Six Sweets Under, page 11
“I guess we can’t blame her,” Angie said. “He wasn’t much of a father.”
“Not much of a man either,” Estelle said. “Such a shame.”
“I heard that Jolene’s mother is in town for a visit,” I said. “Was she here when Archie died?”
“I don’t think so,” Estelle replied. “I heard she arrived a couple of days after. She likely came to watch Jolene in the gondola races.”
She set a box of salted caramels on the counter, and Angela rang up the sale.
On my way to the kitchen, I checked my phone. I’d texted Gareth earlier in the day, asking him about his race. I found a reply from him, letting me know that his race would be at three o’clock. That gave me plenty of time to finish work and head over to the canal.
As I molded chocolates and piped fillings, I thought about what Estelle had said. According to her, Jolene still had a grudge against Archie when he died. Was she mistaken, or had Jolene lied to me? I suspected it might be the latter. Something about Jolene’s demeanor when I spoke to her on the bridge made me think she was trying to hide something. Why bother lying about her relationship with Archie if she had nothing to do with his death?
Then there was Jolene’s mother. I’d thought of adding her to my suspect list, but according to Estelle, she probably wasn’t in town when Archie was killed. If I’d had a physical list of suspects, I would have added Tammy’s name just for the satisfaction of crossing it off. Despite my efforts at collecting information, I felt like I was getting nowhere, fast. Maria Vasquez had a motive, but I still needed to find out if she had the opportunity to kill Archie. The same was true of Oliver Nieminen. How the heck I would get that information, I wasn’t yet sure, but I needed to figure that out, and quickly.
Time was ticking away. Pops could get questioned by the police again at any time, and as soon as they knew about the scooter sitting in his shed, things could get dicey. If I was going to stop that from happening, I needed to act fast, but I didn’t think it would go over well if I asked my suspects straight out for an alibi. I’d have to be more subtle.
While I worked, I imagined a few different conversations, like scenes from a movie playing in my head. Of course, I couldn’t expect my suspects to stay on script when there wasn’t one, but the exercise left me with a few possibilities of how to broach the subject with Maria and Oliver.
By half past two in the afternoon, I had my chocolates finished and the kitchen clean. Out by the canal, I searched for Blake in the crowd of race spectators without success, until I crossed the bridge. Then I found him on the far side of a weeping willow. He didn’t have a viewing spot right next to the canal this time, but his location on a slight rise still gave him a good vantage point.
I joined him there and took in the sight of the other spectators around us. Once again, there was a good turnout, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Many people sipped cold drinks or munched on pretzels or shaved ice sold by bicycle vendors. My stomach grumbled, protesting the fact that all I’d eaten for lunch was an apple. Food would have to wait, however. Gareth’s race would be starting soon, and I didn’t want to risk missing it while standing in line for a snack.
“How are you doing today?” Blake asked.
“Better,” I replied.
His blue eyes searched my face, as if checking to be sure that I was telling the truth. “Are things settled now?”
“Not quite.” That answer made me feel like a coward. I’d made my decision, but I hadn’t shared it with Justin yet. I didn’t often procrastinate, but I definitely was now.
“Let me know if you need to talk things out some more,” Blake said.
“I will. Thank you.”
As I turned my attention to the canal, I spotted a man in sunglasses and a baseball cap standing on the far bank. The same man I’d seen the day before. I thought he might have been watching me again, but before I could decide for sure if that was the case, I was distracted by a woman seated on a lawn chair in front of us as she put a hand to her floppy straw hat and jumped to her feet. She scurried around her chair, squeezing past the people standing next to me. She had curly blond hair and round, rosy cheeks, and looked to be in her mid-fifties.
“Tammy!” The woman waved wildly. “Yoo-hoo! Tammy!”
A brown-haired woman of about the same age turned around. When she spotted the woman in the hat, she smiled and came over to meet her. I figured the brown-haired woman was Jolene’s mother, and not just because of her name. When she drew closer, I noticed a family resemblance.
The two women embraced as I watched.
“Hi, Celia,” Tammy said.
“It’s so good to see you!” Celia exclaimed. “Can you believe what happened to Archie? And you must be so proud of Jolene! I bet she’s going to be the champion again this year.”
When her friend finally stopped for a breath, Tammy smiled. “I hope so. Jolene loves racing.”
I noticed she didn’t respond to the question about Archie.
“You know,” Celia said, “I waved to you on Saturday night, and even called your name, but you didn’t notice. So I’m sure glad I saw you here today.”
Tammy’s face paled. “Saturday? You must be mistaken. I didn’t arrive in town until Tuesday.”
“Oh.” Celia seemed momentarily taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “You must have a doppelgänger running around Larch Haven, then.” She laughed and leaned closer to Tammy to say something more.
I wanted to hear the rest of the conversation, but a young couple with three small children squeezed in between us, and their chatter quickly drowned out all other voices. I looked across the canal, searching the crowded bank for the mystery man in the hat and sunglasses. He was nowhere to be seen.
I returned my attention to the race drawing to a close. It was the final for the two-women category. Each gondola had a woman perched in the bow and another in the stern. The speeds they could reach were really impressive. The gondolas practically zoomed by as the crowd cheered.
That race came to a close and nervousness fluttered in my chest. Even though the event was mostly just for fun—with trophies, modest cash prizes, and bragging rights for the winners—I really wanted my brother to be the champion of his category.
He and his competitors lined up at the start, and my stomach did an anxious flip when the horn sounded. Gareth didn’t have the best start of the bunch. Another racer pulled out ahead of him, cutting smoothly through the water. Blake and I cheered Gareth on as he passed by us, currently in second place. He held on to that spot as the first three gondolas left the canal for the lake.
As the fifth-place gondola passed us, something funny happened with the racer’s oar, causing his whole body to jerk forward. The abrupt movement knocked him off balance, and he tumbled into the canal with a great splash.
The crowd let out a collective gasp.
The racer surfaced and grabbed on to the side of his gondola. Luckily, the other stragglers managed to get past him without crashing into him. A small speedboat immediately left the main dock to come help out the unfortunate man in the water.
I filed the incident away in my mind for future use against Sawyer’s claim that gondoliers didn’t fall in the water unless they were drunk. I watched anxiously as the man was helped into the speedboat and the gondola was towed back toward the docks. It seemed he hadn’t come to any harm.
The canal was cleared just in time. The racers reentered it from the lake, their skin shimmering with sweat as they powered forward through the hot afternoon sun. The guy ahead of Gareth was losing steam. My brother quickly took advantage, digging deep and putting on a final burst of speed. He easily passed the guy in the lead and cruised across the finish line in first place.
The crowd cheered like crazy, but no one was cheering louder or more excitedly than Blake and me. My brother-in-law and I hurried down to the main dock to offer our congratulations. After Gareth took a long drink of water and patted his face dry with a towel, he fixed his hazel eyes on me.
“You didn’t tell me about Justin yesterday.”
“I knew Blake would fill you in,” I said.
He made a brief grumbling sound in response to that. “I hope you cut him loose.”
His words put me on edge, but he seemed to regret them right away.
“Hey.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I just think you deserve better. You should be the most important thing in your boyfriend’s life.”
Maybe so, but I hadn’t made Justin my top priority either. That spoke volumes to me now, though I’d ignored its significance over the past few months.
“I know you want what’s best for me,” I said. “And I know what I need to do.”
Gareth accepted that with a nod and another squeeze of my shoulder. Then he headed home to take a quick shower before going back to the restaurant. I walked partway to the Gondolier with Blake, and then returned to my cottage, where I texted Dizzy about the man I’d seen watching me twice now.
He’s probably a fan, she wrote back. Maybe he’s just too shy to talk to you.
I don’t know about that.
After wrapping up our text conversation, I ate a snack and played with Binx and Truffles, but I couldn’t settle. I needed to help Pops, and I couldn’t do that by staying at home. Oliver Nieminen’s café served breakfast and lunch and closed in the middle of the afternoon. Since it was nearing four o’clock, I decided to try to catch him at home.
I knew where he used to live, way back when Dizzy and I went door-to-door selling Girl Scout cookies. I had no idea if he’d moved in the many years that had passed since then, but I figured there was a good chance he hadn’t. There were a couple of apartments above his café, but I was pretty sure he rented those out, like Lolly and Pops did with the living quarters above True Confections. If it turned out that I had the wrong house, I’d ask around and try to locate him the next day. I hoped I wouldn’t encounter a delay, though. I really needed to make some progress with helping Pops, before it got to be too late.
On my way to what I thought was Oliver’s house, I cut across Cherry Park. I paused by the oak tree where the vigil for Lexi Derendorf had taken place a few nights earlier. A memorial had been set up beneath the tree. A large photo of Lexi—the same one I’d seen on the posters announcing the vigil—leaned against the trunk. Unlit candles, flowers, and a few stuffed animals surrounded the photo.
A wave of sadness washed over me as I took in the sight. I wished Lexi’s parents could get some closure. After all this time, that wasn’t likely to happen, but I still wished it could. Hopefully Archie’s death wouldn’t go unsolved like Lexi’s disappearance had. He might not have been well liked in the community—or anywhere—but he hadn’t deserved to be murdered, and his killer needed to be locked away. How could the people of Larch Haven feel certain that we were safe until that happened?
A shiver of unease skittered along the back of my neck. I glanced around, expecting to find the mysterious man in sunglasses watching me, but he was nowhere in sight. Aside from me, the only other people in the park were a woman walking two small dogs, three teenagers playing with a Frisbee, and an elderly man seated on a bench.
With a final glance at Lexi’s photograph, I continued on my way. It didn’t take me long to arrive at the cottage where I thought Oliver lived. I reached the front step and stopped, silently practicing what I was going to say. I told myself that I couldn’t stand there all day, so I gathered up my courage and knocked on the door.
Chapter Sixteen
It turned out that I had the right house. Oliver answered the door within seconds of my knock. He regarded me with a puzzled expression, as if trying to work out who I was.
“Hi, Mr. Nieminen,” I said. “I’m Becca Ransom. My family owns True Confections.”
“Right.” He still seemed confused. He was probably wondering what the heck I was doing on his doorstep.
“Maybe you’ve heard that my grandfather has been questioned by the police in relation to Archie Smith’s death?”
Oliver scratched his jaw and let out a brief grunt that I took as an affirmation.
“My grandfather didn’t kill Archie, but he went for a walk that evening, alone, so he doesn’t have an alibi for part of the window of time when Archie was killed.”
Oliver scowled. “I’m not going to provide a false alibi for someone I barely know.”
“Of course not,” I said quickly. “That’s not what I was getting at.”
“Then why are you here?” He’d never sounded so impatient when Dizzy and I were selling cookies. Of course, most people would find purchasing cookies much more pleasant than talking about a murder.
“My grandfather took a walk around town that night. I was wondering if you were home that evening and if you might have seen him walking along the canal. Or maybe you were elsewhere in town and saw him out and about.”
“I was home that evening.”
“From what time?”
He scowled again, and I was afraid he’d tell me that wasn’t any of my business. To my relief, he gave me an answer.
“I got home around seven. Then I was here all night. I watched some TV and went to sleep. I didn’t see your grandfather or anyone else.”
“Was anyone here with you?”
“How is that any of your business?”
I hadn’t dodged that question after all.
“I thought if you had a neighbor stop by or something, maybe I could ask them if they’d seen my grandfather when they were on their way home,” I said.
“I was alone. The whole time.” He stepped back and started to close the door. “Is that all?”
I was about to say something more, to ask him if he could think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Archie, but I didn’t get the chance. He slammed the door in my face, bringing our conversation to an abrupt halt.
It was my turn to scowl. Okay, so I was poking my nose into his business, but for a legitimate reason. If I was going to clear my grandfather’s name, I’d probably have to annoy a few people in the process. That wasn’t something I generally liked to do, but I was willing to risk it for the sake of helping Pops.
Perhaps belatedly, I realized that I should be more careful. If I angered the wrong person—like Archie’s killer—I could put myself in danger. I suddenly felt very exposed standing there alone on Oliver’s doorstep.
The curtain twitched in the window to the left of the front door. The last thing I needed was for Oliver to call the police on me for trespassing or loitering or any other transgression. I got on my way before he had the chance to do that.
I glanced over my shoulder a few times as I walked briskly along the canal, but no one was following me. I told myself to relax. My imagination was making me jumpy when I had no reason to be. Instead of worrying about nonexistent dangers, I focused on my plan to clear Pops’s name. Oliver claimed he had been home all evening and night, but no one could verify his alibi. Frustration simmered beneath my skin. I was no further ahead than I was before I’d spoken to him.
Since I didn’t yet know which suspect I should question next, I set myself on a path to my grandparents’ house. I’d told Sawyer that I would talk to Pops before the end of the day, and I intended to stick to my word. If Pops was out bowling again, I’d get in my car and drive to the bowling alley in Snowflake Canyon to have a few words with him.
Fortunately, that proved unnecessary. I found Pops relaxing in his rocking chair on the back porch, a bottle of beer in hand.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said as I walked up the garden path.
I joined him on the porch and kissed his stubbly cheek before settling on the porch swing. “How are you doing, Pops?”
“Can’t complain. How about my Hollywood star?”
I smiled at that nickname. Even though I didn’t see myself as a star, I liked that he saw me that way. “I’m all right. Did you see Gareth’s race?”
Pops nodded as he rocked his chair. “He did the family proud.”
My smile faded as I prepared myself to get to the point of my visit. “Pops, when you had that argument with Archie by the Boat Barn, you accused him of stealing your vintage scooter.”
It was as if my words caused shutters to slam shut across Pops’s face. He went from relaxed to apprehensive in an instant.
He took a long drink of his beer, keeping his gaze averted from mine.
“Your scooter is in the shed again, Pops. How did it get there?”
He tried to take another drink of his beer, but the bottle was empty. He frowned at it before speaking. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
“Mistaken that it was stolen? Come on, Pops. We both know that’s not what happened.”
He sighed and finally met my gaze. “Archie did steal it. I knew he had, but I couldn’t prove it. That man had been stealing from the people of Larch Haven for years, but the police could never pin anything on him. I knew I’d never see my scooter again if I didn’t do something about it myself.”
“Did you confront Archie?” I asked, scared of what the answer might be.
“No. I never saw him again after that scene at the Boat Barn. When I was out for my walk, I went over to his place. He wasn’t there, so I poked around. I discovered an old shed in among the trees, and that’s where I found my scooter, along with a couple of bicycles and a snowmobile. What do you want to bet that he stole those things too?”
“I guess the police would be able to find out for sure if that’s the case.” Maybe they already had, if they’d had the same suspicion about those items when they searched Archie’s property.
“No wonder Archie never wanted people going near his place,” Pops said.
