by Laura Quinn
“I was just leaving,” Traci said. She put on her sunglasses and hugged Claire and Baron.
Before the widow left, Claire asked if she had access to Larry’s computer or if it had been taken as evidence. Traci said the police had shown no interest in Larry’s business affairs, and his laptop should be in his office. She had a copy of the office key at home, but warned that the laptop files were encrypted. Later, Claire thought to ask about Kim’s computer. She texted Traci to ask Ken if they could look through it.
While Peggy processed an order of toys, Claire finished Lana’s order then took a walk with Baron.
Away from Peggy’s inquisitive ears, Claire called Bob to update him on the love affair and asked him to share the news with Marti. She told him about the inconsistency she hoped would derail, or at least stall, the charges against Ken. If a neighbor’s security camera covered the front of Traci’s home, there might be proof that he didn’t enter that way either. Bob said he would personally visit the neighbors to ask about the footage, then drop the intel to his source at the police station. They knew this revelation would put Traci back in the hot seat, forcing them to work quickly to find the real killer and fully exonerate their friends. Bob made plans to search Larry’s office that evening.
When Claire returned to the mall, she ran into Kendall, who was on her way out.
“Was that Mrs. Hamilton I saw earlier?” Kendall asked. “Have they released her?”
“They’re setting their sights on Ken now.”
“Mr. Bancroft? He would never hurt anyone; he’s one of the kindest people I know. He used to be my best customer at my lemonade stand. Aunt Lydia never approved of it, but I raised a lot of money for charity.”
“That sounds very admirable. Your aunt is so philanthropic, I’m surprised she objected.”
“I found the stand stashed away in the basement, with other keepsakes from when she and my dad were kids. Looking back, I think it brought up painful memories for her.”
“It must have been hard for her to lose her brother, and of course for you. How awful that your father died when you were so young.”
Kendall looked conflicted, staring at her neatly manicured nails. “He didn’t die. That’s just what Aunt Lydia told everyone. He’s in prison for fraud,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell her I told you; she would be mortified.”
Claire’s shocked expression prompted Kendal to explain. “It wasn’t his fault, really. Mom was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer; too advanced to cure, her doctors said. A con man offered a miracle and took him for everything he had, and more.”
“But, wasn’t your grandfather a pioneer in cancer research?” Claire asked. “Couldn’t he help?”
“He and my great grandfather were, but Dad wouldn’t listen. He said Great-Grandpa Ignatius kept pushing Vitamin B17 as a cure-all, but Dad threw the pills away. He said supplements weren’t going to do anything and he searched until he found someone promising a radical treatment guaranteed to eradicate the cancer.”
“Snake oil salesman have a way of being easily found,” Claire said. “I’m sure he was very convincing.”
“Dad believed every word, even when one experimental--and very expensive--treatment turned into twelve. He invested and lost clients’ money to pay the shortfall. With all the cases of fraud in the news, the judge came down hard, giving Dad the maximum sentence. My mom died shortly after, and Aunt Lydia and Uncle Alfred took me in. They helped me change my last name to Mom’s maiden name, so people wouldn’t know.”
Claire hugged Kendall and Baron extended his paw and kissed her hand when she shook it. The young lady dried her eyes with a lens cloth from her bag. “I don’t know why that all came out. I’ve kept it secret for years.” Claire promised not to tell anyone, knowing how such a legacy could ruin the young lady’s life. Kendall thanked her, then headed back to her studio to reapply her makeup before heading out for an engagement shoot.
Before Claire got in the door, she spotted Carrie lighting up a cigarette and walked over to her. She asked the coffee shop owner to pass along a message to Kyle that she needed another peck of apples. Carrie said he had just stopped by, but she would call him.
“Why is he avoiding me?” Claire asked Baron as they walked back to their shop. “Or, maybe I matched them too well and he is spending all his free time with Carrie.”
Baron yawned at the social intricacies, or perhaps it was the prospect of more apples.
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget to get the good stuff for you at the market this afternoon,” Claire promised. “I’m sure it will be much calmer this time.”
Chapter 15
Claire scurried to print up signs for the farmers market while Baron slept. She turned off the computer just before remembering to include a call-out box promoting Saturday’s visit with the nonprofit organization that funded service dogs for veterans.
Having forgotten to rent the ice cream cart from Helen, the harried baker drove to the grocery store to buy dry ice for her portable cooler. As she left the parking lot, Baron barked at a figure standing in the gas station across the street. Claire looked twice at Agnes, dressed in a nun’s outfit and holding an umbrella. She lowered her window as she drove up to her and asked, “Agnes, are you okay? Do you need a ride?”
The woman spun around and shushed Claire. She marched up to the driver’s door, umbrella pulled down lower. “You’re blowing my cover. My customer thinks he’s meeting Sister Angelina.” She smiled when she saw Baron and pet him through the back window.
“That sounds very tawdry,” Claire said.
A feted odor of moth balls escaped the habit as the old lady shook her head. “Pish posh. People pay higher prices, and ask fewer questions, when they think they’re dealing with a member of the church.”
“I hope there’s not a law about impersonating clergy.”
Agnes scoffed. “It’s not my fault if they misinterpret my online selling persona. All the top hitters have a schtick. I was inspired by a role I played at the community theatre a few years ago.”
“Dare I ask what you’re selling?” Claire asked, peering into the shopping cart. She recognized some items from the VIP bags.
“Just a few scavenged bits and bobs. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, as they say. Nothing illegal, of course.”
“My lips are sealed,” Claire promised.
“I’m not worried about you, toots. I hear you’re already persona non grata with the police.” Agnes glanced at her phone and read an incoming text. “Hey, how are your acting skills? No, scratch that. Just sit in your car and I’ll handle the rest. My buyer will be here any minute and you’re going to be a very interested new buyer.”
Claire waited as directed, fascinated with the old woman’s ploys. She watched as Agnes went back and forth from her car to the stranger’s Escalade. After Claire’s final fictitious bid was placed, the original buyer handed over cash in exchange for the items in Agnes’ cart. The savvy seller waited for her customer to leave the parking lot before jumping into Claire’s car to be driven back to the home.
“Thanks kid,” Agnes said as she fanned herself with a wad of fifty-dollar bills. “That was one of my best deals yet. We needed more seed money for our investment next week.”
“Got a stock tip?”
“Better. I’ve got hot tips on the ponies. The warden is letting us out for a day at the races, so we had to raise a bit of capital. Not a word about this, remember.” Agnes slipped out of her costume and rolled it into her “Bingo Babe” tote bag and tucked the cash into a secret money belt under her culottes.
“It’s all on the down-low,” Claire promised.
In exchange for Claire’s help, Agnes shared one of her valuable tips, that Kim was seeing Brendan. Claire boasted that she already knew that fact. Not to be outdone, Agnes asked if she knew the identity of the man arguing with Kim in the tent. Claire asked who it was, but her passenger refused to give a name or say what the argument was about. When
asked if she knew of anyone sneaking into the tent, Agnes just grinned, reveling in her vault of secrets.
Claire drove back to the shop and began loading up the cart for the market, when the silver Rolls pulled up.
“What’s Lana doing here already?” Claire asked. “She said five o’clock tonight.”
“Oops,” Peggy said. “She called while Barbara was on lunch. I wrote down the message, but then my boyfriend called. My horoscope said today was a ten for romance, so I had to answer. It would have been bad luck not to and…”
“Oh, never mind,” Barbara interrupted. “You’ll have to go to the market in Claire’s place.”
The shop owner gave Peggy basic instructions and said she would relieve her as soon as she could. Barbara welcomed Claude inside and gathered the order while Lana signaled to Claire to join her in the car. After a few moments of admiring the endearing interactions between driver and manager, Lana cut to the chase and asked if there was any progress in clearing Bunny. Claire admitted she had found little to prove the socialite innocent, but also little that would implicate her, beyond the fact that she was the last person to be seen with Kim. The most damning evidence seemed to be that she hadn’t reported to the police for her interview yet. Being MIA made her an easy target for a murder charge.
Lana appreciated the investigative work and left her cell number for any updates. Before loading the parcels into the seat beside him, Claude showed each to his employer. She cooed in delight, selecting a sample from each to share with her two Yorkies. Lana promised a special surprise from Paris to thank her for her exquisite work.
“She seemed very happy,” Barbara said when the car left. “Mind you, with a trip to Paris, how could she not be?”
“Thanks for getting everything set with Claude,” Claire said. “You two really hit it off, I noticed.”
“He’s such a flirt. When I told him how I’ve always wanted to visit the City of Lights, he invited me along. I should have called his bluff and gotten in the car with Lana.”
“She probably would have been pleased to have you join them.”
“Imagine flying on a private jet. It must be so luxurious and convenient. On a whim, Lana decided to leave early so they could stop in New York City for dinner. That’s the way to live.”
“I think I’ll pick up a pair of lottery tickets for us tonight,” Claire said. “In the meantime, I better get going to relieve Peggy. Tonight is her star-marked romance date, and I don’t want to jinx that.”
“That girl,” Barbara said, shaking her head.
Claire drove Baron home then turned back to the market. Marti called to say that Ken’s arraignment had not been scheduled yet, and cautiously predicted that he would be released, allowing the police to gather more evidence before charging him. Claire told her that Traci had given them permission to look through Larry’s office and that Bob was going to stop by to pick up the key. Marti promised to be at the shop before the Patels’ private shopping appointment, which Claire had completely forgotten about despite its being on her calendar and receiving reminders.
The market was in full swing when Claire arrived, with crowds of locals and tourists swarming every booth. A few of the volunteers wore memorial buttons honoring their former chairperson, but the new chair did not. Dottie waved to Claire, showing off the official rosette pinned to her apron and giving her a thumbs up. Life in North Haven seemed to be moving on. Johana called Claire to her stand, under the guise of dairy business.
“I’ve got your two pounds of thinly-sliced cheddar. Do you want to take it in your cooler now?”
Claire walked over and paid for the cheese. Johana lowered her voice to ask if Larry’s death was natural or if it was another murder. She had been worried about her late accountant, as the normally measured man seemed distracted lately. Hearing Officer Conners’ strict reprimand in her mind, Claire hedged on an answer. Instead, she agreed that Larry had looked very poorly when she saw him Saturday.
Claire’s next stop was to visit Kyle, but he was on the phone. As she waited, Claire noticed his new boots, a pair of black Doc Martens, like the first pair she cherished when she was a teenager. Looking more closely, she realized the fabric loop said “Vegetarian Shoes”. She tried to think why that name was ringing a bell, but was interrupted by a very inquisitive customer who wanted to know what the bees’ diet was. She walked to her cart, glad to see that Peggy was smiling while helping a customer. Before Claire could take over, she was called to the neighboring booth.
“We hear you cleared Traci and Ken and are investigating several new inquiries,” Jean said.
“Several new inquiries,” John said.
“You’ve been talking to Agnes,” Claire said.
“No, we haven’t seen her all day,” Jean said.
“It’s your Peggy who’s been telling everyone,” John said.
“Everyone,” Jean repeated. “If she could sell goods as well as she spreads gossip, you’d be sold out already.”
Claire was about to talk with her employee about loose lips, but a surge of customers allowed Peggy to sneak away. Claire was grateful that most of the people visiting her stand were out-of-towners, curious about the treats. Several had been waiting for the ice cream to arrive, which sold out quickly. The few locals who stopped to chat about the murders mainly offered their support and hoped Ken would be exonerated soon.
When Claire was packing up for the day, she noticed a basket of apples under the cart with a handwritten invoice for twenty-five dollars. She walked over to Kyle’s spot to pay the balance due, but only a cloud of the van’s vegetable-oil fumes remained.
Zac met Claire at the market and helped her pack the few remaining items into her car along with the ice chest. He walked back with the cart, beating his boss by five minutes, despite stopping to talk with his friend in a gleaming Porsche convertible.
“Barbara said goodbye,” Zac told Claire when she arrived. “She left a baking list for us at the register.”
“We’ll have to make ice cream too,” Claire said. “Hey, was that your friend Keckers I saw you talking to on the way back?”
“Yeah. He just got a wine chiller installed under the arm rest so he can impress this girl he likes. He saw it in a Bond movie.”
“That’s his car?”
“Yeah, he wanted a Ferrari, but his parents punished him after getting a B- in Global Studies. They want him to take over as CEO eventually, but he wants to build his tech-innate empire.”
“The next Steve Jobs?” Claire asked, before processing an earlier comment. “Wait a minute, he isn’t twenty-one. What’s he going to do with a wine chiller?”
“Don’t worry, it’s to chill the bottles of sparkling water he imports from Japan. After chugging that magnum of champagne he lifted from Fourth Fest, he swore off drinking. He was drunk AF and spent the whole next day puking.”
Claire’s stomach churned, remembering when she and Marti drank too many wine coolers at a post-prom party. Though she suspected that the physical lesson Keckers learned was probably deterrent enough, she still felt a responsibility as an adult to condemn the action. Everyone knew Chief Pete turned a blind eye to influential teens under the influence, so Claire googled the classic driver ed scare films to show the consequences of drunk driving.
Regretting playing the video, much gorier than she remembered, she sent Zac to the coffee shop with a twenty-dollar bill to treat himself. She knew that Jada was playing a set, and that he had a serious crush on the singer who was home from college for the summer.
Claire began peeling, coring and cutting the apples to get them simmering with a cinnamon stick while she prepared other doughs on the list. Marti came in early, volunteering to cover the front until the lovelorn teen returned. Between customers, the two friends caught up on case intel, including Ken’s release. Bob called to say he had Larry’s key and would bring anything interesting to the shop.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” Zac said, running through the front d
oor and putting on his apron. “I completely lost track of time.”
“Your cheeks are all flushed, are you okay?” Marti asked, unable to resist teasing him.
“Yeah, I had one of those ginger-glazed poblano brownie bars. I guess it was spicier than I thought,” Zac said. He put himself in charge of making ice cream, starting with an extended inventory in front of the open freezer. He offered to watch the shop while Claire picked up Baron, but she explained that he needed the night off to rest.
The last customer left after seven o’clock, allowing twenty minutes to prepare for their VIP guests. Marti muddled mint leaves for a pitcher of mojitos and asked Zac to cue up the prearranged Georgie playlist. She laughed when Claire warned her not to make the drinks too strong, divulging that they were virgin, substituting rum extract and sprite. It was a trick she learned from one of her attorney friends, to make people feel less inhibited, and more talkative, without actually being inebriated.
“Welcome, Kirstie, Sanjay and little Georgie,” Claire said, greeting her punctual customers.
“Call me Jay.” His polo and shorts revealed a toned body that had not been evident at the market. Kirstie wore a frilly off-white dress with matching espadrille wedges. The tiny Yorkie popped out of his Prada bag wearing a Burberry bow-tie. Claire locked the front door so her four-legged guest could explore the shop freely.
Kirstie was disappointed to learn that the French treats she saw on Posh Pup’s Instagram were unavailable, but Claire announced an impromptu Bastille Day menu for the weekend. Instead, the curvy brunette ordered poochie pizza for Georgie to give him energy to shop. The humans drank their faux cocktails while completing a personal shopping profile with their dog’s birthday, measurements, fashion preferences, favorite foods and toys. Jay took a photo of Georgie’s licking the empty plate, but then stepped aside to take a call.
Kirstie gulped down the rest of her drink. “That phone’s like his mistress. This is our son’s V important day, and he bails on us.”
