by J. R. Ripley
“Where exactly?”
I told him to follow me to the front of the store. I pointed. “On a shelf under the sales counter. As far as I know, they remained there until I carried them to the book signing and handed them to Mason personally.”
“So anybody could have had access to them here.” Jerry sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
“I suppose. It’s not like we’re always watching the front. Sometimes we have to go assist customers. And if one of us is alone in the store . . .” I shrugged.
“Somebody coming in could have laced the chocolates.”
“I guess so.” Though it seemed unlikely. “What about at Bookarama? Couldn’t they have been tampered with there?”
“Not impossible, but I don’t see how there was time or opportunity.”
I didn’t either. “There were close to fifty people milling around before and after the signing. That means plenty of people could conceivably have done it.”
“And plenty of people who could have caught them doing it.”
He was right. “Have you talked to Mason’s publicist, Cara Siskin? Or Frank Duvall?”
Jerry set his mug on the counter and sauntered over to the seed bins—a move I had been expecting. He thrust a hand into the shelled peanut bin and shoveled a generous handful of them into his mouth. “We talked to everybody and came up empty. The only one who seems to have had it in for your professor pal is Amber Smith.”
“What about the scissors? There must have been fingerprints.”
“Either the killer wore gloves,” Jerry mumbled through a mouthful of peanut mash, “or they wiped them clean afterwards.”
“Gloves?” I frowned. “Did you search the bookstore and their living quarters?”
Jerry looked at me as if I’d just asked the dumbest question imaginable. I supposed it was. “Yes, Simms, we searched the whole damn house. And we came up empty. No gloves, laxatives, no signed confession with a carefully worded explanation for why one of them murdered your friend.
“But trust me. I don’t care how smart a lawyer Amber’s mom got for her—she’s guilty and I’m going to prove it.”
“Has she admitted to egging Mason’s trailer?”
Jerry shook his head. “Sooner or later I’ll find a witness who saw her do it though. She admits she was camping down by Ruby Lake. Add that to her on tape buying the eggs at the market that very night and you don’t need a calculator to get your answer.”
“She didn’t do it, Jerry.”
“She had a class several years back with your friend.”
“So did I and thousands of others. It doesn’t make us all suspects,” I said, reflecting on what Derek had remarked. “Did she pass his class?”
Jerry drew in a long breath. “To tell the truth, she dropped out after the first week or so. Switched to a communications course. Dropped out of school a bit after that.”
“Good grief, Jerry. That means she probably didn’t have five minutes’ interaction with the guy. Those classes are huge.”
“Yeah, well,” Jerry hemmed and hawed. “I still say she did it and her mother’s covering for her. I ought to nail her, too.”
“Come on, Jerry. Even if Rose is covering for Amber, can you blame her?”
Jerry’s face said that he could. “Maybe the guy wanted a cut of the book sales, and they wouldn’t give it to him.”
“He’s the book’s author. He was going to get a cut of the book sales anyway.”
“It’s just a theory.” Jerry was pouting.
“Amber did not kill Mason,” I repeated. She might have egged his trailer though, and I had no hunches why. It was the wrong time of year for Halloween tricks, and pummeling the trailer with two dozen eggs was no idle prank. Somebody had been seriously annoyed.
“If Amber didn’t kill Livingston, then tell me who did.”
I thought a moment as I grabbed a big bag of shelled peanuts and topped off the bin. I liked to start each day with everything just so, and Jerry, as usual, was messing with my sense of order. “Mister Duvall was trying to get Mason involved in some scheme of his.”
“What sort of scheme?”
“Duvall wanted the professor to endorse a new plant cultivar he claimed to have developed.”
Jerry appeared amused. He bounced the remaining peanuts up and down in his hands, oblivious to the ones spilling to my clean floor. “And you think maybe they had a falling out and Duvall stuck a pair of scissors in Livingston’s neck all because of a flower?”
“He was there, Jerry. At Bookarama. He had the opportunity.” I bent and began picking peanuts off the hardwood.
Jerry shook his head. “Hummingbirds and flowers. If it wasn’t for a dead body with a pair of shears in his neck, I’d say this whole case was absurd. You know, I even found a flower in his suitcase.”
I raised my brow as I looked up at Jerry. “Whose suitcase?”
“Livingston’s. I’ve got it down at the station. Not much in there besides some warm clothes, socks, and dirty underwear. And some flower swathed in some sort of foam and plastic wrap.”
I stood and dumped the peanuts I’d retrieved in the trash can near the cash register. That had to be the ratty suitcase I’d seen resting beside Jerry’s desk the other day. “Can you describe the flower?”
“Describe it? It was a flower for crying out loud, Simms.” He snorted and grabbed a refill on the peanuts. I’d have to top off the bin again once he’d finished marauding. “You know what a flower looks like.”
I could see that Jerry was no gardening enthusiast. “Can I see it?”
Jerry gave it some thought. “Fine. I don’t see what harm it can do. If you want to take a look at it, help yourself.” He leveled a finger at me. “But the flower and the suitcase don’t leave the police station.
“I’ll leave word that you can take a look.” He rolled his eyes. “For what it’s worth.” He threw open the front door, then turned to me and said, “And if you can think of any other way, any plausible way, that those chocolate-covered cherries got turned into laxatives, you let me know ASAP!”
“What’s so important about them? You said it yourself, Mason was killed by stabbing.”
“Yeah, that he was,” said Jerry. “But maybe our killer poisoned him a little first. Weakened him before finishing him off.” He tipped his hat. “At least that’s another theory of mine.”
Though I’d never admit it to his face, it was a pretty good theory.
“What about Violet Wilcox?”
“What about her?”
“Have you looked into her background? Did you interview her? Ask her where she was at the time of Mason’s murder?”
Jerry’s hand went to the gun at his hip. “Let me tell you something—that Violet Wilcox is a pain in the butt. Interview her? Heck, I tried, but interviewing her is like wrestling a greased pig. For every question I asked her, she drilled me with twelve more.”
“Lance told me she was ambitious,” I replied, grinning at the image of the strong-willed woman giving Jerry a run for his money.
“Ambitious?” snorted Jerry. “She’s a b—” He held his tongue as two women maneuvered past him and into the store. “Lovely morning, isn’t it ladies?”
After they passed, he urged me closer. “What is it now, Jerry?”
“Did you get a chance to talk to Amy Harlan about that discount?”
The corner of my mouth went down. “Yes, I asked her.”
“And?”
“And she promised you and Sandra a thirty percent discount.” I left off that little bit about me needing to avoid Derek. Personally, I didn’t think Amy Harlan would have the guts to tell Jerry and his wife no to the discount when they showed up expecting it. I smiled at the thought of watching her squirm and lose thirty percent of her profit.
“You’re all right, Simms.”
I took that as Jerry’s way of saying thank you.
18
As Jerry swaggered back to his squad car parked in the lot of Ruby’s
Diner, I tended to my customers. The women expressed an interest in the hummingbird feeders they had been admiring on the lawn and porch before coming in.
“We read about that awful murder of the man who wrote the book on hummingbirds,” said the younger of the two women. “Do you carry it? I’d love to get a copy.”
“I’m afraid not. Bookarama downtown carries it, but they’re closed for the time being.”
“Such a shame,” said her companion. “Imagine the story we could tell our friends back home if we returned from our vacation from the very town where there was a murder.”
“And with a book written by the murder victim!” agreed her friend.
They bought two hanging hummingbird feeders and some prepared hummingbird food, so I held my tongue until after they’d gone.
“What a pair,” I said to my mother as I helped her set up a display of her homemade suet cakes.
“Pair of what?” Kim asked, coming in from the back and tying on her apron.
I explained about the women who’d come in asking about Mason’s book.
“That’s sick,” agreed Kim. She picked up one of Mom’s suet cakes and inspected it. “Barbara’s Bird Bars. Cool.” She set the cake back in the stack with the others in their place of honor between the cash register and the credit card scanner. “I’ll bet we sell a million of them.”
“Please.” Mom threw her hands in the air. “I can only make a couple dozen at a time. And even that takes hours.”
“You’ve got to think big, Barbara,” Kim said. “I can see it now.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “We need a factory.”
Mom looked befuddled. “A factory?”
“Sure. A small one at first, but who knows?” Kim tapped her fingers against her chin. “Who do we know that’s good distributor, Amy?”
“Sorry,” I said, removing my apron and hanging it on the hook on the wall. “My shift is over. I’ll leave the two of you to your empire building.”
Mom smiled. “Say hi to Derek for me.”
“How did you know I was going to see Derek?”
“He called the apartment. He said you weren’t answering your cell phone but that you had phoned him earlier wanting to talk. I told him you’d call him back as soon as you could.”
“Rats. I do want to talk to him.” I was sorry I’d missed him. “I must have been with a customer or talking to Jerry.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. Sure enough, the ringer was off, and Derek had called.
“Jerry was here?” Kim said. “What did he want?”
“Besides free coffee? He asked me if I could explain how the chocolate-covered cherries got laced with a potent laxative.”
“What did you tell him?” inquired Mom.
“I told him the truth. I have no idea,” I answered. “Did Derek say where he would be for me to call him, Mom?”
“He said he would be in the office all day.”
“Great.” Mom had guessed right. That was where I had been intending to go.
“Are you going to mention you-know-what when you see him?”
“You don’t have to be coy, Kim. I told Mom all about it.”
Kim turned to my mother. “You know that Derek’s ex told your daughter to stay away from him?”
Mom nodded. “I do think you might mention it, Amy. If you want an honest relationship with a person, it should be open and frank. I’m not saying you have to throw his ex under the bus or say anything nasty about her, but be truthful.”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Cara Siskin’s words came back to me. “I’ve heard that the truth can be overrated.”
Before Mom could argue with that statement, I begged off. I ran upstairs to change out of my store clothes and into a comfortable pair of shorts and a fresh shirt that didn’t display the name of my store.
* * *
When I arrived at Harlan and Harlan, the reception area was blissfully unoccupied, and I discovered Derek eating a bag lunch at his desk.
Seated across from him was his ex-wife.
So much for bliss.
“Amy!” Derek pushed back his chair and stood. “Mrs. Edmunds didn’t tell me you were here.”
“Reception was empty. She must have stepped out.” I wouldn’t shed any tears if she’d abandoned her post for good. I glanced at Amy the Ex, looking svelte and barracuda-ish in a slinky gold dress that exposed miles of gym-toned thigh.
“Ms. Simms.” Amy the Ex laced her fingers around a tall paper cup from a local tea emporium and stood. “Thank you for lunch, Derek. We’ll talk again soon.” She nodded at me and went out the door, leaving a trail of her signature perfume in her wake.
“Was I interrupting something?”
“Of course not.” Derek motioned to the chair his ex had recently occupied. “Have a seat.”
I opted for the chair beside it. “Mom said you called this morning. I’m sorry I missed you.”
“Me too. Same for yesterday. What happened to you?” He gathered up his sandwich wrapper and used napkin, dropped them into the paper bag, and let the bag fall to the wastebasket with a thud. “I thought we were going to ask Dad about his business dealings with Mason?”
I squirmed and crossed my legs. “Something came up.” That something being my ugly interaction with his ex-wife and her outlandish ultimatum.
Derek looked surprised. “Something more important than finding out everything you can about Mason’s past and his murder?” He grinned. “That doesn’t sound like you.” He tilted a large cup of tea with a red-and-white straw in it my way. “Care for some?”
“No, thanks.”
“Listen, about my ex-wife. We weren’t really having lunch together. She had some business issues to go over, so I thought it best we handle it here. In the office.”
“Did I say anything?”
“No,” he replied slowly. “Not exactly. But you do seem a bit on edge.” His eyes went to my bouncing leg.
I forced myself to stop. “Sorry. Did you find out anything from Ben? Was he willing to tell you what Mason consulted him about, or is there some sort of lawyer-client privilege that prevents him?”
Derek shook his head. “No, nothing like that. And it doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means the two never spoke.”
“No?”
“No. I asked Dad yesterday. He received a call from Mason Livingston, all right. But it went to his voicemail. Mason asked to see him on a legal matter. He didn’t say what the legal matter was, and before Dad could get back to him—”
“He was dead.”
“Yep.” Derek sipped his tea, then extended the cup toward me once more. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
I leaned over and took a drink. It was green tea with mint. “Thanks. This is really good.”
“I’ve asked Dad to see what he can find out.”
“Do you really think it will be possible, now that Mason’s gone, that he can learn anything?”
“He’s put in a call to some attorney in Houston.”
“The one that Mason had been on the phone with right before he was stabbed?”
“Yes.” Derek swirled the ice around in his cup. “He should be hearing back today.”
“That’s great. Will you let me know if you uncover anything? Anything at all?”
Derek agreed. “So,” he came around the desk and massaged my shoulders from behind, “are we good here?”
“Mmm,” I moaned. “Very good.”
He leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips. I decided that two could play that game.
When we came up for air, I said, “Derek, I have something to tell you.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know.”
“You do?”
“Amy, my Amy said…that is . . .”
“I know who you mean,” I interjected. “Tell me what she said.”
“She said she told you that if you wanted Chief Kennedy to get a discount on some dress from her shop, then, in
exchange, you’d have to agree to stay away from me.” His laughter filled the office.
“What’s so funny?”
“Are you kidding?” Seeing the look of annoyance on my face, he continued. “I mean, come on. You know she was kidding, right?”
“I do?”
“Sure.” He took my hands. “It was a joke, Amy. Nothing but a harmless joke.”
“Harmless!” I pulled my hands free. “In the first place, I don’t see anything funny about it. So don’t even get me started on harmless. You do realize your ex-wife hates me, don’t you?”
Derek shook his head. “She doesn’t hate you. I admit, I don’t see her inviting you to lunch at the country club anytime soon, but she does not hate you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Derek’s phone rang, and he picked up the receiver. “Tell her I’ll be right with her.” He replaced the receiver. “Sorry. Business calls. That was Mrs. Edmunds. My one-thirty is here.”
He planted a kiss on my nose. “Can we continue this later? Say, over dinner?” Before I could reply, he added, “And by this, I mean this,” he said, kissing me hard on the lips.
I felt a shiver up my spine. “I think that could be arranged.”
“Good. Let’s go out to eat. You choose the place. Pick you up at seven?”
“You’re too nice. You know that?”
“Is that a yes?”
I placed my hand behind his neck and pulled his lips to mine. “You figure it out.”
Derek offered to walk me out, but I left him to attend to his client and departed through the rear. It was closer to where I’d parked the van, and the fact that I got to avoid the icy Mrs. Edmunds was icing on the cake.
I skirted around the building to Bookarama, curious to see if they’d reopened, but the store appeared quiet. I peeped in the door. There were no lights on, but it was midday and I could see a woman in a baggy T-shirt walking around inside. I banged on the glass. “Rose? Is that you?”
The woman stopped moving. As she turned in my direction, I saw that it was Amber. A bulging black trash bag hung from her left hand. She eyed me curiously.