"Just the lavender," Mary blurted before Katherine could comment.
"Let me just get an order pad and we can write this up." I circled around to the back side of the island. Kingston had squeezed himself onto the second shelf, conveniently next to his treat can. It seemed he had decided that the two loud talking customers might just steal off with his goodies.
As I rummaged around for a working pen, Katherine continued talking.
"My mother has lived here, in Port Danby, her entire life. She used to help run the post office."
I finally found a pen that actually had ink, and I carried it along with my order pad to the side they were standing on. As I settled my paper down on the island a thought occurred to me. Mary must have known everyone in town if she worked for the post office. "Mary, did you know Harvard Price, the mayor?"
Mary squinted her cloudy eyes as if that might help her hear better. "Who?"
"Mayor Price, Mom. Harvard Price."
Mary released her white knuckled grip for one second to wave her hand. It was bone white with the exception of numerous brown age spots. "He was always angry. Always grumpy." She scrunched up her face to mimic his grumpiness. It was adorable. "Never liked the man. His son, Fielding, took over the mayor's office in 1935. I voted for Harris Bookman. Never liked the Prices."
My astonishment at her memory must have shown.
"My mom still has an incredible memory for details, especially things that happened long ago. Not so much for everyday things. This morning she came out of her room and forgot to put on her skirt."
"No I didn't," Mary snapped. "And stop talking about me as if I'm not standing right here. Like I'm dead or something."
Katherine rolled her eyes. "Fine, Mom. I won't talk about you until you are actually dead."
Mary curled her fingers around the handles on the walker. "You might go before me." There was a glint of humor in her overcast eyes.
I pressed my fingers against my lips to stifle a smile.
Katherine sighed. "She has not lost her sense of humor either. Now, about the lilacs. We need ten good sized arrangements. We've rented round tables with a six foot diameter, if that helps you."
"Yes it does." I wrote everything down. My mind was still not on work. I had someone standing in my shop, who had actually known Harvard Price. There were too many questions to ask but one stood out the most.
"Mary, I wonder, you mentioned Fielding Price, Harvard's son. Do you happen to know anything about Jane Price, Harvard's daughter?"
Mary pursed her mouth in thought. "Jane Price?"
"Yes, I believe she was his daughter from a previous marriage." I was giddy with anticipation.
Right then, Kingston trotted back out from behind the counter, stealing Mary's attention away from the Jane Price question. Darn bird. He marched with crow-like purpose to the door, signaling he needed to take a trip around the neighborhood.
"Excuse me," I said to the two women who were completely mesmerized by the crow at the door.
I hurried across to the door and pushed it open. Kingston stepped out into the bright sunlight and turned toward Elsie's bakery. It was his morning routine, clean up crumbs in Elsie's outdoor seating area, fly across to sit on Lola's roof, hoping to get a glimpse of his sweetheart, then it was off to the town square to see what the other birds were up to. He never got close to any of them and preferred to stay at a distance, observing and, most likely, judging. He was like the snooty odd ball in high school who'd decided he was too good to hang with the regular kids. Although, occasionally I'd catch him staring dreamily at a group of crows hanging out on the lawn, and it always made me worry that he might someday decide to take off with his kin. But he always returned and he always seemed to be relieved to be back on his perch nibbling on hard boiled eggs. (Something told me the lack of hard boiled eggs in nature was the deal breaker.)
Katherine laughed briefly as I headed back to the order pad.
"My goodness, he is just like a dog."
I smiled. "Yes, he is," I agreed, then smirked to myself thinking how much Kingston would hate to be compared to a dog. He really considered himself to be a much higher species than the rest of us inhabiting his space.
I finished writing up the order and had nearly forgotten about my earlier enthusiasm to find out more about Jane Price. But Mary hadn't forgotten.
"You should talk to Marty Tate, the lighthouse keeper," Mary spoke up in a creaky, soft tone.
Katherine looked at her with confusion. "Why on earth would Lacey need to talk to Marty?"
"Jane Price." Mary tapped her walker with frustration. "She was asking about Jane Price. You sure are forgetful." Mary turned to me. "Used to be such a scatterbrain when she was a little girl. She'd walk out of the house with two different shoes or sometimes forget them altogether."
Katherine tilted her head at her mother. "Well then, isn't it funny how history repeats itself? Only I wasn't the one who walked out without my skirt this morning, was I?"
"Told you, I didn't forget it. I just didn't want to wear it." It was entertaining to watch them spar. I momentarily wondered if I was looking fifty years into the future at my mom and me but then I worked to steer the conversation back to Jane Price.
"Do you think Marty would know about Jane Price?" I asked Mary.
"No, he's too young," Mary said confidently, and that seemed to be the disappointing end to my quest.
Katherine sighed loudly. "Sorry about that. We won't take up any more of your time."
"I'll get right on the computer to order the lilacs." I pulled the order form off the tablet.
"Marty's mother, Elizabeth, she knew everyone," Mary spoke up sharply. "She was the town busy body but always friendly. She used to give me butter shortbread whenever I stopped by to play with Marty. Like I said, she knew everyone. Maybe Marty will know if she was friends with Jane Price."
I couldn't contain my excitement. For well over two years, I'd been plodding along, looking for tidbits that might help me unfold the mystery around the turn of the century murder of the entire Hawksworth family. It seemed I had my first arrow pointing me in the right direction. Port Danby was a small town, and if what Mary said was true, that Marty's mother Elizabeth knew everybody, then it was entirely possible she knew Jane Price. And with any luck, Marty would know something too. No one was quite sure of Marty's age, but it seemed Mary had played with him as a child. I could only assume he was just over a hundred like Mary. He wouldn't have been alive when Jane Price left town, but maybe he knew something. My trails had all run dry lately, so any tiny sliver of knowledge would be thrilling. My intuition coupled with the evidence I'd uncovered thus far had me theorizing that Jane Price was somehow mixed up with the murder. I just wasn't sure how.
I held the door as my two customers shuffled out complaining to each other about whether or not it was cold enough for a sweater or a coat. It was a good start to the week, a pumpkin spice coffee, a nice birthday order and a helpful suggestion in the Hawksworth murder case. The only thing that might make this week better was an actual murder case. Of course, I wasn't hoping someone would get killed, but I had to admit things had been a bit boring around town lately. A good investigation could spark things up.
Chapter 3
After the brisk walk to Franki's Diner, I pinched my cheeks for color before entering. The aroma of chili and onions mingled with the sweet tart fragrance of Franki's freshly baked handheld cinnamon apple pies. They were a delight, and the townsfolk went crazy for them when she trotted them out, fresh and bubbly from the oven, for exactly one month a year. I would venture to say, although never out loud since Elsie might hear, that Franki's handheld cinnamon apple treasures could easily compete with Elsie's baked goods. (And that was saying a lot. Only again, just not aloud.)
Briggs was sitting at our favorite table, a quiet booth with a nice view of the marina. He had removed his coat and loosened his tie. His longish hair was slightly wind rumpled. I paused for just a second to catch my breath
. The sight of him usually caused a slight dip in oxygen to my brain. It wasn't a swoon but it was pretty darn close. His bright smile, upon seeing me, nearly made it a full blown swoon. I took another steadying breath and walked toward him.
"I've already ordered. Tomato and grilled cheese, as requested." Briggs leaned back and rested his arm along the top of the vinyl seat. He was smiling at something on my face.
I immediately reached up and rubbed my chin. "Do I have soil on my face? I was potting herbs." I picked up the napkin and started wiping my skin. "Is it on my forehead?"
He shook his head and using the crook of his finger, motioned me to lean toward him over the table. I lowered the napkin and closed my eyes so he could wipe away the dirt. His warm mouth pressed against mine, then he sat back with a chuckle.
"Well, sir, you are a scoundrel. You could have just asked for a kiss. I probably would have obliged."
He laughed again. "Probably?"
"I wouldn't want to seem too eager," I said plainly as I dropped the napkin, crumpled as it was, on my lap.
"No?" he said with a low, teasing voice. His feet slid across and he sandwiched my shoe between his. "That's too bad because eager is my middle name when I see my beautiful assistant and her stunning nose sitting across from me."
I tossed a sugar packet at him. "I stand firmly behind my scoundrel comment. What has you so frolicsome today?"
He laughed again. "Frolicsome? Miss Pinkerton, I think I love you just because you use words like frolicsome. And, I'm sorry if I'm being a scoundrel." He sat back and picked up his glass of water. "It's been slow at work, so I guess I've had more time than usual to daydream about my favorite florist."
I could feel my cheeks darken with a blush, but there was no way to stop it. I sat forward with a teasing smile to match his. "First of all, no need to apologize for being a scoundrel. After all, I never said that was a bad thing, did I? And secondly, as long as I'm the aforementioned favorite florist, then daydream away. Just make sure to daydream about me with my curls somewhat tamed and a touch of mascara. I'd hate to look bad in your musings."
He reached across for my hand, which I gladly offered. His grip was always warm and strong and comforting. "You are always beautiful, whether it's in my imagination or sitting right across from me at Franki's Diner or sick on the couch with a bad cold. All right, that last flu you had did make you kind of look like Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer but in an adorable, vulnerable Bambi kind of way," he added quickly before I could protest.
"Tomato soup with grilled cheese," Franki said as she set a plate and bowl in front of me. "Your burger will be right up, James."
"Franki," I said, before she could turn away. She was wearing her signature beehive, and today she had taken the time to stick in a few resin fall leaf clips to spruce it up. "Could you pull aside one of your marvelous hand pies? I've been craving one all day."
"Sure thing, Lacey." She stepped forward and leaned closer to the table for a chat. "By the way, have you seen Kate's new guy?"
"I have but only in a phone picture. Much to my surprise, she stopped in the shop this morning. Although, I guess it wasn't too big of a surprise because Dash just happened to be there." I knew that statement would catch the ears of the man across from me, but that wasn't the purpose for me stating it. "Kate wanted to let me know he might be stopping in to buy her some roses. I've yet to see him in the flesh. Have you seen him? She mentioned he was wealthy, but she didn't have many specifics on what he did for a living."
A customer at the counter was waving at Franki. She gave the man a nod. "I'll be right with you." She turned back to our table. "They came in for lunch today. He might be rich but he's not a great tipper. But then that isn't unusual. It's always the people who drive up in the luxury SUV with a car filled with kids who leave the table looking as if it's been through a hurricane who you can count on to leave two dollars on a sixty dollar bill." She paused and straightened. "Woo, guess I needed to get that one off my chest. Anyhow, he seems nice. Very distinguished looking. A bit old for Kate but you know our Kate. She seems completely smitten. I just hope it doesn't end up in another heartbreak. She does seem to get attached quickly."
"Wasn't she engaged to the pharmacist?" Briggs asked.
Franki and I both snuffled off his question. "Please, the pharmacist was two engagements ago, James," I said.
"Guess I've been out of the loop." He reached across and took one of my fries.
"Well, let's hope she can keep this one," Franki said. "Seems like he's a nice catch. Apparently, he just purchased the big Colonial mansion overlooking the bay in Chesterton."
"The Palmer house?" Briggs sat up, slightly more interested now. "That place has been in probate for years. The family lives out of state. I'm surprised to hear they finally sold it."
Franki shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that was the place he mentioned. I'll get your burger and snag one of the apple pies for you." She winked at me before leaving.
"So Kate dropped by this morning?" Briggs asked, but I knew he wasn't interested in Kate's visit.
"Yes, she did." I blinked at him over my spoonful of hot tomato soup. "Dash brought me a pumpkin coffee. Kate must have seen him, so naturally, she sashayed into the shop." I blinked at him again to let him know the conversation around this particular topic had ended.
He got the message. "Right. Well, I'm still kind of surprised to hear that this new guy of Kate's was able to buy the Palmer house. So many people have been waiting for that place to go on the market."
"Maybe Lionel has connections," I suggested after swallowing a bite of sandwich.
"Lionel?" he asked.
"That's his name."
Franki returned with the burger. "Looks good, Franki. I'm starved."
Franki slipped me a brown paper bag with a light grease stain and the undeniable aroma of apples and cinnamon. "Here you go. Enjoy."
I grinned up at her. "Thanks, Franki, I plan to."
Chapter 4
It was far too beautiful of a day to head straight back to work, so I walked Briggs to the door of the police station, kissed him goodbye, then turned back to take a brisk stroll along the wharf and marina. My original goal, as stated to my boyfriend in parting, was to walk off the large lunch. The sandwich soup combo was always one of my favorites, but a creamy soup and a buttery sandwich were heavy comfort food. However, my plans to walk off a few calories were quickly doused when I could no longer wait to nibble on the hand pie. The warm, spicy scent of cinnamon coupled with the tangy bite of apple kept calling to me from the inside of the greasy brown bag.
I pulled it out just as I took my first step on the wharf. It seemed seagulls also had a keen sense of smell. I instantly became quite the adored rock star as I sauntered along with my flaky confection. There was no way not to shed a few crumbs of Franki's light, crispy pastry, so my feathered groupies slapped along behind me on rubbery orange feet, cleaning up every morsel.
The brisk breeze flowing in from the navy blue tide had the scent of romance and faraway places. The ocean was always such an extraordinary sight, endless blue glass trimmed with the occasional white frost and the poetic glide of a meandering sailboat. I closed my eyes and listened for the sound of the ocean but realized there was far too much people noise to find the rhythm. The gorgeous blue day, chilly as it was, had brought people out from houses and businesses to partake in some of the beach-y treats being offered along the wharf. A man carrying what appeared to be a sandwich consisting of two waffles and a piece of fried chicken stole my fickle crowd of long beaked fans away. Off they waddled, although something told me the waffles wouldn't be nearly as generous as the flaky crust on my pie.
I decided to head to the marina to take one quick tour of the lovely boats before heading back to work. Some of the boat owners were busy getting their vessels ready for the onslaught of winter, packing deck chairs into storage areas and covering permanent fixtures with canvas tarps. An unfamiliar good-sized luxury cruiser, big and elegant enou
gh that it might even be classified as a yacht (I wasn't well versed in boat categories) bobbed quietly in the second to last slip. It was cleverly named Funtasy. The owner seemed to be ignoring the chill hovering over the marina. She was stretched out on a lounge in skin tight, white jeans (even though Labor Day had long since passed). Her auburn hair was streaked with honey highlights, and her lips were slightly swollen, as if she had just had them plumped and filled. The snug zebra print sweater that hugged her curves, along with the oversized round turquoise blue sunglasses and the bright pink drink she sipped from a martini glass all reminded me of an old time movie star, as if Greta Garbo or Joan Crawford had just sailed into Port Danby for a day trip.
I hadn't meant to stare but apparently I'd been obvious. She waved hello before picking up her bright pink drink. I waved shyly back and hurried along. I left the marina and headed along the wharf and suddenly got the distinct feeling I was being watched. I spun around and found that I was indeed being watched, by my bird.
Kingston was perched on the back of one of the many benches on the wharf. He glanced nonchalantly off to the side as if he hadn't even noticed me pass by. He was an expert at playing aloof.
I walked back to him. "I guess there wasn't enough entertainment at the town square," I said to him, loudly enough that several people passing by glanced around to see who I might have been talking to. It was just me, a crazy lady talking to a crow. A few gasps followed as Kingston hopped onto my shoulder and settled in for an easy journey back to the shop.
"Oh my gosh, do you see that, Gary? That crow is sitting on the lady's shoulder," a woman said as we strolled past.
Kingston shifted sideways, using his talons to keep steady and making me thankful for the thickness of my coat. He wanted to catch his last glimpse of the beach before we left the wharf. For a brief period of time, Kingston had spent a lot of time sitting on the pylons of the pier and the rooftops of the wharf shops gazing longingly at the gulls on the beach. I was convinced he'd decided that the life of a seagull was far more grand than the life of a crow (with the exception of Kingston himself. He had it pretty sweet.) I thought he was trying to learn their ways so he could hang with them. After all, they spent a great deal of time scouring goodies from the pier and beach in between naps on the warm sand. It didn't take me too long to figure out that his obsession with the seagulls was not out of envy. It was not because the gulls led a more glamorous life. It was more due to the fact that they were sloppy eaters. All that time, I'd thought he was observing the gulls, trying to learn their habits, when it turned out he was just waiting to swoop in and pick up all the left behind crumbs. Occasionally, I gave my bird more credit than he deserved.
Lavender and Lies Page 2
