Two police officers restrained Henry, who had begun to come to.
“Go ahead and take him out to the car,” Thomas said to his colleagues.
Lance placed his hand on my knee. I squeezed it.
Thomas returned his attention to us as the two uniformed police officers lifted Henry and escorted him out of the dining room. “Not until today. The Professor has been looking into potential connections with the two cases, but I thought it was someone who wanted the lot too.” Thomas clicked off his iPad. “Look, I need to go. I’m supposed to be on my way. I’ll fill you in after we process Henry.”
Lance tapped my chin after Thomas left. “Cheekbones, darling. Hold your head high.”
“Can you imagine what that must have been like for Edgar? Knowing that your friend was probably a killer for all these years and keeping that inside?”
“The question is why? Body or no body, why didn’t he share his suspicions sooner?”
“Maybe Henry paid him off? Blackmail.”
“It’s possible.” Lance brushed dust from his damp shirt. “I think we’ve seen enough for today, shall we make our exit? I think an ice-cold martini or two is in order.”
“Yeah, Ashland is calling.” I followed him to the car. I felt a sense of closure knowing that Henry would see justice, but I still had so many questions. Hopefully Thomas and the Professor would be able to fill in some of the gaps.
Back in Ashland, Lance steered us straight to Puck’s Pub. He swept inside with his usual flourish. “One martini, ice-cold, and a glass of your coldest brew for the lady.”
“How did you know I was going to order a beer?”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes and dragged me to a table in the back of the cozy pub that was designed to resemble an Elizabethan forest. Stepping into Puck’s made me feel like I was entering scene from Midsummer Night’s Dream with its twinkly lights, old-world-style wooden keg barrels and tap handles, and fake greenery that decorated the ceiling.
Our drinks arrived as we sat down. Sometimes it paid to be pals with one of Ashland’s celebrities.
“To us, darling. Yet another case closed.” Lance lifted his martini glass and clinked it to my frothy pint glass.
“Why don’t I feel like celebrating?” I held the cool pint glass. The beer had a bright hoppy scent with notes of citrus.
“This particular case had a certain melancholy. A palpable sadness about it.” He popped an olive from his drink into his mouth. “There’s no need to look so glum. Justice will be served. The dead will get their due.”
His words brought me little comfort.
I nodded. A waiter came by to take our order.
“Dinner?” Lance asked, catching my eye.
“Yes. I’m famished.”
“In that case bring us an order of your world-famous turkey legs,” Lance said to the waiter.
“I’m not that hungry.” Puck’s was known for their turkey-leg dinner, served on a platter fit for a king. It came with heaping mounds of smashed potatoes, vegetables, cheeses, breads, and a turkey leg the size of both my arms put together.
“We’ll share.” Lance shooed the waiter away.
“I can’t stop wondering—assuming our theory is right—why Edgar never told anyone.”
Lance closed his eyes. Then he took a lengthy sip of his martini. “We won’t be able to discuss anything else until your unrelenting questions are put to rest. True?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
“Excuse me for one moment, then.” He stood and ducked out the back entrance. Less than a minute later he returned. “Problem solved. The cavalry is on their way.”
“What?”
“Thomas. He and Detective Kerry are on their way.”
“I thought they were processing Henry’s arrest.”
“Must have gone smoothly. He said they’re at headquarters across the street and will be here in a flash.”
Sure enough, before our turkey platter arrived Thomas and Detective Kerry made their way into the pub. Thomas wore his standard police uniform with dark navy shorts and a matching short-sleeved shirt. Kerry was still dressed for undercover work. Lance noted her wardrobe change immediately.
“My, my, Detective Kerry, you’re quite fetching in that sundress. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were one of the coeds.”
She shot me a dirty look. I could tell she thought I had shared her secret.
I shook my head in response. I had kept my promise, and never made mention of her assignment to Lance.
“It’s the weekend,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Lance looked skeptical, but he changed the subject. “Since Juliet and I consulted on this case, will you please share what you’ve learned from Henry and put Juliet—and subsequently me—out of her misery?”
Consulting on the case? I watched Thomas and Detective Kerry for their reaction. They ignored Lance.
Thomas leaned forward. “What do you want to know? We’ll tell you what we can. Which may not be much.”
“Did Henry admit to killing Edgar?” I asked.
“No. Not to us.” Thomas frowned. “We have substantial evidence linking him to the crime. We’re fairly confident that we have enough for a conviction.”
“What about George Mill?” I wasn’t even trying to mask my desperation.
Detective Kerry answered. “We’re working on it. We have a witness to the crime who is reluctant but we think will be forthcoming with more information as time goes on.”
“Anna Mill?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” She pursed her lips.
The waiter delivered our turkey leg. He asked if Thomas or Kerry wanted a drink. They declined. Thomas flashed his badge. “On duty.”
“Soda’s on the house, then,” the waiter offered, and returned with extra plates and silverware and two sodas in pewter steins for Thomas and Kerry.
“Are you working under the assumption that Henry killed George Mill and Edgar knew, but stayed silent for some reason? That’s what Henry told us. We can testify if you need us to, right, Lance?” I helped myself to a slice of sharp Irish cheddar and a few black olives.
Lance gave them a salute. “At your service.”
“We don’t work under assumptions. We work with facts and evidence.” Kerry plunged a straw into her root beer. “But, yes, you may be called to testify.”
“Oh, don’t give Juliet the company line,” Lance scolded. “It’s us you’re talking to. You don’t have to spill all the gory details, but you must have a working theory. Do you think that Edgar was a conspirator or a poor, lonely victim?”
Kerry sipped her soda. I caught the slightest glance between her and Thomas. Whatever code they had communicated, it must have given him the green light to share.
“We’re building our case for the DA. Like I mentioned there’s substantial, credible evidence against Henry. We don’t yet have confirmation as to why Edgar didn’t alert the authorities. Hopefully as we scour financial records and interview witnesses a clearer picture of what happened in the 1960s will emerge. The Professor has been sifting through old articles and paperwork. He has two thoughts.”
“Which are?” I interrupted.
Thomas took a drink of soda. “Basically what you told us. If he was involved—directly or indirectly—maybe the discovery of George’s remains made him have a change of heart. Edgar was nearing the end of his life. Maybe he wanted a clear conscience before meeting his maker. It’s been known to happen. If that’s the case, it’s likely that he told Henry that he was going to come forward with a confession. That was his mistake. Henry couldn’t let the truth come out, so he killed him before Edgar had a chance to contact us.”
Lance shaved a piece of turkey off the leg with his knife. “Tragic.”
“What’s the other theory?” I asked.
Detective Kerry answered. “It’s also possible that Edgar never knew that Henry was the killer. Perhaps he wondered but chose to believe that George
disappeared.”
“And finding the skull changed that?”
She nodded. “Or Edgar suspected Henry and confronted him. In return Henry bribed him or paid him off to keep quiet. Edgar went along with it because he never had proof, but the discovery of George’s body changed that.”
“Either way you think Edgar was involved?” I asked, taking a sip of my beer.
“I’d say that your instinct is probably right,” Kerry replied. “However, if Edgar had been bribed for his silence, we’ll find a record of money somewhere.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lance applauded her. “I knew it was only a matter of time before the four of us would get along swimmingly.”
Kerry gave him a hard stare.
“Too soon?” Lance teased.
I kicked him under the table. “The Professor mentioned something about George Mill staying put when the lake was expanded. That one of the theories surrounding his disappearance was that he had refused to leave his property, but that he had listed it for sale. Could the sale of his property be tied to Henry? Does any of this ring a bell?”
Kerry tapped her fingers on the edge of her pewter stein. “Like I said, Doug has been in contact with the historical society and has spent hours reviewing old notes from when the missing persons case was first filed in the 1960s. He never found any evidence of a sale, or of any witnesses other than Henry and Edgar, claiming George was going to stay on the family homestead no matter what. The land would have been worthless, since it now sits underwater. That was obviously a rumor started by Henry; as for tracking the sale of the property, I don’t have answers yet.”
Another wave of sadness came over me. “It’s bizarre that no one ever searched further for George.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Kerry replied. “The lead detective back in the day was convinced that there was more involved in George’s disappearance. This was the sixties though here in remote southern Oregon. They conducted a search of the lake and never found anything. He brought Edgar, Henry, and Anna in multiple times for questioning. Considered all of them persons of interest in the case. They were brought in for further questioning on two occasions. Once in the early eighties and once in the late nineties. Both times when new detectives reviewed the cold case. Indictment for murder without a body is tough. Historically it has been done a few times, but it’s extremely difficult.”
“Yeah, no body and no modern technology.” Thomas clicked on his phone. “Now we have apps, modern science, and a forensic team.” He polished off his drink and stood. “We should probably head out. We have other duties, right?”
They shared another veiled look, then Kerry nodded. “Yes.”
“Thanks for the update. I really appreciate it,” I said as they started to leave.
“Don’t spread it around.” Kerry smiled.
“She’s becoming most interesting,” Lance said after they made their exit. “I do believe she likes us.”
I had to agree. Detective Kerry was definitely warming up. We finished our dinner. A wave of relief came over me. There were still questions that I was hoping we might eventually have answered, but for tonight I could sleep peacefully knowing that my beloved Ashland was safe.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Sunday dawned bright the next morning. I woke refreshed from a decent night’s sleep, and eager to reinstate our Sunday Supper. When I arrived at Torte, I was surprised to find Mom already in the kitchen kneading bread dough.
“What are you doing here?” I called over the sound of Bach playing overhead. Mom’s hearing had diminished from years of exposure to industrial mixers and the constant noise of customers and clattering plates and cups.
She pointed to the speakers and then to her ears.
I turned down the music. “What are you doing here?” I repeated.
“Some greeting. I thought you would be happy to see me.”
“I am. I am.” I wrapped her in a hug.
She pretended that she was going to touch me with her flour-coated hands. “I needed some time alone with the dough. I couldn’t sleep last night. And I was in the mood for brioche. It’s the perfect slow Sunday bread, don’t you think?”
“You had me at brioche,” I said, walking to the sink to wash my hands with rosemary-lemon soap.
“You heard the news about Henry, right?” Mom painted the yeast loaves with melted butter, and then slid them into the ovens.
“Yeah. Thomas and Detective Kerry filled me and Lance in last night. Such a sad outcome.” I grabbed an apron from a hook.
Mom brushed flour from her apron. “Long-held secrets do the most destruction.”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. Was the Professor upset?”
“No. I think he feels relieved knowing that there’s finality and he can offer some closure to Anna Mill and everyone involved. I couldn’t sleep because I have some big news.” A smile burst across her face.
“The house?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “We got it!”
“Mom, that’s so great.” I wrapped her in another hug, not caring if she got flour all over me. “What’s the next step? When will you move in?”
“There are a few things that have to happen first, the inspection and appraisal. If everything goes according to plan we should take possession early next month.”
“Just in time to sit in your new dining room and watch the leaves shift to fall.” I squeezed her shoulders. “I’m so happy for you. Is the Professor excited?”
“He’s over the moon. I don’t know how I’m going to keep him occupied for the next month. We went for a late-night drive after he finished processing the necessary paperwork to see it by the light of a half-moon.”
I could picture the Professor doing just that.
“You know our offer still stands. The house is yours if you want it. I won’t pressure you, but if you don’t want it we’ll plan to put it on the market after we get everything moved out. Maybe in late September. Doug and I also discussed renting it if you don’t want it.”
“I want it!” I couldn’t believe those words had escaped my mouth. Hearing them aloud confirmed it. I did want the house. I was ready for permanent roots. And there was the added bonus of space. If Carlos and Ramiro ended up in Ashland they couldn’t stay in my tiny apartment.
“You do?” Mom’s mouth hung wide open. “Are you sure? Honey, my feelings will not be hurt. Promise me you’re not doing this for me.”
“I’m not. Honestly. Until this very moment I wasn’t sure. I’ve been thinking about it, but it’s kind of fallen to the back of my mind. Hearing that you and the Professor have found your dream house and knowing that I can continue our family legacy in the house is almost too good to be true.”
“This means we both have some packing to do.” Mom stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “I can’t wait to tell Doug. He’s going to be thrilled.”
“We’ll have to spend some time going through the old house. I’m not taking all of the furniture. Doug and I have doubles of so many things. You can keep whatever you want.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.” When I had returned to Ashland, Mom had helped me find a temporary rental. I hadn’t needed much—a bed, small kitchen, bathroom, and living room. My apartment had come furnished and since I’d been home I had acquired very little in the way of material goods. I spent so much time at Torte that I hadn’t spent much time decorating my place. For my entire career on the ship, I’d been able to fit everything I owned in a couple suitcases. That hadn’t really changed in Ashland. Packing for me would involve my clothes, my collection of cookbooks, and a few special mementos that I had acquired over my years of travel.
“Excellent.” Mom put a finger to her lips, leaving a smudge of flour on her chin. “We’re going to need to do some shopping for you. How fun.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. The smell of the buttery sweet bread perked up my senses. While we molded more loaves of bread dough together we discussed house pl
ans.
When I removed the first batch of brioche from the oven, I knew right away what I wanted to bake for our Sunday brunch menu. Sundays in the bakeshop held an unhurried pace. Sure, there were the occasional customers who raced in for a latte to go, but most Sunday guests lingered over pots of French press and our rotating brunch items. Some weeks we served egg frittatas, other times we served chicken and waffles, or a crowd-favorite biscuits and gravy. This morning I would use Mom’s brioche as the base for a decadent breakfast sandwich—the fluffernutter.
The fluffernutter consists of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff smeared in gooey layers between white bread. I would take our own spin on the retro sandwich with a sweet and a savory option. I started by grabbing peanut butter and Nutella from the pantry. I mixed them together on medium speed until they had whipped into a creamy chocolaty goodness. I dipped my pinkie into the airy mixture and swooned at the nutty-chocolate flavor.
Next, I followed suit, blending cream cheese, marshmallow fluff, and vanilla bean. The creamy mixture reminded me of pillowy white clouds. For the sweet option, I sliced bananas in half and soaked them in bourbon syrup. For the savory option, Mom fried bacon on the stove and set it aside to cool.
It had been a while since Mom and I had worked alone in the kitchen.
“This is like old times, honey,” she said, breaking off a piece of the salty maple-cured bacon and offering it to me. “We should make this our new tradition. Sunday-morning baking sessions. Just the two of us. Before everyone else arrives. What do you say?’
“Count me in.” I savored the morsel of crispy bacon. It was the perfect accompaniment for the sweet fluffernutter sandwich.
With the bananas, bacon, and fillings ready to go it was time to begin assembling the sandwiches. I sliced thick pieces of the brioche and Mom submerged them in an egg mixture with a touch of cinnamon and nutmeg. Then I melted butter in a sauté pan on the stove. I browned each side of the eggy bread and removed it from the heat. Mom slathered the peanut butter and Nutella mixture on one slice while I coated another slice with the marshmallow cream. We made a few of each version of the fluffernutters to share with the team when they arrived.
Live and Let Pie Page 21