by Anne Canadeo
“Maybe we should take a little break, until the case is over? You’ve already told me it was a problem for you to be on this case because of our relationship, after Nick was poisoned.”
That was the first time he’d mentioned it. He didn’t say anything about her being at the party where Heath died, but that probably wasn’t good, either.
He looked surprised at her suggestion. “I just had to disclose it to the chief and let him decide. He was all right with it. But if you’re comfortable with this idea, I guess it’s for the best.”
Now he was hurt, blaming it all on her. That wasn’t fair. Had she not explained this clearly to him?
“I’m thinking of you. I don’t want you to be . . . all uptight and on your guard when we’re together,” she insisted.
But he still didn’t seem to understand. She could tell from his expression. He looked even more upset.
“I didn’t realize I seemed ‘uptight.’ All I’m asking is for you to leave all this to the police. To sit back and be like everyone else in the world. Not so involved.”
Maggie shrugged. “I’m not doing anything on purpose.” She didn’t like his tone now. Or his attitude. “I like you, Charles. I think you know that,” she reminded him. “But I don’t like feeling that I can’t exactly . . .be myself. That’s not me.” She shrugged. “The case should be over soon. Let’s talk then.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d said that. It had just come out.
But she couldn’t take it back now.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He seemed about to say something, then stopped himself. He stood up and quickly met her gaze.
“All right. If that’s what you want.”
Maggie felt annoyed. It wasn’t her, it was him. But she held her tongue.
“I like you, too, Maggie. I like spending time with you. But I’m working so much, it’s hard to make plans anyway. I’ll call you when the case is over.”
Maggie didn’t answer. She felt like she might cry, but tried hard not to. Not in front of him.
She walked him to the door and said good night. He seemed about to lean forward and kiss her. Then he stopped himself.
She closed the door behind him and wondered if that was good-bye.
Chapter Twelve
Maggie felt terrible after her fight with Charles. She couldn’t stop herself from going over and over it in her mind. The argument had seemed to bubble up from nowhere. But it must have been simmering under the surface for some time. That’s the way these things worked, gushing up when you least expected it. Why hadn’t she been calmer and not so easily upset? Why hadn’t she stopped herself from saying all those stupid things? She wished now she could hit some invisible rewind button and get a second chance to act calm and wise . . . and not nearly so touchy. But of course, she could not.
She wanted to talk it over with her friends, and hear their advice. And sympathy. But for some reason she wasn’t ready to confess her troubles. It felt like such a defeat. She felt so sad . . . and embarrassed. She’d been so hopeful about this relationship, and what had happened? She’d somehow tangled it all up . . . like a ruined knitting project. She was the champ at repairing mixed-up stitches, but wasn’t sure if this situation was could ever be sorted out.
After dinner, which she hardly ate, she sat in front of the TV with her knitting, as usual. Is this all she had to look forward to?
The thought was depressing, even with complete control of the TV remote.
There was some news about Jennifer Todd being questioned by the police and released. Video clips of her going in and out of the station, in her big sunglasses and head scarf. Just as Lucy had described her.
“Ms. Todd would not speak to reporters directly,” the newscaster said, “but a statement issued by her attorney, Richard Novak, emphasized the movie star has not been named a person of interest in the case. She was interviewed by the police in regard to information that may help the investigation of the poisoning of her husband, Nick Pullman, and close friend, the actor Heath O’Hara . . .”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The police were looking for more than mere information. But Maggie guessed the police department would not rebut this account. They had bigger things to worry about and had to walk a fine line when building a case against a celebrity. They’d be sued into the next galaxy if they made a misstep. That was for sure.
“Heath O’Hara’s body was released today by the Essex County Police,” the newscaster continued. “A private memorial service will take place at his Beverly Hills estate on Saturday.”
Maggie wondered if Jennifer would attend the service, or if she had to stay in the area. Perhaps she would remain near Nick, who was still too sick to be moved.
Was Charles right? Was she just dazzled by Jennifer Todd’s attention and didn’t want to see that she could be the guilty one? Maggie had to wonder about that now.
If Jennifer was not behind these poisonings—and it wasn’t Jerome Nesbit—who could it be? Someone in the cast or crew who the police had overlooked so far?
Maggie guessed the movie people were all free to leave by now, or would be very soon. The police could only keep them in town for so long. They would all disperse, making it even harder to find the culprit.
As Maggie puttered around the shop Thursday morning, she was looked forward to seeing her friends that night, so she could tell them all at the same time what had happened with Charles.
She would be deluged with opinions and advice, she was sure. All well meaning. She’d just have to weather it. She had not slept well, feeling blue about the situation, as if she was the one who had derailed such a promising start.
Was this some unconscious wish to remain alone, to avoid a close relationship with a man? Did she feel a threat to her independence? Or was she afraid that if someone got close enough, they’d reject her? So she did it to them first?
Maggie decided to leave those questions to Dana. She knew best about such things.
She heard a light tap on the door before nine and suspected one of her friends had dropped by. Certainly not Charles . . . dare she even hope?
She opened the door to find Jennifer Todd, wearing her incognito glasses and hooded windbreaker again. The shiny black car waited by the sidewalk, just like the last time.
“Jennifer . . . good morning.” Maggie couldn’t hide the surprise in her tone.
“May I come in, for just a minute?”
“Of course.” Maggie stepped aside to let her in, then shut the door. Jennifer seemed relieved to slip off her hood and took her sunglasses off, too.
“I just wanted to thank you,” she said. “My attorney heard that you confirmed what I told the police. About the tote bag.”
“I just told the truth. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“I know it was the truth. But you never know what some people will do or say when they’re confronted like that. There are people who would take advantage of the situation. I know you’re not like that. I don’t mean to say I ever thought you would do such a thing,” she rushed to add. “But it’s just the way the world is.”
Her world, perhaps. Maggie did realize that. There were unscrupulous souls, lying in wait to take advantage of someone rich and famous.
Expecting money to give the “right” story. Expecting some money now, perhaps. Maggie thought that’s what she was getting at. But didn’t want to go there.
“The thought never occurred to me,” she said honestly. She quickly tried to change the subject. “Are the movie people able to go back to California?”
“Oh yes. Many gave their statements and left. Practically everyone else is leaving today. There’s a memorial service for Heath in California on Saturday,” she added.
“I heard that on the news. Are you going, too?”
Jennifer looked away and shook her head. Maggie saw a flash of sadness cross her eyes. Whatever she and Heath had been to each other at the time of his death, they had been lovers once, and she clearl
y had deep feelings for him.
“No . . . I can’t make it. I feel very badly about that. I have to stay here, with Nick. There are complications. He’s still in ICU. I’m planning on moving to a hotel in Boston. Probably tomorrow.” She paused and sighed. “The police have asked me not to leave the area yet. They haven’t told me I can’t, but my attorney thinks it’s better if I cooperate. I can’t believe they suspect me . . . of all people.” She gave an incredulous laugh. “It’s a nightmare, from start to finish—Nick being poisoned, Heath killed . . . And now I seem to be the prime suspect.”
“The police haven’t said that exactly, have they?” Maggie asked in alarm.
“Not in so many words. But they don’t seem to be talking to anyone else.” Jennifer looked up and met her gaze. “Someone is trying to frame me. I don’t know who,” she said quickly, her voice distraught. “And I don’t know why. I told the police that. They don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” Maggie said quietly. And she did.
Though Charles’s harsh warning suddenly echoed in her mind—Jennifer Todd is charming. Charismatic. But she’s an actress. She’s not your friend.
Was she acting now? What would be the point? What does she have to gain by winning over my good opinion? Maggie didn’t think there was any hidden motive. Jen was just lonely and had no one to talk to.
“What about Alicia? Where’s she?”
“She’s still in town. But I told her to go back to LA with the others. There are some things at the house she can take care of for me. And I know she wants to go to Heath’s service. I don’t want to deprive her of that, just because I can’t be there. And Nick isn’t able, either, of course. Theo will have to represent us,” she added.
Theo was not exactly sitting a vigil at his father’s bedside, was he? But of course she couldn’t say that to Jennifer.
“Will Theo come back to be with Nick, too?”
“He said he would. He’s very upset and concerned about his father,” she assured Maggie. “Even though they haven’t had the easiest relationship.” Maggie wondered what she meant by that but didn’t ask. “Alicia will come back, too, after the memorial. Probably on Sunday. She’ll meet me in Boston,” Jennifer added.
Jennifer offered a small, brave smile, then leaned over and impulsively hugged Maggie. “I might not see you before I go back. Thanks again.”
“No thanks necessary,” Maggie said honestly. “Take care.”
Jennifer put her camouflage back in place and ran out the door with a small wave. Maggie waved back. She did not envy Jennifer Todd one bit, for all her fame and fortune.
At half past five, Maggie wondered if she should close early. There hadn’t been any customers in the last half hour or more. That’s just the way it was some days. Her friends were coming in about an hour and she wanted to start setting up for dinner and put the finishing touches on the meal she’d made. Crostini with chopped plum tomatoes, fresh basil and other herbs on top, for a starter, along with some olives and cheese. She was serving pasta primavera with a pink sauce for the entrée—in honor of spring arriving. Suzanne was bringing the dessert—something horribly decadent and delicious, she had no doubt.
Just as she locked the door and turned the sign around, a text message arrived on her phone. It was from Dana. Maggie guessed she’d be late with a patient. It happened all the time.
Jennifer picked up by police. About to charge attempted murder and homicide. Will find out all I can asap.
Maggie was stunned and stood staring at the phone. Phoebe came in from the storeroom. “What’s wrong? Bad news?”
“Jennifer Todd was just arrested. The police believe she tried to kill her husband . . . and did kill Heath.” Maggie looked up at Phoebe. “I wonder what they finally found to tie her to the crimes? I won’t believe it until I hear,” she added.
Suzanne and Lucy had both heard by the time they arrived. They sat at the oak table, waiting for Dana with the inside story. Maggie had already set out the starters and her guests helped themselves. She poured a glass of wine for herself and told them about Jennifer’s visit.
“She came here this morning, to thank me for helping her,” Maggie said. “By confirming her statement about the tote bag. I told her I’d just told the truth. But she’s used to people looking for angles, profiting from some celebrity’s problems or pain.” Maggie paused. “She was very worried. She said someone was out to frame her.”
“Looks like they succeeded,” Suzanne replied. “Unless—I know you don’t want to hear this, Maggie—unless she is guilty?”
“I think we ought to wait until Dana comes and see what she’s found out. That should tell the story one way or the other,” Lucy said evenly. “I will say, I’m with Maggie. I don’t think Jen is guilty. I think the police just aren’t seeing something . . . something outside the frame of this picture.”
An apt way of putting it, Maggie thought. She agreed.
Before anyone could say more, Dana sailed through the door.
“Sorry I’m late, but I had to catch up with Jack. He knows a lot about the investigation, some breaks in the case that happened just today.”
Maggie took a breath, bracing herself. To find out I’m a bad judge of character after all, she thought. And I’ve missed the best chance I’ve had lately—and possibly the last chance I’ll ever get—of finding a really good relationship, because I’m so stubborn sometimes.
Dana settled in and Suzanne poured her a glass of wine.
“There’s some physical evidence,” Dana said, “nothing that totally nails it, but they’re hoping all together it builds a case against her.”
“Go on.” Suzanne had bitten into a crostini and dabbed her chin with a napkin.
“First, we already heard that the digitalis used to poison Nick was from some pure, organic source. We were right with our guess about flowers. The police lab narrowed it down to lily of the valley, a certain variety grown only at a few flower farmers in the U.S., but the same type used by the online flower order service that sent out Jennifer’s delivery—the bouquet from Regina Thurston. They believe a solution of the ground-up flowers was injected into the green health drink. Which would have masked the flavor. The intent, to kill,” she added. “Though it didn’t quite kill him.”
“So they linked her to the lilies . . . What about the daffodils? We didn’t see any of those in her room,” Phoebe said.
“No, but there were banks of them growing around the beach house,” Suzanne said. “I guess you didn’t see them the night of the party.”
“I didn’t notice any,” Maggie said. “But it was raining and almost dark.” She didn’t feel happy about hearing any of this. It was a bitter pill to swallow; a bitter bulb, more precisely. But she sat still and quiet, listening. Trying to keep an open mind.
“The police say a few bulbs had been dug out of the garden. And they found a pot in the kitchen of Jennifer’s trailer with residue of lycorine, which leads them to believe daffodil bulbs were boiled or cooked in it. Cooked down, they think, so that the water was highly toxic. It would have had a bitter flavor. But the lemons in Heath’s drink would have masked that.”
“Diabolical,” Suzanne said quietly.
“Isn’t it?” Dana agreed. “And there was something else. It took time, but technicians traced the threatening emails sent to Jen’s website, over the past few months. The police say the transmissions came from a computer in her own house, and an email account set up specifically for that purpose.”
“So she created a fake stalker?” Lucy asked, sounding confused. “But what about Jerome Nesbit? He admitted coming here and sending her flowers.”
“Yes, he did. But Jennifer—or someone—took advantage of that and made it seem like more. And more threatening than Jerome ever was,” Dana explained.
“Trying to throw suspicion off of herself and make someone think a crazed fan killed her husband?” Phoebe asked. “That was dumb. Everyone knows how easy it is to trace emails.”
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“Yes, that seemed odd to me. If you were smart enough to plan out the poisonings, it seems you wouldn’t slip up like that,” Lucy said. “There are ways to hide the source of emails. And it’s relatively easy to find out how to do that,” she added.
“I think that supports her claim of being framed, don’t you?” Maggie piped up. Though she was also starting to doubt Jennifer.
“Possibly . . . but what really put the police on Jennifer’s trail was Trina Hardwick’s statement,” Dana told them.
“Did she see anything that proves Jennifer is guilty?” Lucy asked quickly.
Dana shook her head. “It wasn’t that. But she told the police Nick and Jennifer had serious problems in their marriage. They were no lovey-dovey power couple. They had knock-down-drag-out fights all the time. People on the set confirmed it, too.”
“I could see him mixing it up,” Suzanne broke in. “That guy has a bad temper. You don’t need to be with him more than five minutes to figure that out . . . But Jen doesn’t seem like a screamer.”
“No . . .anything but,” Lucy agreed.
“And a lot of couples argue. They were under a great deal of pressure, making that film together,” Maggie said. She believed that was true. But still felt upset by the turn in the conversation. She got up and went over to the buffet to bring her guests more napkins.
“That’s true. But there was more than bad arguments,” Dana added. “Trina claimed that Jennifer wanted a divorce, but Nick wouldn’t let her out of the marriage. Nick had a string of flops lately and had lost a lot of their fortune on stupid investments. Jennifer was tired of being his ‘cash cow’ and the big money earner. She knew she was getting older. Actresses don’t get very good roles after forty . . . if they get anything. That’s why she wanted to get away from him. But he’d somehow persuaded her to stay and make this film, to make back some of their losses. She agreed to it. As long as Heath signed on.”
“And we already know about her and Heath,” Suzanne sighed.