Now, after I fed Cyril’s cat, I drove to Sheepville, stopping at Jumpin’ Java Mama, checking every table for the newspaper and inspecting the crossword puzzle, but there were no more clues. Maybe it hadn’t been him after all.
When I headed down to Sometimes a Great Notion, carrying a bag from the bakery, I saw Eleanor sweeping the sidewalk in front of her shop.
“Hey, did you get a new car?” I called, gesturing at the broom.
“Very funny, Daisy.” She spotted the bag full of pastries. “It’s come to this, has it?”
“Sadly, yes.”
Eleanor stomped the broom on the sidewalk. “This is ridiculous. We’re grown women. We should be able to bake our own treats without expecting Martha to do it all the time. How hard can it be?”
I shrugged and waved good-bye and opened the door to Sometimes a Great Notion. The vigorous holiday sales meant that I had to restock the displays more than usual, and I needed to get to work. I’d decided to expand on my dinner table theme and was setting up a new display using a classic Provençal tablecloth of yellow and blue when the owner of the cheese shop next door came in.
“I’ve brought you a bribe,” she said. “Some Humboldt Fog for some of your delicious coffee.”
I eagerly accepted the wrapped package of mold-ripened goat cheese. “Deal, although I think I’m getting the better end of it.”
“Ooh, how much is that tablecloth?” she asked.
I smiled, refolded it, and sold it to her at cost. After she left, I put the cheese in the fridge and started over. I discovered I had a good collection of scissors, including one with its bows fashioned to look like pheasants and the shanks like roosters. I added a Victorian brass butterfly that held two needle packets under each wing, some W. Avery & Son brass needle cases from the late nineteenth century, and a wooden machine bobbin.
I’d just stepped back to assess the arrangement when the doorbell jangled again and Serrano strode in.
I glared at him. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
Serrano raised his arms in bewilderment. “How come it’s colder in this fricking shop than outside?”
“How come you expect me to tell you everything I know, and you don’t bother to return the favor?”
“Daisy.” He sighed, and I gritted my teeth as I saw the patient look spread across his face. “Relax. Remember I’m the detective in this scenario, okay?”
I was about to tell him to take a long hike off a short pier when he grinned.
“In fact, I did come to give you some news.”
He looked hopefully at the counter where I’d set out some chocolate croissants from the bakery.
“Bribery will get you everywhere, Detective.” I poured him a cup of coffee and put a croissant on a plate.
“Autopsy results came back on Alex Roos,” he said. “You know, the way that guy was killed—being spray-foamed in the mouth—sounds a lot to me like a message for a traitor to shut up.”
“How awful.” I pressed a hand to my own mouth, images of how Alex Roos must have suffered coloring my mind red. “Can forensics estimate the time of death?”
“Tricky one. You should see what fifteen-hundred-degree heat does to a human body.”
“Okay, okay. I know I asked for information, but maybe not that much.”
Serrano licked some of the chocolate out of the flaky pastry. “There were rope fibers on the corpse. He was probably tied up for a while before they killed him.”