by Linda Wiken
“Okay. Did she have a boyfriend?”
“She hadn’t mentioned anyone new lately. But I had a hunch that she had started going out with Connor Mac again. You know about their past history?”
“Not much,” J.J. hedged, hoping to get another take on the story.
“Well, they were madly in love with each other at one point, just after college. We thought there’d be a wedding soon. She brought him over to meet us and everything. That was unusual. So, we were hoping. And then, all of a sudden it seemed, it was over and there was a new guy. At least that’s what I assumed. She didn’t bring this one around. So, how good a friend are you to Connor?”
“We’re part of the same dinner club, and we’re all a fairly close-knit bunch. None of us believe Connor could be a killer, and we’re really worried about him.” An idea hit.
“Did they talk about anything in particular that you remember? Maybe someplace special they would get away to?”
Yolande poured their tea before answering. It was far too strong for J.J.’s liking, but she took a sip.
“Oh, I can’t remember much of what they talked about. It was too long ago.” She looked to be pondering the question, though. “Would you like a cookie?”
Not what J.J. had been hoping she’d been pondering. Yolande walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a plastic container. She found a plate and put two cookies on it, sliding it in front of J.J.
“I just discovered the French Bakery on College Street. Their butter swirl cookies. Delicious. Please try one.”
Oh well. Maybe they were bonding.
“You’re right. Really delicious,” J.J. said, trying to swallow quickly so she could ask some more questions.
Yolande beat her to it. “I actually do remember they’d go away the occasional weekend to a cottage on North Hero Island that belonged to one of their friends.” She sat staring ahead as if reading something. “I think it was around the time Connor started that restaurant. The cottage belonged to his business partner. That’s it, but I can’t remember the guy’s name.”
Bingo. “That’s a real help. Did Miranda mention that she was seeing a married guy?”
Yolande looked surprised. “No, she didn’t, but I doubt she would tell me or even Gary. Wouldn’t you keep something like that private?” She chose another cookie and took a quick bite.
J.J. nodded. “Just one more question. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill her?”
Yolande chewed slowly and swallowed before answering. “No. No one. She wanted to be an investigative journalist, you know, so was always in practice mode. Always ready to stick her nose into everyone else’s business. Or so it seemed. She could be awfully determined and a pain in the butt but none of that leads to murder. Does it?”
• • •
Does it?
J.J. drove slowly around the winding streets leading out of the elegantly manicured area, thinking about what she’d just learned. One thing stood out. They had to find Connor’s former business partner. He could tell them where his cottage was and better still, whether that’s where Connor was at the moment. She hoped. But first she had to head to the office and get some work done.
Skye had been in and out, leaving a note on J.J.’s desk. Out to check on hotel sites.
Work, right. Event planning. That was her job. So on with it. J.J. needed to nail down a caterer. She had a feeling that the staff at Epicurial Expressions would not be too delighted to buy into this next gig after the intense grilling they’d undergone after Miranda’s murder.
That thought stopped her. She tried to quell the slight feeling of nausea that took her off guard every now and then. She could think about the murder when it was analytical and she was in sleuth mode, but at other times, like now, she felt some guilt that she’d set this all rolling by having Miranda as emcee. She knew it wasn’t her fault but she also knew that until the murderer was found, and also, until Connor was cleared, she wouldn’t feel totally at ease.
She shook her head and flipped on her computer, going directly to her contacts file and the caterer folder. She scrolled through the list she’d been accumulating since first moving to Half Moon Bay two years ago. Many were suggestions from friends and colleagues; others, she’d found online because of their specialties. She’d already chosen the theme for this event—Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, after the popular movie. A kid plays hooky for a day—what better for a high school reunion? She grinned, pleased with herself. Now, to find a caterer who could handle a Pac-Man cake and an ’80s candy buffet complete with E.T.’s Reese’s Pieces, Twizzlers, and Pop Rocks.
She had a short list of two by the time she closed the file. She also had a couple of people she could call for their thoughts about the choices. She spent the rest of the morning pricing decorations online and searching for a florist to do centerpieces. She’d go with her usual DJ.
Her smartphone was set to alert her when it was time to head to Cups ’n’ Roses for lunch. She felt today she might get lucky and spot the thief. Today she felt organized. It was a day for getting things done.
• • •
“Hi, Beth, how’s it going?” she asked eventually, even though she’d had to wait in a long lineup to place her order.
Beth ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “Busy, which is good. And equally good, but also bad, is the fact that I have an order for a dozen panini to be delivered to the law office just up the street for a one o’clock meeting.” She glanced at the clock. “I don’t know why I do these things to myself. Why not just say no?”
“Because that word is not in your vocabulary. Is there anything I can do to help, aside from the actual making of the food?”
Beth gave her a sharp glance. “Uh, no, but thanks. I think we’ve got it under control, and if I’m going to continue to do such things, I’ll just have to get better organized or hire more staff. Now, it’ll be a short wait for your lunch, I’m afraid.” She was already looking at the person behind J.J.
“No problem. I’ll just grab a latte while I wait so I blend in a bit.” She walked to the end of counter, where Abby was taking care of the coffee orders, and eyed the tables while she waited for her mug. She’d left her scarf at the table, also careful to keep an eye on it in case the thief branched out, and after getting her latte, settled back in her chair to wait.
She quickly checked for her “regulars” and mentally ticked them off her list. One person was missing, though, a guy in his twenties who she’d assumed was a student at a nearby campus, from the distressed look of the clothes he regularly wore. She pulled her smartphone out and made a note to follow up on him. How, she wasn’t sure.
She looked up when someone slid into the chair across from her. “Devine.”
He nodded. “I was pretty sure I’d find you at your noontime job.” He grinned. “Having any luck?”
“I don’t know. In fact, I feel like I don’t have a clue.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
What’s he up to?
“Is that why you’re here, to help me? Not to pump me?”
He nodded. “Maybe a little of both. You see, I have this theory that you didn’t go home and spend the rest of the weekend thinking about other things. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a new theory, at the very least, and possibly a location where Connor Mac is hiding, as the other possibility.”
How does he do that?
J.J. busied herself with the menu even though she’d already ordered. She needed some time to think about just how much to share. Nothing, was what came to mind. However, he had included her in the initial search on Saturday. She supposed she owed him something for that. Besides, Connor certainly wasn’t the station vandal, so he had to be doing this for other reasons. She looked at Devine, trying to gauge what might be behind this increased interest in Connor. If they were two separate cases, might he get two fees for solving both? Was this nothing more than a money grab? Her eyes narrowed. He sat seemingly oblivious to her perusal of him, his atte
ntion focused on the room.
Did it really matter what his motive was? No. She needed his help, and Connor needed her, even if he didn’t realize it.
“I found out that Connor and Miranda had on occasion spent some time at a cottage on North Hero Island. The place is owned by Connor’s former business partner.” That didn’t seem quite right now that she’d said it out loud. Hadn’t Connor told her they’d gone their separate ways? But he had said that at times he still ate at the restaurant he’d been a partner in. At least, she thought he’d said that. She’d have to check with Evan.
“What are you thinking?” Devine asked. “Your mind has taken off in some direction. Was it something you said?” He smiled.
She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to remember what Connor had said about the breakup of the partnership. I guess it doesn’t matter. We can get the location from the partner and then check it out.”
“We?”
“Yes. It is my tip.” She was prepared to fight for this one.
“Okay. What’s the guy’s name?”
“Oh no. After I finish here, we’ll both go to the restaurant and ask about the cottage, then head over to find it. Together.”
“You can get away?”
“I don’t have any appointments this afternoon and there’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Besides, I don’t know the former partner’s name, but I do know the restaurant.”
“Okay, then.” He stood abruptly. “Scuse me. I need my caffeine before we do any more plotting.”
She watched him work his way around the crowded tables. Crowded tables. And now, catering. Was Beth hurting for money? She’d obviously added more seating to the place. What came first, the crush of people or the need for more customers? Not that it mattered. She was and would continue to worry about Beth’s enterprise, though.
Devine returned several minutes later with a mug of coffee and a plate with two chocolate croissants. He slid it over to her. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks, but I’ve ordered lunch.” She glanced at the counter and saw the lineup kept getting longer rather than shorter. Who knew when she’d eat?
Devine bit into one of the croissants and made one of those faces signaling his absolute delight. J.J. eyed the other croissant, then looked around the room. Ignore that croissant. She was here on business, after all. One of these many patrons could be the thief. She glanced back at Devine, then quickly cut the remaining croissant in two, careful to scoop up the escaping chocolate, and took a bite. Heaven. Devine was grinning when she’d finished wiping the excess off her lips.
“Thanks,” she said. “That was yummy.”
“So, did you get any more details about the married cop?”
Hah—the croissant had been a way of softening her up. “No. Hennie is out sick, but I will keep trying. Now, do you see my thief?”
Devine took a sip of coffee and eyed the room over the rim of the mug. He set it back on the table and sank back in his chair. “Offhand, no. But it’s so crowded in here, anyone could probably walk off with anything and not be spotted.”
“No, don’t say that. If that’s the case, I’m pretty useless as Beth’s eyes in a crowd.”
Devine shrugged. “It’ll probably be a fluke if you do spot the person. Don’t give up, though, just don’t look too obvious about it. I think you’ve got a good plan, spending a reasonable amount of time here each day eating. You’ll blend in pretty soon, if you haven’t already, and that’s when the thief will get a bit careless.”
“I hope you’re right.” She glanced at the large clock, a round tin plate with a variety of cutlery attached, hanging on the wall behind the counter. “I guess we could get going. Beth doesn’t really need another lunch to make, not with this crowd. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
She hurriedly explained to Beth and met up with Devine outside the coffee shop. “Your car or mine?”
Devine gently took hold of her elbow and steered her along the sidewalk to where he’d parked his Acura. He opened the passenger door for her and hopped in behind the wheel. “Where to?”
“Minstrel Street. At the corner of Bay.”
“Harry’s Haven?” he asked, surprised.
“That’s the place. You’ve eaten there?”
“I’ve eaten in practically every place in this town.”
“You’re not a cook?”
He shook his head. “I enjoy cooking but never seem to get around to shopping. Usually it’s easier to stop in and eat while out and about.”
“You enjoy cooking.” Really?
“Don’t sound so surprised. Some people do .”
“You never said anything when I was talking about the dinner club.” And more important, my lack of skills.
“It never came up. However, I will someday cook you up a gourmet meal, just to prove it.” He pulled away from the curb, and on the drive, she entertained the idea of Devine cooking for her.
“It looks closed,” Devine said as he pulled up in front of Harry’s Haven. He parked in front and they walked up to the front door.
“The sign says he’s on holiday, back in another week.” J.J. looked at Devine. “Do you think this has anything to do with Connor’s being missing?”
“A bit too much of a coincidence. And I don’t usually trust those.”
“Well, he hasn’t even left a number or anything. I wonder who would know about his cottage. Someone must have contact information. What happens if the restaurant burns down or gets broken into?”
“The police would have a contact number on file for such instances.”
“Can you get it?”
“I can try. Did Connor mention any mutual friends they had?”
“I didn’t know until recently that he’d been a part of it.” J.J. was still looking for a note or something taped to a window somewhere that might have a lead. “What about the town clerk’s office or whatever government department would handle that? Can you get that information from them?”
“I can ask, and if that doesn’t work, I do have other skills,” he said with a totally deadpan face.
CHAPTER 20
Devine dropped J.J. back at her office, promising to let her know when he’d tracked down an address. She had to take him at face value on this, she realized. She also had to organize her life. What better time than now!
By life, she meant the three main components at this point: find the murderer; find a thief; and do her job. Possibly not in that order.
She first checked her e-mail to see if anything related to the Vermont Primary Teachers Association had come in. She should be getting some quotes around now. Plenty of spam—why couldn’t she control it?—some comments on a Facebook post—great, but nothing needing a quick reply or action.
Next, Beth’s thief. Maybe if she started with the motive, it would make finding the thief a lot easier. But what could that be? She made a list of the stolen items to date: one pair of salt and pepper shakers; one covered sugar bowl with sugar packets and substitutes inside; a stack of paper napkins; two place mats; one set of cutlery—was another due to disappear?; a small ceramic vase with flowers in it; one mug and one dish, both dirty. She looked at the list. It was almost like someone was stocking their own kitchen. Maybe a student needing a few basics for his or her room? It certainly looked like the perp was female, because she couldn’t imagine that a male would swipe the vase and flowers. Then she thought about Evan, and decided to retain an open mind. The unknown male was back on the suspect list.
But there really wasn’t a suspect list, and that’s what bugged her. There was no way she could come up with a plausible candidate based on what had been stolen. But if by any chance her theory was true, she could start watching for the next possible items to disappear. Like what? Cutlery? A plate? Could be. What else did Beth have out in view around the place? She tried to visualize the coffee shop but decided to leave that until lunch the next day and she’d fill in the gaps at that point.
And, if Beth could remember th
e dates those items had been stolen, J.J. could check the photos she’d taken and try to match the date with a face and maybe, just maybe, find a pattern.
It didn’t escape her that photos were playing a major role in both her sleuthing attempts. She wondered if being a food photographer would have been a more appropriate career for her. She could at least indulge her passion for looking at photos of food. Except for the fact that her knowledge of photography began with a Sony Cyber-shot and ended with her iPad. In other words, she’d have even less success with taking pictures than with cooking. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.
There was also another suspect list she’d been compiling. And if she was right, the killer was on it. She just hadn’t gotten all the facts to effectively narrow it to that one person. She realized that her list and the one the police had were probably totally different. Theirs had Connor at the top followed by whom? J.J. knew she must still be on it, but since she hadn’t had a visit from Hastings in several days, maybe the heat was off.
While the married cop, whatever his name, was at the top of her list, followed by Kathi Jones or maybe Hennie Ferguson. Jealousy was motive enough for Kathi, but she had no idea why Hennie would want Miranda dead. However, it still nagged at J.J. that Hennie had turned up at the casino night and hadn’t mentioned it when they were talking. Not even to say how horrifying to be on the boat at the same time the murder took place. I’d be saying that a lot if it were me. A thought struck her—did the police know about Hennie? They would have to, since they detained and questioned everyone that night. And if they didn’t, that meant she’d slipped off somehow or hidden, and that was solid proof of something sinister going on.
Megan Spicer was certainly on the list. She’d said she was over being dumped by Connor, but was it true? Especially since she’d then admitted that might not be so. And she was the one who had convinced J.J. into, in fact, setting up Miranda for death. J.J. shuddered at the thought. Now I’m being overly melodramatic. But, it was true.
Was that it? She looked closely at the list and shook her head. She wanted it to be the cop, someone she didn’t know. Was there anyone else?
