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  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly about the dog, but it didn’t really matter. Bentley must not have answered her phone because she was en route. “How about Flora?” I asked.

  “The last I saw her, she was at Jodi’s—”

  Before he could even finish, I turned on my heel and made a beeline for Jodi’s booth, but she was surrounded by fans waiting for her autograph and Flora was nowhere in sight. Hovering nearby, I watched for Jodi’s line to dwindle down, but more people just kept coming. Finally, I decided to interrupt. “Do you have a couple of minutes, Jodi? It’s important.” But as I spoke, I noticed the female officer I’d met yesterday making her way down the aisle toward us. She was accompanied by another officer whom I didn’t recognize. They both looked like they meant business.

  “Ms. Jodi Lee,” the lady cop said as they reached the booth. “You need to come with us. You’re wanted on suspicion of murder in connection to Chuck Richards’s death.”

  Chapter 9

  The mood in the conference room was bleak Wednesday morning as we rehashed the events leading up to Jodi’s arrest. After being taken in yesterday, Jodi was officially charged with murder. Apparently, the police had searched her room and found a strip of pneumatic nails, the same type that were used to kill Chuck.

  “Jodi’s waiting for her arraignment,” Bentley was telling us. “Hopefully the attorney can get her out on bond. But I’m afraid the news of her arrest will do irreversible damage to her career.”

  Flora, who was devastated by the arrest of her longtime client, had called in ill this morning, saying she’d try to catch up with us later at the expo. As for the rest of us, we were all shocked by the latest turn in the case, each of us reacting in our own unique way: Franklin stared off with a pensive expression, Jude absently doodled on his legal pad, Zach bounced his knees and tapped his pen annoyingly, and Vicky … well, Vicky kicked her sleuthing mind into high gear.

  “This doesn’t make one iota of sense,” she declared, pushing back her chair and standing to straighten her skirt. She stepped around Olive and made her way to the whiteboard. “Let’s reexamine the facts,” she said, uncapping a dry-erase marker. “Starting with any new information pertinent to the case.”

  Zach stopped tapping and sat a little straighter. “You don’t think Jodi did it? I mean, they found the same type of nail in her room. And that lady who runs the inn, what’s her name?”

  “Cora Scott,” I supplied.

  “Yeah, Cora. She said she saw Chuck leaving Jodi’s room early that morning.” Zach’s gaze danced around the table. “Y’all know what that means, right?”

  Franklin cleared his throat and straightened his bow tie. “Actually, Zach, it could mean any number of things, not just what you’re insinuating.”

  “Exactly,” Bentley agreed. “We haven’t even heard Jodi’s side of the story yet. Let’s hold off on making any presumptions.”

  Vicky tapped the dry-erase marker against the board. “Any new information, people? We were supposed to be keeping our eyes and ears open.” She gave us “the look” that told us we’d better have something for that board. I wasn’t sure at the moment who was the most formidable to answer to: Bentley or our all-too-able Vicky.

  I spoke up, telling the crew everything I’d learned yesterday at Machiavelli’s. Well, not everything. I left out the part about discovering that my own son had left school, hid out at my mother’s for over a week, and started a new job, all without consulting or even saying a word to his own mother. But I did tell them about the second-rate job Chuck did when he renovated Belmonte’s restaurant. “The granddaughter said he was really angry about it.”

  “That’s a great point, and Oscar Belmonte had been present immediately after the murder as well,” Jude concurred. “But it brings up another factor: There could be others out there like Belmonte, too. People who are out big money because of Chuck’s shoddy work.”

  Vicky wrote Belmonte’s name under our list of suspects and then added yet another name.

  “Matt Reynolds?” I gasped. “The pet store owner?”

  Vicky nodded smugly. “Yes, I’ve been spending a lot of time at the pet store lately, picking up things for Ms. Duke’s new friend.” She cast a dubious look Olive’s way. “Yesterday, I overheard Mr. Reynolds talking on the phone with an insurance agent about a recent loss he incurred.”

  “What type of loss?” Jude asked.

  I already knew the answer to that question. It was the large saltwater aquarium that had fallen and crashed to the floor. Matt had blamed Olive for causing the accident. And was he ever angry about it.

  “A large aquarium,” Vicky answered, confirming my thoughts. “He was telling the person on the phone that he’d discovered that the cause of the accident was an inadequate support structure. Meaning the aquarium stand wasn’t built correctly,” she clarified, looking to us with a hint of triumph in her tone.

  I was starting to put the pieces together in my mind. “Did Chuck build it?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” she answered, removing a tissue from her sweater pocket and dabbing an ink smudge on her hand. “I couldn’t think of a prudent way to ask such a question, so instead, before I left the shop, I casually asked Mr. Reynolds if there were any contractors in town he could recommend. I told him I needed some work done in my home.”

  “Very clever, Ms. Crump,” Franklin said. “You’re turning out to be a regular Miss Marple.” Vicky looked down, her cheeks blushing from the compliment.

  Bentley cleared her throat. “What was Mr. Reynolds’s response?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation on track. Sometime during our discussion, Olive had found her way to Bentley’s lap, where she was snuggled in close. Surprisingly, with everything going on this week, my normally high-strung boss had remained relatively calm. Maybe what Franklin said was true. Dogs do have a calming effect on people. In fact, I’d never seen Bentley so calm. I wondered if she’d make Olive a permanent addition in her life.

  Vicky’s voice brought me back to focus. “He didn’t actually give me a name, but he did say that thankfully the worst contractor in town was no longer in business.” She shuddered. “And he said it with such a menacing smile. So out of character for such a nice man.”

  I heard Sean’s words echo in my mind: Nice people do bad things. He was right, of course. It was hard telling what might push someone over the edge. Cause them to do the unthinkable. Had Matt been pushed too far? Was the financial stress of the ruined aquarium enough to make Matt resort to murder? When he’d thought the cause was Olive, pet lover that he is, he was willing let the poor thing freeze to death out in the cold streets, at least in the heat of the moment. But, eventually, he’d realized it was an accident. How would he feel when he discovered a person he’d paid had been the cause of the loss? And that it was no accident at all, just plain negligence? I didn’t want to, but I had to admit, his name did belong on our list of suspects, which seemed to be growing longer by the day.

  “Yoo-hoo!” A voice came from outside the conference room. It was followed with a sharp knock on the conference room door. “Are y’all in here?”

  Olive let go with a series of high-pitched yelps, jumped to the floor, and ran to the door. Unfortunately, I recognized that yoo-hoo. It belonged to Ms. Lambert.

  Bentley threw open the conference room door and smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, Ms. Lambert. Is there something I can do for you?”

  The woman pushed past Bentley and came right on into the room, passing around her sugary smile like she was sharing a box of chocolates with old friends. “Hi, y’all. I just stopped by to talk a little about what happened yesterday. The author being arrested in front of attendees, well, it was so distasteful. When Southern Belles Bridal signed on with you people, we didn’t know y’all had a reputation for this sort of thing. Now I’m hearing around town that this type of stuff happens at most of your events. Something that you should have disclosed before we entered into an agreement, Ms. Duke.”
r />   “Disclosed what? That we anticipated a murder at the expo?” Bentley asked with an incredulous expression.

  From the floor, Olive started growling. Obviously she didn’t think much of Ms. Lambert’s attitude, either. Ms. Lambert looked down her nose at the pup and curled her lip with disdain. “What a feisty little dog you are.”

  Bentley signaled Vicky. “Ms. Crump, would you mind taking Olive for a walk? I think she needs a little exercise.”

  Vicky let out her own little growl as she stood and scooped up the dog. The rest of us remained silent, waiting for the inevitable row that was about to occur. Ms. Lambert had a lot of nerve waltzing into Bentley’s domain and addressing her in such a way. Then insulting Olive? Oh boy. She was about to get blasted.

  As soon as the door shut behind Vicky and Olive, Bentley turned back to the insufferable woman and scowled. To my surprise, though, and probably the surprise of everyone in the room, Bentley remained controlled. She even managed to match the woman’s saccharine smile with one of her own. “Ms. Lambert. I can assure you that our reputation is impeccable. That’s why authors from around the world seek our representation. The fact that the crime rate has risen in this area has nothing to do with us. And the idea that you would buy into the canards of scandalmongers and muckrakers is an insult to your obvious intelligence.”

  Somewhere buried in there was a compliment, and Mrs. Lambert was, if anything, easily flattered. Two bright circles of pink appeared on her cheeks as she started backtracking her statements. “Yes, of course, Ms. Duke. I do apologize. I’m sure that’s all it was: silly gossip. I should have realized that when someone made mention of a murder magnet.” She chuckled. “I mean, really, isn’t that the silliest thing y’all have ever heard?”

  *

  THERE IT WAS again. That phrase, murder magnet. I carried the title the rest of the day as if it’d been emblazed in scarlet on my forehead. Cloaked in paranoia, I imagined the glare of accusing eyes and the sting of bated whispers behind me. It made for a long day.

  Finally, around eight o’clock that evening, after the day’s expo events wrapped up, I gladly made my way across the parking lot toward Mama’s truck. Tight little snowflakes danced under the light illuminating from the parking lot poles and pelted my face as I stepped carefully over the snow-packed areas of the pavement. I could see exhaust from the truck’s tailpipe and uttered a word or two of gratitude that she already had the heater going.

  Despite everything hanging over our heads, we’d managed to pull off a successful day. The authors and vendors had been busy enough that they didn’t have time to gossip over the yellow tape that many of them had spied yesterday. Plus, of course, they had a vested interest in not letting anything taint the attitudes of their potential clients. So the crowds remained mostly oblivious to everything but vintage lace veils and Hawaiian honeymoon packages. As expected, the wine tasting event was completely sold out. And with all the refreshments as a primer, the crowd was ready to buy, buy, buy when it came time for Franklin’s author to read from his hit book, Wines for All Occasions.

  Before leaving the Arts Center, I’d stopped by Lynn’s booth and we talked about Jodi’s arrest. She’d been shocked by the news because she didn’t think Jodi and Chuck even knew each other. When I’d asked her about Chuck’s work record, she’d told me he had never held a job for more than a few months at a time and his current occupation as a handyman surprised her, because, as she’d put it, “He was about as useful as a chocolate teapot.” Apparently, he’d never done as much as change a lightbulb when they were married.

  I tried to push all that out of my mind, though, as I climbed into the passenger seat and greeted Mama. “How was your day?” I asked. Things had been so busy, I’d really only had a chance to check on her a few times throughout the afternoon. Each time she’d been so involved in giving tittering groups of ladies glimpses into their futures that she’d barely had time to say hello to me.

  “Exhaustin’! I don’t think I’ve told this many fortunes my whole life. I’ve ’bout worn out my gift. And am I ever bone tired.” She stretched a few kinks out before looking over her shoulder and putting the truck in gear.

  I eyed her closely. Mama was so vibrant and youthful-looking, it was easy to forget she was in her seventies. “Really? You shouldn’t be overdoing it, Mama. Maybe you should take some time off tomorrow. I’m sure Pam could spare you for a few hours.”

  “Pssh! Don’t you be worryin’ none ’bout me. I can take it. Besides, it isn’t nothin’ a sit-down with my best man can’t cure.”

  I smiled. Mama and her best man, Mr. Jim Beam, had been consorting for many years now. In fact, I was just sure her veins probably flowed with the stuff by now.

  She continued, “Well, that and a little pasta.”

  I let out a little groan. “No, I’m not up for that tonight, Mama. Sorry. Anyway, aren’t they going to close up soon? It’s getting close to nine o’clock.”

  “Good point.” She kept her focus on the road, and I was relieved we were headed home and not to a confrontation with my son. “How was your day, sugar? Any more news on the killin’ of that handyman?”

  “Not really. Jodi’s arraignment should be tomorrow, but I haven’t heard for sure.” I’d already told Mama all about Jodi’s arrest earlier that morning.

  “Now, I can’t keep all these authors straight. She’s the gal that writes those romantic suspense novels, like Pam’s, right?”

  “Well, no …” I hedged. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t read Pam’s books yet. Was she ever going to be surprised! “Pam’s books aren’t quite like Jodi’s. They’re a little heavier on romance and definitely lighter on suspense.”

  She shrugged. “Been meanin’ to read them, just haven’t found the time yet. Anyway, sugar. Tell me who the suspects are. Maybe somethin’ will come to me.”

  I drew in a deep breath, knowing darn well she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. “Well, there’s Lynn and Jodi, of course.” She waved those two names off. “And we added someone new today. Matt Reynolds. He owns the pet store in town.” I told her about how Chuck had done a poor job constructing the aquarium stand. “I was in the store after it collapsed. It was a huge mess and Matt lost so many fish. He was very angry about it.”

  “Angry enough to kill?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to think so.”

  “Well, I’m not gettin’ a feeling from any one of them folks. Is that all you have?”

  “No. There’s one more. Oscar Belmonte.”

  “Oscar?” She slapped the steering wheel and let out a robust belly laugh. “Why, he’s nothing but a big ol’ teddy bear. He couldn’t hurt a fly. Did y’all know he’s raisin’ that granddaughter of his all by himself? Poor dear. Lost her parents a few years back in a terrible accident. He moved here from New Jersey just to make a better life for her.” She shook her head again. “No, Oscar’s not your man. Listen to your mama on this one, hon, and don’t be wastin’ time barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

  I sighed. “If you say so.” But I couldn’t help but wonder if her instincts weren’t being derailed by her personal feelings. Obviously she felt some sort of friendship with this man. I was about to ask her about it when I noticed we were pulling onto Walden Woods Circle. “I’ll make you some of that pasta you were talking about, if you like, Mama.”

  “No need. I ordered takeout.” A sly smile played on her lips.

  As we rounded the corner, my heart gave a little leap. Trey’s blue Honda was parked outside my cottage! Then it fell flat when the angry thoughts came flooding back. “What’s going on? Why is Trey here? Has he moved back home?” A little part of me hoped that was the case. That he’d come by asking for my forgiveness, admitting that he’d made a horrible mistake and begging to come home for a little while until he could get reenrolled in classes. I exited the truck and stomped through the snow to the front door. He better not want me to pay for this crazy little excursion from reality. One thing on tonight�
�s plate was going to be a heart-to-heart about how he planned to make up for the tuition I’d already paid out for this semester.

  Inside, I zipped out of my boots and tossed my coat over the back of the recliner in the front room. The wonderful smell drifting from the kitchen momentarily quelled my anger as I realized I hadn’t really eaten anything more than a few pretzels at the wine tasting.

  “Trey?” I called into the kitchen, ready to get to the bottom of things.

  He turned from the counter and stood facing me, a smudge of red sauce under his dark eyes and his hair all whooshed to one side. I had a sudden flashback to the little boy who used to swipe Mama’s baking tins and wooden spoons, disappearing in the backyard to make mud pies. I remembered clumsy little hands mixing and stirring, patting and pouring and painstakingly decorating with bits and pieces of nature. How delighted he’d be when I’d make gobble noises and eat it all up!

  Next to me, Mama whispered in my ear, “He’s his own man, Lila. Let him prove himself.”

  I looked from Trey down to the stove, where he was tending to a large pan filled with bubbling red sauce, chunks of juicy-looking meat, and plump garlic cloves. The kitchen smelled wonderfully of tangy tomatoes, spicy pork, and starchy pasta. It was enough to make anyone else want to yell out Buon appetito! and make a pig of themselves, but it only made my own heart ache all the more to think this would be the extent of my son’s life—a cook, with his only security held by his next restaurant owner’s whim. I swallowed back my reaction, cautiously weighing my next move. But when I spoke—“Why do you want to be a chef, Trey?”—I heard my voice crack with a mix of desperation, anger, and confusion.

  He looked down, gathering his thoughts as I waited patiently for his reply. “It’s like art to me, Mom. Putting together ingredients to make something beautiful for people to enjoy. And every time I’m in the kitchen there’s something new and challenging. How can I make this better, spicier, or more delicious? And then there’s the joy of watching people eat my food.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom. Guess it probably seems weird to you.”