Chapter 19
A stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
By the end of the day, half of the blind-date books had been sold, and I was already adding witty sayings to more wrapped books.
“Success!” Tegan closed the register and deposited the day’s take into the safe. “I’ll bring this to the bank on Monday when I meet with the manager.” She scanned the shop. “Hey, Chloe!” she yelled.
Chloe was pacing the bookshop and humming nervously.
“Do you want me to go with you to your final callback?”
“No,” Chloe replied. “Enjoy the sing-along. Mrs. Canfield is expecting you.”
Lillian had phoned a half hour ago, reminding us of our promise to attend.
“You sure?” Tegan asked.
“Yes.” Chloe’s cheeks were flushed as red as her dress.
“Okey-doke. Allie, I’ve got to go home and change.”
“Me too,” I replied. “Chloe, break a leg.”
“What does that mean?” Chloe’s voice wavered.
I chuckled. “Curtsy when you get a standing ovation.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I read it somewhere. Do like this …” I showed her my feeble attempt at a curtsy. “You’re thanking the audience for its applause.”
Chloe pulled a face. “Okay, I’ll break a leg, but I’ll probably stink.”
Tegan clasped her in a hug and whispered something in her ear, which made Chloe laugh. Then she pushed her toward the door. “Be brilliant.”
Chloe exited, and I turned to my pal. “What did you say to her?”
“She is adorable when she’s nervous.”
I swatted her arm. “You’re shameless.”
“See you at Blessed Bean.”
I raced home and checked Darcy’s toenail, which was healing nicely.
Then I fed him, and I slipped into a pair of skinny black jeans and a soft blue short-sleeved silk top.
I added a dab of mascara and a touch of lip gloss and hurried on to the coffeehouse.
Lillian had advised us the owner would be serving appetizers to show her support for these sing-along nights, which thrilled me, because my stomach was growling.
Like a dolt, I hadn’t eat any of the cake.
“Wow,” I murmured as I entered Blessed Bean.
The place, which was a rustic mishmash of tables, fairy lights, and hanging plants, was packed. One wall was filled with local art, and another lined with used books. Colorful signs reminding everyone to deposit library donations in the baskets on the coffee and wine bar were posted all over.
On the impromptu stage—a parquet square with a microphone and a karaoke screen scrolling the words to the current song—Candace was singing and bopping to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.
” For a soft-spoken woman who usually strummed her guitar while crooning folk songs, I was blown away by the way she was rocking it.
She was outfitted in a jeans skirt, a jeans shirt, and cowboy boots and was twirling her hand in the air, as if prepared to lasso a calf.
Her long blond tresses swished to and fro.
I didn’t see her husband in the crowd. Maybe she had forbidden him to come so she could let loose.
“Allie!” Tegan called from across the room. She was sitting at a long table with Stella Burberry and Lillian.
I wove through tables to join them.
“Hi, Allie!” Stella waved from the far end of the table. A dollars-and-cents kind of woman, she admittedly wasn’t a fashion guru and said coming up with getups taxed her brain, so single-color ensembles, like the all-lavender one she had on, were the solution.
“What a crowd!” I exclaimed. “Who else is joining us?” I noticed a number of empty chairs at our table.
Lillian said, “Lots of ladies. Finette’s at the counter, ordering a glass of wine. The waitress … Wallis from the Brewery … Did you know she was working here?”
I nodded.
“She was a tad overwhelmed by the crowd, and Finette was getting edgy. She got her loan, but she’s had a long day of putting out fires.”
“What loan?”
“To renovate her house. She mentioned she’s thinking of hiring Patrick.”
Seconds later, Finette appeared carrying a small tray arranged with empty wineglasses and a carafe of chardonnay.
I was surprised to see her dressed in jeans and a simple white blouse.
The outfit took years off her age. She placed the tray in the center of the table and lifted the carafe.
Wallis trailed her and deposited a plate filled with mini grilled cheese sandwiches on the table. I thanked her and selected one.
“Who’s thirsty?” Finette asked. “I thought everyone might like to indulge.”
Lillian said, “You come into money, and suddenly you’re gra ciousness personified.”
Finette laughed. “Raise your hand if you want a glass.”
Everyone did, with no reservations. I wondered about Reika and her addiction and whether she was remaining sober through another night, especially after Roy had rejected her a second time.
To show my support, I decided to call her.
It was too loud inside, so I slipped out the front door and tapped her contact on my cell phone.
She answered after one ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Allie.” It dawned on me that she might think I was being intrusive, and so I improvised. “I was, um, calling to ask how the tea went.”
“It was lovely. The muffins and cookies were divine. Everyone raved. And lots of attendees opened their pocketbooks and gave sizable donations.”
“Excellent.”
“You’ll be happy to hear I’m with a neighbor, and we’re feasting on hot chocolate and s’mores.”
I gathered she was assuring me she wasn’t imbibing. “Excellent. Have fun. G’night.”
When I rejoined my friends, I noticed another singer was onstage. Candace had joined us at the table. She was steering the conversation.
I reclaimed my chair next to Tegan and whispered, “I like your getup.”
“It was easy.” She’d thrown on a light sweater over leggings. “But shh, and pay attention.” She jutted a finger at Candace. “She’s telling us how she knew Jason. When they were young. They went to elementary school together.”
Candace laughed, her eyes glinting with humor. “I remember chasing him in the yard—we were five—and I wanted to kiss him behind a tree.”
Tegan said sotto voce, “Apparently, once his family relocated, she never saw him again. She didn’t even know he was here until she heard about his murder.”
“When I chased him, he didn’t fight me off,” Candace said wistfully. “Probably because I had pretty blond curls, and he loved girls with blond curls.”
Delilah had beautiful blond hair. Had Jason been obsessed with it? Had Finette added highlights to her tawny hair hoping to entice him?
“I didn’t mind when he touched them,” Candace continued, clearly enjoying sharing the memory. “Whenever he did, I could stare into those gorgeous eyes. His lashes were so long.”
Finette said, “What was he like as a boy?”
“A bit of a braggart.” Candace mimicked him.
“‘I can run faster than you. I can read better than you. I’m smarter than you.’” She tittered.
“You know how it goes. My boy is pretty much the same. A lot of hot air.” Her twenty-year-old son was living at home and attending junior college.
“But Jason was sweet, too. Very kind and gentle.”
“Aw,” Finette said, misty-eyed. “Tell us more.”
“He loved animals, and he dreamed of traveling the world and building skyscrapers. When he moved away”—she pressed a hand to her heart—“I was heartbroken. I dreamed we’d marry one day.”
“Why didn’t you keep in touch?” Finette asked.
“Back then, we didn’t have the Internet, plus we were ten. It wasn’t like we were going to become pen pals. Write a letter? Gag me.” She giggled. “He lived in California. I lived here. End of story.”
Except it hadn’t been the end of the story. He’d returned.
“Allie,” Finette said, “do you know if Zach is close to finding out what happened?”
Candace said, “My husband said Jason was engaged, but it didn’t work out, and the breakup was what prompted him to come back to Bramblewood.”
“I don’t believe that was the case,” I said. “Delilah married her husband thirteen years ago.” Seeing her pregnant must have been the impetus.
“I wish we had closure for him,” Finette said. “Zach is usually so good at solving things. Allie, is he close?”
“Detective Armstrong won’t discuss the case.”
“Do you have theories of your own?” she asked. “After all, you cracked Tegan’s aunt’s murder.”
I hadn’t cracked it per se. I’d come up with viable clues.
“Tell her who you suspect.” Tegan prodded me with her fingertip.
I threw her the side-eye.
Tegan said to the rest, “Allie suspected Reika Moore because she wanted the properties Jason was bidding on for the Bramblewood Historical Preservation Society.”
“But she didn’t do it,” I stated. “She’s in the clear. She has a solid alibi.”
“What is it?” Lillian asked.
I shook my head. “It’s private but confirmed.”
“Ignatius Luckenbill didn’t kill him, either,” Tegan offered. “He—”
I elbowed her.
She scowled at me. “It’s going to come out. Gossip doesn’t stay buried forever.”
Her choice of words troubled me.
Lillian chimed, “He played poker on Monday.”
“Monday may be the night for his regular game, but he didn’t attend,” Tegan said.
Finette’s eyes widened. “He didn’t?”
“No, however, an eyewitness gave him another alibi.”
“Like …” Finette, eager for details, rotated a hand to urge Tegan to continue.
Tegan mimed sealing her lips.
“Poker is his passion,” Finette went on, “so if he didn’t play that night, why not? What could be more important?” She tapped her chin with her fingertips, and I could see the wheels in her brain working feverishly. “I’ve got it. He’s having an affair!”
Tegan tried to remain stoic, but she blinked.
“I’m right!” Finette whooped. “With Ulla Karlsson? Of course it’s her.
He slobbers around the woman. She’s sexy beyond all get out.
And single. What a skunk he is. Behind poor Shayna’s back.
She’s such a kind soul. He doesn’t deserve her.
” She blew a raspberry. “He must have met up with Ulla at her place so they could keep the affair quiet.” She regarded me for acknowledgment.
I maintained a neutral expression.
“Which means”—Finette dragged out the word while making eye contact with everyone at the table like a lawyer summing up her case to a jury—“his alibi isn’t solid, because he could’ve sneaked out the back of Ulla’s house, gone to Jason’s, killed him, and doubled back to Ulla’s before anyone was the wiser. ”
I gasped. She was right. Evelyn hadn’t seen him enter Ulla’s place. She’d caught sight of him exiting the front of her house after the time of the murder.
“Iggie is a weasel,” Stella muttered. “Do you know what the rat did? He paid a Realtor to reveal how much my brother bid on three apartment complexes, and then he outbid him.”
“Deplorable.” Lillian tsked.
Again, I dredged up the conversation between Iggie and Finette at Ragamuffin about Burt the Cyber Buddy.
What if Iggie, not Reika as I’d theorized, had the wherewithal to clone Jason’s phone, and he sent me the texts Monday night to lure me to the estate?
If so, he might be tech savvy enough to know how to erase them from my phone.
I pictured the cuff link at the crime scene.
Was it his? Had Zach pinned down that fact?
If Iggie and Jason had scuffled, the cuff link could have come loose and fallen to the floor.
But how could Iggie have known about my spearpoint collection?
And where would he and I have crossed paths the day I lost my Celtic knot earring?
Someone tapped on the microphone.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Candace Canfield.”
I hadn’t realized she’d left the table.
“Let’s give a round of applause for the library,” she said. “We’ve raised over five thousand dollars this evening.”
The crowd cheered.
“Now, let’s get all of you singing this next song by Green Day, ‘At the Library.’”
Candace pivoted toward the redheaded man queueing up the tunes. He gave her a thumbs-up. She twirled back and launched into song.
The crowd began bellowing out the words along with her, the lyrics on the karaoke screen telling the story about Billie Joe, who was too shy to talk to a girl at the library.
“I can’t hear you!” Candace beckoned everyone to sing along with the raucous refrain.
We all chimed in at the top of our lungs.
Suddenly, the sound crackled, sparks flew, and the amplifier exploded.
Finette and Lillian shrieked.
And I bounded to my feet. “Call nine-one-one.”