Farlow snatched the evidence from Amos’s grasp and spun to face the group. Each of us received a probing gaze before he turned back to the older officer. “Amos, know any Golds?”
Amos shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Haven’t heard the name around here.”
Farlow studied the driver’s license again, and then swiveled toward me. “Do you know the man?”
“No! I’ve never heard of him. Why are you asking me?”
“Seemed likely, you being from out of town.”
“Am not. I’m from right here in Evelynton. I was gone for a while, but I’ve been back over four years.” Farlow knew all this and I could tell he’d stopped listening.
He spun, once more, to face Ava. “Who is he?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Farlow towered menacingly over Ava, which he could only do because she was sitting. Ava was taller than many of the men in town. “What are the chances a man’s body was dumped right outside your back door, and you don’t know him?”
Ava began to shake her head again. “I don’t…” Her face paled. Brushing hair from her face, she said. “Oh my. The name is familiar. But it can’t be him. The man I’m thinking of is a food critic. I don’t actually know him, only read about him.” She swung her gaze to Clair.
At that point, Clair let out a gasp and bounced up from her chair. “You’re thinking of the Giles Gold who writes a blog called “Dissecting the Plate.” But it can’t be him. He won’t be here until…” Clair’s eyes grew large and her voice trailed off as she lowered herself into her seat.
Shifting his gaze from Ava to Clair, Farlow demanded, “Now we’re getting somewhere. What do you know about the man?”
Clair’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s just that Giles Gold was the celebrity judge we recruited for the Marshmallow Festival cook off. We were counting on him to draw crowds from miles around.”
Farlow’ s mouth dropped open. “The festival? That’s weeks away. What was he doing in town, now?”
Ignoring Officer Farlow, Clair shifted her gaze to Ava. “It must be him.”
Ava raised a hand to her mouth. “I guess you’re right. How many men with that name could there be?”
Clair slowly shook her head. “This is a catastrophe. What are we going to do for a judge at such short notice? We need a celebrity.”
Patricia Martin leaned in and hissed. “The Marshmallow Festival will be ruined. There’s no time to find another big name from the food community. We’re sunk.”
Clair’s forehead creased. “What do you think about the mayor? Maybe he would fill in. He probably has free time.”
Irma flapped a hand. “That man doesn’t know anything about food, except maybe barbecue.”
I’m not usually one to assist Farlow. I prefer to keep out of his line of vision, but I could see he was floundering with this inquiry. I raised my voice. “Ladies. Dead man in the alley. Remember?”
Clair slumped into her seat. “Sorry, Lauren. You’re right, of course. We’ll discuss the festival at another time.”
Farlow closed his eyes for a moment before commanding Officer Smith to take names and set appointments for us to give statements at the police station.”
Having regained control, and using his best interrogative strategy, Officer Farlow stared into each woman’s eyes, one by one. I thought he was trying to be certain he had our attention. Or he might be trying to burn holes into our consciousness. I glanced away when it was my turn to receive his threat.
“Every one of you is a suspect. I think the killer is in this room and I won’t stop until I discover who it is.”
After this announcement, the officer straightened and let his eyes roam the group one more time. “This is your last chance. What do you know about Giles Q. Gold? What connection does he have with Ava’s Java? Or is the connection with one of you? It will go easier for you if you confess now.”
Jimmy Farlow studied each face. I couldn’t help but do the same. Could someone at this table—one of my friends—be a murderer?
Chapter Three
I was relieved to see the backs of Officers Farlow and Smith. I watched through the window as they crossed the sidewalk and climbed into their squad car. As soon as they sped away, the members of our mentor group quickly dispersed. Everyone had errands to run or work to do, and tales to tell. Rarity and I lingered, gathering used cups and napkins.
Ava hadn’t moved from her seat at the table. I doubt she could summon enough energy to rise from her chair.
Rarity nudged Konrad. “You go on to work. We’ll finish cleaning up.” She grabbed a rag and began wiping the table.
Konrad removed his apron, folded and tucked it into a drawer. From there he went to his wife’s side and pulled her into a hug. “What’s going on? I know this has been traumatic, but you aren’t yourself. You’re holding something back. Are you sure you didn’t know that Giles character?”
Ava answered him, but spoke too quietly for me to hear.
I’ve always hated whispering. I don’t know why I think I should be privy to everything that’s said, but telling myself it’s not my business, has never helped curtail my curiosity. I find myself leaning in and straining to make out each muttered word.
So of course, I grabbed a broom and found some crumbs on the floor near the table.
“No, I did not know him.” Ava paused, averting her eyes. “Well not really. I met him once at a conference. He even bought me a drink, but that was all. I was flattered. We talked about the Java. The truth is, he seemed a little too interested, so I cut the evening short and went to my room. I didn’t attend any of his talks the next day.”
Konrad shook his head. “My love, you lied to the police.”
“I was scared. Don’t know why I didn’t tell the truth, but after the first denial, I was afraid to change my story. I knew they’d hold that against me. They always do on television.”
Ava shot a glance at me. I concentrated on sweeping the floor, pretending I hadn’t heard and wasn’t dying to hear more.
Konrad kissed her on the cheek. “I wish you would sell the shop and retire. You’re carrying too much stress.”
Ava drew back and blinked at her husband. “What are you saying? I love this place.”
Konrad laid a large hand on Ava’s cheek. “Yes, I know you do. I’m sorry I mentioned it. Anyway, tell Officer Farlow the whole truth, tomorrow.”
Ava kissed his hand. “I will. I promise. You go to work and don’t worry about me.”
At this point, I’d begun to feel like a voyeur, and looked for something else to do.
Konrad left by the front door, scowled at the remaining few gawkers on the sidewalk, and pointed at the closed sign still hanging in the window.
Rarity deposited her rag in the sink and hustled over to sit next to Ava. “The dishes are all cleaned up, so Lauren and I will be going now. Stacie’s probably ready for some help at the salon. We can thank the Lord the worst is over. The police will find an explanation for this.”
I put the broom away, waved at Ava and waited for Rarity by the door.
My boss was one of those people whose good-bye could last longer than the original visit. She got up from the table and made it half-way to the door before she thought of more to say. “It’s awful something like that happened next to the Java, but we all know the man had no connection to you. I’m sure this will be cleared up before you know it. Um, is there anything else we can do?”
Ava pushed up from her chair. “You’ve already done enough. I can take it from here. Best to get on with my day. I just want to open the shop and let life return to normal.”
Rarity made it to the door before hesitating again. She gripped the closed sign. “Are you sure you want to open today? Why don’t you take the day off?”
“I can’t do that. Look out on the sidewalk.” Ava held out her hands to the clusters of towns-people gathering once again.
She slid her chair under the t
able and smoothed her apron. “No. I’ll feel fine once I begin working.”
Rarity leaned on the door, her back to the probing eyes of her neighbors. “Did I hear Konrad say something about you retiring?”
Ava snapped to attention. “Me retire? He mentioned it, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. What would I do with myself if I didn’t have the Java? It’s like you, if you didn’t have The Rare Curl. Except you would probably be involved in all sorts of charity work. This is all I have.”
She strode to the center of the shop and smiled—almost beamed. “Ava’s Java is the hub of the community. If something’s going on, you’ll hear it here first.” She glanced at the customer faces peering through the window, and lowered her voice. “People think they’re talking privately, but I hear everything. That’s how I know who needs help and who needs my prayers. As long as I serve the coffee, they don’t pay attention to me. I’m the invisible woman.”
Rarity folded her arms, exhibiting no desire to leave.
I followed my boss’s example and folded my arms. I had a question of my own. “That brings up a question. What if the murderer has been in the Java? You may have heard something you don’t even remember. Something that might incriminate them. What if they think you might know who they are?”
Ava sputtered a laugh. “Not a chance. I’d know if there was a murderer in my shop. These are my people. And now, with the Mentor Group, I have a chance to do some good for my town. Life is just beginning for me.”
The door behind Rarity vibrated. She planted her feet and glanced over her shoulder. “Shall I turn the sign?”
“Yes. Open the door.” Ava grinned. “Let my people in.”
Rarity flipped the sign over. A cheer could be heard outside, and people began pushing on the door even before we jumped out of the way.
A line soon formed at the coffee counter, taking Ava’s full attention. Rarity and I slipped out.
I wondered if they were truly Ava’s people. Did they all appreciate the good woman who served them coffee? Or was one of them plotting to silence a possible witness to a murder?
Chapter Four
My rearview mirror showed Stacey Lutz, in her spiffy new Chevy Spark, tailing me into the parking lot. I wondered if I would ever choose a raspberry colored car. Providing I ever had an opportunity to actually choose a color, or a car? My ‘75 Chrysler New Yorker station wagon, avocado with wood toned panels down the side, had come to me as an inheritance from Aunt Ruth.
Stacey popped out of her shiny little car and slung her bag over her shoulder. She waited for me to wrestle open the heavy door of the Chrysler and to push down all the locks. I gave the door a shove, silently apologizing to my aunt, who always said, “You don’t have to slam the door. It’s a Chrysler.”
I joined Stacey on the walk to the salon. “How was your interview with Farlow, yesterday? Did they keep you forever?”
Knowing Jimmy Farlow as I did, I expected a horror story. Stacey giggled. “It was a breeze. Officer Farlow was much too busy to worry about me, so Amos took my statement.” She waved a hand and snapped her fingers. “I signed it, and was out of there in about two minutes. Amos was really sweet, and assured me he always knew when someone was telling the truth. And he believed me.”
She grinned. “I’d always thought he judged me for my hair. You know, the color and funky cut, but I guess not.” My purple haired coworker glanced at me. “How did it go for you?”
“You were lucky. Farlow interrogated me for more almost an hour, and repeated every question at least three times. My guess is he wanted to catch me off guard, but I could hardly forget the answer I’d just given—twice. He finally gave up and let me sign my statement. I suspect it was time for his lunch.”
Stacey and I crossed the street and stood at the door. My salon keys seemed to be perpetually lost, somewhere at the bottom of my handbag. I’d been searching since we left the parking lot and still came up empty handed.
“Let me get it.” Stacey stepped ahead of me and pushed her key into the door.
Once inside, she trudged to her styling station to deposit her bag, and I aimed for the reception desk.
My coworker pulled out a curling iron and pointed it at me. “Let me tell you, it’s a good thing you’re working today. If I had to answer that phone one more time to hear ‘What happened at Ava’s?’ ‘Tell me about the dead man.’ or ‘Who do you think did it?’, I would scream. It rang constantly yesterday. I wouldn’t have minded if the calls were for appointments.”
Now, the Stacey I knew would have yearned to share her first-hand knowledge, elaborating and speculating on the crime.
“And that was a problem?”
Stacey planted her hands on her hips and gave me a look. “Think about it. Everyone knows Rarity’s rule about no gossip in the salon.” She blew out a breath and pointed toward Rarity’s empty styling station. “She was right there working, all day. How could I say anything?”
Flopping into her styling chair, Stacey ran her fingers through her bangs. “Anyway, I kept telling them I didn’t know anything, and I was sure the police department would solve it very soon. I sounded just like Rarity.”
She swiveled her chair to face me. “They probably thought I’d lost my mind.”
“You showed commendable self-control. I’m sure Rarity appreciated it.”
The motto at The Rare Curl was well known. I glanced up at the quotation Rarity had stenciled above the waiting room door. It read: Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. Philippians 4:8
“I’m glad you reminded me. I might have been drawn in to conversations about the murder. Mind if I use your answer so everyone gets the same story?”
As if on cue, the phone rang. I snatched it from the cradle, fully prepared with an answer to any non-business related question. “Good morning. It’s a beautiful day at The Rare Curl.”
“Hey, Lauren. It’s Irma. Stacey got any time for a haircut, today?”
I scanned the appointment book. “She does if you get here soon. Can you make it in twenty minutes?”
“I’m on my way.”
I replaced the handset. “I just filled your opening this morning. Irma.”
“From the police station?”
At my nod, Stacey grabbed her styling cape and flipped open the folds, letting a smile play across her face. “What time does Rarity start work today?”
“Not until noon.” I tried to give my coworker a stern look. “I want nothing to do with prying information from Irma. Just because the boss isn’t here, doesn’t mean we break the rule.”
Stacey shook her head vigorously. “Wouldn’t even think of it. Of course if Irma brings it up and wants to talk, it wouldn’t be nice to ignore her. That would be rude.” Stacy lifted her feet, and spun her chair. “Bet it won’t take five minutes for her to come out with some interesting information. That woman loves to talk about police business.”
I put my hands over my ears. “I won’t listen.”
The little bells on the front door jingled. My friend Anita held the door open and leaned in. “Are you busy? I was in town and thought I’d drop by for a chat.”
“Come on in. No customers in here yet. I have nothing to do but wait for the phone to ring.”
Anita grabbed a chair from the waiting area and dragged it to the side of my desk. “So what have you heard about the corpse?”
“Not a thing.”
She stared at me. “Nothing?”
I clapped a hand over my mouth and pointed to Rarity’s motto.
Anita squinted at me. “But you can tell me. You know I won’t spread it around.”
“I really haven’t heard anything. But if I did, it wouldn’t be right to talk about it at work.”
“Darn. I’m dying to know why the man was in town. What do you think we should do? Maybe check around at the motels to discover where he was staying?”
; “Once again, Rarity’s rule is no speculating about it in the salon. And we aren’t going to do anything. The authorities are more than capable.”
Anita’s rosy cheeks drooped into a pout. “Gosh, you’re no fun at all. I might as well go home.”
Stacey’s voice drifted in from the styling area. “Did you tell Anita Irma is going to be here, for a haircut, in fifteen minutes? I sure hope she doesn’t want to talk about the murder.”
I was about to warn the two inquisitive women about the ramifications of gossip, when the phone rang.
After taking a message and replacing the handset I noticed Anita was no longer beside my desk. She sat in the waiting area, seemingly entranced by a Vogue magazine. She glanced at me over the top of the page. “I haven’t seen this issue. Mind if I stick around and read it?”
“Not at all.” Apparently, I had no control over the situation.
Ten minutes later, the door bells jingled and Irma arrived. She waved as she passed through the waiting room. “Hi Anita, how’s it going?”
Anita gave a little wave and returned to reading, or pretending to.
Irma tapped my desk on her way to Stacey’s styling chair. “Hey, Halloren. What’s up?”
“Nice to see you, Irma. Would you care for coffee?” Excelling in my receptionist role.
“No thanks.” Irma hopped into the chair where Stacey waited with styling cape ready to settle around her shoulders.
Stacey kept her promise and refrained from asking about the crime. Not a difficult feat, since Irma couldn’t wait to regale us with recent police activities. Information bubbled from her as bits of hair flew to the floor. “You should see Jimmy Farlow strut around the station. Since Chief Stoddard went on leave and left him in charge, you’d think he was Sherlock Holmes”
I studied the appointment book, but shifted to point an ear in Irma’s direction. Anita slid into a chair closer to the styling area.
Stacey muttered. “What’s Farlow think?”
Caffeinated Murder Page 2
