Bear Witness to Murder Read online

“Hey, you were upset, and Mom wasn’t very sympathetic.”

  “Water under the bridge.” I waved a hand. “I’m more upset that Holly talked Barbara Davison into renting the Holly Jolly shop before you had the chance to ask. After Mom told her about your plans to open a boutique, too.”

  “But I’m not ready,” she said. “I’m swamped with stuff. Online graphics for a few customers, my bear sculpture isn’t done, and I’m teaching Aunt Eve all the new technology. She wanted to do everything by hand, like when she first set up the accounting, but I talked her out of it. Everything’s already in the computer.”

  “It’s still not fair.”

  “My plan for a boutique can wait.”

  Maddie’s cell pinged. She turned around and answered it; I boxed up the extra cookies and taped them shut. My annoyance grew when I recalled my rivalry with Holly. So much for trying to forget all that trouble long ago. I’d expected peace and quiet after our annual Labor Day Teddy Bear Picnic, but that seemed hopeless now.

  “Hey, Sasha.” My sister pulled me into an alcove of the tea room and waved her cell. “Remember Abby promised to send me information about Flynn and Gina dating.”

  “Okay, but what about them?”

  “You’re gonna love this. Every picture tells a story, you know.”

  I peered at her cell phone, which she’d turned sideways. “What am I supposed to be looking at? It’s too dark, I can barely see what it is.”

  “A hot tub at that bed-and-breakfast, the Waterford Gardens, east of here on Huron River Drive. Swipe to the next photo.”

  I did and leaned forward with a gasp. The blond guy sure looked like Flynn. Naked as a jaybird—I’d recognize that bare butt anywhere. The memory of how I caught him frolicking with another woman in the buff, and in our bed, soured my mood. The woman with Flynn in the hot tub only wore a thong, and the unnatural size of her chest would give Pamela Anderson pause. The intertwined hearts tattoo on her bare shoulder also caught my eye.

  I turned to my sister. “So who is this woman?”

  “Wait, you haven’t seen the worst.”

  “Good grief.” I realized now my ex had gotten far more than an innocent skinny-dip. “Wait a minute, how did Abby get these photos?”

  “Her cousin worked at that bed-and-breakfast before it went out of business.”

  “So when was this photo taken?” Besides the obvious question of why Flynn would risk having sex in a public place, but I didn’t want to go there. I knew too well he loved flirting with danger. “Or did Abby tell you?”

  Maddie swiped her phone and held it up. “Yeah, during your marriage. I’m sorry, Sash. But you knew Flynn cheated on you long before you caught him with Angela.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. So who is this chick in the hot tub?”

  “Gina Lawson.”

  Chapter 3

  Trina peered around my shoulder and shrieked at the photo on Maddie’s cell phone. “Blimey! They’re having it on, aren’t they.”

  “That’s Sasha’s ex, Flynn Hanson,” Maddie said grimly. “Guess he never figured people might be watching while fooling around in a public place.”

  “Looks a bit chuffed of himself.”

  “Total egomaniac.” I changed the subject, figuring I’d rather not dwell on another of Flynn’s conquests during our brief marriage. “Anything else we can do to help?”

  “Nothing, love. You two go on,” Trina said cheerfully. “We’re all set, money-wise, for the food plus room rental. Should I make out a gift certificate for a free Christmas high tea, then? That way you can take it to your friend.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Maddie said. “And thanks again for everything.”

  “Right-o. Did you know we’re booked solid for the month after our official opening? I’m so grateful we decided to wait until after the Oktober Fest.”

  “Oktobear Fest,” I corrected gently, “because everything’s bear themed. They started doing that a few years ago, I think. It wasn’t our idea.”

  “The committee figured doing that gave Silver Hollow a unique slant on all the other beer-themed festivals in the area. Even the new microbrewery beyond the village limits is getting into the spirit of teddy bears,” Maddie said. “Would you like any extra cookies?”

  “No,” Trina said. “We’ve plenty of leftover scones. Ta-ra, then.”

  I grabbed my Simon Miller bucket bag and staggered after Maddie, who half-ran on her high heels out the door. How she had any energy left was a mystery. The tea room had been comfortable, but now I wilted in the last blast of Indian summer heat. A stiff breeze blew, however, with the hint of a chill. I could sense, given my sinus battles over the past twelve hours, that a cold front had to be approaching from the west.

  “I’m surprised Trina and Arthur didn’t choose a different name for their business,” Maddie said. “All those huge pink roses, too! Overkill, in my opinion.”

  “What’s wrong with the Queen Bess Tea Room? Unless you expected an Elizabethan flavor instead of cabbage roses and lace.”

  “Looks more in line with the Queen Mum.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Hey, we forgot the box of extra cookies.”

  “I’ll get ’em.” Her cell phone trilled. “Oops, I better answer that—”

  “I’ll fetch the cookies.”

  Weary to the bone, I tottered back to the tea room. By the time I returned with the box, holding at least two dozen cookies, I had to fight the urge to sneak another. Maddie was still chatting on her cell with Kip, standing at the curb. My petite sister looked as if she’d never touched a sugar cookie in her life. She took out a bag of peanuts to snack on; due to her low blood sugar, she often needed extra protein or orange sections. I needed to take Rosie for a long walk. Or maybe ride my bike through the village. Anything to resist those cookie carb calories calling my name.

  At last Maddie finished her call and pointed down the street. “Looks like Gina’s borrowing the boss’s car again.”

  I twisted around, curious. The redhead, clearly identifiable due to her unusual gelled hairstyle, climbed into the blue MINI Cooper hatchback. Gina drove up to Kermit Street and turned right without bothering to stop at the sign.

  “So that’s Holly’s car?”

  “Yeah. I wonder if she and Flynn are really seeing each other, or are on the outs,” Maddie said. “Abby saw them at Quinn’s Pub, having dinner together.”

  “Maybe they were talking about the lawsuit. And she is his publicist.”

  I didn’t want to think about Gina and my ex-husband. She could have him, either as her attorney or lover, and welcome to his narcissist world. Thank goodness I’d gone to therapy after my divorce. It helped me realize the futility of living with Flynn, who craved praise and affection at every moment. I’d nearly lost my mind. Coming home to Silver Hollow had been more of a salvation than an escape. Too bad Flynn followed me here, though.

  Maddie studied our new mailbox, her head cocked to one side, while finishing her peanuts. Jay Kirby, a local artist, had carved a realistic brown mother bear standing on a metal mailbox. Quite large, about four feet tall, with two smaller bears playing on either side. I adored it. Thinking of Jay lightened my cranky mood.

  “Do you think it detracts from the house’s Victorian look?” my sister asked. “We have gotten plenty of compliments, but maybe we should have asked for a teddy bear instead.”

  “We have plenty inside the shop. I thought you loved it.”

  “I do, but Jay could have sold that piece to another client. Does it really fit our Silver Bear Shop? That’s all I’m asking.”

  Eyeing the cleverly carved bears, I disagreed. “It’s perfect. I think we need a new sign, though, because it’s so weather-beaten. Draw something that incorporates a teddy bear over the name, or else beside it.”

  “I suppose—”

  “Wait, let me guess. Mom hates the mailbox and complained to you.”

  “I never said that.”

  I caught her guilty tone. “Ha. You don
’t have to—and besides, Uncle Ross already cemented the bricks around the wooden post. Too late to change it now.”

  Maddie frowned. “Okay, okay. Mom’s not happy with it.”

  “Why does she care one way or the other?”

  “Probably because Dad refuses to return to Florida. He’s having a good time with all his friends. Mom only has Barbara Davison.”

  “We have enough to worry about without getting involved in Mom and Dad’s battles, you know that. But it’s true the sign looks battered after a decade of winter storms. We could get a metal sign instead of wood.”

  “How about neon?”

  I glared at Maddie, who snickered, before I realized she was kidding. I’d been drinking in the sight of the turn-of-the-century Victorian home Dad renovated a decade ago that sprawled ahead of us on Theodore Lane. With a corner turret that reminded me of damsels in distress, plenty of gables, a wide covered front porch with several white wicker chairs, plus a dazzling display of colorful chrysanthemums, zinnias, and purple salvia along the front and sides, the shop looked pristine. Except for the dingy sign.

  “How did I miss seeing that awful sign the past year?” I mused. “We’d better change it.”

  “Yep. I second the motion,” Maddie said.

  She followed me around the addition that housed our offices, now in chaos given the reorganization we planned. I sighed once we entered the house. Onyx the cat didn’t blink, but Rosie’s tail swished back and forth; she jumped down from her window perch and accepted a big hug. My teddy bear dog loved cuddling, so I took the time to smother her with attention. She ate it up, licking my face and snuggling in my arms.

  Maddie and I had two upstairs bedroom suites and shared the downstairs kitchen. We used the former dining room for staff meetings and family game nights; the study held Dad’s mahogany desk, a crammed bookshelf, and Kenyan animal statues, plus Mom’s collection of knickknacks. Except for a third upstairs suite for my parents, the rest of the house served as our shop with storage rooms, display areas, and a second-story loft playroom for visiting children.

  “It doesn’t matter what Mom thinks. She doesn’t care about the business.”

  Maddie snickered again, following me—this time in bare feet, her high heels dangling by one hand. “She cares what people say about how it looks, though.”

  “Ha. You’re right about that.”

  For the most part we didn’t mind our parents hanging around Silver Hollow. Dad had quickly settled back into his old routine of daily breakfast with Uncle Ross and Gil Thompson, frequent lunches, and a few nights at the pub. My sister and I knew Mom wasn’t happy, but we figured she’d strong-arm Dad into returning to their Florida condo for the winter. Neither of them liked the cold snowy months and gray days in Michigan, from November through March.

  Past the covered walkway, its trellis overflowing with vines of clematis and honeysuckle, a stone pathway led to the former carriage house which housed the factory. My uncle supervised production of our teddy bears along with clothing sewed by talented staff. Dad had founded the shop and factory; shortly after opening, he suffered a minor heart attack. Mom insisted he let me take over management duties, since I was newly divorced and had returned to Silver Hollow. My sister and I kept Dad’s dream of a successful business alive.

  That is, until right before Labor Day. We found our sales representative, Will Taylor, dead at the stuffing machine’s base. I shuddered, remembering that horrible night and its aftermath. But things had returned to normal. September was over, and October brought the first changes of color to the village’s trees—gold and orange mixed with hints of red. It also brought customers shopping for Halloween costumes for their teddy bears, both kids and adults. Plenty wanted to dress up their bears to complement their seasonal home décor.

  I loved the variety we offered, like clown neck ruffs, bat wings, vampire costumes, big and small pumpkin sweaters, along with Christmas-themed attire like angel costumes and Santa suits. Our staff enjoyed the extra sewing, too.

  “So what should I do for Rosie this year, at Halloween?” I asked Maddie. “Last year she wore a clown ruff. The year before, she had angel wings.”

  “I got a big scratch after trying to put those devil horns on Nyx last year. You worry about what to do with the dog. I’m going to a party that night.”

  The sun sank lower in the western sky, heading toward the courthouse tower. The village clock chimed five times. For a Saturday afternoon, Silver Hollow was too quiet. I followed my sister into the house and kicked off my own flats. Aah.

  “Gosh, we need milk and bread, eggs, cheese, juice. Pretty much everything.” Maddie shut the fridge and peered into the freezer next. “Meat, too. Today went by so fast. I hoped we’d be done earlier, because I need to scout out a few more thrift shops for an accordion. Used, banged up. Doesn’t even need to work.”

  “Did you check eBay?”

  “Yeah, too expensive. Plus shipping is extra, and an accordion can weigh like ten or twenty pounds. I painted my Polka Bear, which took forever to get the dots spaced right. I still haven’t figured out how to fasten the accordion straps on his paws.”

  “I thought Kip was helping you,” I said. “He’s been calling day and night.”

  “Swamped with his own bear. That design is giving him fits. It’s so hard getting the right paint shadings in such a tricky pattern to resemble a tie-dyed shirt.”

  “I bet that would be hard.”

  I’d heard all this before, of course, but listened again to the litany. Maddie droned on and on about the pressure to finish in time. Her sculpture would be unveiled next Wednesday, in between Fresh Grounds and The Cat’s Cradle, along with several others around the village. She’d met Kip O’Sullivan, a fellow artist, at the first Bears on Parade meeting back in early spring, but kept their relationship secret until a few weeks ago. Kip had been busy with a summer art project in Grand Rapids, so their relationship grew over texts, Facebook posts, and long phone calls. Since his return, they’d spent a lot of time together whenever possible.

  Maddie gushed over his talent. “You should see the collage he did for a big group of heart surgeons. They commissioned it for their offices. Two thousand bucks!”

  “Wow, that is great.”

  “He’s pretty livid over Holly competing with our shop and Matt’s at the same time. Kip met her a few years ago and said she was nasty.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Hey, Rosie. Need a w-a-l-k?” I stooped down to hug my adorable Lhasa Apso and Bichon Frise mix, whose trimmed curly coat made her resemble an overgrown, frisky teddy bear. “Let me change my clothes first. Hang on, baby.”

  “I’d better check out how Aunt Eve is doing. I left a stack of invoices with her earlier,” Maddie said. “Oh, there’s Kip again.”

  She snagged her ringing cell and then headed for the small alcove that served as our office until renovations were finished. I’d hoped everything would be done by the tea party, but that hadn’t happened; the contractors took far longer to make all the changes. With our annual Mackinac Island sisters weekend, plus Halloween, we had to get everything moved back and in order before the busy holiday season. I smiled at my sister’s excited chatter.

  Climbing upstairs to my bedroom, I mused about Maddie’s latest flame. Although he had to be eight or ten years older, Kip O’Sullivan possessed the same level of creativity. He taught art classes at the local community college, and worked with several art galleries in the region. Dark-haired, attractive, with playful teasing and a boisterous laugh, he entertained everyone at a family dinner last week. Despite his paint-spattered T-shirt and jeans with multiple holes, which appalled Mom. But Dad liked Kip. That meant a lot to Maddie.

  Maddie didn’t seem to notice Mom’s displeasure, which surprised me. Given the constant exchange of phone calls and texts, her worrying like mad over his projects, and also Kip’s clear adoration of her, I figured they had to be in love.

  I ought to recognize the signs. Been there, done th
at. So over it.

  After grabbing a pair of jeans from the pile of laundry in my closet, plus a grungy plaid flannel shirt and my beat-up tennis shoes, I rushed downstairs. Rosie waited near the door, the leash in her mouth, her tail wagging.

  I had to laugh. “So you’ve learned how to spell? Okay, let’s go.”

  “Hey, Sash. We need you in the shop, hurry!”

  Maddie disappeared beyond the double doors. We kept them locked, usually, as a barrier between the business and residential sides of the shop. Since we’d closed today due to the tea party, they stood wide open. I gathered my blond hair into a ponytail, grabbed a baseball cap from the pegs by the door, but then rehung the leash. Rosie’s wagging tail drooped, since she realized we weren’t leaving. I dropped to one knee and rubbed her ears.

  “Sorry, sweetie, I promise this won’t take long. Come on with me.”

  I led her through the hallway to the shop. Aunt Eve stood near a display rack, her blond hair styled in brushed-out pin curls à la Lauren Bacall; she wore a striped cotton dress with a flared skirt over a rustling crinoline and green leather four-inch heels. Despite suffering major hot flashes, Aunt Eve never went without a white or cream cardigan sweater. She stood near a customer and waved two bears, a small silver in one hand and a larger tan in the other.

  “This young woman is trying to decide which bear would look better in a black leather outfit to complement her own.”

  The customer wore full Goth regalia and looked worlds apart from Aunt Eve. Black lipstick and black eyeliner emphasized the girl’s pale makeup; her dark hair, streaked with lavender, fell to her waist. She wore a studded collar, black T-shirt, and low-slung belt with a skull and chains dangling from it, plus leather shorts. Below that, fishnet stockings covered her legs above black ankle boots. I guessed she and Aunt Eve had bonded over their love of furry teddy bears instead of fashion trends.

  The girl leaned down to let Rosie sniff one lace glove. “Aww, how sweet. I love dogs, but can’t have one right now. There’s a cat at the pub, though.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it a few times,” Maddie said. “We don’t sell leather outfits for our bears, but you could place a special order if you want.”