I sat back. What were the mayor's motives for stopping something that surely would have made the town prosper? Yes, a massive project like a shipyard would have brought a great deal of pandemonium to the town, but surely, there were enough benefits to look past the risks.
I focused back on the picture and on the woman. The severe early century hairstyles, drab clothing and picture quality always made it hard to judge the age of people in old photos, especially when the image was printed in a newspaper. But it seemed the woman, Jane Price, was quite young. And while the name could have been a coincidence, I could only assume that she was related to Harvard Price.
I stood up and walked back to the shelf, deciding to thumb through for other interesting headlines. I needed to head back to the shop, but I allowed myself a few more minutes of sleuthing. I thumbed through the rest of 1902 and was almost pulled in twice to read about other interesting events in town, but I needed to stay focused. I'd come back one day when there was more time to browse through the articles.
I was halfway through the 1903 stack and just about to call it a day, when my eyes traveled past the words Port Danby treasurer. I pulled the paper free and carried it to the table. A small man in a vest sporting a long, curly moustache was grinning stiffly at the camera. He was holding a ledger under his arm. I read the short caption below the picture. "Fielding Smith has been appointed to the position of Port Danby treasurer. The position had gone unfilled for several months since Miss Jane Price, daughter of Harvard Price, moved unexpectedly out of town."
I wrote a few things down on my note card and pushed it back into my pocket. All in all, not a hugely successful day in the archives, but I now had a bit more information about the quick demise of the Hawksworth Shipyard. And since the source of the demise was none other than Mayor Harvard Price, it was easy to conclude that the Hawksworths and the Prices were not good friends after that. Was it possible money, power and revenge were the motives behind the murders, rather than passion, infidelity and jealousy?
Chapter 11
Ryder had gone home and I was shutting off lights to close up for the night when Hazel's face popped up in the window. Hazel and I had spent time together when I worked at Georgio's but most of that time was during office hours, like at lunch or on coffee break. But it seemed she was in need of a friend more than ever. Perhaps she was beginning to feel a little anxious about starting a new job. She'd been at Georgio's for her entire career.
I opened the door and she walked in before I could mention that I was locking up. Kingston chirped an irritated, throaty sound. His dinnertime had just been delayed.
The weather was dark and chilly due to a storm just off shore waiting to douse the town with cold rain, but Hazel was only wearing a sweater over her blouse and jeans. The sweater was a bright blue paisley knit, one that I was certain I'd seen in the window of the Mod Frock, a vintage clothing boutique in town.
Hazel seemed extra energetic as if she'd had a great deal of coffee. She held out her arms. "Don't you love it? I picked it up at this wonderful little shop at the end of Harbor Lane. It's called Mod Frock. Don't you just love that name?" she was practically singing her words. "Have you been there? Everything looks like it came from the sixties. I love that era. There hasn't been a decade like the sixties since . . . since ever!" She finished with a spirited laugh.
Perhaps it wasn't anxiety about the new job but pure delight.
Hazel finally noticed that most of the lights were out. "Oh, I'm sorry, I stopped you on your way out. I was just so thrilled with my new sweater, and since everyone else went out to dinner, I decided I'd come show you my purchase. I just love this town. No wonder you are so happy here. Is this crazy? I was thinking about coming back here next week just to have tea with Mr. Darcy. I do love Colin Firth."
Grr, that Elsie. What had she done?
"Oh, Hazel, I hate to break that bubble, but Colin Firth will not be here. It's just a cardboard cutout of the actor created from a still of him when he played Mr. Darcy."
Hazel's brows knitted together, and her spirits were noticeably dampened. "I feel so foolish. I seem to be doing silly things a lot lately. I must have misread the flyer."
"No, no you didn't. And I've already lectured my neighbor about false advertising. I assure you, you aren't the first person to think he'd actually be here. And unfortunately for my friend, Elsie, I'm certain you won't be the last. But you are right. I was just on my way out. I need to get this crow home for his dinner or he'll start giving me the evil eye."
Hazel took a few discrete steps away from Kingston's perch in the window. "Too late, I think he's already doing it." She stopped. "How can you tell? He always looks kind of evil with those shiny black eyes."
"Trust me, when you've been around him long enough, you can tell the difference. I'm just going to grab my purse."
I walked back into the office to get my purse and keys.
"How much is the sage?" Hazel called to the back. "I'm in need of a good aura cleansing."
Hazel was picking up each of the twine wrapped bundles and smelling them. She crinkled her nose at one and held it up. "How much?"
"It's on the house."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. They are just trimmings from a sage plant." We walked out. Hazel screamed as Kingston swooped past us and landed on the top of my car. She was definitely wound a little tighter than usual.
"Sorry, I forgot to warn you to duck. Do you need a ride to Maple Hill or the hotel?"
"Nope, I borrowed the van. It's parked down by that wonderful boutique. I might just have to stop myself from going in there again. Otherwise, I'll blow my bank account on vintage clothes."
"I can give you a ride to the van."
"No, that's fine. The fresh air and walk will do me good."
A breeze whistled along Harbor Lane. I zipped up my coat. "It looks like rain tomorrow."
"That's what the weatherman said." Hazel rolled her eyes. "That means a delay in the work, and everyone will be grumpy while they sit around waiting for the rain to stop. And Jacob is already grumpy because of his cold."
"He's not feeling any better?"
She shook her head as she buttoned the sweater. "I guess I better get back to the van. It's colder than I thought out here. See you tomorrow, Lacey. Maybe we can do lunch or something before we leave."
"Absolutely."
Chapter 12
The local news weatherman had issued warnings of a downpour along the coastal towns, but other than a few minutes of heavy drops on the roof, it was mostly a fizzling drizzle. Even my windshield wipers were scoffing at the forecast as they chugged across mostly dry glass on my way down Myrtle Place. Still, I was without my feathered partner for the day. Kingston had taken one look out the front door and gone back to his warm, dry cage.
The sky remained dark with the threat of more precipitation, and it seemed we'd only see intermittent sun all day. But Ryder was wearing a sunshiney smile as we met at the front door of the shop. He was covered head to toe in rain gear, with a hooded yellow slicker pulled up over his head. His long wet bangs were plastered against his forehead.
"You look as if you went out on an early morning fishing expedition," I noted as we walked inside.
He gave his boots an extra rub on the outside mat before entering. "Not a fishing expedition, but I did catch some awesome rainbow pictures." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and we both started the ritual of un-layering from our winter gear. "I went down to Pickford Beach this morning to take pictures and test out the waterproof claim on my new phone. You'd be surprised how many people are out there on the sand during a storm snapping pictures."
"How on earth did you get a rainbow picture? The sky is so heavy with clouds."
"For a few seconds, the sky opened up and filled with light. The perfect conditions for a rainbow. The window of opportunity was short though. But I think I got some good shots." Ryder was about to show me his pictures when our first customer of the day walked
through the door. It was Mayor Price.
My ever astute assistant, Ryder, knowing that I was not a fan of the man, stepped forward to help him. I subtly took hold of Ryder's arm to stop him. "I'll help Mayor Price," I said with forced enthusiasm. "If you don't mind, there are a few boxes in the back that need unpacking."
Ryder was rightfully confused, but he nodded and headed to the back room. Yesterday's journey to the past provided more questions than answers. I was anxious to know a little more about Mayor Price's long lost relative, Jane Price. It seemed she had left the treasurer's position rather abruptly. I hoped the mayor would have some insight into his family's story. I also hoped he'd consider telling me about it. I held out much less hope for the latter. Almost from the moment I'd arrived in town, Mayor Price had made no effort to hide his dislike of me. He seemed to consider it highly suspicious that a woman would walk away from a lucrative career in the city to open a flower shop in a small town. I was annoyed and hurt at first, but I had since come to grips with the fact that he just didn't care for me. It was also why I had no problem asking him a few personal questions. It wasn't like we had a friendship to protect.
I could always count on several givens when I met face to face with Mayor Price. The first being that I could expect a grumpy expression on his round face. I could expect his face to darken some with irritation. And I could expect his fluffy moustache to be badly trimmed. It was always longer on one side or the other. This morning it was leaning to the left.
I put on my brightest smile. "How can I help you, Mayor Price? We have some beautiful Valentine's bouquets available." I steered him toward the window where the examples were displayed.
He glowered at the empty bird perch. I was suddenly thankful for this morning's rainstorm and my bird’s aversion to water.
"Did you finally get rid of that blasted menace of a bird?" he asked gruffly.
"Why, Mayor Price, that would be like asking me if I finally got rid of a beloved member of my family." My response caused his crooked moustache to rock back and forth over his straight line mouth.
"Wild animals are best left in the wild."
"Of course," I said working hard to hide the mocking in my tone. "Now which bouquet would you like to order?" I decided to skip Ryder's cute explanation of each arrangement. Somehow, Mayor Price didn't seem the type who would find humor in it.
"My wife likes lilies. Roses make her sneeze."
"Then she won't like any of these. I'll arrange a beautiful bouquet of lilies." We walked back to the island so I could write up the order. I'd hoped for an opportunity or easy segue into a conversation about his late relatives, but our interaction was so stiff and awkward, it just didn't happen.
I pointed to the spinning carousel of cards. "A gift card is free with the bouquet, so if you'd like to pick one and fill it out, I'll include it in the flowers." I placed the box of colored pens we provided for card signing on the counter.
He pulled out the first card he saw on the rack and opened it to sign. It was obvious that unlike most of the townsfolk who came in to buy flowers, Mayor Price wanted no small talk. I was going to be sorely disappointed in myself if he walked out and I didn't at least inquire about Jane Price.
I finished writing up the order and pretended to be distracted by the pitter patter of rain on the sidewalk outside the store. "I guess they aren't going to be taking any pictures this morning up on Maple Hill. It seems I had something to do with the Georgio's company choosing our quaint town and Hawksworth Manor for a marketing location." I paused in case he wanted to take the time to thank me. I had no doubt that Jacob paid a nice price for access to the site. No thank you came. He continued to write on the card, which was surprising because he seemed very much the Happy Valentine's Day, Sincerely, Harlan type.
"I'm embarrassed to say I'm sort of obsessed with that old place," I continued in a frilly tone. "I've spent countless hours poring over hundred-year-old newspaper articles at the library." A bit of an over-exaggeration but it seemed appropriate for the setting, and it helped me set up my inquiry.
Mayor Price responded with a low grunt. He continued writing his sentiment. It seemed I was going to be the cause of Mrs. Price receiving a lengthy, romantic message.
I forged ahead. "In fact, I came across a very debonair picture of Mayor Harvard Price on the front page of the Chesterton Gazette."
I'd finally gotten his attention. His left leaning moustache shifted back and forth as he looked up at me. "Why were you looking up my great-grandfather?" Apparently, everything I did was worthy of his suspicion.
"I wasn't. I was looking for articles about the Hawksworth Manor, and I saw an interesting looking man sitting behind a desk with a young woman standing next to him holding the town's treasury ledger. I had no idea who the people were until I read the picture caption. Your family has quite a legacy here in Port Danby." My last comment seemed to soften his expression some.
His shoulders pushed back proudly. "A Price has been mayor of this town since 1900."
"And it seems they've held other positions of esteem as well. I noticed the woman in the picture was Jane Price, the town treasurer. She must have been your great aunt."
His face crinkled some at the mention of the name, and the earlier softening disappeared completely. His rocking horse moustache went into overdrive. "She was only my grandfather's half sister, and she left Port Danby at an early age."
"Why is that?"
He pushed the card abruptly toward me. "Should I pay now or when I pick it up?" he barked. It seemed I'd asked one question too many.
"That's up to you, Mayor Price."
"I'll pay when I pick it up." He walked out as if flames were chasing his heels.
Chapter 13
Lola walked into the store holding a manila folder in her hand. She paced the floor of the shop as I finished helping a customer with her order. As the customer asked a string of questions, Lola's impatient eye rolls got more dramatic. The woman was finally satisfied that she'd be able to properly care for her tray of herbs. She paid and Ryder came out from the backroom to carry the plants to her car.
Lola hadn't bothered to pull on a coat or grab an umbrella for her trip across the street. Her Rolling Stones t-shirt was spotted with raindrops. She hopped up on the stool, her usual perch when she visited. Her shoulders tensed some as Ryder stepped back into the shop, but she didn't turn back to say hello or acknowledge him. He took that as his cue to return to the back room.
Lola snuck a peek at him walking away.
I cleared my throat to assure her I'd caught the lingering look. She shrugged hard enough that drops of water fell from her hair onto the folder she'd placed down in front of her. She wiped the drops away. "Since my dear friend can't find the time to stop by my shop to look at some interesting pictures, I decided to brave the inclement weather and bring the pictures to her."
"I'm sorry, Lola. I forgot all about the pictures. The truth is, I've been so busy, and Hazel has dropped by numerous times to chat, taking up all my spare time."
"Yes, she sort of buzzes around like a bumble bee."
I laughed. "Actually, more like a hummingbird. I think she just misses having me to talk to. It's actually kind of nice to know at least one person missed me after I left Georgio's." I walked around to sit on the stool next to hers. "But there are no more customers, so you have my undivided attention."
"For a change," she quipped under her breath. She pulled the folder closer. "Anyhow, I was searching through those attic relics my parents picked up on the east coast, and I came across a box that had mostly useless stuff, a silver plated hair brush that had no bristles left, a few hand embroidered handkerchiefs that were too stained to save and a small stack of pictures that were tied up with a frayed red ribbon. Most of them were just of people out on a lawn playing croquet in front of a big brick house, but a few of them were very unusual."
Lola pulled a photo out of the folder. A woman wearing an enormous round skirt beneath a short bodice wit
h drop sleeves and an ornate yolk, all typical of the mid nineteenth century, stood on the front porch of a large brick house. Something about her face looked tight. She might have been upset or trying hard to hold back a smile. It was hard to tell.
"It's a very nice picture, Lola. Very clear, considering the age."
Lola lifted it higher. "Look closer. I didn't bring it just to show you a severe looking woman in a cumbersome dress. There's something unusual about the picture."
I adjusted my glasses and lifted the image closer.
"Look directly to her left. What do you see?"
My gaze shifted away from the woman, the focal point of the picture. The deep red brick of the facade looked slate gray in the photo. That dark color provided a stark background contrast for the milky white smear of haze right next to the woman. "I see something cloudy next to her. Maybe the photographer messed up on the development of the film?"
"That was my first guess, but stare at the haze a little longer. Block out the rest of the picture and look just at the milky smear on the porch."
I honed in on the fuzzy blur next to the woman. As I blotted out the surroundings and focused on the haze, a figure seemed to appear. A pair of tall dark boots stretched up to what looked like fawn colored breeches. My gaze traveled up along a waistcoat and cravat and stopped at a pair of intense dark eyes looking directly into mine. "Holy moly," I sucked in a sharp breath and dropped the picture.
"You see him too." Lola was slightly pale from my reaction. "I was almost hoping it was just my imagination, but if you see—"
Roses and Revenge Page 6
