Sugar Coated Murder

by Patti Benning

  “Stop right there,” Moira said, walking around the corner and holding her phone up. “If you make one move toward me, I'll call the police.”

  Eliza jumped, dropping the crowbar and taking a few steps back.

  “I – I was just trying to –”

  “You are trying to break in,” Moira said. “You're the one who drew that graffiti all over the front of the building, aren't you?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Eliza said, her voice quivering.

  “What's in the bag?” Moira asked. Eliza moved to grab the bag, and Moira quickly dialed Detective Jefferson's number into her phone.

  “The police are already looking for you. They'll be here within minutes if I call. Just tell me what's going on. I want to know why you want my daughter out of town so badly.”

  “It's just paint,” Eliza said, looking frightened. “I was just going to spray some more stuff in the building, okay? If she reopens the candy shop, I'll go out of business, and I gave up everything for the chance to run my own business. I can't afford to lose it all. Please don't call the police, I promise I'll stop.”

  “Did you slash the tires on her car, too?” Moira asked. Eliza bit her lip and nodded, her gaze darting to the cell phone in the deli owner’s hand.

  “I know I shouldn't have. I just thought that she would decide not to reopen the candy shop if it was too much trouble.”

  “You're willing to not only vandalize things, but kill to keep her out of town,” Moira said. Her voice was shaking, but with anger and not with fear. “No one threatens my daughter. No one. I don't care what your reasons are.”

  “I didn't kill anyone!” Eliza burst out, looking shocked. “What are you talking about?”

  Moira stared at her. “Bryan. The young man who fell. He was killed. You didn't —”

  “I'd never kill anyone,” Eliza said, looking horrified. “I saw him that day. I watched while the police took him away. It was the worst thing I had ever seen in my life. I admit to spraying the graffiti and slashing her tires, and I even came up to your house once, planning on scaring her if she came outside — I had a mask that changes my voice that I borrowed from my little brother. But I wasn't actually going to hurt her.”

  Moira stared at her, realizing that the girl’s voice had the ring of truth in it. She had admitted to a multitude of crimes, but she seemed truly shocked that Moira would accuse her of killing.

  “If you didn't, then who –” She was cut off by a sharp scream that came from the building beside her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  Moira's eyes widened. She looked up at the building, hoping and praying that it wasn't what she thought it was, but there was only one person who could be screaming like that — Candice.

  She heard the slapping of shoes on the pavement and turned to find that Eliza was running away; the young woman had taken advantage of Moira's distraction. The deli owner didn't care. Her daughter was more important than the woman who had been responsible for the vandalism. She turned to run back around the building for the front door, then paused and hurried back to grab the crowbar that Eliza had dropped. She looked in the bag and saw that it was indeed full of spray paints, and she grabbed a can, wondering if she could bluff and pretend that it was pepper spray.

  She turned and ran around the side of the building, pushing through the unlocked front door, then pounding up the stairs toward the apartments. She heard Candice scream again, and bolted into the room, skidding to a stop as she almost ran face first into a tall ladder. This was the apartment that had needed the most repairs, and it was littered with tools. She saw Candice standing against the wall to her right, glued to the wall, her face pale. Across the room from her was Mr. Litchfield, and he had his hands around Charlie's neck.

  “Let him go,” Candice shouted.

  “Get out of here, or I'll kill him,” Mr. Litchfield shouted back. He shook the young man, and Charlie scrabbled frantically at his hands.

  “Mom!” Candice exclaimed, noticing Moira. “He's trying to kill him.”

  “Take my phone and call the police,” Moira said, tossing her cell phone in Candice's direction. “Go downstairs. Right now.”

  “But –”

  “Candice, go. Right now.”

  She was glad when her daughter didn't argue. The young woman slipped out the door behind her and Moira heard her footsteps pounding down the stairs. The deli owner eyed the man standing a few feet away from her. She had the crowbar in one hand and the can of spray paint in the other.

  “Back away slowly,” the man said. “I will kill him.”

  “How do I know you won't kill him if I leave right now?” she asked.

  The man fell silent, and Moira felt something clench in her stomach. She couldn't walk away and let this young man get killed. He was clawing at the older man's hands around his neck and seemed hardly able to breathe.

  “I'm warning you,” the man said as she took a step closer. She bit her lip, freezing. She didn't know what to do.

  Charlie, whose eyes were wide with terror, seemed to realize that she wanted to help him. She saw him lift his foot up and stomp down with all his might on the other man’s shoe. Mr. Litchfield winced and loosened his grip on Charlie's neck just enough for the young man to break away. Moira took a chance and ran forward, dropping the crowbar and raising the can of spray paint, and aimed it right at his face. She depressed the top, and just as the man was taking a breath to yell at her, he was hit in the face with a spray of blue paint and started coughing.

  He wasn't the only one that was coughing. Charlie was on the floor, gagging and rubbing his neck. Moira looked between them, a realization suddenly clicking in her mind.

  “You killed Bryan,” she said, turning to the blue faced older man. “He was your nephew, and you killed him, didn't you?”

  “Yes, he did,” Charlie managed to gasp. “I realized what he did… and he tried to kill me too.”

  Moira moved toward the older man, who had finally stopped coughing and was spitting on the floor now, the blue paint staining his face and lips.

  “You crazy –”

  “The police will be here any second,” she said, hoping that Candice had managed to get through to Detective Jefferson. “Tell me why you did it.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  He lunged forward suddenly and shoved her shoulder. She stumbled away, cursing herself for not being ready. She screamed out for Candice, wanting the other woman to have some warning before the older man thundered down the stairs, and turned around just in time to see Charlie grab the crowbar that she had dropped and swing it at Mr. Litchfield's leg. Mr. Litchfield went down, gripping his knee.

  “Stop,” he said, putting his hands up as Charlie raised the crowbar to hit him again. “Stop, please. Please, don't hurt me.”

  “Why did you do it?” Moira asked again, moving closer and standing between him and the door, eyeing Charlie warily. She didn't know whether she ought to be more afraid of the young man who was looking furiously down at the older one, or the man on the floor who had already killed someone.

  “He did it for the money,” Charlie rasped. “The insurance money. If one of us dies due to an accident at a job site, their next of kin gets the payout. He thought he would be able to make Bryan's death look like an accident and collect on the money.”

  “It was going to work, too,” Mr. Litchfield said. “Bryan was a good for nothing lazy punk. He wouldn't have been a loss to the world at all. I only took him in after his parents died because I thought I would be able to knock some sense into him, but he was beyond help.”

  “The police knew that Bryan had been killed before the fall,” Moira said. “You would never have gotten away with your plan. You never would have seen a cent of that money. How did you know he would be here, Charlie?”

  “He told me to come here to pick up Bryan's stuff,” Charlie said. “He said that we were clearing out, that we were done at this job site. Then wh
en I got here, I realized that he was packing everything up, not just his stuff. His car out front was full of his luggage. I realized that he was about to leave town, and it all just clicked for me. I guessed what he was doing, that he was fleeing, and I confronted him.” He rubbed his neck. “I shouldn't have.”

  “And I'm still getting out of here,” Mr. Litchfield said, trying to stand up, but falling to the ground again, clutching his knee. “I'm not going to jail.”

  Moira smiled grimly as she heard the sirens outside. “Yes, I think you are.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  “Sorry for wrecking your barbecue, Thelma,” Candice said later that evening. She, David, and Moira were at the farmhouse late at night. Allison had fallen asleep on the couch, but the rest of them were still awake and were finishing the brownies together.

  “Wreck it?” Thelma blinked, then burst out laughing. “This has been the most exciting evening I've had for a long time. I'm glad you are all okay, and I can hardly believe that you went through all of that.”

  “I can't believe that Mr. Litchfield thought he would get insurance money for killing his nephew,” Candice said, frowning. “Who kills their own family member?”

  “Not all families are as loving as yours are, dear,” Thelma said gently. “I feel bad for that poor young man who died. I'm sure his uncle will get what he deserves, though.”

  “As will Eliza,” David said. “The police will catch her. I don’t think she’ll bother us again, anyway. From what Moira said, she was terrified at the thought of being caught.”

  “I can't believe she thought I would get chased out of town just because she drew some graffiti on the walls and slashed my tires,” Candice said. “I also can't believe that she thought I would run her out of business. I would have been happy to work with her in the candy shop if she had just come up and asked me. Why do people resort to doing illegal stuff when there are so many better solutions?”

  “I'm not sure,” Moira said. “Now she will not only lose her business, but she will probably end up serving time or at least facing a heavy fine. I'm glad she was there, though. If she hadn't left behind the paint and the crowbar, I may not have been able to do anything to stop Mr. Litchfield from killing Charlie.”

  “Will Charlie be okay?” David asked.

  “The paramedics said that he'll be fine. The swelling in his throat should go down in a few days, and he'll be back to normal in a couple of weeks. He's lucky he survived. Mr. Litchfield had already killed one person, and I have no doubt that he would've followed through on killing Charlie if he thought that it would let him get away safely.”

  “He has the two of you to thank for that,” David said, raising his glass of lemonade in a toast. “To Moira and Candice, the best mother and daughter team I have ever met.”