Death by Pumpkin Spice

by Alex Erickson

  “Okay?” Paul said, still confused. “I get that. But how does that lead to Jessica Fairweather’s murder? As far as I could discern, she had nothing to do with either of the Yarboroughs. She was an acquaintance that got invited to the party because she had money.”

  “The costumes!” I nearly shouted it in my excitement. When he didn’t immediately get it, I went on. “Someone, more than likely Margaret Yarborough, invited Elaine Harmon, Howard’s illegitimate daughter, to the party. Margaret found out what Elaine planned on wearing, probably by recommending it to her and making sure the costume ended up in her hands. Then she told Philip Carlisle to look for it, hiring him to kill her.”

  “But why do it at the party, rather than somewhere that wouldn’t put Margaret and Philip both at the scene?”

  I shrugged. “To make the party livelier? To create a situation where there would be more suspects? I don’t know for sure. She might have wanted to have it take place close to her so she could witness it firsthand.” Which made her a lot more diabolical than I would have pegged her for, but who was I to judge levels of insanity? “All I know is that Philip made a mistake. He saw someone dressed as Marilyn Monroe and killed her, thinking it was Elaine.”

  “Mrs. Yarborough was wearing the same thing,” Paul said. “Why would she do that if she was going to have Mr. Carlisle kill someone wearing that specific dress?”

  “It might be how Philip knew who to kill. If Margaret did indeed tell Elaine what to wear, she could have bought the same thing, telling Philip that whoever was wearing the Monroe costume was his target. Then, once the deed was done, she could change into something else, claiming she was doing it because she didn’t want to wear what a murder victim had been wearing. She couldn’t have known Jessica was wearing the same costume until it was too late. And then when she tried to talk to Philip before the murder, Terry Blandino interrupted.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Paul fell silent for a few seconds and then a lightbulb seemed to go on. “The will.”

  “Exactly!” I wanted to hug him, but since he was driving, held off. “Howard knew about Elaine, had probably provided for her in some way. Margaret didn’t approve, so whatever he was doing had to be kept quiet. If he made it public that Elaine was his daughter, it would cause a scandal. Even Terry, who knew about the affair and knew his daughter wasn’t really his daughter, didn’t want that.”

  We were already racing toward the Yarborough mansion faster than was safe, yet Paul managed to put on more speed.

  “What if Margaret realized Howard was going to leave a substantial amount of his fortune to his illegitimate daughter? She might have snuck a peek at the will—which she said hadn’t been processed yet—or had their lawyer tell her. From what I understand, she was pretty tight with him. Since she didn’t want anyone to know about Elaine, and she wouldn’t want to have so much money go to a girl she’d never raised, never cared to get to know. She couldn’t have been happy.”

  “So she had her killed.”

  I nodded. “She hired Philip Carlisle, a man rumored to have killed for hire, who very well might have had a hand in Howard Yarborough’s death, if the rumors are to be believed. She had him kill a girl who was about to take a rather large piece of the pie Margaret thought belonged solely to her. When she talked about the women who’d come asking for money, it was obvious she viewed them with scorn.”

  “And Elaine had a legitimate claim on the money where these other women didn’t.”

  “Exactly. So, in comes Philip.”

  “Who killed the girl,” Paul said, sounding sad. “Jessica Fairweather died for no reason. It was all a mistake.”

  “And Elaine could still be in danger,” I said, realizing it for the first time. “Just because Philip failed, doesn’t mean Margaret won’t try again some other way.”

  Paul didn’t hesitate. He snatched up his phone and pressed a button without looking. He slammed it to his ear hard enough, it had to hurt.

  “Buchannan,” he said when he picked up. “Get someone over to Ms. Elaine Harmon’s place as soon as possible. If she’s at work, find her there. She could be in danger.” A pause while Buchannan spoke. “No, now.” He clicked the phone off.

  “Will he do it?” I asked, knowing how stubborn Buchannan can be.

  “He will. John can be difficult sometimes, but he’s good at his job. He won’t let his personal feelings about me cloud his judgment.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that when it came to me, but I let it go. Buchannan seemed to be trying, and I owed it to everyone to do the same.

  “How did you figure it out?” Paul asked. We were almost to the Yarborough mansion, so I had to talk fast if I wanted to get it all out before we confronted Margaret.

  “I saw a photograph of Howard in the bedroom,” I said. “He has a very distinctive nose. His daughter does as well. When I saw it, I didn’t put it together right away, but it hit me today. I figured they had to be related.”

  “Which Terry confirmed.”

  “And while I was asking questions at the party, I’d heard all sorts of things about the Yarboroughs. They had no kids, which called into question about who would inherit once Margaret was gone. No one was asking about who would get Howard’s money, which I bet Margaret was counting on. And then when I learned that Philip might have killed Howard, how he might have once been a hitman, it all sort of tumbled together.”

  “Good work,” Paul said, sounding impressed.

  “I should have seen it before now,” I said. I was thrilled by the compliment, but it wouldn’t mean anything if Margaret were to get away, or worse, Elaine ended up dead.

  We reached the driveway, which was still a muddy mess, but at least now there was enough gravel we were able to get up it with little trouble. Paul parked right outside the house and was out of the car nearly before he’d put it in park. He muttered, “Stay here,” but I think we both knew I wasn’t going to listen. I had my door open and was coming around the front end almost before he finished speaking.

  He gave me a resigned sigh as we approached the front door. He knocked, and when no one answered right away, he started pounding harder. “Mrs. Yarborough! Open up. It’s Officer Paul Dalton with the Pine Hills Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  It took a few more seconds before the door opened and a man I didn’t recognize right away peered out. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt—not something you’d expect to see someone wearing in a mansion like the Yarborough place.

  “Officer Dalton?” the man asked. “How can I help you?”

  I blinked at him. I finally recognized him by his voice, and yet still couldn’t see it in his face. He had cleaned off the makeup and wasn’t wearing his costume, but it was Vince, Margaret’s butler, the man I’d known as Igor.

  “I need to speak to Mrs. Yarborough,” Paul said, not thrown off by the change in the slightest. “Can we come in?”

  “You can,” Vince said. “But Madam Yarborough isn’t here, and I don’t think she’s coming back.” He looked down at his tennis shoes and sighed. “She let the staff go this morning and left with many of her bags packed.”

  Paul gave me an alarmed look before turning back to Vince. “Do you know where she’s gone?”

  Vince grinned as he leaned forward and lowered his voice, though I don’t think there was anyone in the house who could have overheard him even if he’d shouted. “I heard her speaking on the phone early this morning when she thought no one was around. She said she needed to stop at the bank and then would meet someone at his office afterward. I believe she was talking to her lawyer, Christian Tellitocci.” He glanced at his watch. “She left ten minutes ago.”

  “Thank you,” Paul said to Vince, before turning to the car. “Let’s go.” That to me.

  “I hope you get her,” Vince said. He sounded so sincere, I think he actually meant it. My observation at the party that the help didn’t seem to enjoy working for Mrs. Yarborough seemed pretty accurate n
ow.

  Paul was on the phone when I slid into the car next to him. He backed out, cursed, and then tossed the phone down. He turned the car around in the parking lot at the side of the house and then sped down the driveway, slipping and sliding everywhere. I held on for dear life, certain we’d end up off the road and stuck in the mud, but we somehow made it down without crashing.

  If there were any doubts that I’d gotten it right, they’d fled right along with Margaret Yarborough. Why else would she be on the run if she didn’t have anything to do with Jessica Fairweather’s murder? Chances were good she was afraid Philip would cave and turn her in, so she was getting out while she still had time.

  Of course, that brought up the question as to why he hadn’t given her up. Love? Stubbornness? Some sort of killer’s code that prevented him?

  “Look up Christian Tellitocci for me,” Paul said, gesturing toward his phone. “I think I know where his office is, but I want to make sure.”

  I grabbed his phone and brought up Chrome. A quick Google search and I knew where we were going. I told Paul the address, which earned me a nod, but little else. I could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably running through all of the facts, or prepping himself for what was inevitably going to be a confrontation.

  I was too excited to make much in the way of conversation, anyway. Paul looked intense and I didn’t want to shatter his focus, either. I wished we would have taken his cruiser so he could turn on the siren and lights. We were forced to slow down a few times because cars didn’t get out of the way, something that would have happened if we’d been in the correct vehicle. And there was no radio in here he could get in touch with the station, on Paul or in his car. I think he’d taken that stuff off before leaving the station, and I assume his failed call was him trying to get in touch with someone at the station, meaning we were on our own.

  Again.

  “When we get there, I need you to stay in the car,” he said. We were on Rosebud Avenue, a stretch of road on the far side of the downtown area where most of the buildings were filled with lawyers, tax consultants, and other niche jobs. There were no coffee shops or candy stores here. Everything was brown, and rather boring, which was sad in a way. Much of Pine Hills was so rich and vibrant, and here, there weren’t even any clever names. I was surprised to find I missed the strange business names of the main stretch.

  “I will,” I promised him, not wanting him to lock me in the car or handcuff me to the door. While a part of me wanted to be in the middle of the action, I knew where that would get me. Although a trip to the local doctor’s offices wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Will was around.

  A blush came unbidden to my cheeks, but thankfully, Paul was too busy parking to take notice.

  A Lexus sat idling two cars ahead. No one was inside, but since it was running, I doubted that would last long. Paul shut off the engine and got out of the car, hand already near his gun. He jogged toward the front of a building with TELLITOCCI AND SONS written in white on the glass window. He reached for the door just as it burst open and a rather large man came barreling out, slamming into Paul, taking them both to the ground.

  Paul rose to one knee, his gun in hand, and aimed at the big man on the ground—Christian Tellitocci if I didn’t miss my guess—who was holding both his hands above his head in surrender. He was babbling nonstop, as if he could talk his way out of an arrest. I hoped he was confessing and giving up Margaret Yarborough, but knew it was unlikely.

  Paul lowered his gun as the man continued to talk. He grabbed zip strips from his pocket and moved to secure the lawyer.

  Movement near the corner of the building caught my eye. Paul missed it because he was distracted with the lawyer and his steady stream of words. While Christian might have given himself up, he wasn’t making it easy, moving his hands and wrists so Paul couldn’t get a grip on them.

  Margaret Yarborough stepped out onto the sidewalk, back slightly hunched as if she thought that if she crouched down, no one would notice her. Her eyes were locked on Paul. She didn’t see me, thankfully. She was making for the Lexus, a briefcase in hand. I was pretty sure it was filled with a large portion of Howard’s money.

  Paul had said to stay in the car, but he hadn’t anticipated this. I threw open the car door and grabbed the only thing I saw in the immediate vicinity I could use as a weapon. I darted toward the fleeing woman and held it up like a gun as I shouted, “Margaret! Stop!”

  She froze less than a yard away from the front of the car. She glanced at me, then to the Lexus, before finally looking past me to Paul, who cursed loudly just as Christian started screaming, “Run, Margie, run!”

  From the scuffling sounds that followed, I knew I was on my own.

  “Margaret,” I warned as she took a step toward her car. “Don’t make me.”

  She snorted. “Make you what, dear? Text me to death?”

  My grip tightened on Paul’s phone. “Don’t do this,” I said. “I know about Elaine, about Howard’s will.” Or least, I thought I knew. I was mostly bluffing, hoping Paul would secure Christian before Margaret got away.

  Her jaw clenched and she pulled the briefcase closer to her. “He gave her everything!” Barely suppressed rage made her quake. “I stuck with him despite everything. The house. The women. And he gives it all away to some . . . some . . . child he made with a tramp who didn’t understand the basic concept of contraceptives.”

  “So you decided to have her killed.”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed. I think she was trying to determine if Philip had turned on her, or if I was simply guessing. In the end, she must have decided it didn’t matter either way.

  “This is all Howard’s fault.” She started for the car.

  “Margaret!” I shouted, but this time, she didn’t stop.

  The struggle was still going on behind me, Paul cursing nearly nonstop. Even partially zip-stripped, Christian was putting up a good fight. It meant he wasn’t going to be able to help me, and since Buchannan—and more than likely most of the small police force—were busy keeping Elaine Harmon safe, I had to stop her by myself.

  Knowing no help was on the way, I did the only thing I could think of.

  “Catch!” I shouted, throwing Paul’s phone at Margaret’s head. She ducked, surprised by the heave, and the phone sailed harmlessly past her.

  It was a good thing hitting her hadn’t been my intent.

  The moment her eyes were off me, I charged forward. With a primal scream, I went to dive over the hood of the car to tackle Margaret. I, of course, didn’t put enough oomph behind my leap and landed on the hood instead of on the fleeing woman. I slid a few inches and then rolled down and on top of Margaret. We went down in a tangle of limbs, and I cracked my chin a good one on the concrete.

  “Get off of me!” Margaret shouted, but I remained where I lay, mostly because my head was spinning, and partly because I was afraid she’d take off running the moment she was free. There was no way I was going to chase her down, age difference or not.

  When I didn’t move, Margaret sank her teeth into my right arm.

  I screamed, surprised by how hard she’d bitten me. This wasn’t your typical feeble old lady. She bucked under me, causing me to partially roll off her. I grabbed her by the arm and started to reach for the briefcase when she swung it.

  I tried to duck, but I was already low to the ground as it was. The briefcase hit me upside the head hard enough to cause my neck to jerk back, slamming the back of my head into the front bumper of the Lexus.

  My grip on her loosened and she tried to slither away, but I grabbed her again and reapplied my weight to keep her down. She wasn’t going to get away, not as long as I was conscious.

  Margaret opened her mouth as if she was going to bite me again when a shadow fell over us. She looked up, savage snarl forming on her lips, and then just like that, it all died away. She went limp beneath me and released her grip on the briefcase.

  “It’s not fair,” she mumbled before bursting into
tears.

  “It’s okay, Krissy,” Paul said from above me. “You can get off of her now.”

  I didn’t think I could stand, so I rolled off her, once more hitting my head on the pavement. “Ow,” I grumbled, closing my eyes as Paul began to read Margaret Yarborough her rights.

  28

  There were children everywhere.

  Rita stood beside me in the parking lot of the local church, talking nonstop about my discovery of not just the killer, but the person behind the entire fiasco. She was impressed, as she always was whenever I do something. I imagine I could have baked a batch of cookies and gotten a round of applause from her.

  I nodded in all of the right places and did my best to answer her whenever she had a question, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was so over Margaret Yarborough and the mess she caused because she didn’t want to give up what she viewed as her inheritance to a girl who was deserving of it.

  Andi and Georgina stood on one side of Rita, listening raptly to her as she gushed over my involvement in the case and how her tip led to the arrest of Philip Carlisle, who still insists he committed the crime of his own volition. Even after she’d all but abandoned him, the guy was loyal to Margaret. True love? I suppose even killers needed someone to care about.

  “Trick or treat!” A pair of miniature ghosts appeared before me.

  “Terrifying!” I said with a mock shudder as I deposited a piece of candy in each of their bags. They giggled and ran off.

  As soon as they were gone, I rubbed at the bandage on my arm where Margaret had bitten me. It still itched. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but she’d broken skin. My head hurt, but not as much as the darn bite. With the way it was starting to itch and burn, I was afraid it might get infected.

  Will won’t let that happen. I smiled, thinking of how he’d bandaged me up, tsking over and over again, though I could see the pride in his eye.