Roses Have Thorns, page 9
“Sounds good to me. I’m going to head down to Last Magnolia for lunch around noon. Do you think Joss and Hazel might be free, too?”
“Probably. I’ll give Joss a call and text you with our answer.”
We hung up and I changed out of my sweats and into the multiple layers necessary for winter in Maine—silk t-shirt, wool sweater, fleece-lined jeans, thick wool socks, gloves, hat, scarf, down parka, Sorel boots. After leaving the house, I stood on my newly shoveled porch steps and debated walking the two blocks to the shop. It was pretty nice right now, but the weather could sour quickly, and I did not want to be forced to walk home in a blizzard. I opted to drive and slid behind the wheel of my two-year-old Honda CRV. My father had done extensive research into which vehicle was best for Maine roads and steered me towards the little SUV. I’d opted for the extra-fancy package, with remote start and heated seats and outside mirrors—things I might once have considered luxuries but after a winter of not having to scrape my mirrors or freeze while waiting for the car to warm up, I didn’t think I could live without them.
I arrived at the shop soon after and noticed a silver Ford pickup driving down Main Street in front of the shop. I couldn’t tell if it was the same one that had driven past my house earlier, but something about seeing the truck raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Once I was inside the shop, I called Sawyer. My call went to his voicemail, but by then, I felt silly for worrying over nothing but a hinky feeling and hung up without leaving a message.
As I waited for the FTD computer to come online, I texted Joss and we made arrangements to meet Sarah and Hazel for lunch at noon. Brad, Mike, and Jason had left early that morning for their turkey hunting trip, and my mother had agreed to take Noah for the day, so we could have a long, leisurely, girls-only lunch.
There were five orders waiting for me. I worked quickly creating the bouquets and reviewing the events of the previous night. Would there ever come a day when I didn’t think about Joe when I was with another man? That had ultimately been why I’d broken up with the dog trainer. He was a lovely man but it wasn’t fair to him that I kept comparing him to Joe. I’d started seeing him a year after Joe’s death, but it was too soon. Almost six years had passed since that awful New Year’s Day when a British Army chaplain showed up on my doorstep in Glasgow to tell me that my husband had been killed. Joe’s loss still hurt—it would always hurt; I knew that—but now, sometimes an entire day went past when it didn’t ache think about him. But could I be with another man and not be reminded of him? I guess only time would tell.
I finished the bouquets—one dozen roses for someone’s birthday, two fall arrangements, a potted rosemary topiary to celebrate a new job, and a beautiful arrangement of white lilies and pale pink carnations for Teresa. I’d leave those for last. I wanted to check in with her and see if there was anything she needed. After loading up the bouquets in the shop’s van, I checked the time. I had three hours before my lunch date with the girls. That was plenty of time to drive out to Blue Hill and back.
Blue Hill was located about half an hour away from Dawn Cove and was a pretty drive, even under a blanket of snow. Traffic was light, probably due to the storm, and it made it easy for me to keep an eye on passing cars. I noticed the large number of Ford pickups and decided that being paranoid about seeing one in the village was silly.
After delivering the roses and the topiary to two very grateful people in Blue Hill, I headed farther south and west to Sedgwick, where my mom and Aunt Cherry had been born and grew up. My grandparents still lived there, not too far from the Hundred Acre Wood Trail named after AA Milne’s creation. I looked forward to seeing them at Thanksgiving and made a mental note to invite Sawyer and Teresa to our enormous feast. I didn’t want either of them to be alone; it would especially difficult for Teresa since it’d be the first without her husband. Her closest family was a five-hour drive away, on Aquidneck Island in Rhode Island.
I dropped off the fall arrangements with their new owners in Sedgwick and headed back to Dawn Cove, conscious once more of a silver pickup that was following me. Despite my previous realization about the popularity of that particular vehicle, I still felt something was off. I tried to recall things I’d seen characters do in spy movies to evade someone who was following them but couldn’t remember anything. So I pulled into the first gas station I came across and called Sawyer.
“Livingston,” he said on the third ring. Today’s background noise was the rumble of tires over wet pavement.
“Hi, it’s June. I think I’m being followed.”
“What? You’re being followed?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve seen a silver pickup at least five times today. Once outside my house this morning, once outside the shop, and the rest of the times on my deliveries.”
“Was it the same truck all those times?” I heard a car door slam and silence engulfed him. He must be sitting in his own car now. “Does it have a sticker in the back window?”
“I think it’s the same. But maybe not. I mean, I’ve noticed that they’re super popular. Silver trucks, I mean. But I’m pretty sure that the one from this morning and the one outside my shop and the one sitting across the gas station from me right now are the same. I haven’t noticed a sticker...” I trailed off. “Wait. A Yankees sticker? Like the one on the truck that was at Rob’s house the night he was murdered?”
“Yes. Exactly like that.”
“Maybe. I can’t really tell from this angle.”
“Where are you?” I heard his engine start up.
“At the Shell station on Caterpillar Hill.”
“Okay. Stay in your car and lock the doors. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.” Before he hung up, I heard a siren.
I set my phone down on the seat next to me and glanced around the station. There were cars at the pumps and a couple parked in front of the little convenience store. I was safe. Ish. I squinted through my windshield, trying to make out the figure that was sitting behind the wheel. Aside from the fact that he was a large, broad-shouldered man, I couldn’t see any details. I thought maybe it was the same unfriendly fellow who’d driven past me while I was shoveling my porch steps earlier that morning. I hadn’t noticed a sticker then, either.
A few minutes later, a brown unmarked police car entered the lot, lights and siren going. Sawyer stopped in front of me, killed the siren but left the lights on, climbed out, and looked toward me, one sandy brow raised in question. I pointed through my window at the truck across the lot. He nodded and headed towards it, his hand resting on the butt of the holstered gun riding his right hip. The truck started up, spewing a cloud of greyish smoke out of its exhaust, and squealed out of the lot, fishtailing as it swung onto the snow-covered highway. There was a Yankees sticker in the back window. I could see it clearly now. Sawyer ran back to his car and took off, lights and sirens blasting once more.
I sat in shock, wondering what had just happened. Was the man who’d killed Rob following me? Why? I shivered and cranked up the heat in the van. It did nothing to take away my chill.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
About five minutes after Sawyer had left the gas station, I started back to Dawn Cove again. I was a little late for my lunch date with the girls, so I parked the van in the back lot, leaving Teresa’s bouquet in it, and hurried next door to the Last Magnolia. Joss, Sarah, and Hazel were seated at our usual corner table, and I was happy to see Teresa and Ashley had joined them. After hugging Teresa and kissing the other girls’ cheeks, I sat down with an exhausted sigh and accepted a cup of coffee from Jessica with a grateful smile.
“You look tired,” Hazel said. “Late night?” She had a wicked smile on her face, one that Joss immediately picked up on.
“Ooh, did you have a date last night, Junie?” Joss asked, the expression on her face matching Hazel’s exactly. “With a certain detective, maybe?”
I rolled my eyes and doctored my coffee—two packets of yellow sugar substitute and one container of French Vanilla non-dairy creamer. “He came over last night, yes,” I said after an experimental taste. It was perfect, so I took a longer sip. “I made dinner, we watched a movie, and then he went home.”
“What movie?” Sarah asked.
“What’d you make for dinner?” Ash asked almost at the same time.
“Midnight In Paris and cullen skink. Smoked haddock stew,” I explained. Ash wrinkled her nose—she was notoriously not a fan of fish, and it didn’t appear on either of her restaurants’ menus.
“Oh,” Teresa said. “I like that movie. Sawyer kind of looks like the guy, don’t you think?”
The girls fell into a discussion of Sawyer’s looks, comparing them to the star’s, who had also appeared in a series of movies about exhibitions in a New York City museum that came to life after the museum closed at night. I hadn’t realized until just that moment how much Sawyer resembled the man in question. It was uncanny.
Jessica came back and we ordered. I asked for a Mississippi chicken sandwich, one of the best things on the menu. The recipe Jessica used for her pulled chicken had been handed down to her from her grandmother and was absolutely delicious. I wasn’t sure how she made them, but I knew there were pepperoncinis in both the braising liquid and on the sandwiches themselves.
As we waited for our meals, we talked about various topics—gossip, the girls’ jobs, men that Sarah and Ashley were interested in dating, what new show we were all binge-watching, what books we’d read lately. We studiously avoided any discussion of Teresa’s loss and Sawyer’s investigations. And although I desperately wanted to tell them about being followed and how the man had peeled out of the gas station parking lot like his head was on fire after Sawyer had shown up, I kept the story to myself for fear of bringing up such a painful matter.
About halfway through my absolutely delicious sandwich, my phone rang. A quick glance at the screen showed me that Sawyer was calling. “Hi,” I said, putting my food down and wiping my mouth with my napkin.
“Where are you?” Sawyer asked.
“At Last Magnolia, with the girls. How come?”
“Who’s there with you?”
“Joss, Sarah, Hazel, Ashley, and Teresa. Why?”
“Are you at your usual table? There in the front? Can you see the street from where you are?”
“Yes,” I said, a frown puckering my brown. “Sawyer, you’re being weird. What’s going on?” Joss and Hazel stopped eating and glanced across the table at me, twin looks of concern on their faces.
“In about five minutes, one of my deputies is going to drive past the café’s window. I need you to tell me if you’ve seen the vehicle before. Don't come outside though, because after that, I’m going to arrive with a man in my car, and I need you to identify him for me. Okay?”
“Um. Yes? I think.” I glanced over Sarah’s shoulder at the big window that faced Main Street. “You just need me to look at a car and then at some guy and tell you whether or not I recognize them?” Hazel’s brows flew up in surprise.
“Yep. That’s it. But you stay inside, okay? Don't come out. And don’t get too close to the window, either.”
“Alright. I can do that.”
“Okay. Five minutes. I’ll call you back.” He hung up before I could say anything in response.
“What is going on?” Hazel asked.
“Is this about Rob?” Teresa asked at the same time.
“I don’t know,” I answered them both and stood up, leaving the table and moved a couple of steps closer to the window, just so that there wasn’t anything between it and my view.
A few moments later, a silver Ford pickup glided down the street outside. It stopped and idled for a second or two directly in front of the cafe before continuing down Main. I squinted at it, chewing my lower lip in thought. It looked exactly like the one I’d seen parked at Rob’s house, down to the Yankees sticker in the back window and the license plate that started 167. It might also have been cruising past my house and the shop earlier, and then parked in the gas station’s lot. My phone rang.
“Well?” he answered.
“It’s the same truck I saw at Rob’s and at the gas station this morning.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. Same license plate, same Yankees sticker. But I don’t know if it was following me today. I mean, I saw at least a handful of the same make and model and color while I was out on my deliveries. They could have all been the same or it could have been different ones.”
He grunted and I saw the brown unmarked car park across the street in front of Joss’s book shop. “Hold on a sec,” he said. The driver’s side door swung open and Sawyer stepped out. He went around to the rear passenger side and pulled a man out. He was tall—taller than Sawyer—and must have outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, none of it fat. He wore a quilted flannel shirt and dirty jeans over heavy work boots. Scraggly brown hair stuck out around the edges of his ballcap and covered the tip of his pugnacious chin.
The girls had gathered behind me, and we were all staring out the window at the scene unfolding in the street. Sawyer brought the man, who was handcuffed with his arms behind his back, to stand next to him against the driver’s side of the car. “Well?” Sawyer said into the phone, looking across the street at the café.
I squinted once again, peering through the window at the man with Sawyer. He was big and broad shouldered, like the guy I’d seen in the truck while it was parked across the gas station lot from me. “Maybe,” I said, sounding anything but certain. “But I didn’t get a good enough look at him this morning. And it was too dark at Rob’s. He might be the guy who was in the truck that was at the gas station. Who is he? He’s not from Dawn Cove, is he?” I didn’t think so. I knew almost all of the people who lived here.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Sawyer hung up without answering my questions or saying anything more. He stuffed the man back into the car and drove off. I stared at my phone for a moment longer, perplexed by the entire affair.
“What was that all about, Junie?” Hazel asked once we’d all sat down again.
“Someone was following me this morning,” I explained. “Sawyer just wanted to know if that was the guy.”
“Someone was following you?” Joss said, her voice shrill with fear. “Are you okay? What did he want?”
“I honestly have no idea.” I tried to eat more of my sandwich, but the bread, though delicious, gummed up against the roof of my mouth. I took a deep drink of water. “I’m fine. I have no idea if that was even the same guy. I never got a good look.”
“Is it to do with Rob?” Teresa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did that man kill my Robbie?”
“No, Teresa,” I said with as much reassurance as I could muster. “It has nothing to do with Rob.” I felt awful about lying to her, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up. Maybe I had just tentatively identified the man who had killed Rob Baker. But then again, maybe I hadn’t.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We finished our meals without lingering over them as we might have before Sawyer’s interruption. We paid the check, and Joss, Ashley, and Hazel went back to their shops. Sarah headed home to work on another commission, and Teresa accompanied me across the street to where I had her arrangement waiting in the van.
“Who are they from?” she asked as she took the bouquet of lilies and carnations from me. “They’re beautiful.”
“I think there’s a card in there somewhere,” I said, moving aside a large leatherleaf fern aside to pluck a card out. I had added it to the bouquet while making it, but I hadn’t read it, wanting to preserve my customer’s privacy. I opened the envelope and smiled. “It’s from Doug Abbot.” I turned the card around so she could see it.
“Oh. Well, that was nice of him.” She sniffed one of the carnations and took the card from me.
“Did you park nearby? Do you need a ride home?”
“My car’s down at the harbor lot. It’s not too far. Just across the street.”
“Alright. I’m going to head home and take care of Dundee and Cornbread. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call, even if you just want company.”
“Thank you, Juniper,” Teresa said, giving me a tight one-armed hug before heading south towards Water Avenue and the public lot next to the harbor master’s office. I watched her until she disappeared around the building, and then I went back across the street to Tout Sweet. I’d almost forgotten to pick up a pie for tonight. Fred Deschamps was just about to turn the sign in the front door from Open to Closed when I arrived.
“Just in the nick of time,” she said to me as I stepped into the shop.
“I need a pie,” I said, slipping my gloves off and putting them into the pocket of my parka. “Do you have any left? Maybe sour cream-apple?”
“No sour cream-apple, I’m afraid,” she said as I followed her to the mostly empty display case at the rear of the shop. There were three pies left—two pumpkin and something with a top crust that had been decorated with an elaborate lattice and pastry oak leaves. “Ooh,” I said, pointing to the pretty one. “What’s that?”
“Saskatoon berry,” she said and laughed at the perplexed look I gave her. “From Saskatchewan in Canada. They taste a bit like almonds. Here, try this.” She turned and scooped some purplish jam onto a small bit of bread and handed it across the counter to me. I took a tentative bite.
“This is really good,” I said, finishing off the taste. “Sweet and tart and yeah, a bit like almonds. I’ll take it.”
“Thank goodness someone’s adventurous,” she said. “I grew up eating Saskatoons, and this summer, my mother sent me a dozen jars of jam. I made a pie, hoping maybe there would be a tourist from home or someone from the village who’d buy it, but no one did. Until you. So thank you!” She boxed up the pie and even gave me a discount since it was at the close of day.
I thanked Fred and then headed back to my car, grateful I didn’t have to scrape ice off the windshield and drove home immediately.
