The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

ELEVEN

It was early evening before I finally got away, with Mom’s recipe for slow roasted side of beef tucked into my back pocket. She’d recovered enough to insist she should come over tomorrow to at least cook the Sunday roast. I’d insisted just as strongly that that was not an option. We’d comprised on the recipe.

Those couple of hours relaxing at home with Mom and Dad, though, had breathed new life into my soul. There was something to be said for unconditional love.

Before starting the car, I put a call in to Savage Garden for our take-out supper. I ordered enough to feed a small army and was told it would be ready within a half-hour for collection. That gave me the perfect opportunity to stop by The Vine to catch up with Jenna.

Tourist season had arrived and Silver Firs was bursting at the seams with festive cheer. A banner streamed across the far end of the North Pier announcing next weekend’s country fair. Patty’s Pancakes had put a table outside on the boardwalk, and I caught a glimpse of Agatha flipping pancakes on a portable gas stove.

The parking behind the communal hall was full, so I pulled up into one of the long bays reserved for the wine touring buses with attitude. My best friend was dating the only functioning law official in town and I had a detective living in my bedroom. I figured I had all bases covered.

Jenna’s family owned and worked The Vine, a delicatessen and wine tasting bar that took its décor to heart. From the gnarled wood door to the vines creeping along the exposed ceiling beams, it was like stepping into an overgrown vineyard. It was tasting hour, and Mr Adams held court at the long bar with the usual group of rosy-cheeked regulars and a press of new faces. He was giving his token speech on the history of some bouquet, so I waved him hello but didn’t interrupt.

Jenna saw me and flew from around the back of the cheese counter.

“Coffee break,” she called out to her mom and aunt, and swept me straight back onto the pavement outside. “Sorry, I just wanted to warn you. I haven’t told anyone about Lydia Fieldman, not even my parents. Jack wanted to keep it quiet.”

“That’s not going to last,” I said as we crossed Birch Street and cut through an alley to the square. “I had to tell my mom. Actually, I’m surprised Miss Crawley hasn’t trumpeted the news with her usual fanfare.”

“Not a peep.” Jenna threw me a grin. “I’ve been checking all the usual suspects, but she hasn’t posted, tweeted or pinned a single thing all day. Any progress on whodunit?”

“We’ve definitely narrowed it down to one of the GRIMMS,” I said dryly.

“So, that would be a no.”

A discordant note clawed the air like a devil she-cat. My spine snapped stiff. Several people cursed. A toddler nearby started bawling.

Across the green, the school marching band went into full cacophony mode as they warmed up their instruments.

I watched the effect jolt through the sea of innocent visitors with a sigh of content. “I missed this.”

Jenna laughed. “You have a seriously evil streak.”

We pushed through the frosted door of Cuppa-Cake and joined the back of a rather long line. Within minutes, however, Lily waved us out of the line. The perks of being local and a valued customer. I guessed this meant she was unaware of my occasional sneak into Cuppa-Cheeno across the green. The two establishments had been engaged in unfriendly rivalry for two years and I’d planted my flag firmly in Lily’s quarter, but all was fair in love and war when it came to Mr Bellaney’s almond croissants.

Lily had our regular order ready to-go, cappuccino for me and latte for Jenna. She leant across the high counter as she handed them over. “How’s it going with the murder?”

I flinched. “That was quick, even for my mother. She must be taking lessons from Miss Craw—Ow!” I yelped as Jenna stamped on my foot. I glared down at my injury. “You’re lucky you’re wearing sneakers.”

“You’re lucky I’m wearing sneakers.” Jenna leant in and whispered, “She’s talking about your mystery weekend and my murder, you idiot.”

An idiot, and then some.

I beamed a smile on Lily. “Oh, you mean
the murder
,” I improvised, and proceeded to lie through my teeth. “Everything went as planned.”

A low murmur rumbled down the line beside us. I noticed we were drawing heated stares. It was probably bad form to jump the line and then hog the proprietor on top of that.

“We should let you get back to your customers.” I paid the bill, grateful for the excuse to get of there before I tripped over my lies.

The rumble grew louder as Jenna and I moved toward the door.

“Murderer,” a lanky man with evil eyes hissed.

“…no shame,” another was muttering. “Admitted it loud and clear.”

A young woman with bright blue hair yanked her toddler behind her legs. “Planned the whole thing and went through with it.”

“Do we know who she killed?”

“It’s these small towns, no accounting for what folks get up to.”

“I’m calling 911.”

We picked up our pace and scurried through the door, but I slammed to a halt the moment we hit fresh air. “Do you think I should go back and say something?”

“When in doubt, run!” Jenna grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. “Lily will set them straight.”

“How did that even happen?” I glanced over my shoulder, saw some faces smudged up against the window. “They’re watching us.”

“Come on, before they decide to try and make a citizen’s arrest.” Jenna merged into the foot traffic along the store fronts.

I hurried to catch up with her. “That’s not funny.”

Her lips twitched. “It kind of is.”

No comment.

Once we were a safe distance from Cuppa-Cake, we stepped onto the less congested grassy green and slowed to a stroll.

I removed the lid of my coffee and inhaled my first sip.

“So…” Jenna bumped hips with me. “Tell me everything.”

“About?”

“You and the smoking hot detective you’re sharing a house with, of course.” Her voice took on a coy, sing-song beat. “How did last night go?”

“Hmm…” I shouldn’t encourage her, I really shouldn’t. But this was Jenna, the one person I talked to about everything; the good, the bad, the warts, the all. Besides, I was due a little fun. “We shared a whole lot more than just a house.”

She choked on her mouthful of coffee. “You shared a bed?”

“A bedroom,” I qualified with a laugh. “Nate spent the night in the chair, playing guard dog. There was an almost-kiss, but other than that, Nate was his usual charming self. He threatened to cuff and book me, and this morning he accused me of inciting a rebellion.”

Jenna, naturally, heard only what she wanted to. “Why would you stop the kiss?”

“Actually, Nate did.”

“Are you sure?” She gave me a suspicious look.

“It was hard to miss.” We’d crossed the green, taking the long route back to The Vine. I slipped into the narrow alley between the Treasure Chest and Seefies ahead of Jenna. “And that’s everything that’s going on.”

“I can’t believe how boring the two of you are,” she said grumpily.

“And I can’t believe I never knew you were so cynical about marriage,” I tossed out over my shoulder. “I had an interesting chat with your friend, Mason. The word he used was ‘disillusioned.’”

“It’s something new I’m working on.”

I rolled my eyes and looked forward again. “Because of me and Joe?”

“You guys were the charmed couple. Heather and Peter were the golden couple.” She sighed loudly. “If charmed and golden can’t make it, who the hell can?”

“Jeez, Mason wasn’t kidding.” I stepped out from the alley into the South Pier parking lot. “You should just sign up for the Blue Rinse Ladies and be done with it.”

“Maybe I’ll start my own spinster club.”

“I’ll be your first member.” I sipped on my coffee while I waited for her to pop out. “Anyway, Joe and I were hardly charmed.”

“Seriously?” Her brow cocked high. “Name one thing that went wrong from the moment you two hooked up.”

“Chintilly,” I deadpanned.

“Precisely,” Jenna said, warming up to her theory. “But before that, you and Joe lived on your own patch of eternal sunshine where no one and nothing could touch you. Following your dreams, crazy in love, and then
boom
, it’s over, done and dried for no good reason.”

“There is a reason as it turns out,” I told her. “Chintilly was a research project for his new book. And here’s the good part. Joe assumed I wouldn’t mind because I’m an actor.”

Jenna gawked at me as that sank in. “How does that make any sense?”

“I never said it was a sensible reason.” I drained the frothy dregs of my cappuccino and squashed the cup. “So much for our charmed life, huh?”

Jenna chewed on her flawed theory in silence.

Not much to say after that, I guess. I breathed in a deep lungful of pine scented forest and fresh lake air as we crossed Birch Road for the short walk back toward The Vine. The pier was busy, the noise from the square leaked out the through the alleys and over the rooftops, the people themselves overflowed onto the shorefront with their yapping dogs and squealing kids, but it still felt like a spot of secluded paradise. A breeze had picked up, rippling the glassy surface and brushing the velvet needle clusters of the tall pines.

Jenna saw my Beetle drowning in the shadow of the enormous touring bus parked along it. “You’re living dangerously. Beatrix Salmer tried that last Christmas and a cranky bus driver parked right over her car. Claimed he didn’t see it. And okay, it was one of those tiny smart hybrids, but still. Those bus drivers grow devil horns when you mess with their parking rights.”

I looked around nervously. There were three parked busses, but just as many open bays. “I hope she sued.”

“Sheriff Matthews said she was in violation of the law and her case would be thrown out of court,” Jenna said. “And her insurance wouldn’t pay up, either.”

My car wasn’t crunched, but my heart hammered as I hurried over to check for malicious scratches. This was why I’d never make a decent criminal; I didn’t deal well with consequences.

Instead of scratches, I found a yellow ticket pinned beneath the wiper.

I plucked the ticket out with an indignant gasp and waved it at Jenna. “What’s Jack doing plodding the streets, anyway, harassing harmless cars when there’s a murderer on the loose.”

“Ouch,” Jenna said when she saw the price tag, then she pointed and crooned, “Oh, look, he drew a sad face.”

Yeah, well, we all knew what Jack could do with his sad face.

“How does he not know it’s unethical to ticket your girlfriend’s best friend?” I crumpled the ticket into a ball and shoved it into my back pocket. “You should train him better.”

Jenna laughed so hard, she snorted. “He’s still a rookie, Maddie Mads. He thinks humanity will crash and burn if he doesn’t uphold every single law and silly infraction.”

“Meanwhile I have to suffer?” I groused.

“There are worse things than a ticket,” Jenna said, glancing around us.

“I guess,” I sighed, thinking of Lydia Fieldman. “At least I’m not dead and hanging from a tree.”

“I was thinking about Beatrix Salmer’s car, but dead and hanging counts, too.” She shuddered. “Silver Firs used to be such a safe town. Now we’ve had two murders in less than a month. What are the odds?”

“Two out of two, apparently.” I said goodbye to Jenna and climbed behind the wheel.

To be fair, Silver Firs was still a safe town, it was Hollow House that seemed to draw the trouble. Miss Daggon’s death had nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help feeling I was the magnet for our latest murder.

Hosting a murder mystery weekend was practically an invitation to murder, after all.

TWELVE

I lumbered across the gravel driveway and up the steps like an elephant with an extra trunk that kept getting in the way. A Savage Garden paper bag under each arm and another two dangling from my fingertips. One full menu had looked tame on paper, but twelve full menus plus a bit extra was a whole other animal.

Burns was nodding off behind the reception desk. He peeked open an eye at my ungainly entrance, started to drift off again before he caught himself. Or maybe he’d gotten a whiff of the aromatic noodles.

He stood and tugged his jacket straight where it had rumpled up his portly figure. “Do you need a hand, Ms Storm?”

I bit down on the retort that leapt to my throat. Burns didn’t get sarcasm, not at all. He really would think I loved having my fingers stretched to the bone and he’d leave me to it. “Thank you, Burns, that would be great.”

He came around and relieved me of the dangling bags. “I’ve set up on the terrace,” he murmured. “Everyone’s already gathered, enjoying the last of the evening light.”

“Have things been, um, relatively normal?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

Why did I even bother?

Burns took his paper bags and started off in the wrong direction.