by Abby Byne
“But I thought that Marco canceled the policy as soon as they broke up. There wouldn’t have been any life insurance money coming to Jennifer.”
“Yes, Marco did cancel it, but Jennifer didn’t know that he had done it already.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I can’t be completely sure but think about it: Marco has an enormous insurance policy taken out to benefit his fiancée in the case of his untimely (or, in this case, anticipated) death. Then Marco breaks up with Jennifer because he finds out she’s been playing a cruel trick on him. He’s understandably furious with her about being tricked into believing he’s a dying man. Jennifer is only too aware that it’s only a matter of time before he cancels the life-insurance policy or turns her and her brother in for fraud, or both.”
“OK. But why was Jennifer trying to make Marco think he was dying in the first place? I know you told me that you suspected that she had married her first two husbands because she knew they were dying, but even if that is true, why would she target a healthy man?”
“I suspect it is very hard work finding rich single men with terminal illnesses whose near-and-dear don’t put up a fuss when they want to get married in a hurry to a woman they’ve only just met.”
“I’m sure that’s true. How do you know her first two husbands were rich?” Stan asked.
“I’m assuming.”
“That’s probably a safe assumption.”
“I think Jennifer intended to kill Marco from the very beginning,” said Bitsie. “She just hadn’t figured out exactly when and how she was going to do it.”
“But if her only goal was to kill him, why go through the trouble to trick him into believing he was dying?”
“Because Marco wasn’t rich, so he had to be motivated to take out a huge life insurance policy and to do it right away.”
“That’s plausible.”
“Who knows exactly how Jennifer talked him into getting the policy in the first place, but Marco should have known what he was doing would have been insurance fraud, had he actually been ill. She’d always planned on killing him and making his death look like an accident. Otherwise, what would have been the point; she couldn’t have collected. But when Marco unexpectedly broke up with her, she got desperate and started looking around for a way to get the job done quickly.”
“And she found Monty?”
“Yes. Monty was perfect for the job. He knew what could realistically go wrong on a job site, and he also already had a grudge against Marco for firing him.”
“But how did they do it?” said Stan. “How did they set up the accident?”
“I think Jennifer knew where Marco was working that night. I think she showed up there unannounced and initiated an argument with him, or maybe it wasn’t an argument. Maybe, she tried to convince him that she wanted to make up with him. Either way, the only thing she had to do was lure him out of the kitchen for a few minutes so that Monty could come in and figure out how to kill him.”
“So, you think Monty did all the tampering with the circuit panel.”
“Yes. He also loosened the fitting on the drain pipe under the sink, so it would leak,” Bitsie answered.
“But wasn’t he taking a risk?” Stan asked. “Running water in the sink like that. Mightn’t Marco have heard the sound of water running from wherever Jennifer had taken him and have come to investigate?”
“Monty didn’t have to run any water. There were pans soaking in the sink. He just loosened the coupling on the drain-pipe, and the water started to slowly drain out onto the floor.”
“Go on.”
“So, while Jennifer was distracting Marco, Monty drained the sink to create the puddle on the floor. He hid the mop. He must have done something with the towels, carried them away with him, and chucked them in another dumpster in the next alley or something because they’ve never turned up. The last thing he did was go and turn the circuit breaker for the outlet back on.”
“Then what?”
“When Jennifer arrived, Marco must have been in the middle of replacing that outlet next to the sink because the old outlet had been removed, and there was just a bunch of naked wires sticking out of the box.”
“How could Monty have known ahead of time that Marco would be working next to the sink like that?”
“He couldn’t have known,” said Bitsie. “It was partially a crime of opportunity. They really had nothing to lose. If Monty hadn’t figured out a way of staging it to look like an accident, then he could have quietly slipped back out, and no one would have been the wiser.”
“Except for Jennifer.”
“Yes. Except for Jennifer. But that wasn’t much of a risk. I imagine she was a bit scared of Monty.”
“As well she should have been, seeing as it looks pretty likely that he killed her. But why did Monty decide to kill Jennifer, too?”
“He didn’t have to kill her, there was really nothing for him to gain by it, but he must have hated her for trying to throw him under the bus by accusing him of single-handedly committing a murder that was her idea in the first place.”
“Wait a minute, why would Monty give in to his temper, if it meant losing his cut of the life-insurance money?”
“By the time Monty killed Jennifer, he’d have already figured out that there wasn’t going to be any life-insurance money coming to anyone. It was a homicide investigation at that point. I expect he realized that the insurance company would fight tooth and nail to resist paying out.”
“Back to the bakery,” said Stan. “It would have been a nearly foolproof plan if it hadn’t been for that cupcake Marco had in his hand. The police wouldn’t have looked into the matter any further if there hadn’t been so many people squawking about it.”
“That cupcake was the one thing that got us all to thinking twice about what could have easily passed for a tragic accident,” said Bitsie.
“What I still don’t understand,” said Stan, “is who put the raspberry ripple cupcake into Marco’s hand.”
“I think it was Bill.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Remember when Nick said he last saw Bill?”
“Yes. Nick saw Bill in the alley when he was leaving the bakery the evening before Marco was killed.”
“And what was the last thing Nick did before he left? Do you remember?”
“No,” said Stan.
“Think harder.”
“The plate of cupcakes!” said Stan, hitting himself on the forehead with the flat of his hand. “Of course, Bill couldn’t have missed hearing Marco going on about how much he hated raspberries.”
“Yes. And do you remember me telling you about all those cupcakes in the display case, each with only one bite taken out of them?”
“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do—“
“Suppose that you were a terrified man looking desperately for a particular flavor of cupcake in a completely darkened room.”
“I guess you’d just have to taste them until you found the one you were looking for.”
“Exactly,” said Bitsie.
“So, you think Bill placed a half-eaten raspberry ripple cupcake in the dead man’s hand in the hopes that someone would figure out that it wasn’t all just a tragic accident.”
“Yes.”
“But aren’t those display cases lit up from the inside. Even when the main overhead lights are turned off.”
“Yes,” said Bitsie, “they are, but I think that Bill was the one who pulled the main breaker immediately after returning to the bakery.”
“Returning?”
“Yes, because if Bill was going to put a half-eaten cupcake in a recently-murdered man’s hand and the two people responsible for killing that man had threatened Bill with a similar fate if he didn’t quietly disappear—“
“So, you think he came back again after Monty and Jennifer left the scene.”
“Yes. I think he hid somewhere and watched both Monty and Jennifer leave. The
n he went back into the building. The door to the alley must have locked behind Jennifer. She was the last person to leave. Bill had to break the windowpane in the storage room window and reach through to unlatch it. Then he climbed into the storage closet which would have meant going right past the breaker box to even get to the kitchen—“
“Where he knew there was a dead man lying in a puddle of water next to a bunch of potentially live wires.”
“Yes. I think the lights were already all turned out when he returned. He could have identified the main breaker by touch, but finding the right breaker for the outlet circuit without light would have been almost impossible.”
“So, the lights were out already, but, because he was scared of getting electrocuted himself, Bill pulled the main breaker as a precaution before even going back into the kitchen.”
“I think he was probably too scared to have turned on any lights, anyway. He didn’t want to risk anyone knowing he’d come back.”
“So, because what little light comes in through the windows from the street wasn’t enough to tell one cupcake from another, he was forced to sample quite a few cupcakes out of the case before he found the one he was looking for.”
“Yes, he was very methodical about it. He took a bite out of one from each row until he found the flavor he was looking for.”
“But what about the busted-up cash register?” said Stan.
They were interrupted by the frantic barking and ecstatic whimpering of Kipper. They looked up to see the source of his excitement. The bus from Dallas had arrived, and Bill was coming across the parking lot towards their car.
“I guess we are about to find out if your theories prove correct,” said Stan.
Bill insisted on talking to Stan alone before he went to the police station. They pulled off the side of the road at a small picnic spot. Bitsie stayed in the car while Bill and Stan sat on a picnic table, and Kipper cavorted around them in celebration of his beloved owner’s return.
It didn’t take long for Bill to tell his story. Ten minutes later, Bill and Stan were back in the car, and they were on their way to the police station.
When they arrived at the station, Bill and Stan went inside. Bitsie put Kipper on his leash and took him for a walk around the block. It was slow going. Every few feet, Kipper would look back in the direction they’d come, sit down and whine. He was clearly anxious about being separated once again from Bill.
“Where to?” Stan asked Bill as they got back in the car. “You know you could just come home and stay with us for a while. You know we have that old travel trailer out back—You could have your own space.”
“Kipper and I,” said Bill, “will be going back down to Texas.”
“To live with your sister?” Bitsie asked.
“Yeah, we’ll give it a try, anyway.”
“You know they’ll be calling you to testify, at Monty’s trial,” said Stan. “I’m not exaggerating when I say you’ll be the star witness for the prosecution.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Bill declined all additional offers of a place to stay and asked to be dropped off at his old spot behind the bakery.
“Are you sure he’ll be safe back there,” Bitsie asked anxiously, as she and Stan pulled away from the curb. “I mean, what if Monty gets one of his friends to—“
“I don’t think Monty has many friends,” said Stan wryly.
“You’re sure he’s not getting bail?” said Bitsie.
“Not likely,” said Stan. “I understand they found blood in the trunk of his car. Of course, we won’t know for absolutely sure until the results come back from the lab that it’s Jennifer’s, but unless there’s a third victim out there unaccounted for, it must be.”
“So, was I right or not?” Bitsie demanded.
“You were right,” Stan answered. “You were right about virtually everything that happened that night at the bakery. The stuff about Jennifer? Well, she’s dead now, so we’ll probably know exactly what she was up to.“
“But what about the cash register? Did Bill tell you anything about that?”
“Ah—“ said Stan. He hesitated before continuing. “I’m not sure if I should tell you what I know about that.”
“Why?”
“If you knew there were extenuating circumstances and the thief made full restitution, would you consider not pressing charges?”
“What extenuating circumstances?” demanded Bitsie. “Do you really know who did it?”
“Look in the glove compartment,” said Stan.
Bitsie opened the glove compartment. Inside was a small mayonnaise jar filled with crumpled bills and loose change.
“What is this?”
“How much was taken from the register?” Stan asked.
“I think Nick said when he counted up what was left, there was a hundred and twenty dollars missing.”
“I’m pretty sure that if you count that up, you’ll find there’s exactly a hundred and twenty dollars in that mayonnaise jar.”
“This money came from Bill, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But why did he—“
“What would you do if your life had been threatened and the quickest and safest way out of town was a bus ticket, but you had no money to buy one?” asked Stan.
“So that’s why only part of the money was taken,” said Bitsie. “It’s all making sense now.”
“Yes,” said Stan. “Bill took the money from the register when he came back to plant the raspberry ripple cupcake. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but he knew that twenties were kept on the left, so he counted out seven of those—he figured that would be enough to get a ticket out of town—and left the rest of the cash in the register.”
“Tell Bill I’ll just think of it as a loan,” said Bitsie, smiling.
Chapter Eleven
Bitsie stood at the plate-glass windows at the front of the bakery and looked out at the people going by on the sidewalk. At the moment, the tiny dining area in front of the bakery cases was empty, but a few hours earlier, it had been standing-room-only.
“What do you think about adding some little tables out front on the sidewalk?” she asked Nick, who stood behind the counter with a rag in his hand and a smile on his face. “Do you there’s enough room?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Nick. “And now I have a question for you?”
Bitsie turned to look at Nick.
“I was wondering,” said Nick, “if you aren’t busy Friday night—“
If she didn’t know better, Bitsie thought, if she were a different woman and Nick were a different man, she’d think he was working up to asking her out on a date. Did men even still ask women out on dates? Maybe that wasn’t how dating worked anymore.
“Well,” Bitsie replied. “I don’t really have any plans unless you count ordering in a pizza and watching some truly mindless reality TV with Max.”
“Max?” Nick asked. He looked slightly alarmed, although Bitsie couldn’t work out why. Of course, he probably didn’t know Max was a cat. It would be rather odd for her to be seeing someone so soon after her divorce.
“Max is my cat,” Bitsie explained. “He’s twenty pounds of pedigreed Persian and thinks he’s a dog, but he makes a great viewing companion for trashy television.”
“Ahh—“ Nick replied, laughing. “If Max isn’t the jealous type, then he won’t mind if I came over and kept you company?”
Bitsie’s mind failed to compute. Did Nick want to spend his Friday night sitting on her couch? He wanted to eat pizza out of a box and listen to her shout relationship advice—criticism if she was going, to be honest—at what passed for eligible bachelors these days?
“Uhm—sure,” Bitsie replied, trying to sound casual as if handsome younger men invited themselves over to her house all the time. It was just his way of being friendly, she decided. If she seriously thought he had any interest in her, she would have said no. She was not the kind of woman who invited men home in t
he early stages of a relationship, or at least she had never been. That was what was so confusing about being single after so many years. She wasn’t sure what kind of woman she was. After being someone’s wife for so long, it was hard to think of herself as anything else.
“Great!” said Nick. “What time should I come?”
“The shouting at the television generally begins at 7:35,” said Bitsie. “What do you like on your pizza?”
That night Bitsie had a terrible time falling asleep. This insomnia thing was becoming a problem. She got up and made herself a cup of chamomile tea and stared out her kitchen window into her darkened back garden.
For a brief moment, she let herself wonder where Robert was and what he was doing but stopped herself. Robert wasn’t hers to worry about anymore. It was no longer her problem if his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend took it into her head to leave him. In fact, Bitsie realized with surprise, there was no longer a part of her that wished that Robert would be unhappy. It wasn’t a feeling that would last, but maybe it was a feeling that would make an appearance in her heart more often. Maybe, this was what it felt like to forgive. Maybe, it was getting easier to feel forgiving because her new life as a single woman was turning out to be not so bad, not so bad at all.
She had her bakery. She had Max. She had Stan and Liz close by. She had her little house. And—she tried not to let herself get too excited about the last item on her list—she had a nondate with a lovely man on Friday night.
True, a dead electrician in her kitchen was not an auspicious start, but, at least, she’d been instrumental in bringing his killers to justice.
All anyone could ask for in this life, Bitsie thought, was to have something useful to do, a few good friends and a family who loved them. She had all of those things. She might be minus a husband, but that, she was finding, was one thing she could live without.
Her teacup was empty. Max came into the kitchen, tail in the air and meowing loudly, demanding a midnight snack.
“I suppose, just a bit of kibble won’t hurt you,” Bitsie relented, as she poured a tiny serving of Svelte Kitty Cat Food, “reduced calories for your over-weight cat,” into Max’s bowel.