Trouble in the Tarot (11 page)

Trixie snickered. “You’re probably right, dear. No problem. Just leave it with me, and I’ll have it repaired by the end of the week.”

“Thank you so much, for the tea and the escape.” I sipped from my cup.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, just as I’d hoped she would.

“I’m okay. Anyone who knows Granny has to know she’s not capable of murdering anyone, except maybe Fiona.” I rubbed my temples. “But seriously, I can’t see either one of them murdering anyone. The only thing I can think of is either Bernadette had enemies, or someone was trying to frame Granny and Fiona. But I have no idea who it could be or where to start looking.”

“Well, I’m not one to gossip, but I can tell you one
thing. That Ophelia Edwards woman—you know, she’s the Knitting Nana who didn’t like Fiona very much—seemed pretty suspicious to me. She complained the entire week about Fiona being so bossy and always getting to choose where they went on vacation. Let’s just say she was
not
having fun.”

“I thought that myself every time I was around her. She had a permanent sour puss on her face.”

“I also overheard her saying that it wasn’t fair that Fiona beat her out for the president position of their group. That sounds like someone who has motive to want to frame Fiona to me. I mean, that’s what one might think if they were into gossip, and all. Which I’m not, mind you.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “I never would have thought you were. It’s a shame the bakeoff was cancelled. Everyone put so much work into that. I heard you had quite a turnout.”

“You see my house.” Trixie gestured around her. “It’s not that big. I had so many people here, dropping off their baked goods, there was no way to keep everything straight. Granny and Fiona both swear they put their cookies and pie on the table when they first arrived, but when I checked, their baked goods were missing.”

“Anyone could have taken them,” I mused aloud.

“Exactly.” She tsked. “Between you and me, I’ve never seen such a competitive group as the Sisters and the Nanas, which is silly if you ask me. The real winner is the charitable group we chose. All the proceeds go to them. Now all they will receive is the money from
the auction.” Trixie looked pensive and sad. “Such a shame indeed.”

I sipped my tea, thinking maybe it was time I paid Ophelia Edwards a visit and got to know her a bit. “Thank you so much for the tea. Guess I’d better get back to check on Granny and Fiona. Lord knows what those two will get into next.”

Trixie stood and led the way to her door. “You take care, dear. And let me know if I can help in any way. It’s just such a tragedy that Granny has to stay with that horrible Fiona woman. Everyone in town knows those Nanas are nothing but trouble.”

“Thank you, Trixie. I’ll tell Granny you send her your best.”

“You do that, dear, and I’ll give you a call when your skirt is done.”

I waved good-bye and headed out the door on a mission.

7

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Divinity Hotel. The hotel was small but quaint and showcased the Art Deco style of the 1930s, inspired by the artists of Paris. I entered the lobby, filled with lacquered wood furniture combined with brushed steel and lined with zebra-skin upholstery.

Colorful starburst motifs covered the floors and walls in exotic oranges and greens with black and gold designs arranged in geometric shapes. And the fireplace was spectacular. It was the focal point of the lobby.

The mantel was made out of mahogany, walnut, and oak wood, because those kinds of woods were easy to carve and had such contrasting grains, which made for a more creative design. Beading, flowers, and leaves were
carved into the frieze, and a beveled mirror was built right into the center with hand-painted tiles surrounding the outside.

“Let me guess. You think I’m a suspect in Bernadette Baldwin’s murder, too?” Chuck Webb asked from behind the front desk. He was an average-sized man, around fifty, with a muscular frame and military brown hair. He rubbed his red nose, left over from his alcohol-laden days.

“What’s she doing here?” Abigail Brook-Webb asked, stepping out of the office in the back to stand beside her new husband. Abby used to be pear-shaped, with mousy brown hair and no makeup, and completely obsessed with Mitch. But after her cousin gave her a makeover, she’d transformed into a confident attractive woman with full-bodied hair and short, sassy bangs.

“Of course you’re not a suspect, Mr. Webb. I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by and say congratulations to you both. I heard you got married in Atlantic City.”

Abby eyed me warily and then mumbled, “Thanks. We’re very happy.”

The bell behind us chimed and in walked Mimi Pots. Mimi was an introvert who lived alone in a trailer on the outskirts of town, since her husband had abandoned her years ago. He was an ornery man, tight with his money, and kept a fierce grip on things that were his. It was rumored that even though he’d walked away, he still considered Mimi his and kept tabs on her.

People talked, and the story goes that he’d ventured into some shady dealings, yet he never sent her any money even though they were never officially divorced. Needless to say, she didn’t like men too much. Although, she was very close to Abby and appeared glad to see her happy.

“Wow, Mimi, I still can’t get over how amazing you look,” I said, thinking back to the first day of the carnival, when I saw her with Bernadette. I was hoping her sourness that day had mostly been Bernadette rubbing off on her. I really was rooting for Mimi to come out of her shell and be a part of our town.

She flushed, but I could tell she was pleased. But then just as quickly, she frowned as she scanned the room, looking nervous. “Your feller ain’t lurking about, is he?”

“No, ma’am. Detective Stone is working.” She really didn’t like men. “I just stopped by to wish Abby and Chuck congratulations.”

“Abby’s a good girl. She deserves to be happy, even if that means getting hitched to the enemy.” Mimi scowled at Chuck and stepped closer to Abby.

Chuck rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, since Abby obviously adored Mimi. That was proof right there of how much Chuck must adore Abby.

“You deserve to be happy, too,” Abby said, looping her arm through Mimi’s. “Didn’t my cousin do a fabulous job?” She beamed proudly. “Mimi looked wonderful when she gave me away.” Abby and Mimi walked into the office, chatting away, not waiting for a response from me.

Chuck sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat, and
returned to balancing his books. I was trying to think of a way to meet Ophelia Edwards when she walked through the lobby. I followed her outside and into the parking lot.

“Ophelia, hi.” I stuck out my hand. “I don’t think we had a chance to officially meet yet.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, refusing to shake my hand. “I know who you are. You’re Gertie’s granddaughter. The fortune-teller.”

I lowered my hand. “That’s right. My name is Sunny.”

“I don’t care what your name is. I already answered all that detective’s questions this morning. Same as I told him, I might not like Fiona, but I sure wouldn’t resort to murder just to set her up. I don’t want to be president that badly.”

Wow, so Mitch had known who he was going to talk to first, yet he had played dumb just to keep me from getting involved. Fine. Two could play at this game. If he wasn’t going to share with me, then I wouldn’t share with him. Stubborn man. We could accomplish much more if we worked together.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I hedged, focusing back on Ophelia so I wouldn’t miss any clues.

“I’m not stupid, Miss Meadows. You’d do anything to take the suspicion off your grandmother. I get that. And it’s no secret I don’t much care for Fiona, but I got no beef with your grandmother. If you really want to look at someone who has a reason to set those two up, then you might want to talk to that Sewing Sister.”

“What Sewing Sister?”

“Hazel Kissinger. The one in charge of the auction who your granny and Fiona yelled at. It’s so obvious Hazel has the hots for Captain Walker. And heck, she’s more his age than either Granny or Fiona, but he doesn’t give Hazel the time of day. He talks more to Fiona and Granny, and shoot, he even talked to Bernadette herself, but not a word to Hazel. Maybe she got rid of her competition in one fell swoop. Kill Bernadette and frame Fiona and Granny. Makes sense to me.”

“You might have a point.”

Her face hardened. “Tell that to the police. No one will listen to me, and now I’m stuck here. All the other Nanas got to leave, but not me. I can’t help it I’m no good at baking. I didn’t go to Trixie’s the night of the bakeoff. I stayed in my hotel room and watched movies, but no one saw me. Just because I don’t have an alibi, I have to stay in town. That just don’t seem right.”

“I’m sorry,” I said to Ophelia’s retreating back.

“Tell it to the judge. I’m through with all of you.” She kept marching toward her rental car, with her long red hair flying rebelliously in the afternoon breeze.

Well, that was a waste of time. I should have known the Sisters would blame the Nanas, and the Nanas would blame the Sisters. Looks like I was back to square one.

*    *    *

I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, staring at Mitch’s squad car with dread. What was he doing here?
Had he discovered what I was up to? I guess there was only one way to find out.

I took a deep breath and carried in my grocery bag of cleaning supplies with a smile on my face as I entered Vicky. I hung my keys on the hook of the heavy mirrored hat stand in the foyer.

I loved the romance of the Victorian era, inspired by Queen Victoria herself. Dark wood with ornate carvings, end tables with marble tops, and various knickknacks were scattered about extravagantly. Not to mention the Grecian busts and statues that were strategically placed beneath large, dark, heavy-gilded frames that graced most of the walls. I’d never been more thankful that Vicky had come fully furnished, or more grateful that Granny was here to help keep her clean.

“Mitch, how nice to see you. What are you doing here?” I asked as he walked by several large vases filled with huge floral arrangements and plant stands with potted palms to join me.

He narrowed his eyes. “The question is what
aren’t
you doing here?”

“Just because I agreed not to interfere with your investigation this time doesn’t mean I have to stay home twenty-four-seven.” I bumped him with my hip. “I have a life, you know.”

“What about Granny and Fiona?” He took one of the grocery bags from me, and a whiff of his aftershave drifted to my nose.

God, he smelled good, I thought, but ignored that
fact and responded with, “They are the ones on house arrest, not me. Someone has to get the food and other supplies now that Granny can’t. Besides, they are wearing ankle bracelets, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed, all right. They haven’t stopped complaining about it since the moment I arrived.”

“Welcome to my world.” I walked across the Oriental rug–covered hardwood floors to enter the kitchen and set my supplies on the counter. “Speaking of the Dynamic Duo, where are they?”

“Who knows, but don’t speak too loudly. They might—”

“Too late,” I interrupted. “I hear them.”

Seconds later, they scurried around the corner, arguing as usual.

“You are ridiculous. Morty doesn’t want one of your cookies any more than I do. That’s why he dropped the dog biscuit at your feet. To tell you they are dog-nasty, not to have you make him dog biscuit cookies out of cat food,” Fiona snapped.

“Well, he certainly doesn’t want you to make him a cat-sized ankle bracelet like ours. He dropped that puppy collar at your feet to let you know how much he loves me and the stuffed puppy I bought him.”

“That’s even sillier. Who buys stuffed animals for a cat, especially a stuffed dog? You’ve done gone and lost your marbles, Gertie.”

“Better my marbles than your common sense,” Granny said, tying her apron over her sensible, navy blue cotton slacks and pale pink, short-sleeved cotton shirt. “The butler didn’t kill Bernadette. There
is
no
butler, you buffoon. In fact, I’m beginning to think there is no brain inside that head of yours.” She snatched the wooden spoon from the pocket of her apron and thrust it in Fiona’s direction.

“How do you know Trixie doesn’t have a butler?” Fiona shot back, swiping the spoon away from her face and then smoothing her hands down the front of her non-sensible, powder blue, summer silk jumpsuit.

“Have you seen her house? Not everyone has money like you.” Granny gave Fiona the once-over with a distasteful expression on her face.

“You should talk.” Fiona sputtered. “Just because you refuse to keep your money in the bank where it belongs doesn’t mean you don’t have lots of it in those silly shoe boxes and freezer bags. And the gardener in the garage with a pair of hedge clippers and a hearty appetite isn’t any more reasonable than my suggestion.”

“Says who? Tending a lawn burns a lot of calories. He might have worked up an appetite and taken our pie and cookies.”