Digging Up Daisy, page 6
“Thank you.” Kinsley smiled.
“You know, your interview with the magazine really put Harborside on the map! Now the buzz has started that the Walk Inns event will be bigger and brighter than ever this year. I hear many of the parade homes involved in the event are your clients. Isn’t that right?”
Kinsley nodded.
“What’s your secret to getting these businesses to look like something we’d find on a postcard? Or in an art studio? I’ve heard you try and keep the natural seascape while adding pops of color for surprise.”
Looked like Roy had done his homework.
Kinsley cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s true. I try and use the natural elements as my backdrop, and plants that are native to Maine. And then I get to play with color, almost as a painter plays with color on a canvas. The landscape is my canvas. It’s a very rewarding job.” She grinned.
Using a point of his finger, Roy encouraged her to turn her head in the direction of the cameraman so they would get a face-on shot of her.
“Well, you heard it here first, folks! It’s time to roll out the red carpet for the incoming tourists and prepare for the Walk Inns event. Let’s show people what kind of exceptional community we all reside in. People travel from all over the country to join us here in Harborside.”
Roy did a large sweeping motion with his hand and then continued, “The Salty Breeze Inn, located behind us, is just one of many gorgeous properties guests will have the privilege to walk through. Time to spruce up those landscapes. Isn’t that right? Can you share with my viewers the exact date of the event?”
“Yes, two weeks from Saturday, June twentieth.” Kinsley nodded.
“Mark your calendars, folks. June twentieth for the Walk Inns. The parade of businesses participating in the event will be provided on our website. Thank you, Ms. Clark, it’s been a pleasure. Back to you in the studio!” Roy shot a pretend gun in the direction of the camera and winked. Kinsley hoped to God she didn’t roll her eyes and get caught with her reaction on the feed.
The cameraman released the camera from his shoulder and immediately navigated off the rocks.
“Well, that’s a wrap!” Roy said as he patted Kinsley on the shoulder. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
Apparently, Roy had caught on to Kinsley’s less-than-enthused attitude. She should have been grateful for all the attention, but after the day she’d had, and the adrenaline pumping in overdrive, she was quickly growing weary. She tried to recover by saying, “Thank you so much for the interview and sharing my aunt’s business in the process. I really do appreciate it.” She forced a smile.
“No. Thank you, Kinsley. It’s just what we needed on the air tonight. We’re ready for a ‘feel-good focus.’ ” He held his long fingers out in air quotes while managing to not drop the microphone.
“The local murder on the outskirts of Harborside has everyone on edge,” Roy continued. “My boss is hoping that taking the focus off the Cinderella murder for a bit will bring back some normalcy. Did you know we haven’t had an investigation like this in many years? It’s practically unheard-of! You’ve heard about the Cinderella murder, right? It’s all we’ve been covering; you’d have to be a hermit to have missed the story.”
Kinsley could feel the heat rise from her neck to her face. She quickly stepped away from Roy and headed up the flagstone steps to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, it’s awful,” she said over her shoulder. “I agree, you’d have to live under a rock to not have heard about it. Seems we’re all on edge, it’s terrible.”
“It’s quite a story. That’s for sure. But we certainly don’t want the folks of Harborside to hide indoors, or people to avoid traveling here for the big event. We can’t have one tragedy dictate how we run our lives.”
Kinsley hadn’t thought about that. Would the recent murder in their town deter visitors from coming to the Walk Inns event completely? She really hoped not, for her aunt’s sake. Besides that fact, why was Roy referring to this as a news story? It was more than that. He was referring to a victim of a senseless crime. The hard evidence found on her aunt’s property made her stomach churn with anger. And she’d do whatever it took to protect Tilly’s name and fortify the inn’s stellar reputation.
Chapter 7
Not long after Roy and his television crew had departed, while Kinsley hurried to finish tidying up her aunt’s property, she caught sight of Rachel Hayes out of the corner of her eye. The detective was walking with purpose toward her, and Aunt Tilly was close at her heels.
Kinsley straightened her shoulders and tried to compose herself. Her mind immediately replayed the last conversation she’d held with her brother before he’d departed for Germany.
“Hey, just because Rachel’s enlistment is up, doesn’t mean I’m supposed to jump on board with her plan,” Kyle had defended as he’d stuffed his USAF-issued duffel bag with the remainder of his belongings to prepare for his new post in Germany. “I never promised her I’d move back here. It’s not my fault she fell more in love with Harborside than with me.”
Rachel and Kyle had met in a classroom on an Air Force base, both training to become MPs—military police. On several occasions while on military leave, Kyle had brought Rachel home with him. It was obvious she’d fallen in love with Maine and decided one day, if given the chance, she’d make Harborside her permanent home. Kinsley guessed that Rachel thought her brother would jump at the chance to return, too. But like their parents, he couldn’t stand to be planted in one place for long. He reminded her of dandelion seeds blowing in the wind; they could never land on the grass and take hold. And the military always provided his next move. Kyle had told her once that he wanted to travel the world. Kinsley tried to convince her brother there were alternative ways to travel instead of being relegated to an Air Force base. But Kyle insisted, as if he were holding his stance with an M16 at his post, that he preferred the safety of the base and the ability to immerse himself in the community in which he served. He was so noble, like their parents. Kinsley secretly wondered if her brother was self-sabotaging his relationship with Rachel, though, because of what had happened to them. If he and Rachel were married and stationed at the same post, was there a chance they could . . . repeat a bad ending in history? Their mother wasn’t even on duty at the time of the attack, yet somehow, both their parents had perished in a military accident. The records had been sealed by the Air Force, and Kinsley had been told on more than one occasion that it had been fate. Fate, as if that were a perfectly acceptable explanation. But she couldn’t use fate to explain away the loss of her parents in a horrific tragedy.
“Hi, Kins, good to see you.” The sound of Rachel’s voice interrupted her thoughts when the detective appeared, suddenly within arm’s reach.
Kinsley studied her. Rachel seemed to have aged since the last time she’d seen her. The lines around her hazel eyes, the color of Sweet Tea heucherella leaves, spoke volumes. And deep shadows hollowed them. Her hair was colored, like beach sand streaked with platinum, and bluntly cut, as if she were still in the military and didn’t have time to braid it or tuck it beneath her military field cap.
“Hey, Rachel, how’s it going?” Kinsley removed her garden gloves and stuffed them into her back pocket. She then reached to greet Kyle’s ex with a quick hug. “Good to see you,” she added genuinely after stepping back from their embrace.
“You’re looking good, Kins. You know . . . I have to ask . . . How’s your brother?”
Rachel certainly didn’t waste any time. Kinsley shared a look with her aunt, who smiled sheepishly. She wondered again if it was such a good idea calling her over. “He’s good, I think. I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks, I guess he’s been busy.” Before Kinsley had a chance to back out and call someone else from the police station, she was cornered with a pointed question.
“Tilly mentioned you have something important to show me. Something that might help a case?”
Kinsley looked for a response from her aunt, who replied with a shamefaced shrug.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“I thought I’d leave that up to you.” Tilly forced a smile.
Just then a bit of commotion caught their attention. “Hellooo? Where do I check in?” A woman wearing a sundress, waving a matching sun hat, sang out from the porch. The guest looked as if she’d just been transported from a film set back in the 1950s in Charleston, South Carolina. She looked beautifully put together. Kinsley self-consciously looked down at her recently soiled polo shirt and wondered if she could ever pull off that kind of ladylike prettiness.
“Oh dear.” Tilly’s eyes moved between the guest and her niece before landing on Kinsley. “Can you handle this? I need to go and tend to my guests.”
Kinsley nodded. “Absolutely, I’ve got it.” She laid a comforting hand on her aunt’s shoulder. “Go on ahead and we’ll catch up about it later.”
Tilly zipped her lips before moving away. Kinsley assumed her aunt meant to keep this whole ordeal among the three of them, but she didn’t think that would be possible after sharing this kind of news with Rachel.
Kinsley led the plainclothes detective to the spot where the shoe was buried and looked over both shoulders to be sure they were out of view before reaching for the shovel and unearthing the evidence. She heard a gasp over her shoulder and gathered Rachel was just as stunned as she, Becca, and Aunt Tilly had been. Because, based on the sound that emerged from Rachel’s lips, it was clear she knew whom the shoe belonged to.
“We’ve been searching for that. How’d you find it?” Rachel pointed to the shoe.
The gems of the victim’s discarded shoe were catching the sunlight and glaring accusingly at Kinsley.
“Yeah, I know, I heard that on the news last night. I dug it up shortly after lunch,” Kinsley admitted. “But then we had the news media here on the property, so I buried it until we knew what to do. Please don’t judge me, Rachel, I was just trying to protect my aunt.” She tossed the shovel aside to land on the ground with a thud.
“No, no, not at all.” Rachel surprised her with an understanding tone as she knelt to take a closer look. “How did it get here, though?” she added, distantly.
“That’s the million-dollar question. It makes no sense whatsoever. How did it get from the potato field, where she was murdered, to our yard?”
“Actually, the evidence points to the fact that the victim’s body was placed in the potato field and the murder occurred elsewhere. We’re just not sure where exactly . . .” Rachel stopped herself short and rubbed her hand slowly over her mouth, as if she’d already shared too much.
“Well, it didn’t happen here at the inn, I can promise you that! I didn’t hear gunshots, nor did Aunt Tilly, her guests . . . None of us heard a peep! And I’m sure one of her guests would’ve said something if they witnessed anything. My aunt is certain they were all attending a class reunion at the time of the murder.”
“You wouldn’t have heard gunshots; that’s not how she died. The victim was strangled.”
“That’s not what was reported on the news!”
“Right. That. Yes, a shell casing was found. But that shot came from a farmer who had killed a coyote a week prior. It had nothing to do with the murder. See how gossip flies? Another reason not to believe everything you hear,” Rachel added with a huff.
“So, you don’t think she was strangled at the potato field?”
“Look, we can’t be sure of anything right now, Kins. My job is to follow the evidence where it guides me and then make my determination. I think you better take a step back; this could potentially be a murder scene.” Rachel scoured the area with fresh eyes after plucking a pair of rubber gloves from her pocket. She began lifting branches and looking under rocks. And left no stone left unturned.
Kinsley did nothing but look on in dismay.
After watching Rachel for what seemed a lengthy amount of time, Kinsley pushed ahead, hoping the detective would share more. “I know my Maine dirt, and I can tell you that where the shoe was found, the soil isn’t the same. You may want to have that tested. By the way, what makes you think that the murder didn’t happen at the potato field, where someone found her?”
“Hardly any evidence was left at the crime scene. No marks in the dirt or anything to indicate an altercation had taken place there. The only thing we found was an earring on the ground, not far from her body. So little evidence was there, in fact, that we haven’t had much to go on—until now.” Again, Rachel regarded the shoe. And then her eyes grazed the area, as if begging for more evidence to show itself. “I’ll have the crime scene unit out here to get a sample of that soil and have it tested, because I’m not seeing anything else of value here.”
“An earring? How do you know it didn’t belong to the victim? Or it hadn’t just dropped there, from someone else?”
“In a potato field? The farmer claimed it wasn’t his.” Rachel chuckled. “It didn’t come from our vic because she was already wearing studded hoops and didn’t have any other body piercings. Besides, the earring wasn’t covered in dirt or anything, and it was found too close to her body to be coincidental. The diamond glared up at me in the sun, sorta like that shoe is doing right now.”
“Oh well, that makes sense. Look, I’m sorry, I would’ve called the police right away; it’s just I’m trying to protect my aunt’s reputation here. We have a huge event coming up, and I don’t want the media catching wind of this—”
Rachel put up a hand to halt her from sharing anything else. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Listen, Kins, we don’t want anyone getting ahold of this information any more than you do. Trust me, I’m glad you waited.”
Kinsley finally allowed herself a sigh of relief and let her shoulders sag. “Really, why?”
“This piece of evidence could be the only thing that will lead us directly to the killer. Better for no one to know, so we can sift the perpetrator out.”
“So, you’re planning on keeping the shoe a secret?”
“Not exactly. I need to bag it for evidence. But rest assured, I’m not planning to announce what’s going on over here. It’s not like the property will be covered in crime scene tape, either, if that’s what concerns you. I will, however, be sending over a crime scene investigator, and they’ll take a vial of the soil. But I’ll ask that they be discreet until we find the actual crime scene in this case. Because I’m pretty confident the murder didn’t occur here. I’m not finding anything that leads me to believe otherwise. We’ll keep this on the down-low, for now.”
“Rachel?”
“Yeah?”
“Honestly, right now, my biggest concern is Aunt Tilly’s safety. What if one of her guests had something to do with this? It’s not out of the realm of possibility, if you’re saying the crime didn’t happen where her body was found. My aunt is convinced they were all at a class reunion, but what if one of them slipped out, murdered Daisy, and then returned to the reunion? Creating the perfect alibi?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know the victim’s name? We haven’t yet released that information and won’t until we notify the next of kin.”
“Becca.”
Rachel rolled her hand to prompt Kinsley to continue.
“Daisy was one of her clients. Apparently, she was looking at real estate in the area before she . . .” Kinsley gulped. The thought of the poor woman found in the nearby potato field, a field that she herself drove past at least once a week, brought a bit of bile to the back of her throat.
Rachel took in this information. “So, Becca had met with her then, on several occasions? Where was she staying? She wasn’t a guest here at the Salty Breeze, correct?”
“No, Becca mentioned a hotel, as she said Daisy needed security. Anyhow, I think you’d better reach out to Becca. I don’t want to misinform you of anything.” Kinsley bit her lip and stopped short. Now her best friend was sure to be questioned by the police. She hoped Becca wouldn’t be upset that she’d shared this bit of information. “But what about Aunt Tilly? Is she safe? Be straight with me, Rachel.”
“Rest assured, I’ll have background checks and alibis confirmed on everyone who is currently on this property before day’s end. And the police will handle this on the down-low. We’re not going to share with anyone that we’ve found the shoe out here. We don’t want our perpetrator to know we’ve got a lead. It’s a secret between us.” She waved a finger between them. “Because right now, it’s the only lead we have.”
Chapter 8
The Blue Lobstah, a restaurant perched atop the cliff walk, and a stone’s throw from the marina, was Kinsley’s favorite hangout. The indoor-outdoor bar provided a sweeping view of the Atlantic and the nearby yachts that bobbed idly in the water. Breakwater Lighthouse was also not far from view.
The oversized deck hosted a platform where local bands played on the weekends during the summer months—often for a large crowd, well past midnight. Deep inside the restaurant, the nautical feel continued. Oversized lobster traps with glass tops and mason jar candles lit with white lights were available for intimate seating. King-sized navy booths lined the wall, where colorful buoys hung between each one, adding pops of color. An enormous blue metal lobster, tinted with a purplish hue, which had been constructed by a local artist, hung prominently in the room. The walls had been built from rustic barn boards, as if an old farm had been deconstructed, moved, and reconstructed into a weathered boathouse. All this made it feel as if the newly erected restaurant had stood the salty test of time, for decades.
The eatery’s owner, Pete O’Rourke, had transplanted up from Boston. After attending culinary school at Johnson & Wales University in Rhode Island, Pete had then spent a few years working tirelessly for Atlantic Fish Company in downtown Boston. His accent was thick and the name of his restaurant intentional. He’d shared with them that the blue lobstah was rare, like the culinary dishes he’d planned to off-ah. Kinsley didn’t tell him the locals were only mildly interested in his fried calamari dipped in hoisin sauce. Or his Fourchu lobster. People came because they liked him, and he served the best lobstah roll in Harborside. (Yes, he’d even kept to his roots, using the New England pronunciation of lobster in blue letters on the side of his restaurant and inside his menu.) Kinsley didn’t dare share any of this, though, for fear of bruising his ego.
