Boston Scream Murder

by Ginger Bolton

  “She claimed he gave her remotes to open his gates, garage doors, and doors into the house. She was barricading herself into a guest room on the top floor because she was afraid of Derek Bengsen.” The dip was subtle, but tasty.

  “I didn’t guess that. We’d thought maybe she was staying with Bengsen, though he had said he didn’t know where she was, or maybe with a colleague from the bank in Gooseleg. None of her friends admitted to knowing where she was.”

  I took carrot sticks from the fridge and put them onto a plate for us to share. “Didn’t you have someone posted at Rich’s mansion at night?”

  “She must have slipped in while our officer was on another part of the property. If we had caught her there during the investigation, she would have been in trouble.” He gave me one of his assessing detective looks. “I’m afraid to ask how you discovered where Terri was this evening.”

  “Nina and I took donuts to her, you know, like people do when someone’s bereaved.”

  “You knew where she lived?”

  “I’d noticed Derek’s address in Rich’s rental book because it was near Samantha’s. On the internet, I found a T. Estable listed in the same town house complex. This evening when Nina and I arrived there, Terri was standing on her front lawn with a pile of her things that she said Derek Bengsen had dumped when she wasn’t home.”

  “She told us about that.”

  “The clamshell bowl that went missing from Rich’s cottage was in that heap. When we left, it was on her dining table along with the box of donuts. A bunch of her belongings were piled on the living room floor.”

  “She must have put it all away between the time you left and the time we got there. Did you pick up on any new clues that add to your suspicion that she could have murdered her newly rediscovered boyfriend?”

  I pulled a Cindy Westhill bowl overflowing with fruit closer. “She implied that Rich wrote that guest list, but in my unscientific opinion, the handwriting on that list was similar to her signature on her will and to the writing on an envelope that I saw at her place with her name and address as the return address. The addressee was Derek. That guest list noticeably left people off, including Derek, who had threatened Rich. Derek told me that after his quarrel with Rich in Deputy Donut, Rich invited Derek to the party. I didn’t believe him, but what if Derek was right? Maybe Terri was using the quarrel to make Derek appear to be both a party crasher and a murderer, and he might not have been either one.”

  Brent took out his notebook and wrote in it.

  I continued with my theories. “I suspect he was both. He and Terri could have been conspiring to get older people to will them everything. For instance, it might be nice to know if the grandmother who left everything including a fish tank to Terri really was Terri’s grandparent, and it would also be nice to know how that person died.”

  He looked up from his notebook, and something like amusement sparked from those gray eyes. “You think of everything, don’t you? We’ll check on all of it, including the grandmother with the fondness for sixties and seventies décor. We won’t let either Derek or Terri escape our grasp if we discover that we do have enough evidence.”

  “And I wonder about Derek’s friends, the ones who supposedly damaged Rich’s cottage.”

  “You don’t have to worry about them. They were friends of Derek’s from high school. They all get together occasionally for road trips on their motorcycles. We checked. All three of Derek’s friends were at their jobs in Gary on Monday and Tuesday. Three different jobs, three different companies. Their alibis are about as solid as alibis can be.”

  “Which brings us back to Derek and Terri. And possibly Hank. He came into Deputy Donut yesterday and said he was going to play the piano at Happy Times Retirement Home. He mentioned Rich’s wife, then he asked to take his partly finished coffee and donut with him. He hurried away to Happy Times. It takes about five minutes to drive there from Deputy Donut, but he gave himself almost forty minutes. It was like he didn’t like the way the conversation was going.”

  “Could he have needed to practice on that piano before playing for the residents?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Was he walking or driving?”

  “I don’t know, but I assumed he was driving because it’s a long walk from Lake Fleekom to Deputy Donut, and then to Happy Times.”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption. We haven’t ruled him out.” Brent picked out a bunch of grapes. “So, tell me about last night.”

  My face flamed. “I believe Terri about spending nights in a room on the top floor of Rich’s mansion. Last night, I thought I saw a light move in one of the rooms up there.”

  “In the front?”

  “In the back.”

  “How did you see that?”

  “From my kayak. The moon was almost full, so after Samantha’s party, I drove to Lake Fleekom to see if it was misty like it had been on Tuesday morning. Mist was forming, so I toured the lake. It was wonderful, even more magical than in daylight. You . . . you should have been there.”

  “You’re obviously right about that. Where did you park?”

  “The county beach. And I saw something else that might be important. Hank canoed from near his own dock to somewhere near Rich’s cottage and then back to his own house. At least, I think it was Hank. I don’t think he saw me.”

  “Anything else?”

  I pulled peel off an orange. “While I was fastening my kayak to the car, a pickup truck went toward the cottages. I was curious, so I drove past Rich’s cottage. A pickup truck was parked in front of it. I’m not sure, but it could have been Derek Bengsen’s. It was old, dark gray, rusty, and not a big one. I thought the tires could have made those prints I found in the mud.” I explained that Terri had mentioned that Derek’s truck was rusty, and that I’d seen a piece of rusted-off dark gray paint on some of the clothes dumped on Terri’s front yard. “Derek might have gone to Rich’s cottage to search for Terri.” I couldn’t help a shudder at the thought of what he might have done if he’d found her.

  “Did you learn anything else?”

  “That’s about it.” Knowing that Brent would worry about my safety, I was not going to admit to being fooled by the meowing of a cat or to chasing after the cat and spying through Hank’s windows. I was sure the police had already discovered or would learn of Hank’s earlier relationship with Rich’s late wife. I had already hinted at it when I told Brent about Hank rushing out of Deputy Donut.

  Brent leaned back and gave me a warm but slightly devilish smile. “When I asked you to tell me about last night, I meant Samantha’s party.”

  “Oh.” I blushed. I’d let my feelings of guilt fool me into thinking he was asking about my snooping. “There was a lot of squealing from Misty and me when Hooligan and Samantha told us they were engaged.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it. You know how police like squealing.”

  I crossed my arms and tried to look stern. “Very funny, especially since you tricked me in your best detective fashion into squealing on myself.”

  “You’d have told me anyway.” He was probably right. He stood up. “I should let you get some rest. You have to work early, right?”

  “Yes, and you’ll probably work all night.”

  “Only a couple more hours. I’ll see you tomorrow night at your party.”

  At the front door, he picked up Dep in one arm and hugged me with the other. Between us, Dep rumbled with deep, contented purrs.

  Brent leaned down and murmured near my ear, “You’re not thinking of going kayaking again tonight, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Because if you were, I’d come along.”

  I gave him a little push. “You have to work.”

  “Keep your kayak on your car in case we get a chance?”

  “Okay.”

  “See you tomorrow night.” He handed Dep to me and opened the door. On the porch, he looked down at my Halloween decorations. “And don’t come out here by yourself. Th
ere are goblins.”

  I laughed, shut the door, and locked it. I heard Brent’s feet on the porch steps, then nothing. Dep wasn’t even purring. She wriggled. I put her down. She pressed her nose against the door.

  “And you’re not going out among the goblins tonight, either, Dep,” I told her. “It would be different if you were a black cat, but you are a torbie, a tortoiseshell tabby, too cute for any self-respecting witch. Who can take those donut circles on your sides seriously?”

  “Meow.”

  Chapter 23

  Finally, it was Halloween. Dep seemed as excited as I was to leave for work. With our fun donuts, chatty customers, and the costumed kids who would arrive late in the afternoon, Halloween was sure to be entertaining. “And today and tomorrow, you’ll see Jocelyn,” I told Dep.

  “Meow!”

  It was still dark outside when we stepped out onto our front porch. The goblins were where they’d been when Brent cautioned us about them the night before. Maybe because of Brent’s warning, Dep arched her back, puffed herself up, and attempted to stare them down. I picked her up and carried her until we could no longer see our house and she was content to walk. In the dark, she paid no attention to the decorations in everyone else’s yards, including the inflatables, most of which were deflated, possibly so that the owners could sleep without fear of fires. Or of giant ghosts peering through second-floor windows.

  Tom was already working in the kitchen when Dep and I arrived in the already toasty office. I unsnapped her leash and halter. She dashed up a ramp to a catwalk high above me. Eyes wide, she stared down as if challenging me to turn into a witch, fly my broom close to the ceiling, and chase her around ramps and kitty-sized staircases.

  Laughing, I shut her into the office and went into the kitchen. Tom lifted the day’s first batch of apple fritters—to be made into fritter critters—out of the boiling oil. Nina also arrived early. “I can’t wait to see Jocelyn again,” she said.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  With her long dark hair tied back in a bun, Jocelyn bounced in, put on her Deputy Donut apron and hat, and gave us all pretend high fives. We didn’t actually touch one another. Some of us had gooey hands, and Jocelyn had just washed hers.

  “What are you making?” Jocelyn asked. “Fritter critters? Cute!” She pitched in with the decorating while I made dough and cut out donuts. Tom fried them. He never said so, but I suspected he was always concerned that one of us would splash hot oil on ourselves, and that was why he always wanted to tend the fryers. He was careful no matter what he was doing, which was probably why he’d been a good detective and a beloved police chief.

  Jocelyn refused to attempt decorating the zombies or indenting screaming faces into the fudge frosting on the Boston scream donuts, leaving both artistic endeavors to Nina. However, Jocelyn was game to decorate the jack-o’-lanterns, ghosts, witch hats, scare-it cake donuts, and cat donuts. She also created spider donuts by stoppering the holes in donuts with fried donut bits and covering the spheres with chocolate frosting. Stripes of frosting served as legs, and she stuck googly sugar eyes on the chocolate-covered donut bits. She didn’t stop there. She pressed more sugar eyes into a cruller and drizzled green icing into the valleys of the cruller to make legs, letting the icing pool to create little feet. She stood back and regarded her latest creation, which resembled a fat caterpillar chewing on its tail. “There! Shall I make more creepy crullers? Do we have enough sugar eyes?”

  We told her that we had plenty of sugar eyes and that she should definitely make more creepy crullers.

  As we worked, Tom, Nina, and I told Jocelyn that costumed kids were invited to come into Deputy Donut beginning at three thirty for free cider and donuts. Most stores in town were planning to shell out to trick-or-treaters after the Halloween parade.

  Jocelyn asked how old the trick-or-treaters would be.

  “Up to twelve,” I answered, “but we won’t be asking for ID.”

  Jocelyn made a worried face. “So, they’re starting their sugar high early? Lucky parents.”

  “The parents can have donuts and a beverage, too,” I told her. “They’ll all be high on sugar.”

  Jocelyn tilted her head, causing her donut hat to slip. “What if we make smaller donuts, crullers, and fritters for the kids? I don’t want us to look stingy, but I think we’ll have less waste and happier customers if we don’t overfeed the kids.”

  Tom and I looked at each other and nodded. “Good idea,” I said. “Should we give their parents full-sized donuts?”

  Nina burst out laughing. “The kids would complain.”

  “And we’ll give the kids small cups of cider or juice,” Jocelyn informed us.

  Tom and I smiled at each other. “Jocelyn’s back,” he said.

  The first customers of the morning came in. The Knitpickers and retired men seldom met at Deputy Donut on Saturdays, but other regulars were excited to talk to Jocelyn.

  Two female firefighters were surprised when she told them she didn’t plan to continue in gymnastics, not even coaching. “I like little kids,” Jocelyn explained. “I hope to teach kindergarten. I’ll continue gymnastics as a hobby and to stay fit, but I don’t want to participate competitively anymore.”

  She had almost made it to the summer Olympics. She hadn’t complained, but merely coming close had probably been both thrilling and disappointing. With her energy, enthusiasm, and love of children, she’d be good at teaching, and she would probably love it, too.

  I helped serve customers during the first rush of the morning, but I was in the kitchen drawing black features on white skull donuts when Jocelyn told me that someone wanted to talk to me.

  I looked over the half wall. Wearing black slacks and an orange sweater instead of her chef’s whites, Cat from Cat’s Catering waved from a table for two where she was sitting by herself. Her straight brown hair gleamed.

  I washed my hands and went to talk to her. “What can I get you? It’s on the house.”

  “Just a small coffee. Your special for the day, pumpkin spice latte, sounds delicious.”

  “Can I tempt you with a pumpkin spice donut with cream cheese frosting to go with it? Or a pumpkin jack-o’-lantern donut?”

  She touched her perfectly flat stomach. “They sound wonderful, but I do too much tasting as it is.”

  I smiled back at her. “I know what you mean.”

  She joked, “We have to make certain that it’s good enough for our clients, right?”

  “For sure.” I went to get her latte.

  When I returned with it, she had propped her phone against a clever stand shaped like an adorable cat. “I made a video of what we do. Is this a good time?”

  “Yes. We have extra help today, and although there are lots of people in here, they’ve all been served.” I pulled the table’s other chair close to her and sat down. “They like to hang around with their friends.”

  “You’ve made your place very welcoming. We could probably work well together. Here.” She turned the phone toward me. “Have a look at this. It’s not long.”

  The video showed plates of steak and salmon with potatoes and roasted vegetables being served at a wedding reception. Cat explained, “We provided everything—the linens, chair covers, dishes, cutlery, and food.”

  “It’s a charming and romantic setting, and the food looks delicious. Did you make the video?”

  “Yes. And now, this next part was taken at the family reunion I told you about, after Rich Royalson came along on his bicycle.” The video showed an extended family picnicking at Lake Fleekom County Park. Cheerful people were eating fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans, and veggies. A couple of watermelons waited nearby. Cat paused the video. “You’ll recognize this. I’m sorry that it will bring back sad memories, but try to see it as a video showing what we do.”

  She restarted the video. There was the party tent on Rich’s lawn, with nothing on the tables inside it besides white tablecloths and a corner of the taped-up gu
est list. In front of the tent, Rich turned and looked at Terri, who was expertly backing the red canoe away from shore. She didn’t seem to notice him and didn’t look up when he waved. With no audio, I couldn’t tell whether he had called to her or not.

  The next scene showed everything inside the tent the way I remembered it, except there was no body and no skillet behind the bar. Then Cat must have backed up the hill for a wider view. Rich stood in the tent’s entryway. He was waving at Cat.

  Waving goodbye, possibly for the final time.

  Again saddened, I checked all four corners of the screen. There was no date or time stamp, but a forensics investigator should be able to figure out the exact time.

  I expected the video to end, but it didn’t, and Cat continued sipping her latte and looking at her phone as if there was more she wanted me to see.

  She had continued recording as she walked up the hill. She bobbed past the side of Rich’s stone mansion, causing me to feel a little dizzy. The picture became less jumpy as she panned to the lake. Rich was standing inside the tent, gazing down at a table with some of the food on it and tented labels for the food that had been scheduled to arrive later, at twelve twenty-five that day.

  Terri’s canoe had disappeared into the mist, and no one else was in the picture. Threatening to make me woozy again, the phone’s camera turned toward the driveway. It showed the Cat’s Catering van. With the phone still recording, Cat climbed into the passenger seat. The video showed the front of Rich’s house. No one was there. The van turned, filming both the circular driveway and the straight driveway leading to Rich’s three-car garage. No other vehicles were nearby. The van pulled onto the road, and that segment ended.

  The final scenes in the video were taken in the kitchen at Cat’s Catering, a marvel in cleanliness and stainless steel. Two men and two women in white chef’s coats and hats grinned and waved at the camera. I wondered if they’d all been purposely showing off kitchen gadgets that could be used as weapons. One held a butcher knife, one a cleaver, one a meat-tenderizing mallet, and one a rolling pin. No cast-iron skillets, long handled or otherwise.