by Holly Plum
With an air of perfect calm, Georgette said, “It was me. I sealed her fate when I allowed my grandmother’s ruby broach to be sold at auction.”
Detective Sugar raised one eyebrow incredulously and turned to the others for help. “What is she talking about?” he asked.
Edith rested her hands reassuringly on Georgette’s shoulders. “Georgette has this idea that her broach is cursed and brings misfortune to the one who owns it.” She said this in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, and Joy could tell she was trying hard not to sound insensitive.
“But no one would listen to me,” Georgette responded angrily, motioning to the body. “And look what happened!”
Detective Sugar raised a finger. He had the air of a student asking a professor a question. “If I understand this right,” he said, “this is all the fault of a family broach?"
Georgette nodded. “That’s exactly right.”
“And Raquel acquired the broach tonight?”
“No,” Georgette said impatiently. “A woman named Noelle Grant won the broach.”
“Ah.” There was a brief silence, at the end of which Detective Sugar said, “But if Noelle won—”
“The broach should never have been brought here in the first place,” Georgette insisted. A flush of anger shone in her cheeks and her eyes. “It belonged at home with me, but Florence insisted I sell it and look what happened.” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch as she said, for the third time, “Look what happened!”
Edith whispered a few words that Joy couldn’t hear and patted Georgette’s shoulders. Irritated, Georgette reached around and brushed them off. Sara Beth, meanwhile, stood looking on with an expression of pity.
“If any of you had a lick of sense,” Georgette went on, “you’d find Noelle. Her life is going to be in just as much danger for as long as she hangs onto that broach.”
Apparently sensing that he wasn’t going to learn anything useful from Georgette, Detective Sugar returned his notepad to his coat pocket. A police officer approached him and whispered something in the detective's ear. He nodded.
“A couple of quick questions before you go,” he said to Joy and Edith. “Where were the two of you during the auction?”
“I was at my table with cookies,” Joy replied.
“I was all over the place,” Edith admitted. “I monitored the participants, making sure everything was ship-shape.”
“And do either of you happen to own a letter opener?”
“Yes, that’s mine.” Edith’s face paled as she realized the implications of the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Because,” the detective said, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear them, “it appears that whoever killed Raquel Malley stabbed her with a letter opener. One with blood on it was just found on the third-floor balcony.”
He turned and began talking with other guests. The moment he was out of sight, Edith sank with a low moan into one of the outdoor chairs, her eyes wide with terror.
"I can't believe this," Edith whispered. "I brought a weapon to a killer."
CHAPTER FIVE
Between the heat of the sun and the shock of Detective Sugar’s parting words, Joy worried that Edith was going to have a stroke. For a long moment, she sat with sweat streaming down her face. Joy motioned for Sara Beth to fetch her some water from the kitchen.
“They’re going to think I killed her,” Edith said, half to herself. “The entire town is going to think I’m the one who stabbed her.”
Even given the seriousness of the situation, Joy couldn’t help smiling. It was just like Edith to be less concerned with going to prison than with what the rest of the town would think of her if she was found guilty.
Joy knelt down beside Edith and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “Edith, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks. They’ll analyze the prints on the letter opener and figure out who really killed her.”
Edith scoffed, her eyes goggling as though hardly able to believe what she was hearing. “You know whose prints they’re going to find?” She thumped her chest loudly. “Mine.” Sitting back, she added in a quieter voice, “Someone is trying to frame me. Who would do this?”
“If that was their goal, it’s not going to work.” Joy rose to her feet, a blazing look of resolve in her eyes. “The investigation will uncover the real murderer, and you’ll be cleared. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“It won’t do any good,” came Georgette’s voice. Edith looked startled, and Joy flinched. Georgette had been quiet for so long she'd almost forgotten Georgette was there. “The curse of the broach is destroying everyone.”
“Maybe,” Joy said politely. “But even a centuries-old curse is no much for some dogged investigative work and a couple of determined sleuths.”
By this Joy meant herself and Sara Beth; but it became clear to her on the following morning when Edith wandered into the bakery, nosing around, that Edith was attempting some detective work of her own.
It had been an unusually busy morning at Patty Cakes Bake Shop. Some of Joy's regular customers had come in asking for the sugar cookies she had sold at auction the day before. As they stood at the front counter with the overhead TV tuned to the local news, they asked Joy to recount the story of how she and Sara Beth had discovered Raquel’s body on the hotel patio. By the time Edith came in at around 10:00 am, looking slightly dazed, she had just finished explaining the tale for the fourth or fifth time.
“Good morning, Edith,” Joy said, with a slight smile.
Edith twitched, as though surprised to hear her own name called. “Oh, hello,” she said vaguely.
“Did you want anything?” Joy prompted her.
Edith looked puzzled by the question. Finally, she said, “Yes. I’ll have a buttery croissant and tea, please.”
But as Joy turned around to retrieve her order, she couldn’t shake the suspicion that Edith had not come to the bakery in search of breakfast.
Old Joe, who had been sitting at the bar eating a lemon pound cake, turned and appraised Edith with wide eyes.
“Were you there at the auction?” he asked. “Did you see what happened?”
“Not exactly,” Edith replied sadly. “I arrived just a few minutes too late.”
“Joy and Sara Beth told me all about that poor woman Georgette,” Old Joe went on. “She's mad. Been going on about that broach for years.”
“It's just a hot case of paranoia,” Sara Beth commented, coming around the counter with a pitcher of sweet tea, “Besides, Georgette didn’t see the murder. She was just the first person to find the body, bless her heart. I'm sure her broach had nothing to do with it.”
“No, she is just crazy," Old Joe replied, stroking his graying facial hair. “Sara Beth, didn’t you say she was raving about some ancient pirate’s curse?” He chuckled. “She watches too much TV.”
Before Sara Beth could answer, the phone in the back room rang, and she ran to answer it.
“I never said a thing about pirates just for the record," Joy added. "I just hope Georgette is okay after what she went through yesterday."
Edith gave a reluctant nod. “She’s slowly getting there. All last night at the Senior Center she was delirious and kept raving about how the entire town was going to be wiped away by a storm, leaving only the spires of the churches rising out of the water. It was very unsettling. She made herself sick with worry. I didn't sleep a wink. The nurses decided to transport her to some rehab facility so she could cope with her anxiety.”
“I can’t imagine she was too pleased about that,” Joy responded, sliding the croissant across the counter. "Are you sure you don't want a strong cup of coffee?"
"I'll take one of them," Old Joe answered.
“No thanks, dear,” Edith continued, reaching for a small packet of butter and a plastic bread knife. “Georgette went on and on about Noelle Grant. She kept asking me to go and check on her.’”
“She has finally lost her mind, if you ask m
e,” Old Joe muttered.
“No one asked you, Joe,” Edith snapped. “Anyway. I think I’m going to have to go over there and make sure Noelle is okay. I promised Georgette I would.”
Joy set down the plate she was holding with a heavy clank. “Edith, no,” she said. "You can’t just show up there by yourself.”
“I don’t see why not,” Edith said with a shrug.
Joy thought of several reasons, though she didn’t think it wise to voice them in front of the other customers. She had a sneaking suspicion that Edith had more on her mind than just a friendly visit to Noelle’s house. She was trying to find the murderer on her own, and, given that she wasn’t quick on her feet, placing herself in danger.
“Why don’t you meet me at home around six o'clock?” Joy asked, handing Edith her tea. “We’ll go to Noelle's together.”
“I think that would be best,” Old Joe chimed in.
But before Edith had a chance to scold him again, there came a loud noise from the back. Joy jumped, and Edith glanced up, startled. Sara Beth had just slammed the phone down. She stood in the kitchen panting, her face a brilliant shade of red.
“Sara Beth, are you okay?” Joy asked. Edith and Old Joe watched her quietly with curious expressions.
“You’re not going to believe who I just got off the phone with,” Sara Beth said. “That was Florence.”
“Florence?" Joy repeated.
“Apparently Landon Park is still on for that date,” she said in a breathless rush. “I thought that would be the end of it when Raquel died, but they decided the award should go to the next highest bidder. And I was the next highest bidder. I’m going on a date with Landon Park!” Sara Beth jumped up and down.
"Heaven, help us all," Old Joe commented as he took a sip of his coffee.
CHAPTER SIX
“Wow, congratulations,” Joy said, accidentally dropping a utensil on the floor with a loud clatter. The other customers gazed at Sara Beth with expressions ranging from concern to disbelief.
“This is just what you wanted,” Old Joe chortled in his wheezy voice. “I bet this was your plan all along to snag that son of a gun for a cheaper price."
Sara Beth rolled her eyes. “Oh, Joe,” she said, blushing, if possible, an even deeper shade of crimson.
"That's great, dear," Edith said. "But are you sure it's safe?"
Sara Beth looked confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. “We already know Landon couldn’t have been the killer. He was at the event the whole time. There are about a hundred witnesses.”
From the hurried and flustered manner in which she said this, Joy suspected she was trying to convince herself of Landon’s innocence as much as she was anyone else.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Edith replied.
"Do you believe in the curse, Edith?" Old Joe smirked as he studied her face.
Joy pursed her lips and shook her head firmly. “Edith, you need some sleep. You're not thinking straight.”
These words seemed to have a reassuring effect on Edith, who went back to finishing her croissant. Sara Beth, however, waved her arms in the air and shouted, “Isn’t anyone happy for me?”
“Thrilled,” Joy said.
“Ecstatic,” Old Joe chimed in.
“You, my dear,” Edith replied, “are going to have the time of your life. Joy is right. Don't you mind all this talk of curses and killers.”
***
Joy closed down the bakery after her afternoon rush and arrived home to her beachside bungalow with twenty minutes to spare. She had just enough time to feed Cheesecake, her fluffy, white cat, and turn on an episode of one of her favorite TV shows, Crime Brûlée. A knock came at the door.
“Edith, hello,” Joy greeted her, gesturing toward the living room. Cheesecake wandered up to her and sniffed her leg curiously, with the perplexed air that he reserved for strangers. Normally, Joy took Cheesecake to the Senior Center to see Edith. Edith hadn't been to Joy's house since Joy's mother Patty had passed away.
"Well, hello, Mr. Cheesecake," Edith cooed. "You're not used to seeing me outside of the Senior Center, are you?" Edith obligingly scratched Cheesecake behind the ears while he purred contentedly. They were quiet for a moment as they listened to the pounding of the waves against the shore outside Joy’s window. Edith closed her eyes as though being lulled into a trance.
Joy opened the refrigerator and brought out a plastic container full of Danishes. “I saved some of these and thought we might take them over there,” she said. “Though I don’t have the slightest idea where Noelle lives. She's new around here, right?”
“I know where she lives,” Edith responded.
Joy raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Have you been over there before?”
“No, but I stumbled across her home address this afternoon when I was looking through some old files. If we drive just a few miles over the speed limit, we can get there in ten minutes.”
“I see.” Joy had the suspicion that Edith had secretly been snooping through Florence’s paperwork from the charity auction.
They left Joy's bungalow and drove through the west end of town, where they found Noelle’s house nestled in the back of a leafy suburb. A stone birdbath stood in the front yard, though there was no water in it, and a pair of cozy slippers sat on the front porch.
Edith rang the doorbell, and after a long moment of waiting, Noelle opened the door looking perplexed. She was wearing a red-and-white striped bathrobe, and yellow curlers were in her hair.
“Edith?” Noelle asked warily. “What are you doing here?”
Before Edith could answer, Joy extended her hand. “I’m Joy Cooke,” she said. “I’m a friend of Edith’s. I own the bakery in town.”
"The Sugar Room?" Noelle guessed.
"The other bakery." Joy cleared her throat. "These are for you." Joy handed her the container of Danishes.
"How are you, dear?" Edith added.
“Why don’t the two of you come in?” Noelle said, turning around and dragging her feet into the house, which smelled strongly of cats. “There’s soda in the fridge, or I can mix you something a little stronger.”
“No thanks,” Joy replied, taking a seat on the couch. A TV at the front of the room was playing a fishing documentary. Noelle appeared to have muted the sound when Joy and Edith came to the door. A framed portrait of a cat hung on the other wall above a glass cabinet covered with scented candles.
Noelle came back into the room carrying two glasses of water, which she placed on the table next to a stack of musty old books.
“I just wanted to come check on you and make sure you were okay,” Edith said, swirling her glass so that the ice cubes clinked. “I know we’re all shell-shocked after what happened yesterday.”
“I know, and to think that up until that moment we were all having such a lovely time,” Noelle replied, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you friends with the woman who owned my ruby broach?”
Joy discerned a hint of suspicion in her voice as she asked this. Edith, however, seemed mostly oblivious as she said, “We know each other from the Senior Center. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but, well, when you spend all day in the same room with someone, you get to know them.”
Noelle sat up straight in her chair, her nostrils flaring. “Well, you can tell her I don’t believe in ghost stories, and I know for a fact that my broach isn’t cursed.”
An uncomfortable chill had fallen over the room. Both Edith and Joy sat there quietly, neither one wanting to be the first to respond.
"Georgette means well," Edith commented.
“Whatever bad luck Georgette has had in her life,” Noelle continued, “she brought on herself. That’s the only kind of luck there is in this world. It's every woman for herself out there.”
Joy opened her mouth to speak, but Noelle wasn’t finished. “And furthermore,” she said, pointing a freshly painted pink nail in Joy’s direction, “the woman who died wasn’t the one who won the ruby broach. Tha
t was me. The dead woman won a date with Landon Park. If anyone believes in curses, they should be looking at him.”
Joy stared at the coffee table hoping to avoid Noelle’s gaze. She noticed something peculiar. There were deep marks on the carpet, suggesting that she had recently moved the furniture.
“Have you been rearranging your living room?” Joy asked.
“It looks lovely, if so,” Edith added, gratefully seizing on any chance to change the subject.
Joy had hoped that this question might calm her down, but Noelle bristled and said sternly, “I’m ridding my life of a lot of unnecessary junk at the moment. That's all I'm going to say about it." Noelle didn’t bother to explain what she meant by this, and neither Edith nor Joy felt much inclined to ask.
Joy was relieved a moment later when Noelle showed them to the door. "It was nice meeting you."
“Thanks for stopping by and checking on me,” she said dryly.
“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Edith said again.
Noelle raised one hand in dismissal. “I’m fine,” she said, “just fine. You go and tell Georgette to stop making up crazy stories, and that’ll make my life a whole lot easier.”
Noelle closed the door, leaving Edith and Joy to gape at each other in the cooling twilight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Joy returned to the bakery the following morning, Sara Beth was still talking about her upcoming date with Landon Park.
“I know what happened at the auction was a horrible thing,” she said as she sailed through the kitchen, “but I feel like I’ve just won the lottery. I can't believe I'm going on a date with Florida's most eligible bachelor."
“And richest,” Joy added, who was vigorously whisking egg whites, sugar, and almond extract into a bowl to create a stiff meringue.
"Joy," Sara Beth scolded her.
"What?" She shrugged. "It's true."
“I still don’t know where we’re going either,” Sara Beth went on. “I just know I can’t go looking like this.” She glanced at the front of her blouse, which was covered in dry, powdery dough. “Do you mind if I take off early this afternoon to go shopping?”
