Dizzy Spells (11 page)

“Why would anyone?” Thyme asked. “That’s the
million dollar question.” Just then, the oven timer sounded and she
hurried back to the kitchen.

I sighed. “I’m sure this will all blow over
soon enough. They’ve even taken me in for questioning.”

Dianne looked up from the pastries with
interest. “They did? Why? What did they say?”

I rubbed my temples. “Someone anonymously
sent them some photographs of me with the victim. Luckily, the
police found out they were faked.”

“They were faked?” she parroted. She looked
thoughtful for a moment, and then turned her attention to the
muffins. “Are those red velvet cupcakes muffins low-fat?”

“Sure are,” I said. “All the muffins in that
display case there are low-fat, but the double chocolate muffins
aren’t.”

Dianne nodded. “I’ll have two double
chocolate muffins, then.”

I leaned down behind the display case to
retrieve the cupcakes. As I stood up and placed the box on the
countertop, the two detectives walked in.

There were staring at Dianne, which annoyed
me. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

“We’d like to speak to you in private, Ms.
Spelled,” Detective Sassafras said, looking directly at Dianne.

“You can speak in front of Dianne,” I said.
“She’s a friend.”

“Is that so?” Harrison said. He and
Sassafras exchanged glances. “All right, as you wish.” He held up a
sealed plastic bag. It had a large, white label on it and inside
the bag was an old, weathered wallet. “Have you seen this wallet
before?”

I stared at the wallet. “I don’t believe
so,” I said. “Should it look familiar or something?”

“That’s what I am asking you,” he replied.
“We found it in your trash, after all.”

“You found what in the trash?” Thyme asked,
appearing from the kitchen. “What’s going on? And don’t you need a
warrant for that?”

“No, because the trash was on public
property,” Sassafras said. “Once you put out the trash for the
garbage trucks to collect, it becomes the property of the town,
giving us full jurisdiction over its contents.”

“Okay, but how is an old wallet relevant to
anything? Perhaps a customer left it here in the shop and somehow
it found its way into the bin. These things happen,” I said.

“It’s not just any wallet,” Harrison
explained. “It belonged to the victim. It wasn’t on his body, and
it wasn’t near your porch. It was in your trashcan, your home
trashcan, that is, not your shop’s. We’d like you to come back to
the station to answer a few questions.”

“I can’t see why that matters,” I said. “The
poor man was murdered at my house! Whoever murdered him obviously
threw his wallet into my trash.”

“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple, Ms.
Spelled,” Harrison said solemnly. “If you will accompany us down to
the station, we can discuss the matter further.”

Once more, I followed the police out of my
store. From the back seat of their vehicle, I watched my store
slowly disappear.

After a short drive, we arrived at the
Bayberry Creek Police Station and parked close to the building. The
officers got out of the car and then opened the back door for me.
“Please follow us,” Sassafras said sternly.

I walked behind the two cops as they went
through a back door with a sign declaring it was off-limits to
non-employee personnel. We headed down a long, dark corridor.

Harrison looked over at me. “We usually only
bring detainees in this way, but the cells are empty right
now.”

“The cells?” I asked. I looked around,
wondering if they had brought me past the jail cells just to
frighten me.

This time, they showed me into a different
interview room. It had a large metal table with a metal chair on
one side and two comfortable looking, upholstered chairs opposite
it. The walls were a faded shade of beige.

“Have a seat,” Sassafras barked, pointing to
the lone metal chair.

The three of us sat down. Harrison, as
usual, had a folder. He pushed the folder toward me and then opened
it up, revealing a photo of me sitting by the local creek.

“How did you get that photo?” I asked.

“Don’t you want to know what the murder
victim was doing with it?” Sassafras asked.

“What?” My heart sank to my stomach.
“Someone planted photos of me in his wallet, too?”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d like us to
believe,” he said, glaring at me.

Harrison leaned forward. “If you’re not
being honest with us, that makes it so much more difficult—for us,
and for you.”

“But I’m not lying,” I insisted. “You
already know that someone faked photos of me with the victim and
sent them to you. It’s obvious that someone’s trying to frame me.
Can’t you see that?” I just wanted to scream. This was just
ridiculous.

The cops appeared unmoved. “We have an
anonymous tip that you and the victim were having an affair.”

“What? That’s nonsense! I didn’t even know
him!”

“We’ll need to take a statement,” Harrison
said.

I spent the rest of the afternoon telling
them the same thing over and over again, while Sassafras wrote it
down. After an hour or two of doing that, both cops left, leaving
me alone in the room to stare at the walls for over thirty minutes.
They returned with my statement, now printed out, for me to
sign.

I had never been so upset and frustrated in
my entire life.

Chapter 17

I was in two minds about the date with Craig.
Sure, I had developed a crush on him when I arrived in town, but I
had just moved to town after all, and had only recently been
through a nasty breakup—hardly the best time to think about a new
relationship for both reasons.

Thankfully, I hadn’t heard from the police
since the previous day, so my mood had improved. I was checking my
makeup in the bathroom mirror, when there was a knock on the door.
I looked at the time on my iPhone. He was five minutes early. Men!
I hurried down the hallway and opened the door.

Craig held out another bunch of wildflowers.
“I know, flowers last time, but a girl can’t have too many flowers,
right?”

“They’re lovely,” I lied, eyeing off the
wilted flowers. They looked as if they had been picked at the same
time as the others the previous day, and had not been put in water.
“Thank you. Come in while I put them in a vase.”

Craig smiled and stepped in. I showed him
into the living room. When I returned with the vase of dead
flowers, Craig was hunched over on the sofa.

“Are you okay?” I asked, setting down the
vase on the coffee table. Willow appeared and chewed on one of the
stems.

“I feel dizzy,” Craig said.

“Let’s go, then!” I said in an animated
fashion. I had not suspected that the house wouldn’t like Craig. If
his dizziness was due to the house, then I had to get him out of
there as soon as possible. I wondered how many women had to worry
about their sentient houses liking their dates. I figured the
answer was none.

Craig stood up and clutched at his head. “I
don’t feel well!” he exclaimed. “My eyes have gone funny. It looks
like the walls are closing in on me.”

“You need some fresh air.” I grabbed his arm
and all but dragged him out of the house. When we reached the front
gate, I released his arm. “How are you feeling now?”

Craig stood still for a moment and then took
a deep breath. “I feel fine now. That was weird. I hope I’m not
coming down with the flu or something. Anyway, let’s go. I have
reservations.”

The short drive to town passed uneventfully.
I saw with mixed emotions that we were heading for the Middle Pub.
I did like their food, but part of me had hoped that Craig would
take me to one of the nice restaurants in the next town. It just
seemed as if he wasn’t going to any trouble over me.

We walked in the door, and Craig soon found
a table with his name on it. Every table was adorned with masses of
lilies that overpowered the room with their scent. I picked up the
huge vase of lilies in the middle of our table and moved it to the
next table. If it had remained, I wouldn’t have been able to see
Craig sitting across from me. That only left a tealight candle in
small glass bowl and a menu on our table.

“I was scared to ask you out yesterday,”
Craig said. “I had been wanting to ask you out for a while, but I
just chickened out or something each time I was close.”

I laughed. “Why?”

“I guess I didn’t want to be rejected.”

I practically snorted. “Look at you!” I
said. “Who would reject you?”

Craig grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I
guess I shouldn’t have worried.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I saw someone walk
past, and looked up automatically. “You’ve got to be kidding
me!”

“What is it?” Craig turned around in his
seat. “An ex-boyfriend?”

I laughed. “No.” Taking his seat at the
small table in the corner, shrouded in shadows, was Alder
Vervain.

“He doesn’t look like your type,” Craig
said.

“He’s a private detective.”

Craig leaned forward. “You hired a private
detective? You hired him?”

I shook my head. “No. Someone hired him to
follow me.”

“Who are you? A spy or something?” Craig
said in joking tone.

“No,” I answered. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh jeez, you’re married, aren’t you?”

I laughed. “No, again. Look, you know what
happened when I first moved to town, how Brant McCallum died in my
shop.”

“Right,” Craig said. “His wife killed
him.”

I nodded. “And then that realtor died on my
porch.”

“Yes, that was a coincidence, that’s for
sure.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Someone hired this
guy to follow me around. I guess whoever it is thinks I’m murdering
people.”

Craig turned around to stare. “That’s Alder
Vervain isn’t it?” he asked.

“You’ve got good eyesight,” I said. “That
corner is really dark.”

“Well, he’s the only private detective I
know of,” Craig said. “Thinks he’s so good, changing his name to
make it exotic and all.”

I was rather taken aback at Craig’s tone. It
sounded a little spiteful to me. Perhaps they’d had a run-in at
some point. After all, they were around the same age, and had grown
up in the same small town. I turned my attention to the menu.

At that point, Craig started into a long
story about his sports prowess. I nodded politely, and tried to
decide between the zucchini fettuccine, the mushroom crepe, and the
Thai red curry. I decided on the Thai red curry and looked up.

Craig was laughing. “Yet I never lost one!
They make underage kids wear those masks. I never took a willow in
the face. I did break my wrist, but that was playing baseball.”

I was embarrassed for the fact that I had no
idea what he hadn’t lost, so in an attempt to cover up, I asked,
“Did you play every sport?”

He beamed at me. “Nope, just those two. Hey,
that’s the only time I had to get stitches. It wasn’t even playing
sport. I wrecked my bike when I was seven, and had to get stitches
in my chin.”

He seized my finger, prying it from the
menu, and stabbed it into his face. I was alarmed until I realized
that he, or rather I, was pointing to a shiny white scar just to
the left of the dimple in the center of his chin.

“Oh,” I said lamely. I could feel Alder’s
eyes on me, and that was making me uncomfortable.

Craig got up to order at the counter—there
was no table service here—and I squirmed in my seat. I looked
around to see if there was a table that would block us from Alder’s
view. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice someone sitting in
the seat.

“That was fast,” I said, looking up,
expecting to see Craig. Sadly, it was Kayleen, the mail lady.

“So Miss High and Mighty, you think you’re
too good to speak to me now?” she snapped at me.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She leaned
forward across the table, her eyes flashing. She was so close that
I wondered if the tealight candle would singe her hair. One could
only hope.

“Kayleen, I’m sorry if I offended you, but I
really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said in a
conciliatory tone.

“The Post Office box!” she screeched. “You
got a Post Office box! You did that just to avoid me.”

“Oh no,” I lied. “It’s just easier. It keeps
the mail dry when it rains.”

“But I always put the mail on your porch
when it rains,” she said crossly. “Do you think I’m a snoop? Do you
think I’m looking through your windows?”

“No,” I lied again. I knew that she looked
through my windows because she herself had told me that she did. “I
thought it would be better to have a Post Office box for your
safety too, what with Thomas Hale being found dead on my
porch.”

Kayleen looked taken aback. “What do you
mean?” She removed her hair from the proximity of the candle. I
thought I could smell burning hair, but perhaps that was just
wishful thinking.

“Well, he was found dead on my porch, and
since the mail was pushed under my screen door and it wasn’t a
rainy day, the police might think you discovered the body before I
did. Maybe they even think you killed him.”

Kayleen’s face grew red. “I did not!” she
yelled. “It wasn’t a weekday anyway! I don’t deliver mail at
weekends! Those cops questioned me, and they don’t think I did
it.”

“Did they say that?”

“Well, no.” Kayleen fumbled with her purse.
“They would’ve arrested me if they thought I did it, and they
didn’t.”

“So who do you think killed him?”

A strange look passed across Kayleen’s face,
but then she composed herself. “I think you did it, Miss Smarty
Pants.”

Before I could reply, Craig returned to the
table. Even in the dim light, I could see he looked distraught to
see Kayleen.

Kayleen looked no happier to see Craig. “Are
you with her?” she said as she stood up abruptly, knocking the
table. She shot me a look of pure poison, and then snatched the
bottle of bubbly out of the ice bucket Craig was holding. “French
Champagne!” she said angrily, holding it up. “That’s a little more
expensive than three bucks for a bottle of Passion Pop which I bet
you buy for
some
women!”