by Carol Schaal
The final stop on my list was the boutique owned by Natalie, the officious woman who certainly would provide an element of sour. She remembered me from our meeting at Bernice’s wake and agreed to listen to my bone marrow pitch since the shop was devoid of customers.
“I would love to help,” she said when I was done talking, twisting one of her enormous rings, avoiding looking me in the eye. “But I can’t. My health just won’t permit it.”
I felt like slapping myself. I’d shown her the list of those who would not be eligible to serve as donors, not thinking beforehand that she was probably in her early sixties, too old to donate.
“I know you want to,” I said, “but you are absolutely right to say no. It can be a dangerous procedure, and I’d hate to see you put yourself at risk.”
Natalie accepted my gracious response, then reached over and grabbed my hand. From our conversation at the wake, I assumed she was about to impart a great piece of wisdom mixed with gossip.
“I do want to say,” she said, and who was I to stop her, “that when I heard through the grapevine that Dennis was poisoned to death, it has made me think about the people in our midst.”
That makes two of us, I silently agreed.
“And I do believe we need to keep our eyes on that son of his. He does something with chemistry, right? Tami is so proud of him, but it will be a long time before I’d be comfortable eating anything either one of them might bring to a potluck.”
* * *
Mental exhaustion was hitting me, but after my talk with Natalie, I forced myself to stop at Bathing Beauty, where Sarah was shelving the last of the shop’s inventory.
“Join me for a break,” she said, pulling out a coffee cup and selecting cider from the K-cup box.
Sarah had begun interviewing applicants to work a few hours a week at Bathing Beauty. I had asked her to sort through the ones who had answered our online employment ad, counting on her expertise to weed out those she found unsuitable, and told her the final choice would be a joint decision. I obviously held all the power, but she held the knowledge, and I wanted to keep her feeling wanted and needed.
“Great idea,” I said, “and grab a cider for me, too. I’m about to have a caffeine and sugar collapse after my B&B visits.” I didn’t share Kylie’s news about Dennis. The word that all of us at the wake were under suspicion would reach her soon enough, and I did not want to be the bearer of the news.
She had her own news to share.
We sat on the office chairs, and Sarah handed me some print-outs. “I have two possible employees for you to check,” she said. “Cassandra and Tiffany. They can come by whenever you want next week for a second interview. But, but there’s a problem with Cassandra. She works at Waves End and, and said she wanted to get out of the art gallery. The customers always wanted to talk to one of the owners, and she was generally bored.”
I peered at the print-out. “She looks good,” I said. “But will Frank and Justin think we’re stealing their employee?”
Sarah set her cup down, then looked around as if someone were hiding in the store and might be able to hear what she was saying. “That’s not the problem,” she whispered, and I had to lean in close to hear. “Cassandra thinks one of the guys went through her purse, her bag, last time she was working and took a couple of her pain pills, some kind of opiate she got after major dental surgery. She didn’t have an exact count, but, but before her second refill, she came up short.”
Great. Frank, one of the few people in town I felt had become a real friend, might be a pill thief. Probably an opioid addict. And if the thief turned out to be Justin, that would cause my pal Frank a great deal of anguish.
I closed my eyes, wishing away the pain Sarah’s news had brought.
“What should we do?” she asked, her voice still quiet.
“First,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt, “set up a time for the two finalists to come in for another interview right away. We need to make the hire soon.
“Second, if we hire Cassandra, we’ll tell Frank and Justin that we won’t have her start until they have a replacement. Or we’d be happy to share her until that happens. My impression is that job-hopping happens a lot around here, so they might forgive us.
“Most important, we can keep her secret. It’s up to her whether she tells Frank and Justin her concerns.”
Sarah didn’t look any happier but nodded in agreement. “That will work, I guess. I just, I just, I hate keeping secrets.”
I glanced down at my cup of cider, not wanting Sarah to see my skeptical look. That seemed to be the way things were going in this beautiful little town, I thought. Secrets and denials all around.
To put a disturbing end to a disastrous day, Detective Maccini called shortly after I arrived back at the condo. “Bring a lawyer if you want,” he said, “but we need to talk tomorrow.”
19
No time is a good time to visit a police officer who suspects you of murder, but I was fairly certain Maccini just wanted information about the wake. I arrived at the county police headquarters at 10 a.m. and was greeted with its ubiquitous smell of burned coffee and the irritating sound of radio static. Detective Maccini, in his standard police blues, smiled when I walked in the door. Nice to know I was wanted.
The windowless conference room held its usual charm, and the two of us took seats facing each other across the steel table. Maccini didn’t offer me coffee, which I hoped meant it would be a short session.
“We’re checking in with a lot of people who were at Bernice’s wake,” he told me. “We pinpointed the fact that that’s where Dennis’s poisoning took place. Have you heard about that?”
Not wanting to get AnnMarie in trouble, I gave him a noncommittal shrug.
“We’ve been making the official finding public, in hopes someone may have noticed something,” he said. “We found that Dennis went to the wake with normal potassium levels, proved by a blood test he had just before the event. At some point during the wake, he ingested a massive amount of potassium, probably a liquid supplement added to whatever he was drinking. That’s what caused his collapse. Huh.
“Sadly, even with emergency care, his heart couldn’t recover, and he died three days later. The doctors said that is not unheard of.”
None of that was new to me, but I nodded at the appropriate places.
“We need you to put together a short statement of what you saw at the wake, who was there, that type of thing. And, now that you know what we are looking for, if you saw any behavior that seemed strange or out of the ordinary.”
Maccini slid a notebook and pen across the table. “Go ahead and write that up for me. A timeline of that evening. What you did, who you talked to, details like that.”
The wake had been eight days ago, and my memory of it generally revolved around Dennis’s collapse. But I told Maccini I would do my best, and he gave me his counselor smile and said to do what I could. “Poke your head out and wave when you’re done,” he said, “and the watch commander will come and get me.”
He walked out the door. Strange, I thought, he still didn’t offer me any coffee.
My attempt at re-creating my experience at Bernice’s wake took more than 30 minutes, and I didn’t think it would be much help. I wrote that I arrived at the wake around 6:30 p.m. and talked to Frank and Tami and Sarah and a lot of other people but couldn’t remember the details. I had a couple glasses of Frank’s orange drink, nibbled at a mushroom dish and Swedish meatballs and spinach cheese squares, and had a couple bites of a chocolate dessert. I did recall Sarah’s thank-you talk to the guests, and said I thought she was the first to leave. And I had not seen anyone walk up to Dennis and add something to his drink.
I was more specific about the events surrounding Dennis’s collapse but didn’t think that would help. At that point, the evil deed had been done.
I stood up, stretched, then went to the door and waved at the officer sitting at a desk outside. He got up and took my
papers. “Thank you. I’ll give these to Detective Maccini. He’ll be in shortly.”
This was taking longer than I had envisioned, but Sarah had said she’d be working at the store, so I wasn’t overly worried about the time. I settled back into the unfriendly plastic chair, checking my phone for any messages while I waited for Maccini.
A few minutes later, he walked in, two Styrofoam cups in hand. I sighed. That could only mean we were in for a longer discussion.
He placed a cup on either side of the table and moved around to sit across from me. I picked up my cup, even bad coffee was welcome if I had to get through another talk with him, and took a sip. The taste surprised me. Maccini had brought me a cup of hot tea.
I looked up and saw him grin. “You suggested I should be a better investigator, that I should know that you preferred tea to coffee. You were right.” He paused, as though building suspense. “So as a good investigator, I took your advice to the next level. And I did a little more investigating about you. Wow. You’ve been keeping a lot of secrets, haven’t you?”
The counselor’s voice was long gone. I glanced down at the ugly linoleum floor, wishing it would magically open and swallow me up.
20
Maccini pointed a finger at me. “I have a question for you, Lauren Andrews. Or should I call you Victoria Lauren Kittner? Or maybe just Victoria Kittner, widow of Andrew Kittner, known as Drew?”
He settled back into his chair, his gaze never leaving me.
I closed my eyes and recalled how much work it took to do a legal name change. Gathering extensive information on my life, from former addresses to education to job history, blah, blah, blah, passing a criminal background check, visiting a notary, paying almost $300 for the privilege and attending a final hearing, Aunt Raelynn offering her love and support during the long, painful process.
Maccini cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to the present. “Why’d you change your name? And why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
What could I say? Would he understand my need for a fresh start, my desire to escape the suspicion swirling around me, my wish to leave behind a name sullied by those determined to find me at fault for the death of my darling Drew?
Probably not. And I had no real answer for why I had not told him of the name change when he interviewed me following Bernice’s death. But hiding my previous identity had become so ingrained in me over the past few months that telling him had not entered my mind.
“Not saying? How about this one? You were questioned by Tampa police about the so-called ‘accidental’ death of Drew Kittner. And the insurance company took a close look, too, given that Mr. Kittner had a policy worth five million bucks, payable to you, whether his death was accidental, terrorist activity, suicide, old age or homicide. Of course, they wouldn’t pay if you were the killer.”
I remained silent.
He let out a long sigh. “You get my interest? You were never charged in the death of your husband, and the insurance company did fork over that five mil, but then you move from sunny Florida to the wonderful climate of Michigan. Within two months of your move, two people you are closely associated with are murdered. Huh.
“Well, Lauren or Victoria, can you help me out here?”
His damning recitation sent me back to Tampa, back to another windowless room with a police detective asking me again and again for details about the afternoon Drew died. It wasn’t difficult to tell the same story repeatedly, despite the officer’s continuous attempts to trip me up. And I couldn’t stop crying.
The insurance company interview was no better. The agency had to pay the death benefits to the beneficiary on the policy Drew had taken out five years earlier. Originally, he had chosen his sister, Carmen, as the recipient, but he switched it to me after we were married. The company vice president, with his expensive suit and patronizing attitude, told me with a steely-eyed look that they would not pay if I were responsible for Drew’s death. I cried during that interview, too, my sense of loss so profound that I could barely breathe.
Maccini rapped on the table, the noise pulling me from my pensive withdrawal. “Okay,” he said, “got more questions I’m sure you won’t answer. What attracted you to Alleton? Did you see an opportunity to, oh, I don’t know, double or triple your insurance gain, taking advantage of the sale prices for some of the shops here whose owners were done in by the recession? So maybe it was simply a sound business decision.
“And doing my due diligence as an investigator,” the sarcasm was heavy in his voice, “I did talk to your business lawyer, and he seemed to think that’s all there was to it. You saw a good opportunity and grabbed it.”
He took a deep breath. “Or I could buy something else entirely.”
I was shaken by the undercurrent of menace in his voice, unsure of where he was going. “Maybe you’ve found a foolproof way to launder funds, drug money one of your Florida pals needs to hide. That’s worth some investigating, I think.”
His final statement, at least, finally unlocked my virtual catatonia. In fact, it made me laugh, although what I really felt was deep, burning anger.
“Now there’s a stretch,” I said. “You take a name change and a long-distance move and the purchase of a small shop and end up with a plot involving drug cartels and money laundering. Instead of being a world-class investigator, sounds like you are better suited to writing screenplays.”
My body was shaking, but I didn’t care. Maccini, however, met my anger with another grin.
“Thought you’d like that,” he said. “I was just tryin’ to shake you up. Nah, I don’t believe you have ties to a drug cartel. But I am a good investigator, and I’ll keep looking at the murders of Bernice Mullins and Dennis Tomlinson.
“You’re not under arrest … yet. But hmmm, I can see you visiting Bernice earlier on Sunday, then returning for your ‘official’ visit. And you were at the wake where Dennis was poisoned.
“Did Bernice know your secret? Did she threaten to expose you? Had she told Dennis?
“Ah, Lauren Victoria, lucky for you, there are plenty of other suspects for me to sort through. Which I will. Unlucky for you, I just don’t see one I like as well as you.”
He stood up, signaling an end to our talk, although he had done most of the talking. I put my coat on, barely able to button it because of my shaking hands.
He reached down and picked up my cup of tea, still almost full.
“Guess you weren’t all that thirsty. Huh.”
21
Much as I wanted to drive back to the condo and curl up and cry, I had to show up at Bathing Beauty to interview the two young women Sarah had chosen as possible employees. I drove to Alleton faster than I wanted to, sliding a bit on the icy roads, so I wouldn’t be late.
Sarah looked up, relieved, when I walked into the shop’s office. A woman with blond hair dyed pink, who looked relaxed in her skinny jeans and chunky sky-blue tunic, sat across the small desk from her.
“Sorry,” I said as I shrugged off my coat. “My other appointment lasted longer than I expected. You must be Tiffany.” I remembered her from Bernice’s wake, where she had been deep in conversation with D.J.
Tiffany turned out to be a good find on Sarah’s part. She’d worked retail for a couple years but wanted better hours to match her college schedule. She was also personable and seemed to have a good sense of the shop’s customer base. And she came with a recommendation from D.J.
“Such a shame what happened to his dad,” she said once the formal part of the interview ended and we were just chatting. “I hope the store stays in business. I know he’s been worried about paying for his classes, and if that store closes, he’ll be out of luck.”
Okay, she was a bit of a gossip, too, but not a mean one. And given what D.J. had told me about his dad’s insurance coverage, I was pretty sure D.J. would be able to continue his schooling, an observation I did not share.
Once Tiffany left, Sarah and I agreed we should hire her. But we�
�d also need another part-time employee.
“Cassandra’s coming in a few minutes,” Sarah said. “If you like her, we, maybe we should make her an offer right away, ’cause I think, I’m pretty sure she’s applied at other stores.”
“Agreed,” I said. “And I also want you to ask her about the missing pills. See if she has a clue about whether it’s Frank or Justin. If one of them needs help, we should know that. They are our friends.”
Sarah bit her bottom lip. “I’ll do it,” she said, “but, but I don’t know if she’ll know much more.”
Cassandra’s red hair was natural, unlike my auburn-dyed mane, and her green eyes and fair skin spoke of Irish roots. She reminded me of a librarian, calm and poised, a good listener. She had dressed for the interview, a dark green blazer and skirt picking up the color of her eyes.
After she and Sarah greeted each other like old friends, it didn’t take long for me to realize I wanted to hire her, too. When I made the offer, she readily accepted.
“Can you keep this quiet for a day until I let the guys at Waves End know?” she asked, her hands clasped together in an unconscious semblance of prayer. “Frank and Justin are going to be okay without me, but it’s better if they hear the news from me.”
“Of course,” I said, then shot a look at Sarah, who let out a deep sigh. “I’m, I am so sorry to bring this up, Cassandra,” Sarah said, “but I shared, I told Lauren about your concerns over the missing pills. We, we are worried about what that might mean. If, if one of the guys is addicted to the point of stealing, maybe we should do an intervention or something.”
I got up to fix a cup of tea. Since Sarah and Cassandra were friends, I thought it might be better if I stayed in the background.
“Until my final refill on the prescription ran out, I kept the rest of my pills locked in my car,” Cassandra said. “The one who’s stealing probably knows I suspected something.”