Interesting. Was she avoiding him on purpose? Was she scared of him? Did she think he might be the one who had taken a picture of her outside Ivy’s place? She might not have recognized him if he’d been wearing a helmet and sunglasses. On the other hand, maybe Pepper was avoiding him because she’d deduced the seriousness of his relationship with Darian. Perhaps that was why Hank was looking for her. He was worried she would spill the beans to Darian’s husband. Once again, I wondered whether Ivy had discovered his secret, and if he’d killed her to keep it quiet. Was Pepper in danger now?
I started for the shop’s telephone with the intention of alerting Cinnamon, when it jangled.
Tina scooted around the sales counter and answered. “Jenna, it’s for you. It’s Rhett.”
I hurried to take the receiver from her. “Hey. I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too. You haven’t been answering your cell phone.”
I dug it out of my purse and saw three missed messages from him. “Sorry. I was on a buying spree with Lola and Bailey. How did last night’s meeting go?”
“You’ll never believe this, but these guys want me to run their restaurant.”
My insides flip-flopped for a third time, making me feel a tad woozy. I was never good at gymnastics or diving off a high board. Skydiving was out of the question. “Do you want to do that?” We hadn’t talked about him changing careers. Ever. After the arson at the Grotto, he’d locked his chef’s knife roll bag in a safe at his cabin. “What about Bait and Switch?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded on the fence, which made me wonder whether there was more he wasn’t telling me.
“Let’s discuss it after dinner,” I suggested. We’d made plans to dine with my father and Lola. I was pretty sure Lola wanted to pick my brain about what Bailey intended to do career-wise going forward.
“Sounds good.” After saying how much he loved and adored me, Rhett signed off.
While I pulled out folding chairs for the guests coming to the high tea demonstration, I thought about Rhett’s brief phone call. If he took the job, what would happen to us? Starting a new restaurant took hours of planning, and once it was up and running, it could be a twenty-four/seven operation. Would we have to postpone the wedding? Would we lose precious time getting to know each other better?
Hold it, Jenna. Selfish is as selfish does. I took a deep breath. If Rhett wanted to take this journey, I’d back him one hundred percent.
Aunt Vera concluded her tarot session and joined me in setting out chairs. “Well? Have you called Cinnamon?”
“I will,” I muttered. Before the return of the Ice Age.
Aunt Vera twirled a finger at my face. “Why are you frowning? You’re thinking about something life-altering.” Her hand flew to her phoenix amulet. “Talk to me.” Apparently, her extrasensory powers were in full force. After I filled her in on Rhett’s future possibilities, she said, “Let me do a reading for you.”
“Later, okay?” Hopefully, it would bring me some calm . . . and get her off my case about contacting Cinnamon.
One of Katie’s kitchen staff strolled into the breezeway and set down a tiered tray of tea sandwiches. “Jenna, treats!”
“Perfect. Thanks.” I hurried into the breezeway. Having skipped lunch, I was starved. I nabbed three of the inch-wide sandwiches—curried egg, pear and cheese, and tomato basil—and took a bite of each. I nearly swooned. Heaven.
A short while later, after customers had purchased a lot of books and were starting to take their seats, Katie arrived with her mobile cooking cart, ready for action in a floral dress and crisp chef’s coat.
“Hello, everyone,” she said.
Many of the audience responded in kind, including regulars like Gran, Z.Z., and Flora. After the chairs were filled, Pepper slipped in. She didn’t usually join us on Katie’s demo days. Was something up? She positioned herself near the display table of floral cookbooks and fixed her gaze on someone. I spotted the object of her attention—Darian, looking angelic in white—and I wondered whether Hank would make an appearance. Did Pepper intend to confront the two of them together?
At precisely three p.m., Katie lit into her presentation with gusto, first describing her cart with its overhead mirror and then enumerating the cookware she had brought along. When she started talking about the various ingredients, many of the audience leaned forward, rapt with attention.
“For light afternoon tea”—Katie flourished her hand like a display model—“figure roughly four little sandwiches per person, two or three varieties, plus two small scones, one with cream and one with jam or honey. In addition, you’ll want to serve one to two little cakes or tarts, one rich and the other simple.”
Flora said, “Are you kidding me?” She puffed her cheeks like a blowfish.
Katie chuckled. “I know. It sounds like a lot, but when you’re chatting for an hour or more, you can get quite hungry. Am I right?”
A few in the crowd said, “Amen.”
“There’s no secret to making simple cucumber tea sandwiches. First, spread the cream cheese thinly on the bread.” Katie demonstrated. “Remember, you want just the right amount of moisture but not too much. Think of it the way you’d think about taking care of your houseplants. Too much moisture will kill them, right?”
Katie’s tip made me think of the bonsais at Ivy’s house. Who would water them? And why didn’t she have any of the other items she sold at the shop on display? No artistic geodes or amethyst bookends. No quartz votive candles or gemstones. I thought of the jewelry Z.Z. and I had discovered at Ivy’s house, mostly gold and silver and very few decorative pieces fitted with gems. Was that significant? Had the killer robbed Ivy?
“Also, if you use too much cream cheese, it’ll overpower the cucumber,” Katie went on. “By the way, I like to use English cucumbers, not the pickling kind.” She rinsed one in a silver bowl filled with water. The overhead mirror on the mobile cart allowed the audience to view every step.
“Can you use a regular cucumber?” Gran asked.
“You can, but the English version doesn’t have as many seeds and possesses a pleasant, crisp flavor. Now, cut the cucumber thinly.” Katie sliced the cucumber on a board as fast as a ginsu chef, held up a slice for viewing, and then set the slices in another silver bowl. “Some people like to remove the skins. I would if it’s waxy, but usually I like to leave the skins on.” She held up a cruet of vinegar. “Some like to soak the cucumbers in vinegar. It doesn’t give them a vinegary taste, but it does soften them up and changes the flavor a tad. Is it worth a taste test? Sure, but we won’t be doing that today.” She set the cruet aside. “If you would like to do so, use about one teaspoon of white wine vinegar per cucumber.”
While Katie finished layering the sandwiches and trimming the crusts, I noticed Pepper twisting and releasing her strand of glittery beads. A pang of concern swept through me. Not only was she a suspect in a murder, and not only had someone sent her a threatening email that might seal her fate, and not only had her ex-husband come to town and thrown a wrench into the works, but she’d also had to contend with the notion that her boyfriend was stepping out on her.
I glanced at the storage room. Had Bailey been able to discover the source of Pepper’s and my emails yet? If only she could help us solve that peevish piece of the puzzle.
“In conclusion,” Katie said, “one last tip. Remember to cover the sandwiches with a damp cloth or plastic wrap until you’re ready to eat them, or they will dry out. That’s all. I’ve had a great time. I hope you have, too.” When the applause died down, Katie hoisted a stack of recipe cards. “Don’t forget! I’ve made recipe cards for the cucumber sandwiches as well as for a tuna sandwich and a chicken almond sandwich. I’ve set samples of all of these on the tasting table in the breezeway. Come on up. Have a sandwich. Take a card.”
As a throng of customers surrounded Katie, Bailey nipped my arm and hitched her head, beckoning me. She pressed through the storage room drapes. I followed her but
glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Darian slip out of the shop with Pepper at her heels.
Uh-oh. I hoped Pepper wouldn’t start a fracas. That was not the kind of publicity she needed right now.
Chapter 25
Bailey weaved through the opened boxes of floral-themed cookbooks and decorative items. Tigger trailed me into the stockroom and made a beeline for his water bowl.
“Take a look at this.” Bailey pointed to her laptop, which was open on the desk. She adjusted the waistband of her stretchy leggings and perched on the desk chair. “Sit,” she ordered.
I was too antsy to obey.
“Fine. Don’t sit.” She smacked her hands together. “I dredged up all of your trashed emails and found the one you received from Goodguy. I compared it to Pepper’s, and indeed, the emails did come from the same email account.” She spun her computer around, so I could see her handiwork. “Same greeting. Same signoff. Same server. However, because I won’t send a response, lest it sends me to a site where my personal information might be compromised, I can’t cross-check further.”
I nodded, fearing that would be the case.
“Instead,” she went on, “I searched for similar situations to yours on the Internet. As I told Pepper, there are tons of phishing scams. Typically, the blackmailer obtains a boatload of emails and saturates the market with threats. I found a few scam warnings about someone or some thing called Goodrip, Goodcon, and Goodtrick, but I didn’t find any for Goodguy.”
“So now what?”
“I’ll dig deeper, but I think you and Pepper have to wait and see if there’s a follow-up email. If there isn’t, let it go.”
“This guy attached a photo of Pepper outside of Ivy’s house.”
“I saw that, but without clicking through, you don’t know if it’s date- or time-stamped. If it’s not, it could be from any day and, therefore, not good enough to introduce as evidence.” Bailey pointed out the teensy image in Pepper’s email. “As far as I can tell, she isn’t wearing the outfit she wore that night.”
“She went home to make the appetizer. She could have changed at that time. Did you ask her?”
“It’s on my to-do list.” Bailey flashed a yellow-lined pad filled with notes.
“Do you think I should inform Cinnamon?” I perched on the corner of the desk, clear of the computer. “She might not appreciate my help, but it’s my duty to tell her whatever I glean.”
“Didn’t Pepper swear you to secrecy?”
“Yes, but—”
Katie popped her head between the drapes. “May I come in?” Her cheeks were pink, her eyes gleaming with energy.
I said, “Of course. Great job today, as always.”
“Thanks.” She bounced on her toes, looking like she was about to burst.
I grinned. “Okay, spill. What’s got you keyed up?”
“Are you ready?” She laced her hands together. “We got a baby!” She threw her arms wide. “A girl. A Korean girl. From Korea.”
Bailey sniggered. “They usually are.”
“Some are born in America,” Katie said soberly. “This one wasn’t.”
“Congratulations.” I gave her a hug. Bailey echoed the sentiment.
“I want to celebrate tonight,” Katie went on, “but Keller will be busy. He’s providing the ice cream desserts at a sixty-year-old’s swanky birthday party. Say you’ll go with me to Vines after work. Reynaldo will cover the café. Please?”
Her joy was infectious.
“I’m in,” Bailey chimed.
“I can go for an hour,” I said, “but then I’m meeting Rhett and my father for dinner.” I wouldn’t share Rhett’s big news, yet. I didn’t want to dampen Katie’s joy. Besides, I didn’t know how I felt about his prospects or how it might impact us.
• • •
Vines was the wine bar located on the second floor of Fisherman’s Village, the perfect place for anyone who wanted a nice glass of wine and quiet conversation. The handcrafted tables were set to seat two to four patrons, no more. A few stools stood beneath the curved bar. Tiny LED lights decorated the shelves holding wineglasses behind the bar. Tonight, Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony was playing softly through the speaker system.
The assistant manager, Wayne, a lanky man in his fifties whose elderly mother was a regular client of Aunt Vera’s, hurried to us and set down three cocktail napkins. “Sorry, but you get me tonight. We’re short staffed. What’ll it be?”
“A bottle of your finest pinot grigio,” I said. It was Katie’s favorite wine.
“I’ll have a glass of Pellegrino with lime,” Bailey said. When Wayne moved away, she whispered, “I can’t wait to imbibe again.”
“Soon,” Katie said.
“Not soon enough.” Bailey sighed. “But it’ll be worth it.” She petted her belly. “So, c’mon, Katie, show us pictures of your little girl.”
Katie swiped her cell phone screen and turned the phone in our direction. A picture of an adorable baby in white swaddling clothes appeared.
“Do you have a name picked out?” I asked.
“Not yet. She’s only a month old. Keller wants to hold her before we name her. It’s a family tradition.” For the next few minutes, she filled us in on the process of adoption and how lucky they’d been to get the opportunity. Not every adoption went through. She already had ideas for the baby room décor, and she knew where the baby was going to go to preschool.
“Yipes,” Bailey said. “That’s a lot of preplanning.”
“You have to do these things right away. We’ll talk.” A minute into motherhood and suddenly Katie was the wizened teacher. She patted Bailey’s hand.
Bailey gave me a snarky look.
“Run a tab?” Wayne asked as he set down our beverages.
I pulled out cash to cover the order. “Just the one tonight.”
As he left, Bailey whispered, “Psst.” She hitched her head to her right and mouthed, Look.
Oren Michaels was sitting at the bar with a blonde in a tight-fitting sheath. I didn’t recognize the woman.
“It sure doesn’t look like Oren is missing Ivy,” Bailey said.
“Not true,” Katie countered. “He misses her like crazy. He mentions her every time he brings in fish.”
“Men are different from women,” I said. “Women mourn; men move on.”
Katie bobbed her head. “Did you ever read that book, Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus? Keller and I read it cover to cover when we hit a speed bump in our relationship. According to the psychologist who wrote it, women hold on to the past. They dredge it up over and over, while men are fix-it guys. They like to get something working and then”—she mimed wiping her hands—“it’ done. Over. Finito.”
“Well, Oren sure looks like he’s”—Bailey cleared her throat—“working on something. Do you think he fixed his relationship with Ivy by killing her?”
Katie shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m telling you, he loved her. Jenna, don’t you remember how bereft he was the other day? Those weren’t fake tears.”
I nodded. He had seemed pretty glum and had covered with his jokester persona.
Oren beckoned Wayne, who strode to him. They chatted for a minute. Wayne was one of the most cordial men I knew. Always kind to his mother. Always attentive to customers. However, when Oren gripped Wayne’s arm, Wayne tensed up. He glanced over his shoulder like he was worried someone might be listening in on the conversation and quickly wriggled free.
At the same time, Oren peered past Wayne—at us. I feigned an itch at the back of my head and lowered my chin. Heaven forbid he think I was spying on them. After a moment, I stole another peek. Oren said something more to Wayne, laid money on the counter, and rose from his stool. Oren’s date, if that’s what she was, stood, too.
“Keep the faith, bro,” Oren said at full volume.
Wayne nodded drearily. What was up? Why was Oren’s presence agitating so many men in town? Was Wayne a target of a blackmail scam, too? Or did Oren hold
a bunch of poker IOUs? Even though Rhett said business had been good to Oren, winning at poker might explain how he could afford a new truck and boat.
Wayne approached us and asked, “Is everything all right, ladies?”
I smiled. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Me? Couldn’t be better. Care for nuts?”
“No, thanks.” I beckoned him closer and whispered, “What’s going on between you and Oren?”
His face went blank.
“He said something that upset you.”
“Nah. Oren? He’s a prankster.” Wayne grinned and offered a shaka sign, the Hawaiian greeting for hang loose. “We grew up together. Skateboarded and surfed and basically hung out. He’s always joking around. We even did a few plays in high school. Comedies, of course.”
I got the feeling Wayne was acting now. On the other hand, maybe I was being too suspicious of Oren.
“Who was the woman with him?” I asked.
“A gal we went to school with. She and her husband are in town for a wedding at the Crystal Cove Inn. Oren and she were catching up on old times.”
“She’s married?”
“To a millionaire.” He raised his eyebrow. “Wait. You didn’t think . . . Oren and her?” Wayne guffawed. “Ha! No way. Oren holds a candle for Ivy. He always will.”
Chapter 26
I fetched Tigger from the shop, dropped him at home, changed into a cream silk blouse and cocoa brown corduroys that hugged my curves—what few I had—refreshed my makeup, and drove back to Fisherman’s Village. I parked in the parking lot because finding street parking at night in Crystal Cove was a challenge.
As I strolled to dinner, I took in the various floral pots that businesses had set out today. Outside Home Sweet Home stood a three-pot extravaganza, each pot stacked on the dirt of the lower and each painted with polka dots and emblazoned with the words Home Sweet Home. The pot outside Latte Luck Café featured a huge coffee cup with white trailing flowers spilling from it, to signify frothy milk, I assumed. The pot at the entry of the Pelican Brief Diner was decorated with abalone shells and filled with coral-like succulents. Fish-themed garden stakes completed the ocean effect.
Sifting Through Clues Page 19
