Chapter One
Sunday, April 28
“C’mon, Bella.” I opened the car door wider.
My five-year-old golden retriever gave an excited woof and scrambled out into the parking lot near the stage at the Dogwood Springs Fairgrounds.
“Darcy’s already here.” I pointed to a navy SUV, one of two other cars in the lot. “We’d better hurry.” I leaned down to snap on Bella’s leash and caught my reflection in the window.
Yikes. Driving with the windows open might not have been the best idea. I glanced in the side mirror and smoothed down my shoulder-length brown hair. Then I brushed a bit of dog hair off my festival volunteer T-shirt.
Once I was presentable, I gave Bella a pat, and we started toward the big picnic area. That’s where I was supposed to meet Darcy Jackson, the local banker and amateur photographer who was running the Dogwood Queen contest.
The sun warmed my bare arms, and I drew in a deep breath of fresh air. With luck, the weather for the festival weekend would be as nice as today’s. It was a perfect Missouri spring day, sunny with a predicted high of seventy-five, and the fairgrounds area, which was shaped like a long half oval, looked lovely. Bounded by Hartley Road on the south and the curve of the Dogwood River in other directions, it was scattered with clusters of dogwood trees, all in full bloom.
Last year during the festival, I had accepted my current job as director of the Dogwood Springs History Museum but hadn’t yet moved to town. This time, I was not only one of two hundred local volunteers, but I would also proudly wear a gold name badge that said, “Libby Ballard, Festival Steering Committee.”
I couldn’t wait to be part of this event that meant so much to the community. Two and a half days of crafts, live music, food, and drink, all wrapped into a wonderful weekend that drew in tourists and raised money for a local charity.
As part of my duties, today I was to assist Darcy in getting all the Dogwood Queen finalists lined up to pose for a promotional photo. We’d arranged to meet at a quarter ’til three, fifteen minutes before the girls were due to arrive.
Bella and I walked past the indoor restrooms, and as we neared the smaller of the two grassy vendor areas, my dog stopped to sniff near one of its paved paths.
“Hey, Bella, no time for that,” I protested, as she began digging in the grass. “We need to meet Darcy. You’re supposed to calm any girls who might be nervous about the photo, not get mud all over them.” The last thing I wanted was to literally make a mess of this volunteer task.
After all, the festival wasn’t only important to me as a volunteer. It was also part of my day job. Since I’d started my new position, I’d worked hard to make the Dogwood Springs History Museum a success. We would have a tent at the festival, highlighting some of our most popular displays, giving the history of the town’s abundance of dogwood trees, and engaging visitors in a guess-the-antiques contest. The more successful the festival was, the more people would see our exhibit and hopefully later visit the museum.
As added motivation for me personally, my ex-husband—the man who’d cheated on me, divorced me, and been responsible for me losing my previous job at a prestigious historic home in Philadelphia—would be dropping by the museum on his way to a family reunion in Oklahoma. Was it any wonder I wanted our little local museum to be bursting at the seams with visitors when he showed up?
Hold on. Bella wasn’t beside me.
I turned and found she’d spotted a small toad.
“Bella, leave Mr. Toad alone. You’re probably scaring him.”
She cocked her head and peered at the creature again, then trotted back over to my side.
“Good girl.” I scratched between her ears.
She rubbed her head against my leg.
Such a sweetie. I’d adopted Bella right after I moved to Dogwood Springs, and it had been one of the best decisions of my life. No matter what, she made me feel like the most important person in the world. She brought joy to my good days, and when life threw problems my way, she seemed to sense my mood and gave me even more affection. Not only was she pure love, but she was also incredibly smart. I was grateful to have her in my life.
We passed the smaller vendor area and neared the big picnic spot, that area that would become the wine and beer garden for the festival and the place where I was supposed to meet Darcy.
But she wasn’t there.
Hmmm. “Maybe she got tired of waiting for us, Bella.” I pulled my phone from my oversized purse. No, we weren’t late. And Darcy and I weren’t close friends. I didn’t have her number, so I couldn’t call her to check. “Let’s go to the little waterfall where she wanted to take the photo.” Maybe she was figuring out how to handle the lighting under the trees.
I gave Bella’s leash a gentle tug, and we headed toward the river. Its small waterfall was a perfect spot for a photo.
I peered ahead toward the trees by the river’s banks. Darcy had brown eyes and long, wavy, dark brown hair. She tended to wear bright colors, especially red.
I was sure I’d catch a glimpse of something red through the trees.
But I didn’t see her anywhere.
Bella and I walked a bit farther, and the path split. One branch continued toward the river, and the other led to the larger vendor area and, past that, to the main parking lot near the barns.
Harry Myers, the festival’s director, appeared from around a cluster of trees and hurried toward me.
“Good morning, Libby!” he called, giving me a friendly wave.
I waved back.
A widower in his early sixties, Harry had retired as a bigwig at a major phone company and moved to Dogwood Springs about the time I’d come here. When the previous festival director became ill, he’d taken over working with the all-volunteer staff as if he’d been born for the role. Clearly, community service had long been part of his life.
Harry had a fringe of white hair, blue eyes, perfect white teeth, and the quick, easy gait of a man in great health. As usual, today he wore track pants, tennis shoes, and one of his many polo shirts. He seemed to have a huge collection of them, each from a different golf course that I’d never heard of. I was no golfer, but even if I were, I doubt I could afford to play his favorite courses.
“I’ve been so impressed, Harry, with the way everything’s going for the festival,” I said as he came up. “It seems like the changes you’ve made will really draw the tourists.”
He’d offered all sorts of new ideas and given volunteers a lot of freedom, encouraging them to try out different jobs if they wanted. From what other volunteers had told me, the previous director, Sylvia Snodgrass, had run the festival with an iron hand and done things exactly the same way for fifteen years.
Bella crossed in front of me, eager to greet Harry.
“Just some ideas I picked up from other events I’ve done.” Harry patted Bella’s head and smiled down at her. “I’m proud of your contributions, Libby. With your logical mind, attention to detail, and organizational skills, I can see why the museum has been doing so well.”
Pride and delight rippled through me. Harry was a wonderful manager, and Dogwood Springs was lucky the festival was in such good hands. Speaking of the festival, where was the person in charge of the queen contest? “Harry, have you seen Darcy? I spotted her car in the parking lot near the stage, but I haven’t seen her.”
“No, I got here about fifteen minutes ago, hoping to talk to her and see how the photo shoot goes. My car’s in the main lot, near the barns.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “But I got tied up in a phone call with one of the vendors from out of town, a guy named Jimbo. He had some questions about the electrical setup.”
“Let’s look for her near the waterfall. That’s where she plans to take the photo,” I said.
Harry agreed, and we walked toward the river.
Bella wandered back close to Harry and sniffed at his hands in a way that made me wonder if he’d eaten a burger for lunch before he arrived at the park.
I pulled Bella back to my side just as we got a full view of the Dogwood River.
The stream was only about twenty-five yards across, and the water was crystal clear. Dogwoods and redbud lined the banks, with taller cedars and oaks providing shade. The waterfall itself was about eight feet tall, and the water whooshed as it tumbled over chunks of limestone, swirling into a frothy white pool before flowing downstream. Such a lovely place.
But I still didn’t see Darcy.
I turned to Harry. “Do you think she took a different path and went back to her car to get something?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
Suddenly, Bella barked and pulled hard on her leash.
She tugged me up the hill, and Harry kept pace as we went up a rise to the top of the waterfall. The ripple of delight I’d felt earlier turned to ice in my chest.
There, above the falls, something mostly submerged in the water was caught on a branch.
Something that had long, dark hair.
Chapter Two
Bella pulled at her leash, desperate to dive into the water to help, but Harry had already kicked off his tennis shoes.
“Call 911!” he shouted to me. He waded into the shallow edge of the river and hit the deeper water with a splash.
“Help!” I yelled over my shoulder as I dug my phone from my purse, hoping the queen finalists and their parents might be arriving. I dialed 911, while listening for someone to shout in response to my cry.
But no one did.
A moment later, though, a young blond man wearing the neon-yellow T-shirt of the Dogwood Springs Parks Department ran up, followed by Madison Thompson, a receptionist at the vet’s office where I took Bella, and her redheaded teenage daughter, Zoe. Seconds later, Bryce Parker, a vet in the same office as well as Darcy’s fiancé, also sprinted down the path toward us. A man with ash-brown hair and a receding hairline was right behind him.
The 911 operator came on the line, and I explained what had happened.
Harry moved closer to shore, pulling the body behind him. When he neared, I was able to spot a face.
Darcy. A chill ran through me.
“Help me get her out!” Harry shouted. “The water is freezing.”
Bryce waded onto the ledge and leaned out to grasp Darcy’s shoulder. Then he, Madison, and the guy from the parks department carried her out of the water and laid her on the grass.
“Is she … alive?” I moved closer, trying to see. “911 says help is on the way.”
Madison’s blond hair fell forward as she felt for a pulse at Darcy’s neck. She looked back at me and shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’ll try CPR.” She repositioned Darcy.
I saw the wound on the back of Darcy’s head and inhaled sharply.
Madison took off her lightweight hoodie, wrapped it around Darcy’s head, and began chest compressions.
Bryce had frozen, his hazel eyes glazed as if he were stunned. After a second, he scrubbed a hand through his wavy hair and took turns doing CPR with Madison.
“Is she alive?” the 911 operator asked me.
I blinked and refocused on the phone call.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaky. “Two people are trying CPR, but she’s got a giant, bloody wound on the back of her head.”
“I’ll go meet the paramedics and direct them here,” the park staffer said. He dashed back down the path.
Bryce and Madison continued CPR.
The rest of us stood nearby, watching helplessly.
I saw no indication that Darcy was responding.
The 911 operator stayed on the line with me, checking in every now and then to ask if I was okay as we waited for the first responders.
Okay was a relative term. With so many people around, I knew I wasn’t in any danger. But after seeing that deep gash on Darcy’s head, I felt jittery. Maybe that was shock. Or the sneaking suspicion that her injury might not have been an accident. The position of the wound was so high on the back of her head, it was hard to imagine how it could have been caused by a fall.
Either way, I wasn’t the only one affected by the situation.
The man with ash-brown hair, who looked to be in his late forties, kept fisting and releasing his hands. Zoe twisted a long lock of her wavy red hair, fear in her big blue eyes.
Zoe was a sweet girl who had been an early queen candidate but didn’t make the finals. I’d seen her a couple of times with Zeke, the teenage nephew of my best friend and upstairs neighbor, Cleo Anderson.
Always attuned to human emotions, Bella moved closer to Zoe and rubbed her head against the girl’s leg.
Harry, too, must have sensed Zoe’s unease. He wrung the water from the hem of his golf shirt and patted her shoulder.
Zoe let out a shaky sigh and rested a hand on Bella’s back.
Moments later, we heard sirens, and then an ambulance and a police car cut across the grass.
Two paramedics climbed out of the ambulance and ran toward us. Madison and Bryce backed away, and the paramedics immediately began caring for Darcy.
“Does anyone know what happened here?” Officer Tate, a calm, capable guy in his thirties who I’d met a few times, walked over from the police car with a young female officer I didn’t know.
Harry stepped forward. “Libby and I found her. I got her out of the water, but…” He made a feeble gesture as if he feared the same thing I did—that we had arrived too late.
“I was supposed to meet Darcy and help her take photos of the Dogwood Queen finalists,” I said. “They should be arriving any minute now.”
“No photographs today,” Officer Tate said. Then he sent his partner to work with other officers to direct anyone else who arrived at the park to go home.
Officer Tate turned back to the rest of us and gestured over his shoulder. “Let’s go over to that picnic area.”
“Good idea.” Detective John Harper, a short, heavyset man in his fifties, strode down the path. He stared at Darcy for a few seconds, then quickly took command. “Let’s give the paramedics room to work, and I’ll get some information from each of the witnesses.”
He looked at me, and his eyebrows—considerably darker than his salt-and-pepper buzz cut—bunched together. After the interactions we’d had during previous investigations I’d somehow gotten involved with, I could almost hear the lecture that was coming. “Libby Ballard,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on the festival steering committee,” I said. “I was here to help Darcy with some promotional photos.”
“Uh-huh.” His mouth flattened into a line before he led me back to the big picnic area and gestured to a table in the far corner. Some of the tables were shaded by large oaks, so I was grateful the detective picked a table in the sun, as I still felt cold.
He scratched Bella’s ears, then sat across from me and pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his blue dress shirt. “So, tell me what happened.”
Bella let out a sigh and settled herself on the concrete floor of the picnic area.
I briefly explained how Bella and I had arrived at the fairgrounds, run into Harry, and walked with him to the waterfall, hoping to find Darcy. “Do you think there might have been a wet spot on the path, and she slipped and hit her head?” I hoped my suspicions about Darcy’s wound were wrong.
He gave me a skeptical look, then his radio squawked, and his frown deepened. “The paramedics weren’t able to save her.”
My heart sank, and I sat silent for a long moment. I hadn’t been close to Darcy, but it was hard to believe she was dead. Only two days ago, we’d been at a steering committee meeting together.
Detective Harper laid his pen down beside his pad. “Libby, it’s great you’re helping with the festival, but I can’t believe you’ve managed to end up at the scene of what looks like another suspicious death.”
Wow. So it wasn’t only me who suspected Darcy might have been attacked. I knew she wasn’t well liked, but still… “Her injury certainly wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m not saying you were responsible in any way,” the detective said. “I just wish—for your own safety—that you hadn’t been here today.”
A shiver ran down my spine as I realized I might have narrowly missed running into a murderer.
“How well did you know Darcy?” the detective asked.
“Not that well. Just a few conversations at the steering committee meetings.”
“Did she ever mention someone had been bothering her?”
I thought for a moment and shook my head. We probably weren’t close enough that she would have shared that type of information. “No, but I just remembered something. There were only two cars in the small lot by the stage when I got here today. Darcy’s and one other. There can’t have been that many cars in the other lot. If we can find out who was parked in each lot, we could probably narrow down the list of suspects.” Cars couldn’t park on Hartley Road because it was a major thoroughfare. Across the road from the fairgrounds was a ravine, and the other sides of the grounds were bounded by the river.
“Libby, you shouldn’t get involved.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “You’ve taken far too many risks in the past.” For a moment, his eyes softened. “You’re a good person, a valuable member of the community. I’m proud of you for helping at the festival, but I do not want you being nosy and trying to figure out what happened here.”
“But—”
“No,” he cut me off. “We’ll wait to see what the coroner says, but there’s a good chance I’ve now got a murder to solve—in addition to a case involving someone scamming elderly residents out of their life savings. I do not need to be worried that you’ll end up dead as well.”
Okay, fine. There wasn’t anything I could say to that. So I had happened to get involved in investigating a few suspicious deaths since I moved to Dogwood Springs, and each time, I’d figured out the murderer before Detective Harper. It wasn’t my fault I had a strong sense of justice and enjoyed solving puzzles, whether they were crosswords, mystery novels, or mysteries in real life. And maybe I was a little bit stubborn. Granted, there had been a couple of close calls, but I’d never intentionally put myself in danger.
A rabbit hopped by. Bella jumped to her feet, her body tense as she watched the bunny bound over to a patch of clover near the stage.
The same stage where bands were supposed to play on Friday.
“Detective, let’s say you learn for sure Darcy was murdered. What will that mean for the festival?”
His jaw tightened. “At this point, I don’t know.”
Chapter Three
I gave a gentle tug to Bella’s leash and walked with her to another picnic table as Detective Harper began talking with the others. First, he spoke with Madison and Zoe together, then individually with Bryce and Harry. Next, he interviewed the park worker—whose name I just happened to overhear was Aaron Eckhart—and finally, the man with ash-brown hair, who I learned was Cameron Sidwell.
Unfortunately, once Detective Harper started asking each person for more than their name, every single one of them spoke more quietly. I couldn’t move closer without making it obvious I was trying to listen in. The only other information I caught was that Cameron was worried that his stepdaughter, one of the queen candidates who was somewhere at the fairgrounds, might be in danger. The detective radioed one of his officers and assured Cameron his stepdaughter was safe, but the man still looked worried.
Finally, Detective Harper finished his interviews and said we all could leave. He directed Officer Tate to escort us to the parking lots, then walked back toward the waterfall.
When Bella and I reached the parking lot by the stage, an officer stood watch. I learned that the other car in the lot besides mine and Darcy’s, an upscale black sedan with dark windows, belonged to Cameron. His stepdaughter, Noelle, climbed out of the car as soon as he drew near and began complaining about how long she’d had to wait. In my opinion, she’d been lucky. I wasn’t sure where she had been when we found Darcy’s body, but it was better that she hadn’t witnessed the scene.
“Ready to go home, Bella?” I opened the passenger-side door of my Camry.
She hopped in, always eager for a ride, and the two of us headed out.
Ten minutes later, we arrived at the white frame house where I rented the downstairs. The two-story home had been built in 1900, and even when it was new, it hadn’t been anything fancy. But it fit my budget, was an easy walk to the museum, and had some history. I’d found the original owner’s initials on the underside of the hand-carved mantel shortly after I moved in. And recently I’d discovered a stack of Life magazines from the 1940s, way back on a high shelf in my bedroom closet.
As I turned into the narrow driveway, I spotted Cleo on the porch. Once I’d parked on my side of the detached garage, I walked around to the front of the house, grateful to be able to talk to her after what had happened at the fairgrounds.
From the day I’d moved in, Cleo had treated me like the best friend she’d always longed for. I couldn’t have asked for anyone more loyal and supportive.
“Hey, Libby, look what I’ve got.” She pointed to a flat of orange, rust, purple, and yellow pansies and two empty flowerpots that flanked the porch steps. The blossoms smiled up at me like happy faces. “It’s way past time to fill these two pots I bought on clearance last fall.”
Bella hurried over to say hello, and Cleo bent down to rub her ears.
Other than our ages—with Cleo just two years younger than me—we didn’t have a lot in common. She was tall and had big brown eyes and a blond pixie cut with long bangs. I was average height with green eyes and brown hair that curled under at my shoulders. She wore oversized glasses and bright colors and kept up with the latest fashion trends. I stuck with classics and, when I wanted to polish my look, added my great-great-grandmother’s pearls. Cleo was vivacious and a bit loud compared to my quieter personality. And for the past ten months, when we’d shared this house on Elm Street, I was the one who tested smoke detectors and bought salt to have on hand in case of ice while Cleo decorated the front porch and planted flowers. She had a love of crafts and an artistic eye that showed in both her decorating and in the hairstyles she created in the salon she ran.
“The flowers are lovely,” I said. “But…”
Cleo frowned, and she shut off the music she’d been playing on her phone. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got some bad news.”
She gestured to the two Adirondack chairs on the porch, and we sat down. “Was there a problem with the photo shoot?”
I shifted in my chair. “Sort of. Darcy’s dead.”
Cleo drew in a sharp breath.
“Most likely murdered,” I added.
Cleo’s eyes grew wide. She covered her mouth with one hand and sat back in her chair.
Bella walked over to Cleo and rested her head on Cleo’s thigh.
As kindly as I could, I explained what had happened.
“Oh, I’m so sorry you had to be the one to find her.” Cleo pressed her lips together. “Poor Darcy. Her poor family. And poor Bryce. They only set a wedding date in the past month. He has to be devastated.”
“He did look very upset.” I should have known Cleo’s thoughts would quickly turn to Bryce. Although she was currently dating a local pediatrician, she and Bryce had been high school sweethearts. Cleo ended the relationship before they graduated but later regretted it.
Personally, now that I’d gotten past the initial shock, I had to admit I had mixed feelings about Darcy. She had certainly worked hard to make the queen contest a positive experience for the high school girls, and I had a feeling she’d been good at her job as a loan officer at Dogwood State Bank. But even though I couldn’t picture anything she might have done to deserve being killed, I couldn’t really say that I’d expected us to become friends outside the steering committee. Something about her hadn’t made me want to spend extra time with her.
Cleo, on the other hand, had thoroughly disliked her. According to Cleo, Darcy was selfish and thought she was better than everyone else.
A niggle of tension ran through my stomach. Thinking someone was stuck-up was no reason for murder, but spending years pining away for the man who was Darcy’s fiancé might be. “How, uh, how long were you out shopping for the pansies?”
“An hour or so, why?”
“I know you’d never kill anyone, but you disliked Darcy for years, and Detective Harper has come to some crazy conclusions in the past.”
Cleo waved my concerns away with a slightly muddy hand. “Before I was at the greenhouse, I went to lunch with my parents at La Villetta to celebrate Mom’s birthday. And before that, we were at church. Detective Harper is never going to pin this on me.”
The tension in my stomach eased. “Good.”
Cleo sat silent for a moment, then leaned forward. “What’s this going to mean for the festival?”
“Detective Harper said he didn’t know.”
“Wow. We’ve had the festival since before I was born,” Cleo brushed some of the dirt off her hands. “The money that’s raised is important.”
I nodded. After expenses, all proceeds from the gate and the locally provided food and drinks went to the Good Neighbors Fund, which helped students in need. The fund was overseen by a committee of local public-school teachers. Originally, the fund was used for items that teachers might pay for out of pocket, such as school supplies or a winter coat for a student. Eventually, the festival had grown enough to cover those expenses, plus three nice college scholarships for local students.
“I can’t imagine canceling it now, only five days before,” I said. “But I guess if the police believe the public is in danger…”
“Yeah. Better in the long run to cancel than to risk someone else getting killed.” Cleo tipped her head to one side. “Are you going to call your ex-husband and tell him not to come?”
I rubbed my chin. “Maybe. I think I’ll wait a day or two and see what happens. If the police arrest someone right away, there’s no reason for Reggie not to drop by Dogwood Springs on the way to his family reunion.”
I should have been completely over what happened with my ex—especially since I was dating a great guy, Sam Collins—but I wasn’t. I felt a bit of dread about seeing Reggie again, but it paled next to the desire for him to see how well I’d recovered after he crushed my life back in Philadelphia.
Should I tell him not to come? I wasn’t sure. Maybe after the shock of finding Darcy’s body wore off, I’d know what to do.
***
Thoughts of Darcy’s death poured into my mind as soon as I woke up the next morning. Luckily, I had my sweet dog to distract me.
I let Bella out and fed her, then showered and pulled on dress pants and a collared shirt as she gobbled down her breakfast. While I ate my own breakfast and drank a strong mug of Yorkshire black tea, Bella came to my side. She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes as if to let me know that—in spite of what had happened to Darcy—the world was still filled with good people. And, of course, good dogs. I gently stroked her back, feeling my unease fall away.
When I stood, she trotted over to where I kept her leash hanging in the kitchen. She nudged the lower end until it fell to the floor. Then she picked it up in her mouth, carried it over, and dropped it at my feet.
“You don’t want to take a walk, do you, Bella?”
She gazed at me, her expression still full of love, but there might also have been a subtle message that I should hurry up.
“All right.” I chuckled, put on my tennis shoes, and grabbed a light jacket.
The two of us headed out onto Elm Street. Bella turned to the right, ready for our regular walk to Thirteenth Street and back, but I paused first to gaze up and down the street.
In both directions, each yard contained at least one white dogwood tree, and they were all in bloom. The sweet scent of my neighbor’s lilacs filled the air, and although an occasional car drove past, I mostly heard birds calling to each other, happy to greet the day.
It would be a shame if all the tourists stayed away from the Dogwood Festival this year. Everything looked so beautiful. And from what I had heard, many of the visitors looked forward to attending every spring.
Plus, the festival committee had so much planned.
Starting Friday morning at nine, people would wander among tents offering balloon animals, homemade candles, face painting, handcrafted jewelry, and every other craft item imaginable. They could even buy T-shirts, ball caps, tea towels, book bags, and mugs emblazoned with the festival logo.
If they got hungry, they’d find tasty treats from local vendors selling hot dogs, burgers, nachos, funnel cake, cotton candy, and frosted sugar cookies shaped like dogwood blossoms, as well as out-of-town vendors providing specialty food items. If they got thirsty, in addition to bottled water and soda, festivalgoers could buy fresh-squeezed lemonade or sample craft brews and wine from the local winery.
And after dinner, live music would fill the air, with three acts each evening, including a ’70’s tribute band I couldn’t wait to see.
Granted, most people around my age, thirty-three, were more interested in current music than in bands from the 1970s. As a historian, though, I preferred things a little older, and for music that meant rock-and-roll classics. I was already hoping the tribute band would play some of my favorite songs.
All in all, if there hadn’t just been a murder, the festival should have been fantastic.
But for all I knew it could be canceled.
I sighed and glanced ahead at the older homes that lined Elm Street. Between Fourth and Fifth Streets, where Cleo and I lived, many of the houses were rentals. The farther south Bella and I walked, the more upscale the houses became, and the more well-tended the yards. By around Eighth, the houses were almost all privately owned, and the neighbors were more competitive in their efforts to have the nicest yard. One house in particular always caught my eye. Right now, in addition to a large dogwood, the yard was bursting with light and dark pink peonies.
As I admired them, the front door opened. To my surprise, Harry walked out.
“Harry, good morning,” I said. “You’re out early.”
“I’m an early riser, been up for hours. But I’m glad I happened to look out and see you. I plan to contact all the steering committee members today.”
“I didn’t realize you lived here.” I gestured to the landscaping. “This is one of the prettiest houses on the street. Your peonies are gorgeous.”
“I can’t take any credit for them, of course. They were planted years ago, but they are lovely.” Harry reached down to pat Bella, but she seemed more interested in a bug on the sidewalk. He looked back up at me. “I talked with Detective Harper at seven this morning.”
My shoulders tensed. “Is there news?”
“Big news. The festival is a go. The police have a strong suspect, unrelated to the festival.”
“That’s wonderful!” Why, it sounded like Detective Harper had the case practically solved. “Now everything can go ahead as planned, and the Good Neighbor Fund can be replenished.”
“Replenished and more, if I have anything to do with it,” Harry said.
I beamed at him. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Harry’s first year as director—and mine in my much smaller role—turned out to be a record year for the festival? “Did Detective Harper say who the suspect was?”
“No, just that the police don’t think the murder had anything to do with the festival.”
“It’s hard to imagine why someone would have wanted to kill Darcy.” I ran a hand over the back of my neck. “Maybe it had something to do with her job. Financial issues can be hot buttons sometimes.”
Harry’s brows lowered. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you may be right.” His face grew somewhat brighter. “For now, all we know for sure is that we’ve got a festival to run.”
“That’s very good news, Harry. Very good news indeed.”
Chapter Four
After our walk, and once Bella was happily settled for the morning with a full water bowl, a new chew toy, and a dog biscuit I’d hidden for her to discover later, I changed into black flats, added my pearls, and packed up my big purse, making sure to include the tuna sandwich, chips, and grapes I planned for my lunch. I’d dash home at noon to let Bella out, but I preferred to nibble on my lunch at my desk rather than wolf it down. Once I had everything packed, I headed to the museum.
As I walked down Main Street, I enjoyed the window displays in the quaint shops and savored the aroma of what smelled like apple pie wafting out the door of the Dogwood Springs Bakery.
Although many of the shops wouldn’t open until ten, the area was waking up. From its darling boutiques with colorful awnings to the pots of flowers outside every door, downtown Dogwood Springs was heavy on charm. Soon tourists would be nibbling on chocolate treats from Mimi’s Candies or cookies from the Dogwood Springs Bakery, smelling the fresh Italian bread baking at La Villetta and contemplating a dinner reservation, or emerging from one of the shops with a larger-than-expected purchase.
It wasn’t only downtown and the beautiful fairgrounds that were inviting. The hills surrounding the town were sprinkled with quaint bed and breakfasts, and an award-winning local winery was located just a mile away. In late April and early May, the town was wreathed in gorgeous dogwoods, and in the fall, the maple trees that lined almost every street in Dogwood Springs turned a gorgeous red.
Equally important, the whole community moved at a slower pace that was perfect for vacationers. Longtime residents claimed they’d actually seen tourists’ shoulders relax as the town worked its magic.
At the far end of downtown, the Dogwood Springs History Museum stood tall and proud. Erected in 1920 as the private home of local businessman Charles Pennington, the two-story, white Greek Revival was built to impress. Even before Main Street was widened back in the 1940s, the house must have seemed ostentatious and too big for its lot. Today, thanks to hours of tender, loving care, the century-old building served the community well, welcoming school groups, townspeople, and tourists alike. Most importantly, the museum provided each visitor access to cultural history, a chance to learn more about the past, and insights to better understand themselves and their role in society. I was incredibly proud of the museum, and proud of how my staff and I, along with our volunteers, served our audience.
When he passed away, Charles Pennington had generously left his home and a large trust fund to the town for the purpose of providing a history museum. Thanks to that trust fund, unlike many small-town museums run completely by volunteers, we had a staff of three: me, Imani Jones, the education coordinator, and Rodney Grant, the curator.
I let myself in the back door, as we didn’t open the front door to the public until ten, and I inhaled deeply. There was no fragrance I loved more than the combination of slightly musty papers, lemon furniture polish, and a hint of mothballs—the smell of a history museum.
I found Imani and Rodney sitting in what had once been the Pennington kitchen and was now our conference room. The only room in the building that had been updated other than the bathrooms, it included a kitchenette, a long table, and low-budget, 1980s’ décor.
Rodney, a gray-haired, ruddy-faced man in his sixties, stood by the coffeemaker in his typical dress shirt and twill pants, spooning in a rich blend I recognized by the bag as his favorite. He was an excellent curator, a detail-oriented person who thought things over well before taking action.
Imani, a Black woman in her twenties, had the longest real eyelashes I’d ever seen and a closet full of vintage clothes. Today she wore an avocado pantsuit that I placed at about 1972. With her tall, slender build and her hair braided back into a bun, she looked like a model. Despite being the mom of a five-month-old, she also had the high energy needed as an education coordinator. Schoolkids loved her.
She took a few napkins from a drawer, set them by a box from the Dogwood Springs Bakery, and lifted the lid. “Hi, Libby. Today’s special.” She gestured toward the contents. “Apple cinnamon muffins with streusel crumble on top.”
“I thought I smelled apple when I walked by the bakery this morning.” I set a muffin on a napkin and put a mug of water in the microwave for tea.
Recently, the three of us had begun having early Monday morning meetings in the conference room to discuss the week ahead. Imani had suggested that we take turns bringing in a treat from the bakery. Rodney and I had wholeheartedly agreed.
When I looked back on how I’d kicked off Mondays at my job in Philadelphia—alone in my office, answering all the emails that had accumulated over the weekend—I appreciated my new position even more. What better way to start the week than enjoying tea and breakfast treats with my colleagues? Best of all, although Rodney had a dry, quiet wit, and Imani was more of a giggler, they each had a terrific sense of humor.
I bit into my muffin, which tasted even better than it smelled. The sweetness of the apple mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and a generous amount of butter. All light and fluffy and delicious.
“Did you both have good weekends?” Rodney asked.
Imani shook her head. “You haven’t heard?”
“My wife and I were out of town until late last night,” Rodney said. “Did something happen?”
“Yes, something awful.” I slid a tea bag into my cup and explained about Darcy’s death.
Both Rodney and Imani were shocked that I had found the body and filled with sympathy for Darcy’s family.
“There is one tiny bit of good news,” I added as I sat down with my tea.
“Oh?” Imani looked hopeful.
“I saw Harry Myers this morning. The police think they’ve figured out the killer, and that the murder had nothing to do with the festival. It can still go ahead.”
“Well, that’s positive, I guess,” Imani said.
“You guess?” Rodney broke off a chunk of muffin and popped it in his mouth. “Having the killer arrested is the best thing that can happen at this point—for everyone’s safety and for the festival. You know the community needs the Dogwood Festival. It draws us all together, and the money we raise goes to a good cause.”
Imani twisted her hands together. “I know, and I support the festival in general. It’s just that, for Dale and me, I’m afraid this year is going to be a disappointment.”
“Why?” I would have thought, since Imani’s husband was a local woodworker, that the festival would be a very profitable time for them. Over one weekend, Dale would probably sell hundreds of chopping boards, bowls, and kitchen utensils. His pieces were gorgeous.
“Normally, the festival is fantastic for Dale’s business,” Imani said. “And this year, we have things all arranged so my mom will watch the baby and we can both be at the festival. If I’m not helping at the tent for the museum, I’ll be in the woodworking tent.”
“That all sounds smart,” I said. “I’m glad your mom can help out. So why do you think it will be a disappointment? From what I’ve heard, we might have a record crowd this year.”
“The problem,” she said, “is that I don’t think that crowd will ever find us. For years, even before we got married, Dale’s had the same spot, right near the wine and beer garden. This year he’s on the far east side of all the vendors, as far from the stage and the beer garden as possible, facing the portable restrooms.”
“I’m sorry Dale got a less desirable spot,” I said. Harry had warned the steering committee that some vendors might be upset. “Harry used a new system this year to place people in vendor spots randomly. He said it would be fairer.”
Imani sighed. “It probably is fairer. But the festival is a lot more important to someone who runs a craft business year-round than to someone who has a full-time job with benefits and sells stuff one weekend a year for the fun of it.”
True. I bit my lower lip. “Harry said the vendor locations can’t be changed at this point.” He had told us horror stories about a festival that switched their plans at the last minute. “All we can do is hope that Detective Harper wraps things up quickly and that our marketing will bring in so many extra people that all the vendors, even ones in less desirable locations like you, will have lots of shoppers.”
“All the local hotels and B & Bs are booked,” Rodney said. “Even reservations in nearby towns are difficult to come by.”
“Well, that’s good news.” Imani took another bite of muffin.
I relaxed back in my chair. The festival was going to be okay. Yes, Darcy’s death was a tragedy, but Detective Harper had the situation in hand and had told me to stay out of it.
I should focus on the good things, like the fact that my staff was amazing. The three of us worked so well together, each bringing our own talents and gifts. With luck, the festival would be a success. Tourists and local residents alike would enjoy the museum’s tent, and the museum would bring in even more visitors, gain more members, and—
My phone dinged with a text from Cleo.
As I scanned it, my breath caught.
I have to talk to you. That idiot Detective Harper arrested Bryce.
I excused myself, dialed Cleo’s number, and hurried up the back stairs to my office.
She answered on the first ring. “Oh, Libby, thank you for calling.”
I unlocked my office door, opened the dark, wooden blinds, and dropped my purse behind my large, mahogany desk. “The police arrested Bryce?” I asked as I sat down. “He looked totally in shock when he saw Darcy. And why would he kill his fiancée?”
“He and Darcy weren’t engaged anymore,” Cleo said. “Saturday night they had a huge fight, and he broke up with her for good.”
Even a relative newcomer like me was familiar with the Darcy-Bryce relationship drama. “They break up and get back together as often as I change the head on my fancy electric toothbrush.” My father, a dentist, gave me the latest model and a stash of new toothbrush heads every Christmas so I could switch them out every three months.
“Not this time. This was different. Darcy told a friend on Sunday morning that Bryce said they were never getting back together, and that she should find a new vet for her cat.”
That did sound final. “And Detective Harper believes Bryce was so mad that he killed her? Why did they break up?”
“Nobody knows.” Cleo shrugged.
“If they’d broken up, would he kill her?”
“Of course not!” Cleo exclaimed. “Detective Harper is clutching at straws. Probably trying to find a quick solution before the festival. Bryce would never in a million years kill someone. That’s why I called you.”
An uneasy tickle squirmed in my stomach. I knew what she was going to say next.
“You need to figure out who really did this, Libby. Because it’s definitely not Bryce. He’s a veterinarian, for heaven’s sake. He takes care of injured animals. Does that sound like someone who would commit murder?”
“Well, no.” The man I’d seen at the fairgrounds, who was so in shock when he saw the wound on Darcy’s head that he was immobilized, didn’t seem like a murderer.
I’d watched Detective Harper handle other cases. He did have a tendency to fixate on one suspect and ignore other possibilities. And my friends and I had succeeded in finding the real killer on more than one occasion.
But this attack on Darcy had been vicious, and Detective Harper’s warning to me had been very clear. He wanted me to stay out of this investigation for my own safety.
“Libby.” Cleo’s voice sounded wobbly. “You’ll solve this, won’t you?”
The image of Darcy’s bloody head swirled in my brain.
“Libby?”
If Bryce wasn’t the murderer, that meant the killer was still out there. Plus, Darcy’s family deserved justice. Oh, I’d always been someone who believed in following and upholding the rules, but after my former fiancé didn’t—and finagled things so I lost my job back in Philadelphia—I held those beliefs in fairness even more strongly. And the last thing Dogwood Springs needed was some unsuspecting tourist murdered at the upcoming festival.
My breath leaked out, and I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it. I sat up straighter in my desk chair. “Yes, I’ll try to solve it. But I’ll need help from you and our friends.”
“You know you’ve got it,” Cleo said.
After another minute on the phone, I tried to get down to work. But for the rest of the day, even when I went home to take care of Bella at lunchtime, thoughts of Darcy’s murder swirled through my mind.
My friends and I had solved murder cases in the past in Dogwood Springs. Hopefully, we could solve this one as well.
Festivals, Funnel Cakes & Felonies releases April 23, 2024, and will be available in Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and paperback from Amazon. If you’d like to pre-order a Kindle copy, please click here.