Murder Sweetly Served

by Morgana Best

  “And we have to track down this Jake.”

  “The plot thickens,” Carl said with a laugh. “The question remains, why did Minnie invite Mick to her father’s birthday party?”

  “Maybe she didn’t,” I said.

  Just then, we walked a little too close to a ute with a blue cattle dog tied in the back. The dog lunged for us angrily, with a menacing growl and a show of teeth. Carl and I jumped away. “Oh, that gave me such a fright,” I said. “I didn’t realise we were walking so close to those utes. Those dogs are so protective.”

  Carl patted his chest and then fanned his face with his hand. “I think that aged me one hundred years. Now, what were you saying?”

  “I said maybe she didn’t invite him. Mick said the invitation came by text. The housekeeper, Daphne, would have access to Minnie’s phone, and she could have sent it. Minnie still lives in the family home, doesn’t she?”

  Carl nodded. “So they say. Yes, well I’ll have to move Daphne to the top of the list.”

  “And whether Minnie or Daphne invited Mick, I’m guessing the reason was so that there’d be a big scene, so someone could poison the chocolates at that point. Mick was probably invited as a distraction.”

  We had reached Carl’s car. He unlocked it, and we climbed inside. “If that’s the case, then that rules out The Purr-suader.”

  I chewed the end of one fingernail. “You know, Carl, I don’t think we’ve made any progress, because something else is puzzling me. Daphne was also a distraction, wasn’t she? Perhaps Daphne wasn’t the one who invited Mick. Perhaps someone gained access to Minnie’s phone and invited Mick solely to cause a distraction, and also told Daphne that Stan was cheating on her. That was another distraction. Daphne didn’t have time to poison those chocolates. No, Carl, I think we should move Daphne to the bottom of your suspects list, not the top.”

  Carl rested his head on his steering wheel. “Oh my gosh, Narel. This case is just getting harder and harder.”

  Chapter 12

  Carl, in his wisdom, had decided we should investigate Craig, and then Peaches. We had agreed that we should visit Craig at work, and I told Carl I would call him if the shop was quiet.

  And sadly, that was the case—the shop was quiet, deathly quiet. Not even a passing tourist called in. Of course, Mondays were usually quiet, but not this bad. I was sure it was all because of the newspaper article. I popped another chocolate in my mouth and thought over the suspects. There were too many of them, and I was sure the police were having the same trouble. I was certain that an arrest wouldn’t be anytime soon, and until that happened, I wouldn’t attract any business to my shop. And the way country towns worked, if an arrest was a long time coming, it would be firmly entrenched in the locals’ minds that I was the perpetrator, even if that was later proven not to be the case. That’s just the way things worked around here.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Carl to come and get me, but I didn’t press send. I looked out the door once more. There were people out and about, but they just weren’t in my shop. I ate another chocolate and then pressed send.

  Carl was there within minutes. “Business hasn’t picked up?”

  I shook my head, fighting back the tears. Carl gave me a quick hug. “Never mind, Narel, at least we can do something about it. You never know, Craig could prove the answer to the problem.”

  “You think he did it?” I asked him.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Carl said over his shoulder as I locked the door to the shop.

  We were soon standing outside the advertising agency’s office. A sudden wave of panic hit me. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Carl put his hand on the small of my back and propelled me forwards. “You always say that, Narel.”

  The impeccably groomed woman at the front desk looked up abruptly. “Can I help you?” Her tone was as sharp as her manner.

  I nearly sneezed as a wave of expensive French perfume hit me. “Narel Myers and Carl Camden, here to see Craig Cooper.”

  She looked down her nose at me. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “We were with Craig the other night when Stan was poisoned,” Carl said in his no-nonsense voice. “Please call through to Craig now and tell him we’re here.”

  Carl’s air of authority worked, because the woman scowled but punched some buttons on her phone and spoke into it. “I have a Narel Myers and a Carl Camden here asking to see you. Are you available today?” She looked disappointed by his answer, and then said, “You may go up to his office now.”

  Carl took me by the arm and led the way. “How did you know where his office is?” I asked him.

  “I looked at the emergency evacuation plan while she was calling Craig,” he said smugly.

  There was no personal secretary sitting outside Craig’s room, just a big glass door with his name emblazoned across it in gold lettering. Carl knocked and a voice called out, “Come in.”

  When we walked in, Craig indicated the two seats across from his desk. We sat down.

  “What can I do for you?” Craig asked us.

  Carl and I had discussed a plan of action, and had decided we should come straight out with the truth. “I’m here about Stan’s murder,” I said, but Craig cut me off.

  “I’ve already spoken to the police.”

  “But we want to do our own investigating, because…”

  He interrupted me again. “You should leave it to the police.”

  “Look, Craig, you’re a businessman. You should understand. I’m struggling to save my business. You must have seen my face plastered all over the local newspaper?”

  Craig nodded, but thankfully remained silent on this occasion.

  “The reason I’m here now is because I didn’t have a single customer in my shop this morning. Not a single customer. And on Saturday, usually my busiest day, I only had tourists—not a single local. People think I killed Stan, and unless I can prove otherwise soon, that’s the end of my business. I’m sure you can understand that. Can you please help me?”

  Craig put down his pen. He leant back in his seat and appeared to be thinking it over. “All right, what do you want to know?”

  “Anything you can tell us about Stan would be a help,” I said.

  “What sort of a man was he?” Carl asked him.

  “Well, they say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Craig said and then began to do precisely that. “He was totally unscrupulous. I’m sure everyone in the office breathed a great sigh of relief when he said he was retiring, and truth be told, I’m sure some are secretly happy that he’s dead.” He held up his hands. “I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but I’m telling you how it is.”

  “Can you give us any examples of what he did?” I asked him.

  “Well, take what he did to me, for example. I was at the agency for a few years before he came, and as soon as he arrived, we didn’t get on. In fact, he didn’t get on with anyone here in the office. We used to have a master key so anyone could pop into anyone else’s office if they needed something, but after he came, they had to do away with the master key. He let himself into people’s rooms and spied on them.”

  “What did he do with the information specifically?” Carl asked him.

  Craig was rapidly warming up to the subject. “Well, if he found any good ideas, he would pretend those ideas were his own. He came here to semi-retire, and he wasn’t the boss here. The boss is in Sydney and rarely visits, usually only for meetings or if there is a huge contract. At any rate, the meetings are usually in Sydney. To give an example, there was a woman here who was quite successful, at least before Stan came. He stole her information, and sent insulting emails to her clients pretending they were from her. She got the sack. Everyone knew it was Stan, but no one could prove anything. He then took over that contract and presented those ideas as his own.”

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t murder him, then!” Carl exclaimed.

  “She went to live in London as far as
I know,” Craig said, “but there’s any number of people who suffered the same at Craig’s hands, maybe even worse. Take me, for example.”

  “What did he do to you?” I asked him, now quite interested in the subject.

  A look of distaste passed over his face. “I was already always very careful around Stan. I’ve been in this business a long time and I know how competitive it is. The two of us were always at each other’s throats, but after he announced he was retiring, he came to my office one day and asked me out to the pub for a beer. We had quite a good chat over a few beers, and he apologised for everything he had done. He told me some big story about having a sad childhood and I believed him at the time. Call me stupid, I let down my guard around him.” He went silent for a moment, staring off into the distance.

  “What happened after that?” I asked, intrigued.

  “He somehow got access to my laptop—don’t ask me how. It was probably when I took a bathroom break at the pub that night. I had a big contract coming up. It was worth a considerable amount of money to me. Put it this way, I would have been able to pay off a big slab of my mortgage.” He leant back in his chair and sighed before continuing. “Stan took that information, and gave it to my direct competitor in a rival firm. At the same time, he sent the company an email from my email address saying that I quit and calling them some rather unsavoury names.”

  “Was there any proof that he did it?” Carl asked him.

  Craig shook his head. “If I’d known at the time, I probably could have had my laptop fingerprinted. Who knows? It was all over before I found out, and then there was nothing I could do about it. Of course, I challenged him about it to his face, and he outright denied it. I knew it was him. That was the sort of thing Stan did to everyone. If I didn’t have family in this town, I would have gone to another agency in one of the capital cities just to get away from him.”

  “That’s absolutely terrible,” I said. “What a dreadful person. It seems like there must be dozens of people who wanted to murder him.”

  Craig nodded. “That’s probably not an exaggeration.”

  “What about Mick Holder?” Carl asked him.

  “Bogan Mick?” Craig cracked his knuckles. “Yes, he certainly pushed Stan’s buttons. Stan wanted his daughter to marry some rich society snob.”

  “But surely Minnie and Mick weren’t getting married?” I asked him.

  “Oh no,” Craig hurried to add. “I simply meant that Stan didn’t like Minnie dating anyone at all, unless that person was someone rich and famous.”

  “So is Minnie actually dating Mick?” Carl said.

  Craig shrugged. “No idea what Minnie is or isn’t doing. Why else would she invite him to the party, if she wasn’t dating him?”

  I was about to say that Mick told us that they weren’t dating, but Carl caught my eye and shook his head ever so slightly. “Does Minnie have any other boyfriends that you know of?” Carl asked him.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t come to the office much.”

  “What was her relationship with her father like?” Carl continued.

  “Fine, I suppose. She was spoilt rotten; he gave her anything she wanted. She’s still living in his house, and she doesn’t have a job. She’s sponging off him. When the Sydney boss came, Stan always had a big dinner at his place for all of us, and Minnie was there then. And if you’re wondering why we went, we had to go because the big boss was there. Stan’s house was luxurious. It always annoyed me that he could have afforded to retire, but instead caused so much trouble for the rest of us who didn’t have a fraction of his money. I suppose it was all a game to him.”

  “Is Minnie the sole heir to his money?” I asked him.

  Craig twirled his pen between his fingers. “No idea. Peaches might get something. For all I know, Stan has a stack of illegitimate children who might get something, too.”

  “Can you think of anyone in particular who would have a motive for killing Stan?” I asked him. “I mean, Stan did terrible things to people over the years, but is there anyone you could think of who would stand out as the main suspect?”

  “Well, there is the housekeeper, Daphne, I suppose,” Craig said, “but she only found out that he was cheating on her that night. She wouldn’t have had time to poison him, unless that was all an act. No, I’d be inclined to think it was Peaches. She has several nail salons, here and on the coast. She acts like a complete bimbo, but she’s got the business know-how, you mark my words. Perhaps she found out he was cheating on her with Daphne and she did away with him.”

  “Peaches,” Carl said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, Peaches. I told the police I thought that, too.”

  “How did they respond?” I asked him.

  “Do detectives ever respond to anything?” Craig asked me with a smile. “They merely thanked me for the information.”

  “And that’s our cue to leave,” Carl said, standing up. He reached out to shake Craig’s hand. “Well, thank you for your information, too. Thanks so much, Craig, you’ve been ever so helpful.”

  I shook his hand as well. “Yes, I really appreciate it.”

  “Peaches,” Carl said as soon as we were in the street, having attracted no more than a snooty glance from the receptionist as we left.

  “Sorry?”

  “Peaches,” Carl repeated. “Do you really think she could be a suspect?”

  “Never judge a book by its cover,” I admonished him.

  “Yes, but people always do judge books by their cover, Narel. You should know that.”

  I sighed. “Carl, let me guess what you’re going to say next. We should go and visit Peaches now, right?”

  Carl smiled. “Yes, but we can use the jewellery ruse this time. I’m sure Peaches would be most interested in the mention of an expensive piece of jewellery.”

  Chapter 13

  Peaches’ nail salon was only a few doors down from the advertising agency’s office. There was a rather trendy café nestled between them, and I wondered if that was where Peaches and Stan had met. The big A-frame outside the door set out the prices on everything, nails, manicures, pedicures, as well as facials. It seemed this was more than a nail salon. “You know, I should have thought to book myself in to gather information.”

  “Me too,” Carl said enthusiastically. “I usually only get work on my face when I go to Sydney, but it would be good to go to a local salon in between times. Do you think she does Botox?”

  I looked at Carl. “Carl, you don’t need Botox!”

  “I already get Botox,” Carl announced proudly. “Around my eyes.”

  I peered at his face. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “And I get fillers, too. Why do you think I look so good?” I had no answer for that. Carl brought the subject back to the matter at hand. “It’s probably no use booking ourselves in for treatment just to get information, because Peaches herself mightn’t do the treatment.”

  “But we could get information about her from the others,” I pointed out.

  Carl pounced on my idea enthusiastically. “Excellent idea, Narel!”

  “But I won’t book myself in today,” I said. “I have to get back to the shop. I shouldn’t leave it closed for too long.”

  Carl looked as though he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

  This time, we were greeted with a far friendlier reception than the one at the advertising agency. “Hello, how can I help you?” a chirpy young woman asked.

  “We just wanted to have a word with Peaches, if she’s available,” I said.

  Peaches heard her name and came over. “Hi, were you at the party on Friday night?”

  I nodded. “Could we speak to you privately?”

  Peaches at once showed us into a tiny but spotlessly clean back room, with a small kitchen and eating area. The three of us sat on small but comfortable armchairs. “I just wanted to say how terribly sorry I am about Stan’s passing,” I said.

  “Ye
s, we are so sorry,” Carl said.

  “You’ll have to forgive my appearance,” Peaches said sadly. “As you can see, I’ve been crying ever since.”

  I studied her face, but I couldn’t see any sign of crying whatsoever. “That’s perfectly understandable,” I said, but Carl interrupted me.

  “Oh my goodness, that’s your crying face?” he said tactlessly. “You look absolutely fabulous, fabulous!”

  I expected Peaches to be upset, but she beamed at Carl. “Thank you. How kind of you.”

  “Oh, it’s the truth, honey. Do you do Botox? Fillers? I need to book in.”

  Peaches nodded, but before the conversation went in the wrong direction, I spoke. “I hope you don’t mind us asking at such a time as this, but are you familiar with my chocolate shop, Coco Narel Designer Chocolates?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t eat chocolate,” she said.

  Of course you don’t, I said silently. Aloud I said, “You’ve probably driven past my shop?”

  “Yes, I have. Such a pretty shop.”

  “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind us asking at such a time as this, but did you see the article on me in the local paper on Saturday morning?”

  Peaches looked embarrassed, and nodded. “Yes, it’s a pity you weren’t wearing enough make up when that was taken. It completely washed you out.”

  “Err, yes,” I said. I would have said more, but Carl spoke up.

  “Narel didn’t murder Stan,” he said, “but the locals think she did. Mind you, the police know she didn’t,” he added hastily.

  “I haven’t had a single customer since that newspaper article came out,” I said.

  Peaches looked shocked. “Why, that’s dreadful! I hope the locals don’t start suspecting me.”

  “Just stay away from that nasty reporter,” I said. “My problem is that I need to discover who killed Stan as soon as I can, or I’ll go broke. I’m sure the police will solve it eventually, but I can’t last that long without customers.”

  “No, of course not,” Peaches said with obvious sympathy. “What a terrible predicament you’re in.”