by Sandi Scott
Again, Tim hesitated. “Hard to say. The gadget was definitely put there on purpose, but they did a really bad job. Just by looking, I can't really tell what they intended—whether it was supposed to kill someone or just to mess with the lighting. I know this, though, if you find the person who rigged this mess, you'll have your killer.”
Luna thanked him again for his help, and the sheriff walked with him to his van. Ashley looked at Luna and waited for him to speak. “That was interesting, but I think it might have created more questions than it answered,” he said.
Ashley shook her head. “We ought to be able to cross some folks off the suspect list; that's not something just anyone would know how to do. My friends and I were talking last night.” Luna looked up at her, but she waved off any comments.
“I doubt that Lucy could have done that wiring, but I'm pretty sure that Sam could, and it wouldn't surprise me to learn that Trina could do it, too.” She paused.
Luna said, “You could probably find a video or something on the Internet to tell you how to do it. I don't think that really eliminates anyone.”
Ashley smiled. “Yeah, YouTube or some other site probably has instructions, but you'd have to know at least a little bit about the whole thing to even know what search terms to use. I really, really don't see that being in Lucy's knowledge base.” A thought flashed through her mind, but it was gone before she grasped it.
“You're probably right,” Luna agreed. “Still, it isn't conclusive. I guess it's time to talk to my suspects again.
Before Ashley could share her ideas about who had reason to do it, Luna's radio squawked. He spoke quickly into it and turned to Ashley. “Gotta go,” he said. “I'll be back when I can, but it might not be today. Ms. Adams—Ashley—do not question anyone or do anything connected to the case. Serve some pastries, do some cooking, whatever—but leave this case alone! I promise you can join me in the interviews tomorrow so let it drop until then.” Ashley nodded, but Luna was already out the door. Noticing the time and realizing that Patty would be there soon, she gathered the empty trays, called Dizzy from where she was running outside, and headed back to the kitchen to do some more baking.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As she boxed up the pastries the next morning, Ashley was still thinking about what Tim told them the day before. She didn't want to believe that Sam had killed Brent over a few things pulled out of the trash, but she still seemed like the most likely suspect. Still, something niggled at the back of her mind—was she missing an important clue?
“Oh, what a shame, Diz,” she smirked, “this last biscuit won't fit into the box. I guess we'll just have to split it for breakfast.” She tossed a piece to the dog and took a bite herself, savoring the spicy chorizo and melted cheese baked into the rich, buttery dough. After a quick “light bulb moment,” she tucked a jar of chiltepin (official Texas native pepper) jelly in with the rest of the supplies.
“Those pepper heads will love this combination, Dizzy—” she said. “Spicy sausage and hot jelly! They'll think they're in South Texas heaven!” She looked at her supply list and checked the boxes.
“Okay, biscuits, blueberry scones from the new recipe, ranger cookies, mini croissants . . . looks like I have everything. Patty's bringing the chicken, tuna, and ham salads, along with the regular croissants, rosemary biscuits, and sourdough bread so we should be good through lunch, anyway.” She finished checking her list and called to Dizzy, “Let's hit the road, sweetie.”
As soon as the passenger door of the van opened at the mansion, Dizzy took off running for the little creek that ran through the backyard. Ashley rolled her eyes, knowing that the rambunctious canine would be soaked and covered in mud within minutes. Oh, well, she thought, it will keep her out of Detective Luna's way. I guess tonight's plans now include a doggie bath. She headed indoors and found the detective, eager to share her ideas with him.
“Good morning, detective,” she called. “I've been thinking—”
“Yes, Ms. Adams, I have no doubt of that,” the detective replied dryly. Ashley looked at him again and saw that a tiny hint of a smile touched his lips—was he teasing her?
“And what thoughts do you have to share with me this morning?” he continued. “Speaking of sharing, let's grab some coffee and breakfast while we talk. Something in that box you're carrying smells delicious.” He took the box from her and carried it to the food table. Setting it down, he offered to pour the coffee while Ashley took care of her morning set-up.
Settled into his temporary office a few minutes later, Ashley began to explain her idea. “Sam was selling things that the maintenance man took out of Chance's trash and his apartment. Based on what Ryan and I found on the sale site, she was taking things from Brent somehow, too. She's worked on a lot of television shows, and I'm pretty sure she knows a fair amount about electricity and stuff. She'd have to know enough to make sure her equipment would work on set. As much as I hate to think it of her—I really like her—I think Brent must have caught her selling his things and confronted her. He probably threatened to have her fired. Knowing that she'd have a hard time finding another job in the industry if word got around about what she'd done, she decided she had to keep him from talking to anyone. So, she rigged the pendant light and the lamp to silence him permanently.”
Luna paused for a moment before replying. “That's a strong theory, Ms. Adams, clear and logical. There's only one small flaw in it.”
“Well,” she said impatiently when he didn't immediately continue, “what flaw is that?”
“Ms. List has an alibi,” he said, “and, before you ask, yes, I've confirmed it. She was at Remedios with another camera operator all evening. I talked to Marisol and several other people who were there. They all say that Ms. List and her colleague were within sight until after the time the ME gave for the death—no restroom or smoke breaks, no disappearances. There was no opportunity for her to tamper with anything.”
Ashley knew Marisol well, and she knew that the diminutive bartender-owner paid close attention to everything that happened in the place. She wasn't interested in running a dive bar so she watched for any hints of possible trouble. Remedios was popular with Seagrass residents, young and old. Parents even felt comfortable bringing their children along to eat from the pub-food menu. If Mari said Sam was there all evening, Ashley was positive the camera operator didn't leave. Besides, Luna mentioned that someone at the bed-and-breakfast verified when Sam came home from work, when she left again, and when she got home for the night. There really was no time for her to have done anything at the house.
“Hmm,” she mused. “Well, I'm glad that it wasn't Sam and that we can eliminate one suspect, at least, but who else ticks all the motive, means, and opportunity boxes?”
Luna raised an eyebrow as he said, “Watching crime shows again, Ms. Adams?” He shrugged and continued, “I'll be spending the day going back through all the case notes to see what we might have missed and to find some new leads. I know it's frustrating to have a solid theory not work out, but that's the nature of police work. The investigation is still open, and I will not give up on finding out who killed Mr. Redstaff.”
Ashley nodded. She had no doubt about the detective's perseverance and determination, but she was a little disappointed that they couldn't close the case yet. She decided to go back to her cottage and do some more thinking about their suspect list. She found Patty in the mansion's kitchen, setting up the lunch foods.
“I'm heading out,” Ashley told her partner. “I'm going to stop by Ryan's and pick up the puppy, then I'll be at home. Give me a call if you need anything.”
Patty waved at her. “Go! I've got things covered here, and you've had a crazy week. Take a little time for yourself and enjoy your dog's company. I'll see you later.
As Ashley turned out of the driveway, her cell phone pinged with a text alert. Lunch? It was from Ryan.
Sure. How about the diner? I could go for a cup of Suzie's butternut squash soup and a club san
dwich.
Sounds good – see you in 10?
K – and how about I take the puppy home after for a play date?
Sadie's Diner was full, loud, and welcoming, as friends greeted one another and talked over the problems of the world. Ashley loved the vibe of the place—for her, it epitomized the idea of small-town living. The diner was first opened by Sadie Ingram, the current owner's grandmother. Suzie kept most of her grandmother's comfort food dishes on the menu, adding her own touches here and there. The décor was original, down to the small jukeboxes at each table although the banquette benches had been recovered over the years.
“Ashley, how are you, girl?” One of the waitresses came over and enveloped Ashley in a hug. “We haven't seen you here in forever! I thought you'd packed up and moved away, gone to the big city to cook for the rich and famous.”
“Maddie, you know I was here with Patty last week—not more than three days ago!” Ashley laughed at the middle-aged woman in her old-fashioned pink uniform, complete with pocket handkerchief and white apron. “And I'm not going anywhere. I did the whole big city thing, and I'm not in any hurry to repeat the experience.”
“Good thing,” Maddie replied. “Are you eating alone today? Or is that handsome computer geek of yours joining you?”
“So, there's another man in your life, is there?” Ryan's voice startled them both. “Well, at least you're true to form if he's on the nerdy side! How are you, Maddie?” He gave the waitress a quick hug.
The group sitting at the closest table, all locals who'd known Ashley, Ryan, and Maddie for years, laughed along with the friends as Maddie led them to an empty table. She took their drink orders and dropped menus on the table before hurrying off to cash out another customer.
Ashley pushed the menu aside. “I don't need to see this. Even if I didn't practically have it memorized, I know exactly what I want. I've been waiting for fall to get here so Suzie would add the different squash soups back to the menu. I want a cup of soup for sure, and I can never resist her club sandwiches. If I ever figure out that bread spread, I'm going to eat it on everything!”
Ryan laughed. “Yeah, it's definitely different, and it's really good. I think I'm going for the chicken-fried steak sandwich and hand-cut fries. Somehow, when the steak is on a sandwich, I don't feel as much like a glutton for having steak for lunch! Wanna split an order of onion strings?
“Absolutely!” Ashley agreed. “I'll be right back; I want to wash my hands after messing around the old house this morning.”
By the time Ashley made her way to and from the ladies’ room, stopping to visit with others in the diner along the way, Maddie had delivered their food to the table. She spent a few minutes savoring the delicious, velvety soup, with just a hint of curry and finished off with a swirl of sour cream. Ryan reached toward Ashley with his spoon, and she slapped his hand lightly.
“That's enough,” she teased. “You've had your taste. If you want more soup, order your own. This cup's mine, and I'm not sharing anymore.”
“C'mon, Ash,” he pretended to pout, “just a little taste.” She laughed and shook her head at him and pulled the soup closer to herself, cupping her forearm around it in protection.
“Oh, man,” Ryan groaned as he took the first bite of his sandwich. “This has to be sinful, it's so good! Tender rib-eye, that great sauce, I can die happy now.”
“Melodramatic much?” Ashley laughed at him. “On the other hand, the bacon on this sandwich is out of this world. Thick cut, cooked to perfection, with that glaze of maple syrup? And the last of the vine-ripened tomatoes! Okay, maybe you called it right after all!”
The couple caught up with the events of the morning. Ryan was surprised to hear about Sam's alibi, too, but he didn't have any new insights to offer. Finishing their meal, they drove to Ryan's house where Ashley loaded the puppy into her car with a few of his toys. “You know,” she said. “We can't keep calling him 'the puppy.' You really need to give him a name. When he gets a forever home, his new owners can always change his name if they want.”
“I've actually been thinking about that,” he said, “but I haven't found one that sounds right. Any suggestions?”
Promising to think about it, Ashley and the puppy left. She could hear Dizzy barking from the backyard and knew the dog recognized the sound of her car. “Calm down, Diz,” she said. “We'll be there in a second. You've got a visitor so be on your best behavior.” After opening the gate to let the puppy in, the two dogs took off running.
Ashley went into the house and fixed a glass of iced tea before returning to the deck to watch the two canine friends playing. She laughed at the puppy trying to imitate everything Dizzy did. He was trying hard, but he was still so little that he did it wrong, or poorly, every time. Sitting up quickly as a flash of insight hit her brain, she grabbed her purse and keys and ran to the car, calling Luna simultaneously.
“Detective,” she exclaimed. “I know what happened, and who did it! Meet me at Chance's apartment. I'll explain everything when you get there.”
“Ms. Adams—Ashley,” he called out. “Wait for me to get there. Do not go into that apartment without me. Don't confront anyone until I'm there. Stay in your car until you see me.”
“Whatever!” Ashley shrugged as she ended the call and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. As she drove, she ran through the scenario in her mind, checking that all the pieces fit. However, Luna’s car was not in the parking lot when she arrived. Not to be detained, she jumped out of the car and paced for a minute before thinking, Luna's got to be close; he'll be here any minute. Chance won't hurt me if I go on into the apartment. Ashley knew she should wait for Detective Luna to arrive, but her curiosity made her impatient. She walked up the public sidewalk to the front walkway at Chance Fortune's apartment, then turned to check the parking lot one more time. Finally, she approached the door and knocked. As soon as the door opened, she started yelling, “You did it—you killed Brent Redstaff!”
“What? Are you crazy? What are you talking about?” Chance sputtered. He looked around to see if anyone was near enough to hear. “You'd better come inside so we can clear this up. I don't need the neighbors overhearing your obvious misunderstanding and spreading it all over town.”
Ashley stepped inside and turned to face Chance as he closed the door. “You were watching DIY electrician videos the day before Brent was found. I remember seeing one when I went out to the trailer.” She walked to the couch and sat down on the edge. Chance sat on a stool at the pass-through bar.
“So, what?” Chance retorted. “I needed to fix a problem here at home, so I did a little research during work hours. What's the big deal?”
“No,” Ashley countered. “The maintenance guy here at the apartment complex would have taken care of any repairs you needed to have done. You wouldn't do them yourself.” Chance didn't reply. He sat completely still, watching Ashley's face closely.
“You needed Lucy to react naturally, and you knew that wasn't going to happen because she knew everything was faked. You figured you could give the reality show its own bit of reality. You rigged the wiring so the light circuit would short out with a big flash and a shower of sparks—even Lucy would react to that—and you'd have the shots you needed. However, you didn't know about old houses; you didn't know that there was no ground wire so that anyone who touched the light key would literally get the shock of his or her life. You didn't mean to kill Brent, but you were willing to let someone else go to jail for what you did.” Chance didn't even try to deny it. He glared at Ashley and his shoulders fell in defeat.
“Yeah, I set up the lights to flicker and blow out. And you're right—I didn't plan to kill anyone. It was just another stunt, like the rattling chains and stuff, but good ole Blundering Brent turned a simple special effect into a real death.” He stood up and paced toward the kitchen, then returned. “You have to understand—before television, I was a nobody living in a nowhere town, leading a boring life with nothing happening in it.
Reality TV rescued me from that, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect the fame I'm building. I won't let anyone or anything ruin that for me.”
Suddenly, he lunged at Ashley and grabbed her. He dragged her through the kitchen door and threw her down onto the floor. He grabbed a knife off the counter and started toward Ashley as she tried to scramble away from him. Just as he raised the knife over his head, the front door slammed open, bouncing off the wall with the force. Sheriff Mueller and Detective Luna burst in, both with their service revolvers drawn and pointed straight at Chance.
“Drop it,” the sheriff shouted. “Drop that knife now!” As he called out, Luna jumped halfway across the room and tackled Chance, knocking the knife out of his reach.
“Chance Fortune, you're under arrest for attempted murder,” the sheriff announced, “and I have no doubt we'll be adding murder charges after we get Ms. Adams' statement.” As the detective slapped handcuffs on Chance's wrists, the sheriff read out the Miranda warning. When he finished, Luna pulled his prisoner out the door toward his car.
Sheriff Mueller took a deep breath and reached down to help Ashley up from the floor. “Hon, are you okay?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued, “What were you thinking? Why didn't you wait until we got here? Do you have a death wish or something?”
Ashley felt her eyes fill with tears. Blinking them back, she answered, “I don't know. I was caught up in the adrenaline of figuring out who killed Brent. I talked myself into believing it would be safe, that I wouldn't be in here alone with him long enough for anything bad to happen.”
Shuddering, she continued, “Sheriff, I don't believe he meant to kill Brent. This was a case of Internet research going totally wrong. He wanted to pull off his own special effect so he could surprise everyone and get their natural response, but it's like the old saying—'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.' The videos he watched were about modern wiring; if he'd rigged the stunt in a newer house or one with updated wiring, it would have been safe. He admitted to me that he rigged the lights, but he insisted that he didn't want to kill anyone. I believe him, both because I don't think he'd ever have the guts to kill intentionally and because Tim said someone did such a bad job with the wiring.”