Page 8 of Murder on the Page

“Togetherness is important if you want to get to know someone,” Noeline replied with an alluring lilt.

I glanced at Tegan, who was sizing up Rick. The shop’s phone rang. She moved to answer it.

Noeline approached Marigold. “Sweetie, truth. What happened? Were you overexerting yourself? I told you no one cares if you change the shop’s décor. It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Marigold said tartly.

I rose and let the two of them rehash the scenario. Marigold reiterated my diagnosis:dehydration.Noeline huffed as if that was the lamest excuse she had ever heard. Vanna mimicked her mother. I leveled her with a look. She wrinkled her nose in defiance.

“Help me, Rick,” Noeline said to her date, and the two of them guided Marigold into the chair behind the sales counter.

“Marigold,” I said, “you’re in good hands. I have to get back to work.”

“Don’t forget the tasting cups of custard, dear,” Marigold reminded me.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Okay, I had forgotten about the custard, but I had plenty of staples at home to make it. I hurried to Tegan, who was hanging up the shop’s phone. I spied a compendium of Dashiell Hammett’s works on the desk behind the sales counter, which includedRed Harvest, The Glass Key,andThe Thin Man.I didn’t see a note assigning it to a customer. “Who do you think that’s for?”

“Got me.”

“Hold it for me if no one else claims it.”

She agreed.

On my way to the door, I nearly rammed into Lillian Bellingham, a contemporary of Tegan’s and mine, and owner ofPuttin’ on the Glitz, the clothing and accessories shop next door that tailored to high-end buyers. Recently I’d provided a week’s worth of personalized meals for Lillian and her bestie from college. Like Tegan, Lillian couldn’t cook, but she sure did know how to dress. Today, in her baby-blue Coach trench coat, black rain boots, and black leather gloves, she looked like a million bucks. I clasped her elbow and tried to prevent her from entering.

“Hi, sugar. Is the shop open? The Closed sign is hanging on the door.” Her voice was a breathy mix of Marilyn Monroe meets Sharon Stone, with a tinge of a Southern accent. For a brief moment, she’d lived in Hollywood and had starred in a couple of B movies. I hadn’t seen either of them. I preferred watching classics. She tired quickly of beating the pavement and, like me, moved back to the Asheville area. With her family’s help, she opened her business. In her off-hours, to keep active in the arts, she helped make and organize costumes at the community theater.

I said, “Marigold had an incident.”

“Poor thing. She can be so clumsy.” Lillian wriggled from my grasp. “Why, last month, I saw her fall off the ladder and twist her ankle. It was the itty bitty three-rung ladder, but a woman her age . . .” Shetsked. “Who’s tending to her?”

“Her sister.”

“Noeline. A lovely woman. Good, good. I’ve sent many clients to her bed-and-breakfast. Charming place. Hi, Marigold!” Lillian flitted a finger. “I have a few books to purchase for my nieces. I’ll come another time. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s tea.”

Marigold didn’t respond. She was glancing between Noeline and Vanna as if weighing how to deal with them.

I said, “I think that would be a good idea, Lillian,” and once again clasped her elbow.

“Are you kidding me!” Vanna shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Vanna, hush,” Noeline said.

“I won’t hush. Auntie hired Allie to cater the tea?” Vanna leveled me with a vile look and turned to her aunt. “How could you? I’m the best in town. Everyone knows that.”

I couldn’t catch Marigold’s response, but it must have incensed Vanna.

“Give me a break!” She threw her arms wide. “No one bakes better cookies than I do!”

For the record, my cookies, every last one of them, were excellent. I paid extra special attention to insure they were. I adored cookies.

Noeline jutted her head for me to leave and gestured that she would fix things, but I didn’t have a chance to reach the door before Vanna came flying at me.

“Don’t move, Allie!”

Tegan reached for her sister but missed.

Lillian rasped, “Gotta go,” and raced out of the shop.

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