by Jana DeLeon
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t the one meant to drink it,” Gertie said.
“But if Francesca poisoned the whiskey to kill Garrett, why wouldn’t she get rid of it after he died?” Ida Belle asked.
“It gets worse,” Carter said. “Francesca isn’t really Francesca.”
“What?”
We all yelled at once.
“Her real name is Julia Martinson,” Carter said. “As soon as we ran her prints, the screen lit up. She’s wanted for vehicular manslaughter. She killed a man drunk driving when she was eighteen.”
“Well, that explains why she married a man old enough to be her father and spent the next twenty years hiding out here,” Ida Belle said.
“Also explains why she didn’t go to New Orleans often,” I said. “I guess in light of that information, the state police are ready to close the case.”
Carter nodded. “They’re practically heel clicking on Main Street.”
“But what’s her motive for killing Abrams?” I asked.
“They think he found out about Sims and was blackmailing her,” Carter said. “They found a copy of Garrett’s will in Abrams’s things. You were right about the exclusion for cheating. If the estate attorney were made aware of Sims, Francesca would have been sent packing with the clothes on her back.”
“But if Abrams was blackmailing her, then there would have been an exchange of money,” I said.
“And there was. I got in touch with Abrams’s bookie, who was more than happy to give me information to keep himself off the suspect list. The dates he received payments from Abrams corresponded with the same dates Garrett took cash out of the bank to pay Sims for the work he was doing on the house. The invoices were right there on his desk and matched the withdrawals.”
“Sims was up-charging on the work and giving Francesca the difference,” I said. “I can’t exactly fault the state police on that one. It’s clearly motive. But that means Abrams had to have known about Sims before Garrett died. I wonder how.”
“We found several nanny cams throughout the house,” Carter said. “They were cleverly hidden. My first thought was that Garrett put them there to make sure Francesca wasn’t up to no good while he was away, but given the situation with Sims, he would have booted her already. Now I’m thinking Abrams did it.”
I nodded. “Francesca said he’d been to the house a couple times in the past. But wow, what a slimeball to set up cameras to spy on his employer’s wife. I’ll bet anything this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Carter said.
“So the state police think Francesca put cyanide in the whiskey figuring Abrams would imbibe,” Ida Belle said. “Is that right?”
“Or poured him the drink herself,” Carter said. “After all, we only have her word that she went to bed.”
“What does Francesca say about the poisoning?” I asked.
“That she’s being set up,” Carter said. “She’s not copping to the blackmail, either.”
“Who does she think is setting her up?” I asked.
“She claims the night before, she overheard Abrams on the phone from her bedroom window, and it sounded like someone was threatening to kill him.”
“Did you find cyanide?” I asked.
“In the pool house.”
“Well, good Lord, anyone could have put it there,” Gertie said.
“But not just anyone could have put it in the whiskey bottle,” I said. “No matter how you add this up, it doesn’t look good for Francesca or Julia, whoever she is.”
“It just all seems rather foolish,” Ida Belle said. “I guess I still expect criminals to be smarter about things.”
“Thank God most of them aren’t,” Carter said.
“Maybe with everything that was going on, she got desperate,” Gertie said. “All this time spent hiding and now that she was finally about to collect enough money to disappear, Abrams was going to hold her hostage until he drained her for everything.”
Ida Belle sighed. “I guess everyone has that point where they come undone.”
“What about Sims?” I asked. “Since you mentioned the affair, I assume you filled the state police in?”
Carter let out a single laugh and shook his head. “This is where it gets even weirder. The state police got an anonymous tip telling them about the affair. They decided to haul Sims in, figuring to get some incriminating evidence against Francesca or maybe charge him with accessory. They executed a search warrant during the arrest and found a saw with blood on it in a cooler in his garage. The floor of the garage is dirt and the entire thing reeked of bleach.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “An anonymous tip? From whom? And when?”
“This morning,” Carter said. “After we got the call about Abrams. They traced the call. It came from a burner phone in New Orleans.”
“So a dead end,” I said. “A really suspicious dead end. The entire thing doesn’t make sense. What possible reason could Sims have for playing games with Garrett’s body? And who would know about it or the affair?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Carter said. “And no matter how many times I ponder on it, I still come up with nothing that works. The state police are going with jealousy and hatred because Sims was in love with Francesca, and Garrett treated her badly. I guess if you just insert plain ole crazy into the equation, anything is possible. But I have to tell you, it’s particularly unsatisfying, no matter how many times I’ve seen it play out that way.”
“It would be awfully ironic if Sims put the body in the maze. That’s what ended up bringing the entire house of cards down on them,” Ida Belle said. “What is Sims saying?”
“He refused to talk,” Carter said. “He’s asked for an attorney. The state police transferred him to another city for holding. They didn’t want him and Francesca held where they could talk. I can tell you this, though—if Sims did it, I don’t think Francesca knew anything about it. I told her about the body in the maze myself. Unless she’s the best actress in the world, she was shocked.”
“Probably best Sims has asked for a lawyer,” I said. “They can get to work on his insanity plea. I guess this means they’re not interested in taking a look at Bullard?”
“Not even a glance,” Carter said. “And it’s hard to argue the point when the weapon, so to speak, was in Sims’s shed.”
“I know his aunt has dementia,” Gertie said, “but wouldn’t it be a big risk, hauling a body to her house and hacking it up?”
“Yeah. Trust me, I’m not happy with any of this,” Carter said. “The entire thing has holes in it big enough to drive a bus through, but the reality is Francesca isn’t who she was supposed to be and she skipped on a manslaughter charge. Sims was sleeping with a married woman and therefore had reason to dislike the man she was married to. Abrams was blackmailing Francesca and owed the wrong people money.”
“Nobody’s clean,” Ida Belle said. “And that plays right into the state police’s hands.”
Carter nodded and rose from the chair. “I’m going to head home. I’m exhausted and I’m working patrol at the festival tonight. I’m going to get a couple hours’ sleep before I have to report back to duty. Tomorrow isn’t going to be a picnic, either. I’ve got to get all this documented for the prosecutor. And I expect New Orleans is going to set up a howl to expedite Francesca there to stand trial for the manslaughter.”
“I don’t think the state police are going to let go that easily,” Ida Belle said. “Not when the governor is backing their play.”
“Exactly why it’s going to be ten times more difficult than it should be,” Carter said. “And trust me, it was difficult enough without the politics.”
I walked him to the back door and gave him a kiss, then closed the door behind me and headed back to the storeroom. Ida Belle, Gertie, and Walter were all standing there, frowning.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” I said.
“It is for Abrams,” Gert
ie said. “He’s not exactly coming back from this one.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “It feels…wrong. The prosecutor can make a case, I’m sure, and given everyone’s questionable morals, he’ll probably get a jury to convict. But it doesn’t feel right.”
“Doesn’t feel right, doesn’t sound right, doesn’t look right,” I said. “But there’s nothing more to be done. Everyone we suspected of something is dead or arrested, except for Bullard. And in the big scheme of things, I guess it no longer matters. The state police will clear out, Carter will get back to his normal life, and Garrett Roth will be just as dead as he was before.”
Gertie sighed. “It’s good for Carter, but it’s a bit underwhelming for us.”
Ida Belle patted her back. “We did good work. You better get used to the disappointment that comes along with this sort of thing. It doesn’t always work out the way you want or expect.”
“What about Garrett’s death?” Gertie asked. “You don’t really think Francesca was trying to poison him with cyanide, do you?”
I shrugged. “If that was the case, I would think she’d have the common sense to dump the tainted whiskey out after he died. Maybe the whiskey was meant for Abrams. Maybe she thought she could play it off as his enemies in New Orleans, thinking Abrams was the only one who knew about her and Sims.”
“Then the same logic applies,” Ida Belle said. “Why not dump it out before the police got there? Why store the poison in the pool house?”
“Maybe someone is setting her up,” Gertie said. “Maybe the cyanide has been there for a while but since Garrett stopped drinking, it didn’t work.”
“But who?” Ida Belle asked. “The cyanide in the whiskey could have only come from someone with access to the house.”
“Yes, but that still means several people,” Gertie said. “Contractors, housekeepers. Anyone from Sinful could find an excuse to drop by for a visit when Garrett wasn’t there. Maybe even our friend Greg Bullard. Now that this has blown up, I’ll bet no one has even asked her if Bullard had ever been in her house.”
“I suppose it’s worth finding out,” I said. “But what reason would contractors or housekeepers have for poisoning Garrett’s whiskey?”
“Money,” Gertie said. “Someone could have paid them off.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that a domestic employee was used to get to their employer,” Ida Belle said. “But it’s a long shot and I don’t think the state police are interested in any more investigating.”
I sighed. “Maybe we’re overthinking it all. Maybe Francesca was a dumb, desperate woman who needed to get away from both her husband and her blackmailer. Then he died of natural causes and she thought it was over until Abrams came to Sinful and put the screws in tighter. Without money, she couldn’t have disappeared. Her true identity was a wanted felon.”
“And the body in the maze?” Gertie asked.
“Sims? Bullard?” I said. “Love and hate. I guess in this case, we had both.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The festival event that night was a play put on by the middle school kids about Sleepy Hollow. There had been some grumbling among the locals concerning the appropriateness of the subject matter after the Garrett Roth debacle, and I supposed putting on a play about a headless horseman wasn’t necessarily in the best of taste, but I also couldn’t see the point in not doing it, either. The kids didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Roth, and the Sleepy Hollow story was as old as the dirt in Sinful.
Ida Belle, Gertie, and I were working one of the refreshment booths, which basically meant handing out cans of soda and trying to keep the little ones from eating more than one of the many baked goodies available. Gertie had a new straw hat for the event. This one sans fruit. Ida Belle had just picked me up to head over to the auditorium at the Catholic church when her cell phone rang.
She answered and frowned, then said, “Of course, I’ll swing by now.”
She hung up and looked over at us. “That was Meg. She wanted to know if I could pick up some cupcakes on my way over to the festival.”
I shook my head. “I wonder what she thinks of all of this?”
“I tried to call her this afternoon after we left Walter’s,” Gertie said. “I figured rumors were already flying and with Kevin being injured, she had a lot to deal with. But I didn’t get an answer.”
“Any word on Kevin?” I asked.
“He’s stable but still not conscious,” Gertie said. “If the fisherman hadn’t found him when he did, he wouldn’t have made it to the hospital. He’d lost a lot of blood.”
“Do they think he’ll be all right?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” Gertie said. “They’ll know more when he regains consciousness. With a head injury, the jury is always out until they’re awake.”
Ida Belle pulled up into Meg’s driveway and we headed to the house. Meg must have been watching for us because she opened the front door as we were on our way up the steps. She looked as though she’d been crying.
She motioned us inside and immediately set out for the kitchen without saying a word. Ida Belle fell in behind her and we all went down the hallway. I stopped short for a moment when I stepped inside the kitchen. There were at least four dozen cupcakes on the countertops, all looking professionally decorated with ghosts, pumpkins, and black cats.
“These are too cute,” I said, breaking the silence.
Meg nodded. “I bake when I’m upset. It’s not the best habit for the waistline, but I didn’t know what else to do.” She looked over at Gertie. “I got your messages. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back but I didn’t feel like talking. I was just concentrating on my icing. It takes the edge off.”
“I assume the state police talked to you,” Ida Belle said.
“Yeah. It’s all so unbelievable and sordid.” She looked at us, her eyes wide. “It doesn’t even feel real. Francesca not being Francesca and Abrams being a blackmailer. The only thing that doesn’t surprise me is the affair. But I can’t believe Sims hated my father enough to do what he did.”
“Are you still convinced Francesca killed your father?” I asked.
“Yes,” Meg said. “We’ll probably never know how she did it, but all of this has only strengthened my conviction on that. She’s responsible for two other deaths that the police have evidence for. At least she’ll pay for those.”
“I suppose that’s some justice, anyway,” Gertie said.
“And then Kevin slipping on his boat,” Meg said. “I guess I’m feeling overwhelmed and more than a little lost. In one week, my entire family is gone and now my best friend is in critical condition. And every time I think about all the things I need to do, I just freeze.”
Gertie patted her arm. “You don’t have to make any decisions right away. The benefit of youth is that time is on your side. Get through the necessary parts now with the police and the legal system and then worry about the rest. Maybe by then, Kevin will be well enough to help you plan.”
Meg gave her a small smile. “That would be nice. I don’t know what I’d have done all these years without Kevin. He’s the older brother I always wanted.”
“I think he might consider you in a different light, dear,” Gertie said.
Meg stared at her for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Oh! I never…I mean, I love Kevin but not that way. Never that way. I didn’t think…”
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” Gertie said. “The boy has a crush. He’ll get past it sooner or later.”
“If he gets better,” Meg said, and sniffed. “I’m really afraid for him. What if he doesn’t wake up? I’ve been sitting here crying over cupcakes all afternoon, thoughts of my father and Francesca and that awful butler and Kevin all mashed up into one big, horrible mess.”
“Do you want one of us to stay with you tonight?” Gertie asked. “The festival can make do with one less volunteer.”
“I appreciate it but I think I’d rather be alone,” Meg said.
“Well, if you need anything, please call,” Gertie said. “It’s a short hop back over here from the festival.”
Meg nodded. “Thanks. You know you’re the only person who’s called. I think everyone else is afraid because they don’t know what to say.”
Gertie sighed. “Nothing to say except I’m sorry it’s happened and it will get better with time.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Meg said.
We gathered up the cupcakes and headed out. Meg lifted a hand to us as we drove away, gazing after us with a sad, faraway look.
“You think she’s right?” Gertie asked. “Do you think Francesca got away with murdering Garrett?”
“At this point, I think anything’s possible,” I said.
“Maybe when the state police are gone, Carter can figure out something,” Gertie said.
“If he decides to pursue it,” Ida Belle said. “But at this point, why bother? Francesca is looking at life, at best, for Abrams alone.”
Gertie nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
Main Street was already filling with cars and we had to park down the street near the sheriff’s department. As expected, people were quickly filling the auditorium. We hauled our cupcakes to one of the tables at the back of the room and started working on setup, along with a group of other volunteers. I knew most of them, either as Sinful Ladies or some of Celia’s cronies. But everyone managed to keep it civil and go about their work as if we all got along.
The middle school kids putting on the play were already on stage, prancing around in their costumes. They appeared to be having a grand time, completely unaffected by all the horrible happenings of late. And that was as it should be. I shoved cupcakes and sodas at kids and said a silent prayer for all the parents when they attempted bedtime.
The play started and everyone scrambled for seats. The lights dimmed and Gertie flopped down on a folding chair and rubbed her knees. “This week involved entirely too much standing and walking,” she said. “It’s hard on the knees.”