"I'm taking Lucy to the play now. I thought you might have wanted to say goodbye and maybe wish her luck?" she offered, staying calm. She and Dave used to hold world-record breaking shouting matches, and she was in no mood to reignite that again.
"That's it?" he asked as if she was making the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. He then just turned his back on Beatrice, putting the phone back to his ear, "Sorry about that. Where were we?" he continued, into the mouthpiece.
Beatrice clenched her jaw nice and tight, only too aware of the throbbing vein currently working overtime on her temple. She almost exploded and wanted to grab his phone from his hand and launch it off the porch and into the neighbor's bushes, but just as those thoughts crossed her mind, she spotted Lucy in the living room waiting for her, and she stopped herself.
Tonight was about Lucy. She was going to do all she could to make sure that that particular relationship didn't go down an all too familiar path. If she could do that, then Beatrice would consider it a win. Her relationship with Dave would have to wait.
--
Lucy was only too excited to Beatrice her school and everyone in it. The entire drive there, she rattled on about how much Beatrice was sure to love this person and that, what the play was about and most importantly, how great her best friend, Thomas, the janitor, was.
Of all the things and people that Lucy gushed over, Thomas was without a doubt heaped the most praise. The way Lucy described him, he was more a hero than man; at least in the eyes of an eleven-year-old. From always being there for her, helping her when she needed it most and even giving her lifts to and from school when her father wasn't able to, he seemed like a genuinely great friend. Beatrice got the impression that he was more of a father to her than even Dave had ever been.
The moment that the two arrived, Lucy grabbed her grandmother by the hand and dragged her backstage. She did this with such tenacity and force that Beatrice almost forgot to grab her Thanksgiving cookies from the back of the car.
Beatrice, of course, had whipped up a special batch of her famous holiday cookies before picking Lucy up. She figured that the performers and staff would be famished from all the hard work and would without a doubt appreciate a snack from the best baker in the entire town, or at least that was what she assumed.
Therefore, it was to her surprise, that when she arrived backstage, there was already a spread of baked treats laid out on a large picnic table for all to have. And what was worse was that they looked to be almost the same treats as Beatrice had made – albeit with a few minor differences.
"Oh no," Lucy gushed, "I forgot to tell you. Ms. Elwin usually bakes for these events."
"Ms. Elwin?" Beatrice asked, trying to sound more curious than upset as she put her meager batch of cookies next to the huge piles that were already out on the table.
Everyone else did too, by the looks of it. The backstage area of the hall was overflowing with people. Most were kids from the school, dressed and ready for the play. Others were adults, either parents or teachers. They were all crowding around the table, snatching wildly at Ms. Elwin's cookies.
"Yes, Ms. Elwin. She teaches home economics. She even makes some of the best cookies I've ever had --"
"Some of the best?" A loud voice interrupted. "Try the best!" The voice belonged to a very tall and rotund man that had suddenly popped up right beside Beatrice and Lucy. "If you don't mind," he ordered, leaning around and all but pushing Beatrice out of the way as he went for a handful of Ms. Elwin's cookies.
"My grandmother makes the best cookies," Lucy defended as she watched the large man pile the cookies into his hand.
"Now, now Lucy, what do we always say about lying? I might have to fail you if you carry on like that."
Although it was said as a joke, Beatrice got a distinct impression that he wasn't joking. By the way that he eyed Beatrice, even sneering at her cookies before turning and shuffling away, she was all but sure that he wasn't.
"That was Mr. McKay. I don't like him," Lucy frowned, watching the teacher shuffle over to who Beatrice assumed was his wife. With his muscular arms, strong back and powerful shoulders, Beatrice couldn't help but think that the large gut he sported looked a little odd like it was a new addition to his frame.
His wife seemed to think the same thing as she slapped the cookies out of his hand, storming from the room without giving him a chance to apologize, even if he wanted to. By the way he went back for more cookies, Beatrice assumed that he had never intended on doing such a thing.
"I hear I have some competition," a voice as sweet as honey cooed from behind Beatrice. Turning, Beatrice spotted who she could only assume to be Ms. Elwin. A good twenty years younger than Beatrice, with bright eyes, a light hop to her step and a smile that could melt ice, Ms. Elwin looked like the type of lady that any young boy or girl would have been glad to call their teacher.
"Ms. Elwin!" Lucy exclaimed. Beatrice heart sunk just a little at the way that Lucy lit up at the sight of the home economics teacher. "This is my grandmother. She's a baker too."
"Oh, how lovely," she said, eyeing the cookies that Beatrice had made. "They look scrumptious too." Although she smiled warmly and offered a flutter of her eyelids when she said it, Beatrice couldn’t help but note the sarcasm, or at least she thought it was sarcasm. There was every chance that she was being perfectly cordial, and Beatrice was looking for an excuse.
"Yes," Beatrice began. "Yours look like the pick of the litter too."
"Oh, these are my famous buttercream cookies. Just something I whipped up. You know how it is? These little stars deserve something edible, rather than the slop that's usually on offer at these things." Beatrice may have been imagining it, but she was almost sure that Ms. Elwin's eyes flicked to Beatrice's cookies on the word 'slop.'
But she never had a chance to confirm as a second later she felt Lucy's little hand wrap around her own as she was again being dragged off.
"I want you to meet Thomas," she explained as she pulled Beatrice through the crowds and toward the edge of the backstage area where a man that could only be Thomas was standing.
It was a safe guess, judging by the beige colored overalls he was wearing and the large broom he was pushing across the floor. Apart from that though, he didn't look anything like Lucy had described. He was a lot older than Beatrice imagined, well into his fifties. He also looked desperately ill, with off colored skin, a hunched over posture and heavy bags under his eyes. Beatrice assumed he must have just been having an off night.
"Hey little one," Thomas said as he saw Lucy approaching, before erupting into a fit of coughing. "Who is – who's this," he barely managed.
"This is my grandmother," Lucy said proudly. "Thomas! What happened to your hand?" She exclaimed, pointing down at what Beatrice now saw to be a heavily bandaged right hand.
"Oh, this? Nothing. I was attacked yesterday. Some local riff-raff in a mask was after my wallet. Lousy limey," he finished before hacking and wheezing again.
"Limey?" Beatrice asked, not familiar with the term.
"Oh, sorry. He was British, and limey is an old expression we used to use in the Navy. Back before I worked here I was... it's not important. Not as much as Lucy's big performance anyway! I'm so proud of you," he said, ruffling her hair with affection.
This little show of affection made Beatrice smile. Although at first, she thought it a bit odd that an elderly janitor had befriended a small girl, she now saw it for what it was, a regular friendship. Considering the type of father that she knew Lucy to have, she really couldn't blame the girl for seeking that kind of figure in someone else.
"OK, everyone! Time to take your places!" one of the stagehands screamed out over the commotion taking place. "If everyone that isn't directly involved in the play can move to their seats, we can get this show on the road."
With that, Beatrice offered her granddaughter a quick kiss on the forehead and a 'good luck,' before making her way from the backstage area to the main seating. As she did,
she couldn’t help but notice, much to her annoyance, that her cookies remained untouched, while Ms. Elwin's were all but gone.
3
The first half of the play was pleasant enough. There were few forgotten lines, and enough laughs to keep the time passing, and the audience engaged. Beatrice would have enjoyed herself more too if it wasn't for the fact that she desperately needed to go to the bathroom.
From almost the moment that the play started, she needed to go. She considered sneaking out on about five separate occasions but knew that if she did, she would miss Lucy's big moment, and therefore resolved to hold it.
It was with great relief when the first intermission arrived after less than an hour, and she was able to duck out and use the bathroom, knowing that she wasn't missing a thing.
It was Beatrice's first time at this particular school, and as such, she had little to no idea where anything was, to the point that on the way back from the bathroom she soon found herself hopelessly lost.
She wandered the hallways, up and down, trying and failing to locate the entrance to the hall. The problem was that they all looked the same; long, narrow and winding like a maze. It was therefore to her relief when she heard voices echoing down the hallways, coming straight at her. Well, that was until she heard what the voices were talking about.
"Please," one of the voice begged. "Why would you... you have to be able to stop it." There was no mistaking that voice. It was Thomas, and his words were quickly followed by a loud hacking and coughing.
Unfortunately, the response to Thomas' question was blocked out by the coughing. All Beatrice heard was a soft whisper and couldn't tell what the gender of the whisper was.
"I won't tell anyone, I promise! I --" more hacking and wheezing, this one worse than the last.
Beatrice remained frozen where she was, as the voices got closer and closer. She realized that this was probably a conversation that she didn't want to be found eavesdropping on. Wanting to remain where she was to see who he was talking to, but not wanting to get caught at the same time, Beatrice had no choice but to duck into the closest room, a mere second before the voices came around the corner.
The room that she found herself in was tiny; beyond that even. She felt her hand around the wall, locating the light switch a second later. Giving it a flick, it took her all of two seconds to realize where she was – the janitor's closet.
It was about as nondescript as janitor's closets get. The only thing that peaked Beatrice's interest at all was the plate of cookies sitting on the floor. The only reason that she noticed this was because the cookies were, without a doubt, the buttercream cookies concocted by Ms. Elwin.
For some reason seeing this really got Beatrice fuming. Why was everyone so obsessed with this particular brand? Were they laced with drugs or something? Determined to find the answer, Beatrice scooped one off the plate, wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in her purse. She would give it a try later and unlock the supposed secrets to these little delights.
But right now, she did not have the time. Listening at the door, she could tell that the janitor and whoever had him worried, had moved on from sight. As such, she quickly ducked from the closet and made her way back to the play, very quickly forgetting all she had seen and heard.
--
The second half of the play was about to start as Beatrice found her seat. She couldn't have been more excited either. She was only too certain that this was going to be Lucy's moment.
Sure enough, as the curtains opened, the Indians greeted the pilgrims, and she spotted her little granddaughter in the fray. Beatrice couldn't remember a time she had been so happy and this only escalated when Lucy spotted her in the crowd, shooting her the warmest of smiles.
Yes, everything was going perfectly until --
A body dropped from the rafters, only to be halted by the thick piece of rope, strapped around its neck.
Even from where she was sitting, Beatrice could hear the twang of the rope and the crunch of bones breaking in the dead man's neck. Even with the screams that quickly followed and the pandemonium that erupted a second after that, Beatrice still noticed, with a heavy heart, that the hung man was none other than Thomas.
4
I'm afraid that this is a pretty standard case," Detective Rogers mused as he led Beatrice away from the other officers, currently surrounding the scene.
"A standard case?" Beatrice asked skeptically. "I guess it's probably every other day that a man hangs himself in full view of dozens of school children, their teachers, and their parents? You're right. A totally, normal, run of the mill case."
"That's not what I meant," Rogers offered, letting off a prolonged sigh.
It had been well over an hour since Thomas had hung himself. A large portion of that time was dedicated toward calming the children down, who quite naturally lost their minds at the sight of their janitor hanging himself in front of them.
Once that was done, the next thirty minutes were used up being interviewed by every single member of the force, or so it seemed to Beatrice. At least five times she had to explain that she had only just met the man, that she was here to see that play, and that she had no connection to him outside of her granddaughter's friendship.
And each time she explained these things the officer nodded, wrote a few things down, assured her that he believed her only to pass her onto the next officer. It was therefore with great relief when she finally spotted Detective Rogers in the crowd.
He was easy enough to spot of course. Apart from his status as a detective, which allowed for him to wear chinos, a button-down white shirt, and a dark blazer, as oppose to the blue uniforms of the surrounding officers, he was also rather physically imposing. Standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a thick head of dark hair and a square set face, he struck quite the figure.
Beatrice and Detective Rogers had also had a long and tumultuous history. It was checkered with flirtation, dates and what had become a very odd working relationship. Too many times they had found themselves embroiled in a case together, very similar to this one. It was a pattern that Beatrice was planning on ending.
"What I meant," Detective Rogers continued, "is that this seems like a pretty cut and dry suicide." He glanced over his shoulder, checking that no one else was listening. "There were no signs of a struggle, and we even found a suicide note."
"A suicide note? Handwritten," Beatrice asked curiously.
"Of course. Otherwise it's a rather useless piece of evidence. Why?" He asked, looking down at Beatrice with curiosity. There had been many occasions where he had come to her for help and where she had gotten the jump on him during cases. Beatrice took a little delight in knowing that he was picking at her for clues.
"Oh, I was just... well I saw him earlier, and his right hand was bandaged up. He would have had a pretty hard time writing a suicide note if – you know what, nevermind. I'm sure you're right." Beatrice had to stop herself before she got carried away. Rogers was correct. This case looked pretty cut and dry. As terrible as it may have been.
Beatrice just wanted to see how Lucy was doing. She had barely gotten two words in with her granddaughter before she was being dragged away by police for questioning. She knew that this must have been killing her and Beatrice wanted nothing more than to be there for her right now.
"Trust me Ms. Fletcher --"
"Ms. Fletcher?" She cut in, raising her eyebrow at the formality.
"That is your name, isn't it?" He asked, ignoring the obvious meaning behind Beatrice's interruption. "We've seen this kind of thing before. Don't go looking for trouble where there isn't any." He fixed her with a warning glare as if daring her to argue, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
Beatrice silently fumed over the way he had treated her as if she were just another witness. He was clearly still a little put out by the way that their last date had ended if you could call it an ending. And the way Rogers ran off into the crowd like that? It was as if he couldn't wait
to get away from her.
Then again, maybe he had other people to interview? Beatrice wasn't the only one being questioned of course. She had already seen Ms. Elwin being interviewed; looking overly distraught as she did. She had even spotted Mr. McKay, the treat eating teacher, being interviewed. Although he didn't seem anywhere near as upset by the incident as he ought to have been. In fact, Beatrice was quite sure that she heard him describing Thomas as a 'good for nothing’ when she walked past.
Again, none of that concerned Beatrice. Right now, it was all about Lucy and her well-being. But, try as she might, Beatrice just couldn't locate Lucy.
She asked everyone that she could, becoming more and more worried by the second. She knew how close her granddaughter and the janitor was and she feared that Lucy might have gone and done something dramatic. Eventually, the principal came to the rescue with the suggestion that she might be stowed away in the janitor's closet.
"Too often I found her in there when she should have been out playing with kids her age," he mused. "It was one of the many reasons I thought he wasn't right for the job. Causing nothing but – What? Oh yes, I will..." He was halfway through talking to Beatrice when something over her shoulder distracted him, dragging the principal away from the conversation without so much as a goodbye.
Not that Beatrice cared as his suggestion made perfect sense and she was only too certain that that was where she would find Lucy.
--
"He didn’t do it!" Lucy wailed into Beatrice's arms, ten minutes later. "I know he didn't."
"I wish it were true sweetie, but... but there's no other way of looking at it," Beatrice comforted Lucy, not sure what to say. It was a delicate situation, and although she didn't want to tell her that her best friend had killed himself, she also couldn't lie and say that he hadn't. That wouldn't do anyone good.
Case of the Butter Cream Cookie Hanging Page 2