“Where?”
“On tonight’s menu,” I lied.
Oscar glanced at his watch. “Felicity, I have a few more questions, but I’ve got another appointment. Why don’t I call you and we’ll set a time to finish up? Afterward, I’d like you to review and approve what I’ve written. Okay? Good.” He bussed her on the cheek and rushed off.
I’ll bet that isn’t all he wants you to review, I thought, and another wave of giggles burbled out of me. Bad Mimi.
Felicity whirled on me, her gaze piercing. “Out with it. What’s putting you in stitches?”
I dragged a finger up and down. “In that jacket, you look like Parker. Put on a hat and you’d be his spitting image.”
She petted the lapel. “Oscar was sweet to lend it to me.”
“Admit it. You weren’t in the least cold.”
She jutted her chin. “I wasn’t flirting to get a good writeup, if that’s what you’re implying. I am devoted to my husband.”
“Of course you are.”
Her lip started to quiver. Moisture pooled in her eyes.
I sobered instantly and clasped her arm. “Felicity, what’s wrong?”
She glanced over her shoulder. The crowd in the tent had dispersed. The wind had died down. Only members of the stage crew were left. She turned back to me and whispered, “I’m not sure he is devoted to me.”
“Who, Parker?”
“Who else?”
“Do you think he’s having an affair?”
Her lower lip trembled, revealing her concern.
“With Renee?” I asked.
“Heavens, no. Ew, Mimi.” Felicity shied away from me. “She’s dead.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Besides, Renee loved her husband. She told me so.”
“Over tea?”
“Yes, over tea. Taiwanese oolong—her favorite.”
“I heard she had a crush on Donovan Coleman.”
“A teensy crush.” Felicity pinched two fingers together. “Nothing more. She knew the difference. She was a bright cookie.” She tried to pin the blue ribbon to her dress, but Oscar’s jacket kept getting in the way. “What would make you think Renee and Parker were an item?” Her eyes grew wide as realization dawned on her. “Dear me. You can’t think that I had anything to do with that poor woman’s death because I”—she sputtered—“was jealous.”
“No, of course not.” The notion had been gaining traction in my mind. “Um, who do you think Parker is involved with?”
“I don’t want to fan flames.”
If she didn’t, then why had she brought it up?
“Ow!” She had pricked herself with the pin.
“Let me help.”
She thrust the award at me and slipped off Oscar’s jacket. I attempted to weave the pin through the fabric near the shoulder.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded.
“I’m not staring. I’m concentrating.”
“You want to know what my alibi was that night, don’t you?”
“No.” I hadn’t even considered asking, but if she was offering …
“I told the sheriff already.”
“Why did he question you?” I asked, though I knew the reason. At least Tyson had divulged that much of his investigation.
“He was interviewing everyone involved with the festival—employees, fundraisers, and volunteers. I told him I was at the theater with my daughter. Philomena had rehearsal until eleven.” She grunted. “These high school productions are getting way out of hand. A year or two ago, they were three weeks long, but now they last six weeks.”
“You stick around and watch each rehearsal?”
“Watch? Ha! I’m busy from the moment I arrive. I do programs and costumes, or I organize treats and such. There’s so much to do. I don’t really mind. It’s a nice way to give back. Philomena appreciates it because”—she wove her fingers together—“we get mother–daughter bonding time. She’s my joy.”
I closed the pin. “Mission accomplished. Your ribbon looks great with that dress.”
“You don’t think it blends in too much?”
“The gold filigree makes it sparkle.”
“Thanks. Why, look at the time.” She glimpsed her jewel-studded watch. “I’ve got to leave, but first I must fetch my bakeware items and return this coat to Oscar before…” She didn’t finish before what. Before heading to rehearsal? No, it was too early for that. “I hope he’s still on the grounds. I’ll send you that muffin recipe. Ta!” She air-kissed me and hurried up the stairs to the stage. In a flash, she stuffed her things into a duffle and dashed down the rear stairs.
Odd, I thought. Was she afraid that if she hung around me any longer she might spill something vital? Like her husband’s alibi? Tyson hadn’t revealed what it was.
I exited the tent and spotted Jo huddling beneath an arbor of pink bougainvillea, away from the rest of the crowd. She was checking her cell phone. Two children trotted along the balcony above.
Jo peered upward. “Don’t break those flowerpots, kids!” she yelled.
Various-sized terra-cotta pots filled with seasonal flowers lined the balcony. They had been set there because, as a result of faulty planning when we had redone the inn, the spaces between the single-basket balusters were designed too wide. Little kids could fall through. Our architect had come up with the fix-it idea of potted plants and paid for them himself.
The children giggled.
Jo yelled, “I’m warning you.”
The children tore off.
I raced to her. “Got a sec?”
She tossed her cell phone in her tote bag. “Sure. All fires are doused for the moment. No more popping balloons. No more toppling trellises. Raymond and the staff have tamped down all the tent pegs. They even found some sandbags to anchor those that were iffy. What’s up?”
Another chorus of pounding feet rang out overhead.
Jo muttered, “Hooligans.”
“Kids having fun. Listen, I wanted to tell you that my earlier hunch was right.”
“What hunch?”
It dawned on me that I’d posed my theory about Parker Price having an affair with Renee to Tyson but not to Jo. I pressed on because Jo seemed intrigued, and she was a good sounding board. “I was with Felicity Price. She won the muffin contest. We got to talking, and she thinks her husband is having an affair, and I wondered whether he might have been seeing Renee or someone else in Camille’s neighborhood on the sly.”
“Parker? Mr. Upstanding Councilman? No way.”
“Virtuous people have affairs. And if he was, then he could have been the man with the limp outside Camille’s house.”
“Man with a limp?” Jo shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”
“Sorry.” I recapped Ursula Drake’s account to bring my pal up to speed: how Ursula had seen Rusty driving with his lights out in the neighborhood and, later, had seen a man limping near Camille’s house. “That guy could have been Rusty, faking a limp to implicate Parker. Or it could have been Parker, or—”
“Mimi, there are a lot of people who limp.”
“Granted, it’s a reach.”
“Tyson knows all this?”
I bobbed my head. “He’s spoken with Ursula, as well as Parker and Felicity, it turns out, but when I was talking to Felicity, I got the distinct feeling—”
“Hold it.” Jo touched my forearm. “Felicity said she suspected her husband is having an affair. Is means he couldn’t be fooling around with Renee Wells, since she’s, um”—Jo squirmed—“dead.”
“That’s what Felicity said.”
“Unless, of course, she’s trying to mislead you.”
“I wondered the same thing. I even imagined her dressing up like Parker so she could steal into Camille’s house and kill Renee out of jealousy, except she has an alibi.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me as I was pinning on her blue ribbon. She thought I was staring at her oddly,
so she blurted it out.”
“And…” Jo opened her hand, begging for more. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“She claimed she was at her daughter’s theater rehearsal.”
“Claimed. You don’t believe her?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. She offered it so readily.”
Jo swatted my arm. “You should tell Tyson everything.”
“He wants me to butt out. He says he has plenty of suspects.”
She coughed into her hand and uttered a word that sounded like bullpuckey. “He’s cranky, and yes”—she batted her eyelashes—“it’s all my fault.”
“What did you say to him at breakfast?”
She gaped. “You know we met for breakfast?”
“He stopped into the bistro. We chatted. About you. He wanted to know—”
Something rattled overhead.
“Kids, dang it!” Jo yelled.
I peeked out from beneath the arbor.
So did Jo. “Mimi, watch out!”
Chapter 16
A terra-cotta pot soared from above and missed me by inches.
Jo gripped my shoulders and yanked me to safety. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yes,” I stuttered as my heart hammered my chest. I dared to take another gander and gasped when I saw someone fleeing from the balcony. I retreated to the safety of the arbor, my teeth chattering.
“Did you see who did it?” Jo asked.
“I saw someone in khaki-colored clothing running away. The children that were up there before were dressed in colorful T-shirts.”
“Lots of people wear neutral colors.”
“Oscar’s jacket was tan.”
“Who’s Oscar?”
“A journalist. He lent his jacket to Felicity. When she and I parted, she was on her way to return it to him. What if she didn’t? What if she put it back on and was overhead, listening to us? Maybe she heard me say I didn’t believe her alibi.”
Footsteps pounded down the nearby staircase. When Rusty emerged, I gasped. Had he flung the pot over the railing at me? He was angry that I’d checked out his alibi at Chocolate. Maybe he thought he could silence me before I told Tyson. Maybe, I shivered, he was the stranger who’d been lurking outside my house the other night.
Rusty eyed the broken pottery and scattered dirt and flowers. “What happened?”
Jo pointed. “That flowerpot nearly creamed Mimi. I think someone threw it at her on purpose.”
“Let’s get you checked out, Mimi,” he said. “There’s a medical assistance tent near the Renoir Retreat.”
He reached for my hand. I shied away.
“I’m fine,” I murmured. And I was. My pulse had settled down. My toes were intact. No shards had scathed me. “I need to return to the bistro.”
“They can manage without you for a half hour,” Jo said. “I think a cup of tea in the library is in order to get your wits about you. Thanks, Rusty.” She clasped my hand and steered me into the inn.
First we stopped by the kitchen, where Jo threw together a tray of blood-orange sorbet, oolong tea, and bite-sized orange scones. She added a tub of marmalade and ushered me into the library, a room I adored. It was small but fashionable, adorned with an eclectic assortment of comfy reading chairs and lamps. Two walls were filled with books—romances, mysteries, and classics—that guests could read during their stay. We settled in at the walnut chess table. The pieces were set on their squares. Jo shuffled them to one side and set down our treats.
“So, truth,” she said. “Do you think the flowerpot incident was accidental?” She poured tea into white porcelain cups and divvied the scones, two for each of us, onto matching plates.
“The shards indicated the pot might have been small. Maybe someone accidentally bumped it and it fell through the balusters. If that’s the case, we should have Raymond attend to that.”
“Fatter pots. Check.” Jo slathered one of her mini scones with marmalade and popped it into her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “Why were you gawking at Rusty?”
“He was dressed in tan.”
“As are all the festival employees.”
“Right.” I picked up the king chess piece and rolled it between my fingers.
“Why would Rusty want to hurt you?”
I set the king with the other men. “I haven’t been particularly unbiased when it comes to him. I told him that I know he lied about his alibi for the night Renee was killed.”
“Mimi.” Jo clasped my hand. “How could you? If he’s dangerous—”
“A chef acts on the fly. A recipe goes wrong, a chef fixes it by improvising.”
“In the kitchen,” she chided. “Not out in the real world.”
I wrenched free of her grasp and bit into a scone. The flavor, enhanced by orange zest, popped in my mouth. I ate the rest and wrapped my hands around my teacup. The warmth soothed me.
Jo said, “Let’s refocus on Felicity. At the time of the incident, we were talking about her, not Rusty. Like you said, if she was on the balcony, she could have heard us.”
“But why throw a pot? She had to know if it hit me, it wouldn’t kill me.”
“Maybe she hoped to knock you out so you’d get amnesia.”
I gulped.
“You should check out her alibi,” Jo said.
“Oh, sure, and how do I do that?” In singsong fashion I said, “‘Gee, Felicity, where were you when a flowerpot careened in my direction?’ As if she’d answer.” I gave my pal the stink eye. “I’ll tell Tyson.”
“Except he wants you to butt out.” She smirked. “Speaking of him…” Jo spooned more sugar into her tea and stirred.
“Yeah, speaking of him, he’s head over heels for you. Why aren’t you ready to commit?”
“I’m not ready to be a stay-at-home mom.”
“He wouldn’t expect you to be.”
“How can you be sure? He’s an old-fashioned, by-the-book man. Look at him. He’s got that Buffalo Bill Cody beard”—she stroked her chin—“and he says, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and ‘No, siree.’”
“I’ve never heard him say, ‘No, siree.’ Not even once!”
“He does.” She crossed her heart and hoped to die.
I smacked the table. “Hey, I know, let’s start a daycare for the employees at the inn and bistro. That way any of the staff that need the service can avail themselves of it. And if and when you have kids, they’re in!”
Jo pushed her teacup away and propped her elbows on the table. “What about the cost of insurance?”
“It can’t be that much, can it?”
“Yes, it can.” She rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “Big bucks.”
“Tyson’s sister’s law firm provides daycare for employees.”
“Her firm is huge!”
“Research it. You’re the money wizard. Make it happen. I want the staff happy.” A bittersweet memory flitted through my mind. Bryan Baker would have said, Your people matter. Don’t skimp. Thinking of him and how he exuded a positive attitude perked me up. I popped the rest of my scone into my mouth and polished it off in seconds. “No matter what, I’ll bet Tyson will be hands-on with kids.”
Jo studied me. “Are you taking his side so he’ll be more open to your curious nature?”
“My what?”
“Your snooping.”
“Ooh, how I hate that word. That’s the word he uses. I don’t snoop.”
“You listen. You care,” she chimed. Yes, she’d heard my argument before.
I took a sip of tea and set my cup down with a clack. “All I’m saying is that I think the two of you are a good match. You’re”—I flicked my fingers like a wizard—“magic. Work it out. Thanks for the chat. Gotta go!”
On my way to the bistro, I risked wandering through the festival one last time, hoping to spy Felicity with Oscar’s jacket or at the very least looking guilty. I didn’t see her anywhere.
“Mimi, hold up!” a man called.
I pivoted and spotted Eli strollin
g toward me looking quite relaxed in a white linen shirt and slacks.
“Nice to see you again,” he said.
“You, too. How were you able to get another day off?”
“Actually, my boss wanted to see the festival. She’s thinking of holding one at our place. That’s her, over there.”
He gestured to a very tall brunette woman in mocha yoga pants and a spandex top. She was talking to Rusty and a woman in a sleek beige tennis outfit. The tennis player was holding the hand of a child in a tan Boy Scout outfit. I gawked. Had everyone gotten the brown-toned color memo today? Were there more Scouts around? Maybe one of them had sent the flowerpot sailing over the railing.
I redirected my attention to the mother. The way she was toying with her blonde ponytail made me think of Ursula Drake. I thought of how she had debunked Rusty’s alibi. Rusty caught sight of me and held up a finger as if asking me to stick around so he could join me shortly.
“I hear Willow is selling out of stock,” Eli said. “She’s very pleased.”
“I’ll bet she is.”
“Are you okay?” He lowered his head to peer into my eyes. “You seem distracted.”
“A few minutes ago, a flowerpot almost clocked me.”
“Whoa. Sorry to hear that. A flowerpot hit me once. In New York. It came from five stories above and knocked me unconscious. I had to have six stiches.” He tapped the side of his head. “Luckily my hair grew back.”
“Did someone hurl it at you?”
“No, a housekeeper was dusting.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you saying someone threw it at you on purpose? Geez. Who did you tick off?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the councilman’s wife.”
“Felicity Price?”
“Do you know her?”
Eli nodded. “She bought four of Willow’s pieces that first day. She’s here. I saw her in the souvenir tent buying T-shirts a few minutes ago.”
“Was she with anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Was she wearing a beige overcoat?”
“Animal or mineral?” Eli grinned.
“Huh?”
“Why the game of twenty questions?”
“Oh, of course.” I shrugged. “I guess I’m a little shaken.”
“She was wearing a blue dress with a blue-and-gold ribbon pinned to it and had a duffle bag strapped over her shoulder. Listen, I have to get back to my boss.” He squeezed my arm. “I meant what I said. Let’s get together and catch up.”
A Soufflé of Suspicion Page 17
