“You said you were hungry.”
“It can wait. Don’t you want to get the scoop on Hank and Ivy? C’mon.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“That’s why you love me.” She looped her hand around my elbow and steered me into the shop.
Whenever I walked into Great Threads, I felt like I’d entered another era. The shop had a nineteenth-century feel. All the shelving and cabinets were made of oak. The left wall of the shop was filled with wood-framed photographs of Hank with celebrities who’d traveled to Crystal Cove. A bicycle made for two stood next to the display alcove. The warm glow from a half dozen antique Tiffany lamps gave the store a homey feel.
“Need a boater?” Bailey flourished a hand. “Take your pick.”
The wall behind the antique sales counter held a variety of hats, including the kind of straw hats that members in a barbershop quartet would wear. Recently, they’d become quite popular with the younger crowd. The lyrics to the Peter Allen song “Everything Old Is New Again” cycled through my mind.
“Be right with you.” Hank was ringing up a purchase for an elderly gentleman.
I noticed there was one up-to-date item in the shop, a laptop computer. I spied a sales program that we used, known as Salesforce, on the screen. It was quite helpful in customer relationship management.
Bailey and I headed to a rack of women’s sunhats. I spotted the hat Hank thought would be perfect for me—Provence-style in nougat—and decided to try it on. It did look good. As Hank had promised, the color complimented my skin tone.
“How can I help you, ladies?” Hank joined us. “I told you that would look lovely on you, Jenna.”
“You were right.” I removed it and smoothed my hair.
“How’s business this week for you?” he asked. “I have to say, thanks to sunny skies, mine has been stellar. Everyone touring the tents on the boulevard needs a hat.”
“We’re doing quite well,” I said. “The library event was a hit.”
“Darian knows her stuff.” He peeked out the window and sighed. “What a shame about Ivy.”
“It’s tragic.”
“I see the young man is doing inventory at Dreamcatcher.”
“The business might go up for sale,” I said.
Bailey poked me in the ribs and hitched her head. Apparently, she wanted me to do the heavy lifting.
“Hank, the other night at the café . . .” I paused. How could I phrase it properly? “Pepper was worried that you were interested in Ivy.”
“And I assured her she needn’t have been.” He hesitated. “Honestly? I did get together with Ivy two weeks ago, but it wasn’t a date. She came to dinner at my place.”
Bailey said, “Sounds like a date.”
“Not a real date. She’d been working so hard. I can’t tell you how many nights I saw her poring over her books and eating from a carton of takeout food. Frankly, I think she was realizing how daunting running a business could be.”
Maybe the heart scare or the difficulty of learning about her wares wasn’t the reason Ivy had wanted to sell. Maybe she’d wanted to get out from under growing debt.
“I figured she might enjoy a home-cooked meal. I make a mean rack of lamb. It’s all about the herbs.” He adjusted a few hats on the racks. “Anyway, halfway through the meal, she got huffy. She confessed that she’d been hoping I’d ask her out, but she’d expected to go to a restaurant. She called me cheap.”
“Wow,” Bailey said. “That had to sting.”
“Nothing more than a flesh wound. To tell the truth”—he opened his hands—“I’ve been mocked many times in my life. For my business. For my looks—”
“Your looks?” I gawked.
“See this nose?” He offered a quick profile. “It’s taken a few hits. I was an amateur boxer during college. Some say my nose gives me character.”
“Did Ivy stick around that evening?” I asked.
“Nope. She skipped dessert and ran off posthaste. I did the dishes alone.” He scratched the back of his neck. “All these questions. You don’t think I had anything to do with Ivy’s death, do you? I’m not a suspect. I have no cause.”
No, he didn’t have a concrete motive as far as I could tell unless he, like Alastair, had loved Ivy from afar and her rebuke had sent him over the edge.
“She blew you off,” Bailey said, giving voice to my thought. Was pregnancy imbuing her with psychic abilities?
“As have many women,” Hank replied. “They’re all alive and well.”
“Ivy loved gossip,” Bailey continued.
“Yes, she did.”
“Maybe she knew a secret about you.”
“Me? Have a secret? Give me a break. My life is an open book.” Hank twirled a finger at Bailey’s face and winked. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you, young lady? That baby must be making you feisty.”
Bailey’s laugh held a sharp edge. I knew the sound. When we’d worked together at Taylor & Squibb, she had loved provoking upper management. What was it about Hank that she didn’t trust?
“So where were you that night?” Like a coquette, she batted her eyelashes repeatedly.
“Jenna put you up to this, didn’t she?” Hank grinned. “She’s the one who’s had great success at solving crimes.”
“Me?” I squawked.
“Yes, you. Don’t hide your light under a bushel. Take credit where credit is due.” Hank smirked. “Okay, I’ll play along. If you must know, I was hiking along the path east of the Pier. The one that leads to the lake in the mountains.”
That was the path near Rhett’s cabin. My father hiked that trail.
“I go every Saturday evening,” Hank added.
“That’s a popular footpath,” Bailey said. “You must have encountered a lot of people.”
“Not a one. On Saturday evenings, most people stay in town.”
Chapter 12
On our walk to the south end of town while nibbling fudge that we’d purchased at Sweet Success, Bailey couldn’t stop talking about Hank. Was he or wasn’t he guilty? He was a charmer, I said, crooked nose or not. And slick, she countered. Really, really slick. In the end, we couldn’t come to a conclusion. We didn’t have enough information. I kissed her goodbye and told her to have a peaceful evening and to sleep well. We were going to be busy tomorrow.
Later as I dressed for dinner in a stretchy black zipper sheath, I couldn’t help thinking about Hank and his tenuous alibi. Granted, my father had a similar iffy alibi when he’d been suspected of murder. Luckily, in the end, someone had seen him where he claimed he’d been, and the police landed the correct killer. Should I tell Cinnamon about Hank’s date with Ivy? Being called cheap wasn’t much of a motive to kill someone and being a smooth talker wasn’t a crime. No, I decided. She obviously didn’t want my input. Even still, I worried she wasn’t doing enough to exonerate her mother.
Mulling over my options, I made my way to the door. I paused when I spied Tigger attacking a kick-and-scratch toy with zealous vengeance. Apparently, he was feeling as pent-up as I was.
“Sorry, pal,” I cooed and lifted him for a hug. “It’s my fault you’re out of sorts.” I set him on his kitty condo and fetched him a calming chewable. “I’ll do better tomorrow. Promise.”
A half hour later, I was in better sorts. One sip of wine at the Pelican Brief Diner had helped tremendously. I didn’t care that Cinnamon and Bucky were late. I was with Rhett at one of our favorite restaurants, drinking in the aroma of fried foods and listening to the comforting chatter of happy patrons.
“Sixty-seven pounds.” Rhett was regaling me with a story about the striped bass one of his customers had caught. He stretched his arms to show the length. In a blue sweater that matched his eyes, he looked as handsome as all get-out.
“That’s big,” I murmured.
Before starting in on the fish tale, he’d filled me in on our upcoming trip to Napa. He’d booked a room overlooking one of the inn’s gardens, complete with an in-room
continental breakfast. A mini pre-honeymoon, he’d dubbed it. I was still tingling inside, imagining a getaway to plan our future. The trip couldn’t come too soon.
Our waitress set down four glasses of water and a basket of freshly baked sourdough bread. Seconds later, Bucky and Cinnamon arrived.
“Traffic,” Bucky announced as an apology and offered an easy smile. He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit, babe.” His biceps pressed at the seams of his navy Pendleton.
Cinnamon immediately took a piece of bread from the basket, which made me flash on Katie’s heads-up about Cinnamon’s latest eating habits. Maybe skating was the way she was managing her overeating. In her white off-the-shoulder dress, she didn’t look like she’d put on a pound, but weight could creep on slowly.
“How was the rest of your afternoon outing?” I asked.
“Swell.” Cinnamon glowered at me. “You’re not going to grill me about my investigation during dinner, are you?”
“I thought before dinner might be better timing,” I retorted.
She shot Bucky a look. “Told you.”
“What’ve you got?” Bucky asked. He never tired of talking shop, maybe because Cinnamon shut him down the same way she shut me down.
Rhett nudged my foot under the table. I ignored the hint.
“Eyestones,” I said as a segue.
Cinnamon grumbled. “Let me at least order a drink and an appetizer.”
I waited until she’d received her cosmopolitan and a mound of spicy calamari before launching into my theory about the eyestones being payment to assuage the underworld god.
When I concluded, she said, “Well, well, well. That’s actually quite helpful.”
“It is?” I nabbed a ring of calamari and ate it whole. Lola had included white pepper in the recipe. It added a real zing.
“Yep. The stones did have eyes painted on them. They were placed eyes-down. We couldn’t make sense of it. Until now. Thanks.” She aimed a finger at each of us. “Ahem, that’s not for public consumption. Do you all hear me?”
We nodded.
The eyes-down aspect intrigued me. Had the killer placed the stones that way because he or she wanted to doom Ivy to an eternity of traveling the River Styx? Or was placing the stones downward a mistake? If so, maybe the killer had made others.
“Who do you consider a suspect?” I asked.
“Mine to know.” She ate three pieces of calamari in succession.
“Hank Hemmings’s alibi is thin,” I said.
Cinnamon narrowed her gaze. “You asked him for his alibi?”
“No. Of course not. He offered. Out of the blue.”
“Uh-huh.” Cinnamon cocked her head, clearly not believing me.
Bucky hiccupped a laugh. Rhett chuckled, too.
“Really!” Even though I was telling the truth, I felt my cheeks warm.
“What’s Hank’s motive?” she asked. “According to him, he and Ms. Beale weren’t involved. Yes, I’ve spoken with him.”
Interesting. Hank hadn’t mentioned that to Bailey and me. Had he been toying with us?
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
“What’s not to believe? He invited Ms. Beale to dinner. They didn’t click. What would be his motive?”
“Maybe he has a secret,” I said, repeating Bailey’s theory. “Ivy was the queen of secrets.”
Cinnamon ate another piece of calamari and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “If it will make you happy, I’ll do my best to verify his alibi.”
His iffy alibi, I mused, but decided not to press the issue.
Bucky pulled the basket of calamari toward him. “Babe, tell her about Ivy’s email being hacked.”
Cinnamon shot her husband a hard look. “Are you trying to get me to talk so I won’t eat the rest of these?” She snatched two more pieces of calamari.
Bucky grinned. “You caught me out.” He clasped her hand and tenderly began rubbing her ring finger. “Go on. Tell her.”
Cinnamon frowned. “My tech guy scoured Ivy’s computer to see who she’d been in contact with lately and discovered her email cache had been wiped.”
“Plus she received quite a few wrong number telephone calls recently,” Bucky said.
Cinnamon skewered him with a warning glance.
“According to whom?” I asked Bucky.
He deferred to Cinnamon.
Grudgingly, she said, “Ivy and Flora Fairchild had attended a number of trade shows in recent months and had grown quite close. Flora said Ivy’s cell phone rang incessantly at the last one. Always a wrong number.”
Odd that Flora hadn’t shared that story with my aunt or me. She often dropped into the Cookbook Nook to spill what she knew. Why was she remaining on the sidelines? Perhaps she didn’t want to be seen favoring our shop over Pepper’s. She was Pepper’s friend first and foremost.
“What about Oren Michaels?” I asked.
Rhett shook his head. “I can’t see Oren as the killer. I know Ivy broke up with him, but he’s a good guy. His father is salt of the earth.”
“Oren said he went on a round-trip expedition that night that took six hours,” I said.
“How do you know about that?” Cinnamon asked.
“I was chatting with Katie in the Nook kitchen when Oren came in.” I added how he loved to chat and tell jokes with Katie and the staff. “He said he spent two hours floating on his boat in a cove north of here. He—”
“Are you talking about Oren?” our waitress asked while handing out menus. “He’s, like, so funny. He makes everyone here laugh. Lola included. Did you know he costarred on an episode of The Big Bang Theory? He was hoping it would become a recurring role, but—”
“Thank you,” Cinnamon said icily. “We’ll order in a minute.”
The waitress blanched and backed away from the table.
When she was out of earshot, Cinnamon said, “Oren Michaels’s alibi checks out. We canvassed the area and found a witness who saw him there.”
I leaned forward to keep the conversation confidential. “Saw him or his boat?”
“We have a witness who saw him arrive and leave, and another at the Crystal Cove Marina with the same information. Calculating the mileage and gas usage, he was where he said he was.”
“Was anyone on board with him? Would it have been possible to moor the boat in the cove and take a car to town?”
“How would the car have gotten there?” Rhett asked.
“Maybe he dropped it off the day before.”
“Or his father gave him a lift,” Bucky suggested.
“Or he Ubered back to town,” I added.
Cinnamon pushed away from the table. “No, no, no. His father was on a date. No Uber driver picked him up. Please stop.”
I reached for her. “I’m sorry. Sit.”
She yanked away.
“Aunt Vera said you need help,” I went on. “She said you’re too close to this. We’re just trying—”
“Tell your aunt to butt out.”
“I was the same way when Dad was a suspect.”
“And yet you were able to figure out who the killer was, weren’t you?” Cinnamon’s gaze could have cut crystal. “Give me some credit, Jenna. All of you.” She stared at Rhett and Bucky. “I’m good at what I do.”
“We know you are, babe,” Bucky murmured.
“I don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Harriet coming up with theories.” She snagged another piece of bread. I eagle-eyed the slice. She dropped it into the basket and jammed her lips together.
“I’m worried about you,” I said softly.
“Don’t be. Really, Jenna. Don’t. Be.” She bolted to her feet and jutted a hand at Bucky, who pulled his wallet from his pocket.
Rhett said, “I’ve got this.”
On the drive home—we didn’t stay for dinner; Cinnamon’s frosty exit squelched our appetites—the wind kicked up something fierce, as if mirroring the emotions swirling inside me. Debris cut across the road. Rhett had to dodge a bunch of loose pa
lm fronds.
As we veered down my street, I swiveled in the passenger seat. “I blew it back there with Cinnamon.”
“Yep. You crossed the line. We all did.”
“It’s Aunt Vera’s fault. And Bailey’s. And . . . and mine.” I groaned. “But everyone has been goading me: ‘Take care of Pepper.’ ‘Be a friend to Cinnamon.’ If Pepper weren’t the main suspect . . .” I let the sentence hang.
“You care. I get it. So does Cinnamon.” He reached for my hand and ran his thumb across my knuckles. “But you have to be cautious with her. If you poke her with a stick, she’s liable to attack. She has fangs.” He knew better than most. “Please tread lightly, my love.”
I promised.
As he pulled in beside my VW, I gasped. My cottage door was standing wide open.
“Tigger!” I raced out of Rhett’s truck and flew inside. I breathed easier when I saw my cat at the tippy top of his kitty condo. The way he was sitting, his head hanging over the edge, reminded me of Snoopy on his doghouse pretending to be a vulture. I picked him up and held him close. His heart revved like a motorboat.
Rhett strode past us and made a tour of the place.
“Did I forget to lock the door, Tig-Tig?” I cooed. “Did the wind blow it open?”
Rhett came back and examined the front door, then joined me and slung an arm around my shoulders. “Nobody here. Door doesn’t look jimmied.”
I’d forgotten to lock my door twice in the past year, both times because I was in a hurry. I needed to be more cautious.
“Does anything seem to be missing or out of place?” Rhett scanned the room.
With Tigger in tow, I checked my Ching cabinet. All my art supplies appeared to be intact. I sifted through my closet and jewelry box. Nothing was awry.
When I ambled back to the kitchen, about to say no, I noticed the laptop computer sitting on the kitchen table was closed. When I’d left, the lid was open. After reviewing the significance of aventurine and gold quartz, I had erased the history on my Internet browser as I always did and put the computer to sleep. Who had shut the lid?
I relayed my concern to Rhett.
“Open it,” he said, “and see if anything’s been tampered with.”
Sifting Through Clues Page 10
