Banana Muffins & Mayhem (12 page)

Five minutes later, she was frustrated and in need of some serious self-soothing activity. Detective Foster hadn't seemed interested in Phoebe's superfan. Or at least she hadn't sounded at all appreciative about the fact that Amy had put herself in danger to follow the suspicious dude, ending the conversation by saying, "I bet all stars have creepy fans." At least she said she took down his description, even though she grumbled that a name would've been better.
Like a criminal would give his real name to someone who he thinks is a government spy.

So that tidbit of paranoia tipped him toward the truly crazy side of the spectrum. Did it mean he could also rationalize that Phoebe was so angelic that he needed to turn her into a real angel by killing her? Amy had heard about people calling on angels to help them through rough times. Maybe if Phoebe was ignoring her biggest fan in real life, he thought she would
have
to pay attention to him through some supernatural law once she crossed over to the other side.

Amy stopped walking. Those theories were getting too outlandish, even to herself. Luckily she hadn't shared them with the stoic detective. She stuffed her phone back into her purse and looked around to get her bearings. Unique Decor was a few stores ahead. Buying the lacey, white summer blanket she had seen there on Sunday would make her rumpled ego feel a tiny bit better. Time to turn the fake shopping trip into a real one.

When she entered the home interior boutique, Charlotte was busy chatting with two other people. Since she had been squinting in the bright midday sunshine for fifteen minutes, thanks to leaving her sunglasses in the car in her haste to follow Mr. Weirdo, Amy's eyes took their sweet time to adjust to the dimmer light inside the store. When she could finally see something other than shadows, she recognized the people—Phoebe's producer and the trendily-dressed assistant. Charlotte leaned sideways around Ginny, who looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine from 1967, and waved at Amy.

While she wandered around, checking out fused glass platters and fish-shaped pitchers, Amy tried to hear what the trio was talking about. But several large waterfalls scattered around the store gurgled so much she couldn't hear a word of the serious-appearing conversation. Luckily, she didn't have to pretend anymore that she was interested in shopping. Charlotte's store was stocked with so many things that Amy wanted that it felt as though she was walking through a treasure trove. The blanket she came in for, along with a blown glass bottle stopper and a woven aluminum trivet, were in her basket when the couple left. As soon as they were out the door, Amy headed to the checkout counter before anything else caught her eye. It was retail therapy, not maxing out her credit card therapy.

Charlotte did a little shimmy shake. Her necklace, which looked as though it was made of big gold fish scales, clanked like a handful of coins. "I'm so excited! Those people were with Phoebe Plymouth's show. They're thinking about keeping the show going and would like me to try out as the new host."

"Oh, wow! That's wonderful. I bet they thought of you because of the way you handled yourself at the Cabin Fever Cure demonstration."
Much more graciously than Phoebe.

She nodded. "That's what they said." Charlotte exhaled. "Finally, there's a silver lining to the dark cloud Phoebe brought to Kellerton by dying here."

When Amy walked out the door of the home decorating shop, she paused for a few seconds. While she was pretending to check her phone, she was really looking around for scary superfan. He didn't seem to be lurking nearby, unless he was a master of disguise and had turned himself into the elderly woman waiting for the stoplight to change at the nearby crosswalk. Since that was highly unlikely because he wouldn't have had time to pull off that detailed of a transformation since she last saw him, Amy decided to head back to her car. Then again, if he was paranoid about being followed by government operatives, maybe he could pull off a gender-bending, age-multiplying disguise in a short time. Before she could contemplate that disturbing thought further, a movement to her left startled her so much that she performed a perfect imitation of a squawking seagull—which drew the attention of several women walking past carrying takeout containers. And the awkward day had become more embarrassing.

Geri was sitting at the pottery wheel in the front window of Make It Unique. She waved again, signaling for Amy to come into the shop. She had planned on heading home to experiment with savory quick breads for a magazine's recipe contest, but the afternoon had gone so far off track, what difference would one more stop make? Amy pushed open the studio's door. "Good afternoon," she called as she moved closer to the mesmerizing pottery wheel where Geri was making magic. The sides of what she had thought would be a small bowl began to rise, guided by the expert potter's hands. "What are you making?"

"A drinking glass," Geri answered as she used a chopstick to add grooves to the shapely cylinder which had more curves than Marilyn Monroe. Who knew a water glass could be so sexy?

"It's gorgeous."

"I'll put your name on it, if you would like to paint it later this week," Tommy said as she walked into the production area of the studio. The business owner was dressed in her standard outfit—paint-splattered blue jean overalls and a spiral tie-dyed T-shirt. She had added even more color to her wardrobe by using neon-pink gel to spike her super-short hair.

"That would be great. I love the shape of it." Amy slid her hand from her waist down the side of her hip. "It reminds me of my own curves."

"Then it is destined to be yours." Geri smiled. She looked at Tommy. "Do you think I could take a break after I finish this? I need to speak with Amy about something. That is, if she has a few minutes to spare."

Amy nodded as Tommy responded. "No problem. Take as long as you need."

"Give me a minute to finish this up. We can run up to my apartment for a bit of privacy."

Amy set the shopping bag containing the new white blanket on the floor at her feet, after making sure it was safely out of the halo of clay splatters on the linoleum flooring around the wheel. She watched as Geri smoothed the top lip of the glass then slid a wire under the newly formed piece of functional art to release it from the platform. Had something bad happened on the date? Geri was pretty open and routinely stated that she didn't care what other people thought of her or her life. So the request for a private chat put Amy on edge.

They had barely made it into the apartment a few minutes later when Geri blurted, "I think my date may have murdered Phoebe Plymouth."

Definitely a good reason to have a private conversation.
"Really? What happened to make you think that?"

Geri sprawled on the blanket-covered couch. She indicated for Amy to sit in one of the nearby chairs. "Some of his friends were at the bar when we went there yesterday. Our lunch date extended to happy hour, so we decided to have a cocktail together. His buddies were picking on him about getting back on the dating horse after being shot down in flames by the TV star." She tugged on one of the tiny braids that had reappeared in her hair. "After we left, he explained that he had approached Phoebe to see if she wanted to feature one of his vardos on her show. He wasn't really trying to get a date with her like his friends thought—or so he said. Whatever happened, he obviously wasn't impressed with how she handled the interaction, but he didn't go into any details…just grumbled about how rude younger people are now."

How had she jumped from describing a failed business deal to suspecting the guy was a murderer? Plus, what the heck was a vardo? She'd start with that and then ease into poking around the reasons behind Geri's suspicion. Amy fiddled with a silk cord tassel on the edge of a blanket covering the easy chair she was sitting on. "First off, before we get to the more serious stuff, what is a vardo?"

Geri tucked her feet under herself. She nodded. "Sorry. I should've explained that. Vardos are traditional gypsy wagons with curved roofs. According to Mick, people are using them for tiny houses to live in full-time, as campers and even guest houses or extra office space. It would've been a marketing coupe if he could've gotten Phoebe to use one of his vardos on her show. He pitched it to her as a mobile office or meditation space that could be moved around the property."

"That would've been a great way for him to get publicity for his company. But I take it Phoebe was less than agreeable with the suggestion?"

"Yes. And instead of just politely declining his offer, she picked apart how ugly she thought the wagons were—in front of his friends." Geri sighed. "He used to be a construction foreman, so you can imagine how crude his buddies have been after watching him getting berated by a pretty, young woman over something he constructed."

"So he didn't take the joking around on Monday well?"

Geri's nose wrinkled. "He seemed to—laughing it off and pointing out that the other men would've ended up in the same boat."

If he wasn't upset by the put down, then how was Geri getting around to suspecting he murdered Phoebe? Her ideas apparently took one bounce then rocketed off into the atmosphere. Amy could relate to that. "If he wasn't angry about being snubbed, why do you think he could've killed her? Did he say something away from his friends that is making you suspicious?"

She shook her head. "He was the perfect gentleman.
Perfect.
" Geri paused to pick at the clay stuck under her short fingernails. "There was nothing about his behavior that made me suspicious. I really liked him. But…when he was showing me around his workshop, I caught my toe on the edge of a rubber floor mat. The corner of it flipped up. It had been covering up a dark stain on the cement which looked a lot like blood to me."

What an unpleasant discovery to make on a first date. Talk about dates from hell. Finding a big old bloodstain was far worse than dealing with spinach stuck in the other person's teeth. "So what did you do?"

"He didn't see me trip. So I slid the mat back over the stain. I'm really hoping I'm wrong and that wasn't blood." Geri crossed her arms over her stomach. "I
so
want Mick to not be a murderer. Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex?"

Amy flipped through the pages of the cookbook again. Watercolor paintings, instead of photographs, depicted the food. All of the recipes were handwritten in beautiful, looping text. It felt as though she was looking through an artist's notebook. It was the cookbook where Aubergine found the recipes for the snack she had made for the calligraphy class. When Amy and the talented artist had looked for the book once the class was over, they discovered someone had bought the last copy. So Aubergine ordered more copies. She called that morning to tell Amy that it had come in.

While she could've just picked up the beautiful book and left, Amy wanted to talk to Aubergine. She was worried about the state of mind of both her and her husband. Since the brightly dressed artist was busy helping a mom choose graphic novels that could help encourage her son to read, Amy was hanging out on a huge beanbag in the reading nook in the back corner of the store. The free-form furniture was surprisingly comfortable as it molded to her body, but she was really wishing she had worn jeans instead of a skirt. Getting up without flashing her undies would be tricky. She flipped through the cookbook again so that she wouldn't stress out pondering the logistics of getting to her feet without losing her dignity. A good recipe was a wonderful distraction.

"So what do you think of the cookbook?" Aubergine asked.

Amy flinched. She had been so engrossed in studying the recipes for things like wild mushroom frittata and sweet potato veggie burgers that she hadn't noticed Aubergine approaching the reading area. There was nothing like a little, innocent scare to increase her heart rate. A good warm-up for what she was doing next, heading to Yoga For You for an afternoon energy recharge class. All of the other yoga classes she had taken made her feel mellow and relaxed. So she was curious, and a bit apprehensive, about what would happen in this class. What kind of positions produced the opposite effect of what she was used to?

"I love it. Thank you so much for ordering it for me."

Aubergine shrugged. "You're welcome. I got a couple more copies to keep in stock too. When I fall in love with a book, I recommend it to customers and try to keep copies on the shelves. I'm not much of a cook, so I don't own a lot of cookbooks, but I really liked that one. Maybe it isn't so great to someone like you though."

"It's unique in both its appearance and the recipes inside. I'd say you have very good cookbook selection instincts." Amy set the book on the rug. Then she channeled every ounce of yoga grace she had absorbed over the past year and used it to remove herself from the squishy furniture lump. The extraction maneuver wasn't pretty, but it worked. When she was standing with her lilac-colored skirt properly arranged, Amy pointed at the candy bowl sitting on a nearby table. The ceramic dish was ringed with painted panes from a comic book scene. "Where did you get that bowl? It's so fun."

"I made it at Make It Unique." One side of Aubergine's mouth crooked up in a half-smile. "I went in to pick it up when Phoebe was there throwing a hissy fit."

The air whooshed out of Amy's lungs as she folded herself in half to pick up the book from the floor. She straightened. There was a tribal drumbeat from her heart thumping in her ears. It was Morse code to her brain—pay attention. "I've heard a little bit about what happened but not many details. From what I've heard, I'm still baffled about why she was so angry."

"It didn't make much sense even when I witnessed it in person." Aubergine tugged on one of her eggplant-purple curls. "She was picking out glaze colors when I got there. I was chatting with that lady with the awesome gray hair who makes some of the pottery. Suddenly, Phoebe started screaming that she needed the platter the next day instead of in a week. Tommy was really calm and explained that the glazes needed to be fired in the kiln. Since there was no way to get things done sooner, Tommy suggested that maybe Phoebe would like to look at some of the finished pieces that were being offered for sale by students."