A Sprinkling of Murder - Daryl Wood Gerber Page 0,61
to quit my lease?
Glinda clicked her fingernails on the counter. “Listen up. I saw that cute police detective questioning Logan.”
“Which cute police detective?”
“Summers.”
“He’s not—” I paused.
Yes, she would find him attractive. They were about the same age.
“He and Logan were standing by the fountain in the courtyard,” Glinda went on.
The fountain, featuring a floating bronze sphere atop a twisted bronze base, was located directly between Glitz and Sweet Treats. One of Flair’s artists had created it. People regularly strolled through the courtyard to view it.
“Detective Summers point-blank asked for Logan’s alibi,” Glinda said.
Hallelujah. The police and I were on the same track. Granted, if my landlord was a murderer, that could put a crimp in my lease situation, but I’d address that matter if it arose.
“Logan said he was at Church of the Wayfarer singing in the choir,” Glinda added. “That has to rule him out as a suspect, I suppose. Choir members will vouch for him, and they wouldn’t lie.”
I sighed. There went that theory.
Joss hustled into the shop and threw her oversized tote bag behind the counter. “Sorry I’m late. My mom...” She sighed. “Now, who were you saying wouldn’t lie?”
“Members of the choir,” Glinda chimed.
“Ha! I’ve known a few pious liars in my day.” Joss removed her sweater coat and smoothed the front of her neon aqua blouse. Fiona whizzed past Joss’s face, making Joss gasp. Joss signaled to me. “Go on. Who wouldn’t lie about what?”
I told her about Logan’s stealing into the shop last night through the hidden door. Joss couldn’t believe it. She asked if I was okay. I assured her I was.
“As for the lie,” I said, “supposedly he was at choir rehearsal at the time of the murder. He has an alibi.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Joss said curtly. “Choir practice does not last until two a.m.” She poured herself a cup of hot water and dunked a bag of chamomile tea into it.
“Maybe he went out with choir members afterward,” Glinda suggested. “I might have missed hearing that part of his account.”
“I’m sure Summers will follow up,” I said.
The door flew open. “Coffee! Must. Have. Coffee.” Meaghan rushed in, the ends of her ocean-themed scarf fluttering. “Our machine quit. I’m in desperate need.” She held out an empty mug with Picasso art on it. “Please. I’ll promise you my firstborn child.”
Glinda patted my arm. “I’ll see you around. Let me know what you find out.” She added sotto voce, “FYI, your cat is acting a bit nuts.”
As she left, I glanced toward the patio. Pixie was dancing on her hind legs and batting the air. Fiona was taunting her.
“Find out about what?” Meaghan asked as she filled her mug and added a dollop of cream.
I gazed at my pal, a gleam in my eye. “You play harp at Church of the Wayfarer, right?”
Chapter 14
I’ll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, and if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I’ll weave my spells.
—Samuel Lover, “The Four-Leaved Shamrock”
As Joss rearranged greeting cards in the revolving rack, I explained the situation to Meaghan about Logan’s alibi. When I finished, she agreed to do recon; however, she wasn’t sure she could do it any time soon. Her day was packed. She had half a dozen appointments. Sunday was always a busy day at the gallery. And Monday wasn’t going to prove much better. But she promised she would follow through.
“Meaghan, before you go, talk to me about Isabella Acosta. You’re not a fan. Why?”
She wrinkled her nose. “The woman stole one of our artists.”
“Stole?”
“Okay, enticed her with a better split, less commission.”
“Is that ethical?”
“It’s not illegal, but in Carmel, most of us gallery owners have a pact to honor one another’s agreements with artists. We don’t poach.” Meaghan scrunched up her mouth before adding, “It speaks to her character.”
“No kidding.”
“To add insult to injury, the woman never smiles, as if she’s above us all. It’s like she lost her joie de vivre years ago.”
I didn’t like or dislike someone who frowned, but a smile did work wonders.
“Gotta go.” Meaghan blew me a kiss and flew out the Dutch door.
As she exited, Detective Summers sauntered into the shop dressed in his usual white shirt and tan khakis, but his easy smile was gone and a no-nonsense scowl had taken its place. Office Rodriguez followed him, dressed like Summers, her hair secured in a silver-tooled hair clip. She didn’t look any happier than he did.
Summers said, “Did I see you at the Equestrian Inn earlier?”