What a Nunderful World Page 6

  “First, you don’t really like peanut butter and jelly, and second, I knew you wouldn’t bring anything but M&Ms in your purse, and I also knew Mitzy always has EpiPens with her at all times. She talked about it quite often on her YT channel. So if there was an emergency, someone was supposed to always have her covered.”

  I nodded. My demon knew me well. “Oh, look, her phone…” I muttered, curiosity eating me up.

  Gosh, I wanted to yank it out of its purple nest and see if she’d really sent the text to Nikki and the others to go to the janitor’s room in the basement in order to collect their swag. I mean, of course anyone could have gotten hold of her phone and sent the text.

  The question was, had her purse been missing before she went onstage?

  “I know what you’re thinking, Trixie, but I’d almost bet Mitzy has password protection on her phone. It looks like it’s run out of charge anyway.”

  “Dang,” I murmured, my disappointment obvious. “So I guess we should call Tansy and let her know what Solomon found.”

  Yes, that’s reluctance in my voice. My salivating for a good mystery aside, I wanted to know what had happened to Mitzy for Coop’s sake. I felt like maybe finding out what happened would at least give her some closure.

  Coop nudged me, taking the spoon so she could continue digging. “Is that remorse I hear in your voice?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Not really remorse so much as disappointment we didn’t find anything terribly significant that we can use to point toward whether this was a murder or not. I mean, there’s nothing physical, anyway. Though, I have to ask myself who would steal her purse and dump it two blocks over from Cobbler Hall, and why?”

  That was when Coop gasped, her body stiffening, her eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Look what was under the phone.”

  I gasped when I looked, too.

  EpiPens. Not one, but three…

  “Trixie, love? What have you got for me?” Tansy asked as she barreled her way into the shop, whipping past Knuckles and Goose—deep in the midst of tattooing twins for their thirtieth birthday—with a brisk nod of her head.

  I waved her back to the break room and pointed to the table. “I think we have Mitzy’s purse.”

  She cocked her bleached-blonde head, tipping it from side to side to work out the creaks, indicating it had been a long night. “How do we know this is hers and where did you find it, Miss Trixie?”

  I knew that tone. That was the tone that said she thought I’d stepped over the line and had gone digging around, doing my own investigation. It was the tone that said, can’t you keep your nose out of anything?

  I looked up at her and grinned with a shake of my head and a wag of my finger. “No, no. I had nothing to do with this. Solomon found it in the dumpster over on Monroe, by the ice cream shop. He brought it to us because he thought it might cheer Coop up, knowing how much she loved Mitzy. He knew it was hers because he saw her go into the hall last night with it. That’s all. Promise.”

  Tansy’s face instantly softened. She really liked Coop, and the reverse was true for my demon. She wanted nothing more than to please Tansy by abiding the law.

  “How is the lass today? I can never bloody well tell how she’s feeling from the outside. She’s always so stone-faced.”

  “She’s quite sad. As you well know, Mitzy was her makeup idol.”

  Tansy glanced at the purse and mumbled, “Hmmm. Mitzy certainly had her share of fans, didn’t she?”

  I snorted when I remembered the number of followers on her Twitter. “No kidding. She has upward of ten million followers on Twitter alone.”

  “Hah! You ought to see her Insta followers. All as rabid as the youngsters here last night. What a nightmare that was.”

  “You mean having to question all of them?” I couldn’t even imagine how hard that must have been.

  She brushed a tired hand over her forehead. “Indeed I do. Scallywags, the lot of them. None of them could stop howling long enough to get a full sentence out of their wee mouths. I think we went through more tissues than Costco has on its bloody shelves.”

  Poor Tansy. I sympathized with her plight…but I also was hoping to get some information out of her. So, I tread lightly, but tread nonetheless. I wanted to know if we were officially calling this a murder.

  “And?”

  “And what, Angela Lansbury?” Her eyebrow lifted, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

  I rolled my eyes at her and made a face. “And…did you find out anything interesting when you questioned those kids? Geez, Detective Primrose, you behave as though we’ve never done this before. The routine is thus: I stumble onto a dead person. I experience shock and horror, then I pray for their soul’s safe passage. Then I call you. You come to investigate. I observe and help the bereaved if needed. And then I poke around because I don’t know how to stop myself. We’ve both been to this rodeo. So saddle up, cowgirl, and tell me what’s happening in the coral.” I planted my hands on my hips and she stared blankly at me. “Okay, fine. I’ll just ask. Are you guys calling this a murder yet?”

  She looked down at her notepad, undoubtedly to avoid eye contact. “We don’t have enough evidence to call it a murder, Trixie. Not yet.”

  Was I the only one who suspected murder, or was Tansy keeping her cards close to her chest?

  “Wait. Mitzy dies of an allergic reaction to peanuts after her website and ticket sales expressly reflected the fact that she was deathly allergic and anyone at the event with peanuts would be subject to removal. Add to the mix, every single EpiPen available to her was either locked in a room in the basement with her quote-unquote volunteers or in her purse, which suspiciously went missing, only to be found in a dumpster blocks away, and you’re not calling this murder?”

  Tansy gave me the look. The look that said I had a lot of nerve questioning her authority to call this case. “Firstly, Miss Marple, we don’t know what killed her until we hear from the coroner—which I have not. Second, and most important, there were hundreds of people there last eve. We’re still questioning them all as we speak. Betwixt the blubbering and angry parents, there isn’t a lot being accomplished. I can’t suggest murder until we have more facts.”

  I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I’d regret. I loved Tansy, and I didn’t want to alienate her or the job she’d given me, but I wanted to yell “duh,” what else could this be but murder?

  Instead, I said, “Fair enough, but maybe you’ll change your mind when you see what’s in her purse.”

  Tansy rooted around her navy blazer pockets and pulled out a pair of gloves. “I trust you didn’t touch the contents?”

  I clucked my tongue in admonishment. “I’m no amateur. I didn’t get the nickname Miss Marple for nothing. Of course I didn’t touch the contents of the purse, but I can’t say for sure whether Solomon did.”

  Oz entered just then with an evidence bag and handed it to Tansy with a tip of his head to me. “Afternoon, Trixie. Good to see you again so soon.”

  “Hey, Oz,” I greeted him absently, more focused on Tansy and what her next move was going to be.

  Tansy scooped the purse up and dropped it in the evidence bag, leaving me on the verge of outrage. “Good enough then,” she said in a way that led me to believe we were done.

  Frowning, I felt quite dismissed. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “What else is there left to say, love?”

  “What about all the EpiPens?” I sputtered, clenching my fists to keep from screaming the obvious. “Why does Mitzy have three in her purse? That would account for where Margot’s went, wouldn’t it?”

  “But didn’t Margot say Mitzy sometimes kept two in her personal purse, Trixie?” Tansy asked with an odd look on her face. “Maybe she added another just to be safe?”

  I narrowed my gaze and crossed my arms over my chest. “So Margot’s was definitely missing from her purse, which you can�
��t deny because I saw her look through her purse, Tansy. But you think the third one was just another pen Mitzy put in there to be safe and not Margot’s missing pen? Really?”

  Rocking back on his heels, Oz asked, “I think the bigger question is—why did Mitzy have two of the exact same purse with her last night?”

  Chapter 6

  Tansy pulled her glove off and threw it at Oz with a sharp glare. “Oziah Meadows, you’re bloody going to be the death of me someday.”

  “What?” he asked, his eyes wide as he drove his hands into his sharply pleated trousers.

  “We weren’t sharing the other purse, Oziah. I thought I told you that?” Tansy barked.

  He hung his head low. “Sorry, Detective Primrose. I didn’t think you meant Trixie. You don’t usually keep any secrets from Trixie.”

  Trixie didn’t think she kept secrets from Trixie, either, but here was Tansy—keeping secrets. “So Mitzy had two purses? Any reason why you weren’t going to tell me that?”

  Tansy rasped a sigh, her lips thinning. “Because it may mean nothing, Trixie.”

  “Okay, what in all of Cobbler Cove is going on here, Tansy? You did ask me to be an unofficial liaison to the department, remember? Why all the secrecy?”

  Tansy let out another long sigh and pulled out one of the chairs, motioning me to sit down, too. As I settled in, she gave me a long, quite serious gaze before grabbing hold of my hand, her skin soft and supple against mine.

  “Of course, I remember, and I haven’t decided if I regret that quite yet. You listen to me, Sister Trixie, the last go ’round you had with a killer, you came close to being killed yourself. Do you have any idea how mental that Emile Franklin truly was? Do you remember the crazy things he was screaming? Do you remember his rap sheet and the horrific crimes he committed long before he ever came to Cobbler Cove? Do you remember what he did to you?”

  Of course I did.

  We hadn’t talked a lot about that night, other than when I gave my actual statement. We’d kept it all very matter of fact because quite frankly, I didn’t want to have to lie to Tansy’s face if she asked me why Emile was so battered when I was supposed to be the hostage in the situation.

  She’d never believe I was capable of beating him the way Artur had. Never in a million years. But I’d been pretty beat up, too, and that had upset her greatly—as evident by how often she’d checked on me those first couple of weeks after my run-in with him at the church.

  I squeezed her hand, softening a bit. “Of course I remember, Tansy. I was there. Or are you forgetting my eye swelled up to the size of a basketball and I couldn’t walk on my ankle for almost eight weeks?”

  She openly winced and pointed her pen at me. “That’s exactly what I mean, Trixie, love. Because you became involved—because I allowed you to become involved—you were gravely injured. Somehow, no matter the length of rope I give you, you end up strangling yourself, and I bloody well won’t have that on my conscience any longer. This isn’t only about easing the pain of the bereaved and I should have realized that. You’re not equipped to handle a madman. You’re not trained, and the thought of you hurt because of my negligence… I simply won’t have it.”

  Ah. I’d gone too far. Or, Artur had gone too far.

  The rational assumption by the police was that Emile had brawled with someone before he’d ever come across me at the church, and thankfully, no one had believed him when he swore up and down I was the culprit. I’d let Tansy believe he’d tussled with someone else, but the guilt of that lie was always with me.

  Yet, what choice did I have? How could I tell her what happened that night without revealing what was going on inside of me? I’d always worried someone would find out, and while it’s true Higgs didn’t do what I’d predicted he’d do—he didn’t reject me—I had to wonder if that was only because he’d seen it firsthand.

  And certainly there were Jeff and Livingston to consider. I absolutely could let them talk to her, but how many people did I want to know about this that could, in the end, anger someone down below?

  What would their fates be if they all knew demons really did exist? The very idea frightened me to my soul.

  So I gave Tansy a sympathetic look. “So you’re keeping me out of the loop to protect me?”

  Her lips thinned and her lined brow furrowed. “I’m keeping you out of the loop because your place should never have been in the loop, Trixie. From this moment on, you’re a liaison for the bereaved due to the fact that people respond to you in a frightening setting. You bring them comfort. You’re good with them. You don’t have to get into hand-to-hand combat with them.”

  My heart lurched in my chest. “You do realize my being at the church was just a coincidence, right?”

  Tansy winced. “No, no, young lady. Franklin knew you were asking around, digging into the whole investigation. He knew, and he hunted you down. I won’t have you be my sitting duck.”

  I gave her an impish grin. “Which means you’re only using me for the information I can gather, then discarding me when the good stuff goes down. I feel so cheap,” I teased, hoping to alleviate the worry she’d obviously harbored.

  But Tansy bristled, clearly unamused. “Gathering information isn’t your job anymore. You’re only to lend a sympathetic ear from this point on.”

  Now my guilt returned, full force. “And I really flubbed it last night with Nikki, didn’t I?”

  “Flubbed isn’t the word I’d use, but she was certainly spooked. Yet, I can’t blame that on you, Trixie. These kids with all the social media are going to be the death of the department. They see everything these days because someone can just yank a phone from their trousers and start videoing. We’ve lost all trust, and those of us who truly should be trusted have been lumped in with everyone else. Don’t mistake my words, I know there are bad coppers, but there are good ones, too,” she said, a vehemence to her tone.

  I can’t describe my disappointment to you at this point, I can only tell you, I felt quite left out, even if what Tansy was saying was out of concern for my safety.

  My mouth was dry, but I still managed to say, “I totally understand. So, I’m guessing you won’t be needing my services?”

  Tansy began to rise, smoothing her hand down her rumpled navy skirt. “I can’t say as yet, but of course I’ll let you know.”

  Deciding it couldn’t hurt to try once more, I asked, “And the extra identical purse?”

  She wagged a finger at me. “All I’ll tell you is this—we found an empty purse identical to this one on Mitzy’s chair on the dais. We’re going to assume she thought it was the one with the EpiPens and her phone. But! That’s only an assumption.”

  “So that would suggest someone wanted Mitzy to have a false sense of security. Maybe the killer put a dummy purse on the couch she was sitting on? Or swapped them out in her dressing room in the back?”

  “I said, that’s all I’ll say, Trixie,” Tansy said with a firm tone.

  I rose, too, and began to follow her to the front of the shop, picking up the pace as she began to beat feet toward the door with obvious haste. “Are you sure you still won’t call this murder?” I called.

  “I’m not calling this anything with you breathing down my neck,” she taunted back as she waved her fingers over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch if need be, Trixie!”

  With that, she let the door shut behind her, the wind lifting her blonde hair as she flew across the street to her unmarked car.

  Oziah came up behind me, his voice deep and rich when he said, “It really was nice to see you, Trixie. I need to get going. Don’t want to be late for my reaming.”

  I giggled, but then I turned around and sobered. “I’m sorry, Oz. I hope she takes it easy on you.”

  His sweet eyes smiled, even if he was likely worried for the lecture he would surely receive. “Thanks. Hope to see you soon…but maybe not too soon.”

  I held up a finger. “Wait. Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d like to acciden
tally spill?”

  “Hah!” he barked, letting his head fall back on his shoulders with a bitter laugh. “Isn’t it enough that I’m going to end up on desk duty? You want me to have to do the graveyard shift, too? Nope. I’m out. Like I said, it was nice seeing you. Let’s not do this again for a little while.”

  I laughed, tucking my sweater around my waist as I pushed open the door for him. “Bye, Oz.”

  As I waved him off, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dummy purse. Of course someone had planted it where Mitzy was due to sit or swapped it out in her dressing room. Of course they had.

  So who knew where she liked her purse to be? And was there a way I could find out who the designer of the purse was…and if I did, would they tell me if they’d made more than one?

  I decided to gather Livingston and Jeff and head home for some quiet time before family dinner. I had some research to do.

  Because whether Tansy and the DA wanted to call it or not, this was a murder investigation.

  “Trixie?”

  “Uh-huh?” I was eyeball deep in my laptop on the couch at the guesthouse—soon to be our house (that still made me feel such pride). First, I’d watched video of Mitzy’s entrance to the stage after she took a quick break. Someone had gotten some terrific footage of her seconds before she fell and she neither looked flustered or even a little disturbed.

  And no one had touched her. No one in the crowd, no one on the stage. So if the peanut allergy was the cause of death, someone backstage could be responsible—or at the very least, they put something backstage they knew Mitzy would touch.

  I’d also watched video after video of Mitzy and her makeup, just to find out who’d made her purse. Coop had recognized it instantly, and I’d wanted to know how she knew it was Mitzy’s, but she’d been in deep with a client and I hadn’t wanted to disturb her, and honestly, I had nothing else to investigate.

  So I’d decided to watch all of Mitzy’s videos and see if maybe she’d talked about the designer of the purse. Call it beating a dead horse because I’d come up dry, but I can tell you this, were I better at applying makeup, I’d be aces at my technique. I’d learned a lot from watching her, I just hadn’t learned anything useful to the actual investigation.