Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  Jules shrugged. ‘No, but I don’t know him that well. Tish doesn’t seem to find him suspicious at all. She obviously accepted his explanation about that evening and his feelings about Binnie Broderick.’

  ‘Question is, did he tell her that he was at the very next table? And did he mention being one of the last people to see Binnie alive that night?’ Mary Jo posed.

  ‘Somehow I doubt it. Tish wouldn’t be so quick to plan another date with him if he had. She’d wait until the case was solved.’

  ‘You’re right. She’s always been extremely cautious.’

  ‘Cautious? Honey, it’s been two years since that jerk of a husband left her for that Nunsense understudy, and the first date she plans is to a farmers’ market so she can select some seasonal squash. That’s not cautious; that’s downright restrained.’

  ‘Well, then, we’d better tell her about the video.’

  Jules picked up his cellphone and began punching at digits on the keyboard.

  ‘What are you doing?’ a frustrated Mary Jo asked.

  ‘Sending her a text.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Mary Jo snatched the offending device from his hand. ‘Tish has developed quite a crush on Schuyler. This is something we need to tell her in person.’

  ‘Excuse me, but if the guy I was macking on turned out to be a potential murderer, I’d like to know right away, by any means available.’

  ‘Duly noted.’ Mary Jo remained stern.

  ‘Is this part of the female dating code, like that whole men “taking a break” thing?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mary Jo grabbed her bag and the tray of leftover sandwiches. ‘Now, come on.’

  Jules obediently picked up his laptop and followed Mary Jo out of the lunchroom. ‘I’m glad I don’t date women. Y’all are so complicated.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tish climbed behind the wheel of the Matrix sometime after one thirty in the afternoon and, from Celestine’s road, made a left on to the bypass to return to the café. Halfway down the thoroughfare, she spotted Sheriff Reade’s police-issued SUV parked outside Wisteria Knolls. Tish hit the brakes and, after pulling into a nearby driveway, backed on to the bypass road, this time facing the opposite direction.

  She hit the accelerator, all the while feeling a complete idiot for trying to avoid the sheriff the way she was, but she didn’t want to speak with him, or anyone, at this particular juncture. Celestine’s story, coming on the heels of Augusta’s confession, had left her with a distinct and overwhelming sense of self-loathing. Who was she to be prying into these people’s personal lives?

  What had started out as a grassroots goodwill campaign to preserve her café’s reputation had become a full-blown investigation causing angst and discord to nearly everyone it touched. Daryl and Celestine, Augusta and Edwin, and, most of all, poor Cordelia and John. Some things, it would appear, might have been better off buried.

  Tish pulled over on to the shoulder of the road as her eyes welled with tears. As she rummaged through her handbag in search of a tissue, her cell phone rang. It was Sheriff Reade.

  Finding nothing to serve as a handkerchief, Tish dabbed at her eyes with her fingers and took a deep calming breath before answering. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, you know U-turns are illegal on this road, don’t you?’ Reade teased.

  Tish was not in the proper mindset for such playfulness. ‘Really? Oh, I’m sorry.’

  Sheriff Reade paused. ‘I just left Wisteria Knolls and see you parked up ahead. Mind if I stop?’

  Tish desperately wanted to answer, Yes, I do mind, but figured that ticking off the local police would only serve to make her present situation even less palatable. ‘No, of course not.’

  Within seconds, the flashing lights of Reade’s SUV appeared in Tish’s rear-view mirror. The sheriff stopped on the shoulder behind where Tish was parked and kept the truck idling as he exited the vehicle and approached the driver-side window of the Matrix. ‘Hey,’ he greeted and leaned his arms on the edge of the window. It was a move he had clearly perfected after years of traffic stops.

  ‘Hi,’ Tish returned the greeting. ‘How’s Cordelia?’

  Reade shook his head. ‘I want to thank you for checking in on her and then calling me. I really appreciate you taking action the way you did. She was in a bad way when we arrived. I have an officer trained in grief counseling with her right now, but she can’t stay there all day. Maybe you wouldn’t mind checking in with Cordelia again later?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tish agreed. It was the very least she could do after barraging the poor woman with so many questions.

  ‘Good. She said she doesn’t have too many friends here in town, so your kindness means a lot.’

  ‘Ah,’ Tish replied distractedly.

  ‘You OK?’ Reade asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Tish quickly dismissed. ‘Didn’t sleep much last night.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around, but don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of it all,’ he assured. ‘By the way, I got in touch with John Ballantyne – another thing I need to thank you for. He’s filing for divorce from Cordelia, and he and Roberta Dutton are on their way to visit his daughter.’

  ‘In Williamsburg?’ Tish instantly forgot about her bad mood.

  Reade confirmed the location. ‘They’re going to spend a few days to break the news about the divorce and her grandmother, and give her a chance to get to know Roberta better.’

  ‘Throwing the new girlfriend in there with the dead grandma and the “Mommy and I won’t be living in the same house anymore” speech. Ballantyne’s looking to win the Father of the Year award, isn’t he?’

  ‘In hockey, I think that’s what’s known as a hat-trick.’

  ‘I would have thought it’d be more akin to skating into the wall.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Reade chuckled. ‘Unfortunately, I can only tell them how to avoid violating the law. I can’t tell them how to avoid violating the principles of good sense.’

  ‘If only you could,’ Tish said wistfully.

  ‘I’d probably be out of a job. In most instances, people commit crimes because they’ve completely taken leave of their senses.’

  ‘Is this one of those instances?’ Tish asked.

  ‘With two killings under the murderer’s belt?’

  ‘Well, the killer obviously “took leave of their senses,” as you put it, when they murdered Binnie. Then they were faced with covering their tracks by killing Doctor Livermore.’

  ‘Interesting. I’d have bet it was the other way around,’ Reade interjected. ‘Shooting someone outside a church in broad daylight is a lot more reckless than slipping them poison and quietly walking away.’

  ‘Plus the killer would have to remember to take the poison with them and then, somehow, arrange to dispose of the bottle,’ Tish reflected. ‘Or jar or plastic baggie or something.’

  ‘Off the premises, obviously, since we didn’t find anything in the washroom or kitchen trash cans or in the dumpster out back.’ Reade placed his hand to his forehead as if tipping an imaginary hat. ‘Well, I’d best get back to the station. Thanks again for your help.’

  Help, Tish thought to herself. Sure, I helped all right. ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Are you headed back to the café or do you have more investigative work ahead?’ he smirked.

  Tish squinted at him. ‘I’m not investigating. I’ve been delivering baked goods and sandwiches.’

  ‘Ah.’ The smirk morphed into a look of consternation. ‘I just hope the ingredients of those sandwiches don’t disagree with anyone. You never know who may be sensitive to what.’

  ‘Is that a warning, Sheriff?’

  ‘Just a reminder. There’s all sorts of allergies out there these days. Just be careful.’

  ‘I will. Thanks.’ As Reade turned to walk back to his SUV, Tish stopped him. ‘You know, you just reminded me of something.’

  Reade sauntered back to the Matrix. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you remember Binnie Broderic
k’s bread-and-butter pickles?’

  ‘I remember her bringing them to all sorts of local functions. But I don’t remember the pickles themselves. Never ate them. Where I come from, pickles are made with garlic and dill.’

  ‘Yeah, same here. Opal Schaeffer did remember them, however.’

  At the sound of Opal’s name, Sheriff Reade heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Mrs Schaeffer …’

  ‘What? Can’t I trust her observations?’

  ‘Oh, no, she’s very astute. Great eye for detail. Problem is, she’s always after me and everyone else in town over eighteen and under fifty to pose for her book covers.’

  ‘Yes, she asked me too,’ Tish confided.

  ‘See? Go on,’ he urged.

  ‘Well, Opal said that at this June’s town barbecue the quality of Binnie Broderick’s pickles, although never fantastic, took a serious downturn. She actually used the term “bizarre practical joke” to describe their flavor.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you said that there were no traces of arsenic found in the food she ate at the fundraiser.’

  ‘Nor in her drink,’ Reade added.

  ‘What if someone had been poisoning Binnie prior to the fundraiser? And what if that person had done so by tampering with her beloved bread-and-butter pickles?’ Tish proposed.

  ‘Was this someone also trying to kill off half the town?’ Reade countered.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The killer couldn’t be certain who would eat the pickles. Mrs Broderick brought them to every potluck function within a ten-mile radius of town. Maybe even farther. Popular opinion was she was too cheap to bring anything else, and I’m not about to disagree. Still, they were available to anyone and everyone, even if the people who wanted to eat them were far and few between.’

  ‘Exactly. The only person who ate the pickles at the barbecue was the maker of the pickles herself, Binnie Broderick.’

  ‘And you’re suggesting that the “off” taste of the pickles was due to them having been spiked with arsenic,’ he concluded.

  ‘Yes. It does make sense, doesn’t it?’ Tish was optimistic.

  ‘No. No, it doesn’t.’ Reade was quick to dash her hopes. ‘If the flavor of the pickles was off, why didn’t Binnie detect it?’

  It was a question Tish hadn’t anticipated. ‘Well … everyone’s taste buds are different. Some people can’t taste sour things while others revel in eating lemons and sour candies.’

  ‘Yes,’ the sheriff allowed, ‘but Binnie’s taste buds were different to the point where everyone else tasted something that she didn’t? Sorry, but I don’t buy it.’

  ‘Then how do you explain the pickles tasting so different?’ Tish challenged.

  ‘I don’t. Just as taste buds vary from person to person, they also change over time. Mrs Broderick may have changed the seasoning of the pickles to reflect her current tastes or, let’s be honest, she may even have forgotten the recipe and added too much or too little of an ingredient. The same goes for Mrs Schaeffer. We only have her word for it that the pickles were markedly different. Her tastes may also have changed due to age, medication, or any number of reasons.’

  Tish frowned. The sheriff was right. Poisoning a jar of bread-and-butter pickles, on the off chance your intended victim would consume not just one or two slices of cucumber but enough pickles for the poison to take effect, was a ridiculous way of killing someone. Still, there was something about those pickles, and particularly their flavor, that aroused suspicion. ‘Well, it was a theory,’ Tish said wistfully, pretending to abandon the idea entirely.

  ‘And not a bad one either,’ Reade praised. ‘But it’s far more likely that Mrs Broderick had a bit of a bad memory when making those last few batches of pickles. She was getting to “that age.” I’m twenty years younger than she was and even I walk into a room sometimes and forget why I’m there.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tish would not validate his theory with a corroborating story or a ‘me too.’ ‘Well, I’m going to go home and take a short nap. The air conditioning will feel good. It’s starting to get muggy again.’

  ‘Yep, be another two months before it cools down much. See ya around,’ Sheriff Reade issued his farewell. ‘And, again, be careful, huh?’

  ‘I will. Bye,’ Tish gave a wave before rolling up the side window. Rather than immediately moving away from the curb, Tish idled in place until the sheriff drove past her. She smiled and waved again and then, as the sheriff drove off into the distance, she turned the Matrix around and took off for the café.

  Tish had absolutely no intention of having a nap. She had only said that for Reade’s benefit. Tish was not easily rankled, but the sheriff’s warning to be careful had hit a nerve. Had Tish been careful, the sheriff wouldn’t know about Augusta’s pregnancy, John Ballantyne leaving town, Cordelia’s depression, or Binnie Broderick’s possible memory issues. In time, the sheriff would have eventually uncovered these things on his own – he was not by any means a stupid man – but her influence in the case had done much to expedite matters.

  Tish accelerated along the bypass road. The café was her destination, and she longed for a cold glass of water with lemon and some quiet time alone in which to think. It was, therefore, a disappointment to find that Mary Jo and Jules had already returned from their sandwich run and were awaiting her on the front porch.

  ‘Ah, well,’ she whispered to herself before stepping out of the Matrix and on to the gravel-lined café parking lot. ‘Hey,’ she greeted. ‘You two are back early. Did you sell out already?’

  ‘Um, not entirely,’ Mary Jo hedged. ‘There’s a couple of ham sandwiches and a few hummus pitas left in the fridge.’

  Amid all the hoopla over John Ballantyne’s departure, Cordelia Ballantyne’s despair, and Celestine and Daryl Dufour’s secret past, Tish had completely forgotten to eat either breakfast or lunch. ‘Hmm, I do believe those may have my name on them,’ she announced as she mounted the front steps.

  ‘Oh, I’ll fix you a plate, honey.’ Jules sprang from his perch on the porch railing and scurried into the café.

  ‘What’s gotten into Jules?’ Tish asked. ‘I usually have to ask him something three times before he looks up from that phone of his.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Mary Jo replied abruptly. ‘I’ll get you something to drink. Tea?’

  ‘Um, water and lemon, but you don’t need to—’

  ‘Nonsense. You just sit on this here porch swing and relax.’ Mary Jo got up from the swing and gestured to her friend to take her place. ‘I know you got hardly any sleep last night.’

  ‘Yeah, but neither did you.’

  ‘Uh, yes, well, that’s true, but I have teenagers. I’m used to staying up and staring at the ceiling, worrying. Now you sit and I’ll be right back.’ Mary Jo disappeared behind the storm door, leaving Tish in bewilderment.

  The situation was not unlike those cheesy sitcom episodes where somehow the wrong doctor’s report is discovered or a conversation is overheard, leaving the cast of the show thinking that a major character is dying, pregnant, or seriously ill, thereby compelling said cast to be unusually nice to said main character. Only, in this instance, there was no laugh track playing and Tish had absolutely no idea how Jules or Mary Jo might jump to any such conclusions.

  Jules returned with two hummus pitas on a plate and a tea towel. ‘I couldn’t find a napkin,’ he explained as he deposited the meal in Tish’s lap.

  ‘I’m out. Augusta used them all yesterday.’

  Mary Jo soon followed with a tall glass of iced water in which several slices of lemon were suspended. ‘Here you go, honey. Drink up. It’s important to keep hydrated.’

  Tish stared back at the two sets of eyes watching her intently. ‘Why are you both still standing there? Why do I need to keep hydrated? What’s going on here?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jules insisted despite erupting into a nervous titter.

  ‘Just eat your lunch,’ Mary Jo urged. ‘You need to keep your strength up.’

  �
�Strength? OK.’ Tish moved the plate of food on to a nearby wicker table. ‘My lack of a love life means I can’t possibly be pregnant, I went for a physical just last month so I’m not dying or ill, and my father texted just this morning to complain I hadn’t called him in two weeks, so I haven’t lost a family member. Why are you two being so nice to me?’

  ‘We’re always nice to you,’ Jules upheld.

  ‘Yes,’ Mary Jo concurred. ‘Well, at least I’m always nice. Jules can be a bit snarky at times.’

  ‘Says the woman who once Googled “Does eye rolling burn calories?”’

  ‘That was a legitimate question,’ Mary Jo insisted.

  ‘Having been friends with you both for over twenty years, I can safely say that if sarcasm and sass were Olympic events, portraits of the two of you would grace every box of Wheaties across the country,’ Tish announced. ‘Now, will you stop bickering, stop waiting on me, stop talking about hydration and strength, and just tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Schuyler Thompson,’ they blurted out in unison.

  ‘We think he’s the murderer,’ Jules clarified.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t go out of your way to try to sugar-coat it,’ Tish said sarcastically. ‘Pray, tell me how you came to this remarkable conclusion.’

  Mary Jo and Jules told Tish of their lunch hour spent at the television station and the fundraiser footage they both viewed.

  ‘There’s a moment in that video where Schuyler gets up from his chair and walks between Binnie and Opal,’ Jules described.

  ‘His back is to the camera, totally obscuring Binnie from view. He might have dropped something in her drink,’ Mary Jo explained.

  ‘Or in her food,’ Jules countered.

  ‘And Binnie wouldn’t have noticed because she was focused on what Opal was saying, and Opal wouldn’t have noticed because she was drunk,’ Mary Jo volleyed.

  ‘As a skunk,’ Jules added.

  ‘Just because Schuyler’s back was to the camera doesn’t mean he was doing something malicious,’ Tish argued. ‘He probably didn’t know the camera was even there. I’m sure most of the people at the fundraiser were completely oblivious to it. You were monitoring the floor, Mary Jo – did you notice a camera?’