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
