Sifting Through Clues

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “The police must have taken her computer,” my father said. “They would have found evidence of that by now.”

  “Not if it went poof!” Noah flicked his fingers.

  I swatted the tabletop. “Oh, gee! Why didn’t I realize it before? Oren killed Ivy to keep his secret.”

  “Why would you think that?” Dad asked.

  “He knew about the eyestones. What I mean is he knew that eyes were painted on them.” I flashed on the brief conversation with Katie and me in the Nook Café kitchen. “But how could he know? The police haven’t released the information, and none of the Mystery Mavens would have known, either, because the eyes were upside down. I was only privy to the information because Cinnamon clued me in. Oren had to be the one who’d painted them and put them that way. It all makes sense, from the cream puffs right down to the music that was playing when we found Ivy.”

  “What cream puffs? What music?”

  “‘Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet’ was playing at Ivy’s house.” I splayed my hands. “Don’t you see? Oren put the music on specifically because he believed he and Ivy were ill-fated lovers. He didn’t want her to die, but she had to.”

  Dad said, “Doesn’t he have a solid alibi?”

  I pushed my plate away. “Yes, a witness saw him moor his boat in the bay north of Crystal Cove. Maybe the witness is in on the scheme.”

  Noah whispered, “His father.”

  “Maybe.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called Cinnamon. She didn’t answer. I left a voice mail message and then texted her.

  “I’m not leaving this to chance.” Dad rose from the table without finishing his meal. “I’m going to the precinct. You”—he pinned me with a glare—“go back to work and wait for my call. And you—”

  Noah locked his lips with an imaginary key.

  Chapter 32

  A short while later, while I was rearranging books on a display table and stewing over whether my father had connected with Cinnamon—she hadn’t responded to my voice mail or text—I spied Pepper zipping into the parking lot on her e-bike. The sight made me think of Oren on the night he’d encountered Yung Yi. He’d been steadying his mountain bike—an e-bike, if I wasn’t mistaken. I pictured the motorized gadget on the frame and recalled the sound of the motor kicking in when he’d engaged the pedals. What if Oren had stashed his bicycle near the bay north of Crystal Cove, and that was how he’d gone to and from Ivy’s in less than a couple of hours? If I did the math, factoring in the time to sail a safe distance from the coast and the time to glide into the cove, traveling approximately twenty nautical miles an hour, then the physical distance between those two points might have been as little as fifteen or twenty miles. On a good day, I could ride fifteen miles an hour. How fast could an e-bike go?

  Pocketing my cell phone so I wouldn’t miss a call from Cinnamon or Dad, I said to my aunt, “Back in a few,” and strode outside. “Pepper,” I called. With her helmet on, she must not have heard me. She disappeared into her shop and closed the door.

  The helmet. What if Oren had been the guy on the bike outside Ivy’s when Pepper visited? Neighbors might be able to identify him.

  “Hey, Jenna,” a man said.

  I whipped around and nearly choked when I saw Oren, his creel bag slung over his shoulder. He was heading for the archway between the Nook Café and Beaders of Paradise.

  “A UPS truck is blocking the alley.” He gestured to his truck, which he’d double-parked in a handicap zone. “Hope it’s okay if I lug the fish this way to the kitchen.”

  My mind raced with a new possibility. Maybe I could keep him occupied in the café until the authorities showed up. “Sure. Why don’t you take the shortcut through the café? Follow me.”

  “Nah, I smell pretty bad.” Truthfully, he smelled pretty much like he always did. Fishy.

  “C’mon. It’ll do our customers good to see how fresh our fish is.”

  Once inside, I gestured for him to lead the way. As he navigated the hall, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and tapped in a quickie text to Cinnamon, not caring whether spellcheck fixed my typos.

  “Katie, Katie, pretty lady,” Oren sang as he sashayed into the kitchen. “I come bearing gifts.”

  Katie was at the dessert counter sifting confectioners’ sugar onto a small cake.

  “The alley is blocked,” I said in explanation to her. “I told Oren to come this way.”

  “Whatever the boss says is okay with me.” Katie finished the cake and set it in front of Bailey, who was seated at the chef’s table.

  “I wondered where you’d gone,” I said to Bailey.

  “I was starving and craved something savory.” In addition to the dessert, an appetizer-sized portion of a salmon dish and another of a salad lay in front of her.

  “Care to join?” Katie asked.

  Seeing Bailey gave me another idea. “Say, Oren, have you eaten? Katie is always in need of taste testers for the day’s special. It looks like Bailey has a three-course meal. What’s on the menu, chef?”

  “Panko-encrusted salmon, daylily salad, and powdered—”

  “Sorry. I can’t. I’m running behind,” Oren said. “And I don’t want to get a ticket for parking in the handicap zone.” He unzipped his canvas creel on a stainless steel counter and pulled out a large wrapped fish. “More croker. Fresh off the boat. As ordered.”

  “Yay.” Katie inspected the fish. “It was so delicious the last time.”

  “Sure you won’t stay for a quick bite, Oren?” I asked. “I could move your truck for you.” And hide the keys so you can’t escape.

  Oren eyed me suspiciously. “What’s going on, Jenna?”

  “Going on?” My voice skated upward. Rats, so much for acting cool, calm, and collected.

  Acting. Was it only a week ago Oren had come into the kitchen and cried about losing Ivy, the love of his life? He had been an actor in Los Angeles—a bit-part actor, but an actor all the same. He’d put one over on Katie and me.

  “Why are you trying to detain me?” Oren asked.

  Bailey glanced at me. So did Katie. The rest of the kitchen staff was too busy preparing meals to pay us any mind.

  “Detain you? I want to feed you,” I said, getting my tone under control. “You look a little thin. With Ivy’s death, you’ve suffered quite a shock. Are you eating?”

  “Uh-huh. Nice try.” Oren zipped his creel and marched toward the double doors leading to the dining room. “I’m leaving now.”

  I grabbed a sauté pan and darted between him and the exit.

  He snarled at me. “What do you think you know?”

  “You killed Ivy.”

  Bailey gasped.

  “You knew the eyestones were inverted,” I went on. “Only the killer would have known that.”

  Oren made a U-turn and headed for the alley exit. I dashed in front of him with the sauté pan as my shield.

  “You fed Ivy a cream puff laced with a paralytic so you could incapacitate her.”

  Grunting his annoyance, Oren seized a chef’s knife from a knife block and aimed it at me. “Move.”

  “You know what your big mistake was, Oren? Blackmailing me. That made me dig deeper.”

  “It was him?” Bailey scrambled to her feet.

  “Yep. He stole into my cottage to get my email address off my computer.”

  Oren’s silence confirmed my theory.

  “When I didn’t panic about the email and seek his advice like the others had, he slashed the tires of my bike to scare me.”

  “Get real,” Oren said.

  “Ivy found out you were blackmailing everyone, didn’t she? She threatened to expose you. You might have hacked her computer and deleted her emails, but she left notes, Oren. There’s physical evidence.”

  “Out of my way, Jenna,” Oren ordered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m not budging.”

  He lunged at me. I shrieked.

  The staff froze.

  Bailey di
dn’t. She hurled an appetizer plate at Oren as if it were a Frisbee. I’d taught her how to throw a year ago. Before that, she’d had no arm. The plate caught him in the back of his head. He reeled toward Katie, who sprang into action. She swung the croker like a baseball bat. The fish connected with Oren’s chest, and he stumbled in my direction.

  I whacked his shoulder with the sauté pan.

  Moaning, he crumpled to his knees and dropped the knife. One of the staff kicked it away. The others approached like an army, each carrying a kitchen utensil. The height-challenged pastry chef wielding the industrial-sized mixer looked ridiculous, but I wouldn’t tell her. She was a hero in my eyes.

  Looking dazed, Oren sat up and crossed his legs.

  I crouched to meet him at eye level. “Tell me something. Why did you put the bonsai beside Ivy’s head? Were you smuggling them?”

  “Smuggling? No.” A sad smile graced his lips. “Ivy was so happy that she’d learned how to prune them. Turning out miniature works of art gave her such pride and made her feel like she was really learning her trade. Her parents had never given her that kind of validation. I set the bonsai there”—he shrugged—“as an homage.”

  “I don’t buy it, Oren. You put the eyestones upside down. If you knew enough to use them, then you knew that if the eyes were inverted, the soul would be doomed to travel the River Styx for eternity.”

  “Inverting them was an oversight.”

  “So you’re saying you really did love her?”

  “With all my heart. Why do you think I put aventurine in her hands? I wanted her to love me as much as I loved her, but when she said she had to turn me in . . .” He moaned. “What can I say? I screwed up. Uncovering secrets was her . . . thing. Like an itch she had to scratch. As for me, I’m into shortcuts. I couldn’t let her stop me from making my fortune.”

  “How many others are you extorting?”

  “Two to three hundred. I’ve lost count.”

  Whew! At three to five thousand a pop that added up to nearly a million dollars, not to mention it was a racket that could go unchecked for years.

  The swinging door leading to the dining room pushed open. Cinnamon strode in, took in the scene, and instantly gripped the butt of her weapon. She glowered at me. Guess she wasn’t going to award me Brownie points for assisting the police.

  “Jenna, everyone, back up. Clear the area. Mr. Michaels, you are under arrest for the murder of—”

  “Oo-o-oh.” Bailey clutched her stomach. “Jenna, call Tito. The baby’s coming!”

  Chapter 33

  Every member of the Mystery Mavens book club was in attendance at my father’s house for Bailey’s post-baby shower. Lola had decorated the living room with pink streamers and balloons, which totally clashed with the ocean-themed décor, but nobody seemed to mind. Katie had set a beautiful array of tea sandwiches, scones, muffins, and tea on the dining table. A platter of giraffe cookies decorated with pink-speckled icing sat on the coffee table. Gran had complimented me on the icing—yes, Katie was teaching me to ice; I had a long way to go before I would become an expert.

  Bailey, who was sitting on the sofa next to me, held up the frilly pink dress Flora had given her, and cooed, “Ooh, it’s so pretty.”

  “So is your baby girl.” Flora passed the photographs of the baby to Z.Z. “Look at her gorgeous brown eyes.”

  Even though Baby Martinez had been born a fairly decent weight, the doctor had wanted to observe her for another week. Preemies could have issues. So far, so good.

  Z.Z. said, “Her smile could dazzle the world.”

  Bailey beamed. “I know, right?”

  “Open another present,” Lola suggested. “We’ve got to return to the hospital at some point today.”

  It had been touch-and-go for about two hours after I rushed Bailey to the hospital. Doctors had been worried about the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby’s neck, but in the end, the oh-so-ingenious baby had extricated herself from danger, and she was born a mere two hours later. Bailey hadn’t even had time to beg for drugs. Lola and my father had postponed their safari. Luckily, they’d purchased trip insurance. Lola hadn’t left Bailey’s side for more than an hour since the birth. Bailey was about ready to pull her hair out.

  “Anyone for tea?” Dad pushed the tea trolley across the living room.

  “I’d love a cup, Cary,” Cinnamon said.

  She had taken the day off and was sitting on one of the dining room chairs facing the sofa. Her husband, Bucky, was filling a plate with goodies at the dining table. After the shower, they were treating Pepper to dinner. Hank Hemmings had left town with his tail between his legs, but Pepper was still grieving. She had found a modicum of solace by helping Darian Drake find a good therapist. Nothing brought two women together like being hoodwinked by the same man. Cinnamon’s father had gone home, too, although he and Cinnamon had made plans to meet up in a month. He wanted to introduce her to her half sisters. She was wary but excited.

  “Open mine.” Crusibella handed Bailey a package wrapped in gold paper and tied with a glittery silver bow.

  “What’s in it?” Bailey shook the package.

  “A secret.”

  My guess was it was something from Dreamcatcher. Crusibella’s house had sold in a day—all cash. An hour after the ink was dry, Z.Z. convinced the executor of Ivy’s estate to sell every stitch of Dreamcatcher’s inventory to Crusibella. When that deal was sealed, Z.Z. worked out the lease with an option-to-purchase with the shop’s lessor. The shop had suffered no downtime. Even Alastair had stayed on board.

  Bailey opened the package and gushed as she drew out a pink quartz picture frame. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Crusibella said, “May your baby bring you years of love and joy.”

  Bailey thanked her and then whispered to me, “Where’s Tito?”

  “In the guest room being grilled by Rhett, just like I grilled you.” Since this was a co-ed party, we’d decided to have a simple party game of How Well Do You Know Each Other? I’d asked Bailey ten baby-themed questions. Rhett was asking Tito the same ones.

  “He was so upset when he didn’t get the scoop on Oren Michaels’s arrest,” Bailey said.

  Oren had left the café peacefully with Cinnamon. She put him in jail; he was pending trial. Cinnamon hadn’t been pleased that I’d cornered Oren in the café kitchen, but when she realized how many people were around and that I was in no danger of being harmed, she lightened up. She even thanked me for figuring out the niggling detail of the bonsai. That had baffled her as much as it had me.

  Bailey winked at me. “I told Tito that, with a new baby, he might have to get used to missing a scoop or two if I go back to work. Do you know what he said?”

  I shook my head.

  “A reporter can write from anywhere, mi amor. How cool is that?”

  I hugged her. “You snared a good one.”

  “So did you.” She nodded toward Rhett, who strolled into the room and took a seat next to me.

  Tito followed him and perched on the arm of the sofa beside Bailey. He laid his arm across her shoulders and gazed at her lovingly.

  “Okay, Bailey, question number one.” Rhett read from a three-by-five card. “When did Tito first know you were pregnant?”

  Bailey stared at her husband while mulling over the answer.

  Rhett whispered to me, “What did I miss?”

  “Not much,” I replied sotto voce. “A happy mama and her ecstatic friends ooh-ing and aah-ing.”

  Rhett cleared his throat and gazed at his watch. “Well, Bailey? Tick-tock.”

  “He knew when I told him,” she answered.

  “Wrong!” Rhett made a buzzing sound. “He knew the morning after you conceived.”

  “No way,” she said.

  “Way,” Tito countered. “Everything about you changed. Your moods, your—” He twirled a finger at her.

  She grabbed his hand. “Mind your manners. There are ladies present.”

  He chuckled.


  “No more questions,” Lola said. “Let’s open the rest of the gifts.”

  Bailey obeyed. After each, she said thank you. When she was done, she sank back in the sofa. “I’m exhausted.”

  “One more,” my aunt announced, waving an envelope overhead.

  Bailey moaned.

  “It’s not for you, dear.” Aunt Vera offered the envelope to me. “This is for Jenna and Rhett.”

  “What is it?” I asked, taking the envelope from her. “A night’s stay at Maison Rousseau in Napa?” We were driving to Napa after the party ended to look at the possible wedding venue.

  My aunt scrunched her nose. “It’s a tad more than that. Open it.”

  I pulled out an elegant folded silver card. On the front it read:

  Two souls with but a single thought. Two hearts that beat as one.

  I glanced at my aunt. “You already gave us an engagement gift.”

  “Think of this as a wedding gift. Read the rest.” She pressed her lips together like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary.

  I flipped open the card and a piece of parchment paper fluttered out. I caught it before it hit the ground and scanned the words:

  Crusibella Queensberry’s house now belongs to the two of you.

  With all my love, Aunt Vera

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “It’s too much.”

  Rhett took the paper from me and read; his mouth dropped open. “Vera, no.”

  “Please,” she begged. “It will bring me such joy. It’s not on the beach, of course, and it doesn’t have a complete view of the ocean, but it’s within walking distance.”

  I glanced at my father. “Did you know?”

  He grinned. “I might have dropped the hint.”

  I hugged him fiercely.

  “She’s also given Tina a year’s tuition,” he said. “She’s been in a generous mood.”

  “Too-ra-loo,” Aunt Vera crooned and rose to her feet. “If you’ve got it, share it. Now, off with you.” She kissed my cheek. “Go to Napa and find a place where the two of you can say I do.”