owns an art gallery.”
“That doesn’t mean she dreams. Her artists do.”
The moment I walked into the shop, Joss charged me and tapped her watch. “Where have you been? Are you ready to teach your class?”
“Sorry. I got waylaid.” I tossed the energy bar wrapper in the garbage pail behind the sales counter.
“While you were gone, I prepped the craft area and fielded phone calls.” Joss handed me a smock so I wouldn’t soil my clothes. “Holly Hopewell is on her way. She’s running a few minutes behind.”
“I’m glad she didn’t cancel.”
“Her sister Hattie vowed to tease her mercilessly if she did,” Joss said. “The others are already here.”
I thanked her and fled to the restroom where I freshened my face and brushed my windblown hair. Then I filled a glass with water and strolled to the patio to teach the class.
The bonsai-shaping event was always one of my favorites. I offered it once a month. In the learning-the-craft corner, Joss had preset the table with trees the students would work on and the appropriate tools they would use. Three people were in attendance. Holly would make four. More were registered for next month’s event. Word was getting around that the classes were fun and enlightening. I noticed a few customers who were browsing the shelves for fairy garden items pointing at us and whispering among themselves.
Seconds before the start of the class, Holly bustled in, looking hip in a semi-sheer Van Gogh–print cape over a denim jumpsuit, her curly hair secured in a fashionable silver clip. She said she had something to tell me, but I asked her to hold the thought as I guided her to the students’ station.
“Welcome, everyone.” I rounded my small presentation table, set up specifically for this occasion. It held a bonsai, a coil of 1.5mm copper wire, and six-inch stainless steel shears with a micro-tip.
After a brief introduction and sharing my affection for bonsai trees, I launched into the instruction. “Sitting before you are the same items that are on my table. Wiring is a crucial technique to shaping and training bonsai.”
The word training gave me pause. I flashed on Gregory trying to train me in the park—okay, not train me, but definitely trying to manage me. Why? Maybe he treated humans the same way he treated animals. Was his alibi a lie?
I shook free of the notion and continued. “By wrapping wire around the branches, you are able to bend and reposition them. After a few months, when the branches are set, you can remove the wire. Try it with a branch. Like this.” I demonstrated the technique. “One of the issues with wiring is that, during the growth season, branches can quickly become thick. The wire can create ugly scars. So you want to make sure you check your tree often and remove the wiring in time.”
The owner of Carmel Collectibles, a cherry-cheeked man with twinkling eyes, mumbled that he couldn’t quite get the hang of it. I moved to help him. He was holding his coil at an odd angle.
“Think of it like wrapping ribbon around a gift,” I said to him.
That tip seemed to work. He was an expert with ribbon; he made gorgeous bows.
Returning to my presentation table, I said, “You want to wire all the branches you intend to shape before bending them. It’s tricky.”
For an hour, I instructed them. When all was said and done, I had four very happy customers.
As the class concluded, Holly approached me with a cup of tea in hand. Her cheeks were flushed with good energy. “How I wish I could train my garden as well as I can a bonsai.”
“I could give you some tips on my day off,” I said.
“I would love that.”
“Now, what did you want to tell me? Did you find an eyewitness?” I asked hopefully.
“No, dear, I’m sorry. Not yet.” She set her tea down. “However, I have something else to tell you. About Gregory Darvell.” She clasped my hands. Hers were still damp from using soap and water following the bonsai session. “I found out that he entered Shep in a competition.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Emily has no clue.”
“Aha!” Fiona hovered over Holly’s shoulder. “I was right. He killed Mick to get control of the dog.”
“Go on,” I said to Holly.
“A friend of the family in San Jose has the inside scoop,” Holly continued. “Hattie and Hedda know her. She shows her Dachshund. She’s such a dear. And she never lies. She saw the paperwork.” Holly hesitated. “Is