Page 27 of Murder on the Page

She said, “You absolutely have to serve trifle.”

“Of course. We’re also thinking that everyone who wants to do so should dress in costume for the occasion. Would you—”

“Provide them?” She clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Yes. I’m totally on board. Marigold would be so pleased to be honored in that fashion. The community theater will be more than happy to help us out, too. She was, after all, the foundation’s chair.”

I’d gone to the theater with Marigold and Tegan a few times. Marigold would light up whenever she was around actors. When asked if she had a secret ambition to perform onstage, she dismissed the notion.Actors,she said,are fearless. I, on the other hand, quake at leading a book club.That was baloney.She had been as intrepid as they come, but she’d never boasted.

“By the way,” Lillian said around a mouthful of scone, “one of my regular customers came in late yesterday for a fitting. Celia Harrigan. Do you know her? I don’t think she’s much of a reader. She lives on Marigold’s street in a yellow Craftsmanwith white trim. Anyway, Celia saw someone in a hoodie sneaking around Graham Wynn’s house a week ago Saturday, during the day. She wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman. The reason I mention it is because she said the person was acting sketchy, and she wondered if, in view of what happened to Marigold, the person might have been staking out Marigold’s house, since, you know, she lived across the street from Graham.”

“That’s a leap,” I said.

“Perhaps.” She polished off her scone. “You know about Marigold’s jewelry collection, don’t you?”

Marigold was wealthy, but she’d never lavished herself with gifts or spent her wealth on cruises. However, she’d loved antique jewelry. Invariably, she would wear her prized diamond necklace, but over the years she’d invested in rings and bracelets and brooches. At dinner parties, she would show off her jewelry, like the Bulgari serpent bracelet she’d found at an estate sale or a Georgian-style trembling floral brooch—the one Chloe had referred to earlier—which featured over a hundred hand-cut diamonds. As far as I knew, Marigold stored all of her jewelry in a safety-deposit box at the bank, not at home. I thought of what Celia Harrigan told Lillian. What if the lurker had actually been Graham in disguise, and he was spying on Marigold? What if he had been keeping watch, waiting for a time when she might go to the bank to retrieve her jewelry? And what if he saw her slip a valuable piece into the envelope markedPrivate and Confidential?

CHAPTER7

“I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve.”

—Captain Frederick Wentworth, in Jane Austen’sPersuasion

Iwas walking into my house when my cell phone jangled. I tossed my keys on the foyer table and pulled my phone from my purse. Zach was calling.

“Caught the killer?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “I was hoping you might want to go on a hike with me.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I need to clear my head.”

“Sure, okay. Have you eaten lunch? Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

“I’ll pack a picnic. You bring a blanket. Give me a half hour.” I didn’t need to change anything but my shoes. For a dash of color, I threw on the sage-green scarf Marigold had given me for Christmas. Then I put together a picnic and stuffed it into a backpack.

Thirty minutes later, Zach knocked on the door. I liked a man who was punctual. My ex-fiancé always ran fifteen minutes late. Tegan told me it meant he wasn’t committed to the relationship. How true that had proven to be.

Zach looked ruggedly handsome in a plaid shirt over a burgundy Henley, jeans, and hiking boots. “Ready?”

“Yep.” I told Darcy I’d return in a few hours, hoisted the backpack, and off we went in Zach’s silver Jeep Wrangler.

Bramblewood Hill Park Trail was located north of town and boasted one of the most beautiful views of the mountains. We walked in companionable silence until we neared the pinnacle. The ground was damp, but it wasn’t slippery. The scent of white pines was heady. The blossoms on the redbuds and dogwoods were incredible in varying shades of pink, red, and white. There were other hikers in front of and behind us, but no one spoke above a reverent whisper.

When we found a spot, Zach spread out a waterproof blanket, and I pulled out pita wraps filled with salami, Swiss cheese, and chopped veggies, as well as paper plates and napkins. “For dessert, chocolate butterscotch cookies.” I jiggled a baggie holding four of the cookies I’d baked yesterday.

“Can I start with dessert?” He grinned.

Oh, that dimple.“I won’t say no.” I offered him a cookie, took one for myself, and crossed my legs, comfortable in his presence.

He bit into the cookie and swallowed. “Wow, so good.”

“You are definitely a cookie guy.”

“Team Cookie all the way. Don’t get me wrong. I like pie—in particular, pumpkin pie—but cookies travel well, and when I need a pick-me-up, cookies do in a pinch.”

I smiled. My fiancé had eschewed anything sweet. That might have been why he was such a sourpuss. I took a bite of cookie and brushed crumbs off my lips with my pinky. “I know it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours, but is there anything new in the investigation?”

---