Page 93 of Murder on the Page

Deal? Pocket aces?I tamped down a giggle. “Are you hosting a private poker game, Graham?”

“ ‘Private’ is the key word.Leave.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. The pit bull growled.

Tegan pulled a treat from her pocket and held it out to the dog, who snatched it before Graham could tell him no.

“Are you participating, Mrs. Canfield?” I asked.

She stepped outside. “Yes, but you can’t tell my husband.”

Why not? Did she have a gambling addiction? Was she losing regularly, thus draining the family coffers of much-needed cash?

“Celia Harrigan told you, didn’t she?” Graham stated.

“Not about the poker game.” I didn’t repeat her theory that he might be a drug dealer. “But she did mention someone stealing to the rear of your house a week ago. She was concerned.”

“Ha!”

“Do you host other games?”

“Yes,” the other poker player answered before Graham could respond. “Mornings only. No nights.” He stared accusingly at his host, as if he would prefer evening games.

“As you very well know, mornings are more convenient for me,” Graham said sharply. “That way I can open GamePlay at eleven a.m.. And mornings give you, and others like you, the ability to keep your penchant for cards a secret. Nobody pays attention.”

Except Celia Harrigan,I thought.

“As for Sundays,” Graham went on, “you’re lucky I have a game at all, seeing as it’s a holy day.”

I wondered if having private games was against state law, but decided not to pursue that angle. Celia Harrigan could take up the cause if she so desired. I eyed both of Graham’s guests. “Mrs. Canfield, were you playing poker here a week ago yesterday—”

“Early Saturday morning,” Tegan said to clarify.

Candace Canfield’s eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that? Have you been spying on me?”

“No,” I said. “Celia Harrigan gave a description of the person she saw. Gray hoodie, hiking boots. Like the items you’re wearing. What time did the game end?”

“Eight thirty.”

Given the timeframe, I doubted Graham could’ve managed to kill Marigold and elude being spotted by the crowd that was gathering in front of the building.

When Tegan and I returned to the shop, I told her I had to go home and bake. She advised me that Lillian was stopping by for costume fittings later in the afternoon and suggested I return. I said I would show up close to four, and I’d bring the fixings for tea.

Darcy stirred in his spot in the bay window as I breezed into the house. He hadn’t polished off the kibble I left out for him to nibble on. His breakfast tuna must have filled him up.

“Hello, handsome, miss me?”

He made a sound that I deciphered to mean,More than you could possibly know.At least, that was how I preferred to interpret it.

I nuzzled his nose, entered the kitchen, closed the Plexiglas door, washed my hands, and pulled out the items I needed to make a sample trifle, which would be a perfect addition for our tea and a good taste-testing experiment for the memorial. Yes, a trifle should chill at least six hours in the refrigerator, but today, I’d make an exception. On a whim, I decided to put together a second one. I could bring it to the book club tomorrow night.

The idea made me think of Zach, which once again triggered memories of Marigold’s murder.

“Darcy,” I said, “who killed my friend?”

The cat pounced onto the barrel of the llama, his ears perked, but his expression was puzzled.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I feel the same way. Piper Lowry is out and so is Graham Wynn. That leaves Katrina Carlson.” I liked Katrina. I didn’t want her to be guilty. But her alibi of being with a friend who might or might not corroborate her whereabouts nagged at me. Was it possible she was stalling for time while figuring out a discreet way to get out of Dodge?

If only I knew who was on Zach’s radar, but he was definitely keeping me at bay. No text messages. No invitations to go hiking. I liked him, but I was slightly miffed. I mean, what was so wrong with me wanting to help him solve the crime? Sure, I understood why the police wouldn’t want an amateur sleuth sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but Marigold was my friend and Tegan’s aunt. I cared. Shoot me.

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