Dahlias and Death

by London Lovett

  Dad connected the dots quickly. Maybe I'd inherited my Sherlock genes from him. "He would have been holding the gun in his left hand," Dad said.

  "Yep, pretty elementary stuff. The original officer on the case made note of it on his report, saying he thought there should be further investigation. A week later, records show that he was hastily taken off the case and transferred to another precinct."

  "Interesting," Dad said. "So someone walked into the house and shot the family and then planted the weapon in the father's hand to make him the culprit."

  "Precisely," I said. "Only they didn't do their homework and they left behind a very large hole. So I've appointed myself the task of finding out who killed the Hawksworth family. I've found a few interesting tidbits here and there, some connected to Mayor Harvard Price, but nothing significant yet. I just don't have enough spare time to research it. But I've got time this morning. There's an old trunk I want to go through to look for clues."

  "Wonderful. We get to tour the inside of the house?" Mom asked.

  "No, it's chained off for public safety reasons. Although, I have been inside."

  Dad chuckled. "Of course you have."

  "It was a mistake. It's just a bunch of crumbling rooms and stairs. Definitely no longer up to code. I got stuck inside when the front door knob fell off as I tried to leave. It was a foggy morning and it got pitch dark inside. And you know how I feel about the dark."

  Mom fell short of an eye roll. She was always convinced my fear of the dark was exaggerated. But I knew it was very real. "Lacey, I don't understand where on earth you developed that terrible fear of the dark."

  Dad looked over at me. His face was getting pink from the sun and the hike. "Must have been all those times I locked you in dark closets," he joked.

  I laughed and took hold of his arm. "Dark or not, I was never afraid when you were around, Dad. You were always my gallant, brave knight."

  He kissed the top of my head. "And you were always my tom-boy princess."

  "The mush is getting thick around here," Mom quipped. She occasionally got jealous if I was lavishing too much praise and affection on Dad. "I've kept every nightlight you used in a box with some other keepsakes. We went through at least twenty."

  "Thanks, Mom. Be sure to bring up that embarrassing anecdote when we're with my friends. And yes, that is sarcasm," I added quickly in case she took the suggestion seriously. "Anyhow, we can walk around the grounds. And we can look inside the original gardener's shed. There are a few artifacts stored inside. Just prepare to be slightly disappointed by the display. It's rather meager and unremarkable. It's worth a browse though. It'll give me time to look through the old trunk."

  I was feeling better by the minute. Getting my mind off unhappy events was easier when I had a good mystery to solve.

  Chapter 16

  My parents looked tiny and out of place standing in front of the multi-story manor with its pointy turrets, gabled roofs and broken windows. The manor was slowly being eaten away by time and harsh coastal weather. Soon, the six foot chain link fence surrounding it would be the only thing left standing on the site.

  Mom pulled out her phone to take a picture. "It look like it's right out of a gothic novel. I'm half-expecting the ghost of Heathcliff to come floating out from one of those upstairs windows."

  "Now that would be interesting," Dad said.

  Mom leaned her head my direction. "He's been watching all of those silly ghost hunting shows. You know, the ones where they walk around in the dark and you can't tell what the heck is going on and then someone gasps dramatically and says 'did you hear that?' And I'm sitting on the couch next to your dad saying 'nope, didn't hear a thing but I'm getting good and seasick watching that camera lens dart from here to there'."

  Dad nodded. "Yep, that's exactly what she says. Every time. But she still sits down to watch it with me." He winked. "Where's this gardener's shed?"

  "Right this way, folks," I said in my best tour guide impersonation.

  I led my parents to the gardener's shed.

  "I guess you weren't kidding when you said it was a shed." Mom circled around the side to look at the small building.

  "Yes, no pretense on this tour, Miss." I pulled on the lock and it popped open.

  Dad was peering over my shoulder. "It seems your mom was right about all that spinach she fed you considering you can break open locks with just a tug."

  "Yes, well, that's a long story. Suffice it to say, the security system around this place is a bit lax. You coming, Mom?"

  "Wouldn't miss it."

  I propped the door open with a stone to allow in some natural light. Mom and Dad went right to the shelves to look at the old toys, dolls and leftover items from the home. I went straight to the trunk. It was still tucked under the shelf. It had most likely not been moved since I opened it. I knelt down on the dusty floor and reached beneath for the secret key compartment. The key clinkered to the floor. I pulled the trunk forward far enough to open the lid. The same century old dust hit me as I turned the key and opened the trunk.

  I turned my head to sneeze.

  "Bless you," Mom said. "You were right, dear. I've seen more interesting items in Lola's antique shop. I think I'll go and explore the grounds some more. This shed is too dingy and dark."

  "I'll go with you and make sure you don't fall in any giant gopher holes," Dad quipped.

  "Very chivalrous of you, Stan."

  "Well, if we lost you to a gopher hole, who would cook breakfast tomorrow?" Dad said as they walked out into the sunlight.

  With the shed to myself, I quickly pushed past the stack of decaying straw boaters and ascots and pulled out the leather bound account books. Following the money was the favorite mantra of any good investigator. I was certain the murder had something to do with the cancelled shipyard. There were two sets of account books. One set was dated 1885 to 1900. The next set was 1900 to 1906. That would take me to the year that Bertram Hawksworth died. I paged through the yellowed parchment. It was just columns of intricately handwritten numbers. People back then didn't have keyboards. Everything was done by hand, and they had much better writing as a result. The accountant, a Harold Moore, signed his name at the bottom of each page. Since I wasn't a bookkeeper, most of the columns meant nothing to me. It seemed as if Hawksworth had a lot of income but he also had a lot of money going out. Typical for a big, important businessman, I assumed.

  I thumbed through the book and noticed that in 1901 the handwriting changed to a lighter, more feminine looking script. I moved my eyes to the bottom of the page. Jane Price. I continued on. Jane Price, Mayor Harvard Price's daughter from a first marriage, had been Port Danby's treasurer for a short amount of time before leaving town. There didn't seem to be much information about why she left. It seemed, aside from being town treasurer, she was also an accountant for local businessmen, including Bertram Hawksworth.

  I flipped through some more pages and found different writing in 1902. The new accountant's signature was impossible to decipher, but it was not Jane Price. I got up on my knees to put the ledgers back inside and noticed a ribbon tied stack of letters on the bottom of the trunk. There were three letters all written in frilly script, a woman's handwriting. Each envelope was addressed to Bertram. No surname at all, just Bertram. Maybe the letters were written by Jill Hawksworth, the murdered wife.

  The wax seals had all been broken, so I decided it wouldn't be too terrible to sneak a look at one of them. I pulled the crisp, folded parchment from of the envelope. Something dropped out. I reached down and picked up a brittle, dried flower. I could tell by the shape that at one time, apparently a hundred years ago, it had been a sprig of lavender. The air tight trunk and surrounding parchment had preserved it.

  I moved the paper more toward the light to read the handwritten letter. It was dated April 1902.

  Dearest Teddy,

  A sprig of lavender from my garden. Let the fragrance remind you of that warm afternoon we spent on the hillside.
Your words are still my poetry. I could spend my entire day writing letters to you, telling you about the dreams I have. All of them with you at the center. My heart aches for you, Teddy.

  Forever yours, Button.

  A shadow fell over the room. I squinted up from the letter into the sunlight. "Your mom says the bugs are biting her, and I'm ready for lunch. How about you, kiddo?"

  "I'm still stuffed from pancakes, but I don't want Mom to suffer bug bites." I tucked the letter back into the ribbon and returned the letters to the trunk. "Let's head back down. I'll just be a second. I need to lock this up."

  "Sounds good." Dad shuffled through the grit covered pathway to look for Mom.

  I locked the trunk. My phone buzzed as I pushed the chest back under the shelf. I swept the floor with my foot to erase any tracks left behind. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was a text from Briggs. My chest felt heavy as I swept my thumb across to open the text.

  "I'm sorry, Lacey, but I've got a lot of work on my desk. I'll have to skip the fireworks show."

  Deciding my response wasn't even worth the effort of fighting the keyboard and autocorrect, I texted back the thumbs up icon.

  He sent a second text. "Can we talk later?"

  This time the response didn't take much thought. "Nope."

  I put my phone back in my pocket. The time up on the hill had lightened my mood, but his texts sank it again. I wasn't terribly surprised that he cancelled. My intuition had told me it was only a matter of time.

  Chapter 17

  If my parents hadn't been in town, I would have just skipped the fireworks show. But I'd been playing it cool so I could avoid any conversations with my mom about my cancelled date. I told her Detective Briggs had to work, a perfectly suitable excuse for someone in his line of business. Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with a perfectly suitable excuse for me to miss the celebration so I tagged along with them.

  Mom packed some sandwiches and I lent them a large blanket to sit on. We left well before dark so my mom could find 'just the right' spot. As Dad pointed out, the fireworks would be up in the sky, so just about any place would be the right spot.

  Dad parked his convertible along the town square. I noticed Briggs' work car was still sitting in front of the station. I tried to convince myself that maybe he did have to work. Only I wasn't buying it. It seemed I wasn't the best convincer.

  We climbed out of the car. Dad took a good twenty minutes trying to get the convertible top latched, while Mom lectured over his shoulder, letting him know what he was doing wrong. We were almost directly across from the garden club booth so I decided to head over and let Jenny know I could help out if she needed. It wasn't as if I had a date or anything.

  Even though Jenny and Molly had both decided not to wear the matching hats to the celebration, they were both wearing their respective, one of a kind hats. And it seemed they were none too happy about the other person's betrayal of trust. They were both standing in the club booth, red faced and talking animatedly. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was clear as day they were having a heated argument. It was hard to believe they'd be having such a turbulent fight about the hats. It seemed there was something else behind it. Jenny pointed to something behind her. Molly threw up her hands in response.

  My eyes swept across the lawn toward the center of activity and in the direction Jenny had pointed. A large brightly painted sign said 'Port Danby Pie Contest'. The pie contest. I'd nearly forgotten what Elsie had told me about Molly possibly cheating and Jenny confronting her about it. It seemed like a strange time and place to accuse someone of cheating, but it was highly probable that the pie contest was at the center of their argument.

  I contemplated walking up to the booth just to stop the dispute, but I wasn't much in the peacekeeping mood. It was only a pie contest. I was sure they'd get past their squabble quickly.

  I headed down to the beach where almost everyone was gathering to stake out their viewing spots. The last remnants of sunlight were being doused by the night sky. In an hour or so, explosive, brilliant fireworks would light up the sky and the ocean below, creating the perfect backdrop for a romantic evening. And I'd be sitting with Stanley and Peggy Pinkerton.

  I scanned the crowd and spotted Lola's red hair. Ryder was holding a large blanket and searching around for the best spot. Just like I'd spotted her through the crowd, Lola found me too. Good friend that she was, she knew from the look on my face that something was up. She said something to Ryder. He glanced my way, waved and then started spreading out their blanket. Lola made her way to me.

  She took hold of my hands and started in before I could utter a word. "I've got to tell you something. That pretty lady we saw in Corner Market—"

  I nodded before she could finish. "I know. She's Detective Briggs' ex-wife. I've named her Olivia the X."

  Lola's shoulders deflated, not so much from me spoiling her surprise ending but because she was a good friend. She could see I was upset. Lola crinkled her nose. "Did you meet her or something? Or worse? Did you see them together?"

  "Worse."

  A group of teens stomped between us, kicking up sand dust and laughing as they looked around for a place to sit. Lola motioned with her head. "Let's walk down by the water. It's too noisy up here."

  "No, Lola, I don't want to take you from your date. Go be with Ryder. I'll be fine. Just a little hitch in my life that will smooth out soon."

  "Right." She lifted her finger and drew an invisible air circle around my face. "But that's not what I'm seeing here. You listen to me whine and complain about men all the time. Let me be the sounding board for once."

  "If you're sure."

  "Yes. It'll help boost my self-esteem if I know I'm not the only one with guy problems."

  "Oh well, in that case, it seems I'll be doing you a favor.” I laughed as we headed toward the water. Dozens of boats had floated in and anchored in the waters off Pickford Beach to watch the display. Music, laughter and loud voices were rumbling from every direction.

  Lola and I slipped off our sandals to walk on the wet sand. Cold, frothy water lapped at our bare feet. Even though it was close to dark, a group of industrious kids were still working diligently on a massive sand castle.

  "Briggs and I had a nice picnic."

  "I left the auction but the rumors about the bidding war between Dash and Briggs were a hot topic for the rest of the night. Is it true Briggs paid a hundred bucks?"

  "Yes, I was stunned to say the least."

  "That just shows how much he likes you."

  I kicked at the water around my feet. "Or it shows how much he dislikes Dash."

  Lola stopped and looked at me. "Give yourself some credit, friend."

  In the distance, over her shoulder, I could see, smell and hear Burt Bower's fishing boat rumbling into the marina. A tail of smoke followed the rusty vessel as it waddled and gurgled toward shore.

  Lola looked back toward the water. "That man and his noise machine. Every summer we have to put up with that ridiculous fishing boat." She faced me again. "What happened after the picnic?"

  "Briggs offered to walk me back to the flower shop. We stopped in Franki's parking lot." My face warmed as I thought about that moment. "It seemed we were about to kiss. Then boom, Olivia the X, Briggs' beautiful ex-wife sashayed out of the shadows. Well, not the shadows so much as the neon lights above the diner. By the way, in case you're wondering, she was just as lovely under harsh neon lights."

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Lola started but was immediately interrupted by the deafening clamor of Burt's boat as he maneuvered it into the marina. A simultaneous round of hisses and boos shot up from the beach. Some were even waving their fists at the smoky boat as it sputtered to shore with all the delicacy and subtlety of a herd of raging, snorting bulls.

  There was no use for Lola to continue. Even though she was right in front of me, she would have had to shout for me to hear her. The pungent smell of burning oil made my eyes water. I covered my no
se to shield it from the onslaught of odor. I motioned with my head for us to go back up to the sand.

  We headed away from the water. Ryder was sitting on the blanket, looking anxious to get the evening started. I hugged Lola. "I'll let you get to your date," I said loudly in her ear. "I've got to find my parents. Have fun."

  After ten minutes of noise and smell, Burt got his boat moored. I scanned the crowd for two wayward looking parents but didn't see them. But I did find one other interesting scene as I surveyed the spectators. Dash was leaned against a light pole on the pier, casually engaged in conversation with none other than Olivia the X. It looked as if they knew each other, but I could have been reading the whole scene wrong. It seemed I'd been reading a lot of things wrong lately.

  Chapter 18

  Glowing red sparks frittered across the black sky. The display ended with a sonic boom style sound that echoed off the coastline. Pickford Lighthouse, one of my favorite parts of the town, looked stately and serious with the glittering patriotic backdrop.

  I leaned closer to my dad. "I wonder if our humble little lighthouse feels like Lady Liberty on these nights."

  Dad chortled. "I'll bet it does. You know, I'm sorry that you had to sit with us tonight instead of that nice detective."

  I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm not. I wouldn't change a thing about tonight, Dad."

  Another round of fireworks shot into the sky, lighting the beach up like daylight. Mom covered her ears to block out the sound. In between bursts of color, she managed to get in snippets of conversation.

  Mom looked over at me. "How come Elsie and Lester didn't come out to watch the display?"

  "Elsie told me the noise was too much. She prefers to watch it from her house," I said.

  "Lester is on call for the fire department.” Dad was happy to impart that detail.