Murder is a Piece of Cake (A Baker Street Mystery Book 2)

Like a flower left in the sun too long, Hannah began to wilt. I made a detour and took her home to rest before driving over to the Carson Law Inn to meet April for lunch. The drive helped me sift through everything I’d learned, and it had the added benefit of helping me forget that I wouldn’t be able to reenter Aunt Octavia’s Chocolate Soul Cake in the Spring Festival Bake-Off.

Marjorie Rivers was hiding something. Why did Clayton Davenport go to all of the trouble to track down Mayor Rivers’s ex-wife . . . first wife . . . whatever, and bring her back to New Bison? And why did Marjorie agree to the scheme?

I took a breath and immediately started coughing. “ ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’ ” I quoted from Hamlet. I pushed the button to make sure that all of the windows were raised and then turned the air conditioning up to help eliminate the rotten stench that made me want to gag. “Denmark isn’t the only place where something was rotten.” Something’s rotten right here in New Bison, Michigan. The first time I’d smelled the foul odor, I learned that steel plants in North-west Indiana were embroiled in a battle with environmental protectionists and local surfers to prevent contamination of Lake Michigan.

I pulled up to the Carson Law Inn, parked, and entered the Georgian-style mansion.

The interior was elegantly decorated in period furnishings, including lots of ornately carved wood moldings and furniture. I learned from browsing a brochure in the lobby that the 26,000-square-foot mansion was built in the late 1800s and had over forty rooms. Seventeen of which were now guest rooms. I walked into the foyer and felt as though I’d stepped back in time. Wood-paneled walls and a coffered wood ceiling screamed wealth to all who entered. Heavy drapes and the Aubusson rugs softened the masculine feel and lightened the room.

I walked to the podium, and a stiff older man who looked as though he would have made a great butler double for Downton Abbey told me that April was waiting for me in the conservatory.

He picked up a menu and escorted me through a room that was probably the parlor at one time, through another room that was lined with books, and out to a small glass room.

April was seated at a bistro table near the window, and after the maître d’ left, she leaned forward and whispered, “This is my favorite spot in this dark old mausoleum.”

“I can understand why.” I glanced around the light-filled space. Unlike the other parts of the house that I’d seen, the only wood in this room was in the small wooden tables and chairs. The floor was red brick set in a herringbone pattern. The bottom half of the walls were stone, and the top and ceilings were glass. There was a stone fireplace in the corner. The conservatory was built at the back of the house, with an incredible view of a beautiful, lush, and well-tended garden.

“Those flowers are amazing.”

April reached over and turned a crank that opened the casement window and then took a deep breath. “Smell that.”

I took a deep breath. “I have no idea what those flowers are, but they smell wonderful.” I picked up my phone, snapped a few pictures, and posted them. #LoveFlowers #TheCarson-LawConservatory #FoodFlowersFriends

April smiled and pointed. “Those are hydrangeas, azaleas, tulips, peonies, and roses.”

“I’m impressed. I didn’t know you knew so much about plants.”

“I love gardens. I used to dream of opening a flower shop when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady. I thought Audrey Hepburn was beautiful.” She smiled and then shrugged. “Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be rich. I can retire and have a garden and grow beautiful flowers and drink tea and eat cookies all day.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess I am retired. Who knew I’d be retiring at such a young age?” She sighed.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You aren’t retiring. We’re going to figure out who killed Clayton Davenport, and you’re going to have that garden. No need to wait until . . . well, until later. You can plant whatever you want at home. That house is just as much yours as mine.”

“For as long as I’m there. If I lose my job, I won’t be able to pay rent.”

I waved away her protest. “You don’t have to pay rent. I can—”

“No. I won’t stay there if I can’t pay rent. When I moved in, we agreed this would be a business transaction, remember?”

The lightbulb went off in my head, and I squealed. “I just got the best idea. I love flowers, but I suck at all things horticulture-y. You love gardens. I could pay you to plant a few gardens. Maybe a flower garden and a few vegetables. I know Leroy would love fresh herbs. I would, of course, pay for the plants and any tools you would need. You’d just have to do all of the hard work.” I frowned. “You’d have to take care of the plants too. I’d kill them.”

She smiled. “Miss Octavia and I used to talk about plants. She said she had a brown thumb in more ways than one.”

“I must have inherited that because I’m horrible with plants, but I do love them. What do you say? It would increase the property value, and we could have fresh flowers inside. I love fresh flowers, especially those big blue ones.” I pointed.

“Hydrangeas.”

“I thought you said those pink ones were hydrangeas?”

“They both are. The color of the flowers depends on the alkaline content of the soil.”

“Well, I want all of those. What do you say?”

She smiled. “Okay, but we have to be fair. If I do it, then you subtract it from my rent.”

“Deal.” I extended my hand, and we shook. I had no intention of charging April rent while she was only working part-time, but I’d cross that hurdle when we came to it.

A waiter arrived to take our orders.

“I believe one of my friends said his mother works here,” I said. “Maybe you know her. Mrs. Danielson?”

The waiter smiled. “Yes, I know Fiona. Would you like me to tell her you’re here?”

We agreed, and he took off to place our orders and to notify Leroy’s mom that we’d like to talk to her.

“I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know anything about Leroy’s mother. In fact, I didn’t even know she worked here until he mentioned it. You’ve been here longer than me. Do you know her?”

She shook her head. “He never talks about his mother. At least not to me anyway.”

“I wonder why.”

Our drinks arrived. Not long afterward, a dark-haired woman wearing a housekeeping uniform came by our table.

“Are you Leroy’s friends?”

It wasn’t until she spoke that we realized Leroy’s mother was British.

“Yes, I’m Madison Montgomery, and this is April Johnson.”

“My name’s Fiona.” She smiled. “Leroy’s told me a lot about both of you, but especially you.” She nodded toward April, who blushed.

“Mrs. Danielson, I know you’re working, but is there any chance you could join us? We’re hoping you could help us.”

She glanced at a clock. “I can take a short break.”

Once she was seated, I asked if she would permit me to buy her lunch. She declined lunch but did accept a cup of tea.

At first glance, Fiona Danielson looked far too young to have a son in his midtwenties. However, a closer look showed the fine lines at her eyes and lips, and the gray around her temples indicated she was probably in her early to midforties. She had light gray eyes. Her hands were hard and calloused. She wore her hair in an asymmetrical bob. It wasn’t until she turned her head at a certain angle that I noticed the scar that ran from her left temple down the side of her face to her chin.

“Leroy said you two wanted to ask me questions about the break-in.” She sat very straight and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I’ll tell you the same thing I told the manager. I didn’t take nothing, and if anyone says I did, they’re a liar.”

April reached out a hand and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “We weren’t accusing you of taking anything.”

Mrs. Danielson uncoiled like a spring. “Well, then what do you want to know?”

I glanced at April to take the lead in the questioning.

April smiled. “Mrs. Danielson, we—”

“Call me Fiona, dearie.”

“Fiona, I heard that there was a break-in here at the hotel, but when my officer arrived, he was told the hotel didn’t want to file a report. Now, I don’t know if it’s connected in any way to the man who was murdered, but he was staying here too. So, I’d just like to make sure that the two events aren’t linked in any way.”

Fiona Danielson glanced around and then leaned forward. “It’s funny you should say that because I think there was a connection.”

“Why do you think the two were connected?” I asked.

“Because we never had no break-ins before. Not here at the Carson Law. It’s a quiet neighborhood, and the guests are . . . well, you only get a certain type of clientele here. Not many folks can afford the rates.” She sipped her tea. “I been working here twelve years. Never had no break-ins. No trouble of any kind. Then, we get a break-in and the room ransacked. Next thing you know that rich toff goes and gets himself killed. Well, if you ask me, that’s mighty funny.”

We stared at Mrs. Danielson as if she’d cast a spell. I was the first to break free.

“Are you saying the room that was broken into belonged to the same man who was murdered? Clayton Davenport?”

She nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”