Daisies for Innocence (10 page)

“Detective,” Astrid stepped toward him. “Can I offer you a cookie?”

But he was staring over her shoulder at the counter. At
Leonard the betta fish. He shouldered Astrid aside, took a few steps, then whirled back to me.

“You stole the victim’s fish?”

“No! Of course not.” I scrambled for what to say. I couldn’t deny that we’d been to Josie’s. The creepy apartment manager would be happy to tell the cops he’d seen us there if they asked. “We . . . I just wanted to make sure Leonard was okay. Take care of him, since Josie—” I felt my throat tighten and swallowed against it. “Since she can’t anymore.”

Detective Lang regarded me for a long moment. His partner had come to stand in the doorway and watched us all, her gaze speculative.

“Where did you get the key?” Lang
asked.

A
STRID
had a key,” I said.

The expression on his face made my stomach cramp. I racked my brain for a scent that would ease the sensation and came up empty. Was there a flower essence to assuage intimidation?

“Because here’s a funny coincidence, Ellie,” Lang said. “I talked to Harris last night, and he told me his key to Josie Overland’s apartment went missing.” His eyes grew wide, and his mouth formed an O of exaggerated surprise. “And guess what else? He also said you visited him at the restaurant yesterday for the first time in months. Right before he noticed the key was gone! I find that timing pretty interesting, don’t you?”

“But . . . but . . .” I stammered.

Garcia’s expression had sharpened, though her tone remained mild. “I hadn’t realized you’d spoken with Mr.
Madigan last evening, Detective Lang. You’ll have to fill me in.”

He shrugged. “Meh. We just had a beer.”

She stared at him for few beats, her face a mask of neutrality.

Then I remembered something Tom Steinhart had said. “When we were there, the manager of Josie’s apartment building said someone else had been in her apartment—before you, even.”

“Gee, he didn’t mention that to us.”

“He didn’t strike me as someone with a particular affection for the police,” Astrid said. “I bet he has a sheet.”

Lang lifted an eyebrow at that. “A ‘sheet’? Ms. Moneypenny, I think you might want to cut back on the television crime dramas.”

Garcia didn’t comment, instead turning to me. “You say you already had a key to Ms. Overland’s home?”

I gave a little nod.

Astrid stepped forward. “I had the key. Josie gave it to me a while back.”

Lang shook his head.

“You were good friends with the victim, then, Ms. Moneypenny?” Garcia asked. “Because that wasn’t the impression I got from our conversation at your workplace yesterday.”

“She gave it to me so I could feed Leonard while she was out of town,” Astrid said. “It’s what I do.”

The detectives appeared confused. She walked over to where she’d dumped her backpack behind the counter and retrieved a business card. Handing it to them, she
said, “Moneypenny Pet Care. Specializing in difficult or chronically ill animals.”

They looked at each other and then back at Astrid.

“I’m a petrepreneur,” she said.

Garcia laughed. “A pet . . . I see. So you knew about the fish and told your friend here.”

Astrid grinned and held her palms up in a gesture of innocence. “Exactly.”

Relief whooshed through me. “So it’s okay if I keep Leonard here?” I asked. “Or is there someone in Josie’s family who might want him?”

Lang went over to the fish to take a look. “Yeah. You can keep it for now.”

Garcia said, “The only family we’ve been able to track down is Ms. Overland’s older brother. I doubt he’d want the fish, but we’ll let him know it’s here.”

I blinked. “Where does he live?”

“Silver Wells. He’s a lawyer there.”

“You talked to him on the phone?” I asked.

“Of course,” Lang replied in a gruff tone. “We had to notify next of kin.”

“Well, did he have any ideas about who Josie’s enemies might have been?”

Lang glared at me.

“Vance Overland and his sister were estranged,” Garcia said, more forthcoming than her partner. “He refused to speak about her after we informed him she’d been killed.” She looked sad, and I felt a pang of something coming from her.

Melancholy. Nostalgia and melancholy. She misses her family.

Lang reached out and tapped the glass of the fish tank with his fingernail. Nabby’s paw flashed out, and the detective jerked his hand back. “Ouch! Why you—” He swiped at Nabby, who scooted out of reach. “Is that thing licensed?” he demanded, pointing at the cat who was now glaring at him from his perch by the window.

“Of course,” Astrid said before I could respond. She held out her palm to the detective. “Let me see.”

He extended his hand. She took it and leaned closer to examine the injury, while I scurried into the office to retrieve the first-aid kit. In less than two minutes, Astrid had cleaned and bandaged the tiny scratch as if it were a war wound.

“Thanks,” Detective Lang said grudgingly.

While Astrid had been playing nurse, Detective Garcia had been strolling among the displays, picking up items here and there, and then setting them down again. I’d been keeping casual track of her from the corner of my eye, a skill that anyone who works in retail for any amount of time automatically develops. Now I saw her pause with something in her hand. A stillness settled around her, and the nostalgia I’d tuned into earlier increased. I turned my full attention to her. Astrid’s gaze followed mine.

“What’s this scent?” Detective Garcia asked. Her voice was hushed.

“Excuse me,” I said to Lang, and joined her.

As soon as I was within a few feet of Lupe Garcia, the sharpness of her bittersweet emotion surprised me. Not because nostalgia was an unusual reaction from customers in the shop—it was perhaps the most common feeling that people broadcast. After all, it was no secret that smell
was the most primitive of the senses, and also the one most linked to memory.

Whatever she held in her hand had sparked a very strong memory for Detective Garcia. I tilted my head to see what it was.

“That’s a sachet,” I said. It was a simple muslin bag filled with spices. “To scent closets and drawers. The strongest smell in that one is cinnamon. It contains pieces of the bark from true cinnamon trees, unlike most cinnamon that you use in the kitchen, which is actually from the bark of the cassia tree.”

“I’ve sure never smelled cinnamon like this in my kitchen,” she breathed, holding the sachet to her face.

“Let’s see.” I leaned over, and she held the bundle out to me. Inhaling deeply, I nodded. “There are also cocoa beans in that bundle, as well as cracked cardamom.”

A grin split her face. “That’s it! Cardamom. That’s what’s been missing.” My puzzlement must have shown, because she went on. “I’ve been trying to recreate the drink my great aunt used to make when I was a child in Albuquerque.
Champurrado.
It was a thick hot drink, with plenty of cinnamon like most Mexican hot chocolate. But there was a secret ingredient, and I could never quite get it right. This is very close.”

“Hang on,” I said, and hurried back to my storeroom.

Astrid stepped out of the way as Lang boomed, “Are you about done over there, Garcia? Maybe you could shop on your own time.”

“I’ll only be a moment, Max,” she answered, her words
measured. “And I’ll make you some of the hot chocolate I’m talking about. You’ll like it.”

He harrumphed.

I returned with a chunk of cocoa butter in a small plastic bag. Its ecru creaminess filled the air with a strong scent of chocolate, head-swimmingly pungent and redolent of decadence.

“Yum,” Astrid murmured under her breath as I passed. “You are
so
getting chocolate cookies tomorrow.”

“That’s it!” Garcia said when I handed it to her and she’d taken a deep sniff of the cocoa with the scented sachet. “What is this?”

I felt the nostalgia sharpen, but the sad, melancholic element dissolved, leaving behind a lovely strong memory.

“Nondeodorized cocoa butter,” I said. “It’s not food grade, but it is from the same source as really good chocolate. I use it in some of my lotion bars, but it’s nice on your skin by itself, too. Plus, it makes you smell like a chocolate kiss.” I smiled. “Of course, it’s also available with the scent removed.”

“Now who would want that?” she asked. “I’d like to buy this. How much?”

I waved my hand. “It’s yours.”

She frowned, and her friendly expression vanished. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t take a gift from a murder suspect.”

I heard Astrid’s sudden intake of breath behind me.

“Hang on a minute,” I protested. “You said Josie was killed in the park.” I waved my hand vaguely in that direction. “And you released my property just now. You
can’t still consider me a murder suspect just because my ex-husband carries a grudge. If you want to know who actually had a fight with her the night she died, it was him.”

“Nice try,” Lang said in a dry tone. “Harris doesn’t have a motive, and you do.”

“But—” Astrid broke in.

Lang stopped her with an upraised hand. “And did I mention a witness saw you in the park that night, Ms. Allbright?”

“
What?
That’s impossible!”

But when I saw Detective Lang’s smug face I realized he’d been saving this bombshell to spring on me. He looked like he was savoring every second, too.

I glanced at Garcia. She’d donned an impenetrable poker face, and was watching me with the same assessment I’d seen in her eyes when I’d first met her over Josie’s body.

“If anyone says they saw Ellie attack Josie, they’re lying!” Astrid said.

“Not attack,” Lang admitted. “Just that she was there in the park.”

“Who’s your witness?” I asked in a quiet voice.

Lang said, “Pete Grimly.”

My confusion must have shown on my face, because Garcia clarified. “You might know him as Bongo Pete.”

“Oh.” I let out my breath in a little laugh and felt my shoulders relax. “That guy Gessie King lets camp behind her stables?” I remembered how he’d come to pet Dash when I’d parked in Gessie’s lot the afternoon before Josie’s murder. Bongo Pete was a big guy, gentle as
a lamb. Like the rest of our small homeless enclave, the citizens of Poppyville looked out for him, made sure he was well fed and safe, but everyone knew he wasn’t quite all there.

“You had me worried,” I said.

“He says he saw you walking your dog along the fitness trail that night.” Lang looked pointedly at Dash, who was gazing obliviously out the door at the birds breakfasting at their feeder. “Is that true?”

“Ellie—” Astrid started.

But I was already talking, “Well, yeah—I took Dash for a walk before bed. I told you that. But that was a little after ten. Josie didn’t get off work until midnight. I was fast asleep by the time she was killed.”

“Not according to Pete. He says it was well after midnight,” Lang said.

“Detective, seriously,” Astrid broke in. “Bongo Pete doesn’t know what time it is any given moment.”

“He did see me earlier that day, but
way
earlier,” I said. “He’s a nice guy, and I wish him no ill, but he doesn’t even know what
day
it is most of the time.”

“He’s willing to testify,” Lang said, not breaking eye contact with me. “Come on, Lupe. We’ve got a bit more work to do before we can wrap this up. Oh, Ms. Allbright?”

“What?” I practically growled.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us where you hid the murder weapon.”

“Very funny,” I said, not liking how my voice wavered.

“Mmm. I’ll see you outside, Detective.” And he went out to the boardwalk.

I looked at Garcia, unable to keep the dismay off my face.

She had the grace to meet my eyes. “I’ll ask you one more time,” she said. “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Josie Overland?”

I blinked. “Not yet.”

“Does that mean you plan on finding out?”

I didn’t answer.

“Because I can’t
officially
recommend that,” she said in a mild tone. “Now, what do I owe you for these items?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Frustration leaked out around my words. “The price is on the sachet. I don’t know what to charge you for the cocoa butter, because it’s a raw ingredient, which I don’t usually sell. How about you double the price of the sachet, and we’ll call it good?” I was overcharging her, but I didn’t care.

Her chin dipped in a single decisive gesture. “That works.” She reached into her pocket, extracted a few bills folded together, and handed me one. “I don’t need any change.”

Lang looked back at us from outside. I could almost sense his urge to tap his foot.

“Fine.” I gave the money to Astrid, who went behind the counter and opened the register drawer.

“Thanks,” Detective Garcia said, and joined her partner out on the boardwalk.

I turned to Astrid, who regarded me from behind the counter with one eyebrow raised. “Now what?” she asked.

My shoulders slumped. “Do you think Lang’s trying to railroad me? All because of Harris?”

She leaned her hip against the counter. “Or to show
how fast he can solve a murder. To impress the chief of police. Or to impress his new partner. I heard Lupe Garcia transferred from Las Vegas. He might feel like he has to prove something about his small-town department.”

“More like he has to prove something about his small something else,” I muttered under my breath.

Astrid heard me and grinned. Then she sobered. “Seriously, Ellie. What are you going to do?”

Reaching for the rose oil, I took a whiff and sighed. “I’m going back to the Roux later.” Seeing her expression, I said, “I want to talk to Maggie again. Yesterday I didn’t get a chance to find out what the fight between Harris and Josie was about. It’s probably nothing, but you never know. Maybe I can talk to some of the other waitstaff, too.” Not to mention that walking back into the restaurant the day before, while unsettling, had also made me feel as though I’d taken yet another aspect of my life back. Returning today might keep that momentum going.