Shamrocks and Shenanigans

After Lacey Pinkerton solved the hundred-year-old mystery of the Hawksworth family murders, Port Danby dropped into a season of chaos. Mayor Price resigned from office, and the town grew divided with some standing behind Harlan Price, and the Price family legacy, and others, including Lacey, deciding that Bertram Hawksworth needed total exoneration and a loftier place in Danby history.

With a vacancy in the mayor's office, Nellie Smith, Bertram's great-grandniece decides to run, and Lacey is happy to join the campaign. When a man is murdered on Nellie's driveway, all evidence points to the candidate. Lacey is in a race against time to solve the murder and save the campaign. But the investigation takes a dangerous turn when Lacey becomes the killer's next target.


Book 15 of the Port Danby Cozy Mystery series

It had been one of those decisions that I regretted the second I made it, yet, there I was, spending my Saturday morning shopping for a wedding dress with Lola and her mother, Cynthia. I'd really had no choice in the matter, and if I thought about it, I couldn't actually classify the whole thing as a decision. It had all started with Lola strolling into the flower shop on Thursday afternoon with one of Elsie's delicious fudge brownies—a treat for my best friend, she cooed as she handed me the dessert. She'd caught me off guard, the little trickster. The brownie made me vulnerable, an easy target. I was a few good bites into my fudge brownie haze when she tossed out her request. I need you to come dress shopping with me. Worried that the brownie wasn't enough, she frosted it all with a compliment about my fashion sense. Your sense of style is only surpassed by your extraordinary sense of smell. Considering my wardrobe consisted mostly of jeans, shorts and t-shirts topped off with the occasional sweatshirt, I should have seen through the ruse. In my defense, I enthusiastically agreed to the outing before she added that her mom would be along for the fun.

Not that I had any aversion to Cynthia Button. She was smart, worldly and sophisticated, and she always had interesting stories to tell of her travels with Lola's dad, John. But Lola and Cynthia Button, together, in the same place, and a small place like a dress shop was another matter altogether. They were the true human form of oil and water.

It was hard to know who to blame more for the abrasive relationship. It was true that Cynthia Button was the queen of backhanded compliments (my own mom was close in skill—a princess in waiting, perhaps) but Lola tended to go out of her way to annoy her mom. And so, before the three of us had even set off toward Miss Tuttle's Dress Shop in Mayfield, I let them both know that I would be neutral for the day, Switzerland in curls as I put it.

Lola wasn't too pleased and muttered a few complaints about my loyalty, but the treaty had been signed, metaphorically speaking, and my early diplomacy had worked right up until an hour ago when peace talks broke down and I found myself plumb in the middle of the war.

Miss Tuttle, the shop owner, a sweet older woman with a light peach complexion and a slight tremor in her hands (seemingly made worse by her current clients) had plied us with slightly stale shortbread cookies and hot tea upon our arrival. She managed to make herself scarce as things got heated. I could only assume it wasn't her first time witnessing a mother-daughter battle over a wedding gown.

Lola exited the dressing room with a flourish. The corset style bodice of the ivory silk gown was adorned with crimson red roses, and the sheer lace, trumpet style sleeves hung nearly to the ground as Lola held out her arms and twirled around. A tornado of tulle and lace followed.

"Now you're just trying to irritate me," Cynthia scoffed. "I find it hard to believe Miss Tuttle even keeps such a gaudy dress in her shop."

Lola swept around once more. "It's gothic. Just my style." She looked pointedly at me. "What do you think, bestie?" She'd been using the bestie term freely all morning assuming that it was scoring points with Switzerland. (For the record, it was having the adverse effect.)

Both women were focused on their neutral shopping mate, anxious for an opinion.
I smiled coyly. "It's not terrible but it's not my favorite."
Lola groaned and stomped toward the dressing room. "I get better feedback from my toaster."

"Try on the one with the Victorian lace sleeves," Cynthia called as Lola snapped shut the dressing room door.

"I knew this was going to be difficult," Cynthia lamented and then paused, waiting for me to commiserate with her. When I didn't add a comment, she continued. "I don't know where that girl developed her sense of style. Those old tattered hats and the t-shirts, ugh, those rock and roll t-shirts." Cynthia primly smoothed the slacks on her caramel colored pantsuit. She'd topped it off with a fashionable paisley scarf and a glittering gold chain. "She didn't get it from my side of the family, that's for certain." She continued on as if we were having a two way conversation. "John had an eccentric aunt"—she tapped her well manicured finger against her chin—"Aunt Delphinia, I think that was her name." She laughed. "I suppose a name like that requires a touch of eccentricity. She always looked as if she had just emerged from a gothic novel. She once wore long black gloves to a summer barbecue." Cynthia sat back with a satisfied sigh. "That's it. That's where Lola got it from. Like I said—it wasn't from my side of the family."

As hard as it had been to remain neutral, I was starting to feel like a traitor. If my mom had been complaining to Lola about one of my many quirks, she would speak up.

"I can't imagine Lola without those shirts and hats. It's what makes her special—fun. She's Lola because of her unique sense of style. And she doesn't care what anyone else thinks. It's what I love about her."