Perjury Proof

by Jessica Beck

  “No. All I know is that Stephen is bailing out on me tonight.”

  “I understand that, but you have to cut him a little slack this time,” I said. “After all, murder takes precedence over everything else in a cop’s world.”

  “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it. Who knows how long he’ll be tied up with this case now.” Grace glanced over at me and must have read something in my expression. “Suzanne, why do you have that look on your face?”

  “What look?” I asked her as innocently as I could manage.

  “You want to dig into this case yourself, don’t you?” she asked. “You know what? Count me in, too. If nothing else, if we solve the case quickly enough, Stephen won’t be able to duck out on another dinner with me.”

  “As helpful to the current state of your love life as that might be, that’s not why I want to investigate,” I told her. “Grace, I was right there when the body was discovered, remember? I saw Maggie slumped over with her head down on her desk, and I’m afraid if we don’t do something, Leanne is going to hang for the murder, whether she did it or not.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Think about it. She was most likely the last person who saw Maggie alive, she was there alone with her when it happened, and with her aunt gone, I’ve got a suspicion that Leanne gets the pie shop. Don’t most small business owners have that kind of arrangement, especially when they’re related as well?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Grace said. “But given the way you put it, she sounds kind of guilty to me.”

  “True, but you weren’t there. I saw her face when she told us her aunt was dead, and I helped steady her. That girl was about to collapse! I just can’t believe that young woman is a cold-blooded killer. The woman had me try one of her tarts while her aunt was in the building, and chances are good that Maggie was already dead! Who could be so good at hiding something like that?”

  “A psychopath, maybe?” Grace asked.

  “Unless I’m way off course, I can’t imagine Leanne being one,” I said. “The situation at least deserves closer examination.”

  “Like I said before, I’m in,” Grace said as she grabbed her jacket.

  “There’s only one thing wrong with getting straight to work on the case,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We have a chicken pot pie in the oven,” I replied.

  “Can’t we just take it out and start investigating?” she asked me.

  “After all that work? It will just take half an hour to finish up, and then we can be on our way,” I answered. I was as eager to get on the case as she was, but I was, in many ways, my mother’s daughter, and I couldn’t let good food go to waste like that. “In the meantime, you can use my computer and see what you can dig up on Maggie Moore and Leanne Halder.”

  “Suzanne, you really need to upgrade your computer,” Grace said twenty minutes later as she rejoined me from the guest bedroom/office upstairs.

  “Why? It works well enough for my needs.”

  “I don’t see how,” she said in obvious disgust. “At least I know what I’m getting you for Christmas this year.”

  “It better not be a computer,” I said. “Seriously. What I’ve got works fine. Were you able to find anything out, or was it too antiquated to even use?”

  Grace shrugged. “I managed to coax a few things out of it, despite its obvious limitations.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you uncovered, or are you going to spend the next nine minutes the pot pie needs to stay in the oven to tease me?”

  Grace pulled out a notebook as she explained, “I couldn’t get your printer to work, so I had to take notes by hand.”

  “Did you jiggle the cord and hold the power button on for twelve seconds, release it for two, then push it again for six seconds?”

  “No, I didn’t realize it had a set of crazy start-up instructions,” Grace said as she shook her head. “Okay, let’s start with Maggie Moore. She was born Margaret Haller and married Clifford Moore twenty years ago.”

  “When did they get divorced? He’s still not married to the woman, is he?” I couldn’t imagine anybody putting up with that dour woman for very long, no matter how much he might have loved her initially.

  “They’re not still married, but they didn’t get a divorce,” Grace said, raising an eyebrow.

  “He died? No wonder she’s so sour. I’m starting to feel bad about the way I reacted to her. I can’t imagine losing a spouse, can you?”

  “No, particularly not in those circumstances.”

  That sounded a bit cryptic. “How exactly did he die, Grace?”

  “Apparently the coroner ended up ruling it an accidental death, but there were a great deal of rumors flying around at the time. It turns out that he was poisoned. Whether it was accidentally or on purpose, no one really knows.”

  “Poisoned? You’re kidding. What are the odds that they would both be poisoned?”

  “I’d have a really hard time believing that it’s just a coincidence,” Grace said. “Maggie’s sister-in-law has been very vocal for years about her involvement in her brother’s death. She’s been pestering the district attorney to do something for a very long time, but with no results, at least as far as I can tell.”

  “So, you think it’s possible that Clifford’s sister took matters into her own hands and extracted revenge on her own terms, a kind of cold justice?” It sounded outlandish to me, but then again, I knew that folks committed some rather troublesome acts if they felt as though they were avenging a lost loved one.

  “I don’t know, but we need to talk to her. Her name is Beatrice Branch, and she lives in Union Square, at least the last time I could find an address for her, that is.”

  “What else did you uncover?” I asked as I moved into the kitchen and flipped on the oven light. The pie was looking rather grand, and I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to need the entire time to bake. That happened sometimes, which was one of the reasons I always hesitated in giving out precise cooking times when I shared my recipes. So many factors could come into play besides the individual quirks that ovens had, like temperature, humidity, and as far as I knew, phases of the moon.

  “Maggie has evidently made her share of enemies lately, including her niece.”

  “Leanne? Is she upset about the way they set up the pie business?”

  “I don’t know, but Maggie just self-published a recipe book on pie making, and there’s a pretty scathing review from someone calling themselves A REAL PIEMAKER calling her a fraud. You have to wonder, given what you discovered, if Leanne left that review after finding out what her aunt had done.”

  I hated thieves of just about any ilk, but stealing someone else’s creative work was massively egregious in my book. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if someone found my donut recipe book, formatted it, and put it up for sale claiming it was their own. All I knew was that it would get ugly the second I found out; there was no doubt about that.

  “How’s the book selling?” I asked, curious if maybe I should do a recipe book of donuts myself.

  “Not very well, judging by its ranking,” she said. “It’s up in the millions, so I doubt it’s sold more than a copy or two.”

  So maybe that wasn’t a great idea after all. I was sure there was more to making a book than I realized, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to put in all of that work if no one was even going to buy it. Besides, what if they did? Could someone else put me out of business selling my own donuts to the folks of April Springs? It was something to think about, anyway.

  “Were you able to find out anything else?”

  “Nothing specific. For a woman in her early twenties, Leanne Haller has a remarkably low profile online. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m starting to come around to your way of thinking. The Internet can’t take the place of a
ctually talking to real people,” Grace said.

  “That surprises me to hear you say that,” I said. “I thought you were the New Age of Information guru?”

  “It’s got its place, I’m not denying it, but what we do face to face can be a lot more valuable. You can’t read an expression online or judge someone by the way they act, their tone of voice, the particular manner in which they move.”

  “I’m glad you agree with me,” I said. I checked on the pie again. It was definitely finished. Grabbing some hot-pads, I reached in and pulled the pot pie out, placing it on the cooling rack after removing the cookie sheet. I was glad I’d added that at the end, since there had been some definite bubbling over during the cooking process, and it would be easier to clean that than the bottom of my oven.

  “That smells and looks amazing,” Grace said as she leaned a little closer for another whiff. “I can’t believe we actually made it.”

  “We can come back and have it for dinner later, if you’d like,” I suggested.

  “Why can’t we eat it now?” she asked with a grin.

  “One, it’s way too hot, and two, I like to let it cool for at least thirty minutes so all of the flavors can come together.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what do we do for thirty minutes? It barely gives us time to drive to Union Square, let alone interview anyone and get back before it’s stone cold.”

  I had to laugh. “You’re awfully invested in eating this pot pie, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, I helped make it, so of course I want to take part in appreciating the final result. It’s just a shame Stephen won’t be able to enjoy it.”

  “You could always take him a piece later after we’ve eaten,” I suggested.

  “Do you think that might be pushing it?” she asked me hesitantly.

  “Grace, you’re rejecting the man’s demand that you two break up. Do you honestly believe that feeding him is the thing that’s going to push him too far?”

  “No, I suppose you’re right. Okay, we have thirty minutes. What should we do with the time?”

  “Let’s go see if we can’t have a little chat with Leanne. I’d like to ask her more about her aunt, and that pie-making cookbook, too. If she’s the one who left that review, it might mean that she had another reason to kill her aunt that we’re just learning about.”

  “Gabby, we need to speak with Leanne,” I said as she answered the door at her place. It had taken something pretty major to get me to go there, and Grace had been even more reluctant to go. As turbulent as my relationship with Gabby was at times, it was full of warm and fuzzy feelings compared to how she and my best friend got along.

  “You can’t,” Gabby said, her brow furrowed as deeply as I’d ever seen it in my life.

  “Come on,” I said. “This isn’t the time to dig your heels in. Unless we miss our guess, she might be railroaded for murder.” It suddenly occurred to me that Gabby wasn’t aware of the chief of police’s new information. I had just broken the news rather heartlessly if that was the case. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know what they uncovered about Maggie’s death, did you?”

  Gabby shook her head, frowning. “Of course I knew. Did you honestly think that you were the only person in this town with connections in law enforcement?”

  “How did Leanne take it? I’d love to talk to her.”

  “So would I,” Gabby said. “When I told you that you couldn’t talk to her, I meant it literally. She’s with Chief Grant even as we speak.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t tag along,” Grace said. Maybe it wasn’t the most tactful way of saying it, and there was a chance that Grace brought some of Gabby’s animosity upon herself, but I wasn’t about to point that out to either one of them.

  “Don’t you think I tried? He threatened to arrest me for obstruction of justice if I didn’t back down! Can you imagine? I’ve known that young man since he was just a pup, and he had the gall to refuse my simple request to accompany my niece to the station.”

  I could well imagine that particular conversation, and while Stephen Grant was currently in my doghouse, I had to give him credit for standing up to Gabby. It wasn’t something many folks in April Springs would be willing, or able, to do. “He didn’t come right out and arrest her, did he?” I asked as gently as I could manage it.

  “No, at least not while she was here in my home. The chief said that there were some topics he needed to cover with her and that they should go back to his office. I tried to tell Leanne not to go, but she wouldn’t listen to me! She said she was innocent and had nothing to fear from the police. What a naïve young woman! She’s going to land in jail despite herself.”

  I wasn’t going to address either the young woman’s guilt or her innocence, and I was about to say something very carefully worded about being there for her when Grace asked, “How do you know that she didn’t do it?”

  Gabby whirled around and faced Grace with rage in her eyes. “Are you accusing my niece of murder? Be very careful about your next words, Grace Gauge.”

  Grace started to stammer under the attack, so I stepped in. “Gabby, the only thing we want to do is to find the truth. That’s why Grace and I have decided to dig into Maggie’s murder.”

  “Good. I was hoping you’d say that. Suzanne, I want to help,” Gabby said, shocking both Grace and me with her offer. What could she possibly add to our investigation? Gabby Williams certainly wasn’t the most empathetic person in our town, and I doubted anyone would open up to her like they did with me.

  Still, upon further consideration, there might be a few things she could help us with.

  “Excellent,” I said, noting the disbelief on Grace’s face as I accepted Gabby’s offer. “You could start by answering some questions we have, but I need to warn you, they might be painful to hear. Just remember why we’re doing this.”

  “For goodness’ sake, I’m not some delicate flower,” she said. “Why are we standing out here? Come inside.”

  I started to follow her in when Grace grabbed my arm. “Suzanne, what are you doing?” she asked me softly.

  “Just follow my lead,” I whispered.

  I was about to say more when Gabby turned back toward us. “Ladies, you mustn’t dawdle. Time is of the essence.”

  It was no real surprise that Gabby’s place was as neat as a pin and very well furnished. Not for the first time did I realize that she must have had a significant markup on the items she sold. How else could she afford such splendor? It was no wonder most folks in April Springs had never been inside Gabby’s house. One look at her furnishings would surely have made them all suspect that they’d been paying inflated prices for far too long.

  “Tea?” Gabby asked.

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, but we really are on a time crunch here,” Grace said. Was she talking about the case itself or the chicken pot pie cooling on the rack back at my cottage? Either way, I agreed with her. It was best to get this interview over with as quickly as possible. We needed to ask our questions, get any answers we could, and then get out of there while I still had some kind of relationship with the woman, my next-door business neighbor and sometime friend.

  Gabby seemed to be about to protest our refusal, but after a moment, she appeared to accept it, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

  “Tell us about Clifford Moore,” I said.

  Gabby didn’t answer right away. She took a few moments to mull over her answer before she spoke, and when she finally did, it was clear that she spoke with a heavy heart. “I knew that would come up again. Maggie didn’t poison that man, no matter what that witch of a sister of his might claim.”

  “I take it you’re not Beatrice Branch’s biggest fan,” I said. I glanced over at Grace, who was sitting back and taking it all in. No doubt she’d learned her lesson earlier, so I was going to take the brunt of the fallout
from this interrogation. I can’t say that I blamed her, given their past history.

  “She’s a shrew, and if anyone poisoned Cliff, it was most likely her.”

  “Why would she kill her own brother?” Grace asked. So, I’d misinterpreted her game plan after all. It appeared that she was quite willing to wade into the fray herself.

  “Insurance money,” Gabby said, “and a rather substantial family inheritance.”

  “Wouldn’t Maggie inherit all of that as his wife?” I asked.

  “No. The truth of the matter is that she didn’t get much at all from the estate. In fact, that evidence helped ease the police’s minds that she had no financial motive to kill Clifford.”

  “But did she realize that at the time?” Grace asked.

  “Realize what?”

  “That she was going to get the short end of the straw,” she answered.

  “Of course she knew,” Gabby said, and then, after frowning for a moment, she added, “At least I believe she knew. It’s a little too late to ask her about it now, isn’t it?”

  “But there’s no real financial gain for Beatrice with Maggie’s death, is there?” I asked.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Gabby answered. “From what I understand, the estate was rather complicated, and there were provisions made that, after a certain period of time, Maggie could file a petition to the trust to increase her portion of her inheritance.”

  “When was that cutoff date?” I asked.

  “Sometime next week, I believe,” Gabby said.

  “We’ll look into that,” I answered. “Do you know anyone else who might want to hurt Maggie? Think about it. It could be important.”

  “Well, besides Ashton Belle, I can’t think of a soul.” She was biting her lip as she said it, and I wondered if we were getting the entire truth out of her. Why would Gabby hide someone else from us if they might be a viable suspect in her cousin’s murder?

  “Who is Ashton Belle,” I asked, “and why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “He’s a banker in Maple Hollow. I’m not sure why there was so much animosity between them, but they really couldn’t stand one another. You’d have to ask him.”