Gingerdead Man

by Maya Corrigan

  “Bethany didn’t tell us about the dog barking,” Granddad said.

  “You didn’t ask her the question I did—whether the dog did anything unusual in the last few days. Dogs could solve a lot of crimes with their acute hearing and sense of smell, if only they could talk.” The chief put his plate on the end table and stood up. “Thank you for dessert. You all have a good evening.”

  Val walked him to the door. “The investigation might go faster now that you know you’re looking for one murderer.”

  “I don’t know that. The chocolate from the same batch is evidence that ties Oliver’s poisoning to Bethany’s. The connection to Jake’s death rests on Bethany running into someone who might have given him a poisoned cookie. It’s a theory in need of evidence. Just remember that it’s my job to get that evidence, not yours.”

  “I’ll remember.” Val tried to read between the chief’s lines. “You think there are two killers?”

  “I have an open mind and will go where the evidence leads.”

  She thanked him for stopping by and closed the door behind him, reminding herself that she needed to keep an open mind too. She went back to the sitting room. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen, Granddad.”

  He joined her, loading the dessert plates into the dishwasher as she scrubbed the pie pan and the casserole dish.

  “I’d like to believe there’s only one poisoner, Granddad, but there’s no one with a motive to kill both Jake and Oliver. Three people have obvious motives for getting rid of Jake.” Val ticked off the suspects with her soapy fingers. “Jewel to inherit his money, Holly to get revenge for jilting her, and Shantell to stop him from destroying her neighborhood. But they were all in the room when the ghost came.”

  “One of them could have hired a kid from out of town to play the ghost. Or the ghost might have been someone Jake defrauded whose identity we don’t know.” Granddad closed the dishwasher door. “That takes care of Jake. What about Oliver? The two daughters and the son-in-law have a financial motive. Anyone else?”

  Iska had revealed a possible motive for Oliver’s neighbors. Val turned off the faucet and faced him. “I forgot to tell you what Iska said when you were out of the room last night. Oliver disliked Franetta’s husband because Thatcher was self-serving and swept things under the rug like a typical politician. And Oliver talked about a drowning in reference to Thatcher. Mean anything to you?” When Granddad shook his head, Val continued. “It might have something to do with Franetta and Thatcher’s son. The night I catered the birthday party, Franetta cut off Oliver when he mentioned helping her son get out of a fix.”

  “The Frosts’ son and a drowning? Hmm. It’s coming back to me.” Granddad stroked his chin. “Yeah, I get why Franetta and Thatcher might want to shut Oliver up.”

  Val felt a chill. Had the Frosts, those pillars of the community, shut Oliver up permanently?

  Chapter 19

  Val beckoned Granddad to the kitchen table. “Tell me what you remember about the Frosts’ son and a drowning.”

  “The details are hazy.” Granddad looked at the ceiling as if his memories were stored in the attic with all the other things he’d accumulated in three-quarters of a century. Judging by his small, satisfied smile, he’d hit on something. “Must’ve been around twenty-five years ago. Summertime. Young folks from Bayport and Treadwell got together for parties every chance they got. The morning after one of them, a college student was found in the river down toward the bay. Her body had snagged on a branch. Based on the tides, investigators figured she went into the river near Bayport.”

  “Did she live in Bayport?”

  “No. Her family had a weekend place outside Treadwell.”

  “How awful for them.” Val sighed. “Was it an accident or something worse?”

  “It was a toss-up between an accident and suicide. No sign of foul play. The police tried to find out where and how she’d gone into the river. The Frosts’ son was questioned. He’d often taken his dates boating on the river. Toasting the sunset on a pontoon. Paddling by moonlight.”

  “Did the son have any connection to the woman who drowned?”

  “He was at the same party, but so were a lot of others. After the police questioned him, a neighbor came forward and gave him an alibi. Based on when the neighbor saw him, the boy had come straight home from the party, and no one was with him.”

  Val straightened in her chair, feeling a surge of energy. “Who was the neighbor?”

  “I don’t remember. If the neighbor had been a year-rounder, I think the name would have stuck with me. It could have been Oliver Naiman.”

  “Who else might remember the drowning?” Val doubted Chief Yardley could shed any light on it. He’d only recently returned to Bayport after decades doing police work in other jurisdictions.

  “I’ll check with Ned tomorrow. Even if he can’t recall it, he could ask the other folks in the retirement village if they do.”

  But some residents there might know the Frosts and tell them someone was curious about the incident. “On second thought, Granddad, let’s hold off on asking other people. The Frosts are prominent, and word might get back to them.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, but why would the Frosts care what Oliver rambled about after all these years?”

  “Their son is up for a White House job. That probably means a thorough background investigation. I’m not sure how far back it would go, but it won’t look good if the person who gave him an alibi twenty-five years ago confesses to lying about it.” Val remembered another remark by Oliver that might have made the Frosts nervous. “As I was bringing Oliver’s birthday cake to the table, he commented that he was at a point in his life to set things right, and he might not get a chance to do it if he postponed it. A few minutes later he announced he was going to marry Iska. She’d taken care of his wife and him, and he wanted to provide for her. I thought that’s what he meant by setting things right.”

  “But it coulda meant something different to the Frosts.” Granddad leaned his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his fist. “Thatcher is more likely to ask someone else to fix his problems than to do his own dirty work.”

  “I can’t see him baking poison into a cookie or molding it into chocolates, but Franetta, the bake sale queen, has the expertise to do it.” Her chocolates would have been flawless, but she might have made them deliberately ugly to suggest that someone less adept had made them. “If Oliver were the only poison victim, Franetta would be a good suspect.”

  “Yup. She had the know-how and a possible motive.”

  “And she didn’t show up at the tea until ten minutes after the ghost delivered the cookies.” Val imagined what might have happened. “As the Ghost of Christmas Past, Franetta wore a long, white tunic and cape. The black robe was full enough that she could wear it over that costume.”

  “If she put a pebble in one shoe or swapped one shoe for another, she’d have done it in a place where no one could see her.”

  Val nodded. “After giving out the cookies, she’d have to go back there or to another out-of-the-way spot to reverse the process. She could have been the ghost Bethany ran into. The intersection of Pine and Dixon isn’t more than a three-minute walk from the bookshop. Limping would have slowed Franetta in one direction, but even so she had enough time, after Bethany continued home, to return to that secluded spot, shed the black robe and the mask, and walk to the tea at the bookshop. The logistics work, but what was her motive for killing Jake?”

  “Maybe the Frosts’ son had a connection to Jake. I’ll try to find out more about him tomorrow. If he’s up for an important job, there should be something online about him. What’s his first name?” When Val shrugged, he stood up. “I’ll work on it tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Granddad.”

  He kissed her on the top of the head. “Good night.” He took a few steps and then wheeled around, his eyes wide and shiny with excitement. “I remember the son’s name—Owen.”

  “You have a
good mem—” Val broke off as the reason for his elation hit her. “The O in Jake’s calendar?”

  “Could be. Jewel might recognize the name Owen. She left me two messages asking if I could help her decipher the spreadsheets on Jake’s thumb drive. I was going to ignore her, but now I have a reason to go over there.”

  Val winked at him. “She’s taken a shine to you.”

  He groaned. “I’ll find an excuse to bring up what’s in Jake’s calendar and ask if she heard him talk about a man named Owen.” He left the kitchen.

  Val rushed after him. “Don’t feed her his name. That’s leading the witness. Just ask her who O might be.”

  “If she doesn’t come up with any names, I’ll throw out a bunch of them and slip in Oliver and Owen.”

  “If Jake was so secretive that he only used an initial in his calendar, why would he mention the man’s name to his wife?”

  Granddad continued down the hall to his bedroom. “The abbreviation doesn’t necessarily mean he was secretive. He could have been too lazy to type the rest of the name.”

  “Good point, Granddad, but don’t get your hopes up. The O might refer to a woman he didn’t want Jewel to know he was meeting.”

  “No harm in asking. Sleep well.” He closed the door to his room.

  Val went upstairs to her room with little hope of sleeping well until the murderer was caught and Bethany was safe.

  * * *

  The next morning Officer Wade drove Bethany to school and Val left soon after for the café. Her morning there was uneventful except for a phone call from a client who called off a party that Val was supposed to cater in January. Val suspected the cancellation stemmed from Cyndi Naiman’s smear campaign against her. At least customers were still visiting the café.

  One of them was Franetta, who arrived as the lunch rush was ending. She took off her hooded down jacket and finger-combed her frosted curls. She was dressed for yoga, as she’d been on Monday when she’d come in to report that Oliver was dead. Sitting on a stool at the eating bar, she looked up at the TV mounted on the wall. The noon news ended with a repetition of the police bulletin that had been broadcast at the start of the show. Val watched Franetta as the newscaster read the bulletin.

  “The Bayport Police Department and state crime units continue to investigate three area poisonings, two of them fatal. The surviving victim reported speaking to a masked individual in a long, black garment on Saturday evening between six thirty and seven on Dixon Lane near Pine Street. The poison survivor was unable to see the costumed person’s face or other identifying characteristics. Police would like to speak to anyone who has information about or saw such a figure on Saturday.”

  The bulletin ended with the phone number and e-mail address anyone with information should use to contact the police.

  Val had seen no reaction from Franetta to the bulletin. Maybe she’d heard it earlier.

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink, Franetta?”

  “Just a decaf.” She blew on her hands and rubbed them together. “I left without my gloves this morning.” She pointed to the TV. “Hard to believe that sweet old Oliver was poisoned.”

  Val put a mug of coffee in front of Franetta. “I met Oliver for the first time on Sunday night and didn’t notice the sweet side of him. He was hard on his daughters and complained a lot. Maybe he was having a bad day.”

  “His personality changed after his wife died.” Franetta added cream to her coffee. “He blamed her death on poor medical care. She had cancer, and they did what they could for her. Elaine and Cyndi had to talk him out of suing doctors and nurses. And recently he was faulting other people for all kinds of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Mostly his ailments. Holly Atherson was giving him shots for more than a year. Then he got sick after one of them and blamed her. He told me that he was going to sue her.”

  Iska had said Oliver believed Holly had poisoned him. A lawsuit meant he was acting on his belief. Even if it was a frivolous lawsuit, it would consume time and money. “Did he say that to Holly?”

  “No, but I told her. I thought she might want to talk to him and smooth things over.”

  “Did he actually go through with a suit against her?”

  Franetta shrugged. “It wasn’t that long ago. He might have died before he got the chance.”

  Was she trying to suggest that Holly had a motive to kill Oliver? If Franetta had killed him to protect her son, she’d have a reason to add names to the suspect pot. Val noticed a customer at a table signaling for more coffee. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  Hoping Franetta would name other people with motives to poison Oliver, Val quickly refilled the customer’s cup, put back the carafe, and returned to Franetta. “Did Oliver have issues with other people in the neighborhood?”

  “Not that I know of, but if he sued, it would be a matter of public record.” Franetta drank the last of her coffee. “I made a mistake choosing Jake as Santa instead of your grandfather. Jake wouldn’t take any other position, and I was desperate for volunteers. He said his wife would act as Mrs. Claus if he were Santa, but not if someone else was.”

  “Two for the price of one.”

  “But it was no bargain. They both turned out totally inappropriate. Mrs. Claus is supposed to look motherly, not like an aging pinup girl. He was drinking on the job. Then somebody poisoned him. No one would have poisoned your grandfather.”

  With that she slid off the stool, picked up her athletic bag, and went out of the café, leaving Val amazed that Franetta could still obsess about her Santa choice days after the festival.

  * * *

  Granddad was leaving the house with Muffin on a leash when Val pulled into the driveway.

  She joined them on the walk and told him about her conversation with Franetta.

  “A lawsuit’s a nuisance,” he said, “not a reason to murder an old man. Franetta’s ginning up a motive for Holly. You gotta wonder why.”

  “Did you find a connection between Franetta’s son and Jake?”

  “Nope, but I made progress with Jewel, though it took a while. I had to spend time scrolling through Jake’s spreadsheets so Jewel would think I was there to help her find his money. I told her I couldn’t make sense of them. Then I suggested we look at Jake’s calendar to see if he’d made appointments at banks or with financial planners.”

  “That was clever, Granddad. You pointed to the O in his calendar.”

  “Yup. There were three O’s, the first two in October and the last one on Sunday morning after Jake was already dead, where the entry said marina O. I asked if she knew any friends Jake had whose names began with an O. She said he didn’t have any friends. He went to Chamber of Commerce and town council meetings, sat around bars, and volunteered for the festival and other fundraisers, but he never invited anyone to the house.”

  “No friends. Why am I not surprised?”

  Granddad smiled. “I asked if Jake had ever mentioned anyone whose name started with an O. She said he had trouble remembering names, though he never forgot a face. No one popped into her mind, so I threw out some names—Oscar, Otto, Owen, Oliver. Jake hadn’t mentioned any of them. Then I asked her if the name Thatcher sounded familiar. Jewel remembered that name as a town councilor’s. I named other people on the council. A few of them sounded familiar too.”

  “So Thatcher wasn’t special, just part of the town power structure that Jake wanted to break into.” They stopped walking as Muffin sniffed around a tree. “Could she shed any light on the other references to O in his calendar?”

  Granddad followed as Muffin tugged on her leash. “Yup. I hit gold there. His calendar entry for the second weekend of October was Wilmington O. Jewel said that was when Jake went to a boat show in Wilmington, North Carolina, and he got a ride with someone.”

  “Someone whose initial could have been O. Did she see the driver or the car?”

  Granddad shook his head. “Jake wasn’t picked up at the house.
He drove somewhere to meet his ride. On the weekend before that, the calendar note for Saturday was Annapolis O. That’s when the big boat show in Annapolis was held.”

  “Chatty told me Jewel spotted him at that show after trying to trace him for months. From then on, she stuck to him.”

  “When Jewel and I were looking at the calendar for that day, she said she saw Jake walking with a man at the Annapolis boat show. When she came up to them, the other guy went off.”

  “She was probably reaming Jake out for deserting her. No big surprise that the other man didn’t want to get involved. Could she describe him?”

  “She wasn’t focused on him. She remembered he was a little shorter than Jake. Most men, including Thatcher, are a few inches shorter than Jake, who was over six foot.” Granddad stopped as Muffin sniffed around the curb. “Jake had an entry in his calendar in early September that said Norfolk. I checked if there was a boat show there at that time. There was.”

  “But no O next to Norfolk in the calendar?”

  “Nope. I’m thinking Jake and O got acquainted at that boat show and decided to meet up at the Annapolis one. Then they arranged to travel to the Wilmington show together.”

  “That makes sense, Granddad.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Your visit to Jewel was really worthwhile. I’d like to know if the Frosts’ son was at those boat shows.”

  “Don’t ask Franetta or Thatcher. If Jake’s murder has anything to do with their son, they’ll know we’re on the trail.”

  Val sighed. “We’ll never convince the chief to look into Owen Frost’s whereabouts without more to go on than a theory and an initial. We need to find another link between Jake and the Frosts.”

  Chapter 20

  Val spent the remainder of the afternoon skimming online references to the Frosts—Franetta, Thatcher, and Owen. Nowhere did Jake Smith’s name appear in connection with any of them. Val tried all the name variations Jake had used, according to the chief, but found nothing. If any link between Jake and the Frosts existed, it wasn’t out in the open.