Lester looked up at me. "She's stubborn and I know she won't go to the doctor. This has happened before. I need to get her home to her special heating pads."
"I'll wait here with her while you close up your shop and get your car, Les."
"Right." Lester hurried away.
"What should I do?" Ryder asked.
"Go inside the bakery and turn out the lights. Check that all the ovens are off," Elsie squeaked through a tight jaw. It seemed every movement hurt. "My keys and purse are in the office."
Ryder went into the bakery to lock it up.
Elsie moaned but this time it was from disappointment more than pain. "I was just about to take all the cupcakes to the flea market. Dozens of cakes ready to be sold to cupcake hungry buyers. What timing."
"I'll take them down there for you, Elsie. Ryder can finish up work at the flower shop."
Elsie lifted her head. The incident had knocked her toffee and gray hair free from its tight bun. "Would you really do that?"
"Of course, Elsie. You'd do the same for me."
"I would, Pink. I've got everything laid out on the counter, including the cash box. The cupcakes in the refrigerator are for tomorrow, but I would never expect you to work both days."
"Why not? Tomorrow's Sunday and I would probably just be spending it cleaning the house. I will take care of the cupcake stand."
Lester's car pulled up to the curb.
"You just go home and put on those special heating pads."
"You're the best, Pink. Thanks."
Chapter 9
I handed off the last of the lemon cupcakes to a little girl whose smile nearly split her freckled face in two. There were still a dozen red velvet cupcakes left, but I had no doubt they'd be gone in the next hour. I felt so terrible for poor Elsie, knowing there was nothing I could do to help her feel better. I was relieved that I could at least put her mind at ease by selling her cupcakes. She'd worked so hard and through back pain to get the cakes ready for the flea market. It would have been a shame not to sell them.
Lola dropped some money into her cash box. She had sold quite a few items, including the leather jewelry box and the large steamer trunk. In my spare moments, between cupcake customers, the jewelry box and trunk had given me an idea. Lola walked over and took another bite of the cupcake she'd been working on between sales.
"Lola, I was thinking about a trunk I saw in the gardener's shed up at the Hawksworth Manor. I don't know if you've ever been in to see the artifacts—"
A dry laugh nearly made Lola spit out the cupcake. "Please, I'd hardly call them artifacts. Just a bunch of old junk. I'm not sure why they bothered to preserve the stuff."
"Maybe because the town makes good money from tourists interested in seeing the items left behind by a murdered family. And yes—as I said that out loud, it sounds macabre that tourists come to Port Danby and pay money to see that stuff, but anyhow, I was getting to a question that I'm hoping my antique expert friend can answer."
"Fire away but I have to warn you, I haven't been inside that gardener's shed museum—" She pulled out her air quotes. "Since the twelfth grade when Scott Vicente and I hid in there to—" Her cheeks darkened beneath the rosy color she'd earned from standing in the sun all morning. "You get the point."
"No, actually, I don't." I placed an elbow on my forearm and pushed my fingers under my chin to show great interest. "Perhaps you should elaborate about your visit to the gardener's shed."
"Funny, funny friend. You're lucky you provided me with a red velvet cupcake, otherwise I might have stomped angrily off to my own table." She touched her table. "Over here. Five inches away. What's the question?"
"I was thinking about the jewelry box and the secret key compartment. There's an old storage chest in the shed that has never been opened. The lock wouldn't budge when I tried to open it. Do you think a trunk like that might have a secret key compartment like the jewelry box?"
"It's very likely. Of course, there's no guarantee that the key is still stored in the compartment."
"It's worth a look anyhow."
"You're still trying to solve the Hawksworth murders?"
"Sure, why not? It's interesting."
"I suppose." We stood and watched Fiona sell her last doll. Jodie Dean, the art teacher, came up to Fiona's table and looked through the paintings that were stacked against an end table.
"Excuse me," she said, rather urgently. "Where is that mountain landscape in the antique gold frame?" she asked Fiona. I found it rather curious that she'd come back for that painting after she'd scoffed at the idea when Letty considered buying it.
Fiona shuffled around her table to the front where the paintings were stacked. She looked worn out from the long day. From what I could tell, she had sold more than half of her attic treasures.
Fiona moved a few of the paintings around and then put her hands to her mouth. "Why, I nearly forgot, that pretty young woman with the blonde hair and fair skin came back and bought it a few hours ago."
Jodie looked more than a little upset about missing out on the painting, a painting she’d told Letty not to buy. Maybe she was angry that her advice had been ignored, but somehow, I doubted it. Jodie had mentioned to Briggs that she was an art dealer. It seemed she might have discovered that the painting was valuable after all.
"Interesting," I muttered to myself.
Lola looked over at me. "What's interesting? Oh, I see. The detective and his new side kick. You know, Detective Briggs is even more appealing with a big puppy at his side."
I spun around and was more than a touch pleased to see Briggs and the puppy walking through the crowd. He was dressed for work in his shirt and tie.
"I knew you would decide to keep him. And you brought him to work with you," I called as he reached us.
The dog tried to pull Briggs past the table, toward the picnic benches in the town square where people were eating, but he managed to stop him. It took him a few tries to get the dog to sit, but he finally managed it.
Briggs reached up and loosened his tie. "I didn't decide to keep him, and I had to bring him to work. I was afraid I'd come home to complete and utter destruction if I left him there alone. Last night he got up and decided to eat all the books on the bottom shelf of my extremely small library, a library that's even smaller now that all my World War I and II books have been eaten."
"Perfect, so he's a war history buff too."
Briggs scanned the table of cupcakes. "Have you decided on a career switch?"
"No, I'm helping out Elsie. She hurt her back." I picked up a cupcake. "Red velvet?"
"No, thanks. I haven't had my lunch yet. Actually, that's not true. I had a lunch, a delicious looking turkey and cheddar on rye from the Corner Market. I left it on my desk when Hilda needed my help out front—"
I put my hand up. "I think I can finish that story in my head." I'd been very unsupportive, teasing him and insisting he should keep the dog. It was time to be a better friend. "Briggs, puppies are total scoundrels. It's what makes them so darn cute and at the same time troublesome. But they give back more than they take. That's all I can say about it. I wish I had more pearls of wisdom for you, but he's a cute, sweet animal. If you're determined not to keep him, I'm sure someone else would love to take him home. You might need to put up some flyers."
"Yes, Hilda is making some up for me right now." Then, without realizing it, he beamed rather fondly down at the dog. "Turns out he loves to sit for the camera." He pulled out his phone and showed me pictures, just like a proud parent. He swiped over to one. "In this one he's wearing his goofy smile."
I held back my grin. "I suppose it's good you'll have a few pictures of the puppy on your phone to remember him once he's found his permanent home."
Briggs closed out the pictures abruptly. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."
I blinked innocently at him. "Why, Detective Briggs, I have no idea what you're talking about. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got cupcake cus
tomers."
Chapter 10
Flea market shoppers preferred morning for their excursions. By late afternoon, the town square was nearly empty. Although that might have been more due to the ominous cluster of rain clouds that had moved in over the shore. A rambunctious wind had tagged along with the dark sky. I'd discovered very quickly that weather in Port Danby could change in an instant.
After smashing it down several times on her head, Lola yanked off the straw fedora she'd worn all day to protect her from the sun. She turned her face up to the sky. "I thought that storm wasn't due until Monday."
I pulled my phone out. "Looks like the little rain icon moved to Sunday." I ran my thumb down the screen. "From midnight until four in the morning to be exact."
Lola scoffed at that. "Exact. Sure, it tells you the hours to expect the rain, but there should be a little banner on the bottom that says, 'unless you're in Port Danby, then this prediction could change without warning'. I'm going to have to take some of this stuff back to the shop, or it'll be ruined in the rain." Some of the other sellers were doing the same thing. No one looked too happy about the prospect of dragging everything back home just to bring it all back out for Sunday.
"I guess the fence was helpful, but what you really needed was a tent."
Lola snapped her fingers. "Great idea. I'm going to ask Mayor Price to do that next year."
"Just don't tell him it was my idea, or he'll respond with a resounding no."
"I can't understand why he doesn't like you. I mean, what's not to like? You even spend your day selling cupcakes for friends."
"I know, right? By the way, I was thinking of going over to Elsie's tonight to cook her dinner. Why don't you come along? It'll be a girls' night."
"I think I've got a date." Lola glanced around. "Chuck is supposed to be on his way to help me take this stuff back to the shop." Her smile appeared. "There he is."
Chuck galumphed toward us, looking none too happy about being summoned to move furniture again. He was such a thick, brute of a man, I didn't notice Ryder behind him until Ryder tilted his head past Chuck's blockhead to look for me.
I waved to him. "My helper is coming too," I said to Lola, who was quickly doing a finger comb through her red curls trying to erase the hat marks. "And frankly, I think mine is much cuter than yours," I added just before Chuck reached her table, giving her no time to mount a defense. Not that there was one.
"Babe," Chuck grumbled the word that was normally used as a term of endearment. Coming from him, it just sounded cringeworthy. But he had my friend stupefied with his big, intrusive presence. "I thought I was done hauling this old junk around," he added to his 'babe' greeting.
Ryder reached my table. "I've got everything closed up for the night, boss. I took in an order for a large family Easter dinner. Mostly tulips and lilies."
"Perfect. I'll have to order some more lilies then."
The conversation at the next table grew a little louder and less 'babe-ish' with each passing moment. Ryder and I were pretending not to notice, but we weren't doing a great job of it. Ryder looked everywhere but to the right where Lola was having to convince Chuck to help her move things back to the shop to avoid the rain.
"I guess the artists finished up at the lighthouse," Ryder said as his gaze swept down to the coastline. "Can't blame them though, those clouds look pretty solid with rain." His eyes swept toward Lola and Chuck and then returned back to me. "Do you need help carrying these trays back?"
"No, I'm fine."
"It's your dusty old junk, I don't see why I have to waste my Saturday night moving it," Chuck growled.
Ryder bit down and tightened his jaw as he looked their direction. I lightly touched his arm, startling him out of his angry trance.
"She needs to find this out on her own," I said quietly to him.
He nodded but it was so tight, his head barely moved. I'd never seen Ryder so mad, but Chuck was just one of those rotten people who could make even the coolest people lose their cool. I know I was losing mine.
I'd been so occupied trying to keep the lid on Ryder, I hadn't noticed that things had escalated at Lola's table.
"What are you doing?" Lola asked sharply.
Our attention snapped that direction at the urgent sound of Lola's voice. Chuck had lifted up a small, midcentury end table. He held it up over his big, square head. "You want me to move the stuff, then I'll move it." Without warning, Chuck spun around and heaved the poor, innocent end table against a nearby tree. Its long, frail legs snapped like toothpicks and it clattered to the ground in pieces. Lola burst into tears.
I was still in a state of shock as Ryder closed the gap between him and Chuck. My stomach twittered with worried nerves. Chuck was two inches taller and outweighed Ryder by about fifty pounds, although some of that was blubber and rocks for brains. That didn't stop Ryder from acting the gallant and stepping in before the villain did any more damage. Or worse. I hurried over to Lola's side and put my arm around her as she sobbed quietly into her hands.
"This is none of your business," Chuck thundered at Ryder.
Ryder wasn't the least bit intimidated. He stepped closer, toe to toe, with the brute. "Lola no longer needs your help. You need to leave."
Chuck's nostrils flared. I quickly searched around for something I could clobber him with if he tried to hurt Ryder. I marveled at how confidently Ryder kept his posture as he stared straight up into Chuck's face. Lola stopped crying, and it seemed she was marveling right along with me. Even with a little twinkle in her tear-glossed eyes.
Chuck didn't move, but he didn't retreat either. He was also too stupid to come up with any counterargument. A long game of chicken ensued, but neither man looked away.
Chuck finally broke it off. "Whatever. I've got places to be." He stormed off like an angry Frankenstein.
I looked over at Lola. The twinkles had grown into shiny stars. Ryder deserved the stars.
Ryder's rigid posture finally relaxed. He spun around. "Are you all right?"
Lola swallowed and nodded but couldn't find her tongue.
Ryder didn't quite know how to react to her silence, so he busied himself by heading to the tree to pick up what was left of the end table.
"I know this isn't the time or place to say I told you so, but I told you so," I said in a near whisper. "And that man right there is as close as any guy can get to Prince Charming."
"He was so brave," Lola finally spoke. It was a shaky, weak version of the real thing. "He didn't even flinch. Did you see how he didn't even flinch?"
"I sure did." I was smiling on the inside, feeling pretty pleased with myself and my matchmaking skills (even though Ryder had really done it all on his own), when Denise came virtually skipping across the town square.
"Ryder," she called moments before reaching him.
Lola's shoulders dropped. "That's the problem. He is Prince Charming, and every woman is lined up with their glass slippers."
"But he's only looking for one Cinderella." I decided not to tell her that my intuition told me that she was the girl with the right glass slipper because it was only that, intuition. It was possible Ryder had already given up on Lola. She had certainly gone out of her way to ignore him and be snippy with him to let him know that she was not interested.
Denise helped Ryder pick up a few pieces of furniture and looked rather confused about it all as she walked back to the booth with the broken table legs. Denise's big brown eyes circled back to the tree. "I know the wind kicked up pretty hard this afternoon, but it's wild to think that it tossed a table all the way over there." It seemed Ryder had come up with a somewhat plausible reason for the broken table, saving Lola the embarrassment of the real story.
"I guess you're done painting for the day," I said, trying to take the focus off the flying end table.
"Actually, we are going to meet at dusk to practice painting a stormy sky. A turbulent sky like the one out over the water can evoke so much more emotion than a clear blue one. It's
great for creating a dark, moody painting." Denise reached over and wrapped a proprietary arm around Ryder's. He stiffened some in response. So did Lola, but for different reasons. "I came over here to invite Ryder for dinner afterward. We're going to paint until dark and then head over to Franki's Diner for some chili and cornbread." She pouted her lips. "But the big stinker says he can't make it."
Ryder flashed me a friend's secret look, which I could easily read. It went right along with the complaints he had mentioned earlier in the flower shop.
"Yeah, sorry. Wish you'd asked me earlier, Denise. I've got plans."
Denise cleared away the pout and hugged him. "I'll catch you tomorrow then. Have fun with your other plans."
"Yep, catch ya later," he said as she walked away.
Ryder turned back to Lola. "I'll help you carry this stuff back to the antique store."
Lola patted her hat back on her head. "No, that's all right. You've got plans. Besides, Pink has already volunteered to help me. You go ahead, Ryder. And thanks for your help."
I stared over at the side of Lola's face hard enough to turn her to stone or a pillar of salt or something along those lines. And she knew darn well I was looking at her. She could probably even sense that I wanted to lift my fist and knuckle punch her right in the arm. (Which I didn't do, but I really wanted to.)
Ryder stuttered over his words for a second. "Oh, right, O.K. no problem." He pointed behind him with his thumb. "I'll just get going on those plans. See you Monday, boss." His long legs carried him quickly away.
The second he was out of earshot, I followed through on my knuckle punch.
"Ouch," Lola reached up and rubbed her arm. "Why did you do that?"
"And thanks for your help?" I repeated her highly inadequate thank you. "He stepped in front of that hulking, furniture throwing cave man to protect you and that was the best you could do? And why didn't you let him help you with the furniture?"
Lola pulled an empty milk crate out from under the table and started stacking in the old books she had out on display. "You heard him. He has plans."
Tulips and Trouble Page 5
