Dead spread, p.6
Dead Spread, page 6
“Why were you keeping your relationship a secret?” Stormy demanded.
“Your father liked his secrets,” she said, making direct eye contact with Stormy.
“Touché,” said Stormy.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, shaking her head as if she were trying to rid herself of unpleasant thoughts. “This is all so much. The mayor wanted to keep our relationship on the down-low until he announced he was running again. Something about weddings getting good press. He was always thinking about the next campaign. I didn’t mind that much. I wanted whatever he wanted.”
“Had he proposed to you yet?” Stormy asked.
“I thought he was going to do it this weekend, after the Wine Museum opening. He’s been so busy with Flynt Burns and your Uncle Grist getting that ready, that I thought for sure once that was behind him, he’d propose, and we could start planning the press release.”
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Stormy said. She rolled her eyes and her lip curled in disgust. “A press release. That sounds like him.”
“What do you know about it? Emma snapped. “We were getting married by the duck pond as soon as the renovations were complete. Wine Country Weddings was planning a cover story.”
“You knew about that?” I asked.
“I called them myself,” she said. “They couldn’t wait to schedule our photo shoot—”
“No, not about the magazine cover. About the duck pond expansion.”
“I did,” she said. “But how do you know about it? It was another one of the mayor’s secrets. Surprises, I should say. He liked to think of it as a gift for the town.”
Was Emma in on the secret expansion plans because she wanted to get married there? Or did the mayor tell her what he was doing? Emma had always upheld high professional standards, so it didn’t feel right that she would be okay with the mayor pulling a fast one. I tried to formulate a question, but I was in shock.
“Do you know why the mayor came to Mariner’s Cove last week?” Stormy broke the silence. “Did he tell you?”
This was news to me, too. Although I couldn’t think of a reason why the mayor would need to tell me all his travel plans. We were good friends, but we weren’t intimate confidants. There were plenty of things we didn’t know about each other, I imagined.
“Mariner’s Cove?” Emma asked. “He was in Mariner’s Cove last week? He told me he was meeting with an investment firm in L.A.”
“He could have been anywhere, though,” said Stormy. She seemed to take some devious pleasure in needling Emma. “He had a whole daughter he never mentioned to the woman he planned to marry. I wonder why that is. Was he afraid of you?”
“I won’t dignify that,” she said. “I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Emma, no one is accusing you of anything,” I said. “The mayor—Stormy’s father—was stabbed to death this morning and everyone is trying to find the truth. We’re simply trying to piece together what happened.”
“I lost the love of my life,” she said. “My Lovers card, right Carrie? Remember, it was in my last reading?”
I reached out and took her hand. “I remember, Emma.”
“I need time to mourn, please,” she said, the tears starting again. “If you hear anything, please let me know.”
“I will,” I said.
“I’m sorry things got tense,” Stormy said. “It’s been a tough day.”
“I understand,” Emma said, softening. “You lost a father, and I’m so sorry about that.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“But wait. Carrie, you mentioned he’d been stabbed?” Emma sat up straight in her chair.
“That’s what Miriam told me.”
“How did she know that?” Emma asked. “As far as I know, Officer Bucket hasn’t shared a cause of death yet.”
“Maybe she talked to him earlier?” My head was spinning.
“Officer Bucket said he would call me the minute they could release the information. We had a little fling back in the day. There’s no way he told anyone before me. Especially not Miriam, not after she had his jalopy towed from in front of her condo complex that one time.”
My breath left my body. Miriam.
“I think we let her get away,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Emma asked.
“She left town,” Stormy said. “Her van was all packed up.”
“Fat chance,” Emma said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I know for a fact she’s got a homeowner’s association meeting tonight because I delivered the financial statements to her myself yesterday. She never misses a chance to lord over everyone in those meetings. If Miriam left, it’s because she’s on the lam.”
Chapter Seven
As we left Emma’s, I scanned the trees for Waggery. No luck. I’d usually seek him out immediately, but I ignored my own instincts, believing it was better if Stormy and I kept to the side streets and out of the curious gaze of town gossips, the police, the actual murderer, or worse, Daisy.
“I’m starving,” said Stormy. “All this running around. Can we get a bite to eat?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’d like to track down Waggery, but let’s snack up and map out a strategy. I can’t believe we let Miriam get away.”
We stuck to the back streets on our way to High on the Hoggarty, and I was relieved that we didn’t encounter anyone on the way. On any other day, I would have thought it was a shame that more people didn’t know about Prosperity’s hidden corners. The route we took was out of the way of the tourist area, through narrow alleyways in the original cobblestones, under arches festooned with ostentatious sprays of bougainvillea, and past small grottoes with trickling fountains filled with bathing house sparrows and goldfinches. Prosperity’s workers, who manned the expensive downtown boutiques, would hide away here for homemade picnic lunches out of the demanding eyes of their moneyed customers.
“I’ve never seen any of this,” Stormy said, her eyes wide. “This place is like living in a postcard.”
“Prosperity is filled with secret corners,” I said. “And no shortage of charm. But today’s not about sightseeing. I’m trying to maintain our cover.”
“Roger that,” Stormy said. “When we sort this out, I’ll come back, and you can take me on the local’s tour.”
I tried not to skip.
This was serious.
Focus, Carrie.
We arrived unseen at the doorway of High on the Hoggarty and, after I checked to confirm that there were no officers or reporters inside, I motioned for Stormy to go in. “I’m friends with the owner,” I told her. “It’s not the fanciest place, and we had a fight earlier, but it’s still my favorite hangout. We can sit in the back, where it’s even darker than the rest of the room.”
“What friends?” she asked as she slid into a booth.
“It’s not like that. Hank took me to prom our senior year. We were each other’s first friends, and he often ran interference for me when Daisy and her gang of girl thugs taunted me. I come here because he gives me free grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“What a friend we have in cheeses,” she said.
“Cheeses love me,” I said.
“You’re kind of a big cheese,” she said.
How could anyone refuse the charms of this woman?
“Hi, Carrie. What a day, am I right?” It was Hank’s one waitress, Ayesha. “Everyone’s talking about this business with the mayor. It’s crazy to think there’s a murderer on the loose. We’re all looking over our shoulders. Daisy came by looking for you. I told her you ran in, grabbed a broom, and flew out the front door.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Normally I’d appreciate the effort, but Daisy has it in for me this time. If she comes back, tell her I returned the broom, ok?”
“You got it,” she said.
“Is Hank here? We had a spat this morning, and I wanted to make up.”
“You two fight like siblings,” she said. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Is he here?”
“He took off a little while ago, something about ‘making this right’. I thought he went to your house, honestly. He hasn’t been back. He did not take a broom.”
“If he shows up, tell him I’m here.”
“Sure.” She leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “You want something fancier than a grilled cheese? On the house.”
“I can’t—” I said.
“I’ll get this,” Stormy said. “Order what you like.”
My cheeks flushed. I wanted to slide under the table. “No, no. Of course not. I’ll have a burger. Put it all on my tab and I’ll tell Hank I’ll get it later.”
“I don’t mind,” Stormy said.
“I do,” I said.
“How about I get you both burgers and you can sort this out yourselves,” Ayesha offered. She took our menus and left us to our conversation.
“This is so embarrassing,” I said. “Everyone in town knows I’m broke.”
“Broke? What happened?” Stormy asked. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d invest in bitcoin or waste your weekends in front of a slot machine.”
“It’s a combination of things,” I explained. “I took out loans to pay for Stanford.”
“Stanford? You must’ve done well in high school.”
“I like how you didn’t assume I was smart, but that I ‘did well in high school.’ I laughed. “There’s some truth to that.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m admiring your intellect. My friends are smart, some of them are highly educated, but they lack refinement. It’s refreshing.”
“I guess it’s better than saying ‘you clearly cheated or donated a medical lab to get into Stanford,’” I joked.
She smiled and my heart skipped.
“Good point,” she said.
“The plan was that I would take out the loans for the tuition, I’d get some amazing job right out of school and my Aunt Inez, who raised me, would help me pay them off with her savings. We had a schedule mapped out and everything—the perfect plan.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Stormy.
“You’d think so,” I said. “But she got sick. Her medical bills ate up her savings. No health insurance.”
“Medicare?”
“She was only sixty.”
“Oh, no.” Her brow creased. “That’s young.”
“It was a blow. The illness was long and mysterious. The doctors never told me definitively what was wrong with her. The tests, the medications—we blew through her savings in a few months.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“She left me her cottage. And I promised I would stay there as long as Waggery lived so that he would be taken care of. He’s special, as you can see.”
“It’s paid off? That’s a major bonus.”
“It is,” I said. “Taxes are steep in Prosperity. Someone’s got to pay to fill those potholes, I guess. I get behind, but I always figure it out.”
“What about getting a higher paying job? You could use your fancy degree.”
“I have an English degree.”
“Ouch.”
I let out a sigh. “Plus, I need to be home with Waggery. It’s like having a second grader.”
“One who flies. And speaks in code.”
“Exactly,” I said. “But I don’t want to give the impression that I’m not happy. When I’m not trying to make sure my name isn’t associated with gossip about actual murder, I have a lovely, low-key life. What about you? What’s life like in Mariner’s Cove? I’ve only been a few times, but it seems rather dramatic. Plunging cliffs, crashing waves, that sort of thing. Skullduggery, secrets, and revenge lurking around every foggy corner.”
“We should make some kind of list,” she said, ignoring my question.
“Of what?” I asked.
“People who knew my father. Motive, that sort of thing.”
“Good idea,” I said. I was disappointed that she didn’t take the bait—I was dying to know more about her. But I agreed we needed to get organized. “It’s got to be Miriam, though, right? I hate to say it, but she’s a loose cannon who carries a deadly weapon in a canvas sack.”
Ayesha brought the burgers. I asked her for a pen and a cocktail napkin, and she obliged.
I wrote Miriam at the top of the list.
“I get that she’s a raving lunatic who carries a hammer in her bag, but what’s her real motive? What would make her kill someone?” Stormy asked.
“She’s a handful,” I agreed. “But her husband died last year, and she used the insurance money to finally buy a condo. She feels like she must make sure everything’s perfect in her neighborhood—and by extension her town—or she’ll be disrespecting his memory.”
“That’s a lot of baggage,” Stormy said. “But she literally had baggage on her way out of town right after a suspicious interaction with my father. “
“True. It doesn’t look good.”
“What about motive?”
“She has it in for those ducks,” I said.
“Are you suggesting my father was killed over his desire to create a delightful destination for families and visitors, and a memorable wedding venue for his beautiful bride?”
“When you say it like that it sounds extreme. But all the evidence points to her.”
“For the sake of the exercise, who else had a conflict with my father?” she asked.
“If I’m being perfectly candid, a lot of people did.”
“Not surprised,” she said. “I didn’t see him much when I was growing up, but when we did spend time together everything was always about him. That he made some enemies here makes sense.”
“If we’re taking the broad view of who might be mad at the mayor, we’ve got Miriam, Emma, Hank, Walker and Lister from the coffeeshop, Flynt Burns, and Waggery.
“Waggery?”
“The mayor said rude things about him. But he was with me all day, so he has a rock-solid alibi.”
“Who is Clint Ferns?”
“Flynt Burns.”
“Whatever. What’s his problem?”
“I like Flynt,” I said. “He hired Grist to curate and plan the exhibits for the Wine Museum. He’s been a great friend to me and my whole family.”
“But we’re not talking about that, Carrie,” she said. “Why did you put him on the list?”
“Proximity, mostly? Flynt is like the mayor in a lot of ways. He’s full of whiz-bang marketing ideas, but he relies on steadier, more grounded people like Grist to get the job done. For the most part, though, he and the mayor were in lockstep. Now that I think about it, if Miriam is on a crime spree, he should probably take cover as well.”
I wondered if I should warn him.
Instead, I decided to impress Stormy with my tarot knowledge. “Flynt’s like the Fool card,” I said, between bites. “In tarot. Have you seen it?”
“I haven’t,” she said.
“The Fool—depicted by a young man flouncing about on the edge of a cliff—encourages leaps of faith and promises fresh starts,” I said. “What it doesn’t guarantee is follow through. And when it’s reversed, it reveals reckless behavior. When you get the Fool in a reading, buckle up because you’re in for an unpredictable ride. A fun ride, perhaps. But still a ride.”
“Tarot works like a personality test?”
“Not exactly—”
She interrupted me.
“If Lint—”
“Flynt,” I corrected her.
“Flynt,” she continued, “is the Fool. What’s Miriam?”
“That’s easy,” I said, delighted to get to tell someone new about tarot. “Miriam’s a walking, talking Tower card. It shows people being violently flung from a building that’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Its appearance means that an unsettling, hyper-speed change is on the horizon. It’s alarming, but I always remind my clients that the change the Tower card portends isn’t necessarily negative. Dramatic? Definitely. Terrible? Not always.”
Stormy didn’t respond to this. I watched her chew her food for what felt like a long time. She was lost in thought.
I couldn’t stand the silence. “The only other one who may need to be on the list,” I began slowly, testing the waters, “is you.”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “Oh, zounds, here we go.”
“What I mean is, we should probably walk through your day so that if anyone comes looking for you, we have the story straight. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I never should’ve come here.” She balled up her napkin and tossed it onto the table. “This was a mistake.”
“We never would have met if you hadn’t,” I said, hoping to soften her up. “Even though this is a difficult day, I’m glad we met.”
“Me too,” she said. She leaned toward me ever so slightly. Was this a signal? Was this about to happen? I was so out of practice…
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Oh, shoot,” I said. “I should get this.” I didn’t recognize the number.
“Carrie?” the voice sounded familiar.
“Speaking.”
“It’s Flynt Burns. Grist has been in an accident.”
The last thing I needed to see as Stormy and I raced across the plaza to Hoggarty Hospital was Waggery strutting around the duck pond with a lit cigarette in his mouth.
“Dammit, Waggery,” I called. He heard me.
“Oh, no. What are you doing?” he called back, dropping the cigarette like a teenager busted at a house party. He scurried under a bush.
“I can see you,” I said. “Go home right now.” I picked up the cigarette, put it out, and threw it in the nearest trashcan.
