Poppies, Perils, and Poison, page 11
Somehow Finn holding my ankle felt more intimate than the hug. When's the last time someone touched my ankle? All the hubbub around finger brushing and the ankle showing of Jane Austen novels suddenly made much more sense.
"It's fine," I squeaked out.
Finn looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he said, "What was it you wanted to show me?"
"What?" I asked, my brain short circuiting.
He'd leaned back against the couch but kept my foot in his lap, his hand settled comfortably on my ankle. We'd never kissed, although we'd been close a few times. We'd never even been on a date, but the man completely erased my ability to form coherent thoughts with just his hand on my ankle.
"You wanted to show me something?" Finn said. He looked worried, like maybe the hammer to my ankle had mysteriously caused a concussion instead of what I was sure was going to be a nasty bruise.
"Oh yeah," I said, my senses slowly coming back to me. Unfortunately, the letter was across the room. My living room might be small, as Finn pointed out, but not small enough for me to be able to reach the letter without moving.
With great reluctance, I eased my foot from Finn's lap, stood, and retrieved the letter from the table near the front door. Resuming the position we'd been in previously seemed awkward, so instead, I sat next to him.
"This was on my door when I got home today," I said, handing him the letter.
Finn read the note and then stared into the distance. Running his hand over his beard, he looked down at the note again before saying, "Any idea who left it for you?"
I shook my head. "I've been thinking about it, and I have no clue. The note is vague to the point of being maddening."
"An affair is a viable motive for murder," he said thoughtfully.
"It could also be the real murderer trying to throw us off the track by pointing the finger somewhere else. They do that, you know," I said.
Finn looked amused by my statement. "Yes, I do know that murderers try to muddy the waters of investigations."
Of course Finn knew that. "Sorry. You know better than anyone," I said contritely. He didn't look upset, but I decided shifting the focus of the conversation wasn't a bad idea. "Do you think there could be fingerprints on it? Maybe if you can figure out who left it, you could get more information."
Instead of answering my question, Finn said, "Why leave the note for you? It's just as easy to contact the police with an anonymous tip. Maybe even easier. With taping this to your door, the person risked being seen by a neighbor or having you come home while they were still here."
"I have no idea why someone left it for me," I said. An excellent idea dropped right into my head like a gift from above. "We should do a stakeout," I said with excitement. "Yeah, we could follow Bobby Wentworth around and see if he's meeting with someone in secret. I'll even buy snacks." I clapped my hands together. "It'll be super fun."
Penny was going to be so jealous that I was going to get to go on a real-life stakeout, but before I could even plan my stakeout outfit, Finn burst my happy bubble by saying, "You're not going to do anything. I'll have the note checked for prints. If we're lucky, I'll find the identity of who left the note and question them."
"But it's my note," I argued.
"And it's my investigation," Finn argued back.
The words I've got my own investigation were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back, knowing they weren't going to get me anywhere. "Whoever left this trusted me to find the truth," I said instead.
"Whoever left this wanted you focused on Bobby, which could mean anything, as you already pointed out." Finn held up the note. "This might not even be true."
I sagged back into the couch in frustration.
"I don't want to fight with you," Finn said quietly.
I turned my head to look at him. His golden-brown eyes were filled with sincerity.
"Then don't cut me out of this," I said. "I'm already in it, whether you like it or not. People talk to me. I'm the reason you know about the blackmail, which is another motive." I also thought about the weird vibe I'd gotten from Margie's husband, Dave, but I didn't have anything actionable with that, and I didn't want to dilute my point by throwing something as woo-woo as a vibe in there.
"I won't argue with your effectiveness when it comes to investigating a murder," he said, sounding baffled by his own statement.
"Then what are you arguing?" I asked.
"It's not safe, and I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you," he said with a gravity that communicated just how serious he was.
I grinned and patted his face, enjoying the scratch of his beard on my hand. "Ahhh, you're worried about me," I said.
"With good reason," Finn said. "Shannon is dead. I don't need the murderer deciding you pose too much of a risk and coming after you too."
"But looking on the bright side," I said lightly. "That would mean I'm on the right track."
Finn let out something that resembled a growl, clearly displeased with my bright side.
"I'm not in danger, and it's sweet that you care, and no stakeout," I said.
Instead of outright agreeing with me, which is what I expected, Finn said, "And no calling Penny and doing a stakeout on your own."
Honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to me, although it probably would have eventually. "What?" I said with a touch of indignation. "I would never."
"You would," Finn said firmly, although he couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling.
"Were you able to track anything down about who might have been blackmailing Shannon?" I asked, shifting us away from whether or not I would disobey Finn's wishes.
He hesitated just enough to make me wonder if he was going to cut me off from any additional information about the case but finally said, "I spoke with the detective in charge of her case up in Wisconsin, and I talked to Bobby. Bobby's story seems to check out. The police never took the notes very seriously, even suggesting that Shannon was faking the notes as a way to hide money from Bobby."
I narrowed my eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would she do that?"
"The police interviewed the neighbors at the time who said that Bobby and Shannon fought often. They speculated that she was preparing to leave him," Finn said.
"That seems like a lot of speculating and not a lot of investigating," I said.
"I agree. They were overworked and understaffed was the excuse I was given," Finn said.
"Where does that leave you?" I asked.
"It doesn't leave me with much," he said. "I sent the stack of letters and envelopes to the crime lab. I'm hoping they find something, but as we talked about the other night, a lot of people have handled those letters. Even the detective assigned the case in Wisconsin has touched them, although he didn't do anything but read them and give them back to Shannon."
"It's a dead end?" I asked. "But what if that person killed Shannon? We'll never figure it out, and Margie will go to jail for something she didn't do." It was in that moment that I realized how much stake I'd put in finding the blackmailer.
Finn took my hand. I was too upset to enjoy it. "We're not at a dead end. We're at the beginning. Lot of investigating still to do," he reassured.
"You didn't say anything about Margie not spending the rest of her life behind bars," I pointed out.
"The investigation is young. I'm not prepared to put anyone behind bars," he said.
I pursed my lips. "That doesn't really make me feel better."
"How about this? I promise that I'm going to do my job and not put anyone behind bars who doesn't deserve to be there," he said.
I wanted to keep arguing until he'd say the words that would truly make me feel better, but I knew it was a lost cause. I'd given him all the information I had about the case. He'd even shared some with me. I gave him a sly smile.
"What's that look for?" he asked with a mix of suspicion and intrigue.
I already knew Finn was handy. He'd installed the deadbolt that I hadn't been using when he came over. "How would you feel about helping me hang these pictures?" I asked sweetly.
Finn leaned his head back and looked at the collection of nail holes in my previously pristine wall. He grinned. "I think I better," he teased.
I decided not to take offense at his joke. He wasn't wrong. I was failing miserably. I jumped up. "I'll be the project manager. You can be the manual labor."
"I think you just like telling me what to do, Guinevere Merlin Stevens." His eyes danced with humor.
"Merlin?" I choked out in horror.
"I'm working on project Discover Gwen's Middle Name. Not it?" he said entirely too innocently.
"Not even close," I said.
"Not even close?" he questioned. "You said your middle name was on theme. Merlin is on theme, and it would be a middle name worth being embarrassed by. I refuse to believe I'm not close."
"You have a point," I relented. "But you're still wrong."
"I have time," Finn said, referencing his self-imposed deadline to figure it out by the end of the week. "Percival?" he asked.
"Ew, no," I said. "Why do you keep guessing boy names?"
Finn's eyes lit up. "So, it's a woman's name," he said. "Good to know."
Shoot. There were way more men's names associated with King Arthur than women's names. I'd just narrowed the pool so much, I'd turned it into a kiddie pool. "I didn't say it wasn't a man's name," I said quickly.
"Too late," Finn said, looking entirely too self-satisfied. "I'll do my next search with female names in mind."
Dang it. He was going to figure it out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Finn stood. "Let me run home and change out of this suit," he said. He looked at his watch. "I can be back in thirty minutes. Then we'll get these pictures hung right where you want them."
The project that had been so frustrating was suddenly my favorite part of my day. "I'll feed you. What about burgers? I was going to fire up the grill for the first time this year anyway."
"Burgers are perfect," Finn said. He headed toward the door. "See you soon."
"Wait," I said as he reached the door.
He turned back to look at me with a questioning gaze.
"Does this count as a date?" I asked. We were having dinner. Hanging out. Seemed like a date to me.
"I don't know what kind of men you've dated in the past, but this definitely doesn't count as a date." Even from across the room, his next words sent a delicious shiver through my body. "When I take you on a date, you'll know it's a date. You won't even have to ask."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Out of respect for my conversation with Finn from the night before, I wasn't going to sit in my car outside of Bobby's house and follow him around all day. At least, not yet. I was definitely keeping that option tucked away in my back pocket if Finn couldn't turn up the identity of whoever wrote the note.
Just because I was cooling my heels on that front didn't mean I was going to spend the day doing nothing. Dave's comment about the killer doing the whole town a favor still bothered me. Margie had mentioned frequently that one of Dave's retirement activities was volunteering at the humane society. A little sleuthing on social media, and I discovered that today was his normal day to volunteer. It was going to be a good day if I got to be around cute dogs and cats while also trying to figure out if Dave had anything to do with Shannon's death.
Taking my tea into the living room, I admired the gallery wall Finn had helped me hang the night before. Every picture was where I wanted it to be, and more importantly, every picture was level. Some of the nail holes were covered by the pictures. Finn had patched the few that weren't. I just needed to dig out the leftover paint I had to make the wall perfect.
I sighed with contentment, not just at the beauty of the pictures that represented a place I loved, but the memories of laughing with Finn as I watched him bring my dream into reality. I blew out a breath, took a final sip of my tea, and gathered my things for work. I could stand around feeling moony about my evening with Finn, or I could figure out who killed Shannon and finally go on a real date with him.
Beating my parents to Camelot Flowers wasn't unusual. I unlocked the back door, turned off the security system, and set my bag in the back room. Moving into the main part of the store, I took a moment to enjoy the space with the lights off. The large windows and glass door at the front let in plenty of light. I loved the shop like this. Quiet. Peaceful. Dust particles floating lazily through the sunbeams.
The shop didn't open for thirty more minutes. I left the lights off, sat on the stool at the counter, and found the notebook I'd used the day Finn told me Shannon's death had been ruled a murder. At the time, my little investigative graph had been pretty flimsy. I added what I'd learned over the past few days.
Under Amanda's name, I wrote lawsuit. Amanda hadn't mentioned how much Shannon was suing her for, but knowing what little I did of Shannon, I'd guess it was excessive. Murdering Shannon was a good way to make a lawsuit go away, but only if Amanda could get away with the murder. There was no doubt she had access to Shannon's drink, although if Shannon had been exposed to the poison beforehand, then the coffee she had at Just Beans would be irrelevant.
Under Margie's name, I added alibi and leaving town suddenly. The alibi was Finn's domain, and I had to believe it would check out, effectively clearing Margie from the hours before Shannon's death. Having an alibi did nothing if Shannon died because of what she'd consumed in the coffee shop, and Margie trying to leave town was highly suspicious. I wanted to believe that Margie would never kill someone over a position in the garden club, but I'd also never seen her so irrationally angry before.
Next to where I'd written husband, I added Bobby's name and wrote affair? Hiding an affair could be a motive for murder, and Bobby had been cagey with me until Ella basically accused him of being guilty unless he talked to me.
If Bobby was guilty, the blackmail was a nice red herring. What if he'd been the one to blackmail Shannon? What if he'd been planning to leave her and collecting secret blackmail payments was a way to hide some of their money so he could have it free and clear in the divorce? This theory was by far my favorite. Probably because it meant no one I cared about had been involved in the murder. I underlined it twice, even if my motives for moving it to the top of my list were suspect.
I added Dave to the page with the words whoever killed her did the whole town a favor. Did he think he'd done the whole town a favor by getting rid of Shannon? He was upset about Shannon running against Margie for garden club president. Maybe he also knew about the lawsuit against Amanda. I'd read online that poison was most often used by women, but that didn't mean always. Dave had just as much access to Shannon's drink as Margie had.
I added a line for the blackmailer, if it wasn't Bobby, but I knew nothing else about that situation. From what Finn had learned from the police in Shannon and Bobby's hometown, it sounded like it was going to be a dead end. I groaned in frustration. There were just so many unknowns.
"Yoo-hoo," my mom called out as she and my dad walked through the back door.
"Out here," I said.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" my mom asked as she flipped on the overhead lights.
I squinted against the sudden brightness. "Just taking some time to think," I said as I closed the journal and tucked it away behind the counter. My mom didn't need to know I was thinking about murder. She'd just worry.
My dad came out from the back room and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, princess."
"Morning, Dad," I said. "The flowers for the dance are set to arrive early tomorrow."
"Excellent," my dad said.
"How have you been feeling?" I asked tentatively. It didn't matter if they didn't want to talk about it. I needed to know.
My dad shot my mom a look before puffing out his chest and saying, "Never been better," in a hearty voice.
I looked back and forth between my parents. They looked like teens who'd just gotten caught sneaking out after curfew.
"Mom," I said emphatically. "Dad," I added, including him in the slightly scolding tone. "I'm not a child. Not knowing how you're doing just makes me more worried."
"Maybe she's right," my mom said to my dad.
Doubt crept into his expression. He was close to caving. I just needed to push him over the edge. "Dad," I said quietly. "No more hiding things from me."
I saw the moment he decided to stop fighting it. He perched on the stool I'd been sitting on before my parents came in. "The truth is, I'm fine and I'm not, princess."
I turned to my mom and said, "Translation?"
My mom laid a hand on my dad's arm. "His sugars are under control, but he's in congestive heart failure. The doctors are doing everything they can, and your dad is doing a great job taking his medications and going for his walks."
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. "Heart failure?" I said through the tightness in my throat. "Are you going to die?" All thoughts of Margie and murder suddenly seemed irrelevant.
"No, princess," my dad said with a healthy dose of sincerity I wasn't sure I could trust. "Well, not immediately. We're all going to die eventually," he added with a grin.
"That's not funny," I said as I fought against the tears that threatened to fall.
"Dennis," my mom gently reprimanded him.
My dad's gaze softened and his expression sobered. "Princess, I'm on the best medication, and the doctors are on top of it. I can live a long time like this. I get tired easily, but that's no reason to sit at home waiting to die. I can see now that in attempting to protect you, we were just worrying you. I have a doctor appointment next week. We'll give you an update."
My mom gave a sympathetic tut-tut and pulled me into a hug. She smelled like jasmine and roses and felt like home. "He's going to be fine, sweetie," she said. "I'm making sure of it through sheer force of will."
My dad's rich laugh boomed through the room. "She's not joking, princess. Your mom is one determined woman. Have I ever told you about the time the nursery over in Rose Lake tried to send us gladioluses when we'd ordered chrysanthemums?"
