Briggs turned away from their conversation as I walked inside. I could immediately sense Detective Briggs' apologetic mood.
"Miss Pinkerton," he said quickly and walked toward me. I put the cheese and potatoes on the island and went about the business of removing my coat, hat and gloves.
"I went looking for you at the station," I said before he could continue. "Hilda said you were buying a coffee."
He lifted his cup. "Yes. I needed something hot. Can't seem to warm my bones today. And I wanted to see you as well." He glanced across the shop to Ryder, who was stacking the shelves with new vases. He lowered his voice. "I owe you an apology for earlier. You were trying to impart some information to me, and I was—well, I was—"
"Not receptive?"
"At the very least. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted." I picked up my cheese. "I need to put this in the flower refrigerator. It's probably all right since the weather outside is basically like refrigeration, but—" I motioned for him to follow. "My earlier information didn't take the investigation very far, but I did find out something rather remarkable on my way out of the Corner Market."
Briggs held the door while I placed the block of cheese on the shelf between the red and the yellow roses. I closed the door and turned to him. "It seems that Charlene and Timothy Ruxley are an item."
"An item? You mean a couple?"
"Exactly. I saw them walking out of Franki's Diner together. I thought that seemed plausible, given their connection and all. But I decided to follow them."
"Naturally," he quipped.
"They walked all the way to Pickford Beach, which reminds me." I lifted my hand to his face. He stared at it in confusion. "Do you smell any wood on there? Douglas Fir, to be exact."
He lowered his nose to my palm. "No."
"I guess that makes sense. It's a very faint scent. When Tim and Charlene were making their way across the pier to their rendezvous on Tim's boat, the caroling group was setting up a table of goods and music CDs to sell tonight. The table was a newly built trestle table, crafted by Jonah, the unfriendly man we met at the campsite. And it was made with Douglas Fir, just like the wood on—" I stopped short of mentioning the porch, deciding we'd already circled that topic once too often.
Briggs pulled out his notebook and started writing. "What about the rendezvous?"
"I didn't stay long on the beach, but as they boated out to the Cloud Nine, they kissed."
Briggs looked up, apparently waiting for a little more detail.
"A kiss kiss. The kind you might get if you were standing under the mistletoe with a person you really, really liked."
The man would never turn red or show any strands of being flustered. He was far too calm and cool for that, but I was sure I saw the tell-tale twitch in his jaw, letting me know my words had affected him.
He wrote something down. I briefly wondered if he'd written down exactly what I said or if he'd transcribed it into police language. Then I briefly wondered just what that would be in regards to a kiss.
"I think Charlene went out to Chad's boat to let him know that she was with Tim, maybe even engaged to him and Chad got upset."
"That would also explain the argument you witnessed between the two brothers," he added.
"Exactly my thoughts."
"But why kill him?" Briggs asked. "There still isn't an obvious motive."
"I'm not sure." We walked back to the front of the shop. "You're right. If anything, if Chad Ruxley still had feelings for Charlene, then he would be the likely suspect and his brother Tim would be in cold storage at the morgue. Darn, and I thought I had something significant to give you."
"You did. A connection between Tim and Charlene adds another layer to the mystery and to the family relationship. Especially since neither of them mentioned it when I interviewed them. I just need to do some digging to find out what other secrets they have." He took another drink of coffee. "I'll let you get back to work. I think I need to make another trip out to the Cloud Nine to talk to Tim Ruxley."
Chapter 30
Kingston insisted on trying the noodles I'd cooked for the macaroni and cheese. He mostly played with the wet noodles and even got one stuck on the end of his talon, but he finished every last bit before I covered his cage for the night. Nevermore, on the other hand, was more interested in the sliver of grated cheese that had fallen to the floor as I dropped it into the thick, bubbling roux.
Lola knocked on the door. I gave the cheese sauce one last stir to mix in the cheese and pulled it off the flames to keep it from burning before hurrying to the door.
Lola held up a DVD in each hand, both were Pride and Prejudice. She stepped inside. "We've got two choices. Colin Firth, with his expressive black eye brows, posh accent and the infamous pond swim and wet shirt scene." She held up the second DVD. "Or, Mathew Macfadyen with his blue eyes, envious eyelashes and the infamous standing in the rain and nearly kissing scene."
"I'm good with either. They all end up with Elizabeth gloriously happy and the mistress of a marvelously big estate."
"Let's do Macfadyen. It's much shorter, and I have a feeling after loading up on carbs, I'm not going to be able to keep my eyes open for long."
"I thought we were going to walk down to the beach for the final light display. I told Elsie we'd walk by and pick her up at nine. I could text her and tell her we're skipping it."
"No, that's all right. We can go." Lola plodded to the couch and placed the movies on the coffee table. "With any luck, I'll run into you-know-who. Then I can give him a piece of my mind."
I'd decided almost immediately after seeing Randall with another woman, and especially after the tidbit of gossip Gigi threw my way, that I wouldn't mention the incident to Lola. I was sticking to that p
lan. With any luck, we would not cross paths with him tonight.
"Lola, the best thing to do would be to ignore him and pretend you don't even know who he is. If you confront him, he'll know he left an impact on you. And for men like that, it's best to let them think they were a mere blip in your life, so small and insignificant you never gave him another thought." I spoke fast to get out my thoughts before she stopped me with her own counterargument. But it turned out I didn't have to prattle on so quickly.
Lola hugged me. "You are wise beyond your years, my friend. And you are right." She walked past me. "I smell cheese sauce and Elsie's caramel cake."
"Yep, let me mix together the noodles and cheese and double check on the potatoes I've got boiling on the stove. Then I thought we could sip some hot tea and watch the lights from my porch while the casserole bakes."
"Sounds good to me. Especially since your neighbor, who is nicer to look at than any decorated boats, was working on his porch when I drove up."
I shook my head, even though nothing Lola said ever surprised me. I stuck a fork into a potato but it didn't come out quickly. I set the timer on my phone for five minutes. I stirred together the macaroni and cheese sauce and put it in the oven while Lola got the tea ready.
We didn't bother with coats, but we pulled on our scarves and beanies. Steaming tea cups in hand, we sat on the top step. The night was mostly clear, save for a few pillowy clouds that took turns drifting past the half moon. The tea tasted especially comforting with the glacial air spinning around our cheeks and noses. We couldn't see Dash's porch from where we sat, but we could hear him sanding wood.
"With all that's been going on," I said in between sips, "I forgot to tell you, I went out to Chesterton to look at old newspaper articles about the Hawksworth murders."
Lola pulled her beanie down lower on her head to keep out the cold. "Why?"
"I told you, I find the whole thing intriguing and mysterious."
"What's so mysterious about a man killing his family and himself in a fit of jealousy?"
My breath puffed out into the cold night air. "That's just it. I don't think Bertram was the killer. I think he was a victim, along with the rest of his family." I was about to continue on when I saw that Lola's attention had been diverted by my handsome neighbor. I silently asked myself just how we became friends when we had so little in common.
Dash waved to us. Lola elbowed me. "He's waving at you, Pink."
"He's waving at both of us." I waved back.
He picked up several pieces of lumber and then tromped back across his lawn, splashing through a sizeable puddle on his way back to the porch. The water seemed to just roll off his work boots.
"Hmm, waterproofing," I said thinking aloud like always. "I've been meaning to get that stuff to spray on my shoes."
"I have some at the shop. But I suggest you spray it outside. It smells kind of strong."
An alibi provided by none other than my friend, Lola, had taken Randall Dayton off the person of interest list, but my mind kept jumping back to him. Of all the people in the vicinity, Randall was the one with a clear cut motive. Chad Ruxley had caused him and his family a great deal of grief. The first time we had seen Randall, one of his crew members had chided him for not waterproofing his new work boots. When we saw him at the work site, he went right through a puddle, without a second thought. That seemed to indicate that at some point between the diner and the day we saw him at the construction trailer, he had sprayed his work boots.
I hopped up so fast, Lola spilled her tea. "Are your potatoes ready?" she asked.
"Soon. I just need to walk over and ask Dash something. Why don't you go inside and turn off the stove. I'll be right in to whip up the mashed potatoes."
"I see, a little private time with the dreamy neighbor."
I stopped at the bottom step and looked up at her. "Seriously, we need to find you a hobby or something to take your mind off men."
Lola stood up. "I think that's where mashed potatoes and caramel cake come in. And hurry back. I'm hungry."
"I'll be right there." I walked over to Dash's house.
He was just cleaning up his tools for the night. He heard me approach and spun around. "I apologize if I was too loud. I'm done for the night."
"No problem. Are you going down to the marina to watch the lights?"
"Nah, I'm meeting some friends in Mayfield."
"I won't keep you then. I just wanted to ask you about your boots."
He rocked his feet up and stared down at them. "I don't know if you'll like them. They are kind of heavy for scooting around a flower shop."
"Very funny. I noticed they aren't getting wet out here in the mosaic of puddles on your lawn. Did you spray them with something to make them waterproof?"
"Yes, I think it's called Water Guard. I have it right here with my tools. You can borrow it if you like. Spray it outside though. It's kind of strong."
"That's what I've heard. Do you mind if I spray a little into the air. I'd like to see what it smells like."
He stared at me in confusion. "You want to smell it?"
"It's for the case I'm working on with—" I stopped short of saying the name that I knew always put Dash in a darker mood. I sighed in frustration. It was terribly hard to know both men and not be able to make mention of the other in front of them. "It has to do with the murder case."
Dash disappeared behind a stack of wood and emerged with a green and white can. He shook it up and took off the lid. He squirted some of the mist into the air. I didn't need to take a deep breath or move closer to get a good whiff of it. It was certainly as strong as Lola and Dash had warned.
"The smell wears off once it's dry," Dash noted.
"That's good to know. Unfortunately, it's not the odor I was looking for. But thanks for your time. Have fun with your friends."
"Thanks. You too."
I headed back to my house. I was having no luck trying to chase down that chemical smell. I didn't even know if it would be helpful. It really felt like this murder case was taking me in circles.
Chapter 31
After filling ourselves with the starchiest meal in the history of meals, Lola and I had two choices. Either plunk down on the couch like sacks of potatoes and stare absently at a blue-eyed version of Mr. Darcy or walk down to Elsie's and to the town to try and regain our dignity by burning off the overload of calories. After some heavy-duty mind debates, we opted for the walk. It was a little too early in the evening to slip into a carbohydrate stupor.
Lola zipped up her coat and stared down at herself. "I could swear it's tighter than when I first walked in here tonight. Do you think I already gained weight from that dinner?"
"Only if your body can digest and absorb an entire meal just a half hour after it was consumed." I wrapped my scarf around my neck and positioned it so I could pull it up to cover my nose and mouth on the walk down Myrtle Place.
"Must you always be so scientific?" Lola asked.
"Well, I do have a science degree. And you asked." We stepped outside and a blast of cold air made us both scrunch up in our coats.
We headed down to the sidewalk. "Yes, but I expected the usual baloney filled good friend response of 'oh you, Lola, you always look as thin as a runway model. Even in that big clownish parka, even after eating ten thousand calories of potatoes and noodles'."
"I could still tell you that, but it might sound insincere now. And would you really ever want to be as thin as those runway models? They look like they could slip down a crack in the sidewalk and never be seen again. And that's after the camera adds the supposed ten pounds."
"True. They are bizarrely thin." We hurried our pace to Elsie's trying to avoid the biting cold breeze rushing along Myrtle Place. "We are still having that caramel cake later, right? Can't believe we were both too full for cake. Usually my special dessert stomach allows me to eat sweets no matter how stuffed my regular food stomach is."
I laughed. "As your scientific friend, I will point out
that animals with multiple stomachs usually spend their day grazing in fields and chewing cud. And, I'm fairly certain, they rarely eat dessert."
"What a waste of extra stomach."
We had a good laugh. I was glad that my plan to get Lola's mind off Randall had worked. She hadn't mentioned him all night, and I felt confident that the Dayton crisis had almost passed.
We turned the corner to Elsie's. We had texted her before leaving my house, and she was already waiting for us on the porch.
"No Lester?" I asked as Elsie met us on the sidewalk. "I thought he might join us."
"He says the cold makes his bones hurt. Besides, his plumber friend is helping him put a drain in for the new bath tub."
"We should buy him a big basket of bath salts and bubbles and sponges for his luxury bathroom," I said as we reached Harbor Lane.
"I think that's a great idea," Elsie said. I had brought it up as a joke, but apparently she was serious. And she knew her brother better than anyone.
"Fun. I think I have just the basket in my shop," Lola added.
There was a line of people waiting by the Mod Frock for a ride in the horse carriage. The clamor of voices and music wafting up from the coast indicated that there was a large crowd of people gathered for the flotilla. It seemed, for now, people had put the unpleasantness of an unsolved murder behind them to finish off what was meant to be a festive weekend.
Elsie and Lola were drawn toward the beach and the display of lights. At first the plan was to have the Sea Gem towed away from the other boats to be taken back to Ruxley's marina slip near his home town. But I'd heard through Ryder and a few other people that they had decided to move the boat in between the other boats. Some of the other boat owners had made a large wreath of lights. That was all that was lit on the Sea Gem as a tribute to its owner. It was obvious the other boat owners thought highly of Chad Ruxley. That reality made it much harder to think that someone out there hated him enough to knock him on the head and strangle him with holiday ribbon.
"Elsie and I are going to brave the cold wind and go down on the sand to see if we recognize any of the reporters," Lola said.
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 13
