The Tainted Taffy, page 12
“The sooner we get closure, the better for the whole community,” Autumn said firmly.
Elizabeth gave her a knowing look. Then she lowered her voice. “I think I know where you need to go, if you’re hunting for closure,” she murmured.
“Where’s that?” Autumn stared at her in surprise. She’d started out adversarial. Now she was being helpful?
Whoever had killed Harold Sweetly, it was clear that his brother was the next of kin and would be taking over the sweet shop. So, perhaps it was in their interests to find this killer fast.
“My dear, do you really think you should be gossiping?” Charles said, staring at his wife in a worried way.
“Oh, shut up,” she said impatiently, in a tone that revealed more about the state of the couple’s relationship than all the saccharine sweetness earlier had done. Charles looked surprised and hurt by the words. Without paying him much attention, Elizabeth pressed on.
“Some of those customers were really addicted – to the sweets, and to Harold,” she said quietly.
“How do you mean?” Autumn leaned forward, captivated by the words.
But Elizabeth shook her head. “You’ll have to find out more.” Her tone was still low and secretive. Charles’s eyes were popping out of his head with shock as she spoke.
“My dear, I think – I think we should stop gossiping this way.”
“How can I find out more? I run a bed and breakfast full time,” Autumn pleaded. She was utterly convinced that there was an important secret to be learned here. “What customer are you talking about?”
“There was one who was very friendly. Harold mentioned her to us, didn’t he?” She glanced at her cringing husband.
“Please, can we not discuss this?” he asked.
“It might be important,” she countered. “And if it is, then Autumn seems keen to find out more. Keener than the police.” Giving a small shrug, she leaned forward. “I don’t know her name. But I can tell you what she looked like.”
“But, if she was friendly with him, why would you suspect her of – of killing him?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Because she wanted more from him. Harold was a loner. He liked the business, and he liked his own company. He was never into romance. I think she had dreams of being Mrs. Sweetly, though.”
“And? What happened?”
Elizabeth's voice was barely audible as she whispered. "I think she wanted to take things further. She suggested that to him. Of course, Harold reacted the way he always did. Brutally honest. I happened to be passing the shop, earlier this week, and dropped in to get some chocolate peanuts. I was nearly knocked over by an irate woman marching out. She was spitting mad. Slammed the door and stalked down the road with her nose in the air. He was laughing to himself and I asked him why. He told me that one of his fans had gotten a little too up close and personal, and he'd given her marching orders."
“And it was that woman?”
“It was quite definitely that woman.”
“Do you know who she was?” Autumn felt the way Max did, when he smelled something entrancing and tried to drag her in its direction. That was her mindset now. She wanted to follow this woman’s trail, immediately. This was exactly what she’d been looking for. Red hot anger would inspire the desire for revenge. And this had clearly happened recently.
“I don’t know, unfortunately. I’m not good with names, and I know people in the north of the island, not the south. But I do remember what she looked like,” Elizabeth said.
Charles had his head buried in his hands. “You’re going to get us in trouble by gossiping like this,” he muttered.
“What did she look like?” Autumn was ready to make mental notes.
“She had blond hair cut in a very smart, jaw length bob,” Elizabeth remembered. “Very striking, very shiny. She was dressed expensively. Her jacket…” she gave her a sideways look, “was a crimson piece to die for, if you’ll excuse my choice of words. Definitely a designer brand. And she wore stovepipe leather pants that neither you nor I could ever get away with.”
With a wave of her hands, she emphasized the outrageous skinniness of those pants.
Autumn smoothed her hands over her own legs, almost without thinking. She had been trying to diet, and to exercise as much as she could, but she had to admit, her goal weight was still a couple of pounds out of reach. Personally, she blamed Jasmine and the morning muffins.
“You’ve been very helpful,” she said to Elizabeth.
“It’s my duty to try to help,” Elizabeth said, raising that eyebrow again.
Autumn had no idea who that elegant blonde was. She needed to find out – and fast.
Because, as the famous saying went, hell had no fury like a woman scorned.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pedaling back down the winding lanes that wove their way alongside the coast, Autumn thought her hardest about who this woman might be. She was blonde, she was wealthy, she had a very well cut hairstyle, and clearly shopped at the most expensive boutiques in town – or maybe she was one of the few in Magnolia Bay who scorned the local stores and only considered a garment wearable if it was bought from the mainland.
How to find her, though?
As the wind blew through her own hair, nearly dislodging her straw hat as a strong gust surged, Autumn had the answer.
The local hairdressers.
There were four of them in the town.
Two barbershops, one of which also did cheap, affordable cuts for ladies. And two hairdressers, one affordable and one expensive. Autumn went to the affordable one. Her hair was easy to maintain, but it needed good cutting to help minimize the frizz that would otherwise make it go wild in humid weather.
The expensive one was on the corner of the main street, a secluded environment with plush seating and edgy-looking hairdressers, and the top professional products displayed in the window. When you went in there, they had chairs at the washing station that allowed you to lie flat, and you got a ten minute head massage which, Autumn had heard on good authority, would make you drool with bliss, and have your eyes roll back in your head, the way Max did when she found the perfect spot near his ears to scratch.
She’d always longed to go, but had felt loyal to her own hairdresser, and the money always seemed like more than she felt comfortable spending. All the same – a head massage that made you drool? It was something to aspire to.
Right now, checking the time, she thought she could dash in there and see if there was anything to be discovered.
Maybe she could ask about that head massage.
Deciding on her course of action, Autumn pedaled determinedly to the fork in the road, and instead of taking the route straight back, she took the left hand road that wound its way into town.
Phew. A downhill at last. How was it possible that both there and back had felt uphill? She definitely needed to do more cycling. Maybe then she’d fit into a pair of stovepipe leather pants.
In your dreams, she thought, rattling over the rough patch in the road, and then onto the smooth, wider expanse of the main street.
She pulled up outside Silver Scissors, propped her bicycle against the wall, and headed in.
The throb of the latest R&B music filled the space, which smelled like a blend of exotic oranges and expensive perfume. It was a delicious fragrance. Was this a shampoo? Could she afford it?
Forcing these reckless ambitions out of her mind, she headed to the desk.
The receptionist had a head of dark hair so shiny that Autumn thought she could have seen her face in it. She was tapping on a paper-thin, state of the art laptop. When Autumn arrived at the desk, she turned, looking her up and down. Autumn had the uneasy feeling that her net worth was being assessed in a moment. And she wasn’t even wearing a smart red jacket to boost her street cred in this sanctified space.
“Good afternoon,” the receptionist said. She sounded very friendly, even though Autumn privately thought she was disappointed in her sky blue top, which was from the second hand shop, her shell necklace, and her comfortable linen pants which were ideal for cycling.
“Good afternoon,” Autumn said.
“I don’t have any booking for an appointment,” the receptionist explained, glancing again at the silvery screen. “Are you a walk-in client?”
“Um, well, I just came in to find out about a makeover,” Autumn said. She needed to get face to face with the hairdresser. This environment was far more intimidating than she’d expected it to be.
“You’ll want our free consultation then,” the receptionist smiled. “I think Lana is available for that. Just take a seat.” She gestured to a crimson chaise longue, which was positioned next to a spiky, vivid green plant. “Your name?”
“Autumn Ray,” she replied. She doubted the receptionist would have heard of it. Small as this island was, this was another world from the one she occupied.
Autumn sat down, already stressing. There was no way she’d be back at the reception desk of Harbor View by two p.m. How long would a consultation take? Where was Lana? What was going to cost her more – this murder going unsolved, or her own guests going unattended?
Reminding herself that the greater good mattered, and that her bed and breakfast was not the Hyatt, and guests were perfectly capable of topping up their own lemonade, she forced herself to stay in her seat.
And a minute later, there was a clacking of heels, and a slim redhead, with outrageously bright hair and a figure like a model, appeared through the black painted archway.
“Hi! I’m Lana. You must be Autumn? Please, come through.”
Autumn stood up, and allowed herself to be ushered through the archway, and into the space beyond.
It was dimly lit, apart from bright spotlights at each station, with its leather chair and huge, crystal framed mirror. Autumn sank into one of the chairs, her arms resting on the armrests, looking at her reflection. She looked vaguely startled. Behind her, Lana hovered.
“You’ve got the most beautiful color. Natural, isn’t it? So seldom we get virgin hair in here." She rubbed her hands together. "Obviously, we don't want to detract from that color if you like it. But do you like it, because we could add some highlights and lowlights?”
“Well,” Autumn said, “it is a nice color, but I think I’m having a midlife crisis. An early one, I mean. Because I’m feeling like change.”
Lana raised her perfectly plucked brows. “Change is always good,” she enthused.
“You know, the other day,” Autumn said, sowing the seeds she hoped would bear fruit, “I met a woman with the most gorgeous hair. I’ve forgotten her name, but I think she is a client here. She had a blond bob, jaw length – but flawless. It looked like a mirror. I’ve never seen blond hair so shiny.”
Hoping that her enthusiastic exaggeration of Elizabeth’s description would get results, she stared hopefully into the mirror.
Lana’s eyes lit up. “I know exactly who you mean. Felicia Morris. She’s a style icon, isn’t she?”
“Everything about her made me want to be her,” Autumn said, letting her imagination have free rein.
“Don’t we all?” Lana ran her hands through Autumn’s hair, as she repeated to herself, Felicia Morris. This was the name she needed. From here, anything else was just a bonus.
“Now, you’re not going to suit that style. I’ll be honest. Reason, your hair’s too thick. Felicia’s is exactly the right thickness to work in a solid bob. It’s actually quite fine. Only due to my expertise, does it look so shiny.” She dropped Autumn a wink. “I have a treatment protocol that will transform your life – and your frizz. But for you, we need layers. Subtle but essential.” She wrinkled her brow. “Also, to be honest with you, you’re a strawberry through and through.”
“I am?” Autumn felt alarmed.
“Your coloring is warm, warm, warm. That’s why you can wear these lovely bright tops. But that hair Felicia has is icy cool. It’ll drain your face and make you look… well… dead.” She grimaced.
So did Autumn. She didn’t want to look dead. There was enough of that causing problems in Magnolia Bay already.
“However, a bright honey blond – yes. Now, I’m going to give you a quote on all of this, because…” her eyes strayed once again to Autumn’s second hand top – “price is always a consideration.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said. “Does it include the head massage?”
“Everything includes the head massage,” Lana said kindly. “Come in here for a wash and blow, and I’ll show you the wonders of that head massage.”
She scribbled a few numbers on a notepad with small, silver logos on the pages. Then she ripped the page off and handed it to Autumn.
“Hope to see you soon.” she said cheerily, walking off to the other side of the salon.
The prices were outrageous. But Autumn had a feeling that they offered great value. Maybe one day. Maybe just a wash and blow. And the massage.
At least now she had a name – the name she needed. Felicia Morris.
She’d need to figure out how to find her – but first, she had to head back to the guesthouse.
Mounting her bicycle, she pedaled furiously in that direction, with the pedestrian traffic getting thicker as she approached the harbor. She took her hand off the handlebars to wave at the buggy driver, and to ring her bell to alert a group of walkers who were spread out all across the road. Swerving around them, she headed for the white gateposts that framed the narrow garden gate of Harbor View.
She headed to the back, put her bicycle in the shed, and then sprinted to the front, going in the door with the usual mix of guilt and anxiety churning inside her. As a punctual person, she couldn’t bear to be late. And here she was, getting back to her desk hot, flustered and windblown at twenty past two. At least she had chosen a quiet day, and no guests were standing angrily around, wondering where she was. The plate of cookies had a few missing, and the lemonade was only a third full, so the guests had been coming and going. Hopefully, they were all out, enjoying the sights the island had to offer.
She put her keys away under the desk, feeling them nudge up against the spine of a book. Curiously, she took it out and opened it.
It must have been left there by Jasmine from her afternoon shift yesterday, and it was entitled, “Mastering the Art of Michelin-Starred Cookery.”
Autumn stared at it, with admiration and sympathy blending inside her. She knew that her fabulous breakfast chef had big dreams. Huge ones, in fact. And although it gave her a pang to think that one day, she might join a top restaurant instead of working for Harbor View, she was proud to see how passionate she was about what she did.
Imagine if she became a Michelin starred chef one day?
Putting the book back, with a rush of affection for Jasmine, she returned her focus to the matter of urgency. She had a name and a description, and now, she hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult to find Felicia Morris herself.
And at that moment, her phone rang.
It was Willow. Did she have more information? Keen to find out, Autumn picked up quickly.
“Hey, Autumn.” Willow’s voice was excited. “I’ve just learned something about this crime. I don’t know what it means – but it’s very interesting. And I think it might be important.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What have you learned?” Autumn leaned her elbows on the desk, focusing on her sister’s voice, her mind already buzzing.
“It was some gossip I heard by chance.” Autumn could imagine Willow in the exact same pose she was. Her sister would be leaning forward on her chair behind the counter, her elbows on the polished wood, keeping an eye on her shop while passing on this information.
“How did you hear it?” When in possession of a good story, Autumn knew her sister did not like to be rushed.
“When I was in the deli. They’ve got the ham sandwiches on special. Nobody wants them. Word’s gotten around, even though it was very clear that the mustard was added afterwards.”
“I guess you can’t blame people for that,” Autumn said fairly.
“They were practically giving them away, so I bought one,” Willow said. “And while I did, I spoke to Suzy, the lady who makes them.”
“Yes?” Autumn knew Suzy. Everyone knew Suzy. She had been a fixture at the deli for years, with her blue and white striped apron, her hair held back with a white scarf, and her ready smile.
“I asked Suzy about this whole debacle. The police interviewed her, of course.”
“Oh, they did?” Autumn felt relieved to hear it. At least Officer Warring had taken that important step.
“They asked her if she knew what time Harold Sweetly had come in and bought his sandwich. You know, unfortunately, they’re all labeled by hand, without bar codes. Old fashioned, otherwise they could have tracked it.”
“What did she say?” Listening interestedly, Autumn could see why this timeline was important. It would allow them to track Mr. Sweetly’s movements that morning.
“She showed the police all the ingredients she'd used to rule out any poison accidentally being added. And she said that, to her knowledge, Mr. Sweetly wasn't in the deli at all. You know she makes those sandwiches behind the counter, in full view of the customers, so she sees what goes on.”
“What?” Autumn frowned, her mind racing. “But how’s that possible? He must have been in the deli.”
“Nope. Not according to Suzy, and not according to the deli manager. There’s no record of his credit card being used to pay, and none of the cashiers remember seeing him. They even checked the camera footage inside the store. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
Autumn knew this cast the whole case in a different light. She wondered what Officer Warring made of this. With her mind working at full speed, there was only one conclusion she could come up with.
That was – the killer had bought this sandwich himself or herself, and had taken it to Mr. Sweetly’s shop. The killer must have offered him a sandwich and he’d taken a bite of it, and died.
