by Nic Saint
Apparently Peggy Wisteria had had her brushes with the long arm of the law already, which was hardly surprising, given her opinions.
“Look, I’m only going to ask you this once, Mrs. Wisteria,” said Logan, his amiable demeanor giving way to his cop face. “Where were you two nights ago? And I must warn you that if you refuse to respond I will have to take you into custody and you will be held for questioning.”
Mrs. Wisteria seemed properly impressed by the prospect of spending a few hours on the cold, hard bench of the Happy Bays lockup, for she lost some of her bluster. “When was this, exactly?”
“The night before last,” I said helpfully. “Around…” I looked at Logan for an answer.
“Between ten and midnight,” he said obligingly.
“Well, I was in church, wasn’t I?”
“You were in church at midnight?” asked Logan skeptically.
“I’m in church most every night. And every morning, too. In fact when I’m not here, picketing this blasphemous organization, you can generally find me helping Father Murphy at St. Mary’s Church. Ask the Father. He’ll vouch for me.”
“What do you do at St. Mary’s Church, Mrs. Wisteria?” I asked, in spite of myself feeling a little sorry for the old lady. She seemed terribly confused.
“I remove candle wax, empty the collection box, straighten out the pews… I do a lot of stuff. Not that anyone takes any damn notice. Except for Father Murphy. He always says he wouldn’t be able to do this without me.” She gave us a toothless smile. “He truly is a man of God.”
“What does he think of transgenders, your priest?” asked Calvin.
Her smile disappeared. “Father Murphy is too kind. Much too kind. He says to accept each person as they are. Which is all fine and dandy when you’re not dealing with a bunch of sickos, degenerates, and perverts!”
She spat out these last words as a woman entered the building. The woman caught sight of Mrs. Wisteria and quickly disappeared inside.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” said Logan. “Mrs. Wisteria, I’m going to have to ask you to stay away from TransCent from now on.”
“I’m on the sidewalk,” she snapped. “You can’t touch me!”
“That may be so but you’re harassing people entering the building, and we can’t have that. So please move along now.”
“You can’t make me,” she repeated, a little less confidently.
“Either you move along or I’ll have to remove you from the scene,” said Logan reasonably.
Mrs. Wisteria cast a dark look at the cop. “You’re all the same. It’s one big conspiracy to turn this world into a hellhole of debauchery.”
“Don’t make me say this twice, Mrs. Wisteria,” said Logan, giving the old woman one of his patent dangerous looks. It hadn’t worked on me, but it worked just fine on Mrs. Wisteria, who finally moved along, muttering strange oaths under her breath.
“Wow, what a nutcase,” said Calvin.
“She’s not a nutcase,” I said. “Simply misguided.”
“And feeble-minded,” Logan added.
“You two seem to get along great,” Calvin said with a dark frown. He picked up his phone, which had started blasting out the opening tones of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries, and pressed it to his ear. “Yeah, I’ll be right over,” he assured the person on the other end. And with another dark look at me, he said, “That was Lucien. He needs me at the office. Are you coming?”
I glanced over at Logan, who stood eyeing the departure of Mrs. Wisteria. “Nah,” I said on a sudden hunch. “Think I’ll stick around.”
Chapter 23
We found ourselves in Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room, one of those perennial Happy Bays landmarks. No other place in town has pastry as delicious and tasty as Bell’s. The tea room was actually my idea, and to my surprise Logan readily agreed. Turned out he had a sweet tooth, too.
“Don’t think I’ve ever been here,” he said, looking around the cozy room and happily taking in that sweet mixture of freshly baked pastry and coffee. “Though the boys at the station keep telling me about it. Chief Whitehouse’s daughter is best friends with the owners, or so he tells me, so this is one of his favorite haunts.”
“In what other town does the Chief of Police single out a bakery as his favorite haunt?” I asked.
“Yeah, in New Hampshire, where I was stationed before, the boys all went down to the bar at the end of their shift. Here they go and eat apple pie and black coffee. Go figure.”
I glanced down at the table, idly toying with my menu. “You know, I feel like I owe you an apology.”
“Oh? I didn’t know Diffley women were capable of remorse?”
“As a matter of fact we are,” I said.
“So what are you sorry about this time?”
“That kiss,” I said. “That was uncalled for. And… I feel like such an idiot.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I get it. You were trying to get back at your brother for treating you like a younger sister.”
I gave him a surprised look. “You’re right. I was trying to get back at Calvin. He can be such a jerk. Only… I feel I took it too far this time.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s fine. And it’s not as if it was an ordeal to be kissed by you.” He gave me a cheeky grin.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Oh, it wasn’t an ordeal, huh?”
“Nah. As kisses go it was all right.”
“All right. It was just all right,” I said in a low voice.
“Yup. Not exactly mind-blowing, if you know what I mean.”
“I retract my apology,” I said.
“Huh?”
“I’m taking back my apology.”
“You can’t do that. You can’t take back an apology. That’s not how it works.”
“Well, I just did. If my kiss was only so-so, there’s no need to apologize, is there?”
He rolled his eyes. “I knew you would take this the wrong way.”
“You just told me I’m a lousy kisser!”
“I did not. I said your kiss was just fine.”
“My kiss was more than fine. My kiss was…” I flapped my arms. “It was great!”
“Yeah, I don’t think you believe that either.”
I gave him a vicious glare. In my heart I knew he was right, though. As kisses go, it wasn’t my best effort. I knew I could do better. A lot better. So I did. I got up, took his head between my hands, and planted a scorcher on his lips. He didn’t pull away, and if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. There was even some tongue action involved, and when I finally released him, his face was slightly flushed, but then again so was mine.
“Oh, God,” I said, realizing what I’d done. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to—”
“Now that’s what I call a kiss,” he said with a smile. “Great improvement. And points for technique.”
“Technique? You’re giving me points on technique?”
“Well, wasn’t that what this demonstration was about?”
“No, it wasn’t! I was just trying to—I just wanted to—” Hell, I didn’t know what I’d wanted to accomplish. I guess I’d gotten swept up in the moment.
“I enjoyed it,” he said with a smile. “So let’s keep it at that.”
I guess I should have been glad he wasn’t arresting me or something, so I decided to follow his lead. Besides, this was a family bakery, and I didn’t want management to throw me out on my ear. We ordered—I got waffles with whipped cream and strawberries on top, and Logan ordered cronuts.
“I always wanted to try these,” he said, biting into one.
“They’re not the real cronuts, you know that, right?” I asked as I cut a piece of my waffle and studied it before popping it into my mouth.
“What do you mean? They look like real cronuts to me.”
“Only Dominique Ansel Bakeries are allowed to sell cronuts. Dominique Ansel invented them. That’s why they’re called croissant donuts here, and not cronuts. The origin
al cronuts are trademarked.”
“Well, I don’t care,” he said. “They’re delicious.”
“Can I try?” I asked, before realizing we didn’t have that kind of relationship.
He gave me an amused grin, and then fed me a piece of cronut. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you, Saffron Diffley?”
“Eh. Don’t know about that. Hey, you’re right. These are pretty good.”
“Pretty good? They’re downright criminally delicious.”
“Like my kiss?” I teased.
“Like your kiss,” he agreed. “Though I’m still confused why you would kiss your arresting officer. Is it a bribe? Is it Stockholm syndrome? What?”
“Ha ha ha. Very funny, Detective. You’re a real hoot, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been known to crack a joke,” he admitted.
“So how far are you on the investigation? Have you caught the killer yet?”
“That’s classified,” he said, a hint of dourness returning to his expression.
“Oh, come on. And here we were getting along so great.”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a member of the public,” he said. “Rule number one of being a detective.”
“But I’m not a member of the public. I’m a colleague.”
“You’re a claims adjuster.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
He turned serious, gesturing with his fork. “I can’t discuss the case, Saffron. I’m a cop, you’re not. And that’s my final word on the matter. And don’t give me that ‘the Diffleys have been around for centuries’ crap. That doesn’t cut it with me.”
“Well, the Diffleys have been around for centuries,” I said. And probably longer—much, much longer. “And we have worked homicide investigations before.”
“I don’t buy it,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee—black, no sugar, no creamer, just as I’d expected. “I think your family are major donors to the mayor’s war chest, and the Chief’s cherished charities. And the pension fund, of course. And that’s how you’ve managed to squeeze your way into a position of influence. But I’m just a civil servant, and that kind of stuff carries no weight with me.” He leaned forward. “You can’t buy me, Saffron. Or kiss your way into my confidence. Like I said, that doesn’t cut it with me.”
I gave him my foulest look. “You think I kissed you so you would share classified information with me?”
He hesitated, seeming to realize that perhaps he’d gone too far. “Look, all I know is that we’re not going to be cooperating on this investigation, no matter how much you’d like to. Today at Tonja Summers was just a one-time thing.”
“I should never have brought you here,” I grumbled. “Here I thought you were a decent person. You’re not. You’re a horrible person.”
“I’m not a horrible person,” he said. “I’m just a cop who likes to play by the rules. And if you can’t accept that, then maybe you’re right. Maybe this was a mistake.”
We sat glaring at each other for a moment across our cups of coffee. “I could have been a boon to your investigation, Logan,” I said finally. “But you blew it. Now you’ll never enjoy the benefit of my crime-solving capabilities.”
“I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with that,” he said, implacable.
I shook my head. “I see that stick is still firmly in place.”
His lips tightened, and he got up, throwing a few bills on the table. “See you around, Saffron.”
“Not if I see you first, Logan.”
And then he was gone. Ugh. The guy was so stubborn!
Just then, my phone chimed and I checked the display, vaguely hoping it was Logan, and he’d finally come to his senses. When I saw it was Calvin, I heaved a deep sigh. “Yeah, what do you want?” I asked.
“Is that how you greet your favorite brother?”
“You’re not my favorite brother. You’re not even my second-favorite brother. In fact, now that I come to think of it, you just might be my least-favorite brother.”
“Ouch. That’s cold. So how are things going with Detective Munroe?”
“They aren’t. He just left, and I don’t think he’ll be over for dinner anytime soon.”
“You finally saw through the ruggedly handsome façade, huh? I told you, Saffron. Cops and Diffleys don’t mix.”
“Yeah, well, just come and pick me up, will you? I want to find this killer before Logan does. That should teach him to mess with us.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll be there in ten. Don’t go wandering off.”
I disconnected and popped another piece of waffle into my mouth. For some reason it didn’t taste nearly as good as it had before.
Chapter 24
Ada Shelley came across as a nervous wreck. She kept smoking cigarettes throughout the interview, and chewing her nails in between drags. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin almost translucent, and her hair thin and brittle. She lived in a small house in Remsenburg, which had belonged to her mother, but judging by the moving boxes littering the hallway and the living room, and the noticeably bare state of the rooms, it was obvious she wouldn’t be living here for much longer.
“I blame Mariana Piney,” she said, her voice quaking a little. “He took everything away from us. He fleeced us. Claimed our entire inheritance.”
“Your mother signed everything away to Mariana?” I asked.
She nodded jerkily. “She did. Mariana convinced Mom to donate to the cause, as he called it, and Mom did as she was told. She wasn’t well at the end, and susceptible to smooth-talkers and freeloaders like Mariana Piney. And oh could that man be convincing.”
“You know Mariana was a transgender?”
“Of course I did,” Ada snapped, lighting her next cigarette with the stub of the previous one. “How could I not? Mom kept talking about this nice woman she met, and how important it was for others like her to be saved from having to live inside a body they hadn’t chosen. And how she was going to donate generously, for that’s what you do when you’re old and you have too much money left over after living a full life.”
She sounded bitter. Probably because she was.
“Didn’t you try to stop her?” asked Calvin, diplomatic as ever.
“Well, I told her to be careful, and not to believe everything this Mariana was telling her. But she said she was fine. That she’d finally found a cause to believe in. That if only she’d known sooner, she might have transitioned herself. Said she’d always known she wanted to be a man, and had only now found out.” She shook her head. “Married for sixty years to my father, and now she says she always knew she wanted to be a man. And I blame Mariana for that, too. For putting a lot of nonsense into my mother’s head.”
“Did your mother tell you she’d signed away your inheritance?” I asked.
“No, she didn’t. If she had, I would have told her she was crazy, and would have done something about it before it was too late. Now it’s as if we’re fighting a losing battle. Though I’m not giving up just yet. I want to get that money back.”
“Looks like she spent it all, though,” said Calvin.
“Yes, that’s what my lawyer told me. But the house can be sold, and so can most of the other stuff she bought with my mother’s money. Only problem is, Mom was of sound mind. Her health was declining, but her mind was sharp as a tack, there’s no denying that, nor do I want to. I don’t want to tarnish her name. What I want to establish is that she was deceived by a professional con artist, for that’s what Mariana Piney was.” She tapped her cigarette into the ashtray for emphasis. “He was nothing but a common confidence trickster. A scam artist. Out for money and nothing else. This whole…” She swung her hand dismissively. “… transgender thing was just a ruse. The stage he used to set up his con.”
“You don’t think Mariana Piney wanted to further the cause of transgenders?” I asked.
“Not at all. I talked to Mariana’s parents, who will probably be inheriting part of my mother’s inheritan
ce now that their son is dead, and they tell me he was transitioning back.” She barked a disdainful laugh. “Looks like he’d taken this transgender thing as far as it would go and now it was time to turn his back on his ‘beloved community.’ No,” she said, “the man was in it for the money. Nothing more.”
“And the attention,” said Calvin. “He complained to his friend Marelda Morato that he felt lonely. Could be that he began this whole journey to find a group of like-minded people. A community that would take him in and a cause he could champion to feel more connected.”
Ada gave my brother a skeptical look. “If he was in it for the group hugs and the brotherly love he didn’t have to take my mother to the cleaners to the tune of half a million dollars, Mr. Diffley. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy that story. It’s the same sob story he told my mother, making her part with all of her money.”
“Um, this is perhaps a personal question, Mrs. Shelley,” I began, “but—”
“Where were you the night Mariana Piney was killed,” Calvin cut in.
“Calvin!” I hissed.
“What? I asked your question for you.”
“It’s fine. I have no alibi. I was right here—sorting through Mom’s stuff. But if you think I killed Mariana you’re mistaken. I hated the guy’s guts, and I would have taken him to court with pleasure, but I didn’t kill him. That’s not in my makeup. I fret—I whine—I make everyone’s life miserable with my constant nagging—but I rarely act.” She sighed. “Perhaps this time I should have. Maybe my family’s fortunes would still be intact if I had.” She gave us a weak smile.
“I believe you,” I said, feeling sorry for the poor woman.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope the police feel the same way.”
“You talked to Detective Munroe?” I asked.
“I did. We talked yesterday. He didn’t arrest me, so I guess that’s a good sign.”
“It is,” Calvin confirmed. “Detective Munroe likes to arrest people, so the fact that he didn’t speaks volumes.”