“Have they been returned?” Heather asked.
“Two of them have,” Hank said. “The last one isn’t due back for another week.”
“Okay, so who rented that last trailer?” Heather crossed her fingers under the table. This was a long shot. If the trailer hadn’t come from Hank’s camp, then she’d have to ask Ryan to do a search on it – the only problem? It didn’t have plates. Someone had removed them, presumably when they’d spearminted the interior into oblivion.
“Oh, I remember this guy,” Hank said. “I remember because he wanted to rent the trailer but he didn’t have the money for it so he got his missus to come rent it for him.”
“What was the guy’s name?”
“Shoot, you got me there,” Hank replied. “When I said I remembered him I meant like I remember his face. Weasel-lookin’ fella. Sharp chin and nose, you know? Reminded me of that Whack-A-Mole game except he wasn’t the kind I’d hit. He had mean eyes.”
“Who signed for the lease?” Heather asked.
“Her name’s right here,” Hank replied, and drew a line under it with his stubby pencil. “Jessie Baron.”
“You’re kidding.” Heather stood up and whacked her head, excuse the irony, on the edge of the umbrella. “You’re sure about that?”
“Says so right here.” Hank held up the pencil. “Hold on, I’ve got a copy of her driver’s license in the office. Just a minute.” He hurried off and left them to contemplate.
“She knew the guy who rented a trailer which just happened to be in the victim’s back garden?” Amy stood too and shook out her legs and arms. “Sounds to me like Jessie lied to us about something.”
“Technically, no. We didn’t ask her about a trailer. We only asked if she’d seen something.”
Hank returned with a lever arch file, this time. “I really have to get a computer system for all of this. Kinda hard when you’re working out of a trailer, though.”
“A computer system will change your life,” Heather said. “We’ve got one down at the store.”
“This is it.” Hank tapped the plastic sleeve. Jessie Baron’s ‘mugshot’ stared up at them. The black and white driver’s license photo courtesy of the DMV.
“That’s here, all right,” Amy said.
“Thanks a lot, Hank. Next time we visit we’ll bring you a box of donuts.” Heather tucked her hands into her jean pockets. “Whichever flavor you prefer.”
Hank’s lips split into a grin. “I won’t say no to that.”
Chapter 10
Why would Jessie Baron have rented out a trailer for the weasel guy? And why would the weasel guy, name unknown still, have parked said trailer in Atticus Beyer’s back yard for him to use?
These questions pursued Heather across town. She’d been set on heading back to Donut Delights to call Ryan about what they’d discovered but her hands had other ideas. She steered the Chevrolet into Eva’s street instead.
“Uh, Heather?”
“I need to talk to her. If we talk to her we can figure out why she lied to us,” Heather said. “Maybe get some idea of who this weasel guy is.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Amy said. She rested her hand on the dash and pointed through the windshield at Jessie Baron’s house.
The array of lawn chairs, the umbrella and the cooler still sat on the front lawn. Jessie was there too, except she wasn’t limping on a crutch. She paced across the grass, fully mobile. She flung her arms in the air and yelled at a man on the sidewalk.
A man who had a suspiciously weasel-like features.
“It’s him,” Heather whispered, and parked the car in front of Eva’s house. “It has to be.”
Jessie hadn’t noticed them yet. She was in the throes of a full blown tantrum – the only excuse for ignoring Heather’s cute cherry red vehicle.
Amy rolled down her window. Heather followed suit.
“And if you think I’m going to cover for you again, you’re straight wrong. Blood only goes so far, Steven!”
“Steven,” Amy said.
“Blood?” Heather leaned closer to the open window.
“It’s not like that,” Steven, otherwise known as the weasel guy, said. His voice didn’t carry as well.
“It’s not?” Jessie stopped pacing and folded her arms. “Then what’s it like? Huh? Because I had two police ladies over here the other day asking weird questions about a murder next door.”
“What?”
“Yeah, and guess who the victim was?” Jessie waited for an answer that didn’t come. “Atticus Beyer!”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Jessie shook her chubby fist at him. “And I didn’t tell them anything about your little business deal with the guy because I was worried that you were involved in this somehow.”
“You don’t really think that,” Steven said, in nasal tones. “You know I’m not a murderer.”
“Do I? Do I?” Jessie threw her arms up again. “I’m not sure I know anything about you anymore. I thought you were here to get your life back on track, not fall off it again.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Jessie, you don’t understand. I don’t have anywhere else to go. Please, you’ve got to help me out here.”
She swished her hand through the air. “No. Steven, you know I’m trying to stay under the radar and you’ve endangered me by coming here. I’m not saying you’re a murderer but you’re involved in this somehow and I don’t like it.”
“Steven?” Heather whispered.
“What?” Amy couldn’t look away from the altercation.”
“Steven. Steven Baron? What if it was his letter opener? That stabbed the guy. I mean, that could be a huge lead.”
“How do you know he’s a Baron?” Amy asked.
“She said ‘blood.’ I don’ think she’s talking about the murder there. I think she means he’s family,” Heather whispered.
“So, what you’re just going to let me sleep on the streets?” Steven asked. He was tall, skinny, but with a muscular tone which suggested hours of hard labor. He was young too, couldn’t have been more than 18 years old, with a tuft of hair on his chin – the beginnings of a wispy beard. It looked more like cotton candy than facial hair.
“Until you sort yourself out, yeah. Why don’t you go speak to that buddy of yours? You know, the one who started all of this in the first place?”
“Shut up,” Steven hissed.
“Fine, I will shut up,” Jessie replied. “If you get the heck off my lawn. Go on, get!”
Steven lingered a second longer. He took a faltering step forward, paused, then turned on his heel and marched off down the road.
Heather’s eyebrows jacked up. “What on earth was that about?”
“Yeah? And why does Jessie need to keep a low profile?” Amy asked. “Oh shoot, she’s seen us. She sees the car. We’re done.”
Indeed, Jessie had turned to them. Her jaw dropped. She let out a tiny yelp, then collapsed to the grass, grasping at her ankle. “Oh, it hurts. It’s so sore. I think I’m dying.”
“Oh boy,” Heather said.
“Hands down worst performance I’ve seen.” Amy clunked open the passenger side door. “Shall we?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 11
Jessie continued rolling around while they strolled over to her, tramping over moist grass and skipping around the mangled carcasses of empty soda cans. She moaned and clutched her ankle. She gave it her all.
“Need some help?” Heather asked, and halted beside the keening woman.
“Yes, please, oh, I took a step away from my lawn chair. I didn’t think. You know, it’s easy to forget the crutch when you’re –”
“We saw everything,” Amy said, flatly. “Save the Oscar speech for later, too.”
Jessie dropped the act as quick as she’d taken it up. She scrambled to her feet and glared at them. “Yeah? So? I can walk, I don’t have an injured ankle, big deal. I’m not committing
a crime.”
“Now, you see, that’s up for debate,” Heather said.
Ames wandered to the cooler, took the lid off it, then fetched three sodas. She handed out the cans and they opened them, one at a time. Jessie popped the tab on hers last.
“What?” Jessie asked. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you’re faking an injury and there’s a reason for that,” Heather said. “I figure it’s something to do with an insurance claim. I could be wrong, though. Maybe I’ll keep on guessing. You’re faking the ankle injury because you want to seem like an invalid.”
“Ooh, that’s a good one.” Amy slurped soda from her can. “But why would she want to seem like an invalid?”
“Might have something to do with that murder that happened next door.”
“All right, stop,” Jessie said. “That’s enough. I didn’t murder anybody. I just – I needed a break.” She traipsed past them to her lawn chair, then collapsed into it. The plastic creaked beneath her.
“A break?” Heather asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been working nonstop for years. I don’t get a break. And I don’t have the money to just take a vacation. You don’t make that much money as a saleswoman. Sure, maybe when I was younger and thinner, but now? People would rather say no and slam the door in my face.”
“You go door to door?” Amy asked.
“Sometimes. I go to companies mostly. Sell them products for their offices.”
“Do you sell stationery?” Heather asked.
“Yeah. Sometimes. Why do you ask?”
“Do you sell letter openers?”
“Yes, why? Are you interesting in making a purchase?” Jessie appeared genuinely confused – either she’d upped her acting skills in the last couple minutes or really didn’t have an idea that the murder weapon had been an engraved letter opener. “I faked the injury so I could claim from insurance and take some time off. Hey, look, I’ve earned it. If you want to arrest me, then so be it.”
They didn’t actually have the power to arrest her, but they would have to report this to the police. “Tell me about Steven,” Heather said.
Jessie’s pleading expression fell away. She blanked out completely. “Steven? Steven, who?”
“The man you were just talking to, on your front lawn?” Amy walked to the chair opposite Jessie’s and sat down in it. “You know, weasel-lookin’ guy? Asked if he could live with you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jessie replied. “I don’t know any Steven.”
“Jessie, we’re working with the police here.”
She’d gone mute. Clammed up. Wouldn’t say a word and stared up at the wispy clouds which floated across the sky. She took a sip of her soda.
“Are you related to Steven?” Heather asked.
“No idea who that is.”
“Really?” Amy asked. “Then why did you rent a trailer? Where’s the trailer you rented?”
“I didn’t rent a trailer,” Jessie said.
“Yeah, you did. You rented a trailer from Hank at the Best Fishin’ Camp. The same trailer which was found behind Atticus Beyer’s home, scrubbed clean and missing its plates.” Heather didn’t take a seat. She fumed, internally. Truthfully, she’d never had a tough nut to crack when it came to her investigations.
Folks usually caved or lost it when she questioned them. Jessie didn’t seem likely to do either at this point.
“Atticus Beyer? Who’s that?”
“The victim.” Amy clenched her jaw. “Stop playing dumb. We’ve got your driver’s license on file. We know you rented out a trailer.”
Jessie shrugged.
They wouldn’t get anywhere with her this way. They had to use what leverage they had to get her to talk. “Jessie, I’m afraid I’m going to have to report you to the police for faking your injury.”
That got a reaction – the woman lurched forward and spilled her Coke on the plastic. “Ugh. Now, look what you made me do.”
“You’ll need to cooperate with us and the police if you’re going to –”
“I’m not cooperating with anyone. I don’t know any Steven and I don’t care what you think. Get off my property.”
“That’s fine,” Heather said. “I’m sure a detective will come by to ask you a few questions, instead.”
“Right,” Jessie replied. “Good for him. Pity, I’m not talking to anyone without my lawyer present. Tell him he’ll have to bring a warrant for my arrest when he comes because I’m not leaving this lawn either. Not until I’ve healed up.” She lifted the crutch from the grass and waved it at them. “Y’all have a good day now, hear?”
Amy looked ready to burst. Heather took her bestie by the arm and dragged her back to the Chevrolet. They fumed with every step, a reaction only made worse by the low chuckle behind them.
Jessie thought she’d won but it wasn’t over yet. The case wasn’t done and neither was their investigation into Miss Baron and her lies.
“Steven Baron,” Heather muttered.
“We don’t know it’s his surname for sure.” Ames opened the car door and slipped into her seat.
Heather got into at the driver’s side. She turned the key in the ignition. “True,” she said. “But it’s a start.”
“Can we head back to Donut Delights, now?” Amy asked. “I’d like to dissolve my anger with a healthy dose of sugar, followed by a shot of caffeine.”
Heather seconded that motion.
Chapter 12
A long day had passed and Heather could relax at last. The rush in the store hadn’t allowed her a spare second to research Steven Baron – if that was indeed his real name.
She settled on the sofa, her tablet in her lap, and laughter dancing around the living room from her new housemates. Eva, Leila and Lilly all sat on the blow up mattress in front of the TV, giggling at the Tom and Jerry rerun on the TV. Dave lay on the rug, licking his paws and sniffling for a donut.
Amy chomped on popcorn, positioned on the sofa next to Heather, Cupcake purring on her shoulder. The kitty had decided it was by far the best perch in the house.
“What are you up to?” Ames asked, and hoovered more popcorn. “You look far too serious.”
“I’m researching Steven Baron,” Heather said, under her breath. Not that the three musketeers on the blow up bed would hear her. They howled another laugh and Lils reached for a donut from the coffee table – they’d had to push it against one wall to make way for Eva and Leila’s new portable bed.
“Heather, we don’t know that’s his surname. How can you research it if we don’t know for sure?”
“It’s worth a shot. I don’t want to leave it then discover I should’ve researched it.” Heather typed the name into her browser, then tapped the enter button on the touchscreen. “It was Jessie’s ‘blood’ comment that got to me. It just doesn’t seem like something you say lightly.”
“Maybe she meant it in another way.”
“Like how?” Heather asked. “Here, see? I’ve got a picture of him.” A mugshot result had popped up. “Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. You tell me that’s not him.” She angled the tablet so Ames could see.
“Oh wow, yeah, I take it back. That’s him. And on an Assault Charge, too. That’s a smoking gun. Or a bloodied letter opener.” Amy shook her head. “Okay, but how do we know the letter opener belonged to him? Or that he scrubbed down the trailer. Isn’t this what we call circumstantial evidence?”
Another bout of laughter erupted from the spectators on the mattress. Dave barked a complaint at the interruption in his sniffing endeavor. Or perhaps, it was a request for a donut.
“We know that Jessie rented the trailer for Steven. We know that Steven’s initials are a match to those found on the letter opener. We know that Steven comes from Arizona, the same state our victim hailed from. And we know that he was in some kind of trouble, judging from the conversation he had with Jessie today. That’s a lot of ‘we know.’ It might even be enough to get him down
to the station for questioning.”
“Sure, but there’s nothing actually linking Steven to the crime scene. Short of them finding a fingerprint on the letter opener or actual proof that he owned it. And I highly doubt that people keep receipts for letter openers.”
“What puzzles me is the whereabouts of the contents of that trailer,” Heather said. “It must’ve taken a lot of manpower to move everything out and clean it down in a short span of time without Loretta’s knowledge.”
“Unless she’s in on it for the money,” Amy said. “If there’s any money in it for her.”
“Ugh, that’s too much ‘if.’ There’s got to be a connection between Steven and that crime scene.” Heather cast her mind back to the events of the day and Jessie’s insinuation that Steve had a buddy who’d gotten him into this mess.
What if Loretta was that buddy? But no, she didn’t fit the bill. She liked relaxation and luxury, not getting her hands dirty. Unless it was a role she’d played to fox them.
“Oh heavens,” Heather said. “This is getting complicated.”
“So, let’s follow the simplest route and follow up on this Baron guy. Maybe Ryan will know something about it,” Amy replied.
“Yeah, I sent him an email about it earlier. Asked him to check out the guy and see if he can find out anything. Where he works, where he came from and when he entered town. We know Jessie has been staying in Hillside for years but there’s a good chance she visited Steven in Arizona.”
“Yeah, she did travel a lot,” Amy said. “Maybe they can check out her credit card bill or whatever.”
“And prove what? It’s natural that she’d visit Steven if they’re family. What’s not natural is her insistence on covering for him. It makes me even more suspicious. She either thinks he’s the murderer or she’s got another reason to shelter –”
An email notification chirped on her tablet. She swiped the drop down menu and tapped on the new message.
It opened on the screen. “Oh, well that’s interesting,” she said, her heart rate soaring. She forced herself to take even, long breaths. “Very interesting.”
Chocolate Peanut Brittle Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 45 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 4