except she doesn’t know where she is. She’s gone. Vanished. Within a year, the cult relocated to Colorado, but no one has a clue of the location. Some say they zoomed off in a spaceship. As if.” Chuckling, Hedda squeezed my arm and said, “Don’t let her rile you. That would give her the upper hand.”
My father would have said the same.
Hedda scooted past me and sat in a chair another attendee had vacated.
I stared at Tish as a notion occurred to me. What if Fiona could locate Tish’s daughter? Would finding the young woman change Tish’s mind about me and my business? There must be some kind of fairy network out there. Would the queen fairy allow Fiona to utilize it while on probation? As if drawn to make peace, I moved toward Tish. I stopped short when I spied Emily Watkins approaching the lectern.
She wriggled the hem of her brown sweater over the waist of her trousers, hiked the rope handles of her Michael Kors tote bag higher on her shoulder, and cleared her throat. “I want to speak, Councilwoman,” Emily said formally.
Petra gawped. “You?”
“Yes, me.”
Emily peered over her shoulder at Gregory Darvell, who was holding on to Shep not far from where Oriana and Tish were standing. Gregory’s mouth twitched at the corners, like he was trying hard not to smile. He twirled a finger encouraging Emily to continue. What was up?
Emily closed in on Petra. “The microphone please.”
Petra Pauli blanched, but as required during the public appearances, ceded the spot to Emily. “Proceed, Mrs. Watkins.”
“Good afternoon, everyone. Give me a sec,” Emily said to the crowd. She rummaged in her tote bag. “I’ve got it.” With a tug, she pulled out a large, sealed baggie stuffed with something hot pink. “Here, Petra, for you, as requested.” Emily shoved the package in the councilwoman’s direction. “I believe this teddy is yours.”
I bit back a giggle. Emily had brought Petra’s lingerie to the meeting? Talk about gall. It was a shaming to beat any I’d ever witnessed.
“Wh-what?” Petra faltered. “Why you—”
“What better place to return your dainties?” Emily gloated. “You took me on in front of others. I decided to return the favor.”
“Why you—” Petra charged Emily, who dodged her and raced to Gregory and the dog.
Gregory stood, a smug smile on his face.
“Let’s get out of here,” Emily rasped.
Petra squared her shoulders and stared at the crowd. All were watching her with rapt attention. She smoothed her hair, softened her brow, and offered a confident smile. A true professional. But I could tell Emily had rattled her. Even from the back of the room, I could see Petra’s cheek was ticking with tension.
Ooh, how I wished Detective Summers had stayed around to see that exchange. Was another murder on the horizon? Bad Courtney. Don’t make light of the situation.
Quickly, Petra adjourned the public appearances portion of the meeting and suggested a ten-minute recess. People started to rise.
“Courtney, dear.” Holly Hopewell eased along the aisle, her navy blue artist’s smock brushing against the dogs she skirted. When she reached me, she said, “Tish made a vicious attack against you. She had no right.” She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks to your sister.”
Hedda, who was gathering her purse and sweater, waved to Holly. She mimed getting something to drink. Holly nodded.
“Mrs. Hopewell,” I said, moving closer to avoid the hubbub of the crowd, “have you found any witnesses who saw me in my house yet?”
“No, dear. I’m still working the issue. And it’s high time you call me Holly like your mother did.”
I nodded. “Holly, what can you tell me about Isabella Acosta? I heard you have a couple of art pieces hanging in her gallery. Joss said they’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
“Is Isabella good to you?”
“To me, yes. Placement on the walls is premium, but I’m new to her. She aims to impress. Between you and me, I’ve seen her interact with other artists, and she can be”—Holly tapped her chin—“prickly. No smile. No warmth. As far as I know, she has no personal life. She’s not married. She has a friend or two.”
“How is she as a businesswoman?” I asked.
“She pays on time and gets top dollar. Our split is fair. I can’t fault her there.”
“Did she poach you from another gallery?”
“No, dear. All my works in other galleries have sold. I have no outstanding agreements. Why are you interested?”
“Thanks to Isabella Acosta, I’m a suspect in Mick Watkins’s murder. She said