by Jessica Beck
“Then I will do so gladly,” Grace said with glee. She’d already changed from her business suit to a stylish knit dress that showed off her figure. I kind of wished the police chief would wander by. If he could see what he was about to throw away, he might not be so eager to jettison her. “I feel like doing some dishes. After all, I’ve been told that it can be very therapeutic.” I’d used that line to convince her to do dishes before, and in her defense, she’d pitched in then as well.
“Well, I won’t say no,” I told her. “I could really use the help.”
As we started cleaning up together, she asked me, “When is Emma coming back?”
“Soon, I hope,” I told her.
“You don’t even know?”
“We kind of left her return open-ended,” I admitted. “After all, if she’s not working, I don’t have to pay her. Besides, I’m willing to bet that she and Sharon are having a lovely time, no matter where they ended up.”
Grace had offered to chip in and help me through my current dry spell, but I couldn’t take her up on it any more than I could have taken money from my mother. I was going to weather this alone, or at least with Jake, one way or the other.
“Got it,” Grace said. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get busy, woman. We have people to interview.”
“More than you even know,” I said, briefing her on Crusty and Mrs. Preston as I worked.
She was just as surprised as I had been, especially about our former teacher. “You just never know, do you?”
“The truth is I still don’t. Until I hear the words coming out of her mouth, I’m not going to be able to believe it.”
“Then I suggest we hustle and get this work finished so we can go ask her ourselves,” Grace said.
Twenty minutes later, the books were balanced, the last of the dishes were finished, and the donut shop was clean. I had four dozen donuts left over, usually something that would cause me great sorrow, but we were going to need them this afternoon in the course of our investigation. Everyone we called on was going to receive a free dozen donuts just for having the pleasure of speaking with us. I just hoped that Crusty, Mrs. Preston, Ashton, and Beatrice would appreciate the gesture and open up to us.
Chapter 9
As we were loading the four stuffed boxes of donuts into the back of my Jeep, I asked Grace, “Any thoughts on who we should speak with first?”
“Well, part of me says we should find the two folks in April Springs, since we can check them off our list pretty quickly, but the other part says we do our driving first and then wrap things up once we’re back here.”
“What’s the breakdown on your preference?” I asked her.
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s six of one and six of the other,” she said with a smile. “I refuse to make a ‘dozen’ joke when we’re serving as a pastry wagon.”
“Don’t you approve of my preferred method of bribery?” I asked her as I secured the last box in place. It wouldn’t do to have them shift around and spill donuts in the back of my vehicle before we were able to deliver them.
“Not me. I’m all for it,” Grace said. “How much credence can we put into the leads that Gabby gave you earlier?”
“Like always, I need to speak with these folks myself to see if I think they need to be added to our list of current suspects. Maggie had a rare talent for offending just about everyone she ever came into contact with, so nothing would surprise me at this point, except maybe if Mrs. Preston really was interested in Crusty. That would be a stretch of the imagination that I can’t bring myself to cope with.”
“I have an idea. I just realized something. There’s a bonus if we go see Beatrice first,” Grace said with a sly grin. “She’s in Union Square, at least as far as I was able to determine earlier.”
“That certainly gives us a good place to start,” I answered.
“And who else do we know in Union Square, someone who might be appropriate to see during lunchtime hours?” she asked as her smile widened.
“Trust me, you don’t have to twist my arm to go to Napoli’s,” I said. The DeAngelis women, both mother and daughters alike, were amazing, and not just as culinary geniuses. They were also some of the nicest, most genuine folks I knew, besides being beautiful beyond comprehension.
“I didn’t think so,” Grace replied.
“Okay, but only on one condition; we need to see Beatrice first,” I said. “Otherwise we might never get around to her if we’re so stuffed we can barely move.”
Grace reluctantly agreed. “That sounds like a solid plan to me,” she said as we passed the future pie shop, the police station and jail, then St. Theresa’s after finally heading the rest of the way down Viewmont Avenue toward Union Square.
“Beatrice has got to be near the top of our list, since she’s the only one we know with double motives to want to see Maggie dead,” I said.
“That’s not entirely true though, is it?” Grace asked softly.
I realized immediately what she meant. “You’re right. Leanne has two motives as well: the pie shop arrangement and the cookbook Maggie may or may not have stolen from her. I need to keep reminding myself that we need to keep her in mind as a suspect. Goodness, she should probably be our primary one. I’m sure Chief Grant believes that.” I purposefully mentioned Grace’s boyfriend by his title, just as a reminder that no matter what their personal relationship status was, he was still officially in charge of Maggie Moore’s murder investigation.
“We might want to look into her life as well when we get a chance,” Grace said. “Suzanne, since Beatrice was Maggie’s former sister-in-law, and she believes that her brother died under mysterious circumstances, could we be official investigators from Poison Control when we speak with her?” Grace asked me. She loved role-playing during the course of our investigations, but I was afraid that wasn’t going to work this time.
“I’m not sure that would work. After all, wouldn’t we need some kind of official identification badges to show her? I’m afraid dummying something up would eat up some of our valuable time, not to mention the fact that it’s probably illegal impersonating government employees like that.”
“Only if we get caught,” Grace said with a smile. After a moment, she added, “I’m kidding, Suzanne!”
“Are you? Are you really?” I asked, risking a glance in her direction as I drove.
“For the sake of argument, let’s say that I am,” she answered. “If my research is correct, she’ll be at Henri’s, an upscale women’s clothing store just off the downtown shopping district.” Grace glanced at me, and then she added, “No offense, but maybe I should pretend to be a customer so we can question her.”
I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt, and then I studied Grace’s stylish dress. “Maybe you’ve got a point. Besides, how could I possibly be offended by that?” After I said it, I stuck my tongue out at her to show her that I was teasing right back. No one, and I mean no one, would ever confuse Grace’s style with mine. The fact that each of us took great pride in that fact just made our bond that much stronger.
“Can I at least be your socially awkward friend?” I asked her.
“Isn’t that your description already?” she asked with a perfectly innocent expression.
We both burst out laughing. It really had been quite amusing, but soon enough, we were pulling into a parking space in front of Henri’s. I was happy Grace was taking the lead. I couldn’t have felt more out of place if we’d just pulled up to a biker bar. Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but it was still going to be a place where I would probably need an interpreter to follow along, given the fact that I didn’t speak high fashion, or medium fashion, either.
“Hello, my name is Millicent. May I help you?” a petite young woman with doe eyes and barely into her twenties asked as she approached Grace. The saleswoman barely glanced sideways at me, even with my box o
f donuts, so I was glad I’d been prepared for the snub. Hey, I’d seen Pretty Woman. For all this woman knew, I was loaded with cash and ready to spend it, even though that was clearly not the case. Then again, she had no way of knowing that. I was tempted to charge a few thousand dollars’ worth of clothes on my credit card just to prove to her that I could afford it. That thought made me smile, and I quickly abandoned the plan to show her that she’d misjudged me, even though clearly she hadn’t.
I was saved from my foolishness when Grace spoke up for the two of us. “I’m afraid you won’t do at all,” she said, frowning at the young woman as though she were flawed in some way.
“Excuse me?” Millicent asked, clearly unhappy with Grace’s assessment of her suitability to even wait on us.
“It’s not you, dear. It’s just that a friend recommended Beatrice. Is she here today, by any chance?”
The young woman nodded and frowned at the same time. It was clear that she didn’t approve of our choice, and her next words simply confirmed it. “I hadn’t realized you were looking for more of a matronly look,” the young woman said, making sure to dig in the slam with extra emphasis.
“Honestly, it has been my experience that refinement has no age limits,” Grace said, and then she held the woman’s stare for much longer than I could have managed.
“Of course. Let me get her for you,” Millicent said contritely.
Once she was gone, I asked Grace, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” she asked me as she glanced through a few items of clothing on display. It struck me that though I wouldn’t be caught dead in a shop like this one, Grace was clearly at home and fully at ease there. We really did run in different circles these days.
“You put her in her place so eloquently,” I said. “Kudos on the brevity of language as well.”
“Suzanne, deep down, nearly all of us think of ourselves as being unworthy. When someone else points it out, it merely reinforces our own self-image.”
“Do you feel that way?” I asked her. “Because I surely don’t.”
“That’s one of the things I love most about you,” Grace said with a smile.
“I’m Beatrice,” a woman in her late thirties said as she joined us. She was trim and stylish, but she looked to be a little tired of her job. Though the weather was quite warm, she wore a long-sleeved blouse that covered her arms to the wrists.
“Would you care for some donuts?” I asked her as I offered her the box.
She declined, looking at my treats as though they were radioactive. “I understand you requested me. Might I ask who recommended me?”
Was she asking to thank them or give them a kickback for steering us her way? Either way, I was surprised by Grace’s answer, though not nearly as much as Beatrice was. “Maggie Moore told us all about you just before she died.”
Beatrice’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Now I know you’re lying. That woman wouldn’t recommend me to anyone if I was the only one with a bucket of water and they were on fire.”
“So then you’re probably not all that unhappy that she’s dead,” I said.
Beatrice looked from Grace to me and then back again. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression that you were interested in updating your wardrobe,” she told Grace, trying to put her in her place for having the audacity to bring up something as distasteful as her late sister-in-law’s recent murder.
Clearly Beatrice didn’t know who she was messing with, though. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m truly sorry. I was under the impression that you sold clothes here. Can you really afford to let a commission just walk right out of the store, or worse yet, go to Millicent instead of you?” That last bit struck home, as it wasn’t hard to see that the two women were rivals.
“How can I even be certain you’re going to buy anything?” she asked Grace.
“That’s the beauty of it; you can’t,” Grace replied. “Whether or not I shop here will depend on your answers. It’s up to you, but we don’t have all day.”
It took Beatrice less than two seconds to make up her mind, and in the end, greed won out, which was often the case. “What do you want to know?” she asked wearily, conceding the point, game, set, and match.
It was a fair question at that. When exactly had Maggie’s pills been tainted with poison? Without knowing that, the murder could have technically happened any time in the past several weeks, or at least the wheels could have been set in motion, if Maggie had been lucky in her pill Russian roulette. Then again, that doorknob at the pie shop had been freshly wiped of prints. Maybe that was the way to go. “When was the last time you were in April Springs?” I asked her.
Beatrice glanced over at me, sized me up in an instant as someone who would never be a customer of hers, and then turned back to Grace.
“She asked you a question,” Grace had the style to say.
“I was there last week,” she reluctantly admitted as she glanced in my direction for a moment. “I heard that Maggie was opening a pie shop, and I knew for a fact that the woman couldn’t boil an egg, let alone make an entire pie. Not an edible one, at any rate. I had to see for myself. I never spoke with her, though. She was nowhere to be found when I got into town, so I left without achieving my goal. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Maggie Moore was a horrid woman, and although I didn’t kill her, I find it oddly fitting that she died the same way my brother did.”
“Exactly how much was she set to inherit from his estate?” Grace asked.
Beatrice looked at Grace as though she’d just slapped her. “How do you know about that? It was supposed to be confidential.”
“You know how these things are,” Grace said with a wave of her hand. “Sometimes people talk. Well, what was her portion supposed to be?”
“Half his estate, which amounts to something around two hundred thousand dollars,” Beatrice reluctantly admitted.
“That’s more than enough motive for murder, not even mentioning the fact that she might have killed your brother,” I said.
The saleswoman surely noticed me now! “She poisoned him, and because of the incompetence of the police, she was going to inherit half his wealth? I don’t think so. It wasn’t fair, but I wasn’t going to just roll over and give it to her. I was going to contest it in court, no matter what the cost!”
“Even at your wages here?” Grace asked. “I’m guessing you can’t touch your portion either until everything is settled.”
“I’d rather die than give her a dime of Clifford’s money,” Beatrice said.
“Or kill Maggie to keep her from it,” I added.
Beatrice looked at me with raw fury in her blazing stare. Before she could say anything else, she caught herself, spun around, and hurried away into the back room.
“Sorry about that,” I said before Millicent could rejoin us.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s all fine and dandy,” Grace said.
“I’m sorry, but apparently Beatrice has been taken ill,” Millicent said softly as she approached us. Was she actually smiling? “However, I’d be more than happy to wait on you myself.” The gleam in her eyes testified to that.
“No, I believe we’ll come back when she’s feeling better,” Grace said, leading me out of the store as Millicent continued to dog our steps.
Once we were outside, Grace said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for that lunch.”
As we headed to Napoli’s, I said, “Does Beatrice seem like someone willing to wait until Maggie took that poison?”
“She certainly hated her enough,” Grace said.
“That’s clearly true, but when you think about it, she had a pretty hard deadline, by her own admission. If Maggie managed to keep skipping the poisoned pills, she could have inherited her ex-husband’s money before she took the first tainted one.”
“Beatrice said
that she’d fight it in court, though,” Grace reminded me. “It’s hard to tell how long it would all drag out before there was a final decision.”
“That’s what she told us, but I can’t imagine her having enough cash reserves for any kind of legal battle.”
“No, neither can I,” Grace said. “But we still can’t mark her off our list. She’s such a good candidate, I just can’t bring myself to do it.”
“Neither can I. I’m not even sure we can put her on the back burner, even if we do have a handful of other suspects who might have been able to take a more leisurely approach to murder than Beatrice could afford to.”
“You’re right about that,” Grace replied.
“I think we need to keep looking, don’t you?”
“Yes, but after lunch, right?” Grace asked with a smile.
“Yes, after lunch,” I agreed. I too was hungry for some of the DeAngelis fine cooking.
“What do we do with these, since no one at Henri’s wanted them?” Grace asked as she tapped the box in my hands.
“We could always give them to the DeAngelis women,” I said. “After all, at least they love my donuts.”
“Suzanne, no one with the least bit of sense would ever turn your treats down,” she said.
That made me feel a little better, but I still didn’t like Beatrice Branch. Whether it was because of her refusal of my treats or the cavalier way she’d dismissed me, I honestly couldn’t say.
Chapter 10
“Closed? How can they be closed?” Grace asked as she rattled the front door of the restaurant.
“I don’t understand it, either,” I said. The posted hours for Napoli’s were on the side window, and based on what it said, the Italian restaurant surely should have been open.
“Are they shut down just for today, or forever?” Grace asked me, clearly upset by what we’d found.
“There’s just one way to find out,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and calling Angelica DeAngelis directly.