Page 28 of A Jingle of Justice
At noon Meaghan arrived with her Celtic lever harp in tow. She blew me a kiss, went to the patio to set up in the far corner by the acrylic podium, and swung back to me. “FYI, I didn’t learndiddly from Red except he’s focused on the same three suspects you are, Horace Elias, Shara Popple, and Ferguson Moss. But you know him, he can be as tight-lipped as his boss. However, I did fill him in on everything you’ve shared with me.”
“Good. All I care about is him being openminded.”
At one p.m. customers with reservations for the tea started to arrive. Many knew the drill and headed for the patio. Meaghan was already playing her harp. Later she would perform the song Lissa had requested while Yvanna poured tea and distributed tasty goodies.
Shara Popple sauntered into the shop and made a beeline for the patio. Though I was surprised to see her—she hadn’t signed up for the event—I acknowledged her with a nod before returning my attention to the customer I was ringing up, a barista who worked at Percolate, one of my favorite places in town to go for coffee. I often described the young woman as having frayed edges—wiry hair, twitchy mouth, and dry blinking eyes.
“I love this place,” she gushed. “Love, love, love it.”
“I’m so glad,” I said as I packed up the two hundred dollars’ worth of goods she’d purchased.
Shara strode to the patio and veered right. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her checking out the bakers’ racks. We had added dirt to the hole beneath the rightmost one and finished it with travertine tile and grout.
“By the way,” the customer said, lowering her voice, “I hear you had a quibble with my neighbor, Ferguson Moss.”
“A quibble?” I placed the box of chimes she’d bought at the bottom of one of the shop’s tote bags and topped it with a floral tea set encased in bubble wrap.
“He can be an obnoxious boob, him and his snails.” The woman sniffed. “But I did see him the night the thing happened here.”
Thething,meaning the break-in and murder. “You did?”
“Yes, yes, and I heard him, too. I had the windows open. I know it’s brisk nowadays, but I adore fresh air. Adore, adore, adore it.” She shivered with delight. “He mutters.”
“Ferguson?”
“Mm-hmm.All the time. Like I do when I talk to my plants to encourage them to grow.”
If this woman was to be believed, and I had no reason to doubt her, her account cleared Ferguson of murder.
“Do you converse with your fairy?” She glanced around the showroom and back at me.
“I do.”
“I hope to see one someday.” When I handed her the bag with the items, she beamed. “Maybe these will bring me good luck. Good, good, good luck.”
At one thirty nearly all the book club tea attendees had arrived. I moved to the French doors and leaned against the jamb to observe the crowd.
Lissa Reade was chatting with a few. Yvanna was touring the patio with her dessert trolley. At each table, she poured tea and delivered communal plates of peppermint cookies, iced snowmen cookies, and slices of chocolate yule log. I’d thought about adding the mincemeat-marzipan buns or Idris’s scrumptious cranberry tarts to our menu, but had decided against both. Three choices were ample.
Fiona was flitting above everyone’s heads. Pixie, who enjoyed attending the teas, had taken up residence on the ledge of the fountain. She wasn’t being aloof. She would allow someone to pet her. But she preferred the higher view. Less chance of being trampled.
Horace Elias was sitting at a table with Glinda and her niece, a tennis phenom and devoted fairy garden fan. The niece laughed at something Horace said. Glinda playfully swattedHorace’s arm. She wasn’t flirting. She had recently fallen in love with a jewelry designer. But she was a consummate hostess. I wondered if she was pelting Horace with questions about his whereabouts Wednesday night. Given his relaxed demeanor, Horace didn’t seem to be guilty of murder.
My hygienist, who had been coming to the teas ever since they began, was seated at a table with three members of the Happy Diggers garden club.
Idris Gentry and Shara Popple were seated at another table engaged in conversation, looking like they were old friends. Perhaps they had become acquainted at Sweet Treats.
Joss sidled to me. “Did you invite Shara? She didn’t RSVP.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why do you think she’s here?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not picking up a hostile vibe.”
Lissa clapped her hands. “Everyone, let’s sit and we’ll get started.”
All our book clubs began in the same manner. Lissa summarized the story, and then she posed questions about the protagonist, the basic set-up, and the time of year. The story had been set near Christmas.
