by Laura Quinn
“Hey,” Peggy said. “Sorry I’m late. Simone was in a mood and insisted I straighten out the stockroom before I left.”
“Simone was cranky? She’s always so cheerful.”
“She just finished redecorating the window, but I told her that putting shoes on a display table was practically inviting death. That’s when she sent me to the stockroom. So, I’m super drained already.” Peggy slumped on a chair.
Claire fought off the urge to ask why table-top shoes would be fatal, guessing it would be one of Peggy’s obscure superstitions. Simone had warned her about her assistant’s eccentricities. “Go ahead and wander around the shop to get familiar with the stock for now. I’ll finish up in the kitchen, then we’ll run through register training.”
“I don’t know. Those machines look pretty complicated, and I don’t like to handle cash. Do you know how many germs the average bill carries?”
“I’d rather not,” Claire said. She was deeply regretting her last-minute decision to hire the twenty-six-year-old-going-on-eighty employee. “Take your time and look around. When we open, you can help customers and restock instead of ringing the registers.”
“I hope nobody brings in a ferret. I’m deathly allergic to them. I’ll seize up right on the floor, rasping for breath, in an agonizingly painful death. Do you have 911 programmed on the phone?” Peggy looked up to find she was alone on the floor.
“Why did you hire her?” Zac whispered in the dark refuge of the stock room.
“More importantly, when are you going to fire Debbie Downer?” Emma demanded.
“She’s doing her best,” Claire said. “and it’s only a temporary position.”
“Very temporary, I hope,” Emma said.
“For once, my sister is succinct and totally correct.”
“You’re doing great work back here,” Claire said in a raised voice, covering for the duo’s noticeable absence. She asked Zac to continue baking the cookies while Emma was put in charge of packaging the ice cream cups. Baron stayed in the kitchen with them.
Claire brought out a box of plastic jars and dog-themed decals. “How’s it going out here? Did you get a chance to look at everything?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Isn’t that kind of morbid, though?” Peggy asked, pointing to the display Emma created.
“I think it’s adorable,” Claire said.
“If you think a drowning dog is adorable, then yeah, I get it.”
“No, he’s swimming. That’s why he’s wearing goggles.”
“It reminds me of my dog, Happy. He fell off the pier and drowned.”
“Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry,” Claire said, hugging her employee.
“Well, he almost drowned. When he swam to shore, my mom said he barely survived.”
“Oh,” Claire said, unable to think what else to say. She grabbed the box and asked Peggy to follow her upstairs. “These are donation jars for the rescue groups. I thought you could work on decorating them. Do you know how to use Modge Podge?”
“I hope it doesn’t give me a rash.”
“On second thought, use this tape. When you’re done, arrange them on the tables according to this chart.”
When she returned to the kitchen, Emma and Zac were finishing arranging the decorated treats in the display case. Baron lay between them, playing with his puzzle toy. Claire printed up name and address labels to stick on the donation envelopes, for people who wanted a tax receipt sent from the shelters. By seven o’clock, everything was done. After a final run-through of the next day’s logistics, she called an early night. Once Peggy left, Baron came out to say goodbye to his young friends.
Marti called just after Baron and Claire arrived home. The cats glared at the ringing phone, swatting it across the counter. She pet both of them, promising she would be right with them. Baron made himself cozy on the couch.
“Finally!” Claire said as she answered. “I’ve been dying to tell you about my visitor today.”
“I’ve got bigger news,” Marti said. “You’ll never guess who was having an affair with Kim.”
“That’s exactly what I had to tell you. The police are asking about Josh, that young volunteer I told you about.”
“No, no. You’ll never believe it, but she was fooling around with Larry Hamilton!”
“Traci’s husband? No way! How do you know?”
“I could hardly believe it myself. I was in the bathroom at the cafe near the courthouse, when I heard Traci talking on her phone.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. It was a short call, plus I couldn’t hear everything. The police called her in after talking to her husband. She said the bastard, her word, hadn’t told her about the affair, then said someone didn’t know about something, but stopped talking when the door opened.”
“Did she know you were there?”
“I don’t think so. Those stalls have full-length doors, and I was in the handicapped stall, changing out of my court suit. It probably looked empty from a distance.”
“Wow, Larry and Kim. Who would have thought it? I knew he spent a lot of late nights working, but I assumed he was actually working. He always seems so dull, especially compared to his wife.”
“That’s how people like that get away with it; no one would ever suspect them.”
“Of infidelity or murder?”
“Both, I suppose,” Claire said. “But I don’t think he was there that night.”
“If so, he would have seen Kim hanging on that young hunk. Jealousy is a powerful motive for murder.”
“No wonder the police asked me about him, the hunk, that is. Come to think of it, that’s exactly the word the cop used, hunky. Do you remember anyone listening to us yesterday?”
“It’s North Haven, everyone is always listening. What else did he ask you?”
“I think we’re right about the poison,” Claire said, then bit her lip. “Uh-oh. I told him that Traci was alone with the VIP bags. What if that’s why they brought her in for questioning?”
“It sounds like they’re definitely pursuing the affair angle, so it was inevitable that she would be interviewed. Besides, Bob said they don’t have the autopsy report yet, so they can’t know where the poison came from. It would be easier for someone to slip something into her drink that night. We need to figure out who was onboard.”
“Thank goodness Amanda is stationed in Okinawa; it might be just far enough away from the rumor mill. With any luck, we can remove suspicion from her parents before news reaches her,” Claire said. “Sounds like the Mystery Mavens are officially out of retirement and on the case.”
A crash sounded in the kitchen, grabbing Claire’s attention just in time to see crimson shrapnel glimmering in the air. “The feline felons dropped a hint that they want their dinner. We’ll catch up later.”
Claire swept up the remnants of the shattered heart-shaped vase from the tile. Remembering her mother’s trick of using a wet paper towel to pick up the fine shards, she wiped a cloth dampened with lemon cleaner along the floor to do two jobs at once. A searing pain shot through her finger as she picked up the cloth to throw it away. She rinsed her hand in cold water and looked at the sore spot. A sliver of glass caught the light.
“That’s what I get for trying to save time,” Claire said to herself. She rinsed the burning lemon from the wound then extracted the glass with tweezers. Baron gave her finger a kiss to help heal it while the cats watched, without a trace of guilt. In fact, they made Claire feel guilty about the further delay of their dinner. As they ate, she crumpled the junk mail into paper balls for the pair to bat around the now-clean floor. In the stack, she noticed an ad for a new Texas-themed barbeque restaurant opening with country line dancing on Fridays.
“Baron, how could we forget about Miranda Lambert. Do you think she liked the treats?” She would have to wait until she saw Lana to casually ask her. With so many thoughts swimming in her head, Claire tried to focus on the immediate needs of her shop’s opening events.
She rechecked her checklist, then laid out her clothes, set multiple alarm clocks, and got into bed early.
Although Baron fell asleep immediately, Claire couldn’t turn off her mind. She worried that she was too prepared and that she must have overlooked something at the shop. Then, she re-assured herself that the soft opening was scheduled for that very reason, as a final rehearsal. That cleared the way for thoughts of Kim’s death to bubble back to the surface. To quiet those demons, she wondered about her possible new celebrity customer, but she drifted back to the murder.
Traci and Carrie both hated Kim and they were both alone with the VIP bags. She tried to silence the unsettling thoughts by turning on the tv, selecting an informercial to dull her to sleep.
Chapter 9
Thursday, July 7th
“Everything looks absolutely perfect for our trial run today,” Barbara said when she arrived. “I was worried about not coming in yesterday to help, but you managed brilliantly. I love the swimming pool!”
“Emma made that. She has real initiative,” Claire said. “All the treats are done and we tested the registers and card readers. Knock on wood, I think we’re all set.”
“Well, we’ll find out in a few hours, which gives you plenty of time to eat breakfast.”
“How do you know I didn’t? I set my alarms early today.”
“Because I know you. Now, go get something. Baron can stay here with me.”
Claire walked over to the coffee shop and ordered a large double-strength iced espresso with an energy shot for herself and a cup of lemon bliss tea for Barbara. She picked out an assortment of energy bars and muffins for her staff.
Carrie popped her head out of the kitchen. “I thought that was you. How are you doing? All set for tomorrow? I was a pile of nerves before my opening too. My hands were shaking so much that I had to leave the serving to my employees, or I would have burned most of my customers. No way I’d be drinking caffeine.”
“I was up too late last night, thinking about who would want to kill Kim,” Claire said, watching for a reaction.
“That woman made plenty of enemies. It was simply a matter of time before karma got her.”
The icy response made Claire grateful she asked the question after the barista prepared her beverages. Still, she couldn’t believe Carrie was capable of killing someone over a sign or delayed permit. She changed the subject. “Are these honey sticks from Beacham’s Beehive?”
Carrie’s expression softened immediately. “Yeah, Kyle dropped them off yesterday to test-market. He also gave me that jar of clover honey for the beverage bar, but wouldn’t take any money. I told him that we independents have to support each other, but he just waved and ran off.”
“He must be so busy between tending his orchard and beehives, plus all these farmers markets,” Claire said. “I want to talk to him myself about ordering honey for my treats. He disappeared Tuesday before I had a chance.” Claire added a dollop of honey to Barbara’s cup and picked up the box of treats. “Speaking of disappearing, I better get back to the shop. Stop by and have a glass of champagne tonight.”
A familiar silver car greeted Claire’s return. She was tempted to check how she looked in the gleaming chrome before talking with her stylish customer. Lana was inside, petting Baron while Barbara bagged a large basket of items.
“Ms. Vanderloft, how are you?” Claire asked.
“It’s Lana to my friends, and I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends,” the socialite said. “I know you aren’t officially open, not even for your unofficial opening, but dear Barbara took pity upon me and my starving little dears who are at this very moment being groomed after our little jaunt to le grand pomme for din din last night.”
“Is that a new restaurant? We could use a good French bistro.”
Lana laughed, unleashing her mega-watt smile. “I meant the Big Apple, New York City. I was in the mood for lobster, so I visited my dear friend Jean-Georges. You simply can’t get fresh seafood here, and I miss Central Park.”
“Wow, that’s a tough act to follow. Did Emily and Charlotte have caviar too?”
“Oh, you’re such a hoot! They shared a plate of sirloin, sans sauce. Of course, I did let them have un petit taste of my honey-roasted-peanut ice cream profiterole. Don’t tell anyone, but they prefer your ice cream.”
“That would be a great tagline, but I’ll keep it to myself,” Claire promised. “What can I get for you today?”
“I’ve already given the list to Barbara, but I want to talk to you about a special order. I’m flying to Paris for Bastille Day and want to bring some of your superb treats to outshine those snooty boulangers. I adore your tri-color cookies, bleu, blanc et rouge, perfect for the French flag. Perhaps a few dozen cupcakes with Bastille Day décor, and ice cream of course. I’ll need an assortment; I think thirty cups will do. Do you make Doggy Croissants?”
“It would be tough to create them without all that butter, which isn’t good for dogs, or us for that matter. How about crunchy mini-baguettes?”
“Ce magnifiue! I’ll take a mix of sweet and savory, you can do that, right? I’m sure there was something else.” Lana’s eyes darted around the shop, stopping at a pile of flyers Claire didn’t recognize. “What’s this? VIP shopping? What an excellent idea. Sign me up. Claude will take care of the details when he picks up my order. We’re leaving Tuesday evening, would five o’clock work for you? We’ll stop on the way to the airport.”
“Yes, that’s fine, but even with dry ice, I’m not sure the ice cream will survive on an airplane that long. Plus, I’m not familiar with the customs paperwork you’ll need.”
“Oh cheree, the jet has a sub-zero freezer in the kitchen. How else could my chef function? My flight concierge takes care of any paperwork. Include a list of ingredients and all will be parfait.”
Claire helped Barbara finish wrapping Lana’s packages, retying the bow so many times that Barbara took over. She whispered to Claire to just come out with it.
“Lana,” she asked, biting her lip. “Do you mind if I ask you how Miranda liked the treats? Did she happen to say anything?”
“Barbara dear, I’ll send Claude in to pick up the packages,” Lana said. “I want to show Claire the custom dog bed I had made for the car.”
Claire followed along, hoping she hadn’t upset her best customer with the inquiry. Claude opened the door for Claire before stepping aside to talk with his boss. Settled into the luxurious Rolls, Claire imagined drinking champagne as Baron nibbled bits of filet mignon in Manhattan. Suddenly, Lana appeared next to her.
“I have something very distressing to tell you. It’s why I had to come today, actually,” Lana began in an atypical flat tone, sans accent of any kind. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up; it’s about the celebrity appearance.”
“Oh god, did she hate the treats?”
“No, no. Miranda was not actually there. That’s the whole problem, you see.” For a moment, Lana struggled with what to say. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to reset herself. “It was a celebrity lookalike that Bunny hired in a desperate attempt to outdo me. I discovered the fraud as soon as the faux songstress boarded the ship with her pedigreed dogs. Although she looked very much like Miranda, I knew those weren’t her dogs and called Bunny out.”
“Are you serious? What did she say?”
“At first, she denied it. I told her I was going to report her fraud to the authorities. She sold everyone on the celebrity guest, though she never even contacted her or her agent. Oh, how I relished the thought of her name splashed across headlines as a scamming socialite. She has been a royal pain in my derriere since I moved here.”
“What did the police say?”
“I didn’t call them,” Lana admitted. “She cried and begged for mercy, which she could tell had no effect. Then, she wailed about what a stain the charity would have due to her action, and how the money would have to be refunded.”
“She’s right, they would never live that
down. What did you do?”
“I confess I was selfish, though my priority was still to protect the charity. I promised I would keep quiet, and even go along with the charade the entire evening, in exchange for a future favor of my choosing. I planned to keep her squirming for years, wondering when and what I would ask.”
“That was fiendishly clever,” Claire said. “Did anyone find out about the switch?”
“No. The girl was really good, plus everyone was so drunk by that point that the dogs could have put on a blond wig and fooled them.”
“You’re not feeling guilty, are you?” Claire asked. “Everyone had a great time, you raised money and you have a golden IOU.”
“If only that was it. Now, I could be charged as an accessory.”
“To fraud? You didn’t know anything until after the event started.”
“Not just fraud,” Lana said. Her lips quivered as she whispered the next word, “murder.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to promise not to repeat any of this, not to anyone.” When Claire agreed, Lana told her about the panicked call she received from Bunny a few hours earlier, from Havana. “Her attorney advised her that the police had a video of her walking with Kim down to the lower level of the ship. Her story is that Kim was stumbling over drunk as soon as she boarded the cruise, and she locked her in the cabin to sleep it off before she ruined the evening for everyone. Bunny swears that was it and I have to believe her. As distasteful as the little social schemer is, I don’t see any reason for her to kill Kim.”
“But why doesn’t she tell the police that? Running to Cuba only makes her look guilty.”
“No one knows she’s there. Her attorney advised the police that she is unavailable due to a prescheduled medical procedure and can’t contact them until she’s recovered sufficiently. That should buy her enough time.”
“I’m sure they’ll be checking her passport record at some point, if they haven’t already.”
