Perjury Proof

by Jessica Beck

  Chapter 3

  “I was just going to leave you a note to tell you to come see me,” I told Grace when she answered the door in her bathrobe, her hair put up in a towel. I knew that her working hours were mostly her own in her job as a cosmetic company’s sales supervisor, subject to the whims of whoever her current boss might be, at any rate.

  “Now you don’t have to,” she said. “I decided to take a mental health day. Well, an afternoon, at any rate. How goes the world of donuts?”

  “You haven’t heard the news, have you?” I asked her as I stepped inside her neat and stylish home. She’d been raised there, just a few hundred feet down the road from me, and when her parents had passed away, it had become hers.

  “What news is that? I just got home, thus my current state of undress.”

  “Maggie Moore killed herself an hour ago,” I said, guessing about the time.

  “That’s terrible,” Grace said, slumping back a little against the doorframe. “Who exactly is Maggie Moore? Or was, I suppose I should say.”

  “She was the woman who was all set to open the pie shop,” I said. “We had an argument earlier this morning, and I was trying to take her some donuts to make peace with her when her niece found the body. Her name is Leanne, and she was working for Maggie.”

  “That is truly tragic,” Grace said. “April Springs is kind of an odd place to decide to open a pie shop in the first place, isn’t it? I mean we have your donuts, and the grocery store has a bakery, even if our town bakery shut down last year, which might be considered an omen in and of itself. It seems a little like overkill, if you ask me.” She blanched slightly at her word choice. “You know what I mean.”

  “She was Gabby Williams’s cousin, which might explain why she came here,” I explained.

  “So that would make her related to Leanne as well,” Grace said.

  “Yes, but not by blood,” I amended automatically.

  My best friend looked at me quizzically for a moment before speaking. “Is that really relevant, Suzanne?”

  “I didn’t think so before today, but evidently it’s a real sticking point with this family. There’s some story about bad blood between the great-grandfathers, but I didn’t get the whole story.”

  “I don’t see how that could possibly matter at this point.” Grace’s expression softened a little. “Suzanne, you don’t feel responsible for that woman killing herself just because you two had an argument, do you?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I just wanted you to know why it bothered me so much.”

  “So, I guess there isn’t going to be a pie shop in town after all,” Grace said.

  “I’m not so sure about that. Leanne is the piemaker. Maggie was just the business end of the operation. Maybe Momma will want to take her on as a pet project until she gets on her feet.” My mother had been known to step into failing businesses to help right them in the past. She was fond of April Springs in a way that I couldn’t match, often putting her money where her mouth was behind the scenes. Usually Momma’s only caveat to the people she helped was that she remain strictly anonymous in the process. Shoot, even I didn’t know half of the things she’d done for our town over the years.

  “Maybe she will,” Grace said. “I just don’t get it, Suzanne. What kind of pressure could a pie shop owner be under that would make her take her own life?”

  “You’re kidding, right? Opening up a new business, especially one that deals with food, is a major headache from start to finish. I don’t know about her state of finances, but even with my divorce settlement from Max, there were some really lean times at the donut shop, as if I have to remind you.”

  “No, I remember it all too well,” Grace said.

  “Not only that, but who knows what really goes on in someone else’s mind. I’ve been shocked by the number of folks plagued by depression over the years, including celebrities who didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Sometimes I’m actually glad that I’m not rich and famous. Who needs the scrutiny from the world?”

  “I wouldn’t mind the rich part, but I agree with you that fame must be highly overrated. How’s Gabby taking all of this?”

  “You know Gabby. She’s hard to read, but she’s housing Leanne until this mess is straightened out.”

  “Isn’t that what you do for family?”

  “It’s certainly what most folks do,” I acknowledged, “but Gabby is the one who made such a point about Leanne not being a blood relative. I think when she sensed that I was about to offer to take her in myself, Gabby knew that she had to step up, and to her credit, that’s exactly what she did. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Maggie Moore. Why is Stephen Grant asking me about you? Have you two finally severed your ties to each other?”

  “That’s an odd way of putting a breakup, Suzanne,” Grace said.

  “Okay then, we’ll use your choice of words. Have you two finally ended things between you?”

  “Well, Stephen has,” she said with a shrug.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out to pat my friend’s shoulder. She’d had more than her share of losers in her love life in the past, but I thought her relationship with Stephen might actually stick.

  “Don’t be. I’ve decided not to accept his decision,” she said lightheartedly.

  “What? Grace, you can’t do that. If he doesn’t want to be with you, you can’t just make him.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said as she stood and started pacing. “If I refuse to acknowledge the breakup, then it hasn’t really happened yet, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’re not serious, are you?” I looked into my best friend’s gaze, but I couldn’t honestly tell if she was pulling my leg or not.

  “I’m dead serious,” Grace said. “He told me we should take a break from each other to get a little perspective, I respectfully disagreed, and that’s where we left things.”

  “I can’t imagine this is going to work,” I said. “You know that I love you like a sister, but I think you’re off track on this one.”

  “Stephen thinks the same thing, but I’ll show you both.” Grace said it with absolutely no animosity toward me, or her ex, or not-so-ex, boyfriend, either.

  It was clear that she’d made up her mind. “If that’s your stand, then I’ve got your back. What’s our game plan to win him back?” I asked. If Grace was going to be crazy, then I was going to be right there with her. After all, it was easy to stick with people when they were winning, rational, and sweet. It was when the entire world was against them that it really counted, at least in my book. That was when the true definition of friendship took over. Grace might get knocked down, but I was going to be right there beside her, fighting until the end and helping her get right back up off the ground.

  “Are you really on board with me?” she asked me with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “You bet I am. The poor man won’t even know what hit him. So, what did you have in mind?”

  “I haven’t really gotten that far yet,” she said. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “You could invite him to have a nice dinner here with you tonight,” I said. “I’ll even cook for you.” Grace was many things, but a good cook was not among the skills listed on her résumé.

  “I appreciate the offer, but how am I supposed to get him over here on such short notice?” she asked me.

  “You could always tell him that you’ve given his suggestion some thought, and you’d like the opportunity to discuss it further with him,” I said.

  “I have no intention of doing that though, right?” she asked. “Isn’t that kind of ambushing him?”

  “I suppose, but do you really want him back?”

  “Of course I do. Okay then, an ambush it is. Suzanne, do you really think we can pull this off by tonight?”

  “I don’t think we have much
choice. After all, you don’t want to let too much time go by before you act, and I happen to be free tonight. What do you say?”

  “You’re on,” she said. “Let me call him and set something up.” Grace took out her cell phone, but she didn’t make any move to use it immediately. “Suzanne, I’m as nervous as a schoolgirl.”

  “I understand completely,” I said. “Would you like me to step outside so you can have some privacy?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. I’ll be right out there if you need me.” I gave her a quick hug, and then I left her to her own devices. I didn’t envy Grace making that particular call, and once again, I knew just how lucky I was to have Jake in my life. I knew he was working at the moment, but I thought I’d give him a call and leave him a voicemail anyway. Maybe it would make him smile when he heard it.

  I nearly dropped my phone when he picked up on the first ring. “Suzanne, how do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I asked. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be using your phone.”

  “Our boss is in a meeting, so we’ve got ten minutes free. I was just about to call you myself. How’s life in April Springs?”

  I thought about telling him about Maggie’s suicide, but why put a damper on one of the few opportunities I had to speak with my husband while he was away? “Pretty much business as usual,” I said. “How’s it going with you?”

  “Well, I hate to admit it, but I was wrong,” Jake said.

  “So does that mean that I was right? Excellent. I love when that happens.”

  My husband’s laughter was a welcome sound to me. “I’m not talking about you. Evidently our boss has every reason to be paranoid after all. This guy is ramping up his threats, and we’re becoming a little concerned that he might be the real deal after all.”

  “Jake, are you safe?”

  He could clearly hear the concern in my voice. “Suzanne, I’m fine. I’m with some of the best people in the South working on this. I couldn’t be any safer if I were home with you.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” I said. “Just don’t take any chances if you can help it.”

  “Scout’s oath,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Evidently the meeting didn’t go so well, so we’re heading out. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said, but it was to dead air. He was already gone. I didn’t like keeping things from Jake, but it wasn’t as though it was a murder. Even then, I might have kept that to myself. After all, there was no use worrying him about something he couldn’t do anything about.

  I was still staring at my phone when Grace walked out. She had gotten dressed in the interim, donning slacks, a cute top, and some darling shoes. My friend was always a stylish dresser, something that could never be said about me. “Is this a bad time?” she asked me.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said as I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “What did Stephen say?”

  “It took a little cajoling, but it worked,” she said with a grin. “He’s coming by at six.” Grace looked at her watch, and then she asked, “Does that give us enough time to get ready?”

  “We’ll be fine. What’s his favorite meal?” I asked.

  “He’s got pretty pedestrian tastes,” Grace allowed. “I’m sure he’d be happy with eggs and toast.”

  “We can do better than that,” I said, thinking about the things I enjoyed making. Lately I’d been into stir-fries, using peppers, onions, chicken, and rice to make the most delightful meals. It was especially easy when I used cooked chicken from the freezer, thawed out first, of course. “How about a nice stir-fry?”

  “Could you make a pot pie instead?” she asked me. “I know it’s a lot of trouble, but that’s his favorite meal of all. He likes it even more than he likes eating at Napoli’s.”

  That was saying something. For me, there was nothing I enjoyed more than eating at my favorite Italian restaurant in Union Square, and not all of it was because of the women who ran the place, the DeAngelis mother and daughters.

  “One chicken pot pie coming up,” I said. “We don’t even have to go to the store. I’ve got all of the ingredients at home.”

  “Then let’s get started,” Grace said.

  “Were you wanting to help me in the kitchen?” I asked as calmly as I could.

  She laughed at the suggestion. “No, that’s your department. I would love to keep you company while you make it, though.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal,” I said. “Tell you what. I’ll even tell you how I make it so you can at least sound knowledgeable if Stephen asks how it was made.”

  “Should I lie and tell him that I made it?” Grace asked. She really was desperate to get his approval if she was willing to do that.

  “No, but I’m willing to bet that he’ll be impressed that you know how it is made. What could it hurt?”

  “Exactly. That sounds like a plan to me.”

  “Why are we adding flour?” Grace asked as she looked over my shoulder. So, it was “we” now.

  “It’s part of making a white sauce,” I explained. I’d melted four tablespoons of butter in the bottom of the pan at low temperature, and now I was sprinkling four tablespoons of flour, salt, and pepper into the mix, making a roux. As I stirred the mixture together over low heat, I said, “This is the sauce that makes everything taste so good. Okay, after the flour, salt, and pepper are mixed into the butter and cooked a little, we take some of the milk we’ve set aside and add it to the mix once the pan is off the heat, stirring as we go. Would you like to do that yourself?”

  “Sure, why not? At least this way I can say with all honesty that I helped.” Grace picked up the two-cup measure, a little over half full of 1% milk, and added a small splash to the mix.

  “A smidge more,” I said as I stirred it in.

  Her “smidge” was half the milk, and as I stirred furiously to try my best to eliminate clumping, Grace asked, “Was that too much?”

  “It’s fine,” I said. Once I was happy with everything, I said, “Now add the rest.”

  She did as I asked, and I immediately cranked up the heat to HIGH.

  “Aren’t you worried you’re going to burn it?” she asked me.

  “That’s why I’m stirring so quickly,” I said as I stared into the bottom of the pan.

  “What are you looking for?” Grace asked me as she joined me in my search.

  “The first bubble,” I said.

  In thirty seconds, I saw it and pulled the completed white sauce off of the heat entirely. “Now grab the veggies and add them directly to the sauce.” We were using a bag of baby corn, carrots, and asparagus tips cooked in the microwave oven, and as that incorporated, I instructed her to add the chicken, which she’d defrosted and cut into bite-sized chunks herself. Once it was mixed in as well, I covered the pan and set it aside on the counter.

  “Now, are you sure you don’t want me to make the crust from scratch?” I asked. “It’s really no trouble.”

  “No, let’s just use the pie crust you already had.”

  I didn’t normally keep pie dough hanging around, but I’d been working up some new and simple donut recipes, and I liked trying different things, including store-bought crust, or whatever else struck my fancy.

  “Spoon the filling into this casserole dish,” I told her, and after it was all in place, I placed the crust over the top. “After we trim the edges, we cut a couple of slits to let the steam vent, and it’s ready to go into the oven.”

  “That was so easy,” Grace said as she slipped the dish, safely sitting on a pie sheet to catch anything that might bubble over, into the preheated oven.

  “It helps if you’ve done it a couple of hundred times,” I answered with a grin, “but you can make it yourself without any help from me the next time.”

  “I’m not willing to go that far,�
� Grace said. “Now what do we do?”

  “Well, I’d say we could make a pie to go with it, but that was my last crust,” I said. “How about some banana pudding?”

  “That sounds great,” she said. “Wow, look at me. I’m cooking.”

  “Yes you are,” I said when her cell phone rang.

  “It’s Stephen,” Grace said as she stepped into the living room.

  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the cottage wasn’t that big, and besides, she was right there. “What? Stephen, that’s not fair. I even made dinner. Okay. Sure. Another time.” She came back to me frowning. “I suppose you heard all of that?”

  “I did. What possible reason does he have for skipping out on dinner?”

  “He said that he just got the coroner’s report on Maggie Moore,” Grace said. “Apparently it wasn’t suicide after all.

  “Stephen is pretty sure that she was murdered.”

  Chapter 4

  “Murder? Is he sure?” I asked as I sat down heavily on the living room couch.

  “He sounded pretty sure to me.”

  “How did he even get an autopsy done so quickly?” I asked her. “This just happened a handful of hours ago.”

  “Evidently the coroner’s office is dead at the moment, pardon the expression. They have some kind of new hotshot who prides himself on getting folks on and off his table as quickly as possible.”

  “Maybe he made a mistake in his rush to judgment,” I said. I’d seen the scene myself, and it had surely looked like suicide to me at the time. Then again, it may have been staged to look that way.

  “How exactly was she murdered?” I asked. I hadn’t seen any signs of blood at the scene, or blunt force trauma, either.

  “Some kind of poison, he said.”

  “Poison? Did he happen to mention what kind killed her?” I asked.