by Nancy CoCo
“Everyone is innocent until proven guilty, right?” Porsche said and put her arm around me.
“I haven’t arrested you yet, have I?” He looked perplexed. “I’m trying to do my job and keep everyone safe. I’m asking you to please let me do that.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Good,” he said his expression cautious. “Thank you.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I said and purposefully moved him toward the door. “Listen, we think that Agnes was blackmailing Bill McCarty. Did you know about that?”
“Why do you think that?”
“The bank teller began to notice a pattern of Bill withdrawing cash and Agnes depositing cash.”
“Who’s the bank teller?” he asked.
“I’m sure you can figure that out yourself,” I hedged. “Also, you should check out Rhonda Doll. She wasn’t a fan of Agnes.”
“We know,” he said and stopped at the door. “Seriously, Wren, let me do my job. You have to trust me.”
“Why?” I crossed my arms. “All you’ve done is rummage through my home, take my things, and destroy my business.”
We stood eye to eye. “This is serious, Wren. I’m not trying to ruin anyone. I’m only doing my job.”
A spark of something went between us for a moment and I felt the store closing in around us. I could see why women thought Paul Newman was a heartthrob. Right now my heart found itself enthralled with Jim Hampton’s blue eyes. “My dreams and my life are at stake here,” I stressed but it came out as a whisper.
“I’m going to find the killer and see Agnes gets justice.” He turned and walked out of the shop, stopping only long enough to put his hat on before stepping out into the street.
“What was that all about?” Porsche asked.
“Small town,” I said and blew out a long breath. Everett wound around my ankles so I picked him up. “He wants me to stop my investigation before it’s even started.”
“You aren’t going to do that, are you?”
“No,” I said and stared at the door. “Do you think Jim Hampton is good-looking?”
“Maybe in that dangerous, I’m-in-charge-guy kind of way. Why?”
I tried to play innocent. “No reason.”
“Ohhh, someone has a crush,” she teased. “You should follow that.”
“Please, he thinks I’m a killer.”
“Guys like bad girls, too, you know. His suspecting you of murder might be even better.” She winked at me.
“I’ve got enough drama in my life right now. I don’t need to add to it by getting involved with a man who wants to put me in jail.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be fun?”
Studies have shown that honey can improve both
short- and long-term memory.
Chapter 7
I was up again early Friday morning. Perhaps I was becoming a morning person, although more likely I was becoming an insomniac. Sleep seemed to elude me that week. I used the time to create Halloween-themed lip balms and hand lotions. The holiday was a few days away. If I made extra pumpkin spice and candy corn scents, I could continue to sell them through Thanksgiving.
By the time Porsche showed up to open the shop, I had two batches of lip balm and a dozen candles done and cooling on my production table. “Hey,” Porsche called to me as I headed downstairs. “You might want to come see this.”
“See what?” I asked as I hit the ground floor.
“This was pinned to your back door.” She handed me a piece of paper.
It was a picture of a dead cat hanging from a noose. “Oh, that’s awful!” I put the picture down. “Who would do such a thing?”
“It looks like a threat. Maybe you should call the cops.”
“Why would anyone want to threaten me?”
“Perhaps your investigation uncovered something that someone doesn’t want uncovered,” she suggested.
“What? Like Bill McCarty being one of Agnes’s blackmail victims?”
“Maybe,” Porsche said and leaned in. “Maybe someone really has it in for you.”
“Right, like I did anything to tick anyone off,” I protested. “That’s the problem with Agnes’s murder. Why am I being framed for it?”
“You’re right, there really are two motives here. One, the killer needs a motive to plan out and murder Agnes.” She ticked off on her fingers. “And two, they need a motive to frame you for the deed.”
“I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out who would want me to go out of business. I don’t have any direct competitors and I don’t have any enemies. Frankly, I’ve been too busy trying to get my shop off the ground to tick anyone off.”
“That you know of,” she said.
“Well, if there’s anything I know about people, it’s that they let you know when they don’t like you.”
“Mostly true.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “What if they didn’t mean to frame you?”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense. They used my lip balm.”
“All we really know is that you found your lip balm label in Agnes’s hand.”
“And the police suspect Agnes was poisoned by lip balm,” I added.
“But did they find the lip balm container?”
“I think so. Jim showed me one anyway.”
“And was it yours?”
“It was hard to tell. I told him it could have been anyone’s. He said they were going to test for the ingredients and had me write down what was in my lip balm.”
“We’re just going round and round here,” she said and twirled her finger to emphasize the circle. “What I guess I’m trying to say is that framing you might have happened accidently.”
“Oh,” I said and tilted my head. “Huh.”
“We need to find out if Agnes was in the habit of peeling labels off of things. If so, then we should consider that the killer only meant to get rid of Agnes, and everything that followed was by pure accident.”
“And now that we’re investigating—”
“They’re nervous and sending you threats.” She pointed toward the paper. “You should call the cops.”
I scrunched up my face in frustration and then resignation. “You’re right.” I dialed the police station to report the threat. They promised to send an officer by when they could. We put the paper on the counter behind the cash register and opened for business. It was the Friday before the Halloweentown celebration and Oceanview was already starting to buzz. “Are you ready for a week of Halloweentown?” I asked Porsche.
“We need to dress up every day for a week, right?”
“Yes, starting Sunday,” I said. “But if you can’t, I understand. The big day is a week from tomorrow, and I’d save my best costume for that day.”
“Oh, I have enough costumes,” she said with a laugh. “I love dressing up for Halloween and have been looking forward to this all year. Sunday I’ll be working as Morticia Addams from the old Addams Family television show.”
“Oh, boy.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I was going with a Wizard of Oz theme starting with Dorothy. I thought Everett wouldn’t mind hanging out in a basket all day.”
“Oh, a cat as Toto, that is surprising. And on the big day?”
“I’ll be the Wicked Witch—”
“Of the West!” we finished together.
The bells over the door rang and a pair of women came in to browse. I went over to show them how to sample the hand creams.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur as Friday traffic picked up. People often took the entire day or half the day off and came out to the coast from Portland and surrounding cities. Word had spread about my being subject to a search warrant, and people were curious to see the shop and me.
“I guess no publicity is bad publicity,” I said after lunch.
“The pumpkin spice is super popular in candles and creams,” Porsche said. “You should give them funky names like Death by Candlelight and Dark Surprise.”
>
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “For next year, though. For this month, I’ve got the labels finished.”
“You know packaging is the ticket to good sales these days. Women will pay extra for fun or funky packaging.”
“Now that is something we can both agree on,” I said. “I thought the whole mason jar, country chic thing would do better.”
“Oh, it’s not doing badly, but you might skew a younger generation with something more poppy.”
“How did you get so smart?”
“I’m taking a nighttime course on marketing,” Porsche said. “I’ve been paying attention to the way other brands market. Looks like your bees are a huge hit.” She pointed to three women who were avidly watching the hive.
“Cue me,” I said and made my way over. “Isn’t the beehive interesting?”
“Do they stay in there all the time?” one woman with a long blonde ponytail asked.
“No, there are cutouts near the eaves that allow them to fly in and out.”
“What do they pollenate to make honey this close to the ocean?” a woman with a short black bob asked.
“Bees average a two-mile radius when they’re hunting for food,” I said. “But some have been known to go two or three times that. The best part about Oregon is that we have a lot of wild berries and particularly the blackberries that grow everywhere. The bees love them. Then there are all the flower gardens people in town have.”
“Do you get all your honey from this hive?”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I locally source all my ingredients, but some of the honey and honeycomb and beeswax comes from as far away as the Tualatin Valley and the orchards around Mount Hood.”
“So some of your ingredients could have come from my backyard bees,” the blonde woman said with glee.
“I guess you could think of it like that,” I agreed. “Although most bees that beekeepers keep are loaned out to various farmers to help pollinate crops. So it’s more likely it came from one of the orchards or farms near you.”
“Wait, aren’t you the woman they think killed the old lady on Tuesday?” the third woman, who had long brown hair, asked.
“Oh, no,” I said with a short smile. “I didn’t kill anyone. If I did, they certainly wouldn’t let me work in my shop. Would they?”
“That sounds right,” the blonde said. “You must just look like her.”
I kept my game face on at her strange comment. “Bee pollen is really good for your skin and your health,” I said. “Porsche over there can explain.” I motioned to Porsche. She got the tin and came over, and escorted the ladies to the edibles.
“I didn’t know honey candy was good for you,” the blonde said with a laugh. “I’ll take a pound.”
“Wren.”
I turned to see Jim coming toward me. “Are you stalking me?” I teased.
“You called about a threat?”
“Oh, right, yes, I did.” I felt the heat of embarrassment reach my cheeks. “I completely forgot about it—it’s been an insanely busy morning. It’s over here.” I took him behind the cash register. He put on a glove and then picked up the letter and placed it in an evidence bag.
“This looks a bit gruesome, but there isn’t an obvious threat. It might have been a Halloween prank by kids.” He looked at me and I felt a pull toward his blue gaze.
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I thought it was better to be safe than sorry and let you know right away. It’s all in the spirit of letting you investigate.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Where was this found?”
“Porsche found it tacked to the back door when she came in. She parks in the back lot.” I took him down the hall to the back door and we stepped out into the cool ocean breeze of the alley.
We closed the door and he studied it. “Was it tacked with a thumbtack?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Where’s the tack?”
“Oh, Porsche must have it.” I opened the back door and we went inside.
“Do you keep it locked?” he asked and studied the door.
“Yes, except during business hours.”
“Maybe you should keep it locked all the time.”
“I’ll have to check the fire code on that.” I took him back into the shop. The three ladies were leaving with bags filled with honey products. “Nice sale.”
“They were great, having a girls’ weekend and wanted stuff for self-care.” Porsche looked Jim up and down. “I see you’re back. Can’t keep away from our girl?”
My eyes went wide. “Porsche.”
“I’m here about the threat,” he said without flinching. “You said it was tacked to the back door. Do you have the tack?”
“Actually, I said it was pinned,” she said and reached into a drawer and removed a hat pin. “This is what held it to the door.”
He took the pin in his gloved hand. “Interesting.”
“That’s what I thought,” Porsche said. “Who even has hat pins anymore? I mean, maybe my great-grandma has one or two in her dresser from when she wore hats in the fifties.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Our moms didn’t use hat pins—even in the eighties.”
“Maybe it’s someone who collects hat pins,” he suggested.
“That looks like it has a pearl on the end. If you collect hat pins, that might be one of your best. Why would you use it for a note to the door when tape would do?” I asked.
“They want us to know who they are,” Porsche said.
“I agree it could be a clue,” I said.
“Stop,” Jim said and held up his hand. “We don’t know what it means. I will catalog it and add it to the investigation, but for all we know this is simply a prank.”
“What about the hat pin?” Porsche asked.
“It could have been what was handy. Kids wouldn’t know if it had meaning or not.”
“Right,” I said and sent Porsche a look that I hoped told her to leave the topic alone.
“I’ll write up a report,” he said. “But we have no proof this is connected to the murder.” He wrote something on a notepad near the cashier station. “This is your case number. Let me know if you get any more threats.”
“We will,” I said and held Porsche back as we watched him walk out of the shop.
“That was so condescending,” she said. Her face looked like steam was coming out of her ears. “He just dismissed everything.”
“I think he’s trying to keep us calm,” I said. “Think about it. What would you be more comfortable with? Him saying this is a note from the killer and the hat pin is a clue or it’s just a prank?”
“Prank,” Porsche said.
“Yes,” I said. “But we know better than the standard line.”
She looked relieved. “Oh, good, we’re going to look into who owned the hat pin?”
“Yes.” I patted her on the back. “Aunt Eloise can most likely point us in the right direction.” I picked up the phone and called my aunt. She promised to come right over.
“But Officer Hampton took the pin,” Porsche said.
“I have a photo,” I said. “I snapped it when you took it out. It’s a little out of focus, but it should do, plus I took a photo of the note in case we needed to refer to it.” I showed her the picture on my phone.
“You are brilliant.”
“I came as soon as I could,” Aunt Eloise said as she stormed through the door. “What’s going on?”
I glanced over at the two browsers and noticed that they watched us with interest. “Let’s go upstairs,” I said and put my arm through my aunt’s. She got my drift and went upstairs to my apartment quietly.
“What’s going on?” she asked as soon as we closed the door. Porsche stayed behind to help the customers.
“Porsche found this pinned to my back door this morning,” I said and showed her the picture of the note.
Aunt Eloise winced. “That’s horrible. Is Everett okay? Who would do such a thing?”
“Okay?” She looked at me quizzically.
“Porsche and I think it is. We think it’s a clue to the killer.”
“Why?”
“Look at this hat pin they used to attach it to the door. Why would the person leaving the threat use a hat pin and not a piece of tape or a thumbtack?”
She took my phone from me and zoomed in on the photo. “That’s a good question. That hat pin is at least sixty years old. It could be even older and that looks like a real pearl.”
“Do you think someone is trying to tell us something?”
“I’m not sure,” she said and handed me the phone. “But I can find out who owned a hat pin with a pearl end.”
“You don’t think it was a random flea market find?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Please, who buys hat pins anymore?”
“So it’s older—vintage—not something from the eighties?”
“Eighteen eighties maybe,” she said. “Listen, Agnes’s wake is tomorrow. You should close the shop early and we’ll all go. Maybe we can find someone who will recognize the pin.”
“I don’t know. It seems like my going would be in poor taste. Besides, how would we show it to people without drawing suspicion? We were explicitly told to stop investigating the murder.”
“We won’t be investigating the murder,” she said airily. “We’ll be investigating the hat pin.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m going to stay away from the wake.”
My aunt pursed her lips and tapped her cheek. “I know, you can volunteer at the senior coffee tomorrow afternoon. It’s before the wake and people might be more willing to talk.”
“But I have to work.”
“Take a late lunch. I’m sure Porsche will cover for you. Oh, and make some cookies to smooth the way into people’s hearts.”
As if a cookie would reveal a killer.
