A Crafty Killing

by London Lovett

  Prudence bit her lip in disappointment. "I told Parker to be back by one. Myrna, could you call him. Better yet"—she pulled out her phone—"I'll give him a call." I expected her to return to her office for the phone call. Instead, she left a rather biting voicemail for Parker right in front of all of us, new hire included. It seemed she wanted all of us to know, without doubt, that she was in charge of the Junction Times and not Parker Seymour.

  "Yes, hello Parker, this is Prudence Mortimer." She pronounced her name concisely, so there could be no mistaking who was leaving the message. "As you may recall, I've called a staff meeting for one. I asked you to be back in time, but somehow you have missed the start time. We will begin without you. I was hoping for your input, but I'm afraid we'll have to do without it. Hope to see you shortly with a good explanation of why you missed this critical meeting." She hung up. "Let's get started." She glanced around at the disorganized newsroom and shook her head. "We are going to have to do something about this chaotic workroom. But since the break room is not ready to be used as a meeting space this will have to make do. Everyone, help yourself to some cookies and find a seat."

  I had no idea what new revelations would come to the surface during the critical meeting, but a knot of nerves was forming in my stomach. So much of a knot that I actually passed up a cookie.

  It didn't take long for the knot to pull tightly into a rock once I glanced at the agenda. It was short but searing. The first item to be covered was the introduction of the Junction Times' new lead reporter, Dave Crockett. I read the line several times. First in disbelief and then in anger. I'd found my tongue and my courage.

  "Excuse me, Prudence, but I think there's a typo. I'm lead reporter on this paper."

  Prudence primly swiped a cookie crumb off her ample chest. "Well, dear, that was under the last paper, the one Mr. Newsom owned."

  It had been hard getting used to Parker always calling me by my last name. It was going to be much harder to get used to being called dear. It was always with a condescending tone rather than one of admiration.

  "But Sunni is the reason the paper is doing so well," Myrna piped up.

  "Yes, I'm sure it is, however—" Prue started.

  Dave loudly cleared his throat. "Naturally, I don't want to step on any toes." It was said half-heartedly. The points he'd earned with his self-deprecating humor had been erased.

  "Nonsense, Dave. This is my decision to make, and your credentials are impeccable." Prue favored him with a simpering smile. It seemed Dave had nothing more to add. He returned a smile. Prudence turned back to me. "Sunni, you're planning on starting a bed and breakfast soon, am I right?"

  "Considering that you and I have spoken about that before, you know that's right." It was starting to dawn on me that this business venture was having to do with my refusal of her offer.

  "I'm sure you can understand my reasoning here," she said with a condescending grin.

  "Not really. Circulation has increased almost a hundred percent since Parker hired me—" I turned toward Dave. "Based on my impeccable credentials."

  "Yes, I've read your work and it's fine," Prudence said.

  "We now charge twice the amount for advertising space," Myrna again added. I flashed her a wink.

  Prudence dropped the condescending smile. "The truth is I need someone who is planning to stick it out here at the paper. Your future plans are with the inn. This job is only temporary for you."

  I sat back deflated and lacking a response. She had me. She knew that I eventually planned to leave the newspaper business. That time couldn't come soon enough.

  Prudence knew she'd defeated me. "Now that the first line of business is over, let's get to the rest of the agenda."

  I faded out for the remainder of the meeting. I had no input or opinions. After all, I was just temporary. There was a blur of meaningless topics like how to organize the break room and who else might join the news team. It seemed a home improvement and recipe column were still high on Prue's list. Maybe I'd end up with one of those mundane columns.

  I sighed audibly when the meeting finally ended. Prudence scowled about it, then disappeared into her office with her new prodigy, Dave Crockett. He'd put up an innocent, don't mean to cause problems argument at the start of the meeting, but he never said another word about it. In fact, he was wearing a smug grin for a good ten minutes after Prudence's final blow.

  With no craft fair for the day, I decided on a much needed lunch break. I headed out to the jeep and noticed Parker's silver sedan parked right past my car. He was sitting behind the wheel. He'd never made it back to the office or meeting.

  I walked straight to his car and knocked on the window. He unlocked the door and I climbed inside. We both sat silently, staring straight ahead at the Junction Times office.

  "Two decades." Parker broke the silence. "I've been working at that paper for the last twenty years. I would have—should have moved on to a bigger paper, but I wanted to start a family, and Firefly Junction seemed like the best place for that. So I stayed in this tiny, slow-moving town. It was a good job."

  His misery helped me put my own situation into perspective. I hadn't invested nearly as much time into the paper. I didn't have a family relying on me to keep a house over their heads. And I had a future dream that would someday soon come to fruition.

  "I'm no longer lead reporter."

  Parker looked over at me for a second. "Yeah, I knew that was coming. I fought her on it, but, like everything else, Prudence just plowed right over me. I was going to tell you but I'm a coward."

  I chuckled. "That's all right . . . coward. I'm sure you gave it your best shot. In a short time, I've learned that Prudence Mortimer is very solid in her decisions and opinions. Nothing changes them."

  "Did you meet the new guy?" Parker asked.

  "You mean Dave Crockett? Yes."

  We both had a good chuckle about the name. It felt cathartic just to make small talk with someone feeling as down as me. I hoped it was helping Parker too.

  "I guess I've got to head back inside," Parker said. "Rather step into a vat of hot oil but I've got mouths to feed. Where are you off to?"

  "Not sure. My earlier assignment at the craft fair was derailed by—and I'm sure you won't be surprised—a murder."

  Parker shook his head. "Murder does seem to follow you. But I suppose we won't be writing about it in the paper. Don't want to use up valuable space when there are recipes to shower on the readers."

  I opened the door. "Have fun in the vat of hot oil. I'm taking my lunch, and it might just be one that stretches right into the dinner hour. I don't think Prue will miss me. She has already dismissed me as just a temporary reporter who is taking up desk space when someone more permanent could take my place." I lowered my leg out of the car.

  Parker placed his hand on my arm. "Hey, Taylor, you're a darn good reporter. One of the best—don't forget that."

  I smiled at him. "Thanks, Parker. You're a pretty darn good editor too."

  "All right, get out of here before we get mushy and ridiculous."

  Chapter 16

  I spent the rest of the afternoon wallowing in misery. I called in to let Myrna know I had a headache and would be working from home the rest of the day. She knew it wasn't true, but it was the best excuse I could come up with on short notice. Since she never called or texted back, I could only assume that Prue had accepted my excuse.

  I was hardly prepared for guests, but when Emily called to let me know we needed to have the sweetheart dinner tonight because of Lana's busy schedule, I absently agreed. I found myself rushing to get the dining room ready for our dinner. Fortunately, Jackson had the evening off. He was coming early enough to help and to listen to all of my complaining. Edward had gotten bored of my 'incessant whining' and had headed off to one of his corner haunts. (Incessant whining was a trick I was going to have to use more often.)

  I swung open the door before Jackson's boots hit the front steps. "Hurry, we've got to move a few tab
les. Emily will be here soon with the food, and she'll scowl at me if the dining room isn't ready."

  Jackson laughed at that notion. "I doubt your sister even knows how to scowl."

  "Oh, she's got a scowl, all right. Of course, it's more adorable than disapproving, but it always lets Nick know when it's time to turn on extra charm."

  I grabbed Jackson's hand and pulled him along to the dining room. The dogs were insulted that I hadn't allowed them a proper greeting with their hero. They trotted behind us to the dining room hoping to make up for lost time once we reached our destination.

  I motioned to the tables that needed moving and we got to work. "I'm almost afraid to ask," Jackson said. "How did the rest of your day go? I still can't believe the new owner hired another lead reporter."

  "Yep, I'm finding it a little hard to believe myself. I could barely work up a hello for Henry and Ursula when I got home. I think they both knew my mood had to do with their aunt, so they avoided me. They packed up their things in record time. Two long tails of grit sprayed behind their tires as they took off for home."

  The dining room consisted of four round tables that fit as many as four people. Around the perimeter were six small rectangles, intimate tables for two. Three of them together made a nice dining table for six.

  "Anyhow, enough about Prudence Mortimer, how did the rest of your day go? Any news from forensics?"

  "Dr. Ansel removed a syringe needle from the victim's flesh. They're doing tests to find out what poison was injected. Probably something powerful like cyanide. It must have worked quickly and efficiently because there was no sign that Ms. Lopez stumbled around or tried to get help. In fact, it seems she dropped so quickly her assailant didn't have time to get the needle out before she fell. We searched for the syringe but no luck. Other than the clay print, there was little evidence."

  "Did you speak to the potter?" I pulled out the tablecloths for the tables.

  "He was gone by the time we determined it was a murder scene. But he'll be getting a visit tomorrow, possibly at his shop. I got one of his business cards. His name is Larry Royce."

  Emily's car pulled into the front yard. I smoothed the wrinkles out of the linen tablecloth. "There's the food. I think she made beef stew, cheddar biscuits and strawberry pie. Fortunately, my terrible day has not affected my appetite. Emi makes the best strawberry pie."

  Jackson and I headed outside to help Emily carry in the food. She had just straightened out of the trunk when I reached her. She handed off the pie. "Be careful. It's still warm. I sent Nick to the store for some wine."

  Emily pointed to the large pot of stew in the trunk. Jackson lifted it out and took a deep whiff. "Hmm, I haven't had stew in ages." He carried the pot into the house. Emily and I followed with our arms full.

  "What happened today?" Emily asked. "You sounded sort of out of it when I called you." At the time of the call, I hadn't felt like spilling all my woes to Emily. I was still trying to absorb them, and she was so excited about the dinner I didn't want to put a downer on the event.

  "Let's just say, it wasn't exactly a smooth day," I said, trying to put a light spin on it.

  She stopped halfway through the entry with her basket of biscuits. "I heard the opening of the craft fair has been delayed until tomorrow." We continued to the kitchen. "Was it true someone died?" Before I could respond, she provided her own answer. "Of course someone died. Sunni Taylor was on the scene," she said wryly.

  Jackson laughed at the comment as he lowered the stew onto the counter. "Glad I'm not the only one who notices the correlation between Sunni's presence and mayhem."

  "Thanks to both of you, my wonderful boyfriend and my dear sister. After the day I had I was hoping for a little more empathy, but I can see I'm in the wrong place for that."

  Emily walked over, put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. "I'm sorry, sis. You can't help it if mayhem follows you around. What happened today? Aside from, you know, the death at the craft fair? Something like that would be enough to put most people off their game, but I know you better than that. What's up?"

  "I'll finish setting up the chairs." Jackson rushed out of the kitchen. He'd already heard my long, terrible tale. It seemed he wasn't up for a repeat. I wasn't up for it either, so I gave Emily the abbreviated version.

  "The new owner of the newspaper, Prudence Mortimer, has decided to hire a lead reporter."

  Emily had been stirring the stew. She stopped and looked at me. "But you're the lead reporter."

  "Not anymore."

  Her shoulders fell. "Ah, Sunni, I'm so sorry. Why on earth would she do that? You're the best journalist this side of the Great Smoky Mountains."

  "Apparently not. She found a new guy to take my place. Someone with impeccable credentials."

  Emily lifted a spoonful of stew from the pot for me to taste.

  "Hmm, delicious."

  "You don't think it needs more salt?" she asked.

  "I wouldn't change a thing."

  Emily replaced the lid. The stew had sent its rich fragrance around the kitchen. The dogs both sat with their noses high in the air, trying to figure out where the deliciousness was coming from.

  "Do you think Prudence is just trying to get back at you for not taking up her investment offer?" Emily asked.

  I nodded my head side to side. "That might be part of it, but she also knows I'm planning to start a bed and breakfast. As she pointed out in our staff meeting, I'm only temporary. I have future plans, so she decided to find someone more dedicated to journalism. Those weren't her exact words but close enough."

  "I can sort of see her point," Emily said. "Doesn't make what she did any nicer, but I suppose she was just looking out for her investment. What was the new reporter like?" She started placing biscuits on a pan to reheat.

  "Sort of arrogant, I suppose. He acted quite the innocent when he realized I didn't know I was being demoted. But he didn't put up too much fuss about it. I can only assume he knows more about journalism than the last lead reporter."

  Emily apparently caught me looking longingly at the biscuits. She handed me one for a pre-dinner appetizer. "I would certainly hope so considering how little Chase knew. Still, it's rotten that you have to be second to someone who just started at the Junction Times."

  I laughed over a bite of biscuit. "Get this—his name is Dave Crockett."

  Emily spun around so fast a biscuit flew from her fingers. It bounced on the ground. Redford hadn't noticed but Newman was always on alert for a flying ball. He raced over to catch it and was soon rewarded with something far more delicious than his grime covered tennis ball.

  Emily was too focused on our conversation to fret about the lost biscuit. "Did you say Dave Crockett?"

  "Sure did. Can you believe someone with the last name Crockett would name their child Dave?"

  "And here are my two sisters," Lana said as she entered the kitchen. Her dinner date strolled confidently in behind her. It was my turn to drop a biscuit. Redford was at the ready.

  Lana laughed airily. "Sunni is the clumsy one. Emily, I'd like you to meet Dave."

  Chapter 17

  Dave Crockett was once again dressed from head to toe in monochrome gray. I wondered if his entire closet was gray. It was hard to deny that he was handsome and my sister, who was wearing more makeup than she'd worn in years, gazed at him with those undeniable sparkles in her eyes. It was the first time I'd seen her look adoringly at a man since her wedding day. I also knew that her infatuations could end with the slightest wrong word or action. Terrible sister that I was I kept hoping Dave would stumble or do something to make those sparkles fade. Unfortunately, he was quite charming throughout dinner and not a misstep was made. Lana wasn't surprised that Dave and I knew each other. She'd learned on the way to the inn that Dave had found a job at the Junction Times. What he seemed to have forgotten to mention was that he had taken her sister's place as lead reporter. In Lana's mind, we were just two journalists working at the same paper. Not being
a journalist she didn't understand the hierarchy in the newsroom. Although, she had admonished both of us not to talk about her when she wasn't around. Mostly it was directed at me. I was forbidden to tell any embarrassing anecdotes from our childhood. I made no promises on that account. That was also the extent of our conversation about the newsroom. I was just as glad to avoid the subject during dinner.

  The last remnants of Emily's luscious strawberry pie were disappearing from plates and forks were finally released. Dave leaned back and patted his stomach. "Emily, Lana told me you were an extraordinary cook. She wasn't exaggerating. Best meal I've had in months."

  "That's nice of you to say." Emily pushed her chair out. "Sunni, should we make some coffee?"

  "Absolutely." I followed Emily into the kitchen. It would be the first private words we had since we'd discovered Lana's new friend was the man who had just stolen my position at the newspaper.

  I swept up some of the pie plates before leaving the dining room. They clattered together when I discovered Edward perched on the hearth. He'd been absent throughout the entire dinner. I wasn't terribly surprised. I'd discovered long ago that when too many people gathered in a room, Edward stayed far away. I was counting on that loner's creed for when the bed and breakfast opened. That way he wouldn't get in the way of me running the inn, popping in and out to tease guests or causing me to snap angrily at empty air.

  "How long does it take six adults to finish a meal," Edward said grumpily. "I've sat through eight course dinners with fifty people that finished faster."

  Since Emily was in the kitchen, I naturally ignored his complaints. I probably would have even if she wasn't present.

  Emily pulled down the jar of ground coffee. "So how are you doing?" she whispered. "I don't think Lana understood that Dave had replaced you as lead reporter. Are you going to tell her?"