Stop. She was letting her imagination run away with her. There was no proof that the gingerdead man had made a dead man of Jake Smith. And Oliver Naiman, a senior with health issues, had surely died of natural causes, nothing to do with gifts or ghosts.
She’d convinced herself of that by the time her assistant, Irene’s son, came to relieve her. Jeremy would work behind the counter for the next few hours, the café’s slowest time, and then turn the reins over to his mother, who would manage the evening meal.
Before leaving the café, Val took a moment to call Granddad. He was sorry to hear about Oliver’s death but didn’t ask for details because he was in the middle of testing recipes for the column he had to submit today. As soon as she hung up, she got a call from Chief Yardley.
“Can you come by my office this afternoon?” he said.
“Sure.” He must have an update on Jake, but Val was surprised he would share it with her. Most of the time she had to beg for information about ongoing cases. “I’m heading out of the café now. I’ll stop at your office on the way home if that works for you, and I’ll bring some coffee and cookies with me.”
“I reached you at the perfect moment. While you’re driving here, please refresh your memory of last night. I’d like an account of what happened at the Naiman house.”
Val clutched her phone tightly. He wouldn’t ask for that information if Oliver had died of natural causes. Her first instincts about the man’s death might have been right.
Chapter 9
Val sat in a straight-backed metal chair facing Chief Yardley in his cushioned desk chair. “I may buy you a pad for your guest chair as a Christmas gift.”
“I wouldn’t accept it.” He sipped his coffee. “That chair gives folks an incentive to take care of business and leave. If they were comfortable, they’d stay longer and I’d get less work done.”
“Point taken.” Val wouldn’t dally, but she didn’t intend to leave without asking about the Jake Smith investigation. “I can make this quick. What do you want to know about last night?”
“Everything you saw and heard from the time you arrived at the Naiman place.”
Forget quick. She squirmed. “What I heard includes conversations the family didn’t realize I could hear. I’d rather they not find out I listened to and repeated what they said.” If word got out that she combined catering with eavesdropping, her business would be toast.
The chief reached for one of the cranberry oatmeal cookies she’d brought him. “No one will find out you gave me information.”
While she told him what had happened Sunday night, he jotted in a bound notebook, his face showing no reaction to anything she said. She ended her account with Elaine’s ultimatum to Iska.
“That’s the whole story, Chief. Franetta told me she found Oliver dead this morning. I assume you’re looking into his death.” She took the chief’s silence as assent, though he might have kept quiet because his mouth was full of an oatmeal cookie. “Franetta mentioned the gift bag and the chocolates she saw near Oliver’s body. That was eerily similar to what happened to Jake.”
The chief frowned. “How so?”
“Both men received gifts of sweets, both ate the sweets, and both died right afterward.”
“Except Oliver wasn’t poisoned. The doctor said it was a natural cardiac death.”
Huh? “So why did you ask me what happened last night?”
“Families usually resist an autopsy on their loved ones. Oliver’s daughter, Elaine, is asking for one, and for toxicology tests. Why? Maybe someone in the family had issues with the old man, making the daughter suspect that her father didn’t die a natural death.” The chief twirled his pen. “When I heard you were at the Naimans last night, I wanted your take on the family. Nothing you told me suggested one of them was a murderer.”
Val couldn’t argue with that. “I saw an ordinary family trying to do their best for an aging parent, though they disagreed about how. They closed ranks fast to get rid of Iska.”
The chief poked his cell phone. “I asked you to come by for another reason. I want to show you something. This morning the police got word of an unattended death at the Naiman house. Officer Wade got to the house before the other responders and took pictures.” The chief passed his phone to Val. “Does the kitchen look the way you left it last night?”
“I cleared the counter and the table last night. The gift bag, chocolates, mug, and water glass weren’t there.” Val looked more closely at the picture. “There’s another difference. Take a look at the two coffeemakers on the counter.” She handed the phone back to the chief.
The chief peered at the photo. “One is the newfangled type for making a cup at a time with the little pods. The other coffeemaker is the usual drip kind. The carafe has some coffee in it, but it’s not full. Are you saying the carafe was empty and clean when you left?”
“Yes, but I’m saying more than that. Last night Elaine told me her father wasn’t allowed caffeine. I had to use a pod to make a cup of decaf for him. The only ground coffee they had was caffeinated.” Val leaned forward. “Either someone else was with Oliver and made regular coffee this morning, or he made it for himself.”
The chief steepled his fingers. “Oliver’s shirt had coffee stains on it, and the mug had a bit of coffee left in it. If the pod contraption was new, he probably made coffee the way he had for years.”
“Or he made strong coffee for the same reason he ate the chocolate, which also contains caffeine. This morning he consumed what he wanted as if—I hate to say this—he thought it would be his last meal. I’m not saying he committed suicide, but he might not have cared whether he lived or died because he was so dejected about Iska.”
“I’ll ask the doctor if a mug of coffee and the few chocolates Oliver ate could trigger a cardiac event. But it doesn’t change the cause of death.” The chief jotted in the notebook. “Wade noticed a partially eaten chocolate on the kitchen floor and bagged it as evidence in case foul play was suspected, which it isn’t. We examined the chocolates left in the box to see if anyone had tampered with them, but they were intact. No breaks in the chocolate and no holes from a hypodermic needle used to inject poison.”
“Maybe Oliver ate the only pieces that contained poison.”
“You can’t predict which chocolates someone will choose. I’d like to ease the daughter’s mind and send the chocolates for chemical analysis, but the police lab won’t do the work unless it’s related to an investigation. If something changes and I can make the case that Oliver Naiman’s death was suspicious, I’ll get that analysis done.” He closed his notebook.
Val saw an opening to bring up the other poisoning. “Speaking of a suspicious death, any new information about Jake?”
“The medical examiner confirmed he was poisoned. Once poison is in the stomach, you can’t tell what food contained it. All the gift bags at the table had a gingerdead man cookie like his, but none of them contained poison.”
“That doesn’t mean his wasn’t poisoned.” If everyone had opened their gifts at the same time and they all had an ordinary gingerbread man except Jake, he probably would have thought twice before eating the gingerdead man. “Granddad figured that cyanide killed Jake because of his symptoms and how quickly he died.”
“I’ll be making a public announcement shortly about Jake’s death, but I’m not going to say what kind of poison. I’ve already told your granddaddy not to speculate in public about it. Same goes for you.”
“Did anyone come forward who saw the Ghost of Christmas Presents on Saturday night?”
“A few people on the cemetery tour glimpsed a hooded figure in black on the edge of the churchyard.”
The location made sense to Val. “The ghost left the CAT Corner by the door to the outside. Not wanting to be seen, the ghost wouldn’t turn toward Main Street, but go in the opposite direction, through the alley to the churchyard. Did anyone in the churchyard notice the figure limping or see his face?”
“It was
dark, and they were too far away to pick up details.”
Val was disappointed. Not much progress on the ghost’s identity, but maybe the police had uncovered information about Jake. “Granddad had no luck when he went online to find out where Jake Smith came from. Too many people with the same name.”
“His real name was John Jacob Smith. We found fake IDs for Jay Smith, J. J. Smith, and Jakob Smith with a k instead of a c.”
Val remembered what Holly had called him when she was trying to revive him. “What about Jack Smith?”
“We didn’t find an ID for that, but it’s an obvious nickname for John. He was a legitimate real estate developer for decades, but his business changed in the last few years. He started a project with money from investors and from people who signed sales contracts for houses not yet built. After construction began and the bills mounted, he walked away and stiffed everyone. Then he moved to a different part of the country and did the same thing again.”
“So Santa was filling his sack wherever he went. Was he wanted for fraud?”
“The law wasn’t after him yet. His creditors were. They could bring a civil suit against him, but first they’d have to find him. The suit might not have merit. People sign contracts without reading the fine print. Investors aren’t guaranteed a return on their money. I’m not delving into his business dealings unless they have a bearing on his death.”
Val thought it was worth delving into what Holly knew about him. “Did you find any pictures of him when he was younger and without a beard?”
“Not many.” The chief typed on his keyboard and looked at his computer screen. “We found a few old newspaper photos of him. Why do you want them?”
Val preferred not to mention her suspicion that Jake and Holly had known each other. Her hunch might be wrong. “I’m curious how Jake ended up in Bayport. Maybe he visited relatives here years ago or even lived here himself. Some old-timers might recognize the younger Jake from a photo.”
“I’ll send you the link to the photos.” He clicked his mouse, typed, and then looked at her. “Thank you for stopping by.”
She ignored the hint to leave. “One more question, Chief. Irene Pritchard, the Smiths’ neighbor, said she didn’t think Jake and Jewel were married.”
“Depends on what you mean by married. They had a common-law marriage. Maryland doesn’t consider that a legal marriage, but Texas, where the Smiths last lived, does. States generally recognize marriages that are valid under another state’s laws even if not under their own.”
“So she’ll inherit.”
“Probably, though there may not be a lot left after his creditors get what’s due to them.” The chief stood up, making it clear he was going to escort Val out.
In the short time Val had been inside with Chief Yardley, a cold front had come roaring in. The air was frigid and the wind fierce as she crossed the police station parking lot. Once inside the car, she checked the photos the chief had sent her. She chose the one in which Jake looked the youngest and cropped the other people out of the picture. She couldn’t see much resemblance between the white-bearded Jake in a Santa suit and the brown-haired, clean-shaven man he used to be.
Her next stop was Belleview Avenue, where she hoped to talk to two people—Elaine Naiman to offer condolences for her father’s death and Holly Atherson to find out if she’d known Jake Smith years ago.
* * *
Elaine opened the door. Except for her eyes, red and puffy from crying, she looked ready for a business meeting in her slate-gray power suit and white knit top. “Hello. I was just thinking about you. Last night I was supposed to pay you the balance for catering, but I forgot. Come in and I’ll write you a check.” She led Val to the living room. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you.” Val sat in an armchair. “I forgot about the check too. I stopped by to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your father. My sympathies to you, your sister, and the rest of your family. And I brought you some cookies.” She reached into her tote for them.
“I appreciate your sympathy, but save the cookies for someone else.” Elaine sank onto the sofa. “Franetta brought over some grapes and muffins. I couldn’t taste them. I might as well have eaten cardboard. I’m just not hungry.”
“The same thing happened to my mother when my grandmother died. I guess it’s the effect of grief on the body. Mom’s taste buds worked after a couple of days.”
This news didn’t console Elaine. Apparently, she didn’t care if she ever ate again. “I can’t even bring myself to go into the kitchen. As long as you’re here, you might as well take the leftovers from last night, including the rest of the cake.”
Val was reluctant to take the remains of the birthday dinner. Elaine and her sister would be here at some point, and neither of them enjoyed cooking, according to Cyndi. “I can pack the leftovers in freezer containers for you. You can reheat them when you come back or take them home.”
“No reflection on your cooking, but I’d rather not have any reminders of last night’s dinner. It ended badly. I had no choice but to fire Iska, but I shouldn’t have assumed Dad could take care of himself this morning. If I’d been here or arranged for Franetta to stop by early, Dad would probably be alive.”
“You can’t know that,” Val said, though stating the obvious probably wouldn’t lessen the daughter’s guilt much.
Elaine leaned forward. “I do know he would have been better off with someone here. The doctor said he died of cardiac arrhythmia. He could have recovered if he’d gotten emergency treatment soon enough.”
“Did he have a history of arrhythmia?” When Elaine nodded, Val continued. “Was that the reason he wasn’t supposed to have caffeine?”
“Partly. He was also taking an MAO inhibitor to treat his depression, which has been a problem ever since my mother died. The doctor who prescribed it told him to lay off coffee, soft drinks, and chocolate. The caffeine in them could trigger changes in his heart rhythm.”
Val thought about the middle-aged man she’d tried to resuscitate earlier this year when his heart had stopped beating. It turned out that an excess of medicine meant to treat a heart problem had killed him. Did the same thing happen to Oliver? Only an autopsy would tell. It might also tell Elaine something that would make her even more unhappy, suggesting her father had deliberately overdosed on meds after his hopes of happiness with Iska were dashed.
“Did your father chafe at his diet restrictions?”
“Who wouldn’t? He stopped complaining about it after a while. We knew he had a weakness for chocolate and never put temptation in his way. Or at least I didn’t.” Elaine pushed her hair back from her forehead, as if it kept her from seeing clearly. “If I’d been with him this morning, he’d have eaten a healthy breakfast. Instead, he drank strong coffee and ate chocolates. I don’t even know where he got them.”
“Do you have any relatives who might have stopped by the house this morning with candy for your father? Nieces, nephews, cousins?”
Elaine shook her head. “My cousins live in New York. I don’t have nieces or nephews. Cyndi has stepdaughters, Kevin’s children by his previous wife. He divorced her to marry Cyndi. His daughters are away at college in Ohio. Poor guy doesn’t see much of them, though he’s paying their tuition.”
“Can you think of anyone else who could have brought your father chocolate?”
Elaine hesitated, rubbing her hand along the sofa’s upholstered cushion. Then she squared her shoulders with determination. “Iska Dalisay. I think she came here to wheedle her way back into his good graces with help from chocolates.”
“But she wouldn’t have harmed him.” Not if she wanted him to marry her.
“She could have panicked when he started having symptoms. If the worst happened, the police would question her and she might be deported. So she ran off. The worst did happen, but the police aren’t questioning her.” Tears welled in Elaine’s eyes.
To give her the chance to grieve in private, Val stood up and said,
“I’ll pack the leftovers.”
She sympathized with Oliver’s daughter but didn’t find her theory convincing. Iska would have been foolish to venture near the house after Elaine had threatened to turn her in to immigration authorities.
As Val walked through the dining room toward the kitchen, she noticed that Oliver’s wrapped birthday gifts were no longer on the buffet, where they’d been last night. Elaine must have tucked them away so they wouldn’t remind her of the sad end to his birthday.
But she hadn’t removed anything from the kitchen. Everything looked as it had in the photos Officer Wade had taken this morning. A small green gift bag and a carafe with an inch of coffee were on the counter. A glass with a splash of water, a mug with coffee residue, and an open box of chocolates were on the table. Not a typical store-bought assortment. All the chocolates were circular. The box had room for nine, but only six nestled in pleated paper candy cups. The empty cups must have held the pieces Oliver had eaten.
Val leaned down to study the remaining bonbons close up. They had flaws that suggested an amateur candy maker, one who put a bit too much chocolate in the mold and didn’t trim the edges after unmolding each piece.
But they were perfect vehicles for poison. You’d have to tamper with store-bought chocolates to make them toxic and risk your victim or the police noticing. Not so with homemade candy. You could just mix the poison with the other ingredients. Short of analyzing the candy, there was no way to tell if the chocolates had played a role in Oliver’s death. This morning Officer Wade had bagged a half-eaten chocolate found on the kitchen floor. The police might send it for analysis if they knew the chocolates weren’t commercially made and could contain poison without any sign of tampering.
Gingerdead Man Page 8