by Anne Canadeo
Maggie looked up at them, sounding breathless. “I can’t say that’s a complete surprise. Jeremy’s brother told me last night the ax was about to fall. Sounds like it’s coming down right now.”
“And heads are rolling,” Lucy finished for her. “So Philip is a mini-Madoff, after all. Does it say anything more about the glue formula?”
“Let me see . . .” Maggie scanned the article again, which she hadn’t completed. “Wait . . . here’s something. ‘Philip Lassiter’s son Jeremy Lassiter invented the formula but had not finalized the product for production and marketing at the time of his death.’ Not that anyone knows of,” Maggie added. She took a breath and continued.
“‘Claudia Lassiter, vice president of operations and marketing, maintains that the company can produce the product, but the staff is still trying to reconstruct her brother’s records and laboratory notes.’”
Maggie sighed and looked up at both of them. “Just like Alec predicted. His sister is left to shoulder all the responsibility. Look down here.” She pointed to the bottom paragraph. “Philip Lassiter is in the hospital again. ‘—admitted late last night,’” she read aloud, “‘and according to the family, is being treated for a chronic stomach ailment.’”
“That’s the second time in a month. He went into the hospital right after Jeremy’s memorial service,” Lucy recalled.
“That’s right. He was there when Jeremy was found in the motel,” Nora added.
“Do you think the company can survive this?” Lucy looked at Maggie and then at Nora.
“It sounds like Jeremy’s father will be arrested,” Nora said. “There will be a trial. And the company will have to pay back all the people they’ve cheated.”
“Which will probably push At-Las all the way under. The company must be leveraged and running at a loss already. Why else would Philip go to such lengths to bring in more cash?”
“He believed it was all going to be paid back, and more. When they started selling the new glue,” Lucy reasoned. “If Claudia can finally figure out the formula, maybe she can salvage something.”
“If she’s not sent to jail first, you mean,” Maggie said quietly. “She may be involved in this, too. We don’t know. It’s very complicated. But clearly another dark day for the Lassiters.”
“I don’t know much about either of them, Alec or Claudia,” Nora said, returning to her knitting. “They both treated Rebecca well. I don’t wish them any harm. As for Philip Lassiter, I think he’ll get what’s coming to him. What he’s dished out to everyone else his entire life—including his own children. And that is nothing good.”
Nora was the first person Lucy heard voice that prediction. But hardly the last. The town was buzzing with the news of Philip Lassiter’s downfall. There were few, if any, sympathizers.
“Schadenfreude,” Matt observed one night during dinner. “Taking pleasure in someone else’s pain. Especially your enemy’s. People do like to see the high and mighty knocked down to size.”
It was not pleasant to watch, but true, Lucy thought.
Of course Edie Steiber visited Maggie’s shop to brag about how she was approached by the bogus investment offering, but between her tingling big toe and her big gut, she wisely turned down the opportunity to be robbed blind. “Like the rest of those poor suckers. Seniors like me, mostly.”
The following days brought more news. Lucy read the articles each morning, before she spread the newspaper out on the floor for her painting project.
Claudia was arrested in her office and led from the building in handcuffs. There was even a photograph, though her head was ducked away from the camera. Philip was also arrested, right in his hospital bed. But his medical condition was far more serious than the family had revealed.
The truth was finally disclosed. He was suffering from stomach cancer, which had been kept hidden from the public for more than a year. He was in the last stages and there was nothing more to be done. He confessed that there was no glue formula. Jeremy had not completed it before he faked his own death. Philip was sure it could be perfected and had pressed his son to continue the research so he could satisfy his investors and save his company.
But Jeremy had given up and tried to escape the entire mess. And had nearly succeeded, Lucy thought, reading the latest report in the newspaper.
It was very doubtful Philip would live to stand trial. Police officers were posted outside his room. Not that he presented any great flight risk, Lucy realized. But there were so many enraged people in town who might do him harm. Investors who were cheated out of hundreds of thousands of dollars, a life savings for some of them.
All for the promise of cashing in big on the miracle glue.
But there was little mention of the missing formula in the latest news reports, Lucy noticed.
Lucy finally took a break from painting on Wednesday afternoon. All she had left was a second coat on the molding and doors and she was home free. She washed what she could from her hands and face, but didn’t bother changing her splattered jeans and sweatshirt before heading out to Maggie’s store.
It was a full-blown spring day, no doubt about it now. She’d been working with the windows open but feeling the warm sun on her face and breathing in the fresh air was a world of difference from the paint smell.
Even Tink and Walley had a bounce in their steps today. Though walking down to town went a bit slower with the two of them—two noses stopping to sniff at every opportunity.
She tied them on the porch of the shop, noticing a big splotch of paint on Tink’s tail.
“Tink . . . what did you do? How am I supposed to get that out, cut your tail off?”
The dog stared up at her, already working on her chewy bone. All Lucy could think of was what she might have smeared in the house with her tail swinging around like a giant paintbrush.
She had wanted to check out yarns and patterns for a new project today anyway, an afghan that would match the new wall color in the bedroom. She had forgotten a paint chip, but at least she had Tink’s tail.
“Welcome back, stranger,” Maggie greeted her. “Are you still painting the bedroom?”
“It’s almost done,” Lucy reported. “I needed to use primer and two coats. We’re covering a dark color with a light one.”
“Sounds like a professional job. It’s hard to find a woman who’s handy around the house. I hope Matt appreciates that.”
“Oh, he does.” Lucy smiled and quickly changed the subject.
“Speaking of paint jobs, any word from the insurance company about your car?”
Maggie’s Subaru looked like a large spotted reptile with wheels. She was mortified to drive it and had to get a new coat of paint or a new car, no question.
“I just called Detective Reyes and left a message. Seems the insurance company wants another case number or police report or some other official document for the claim. They never stop asking for more information. I think it’s a ploy to tire you out and get you to give up on collecting your money.”
Lucy agreed. She’d jumped through those hoops herself.
The shop phone rang and Maggie checked the number. “Oh, this could be her right now.” She picked up and greeted the detective. Then sat listening for a moment, her expression changing to surprise and concern.
“Really? I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked. I spoke with him a few times and had some suspicions. But now that you say it, I can’t believe he’s the one . . .”
Maggie caught Lucy’s gaze and held it, still listening to the detective. She covered the phone with her hand. “Lewis Atkins . . . the police went to his house on a tip . . .”
But suddenly she was drawn back to the conversation with Detective Reyes. “Yes, I will do that. I promise. Thank you for letting me know, Detective.”
Maggie hung up the phone and shook her head in disbelief. “It’s just so . . . surprising.”
“What did she say? Did they arrest him for Jeremy’s murder?” Lucy walked over to the counte
r where Maggie stood.
“Not exactly. Sounds as if they’d like to . . .” Maggie paused and took a breath. “They got a tip to look in a shed on his property and found Jeremy’s iPad, the one Rebecca says he had with him in the motel room and was not found after the murder.”
“Oh . . . that’s pretty damning.” Lucy was surprised to hear that about Lewis Atkins, too. There was something about him that she liked. Maybe it was the bow ties. He just didn’t seem like he’d ever hurt anyone.
“But someone could have just planted the iPad in the shed. That wouldn’t have been very difficult, right?” Lucy said.
“That’s what Lewis claims happened. But the police got a warrant and searched his house, and found a lot of items from Rebecca’s apartment. Apparently, he was the one who broke in.”
“Wow . . . that sort of nails it, doesn’t it?”
Maggie sighed. “It seems so.”
“Has he said anything in his own defense, or tried to explain any of this?”
“I don’t know. Detective Reyes didn’t get that far and I didn’t want to nudge her. I was surprised she told me anything about it. But she knew that I’d hear it from Rebecca and Nora. And she did say it practically tied in with my car vandalism, so she didn’t feel it was inappropriate to include me in the news.”
“Did Atkins admit to vandalizing your car, too?”
Maggie shook her head. “He completely denies it. He even laughed. He did say I was smart but nosy, and probably deserved it.”
“Oh . . . really? That’s a lot of nerve.”
“It is, isn’t it? He didn’t mince words. That’s probably why I liked him,” Maggie admitted. “I guess we’ll hear more from Dana. Let’s fill her in right now. She’ll tell Jack to check in with his precinct pals. With any luck, by tomorrow’s meeting we should have the whole story.”
Maggie was right. As usual. By Thursday night, Dana was ready to tell them the whole story about Lewis Atkins’s apprehension and confession.
It was Lucy’s turn to host the meeting, but with the boxes from Matt’s move still cluttering up the cottage and the painting supplies filling up the rest, her friends gave her a pass.
They met at Maggie’s shop instead, and Lucy brought along the dinner she’d planned for them—sautéed arugula, tomatoes, white beans, and grilled shrimp. Lucy thought it was a nice spring recipe and hoped her friends agreed.
Phoebe was at a class and was coming late. They were sorry she was missing the big story, but they couldn’t wait to hear Dana tell them what she’d heard about Atkins’s arrest.
“All right, here’s the scoop,” Dana began soon after she’d sat down and pulled out her knitting. “You all know the police went to Atkins’s house on an anonymous tip. They found the iPad in a shed, hidden in a bag of birdseed. Atkins denied he’d put it there. Or that he’d ever seen it. They had a warrant and searched his house, and found all the stolen belongings from Rebecca’s apartment in his basement.”
“What did he say about that? Did he deny ransacking Rebecca’s house, too?” Suzanne sounded huffy, personally insulted, Lucy thought.
“He made a full confession. He admitted that he was looking for notes about the formula, of course. Some hidden note or secret message Jeremy had scribbled to himself. Or a memory card or flash drive stashed somewhere. He said he was really desperate to get his hands on anything and had given up on trying to figure out the combination of chemical chains himself.”
“But Philip Lassiter just confessed that there is no formula and Jeremy never finalized it. That’s why he was pressing him so hard,” Lucy reminded the others. And why Jeremy’s father may have pressured the young scientist into faking his own death, she thought.
Dana tilted her head to one side, neatly casting a series of stitches for a new project. “Atkins is convinced that Jeremy had lied to his father about that. Atkins believes Jeremy did complete it and had it with him when he died. Or had hid it somewhere. In fact, he’s certain of it. He said it was just something in Jeremy’s voice when he called him and tried to sell him the formula. A certain cocky tone he only used after a big scientific success. But, just as he told Maggie, he didn’t trust Jeremy to sell him the real deal.”
“Yes, that’s what he told me. That’s why he said he was trying to figure it out on his own,” Maggie recalled.
“Atkins says that Jeremy didn’t leave the real formula at At-Las, either,” Dana added. “That’s why Claudia and her staff were pulling their hair out, trying to put together his notes and backed-up files and replicate it.”
“He might have even left a completely false set of lab notes there. Just to throw them off the track,” Lucy said.
“That’s right, Lucy. Like many people at that level of intelligence, he was capable of being very deceptive,” Maggie observed.
“The police are still holding Atkins. But he vehemently denies killing Jeremy. He claims he was only after the information but didn’t find it in anything he took from the apartment. He also said he couldn’t hurt Jeremy and claims that he loved him.”
“Well . . . it wouldn’t be the first time. ‘You only hurt . . . the one you love . . .’” Suzanne sang a few phrases of the old standard, in her airy, off-key voice.
“Thank you, Tony Bennett,” Maggie replied quietly. “Rebecca already told us Jeremy didn’t have a chance to hide anything in the boxes of yarn or the container of knitting tools Atkins stole. She said all of that wasn’t in her apartment until after the lab fire.”
“True, but did Jeremy hide a memory card in something else? Something that wasn’t in the apartment when Atkins broke in?” Lucy asked. “How about the wedding gown?” she said suddenly. “With all those folds of lace, Jeremy could have easily tucked something into a seam, or in the hem line?”
“That’s brilliant, Lucy.” Dana looked at her friend with awe.
“It is a clever insight,” Maggie agreed. “I thought of that, too. Right after the break-in. I checked every stitch of the gown before I gave it back to Rebecca. I didn’t find a thing . . . Go on, Dana. You were saying something else about Atkins?”
“The iPad seems to be enough physical evidence to link him to the murder. And there is a record of at least two phone calls between the men while Jeremy was at the motel. But Atkins has been forthcoming about that. So far, that’s all they have. No fingerprints in the room and he has a good alibi. They’ve only charged him with breaking into Rebecca’s place.”
“I guess if they keep digging, they’ll find something,” Lucy said. “Maybe someone at the motel will remember seeing him that night. Or seeing someone he hired to go after Jeremy?”
“Maybe not. I’m still not convinced he did it, or was behind it.” Maggie’s voice was quiet but firm.
“Really? I thought he was at the top of your list,” Suzanne reminded her.
“Atkins has wandered around my list, from top to bottom and back again since I met him,” she admitted. “I just feel there’s some missing element we’re not seeing. Something the police aren’t seeing, either.”
“Like the missing ingredient in Jeremy’s formula?” Suzanne prodded her.
“Yes, just like that, now that you mention it. It doesn’t mean that there isn’t one. Just because nobody can figure it out.”
Maggie had gone into her stubborn mode, Lucy noticed. It would be hard to convince her to change her position now, short of a signed confession from Lewis Atkins. And even then, she might say it was coerced by the police or the signature forged.
“Speaking of witnesses at the motel, what about the mysterious woman who was seen leaving Jeremy’s room? The one the police were so sure had to be Rebecca.” Maggie looked up from her knitting at Dana. “What do they say now about that bit of evidence? Where does that fit in with Atkins?”
“They are not saying much, Maggie,” Dana replied. “I guess if Atkins is ever brought to trial his defense attorney could use that eyewitness to muddy the prosecution’s case.” Dana wore a small smile. “Is yo
ur big toe tingling, like Edie Steiber’s?”
“It is,” Maggie insisted. “Maybe the condition is contagious.”
Lucy began to clear away the dinner plates and everyone else soon got up to help. The arugula and shrimp dish had been a hit. But Suzanne’s dessert—a gorgeous tart—definitely stole the spotlight. Plump red raspberries in perfect rows sat on an airy pink filling. It looked like something out of a magazine, too pretty to eat. Though Lucy knew they would force themselves to enjoy it.
“How do you whip this stuff up?” Lucy asked. “You could work in a fancy bakery.”
“I could,” Suzanne agreed. “But after a few weeks, I’d be trapped in there. I wouldn’t be able to fit through the door. No, it’s much better if I make this stuff and my friends eat it.”
Suzanne was doing just that, serving the slices of tart to her friends when the shop door opened. They all turned, expecting to see Phoebe, coming in from her late class just in time for her favorite part of the meal.
But it was Nora Bailey. Maggie had mentioned earlier that she was coming by after dinner, to sit and knit a while. They all welcomed her as she took a seat near Maggie and took out her knitting.
“Nora, good to see you. You’re just in time for dessert.” Maggie pushed her things aside to make more room for Nora’s yarn and pattern. “Suzanne made something with berries. It looks delicious.”
“It’s a tart with berry mousse. I can’t believe I found raspberries at this time of year. But I had to buy a whole bunch. I couldn’t resist them.”
“It sounds wonderful. I’ll just have a tiny taste, though,” Nora said, accepting a sliver on her plate. “Rebecca cooked a big dinner for us tonight. Then she went out with a friend from work. She’s feeling so relieved now that the police have arrested Lewis Atkins. She’s moved back to her own apartment, too.”
Atkins was arrested for the robbery, Lucy wanted to clarify. Not Jeremy’s murder . . . yet. But she didn’t want to seem so nitpicky. Nora was obviously so happy and relieved herself.
“I’m glad for that.” Maggie’s tone was sincere, Lucy thought. She was happy that Rebecca was off the hook. They all were.