“How do you know it’s Bunny’s?”
“Her nephew, Pat, was right. She wore it all the time. So it has appeared in most photos of Bunny that have been taken over the past decade. The item we found in Gus Grubler’s office appears to be an exact match.”
“What’s the motive?”
“We don’t know that. He wasn’t in her will. That doesn’t rule out money as a motive, but it seems unlikely. As a couple, Miss Malone and Mr. Grubler had no history of domestic altercations involving the police. Actually, they have no history at all. We don’t have any evidence they were together at all the past few years.
“They both lived intensely private lives—few friends, no social media interaction. At this point we’re assuming there was a heated disagreement that turned physical.”
I nodded. That theory definitely had some gaps, but it seemed more plausible than the idea that Mitch could have killed Bunny.
“Did you notice the limp?”
“Grubler’s limp?” Chamberlain asked. “I guess. I didn’t think much of it.”
“I keep thinking whoever was in Bunny’s shop, right before we found the body, must have run out the back door and jumped off of that loading dock,” I said. “It would be tough for an old man to make that jump without some sort of injury.”
Chamberlin nodded. “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind when I question him. Maybe we can find some medical records.”
“Does he have an alibi that day, when Bunny was killed?”
“Says he was in his office, which is about a forty-five second walk up the stairs, out the back door, and across the alley to Bunny’s back door. Or if he took more time, another two minutes to go around to the front door,” Chamberlain said. “I haven’t interviewed the workers here, but if anyone does vouch for him, it’ll be shaky at best—they’re his employees, they have plenty of motive to lie. He definitely had opportunity.”
I nodded.
“And we’re releasing Mitch Evans,” Chamberlain said. “Assuming his fingerprints don’t show up on the murder weapon, the charges will be dropped. Processing will take a while. He probably won’t get out until morning.”
“What did Grubler say when you arrested him?”
Chamberlain rolled her eyes. “Said he doesn’t know how the lanyard ended up in his possession. He found it in his desk drawer the day Bunny was killed, but he didn’t want to turn it in to police because he thought Pat would get ahold of it and pillage Bunny’s antiques.”
She snorted a laugh. “He says he was framed. Everyone is always framed.”
I thanked the detective. This had been our most civil interaction so far. Maybe the revelation that she’d arrested the wrong man had humbled her.
We went back to the lager house, where the crowd had thinned. I found an empty table and began working my story while Colin went to the bar to get a beer.
I was so focused on my writing that I didn’t notice he never came back. For the first time, Chamberlain gave me good quotes that actually put the pieces together. Just as I was closing my laptop, Jennie came in and sat next to me.
“Did you have anything to do with that?” she asked.
“What do you mean? I just sent in my story.”
“I mean did you tell the cops about what we found in Grubler’s office?” Jennie asked.
“No,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “The detective said it was an anonymous tip. I kind of thought maybe you called it in.”
“It wasn’t me,” Jennie said, shaking her head.
She sounded sincere, but I was reluctant to believe her. Very few people knew the lanyard was the murder weapon, let alone knew Gus had it. I wasn’t going to offend her by expressing doubt. It didn’t matter much anyway, as long as we weren’t in trouble for breaking into Gus’s office.
We talked a little about Mitch’s release and what would happen to the brewery next.
“His arrest was front page news, but I bet hardly anyone will notice when they drop the charges,” she said.
“It’ll blow over.” I tried to reassure her, even though I didn’t completely believe it myself. If that shop sat empty—or worse, full of Bunny’s junk—for a long time, it would remind potential customers of the murder.
I looked around for Colin. I was starting to feel tired and ready to go back to the hotel. I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t have a view of the far end of the bar from where I was sitting.
“Have you seen Colin?” I asked Jennie.
“Yeah, I think he was at the bar talking to Autumn. Probably still over there.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t explain why I felt disappointed, but I did. It was probably showing all over my face.
Jennie twisted in her chair to look over at the bar before looking back at me.
“She can come on pretty strong sometimes,” Jennie said. “He’s probably just being polite. I don’t think he has actual feelings for her.”
“Well,” I said with a shrug. “It’s none of my business. Colin and I are barely friends anyway. Really, we’re just coworkers.”
“Oh okay,” Jennie said sarcastically. She propped her chin on her hand and smirked at me.
“What? We’re not together.”
“If you say so,” she said. “But that’s not what it looks like to me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. When you walk down the sidewalk, you sort of have the same pace. You’re comfortable being quiet together. You always seem to agree,” Jennie said, her know-it-all-smirk softening into a warm smile. “You just seem like a couple.”
I shook my head. “We’re strictly coworkers.”
She shrugged. “If you say so.”
Then her gaze moved to above my head. I turned around to see Colin standing behind me.
“All set?” he asked me.
“Yeah, I just sent in my story,” I said. “But we can stay longer if you want to.”
“Nah, better go back. We have to get up early,” Colin said.
Jennie grinned at me, then up at Colin.
I put my laptop into my messenger bag. Jennie stood and spread her arms to hug Colin. She hugged me, too.
“Message me when the story’s out,” she said.
| Fifteen
While I was getting dressed for Bunny’s funeral, I received another phone call from Franciscan General Hospital. I didn’t have time to talk, but I couldn’t ignore my curiosity—well, my fear that Mom had taken a turn for the worse.
I answered the phone, expecting to hear a nurse’s voice. Instead, it was my mom. Her voice was raspy and her tone was flat.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey, Mom. How you feeling?”
I switched my phone to speaker so I could finish getting dressed while she talked. Colin and I could not be late to this assignment.
“I’m doing better,” she said. “I’ve had time to do a lot of thinking.”
Great, here we go.
She continued, “I really have to stop doing this to myself. I really want to make a change this time.”
“Good, Mom, I think that’s great.” I tried to muster up some hint of enthusiasm or hope in my voice. It was completely fake, though. I’d heard this from her many, many times before. And it always ended in tragic disappointment.
“They’re going to send me to an inpatient program,” she said. “The social worker said I can get on Medicaid. I already lost my job—it was just part time anyway.”
“So the Medicaid is going to pay for rehab?”
During the past decade, I’d spent thousands of dollars, even lived on credit cards at one point, sending her to rehab.
It took me years to dig myself out of debt and build up some savings. I promised myself I’d never do that again. Especially when the longest she ever stayed sober was a few weeks.
“Yes. I know I’ve said this before. And I know it’s never really worked out. But I’m serious this time.”
“Oka
y,” I said. She was serious the last few times, but I knew better than to bring that up.
“I got the $100 that you transferred into my account for the car repairs. I just wanted to say thank you.”
That was different. The only time Mom thanked me for anything was when she was buttering me up—getting ready to ask for even more.
“Okay. You’re welcome.”
“I’ll let you go. I love you,” she said.
“Okay. Talk to you later.” I hung up.
I tried to push the conversation, and my mom’s voice, out of my mind while I got dressed. But, when it was time to put on my makeup, I had to give up after two failed attempts at applying eyeliner. My unsteady hand made it impossible to draw the line on evenly.
Deciding a plain face would do for today, I tossed my makeup bag into my suitcase and began checking around the hotel room to make sure I’d packed everything. Colin and I wouldn’t be coming back to the hotel. After the funeral, we would send our stuff to the editors, eat, and then just kill time until our flight at nine.
I met Colin in the lobby and followed him to the rental car. After he opened the back and put his suitcase inside, he reached down to pick up mine, but I pulled it out of reach and tossed it into the back of the car myself.
“You don’t have to always do that,” I said. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be my valet or something.”
“I don’t,” Colin said, a shadow of hurt crossing his eyes.
He sat in the driver’s seat and I climbed in the passenger side. He didn’t look at me. I wondered if I’d offended him.
“I mean, it’s cool that you’ve been doing the driving. And I appreciate everything. I just don’t want to feel like, I don’t know, like I’m some sort of responsibility. You’re here to take pictures, not be my butler.”
“It’s okay, Jae. I’m just trying to be polite. But if you want me to treat you like a dude, that’s fine.”
He smiled and chucked me on the arm in an exaggerated gesture.
I laughed—probably louder than his joke deserved.
We wanted to arrive at the cathedral about an hour before the funeral was supposed to start. Colin had been hoping to get some shots of memorial flowers before everyone arrived.
We didn’t beat the crowd, though. Traffic was lined up through the parking lot and out onto the street. Our dusty rented Nissan stood out in the line of sleek, shiny vehicles. Many were dark and discreet; Town Cars, Range Rovers, and Tahoes with the windows tinted black. Some were a little flashier; white Mercedes and red Lexus.
While the cars were stunning, the people were … not. Many of the cars pulled through a drop-off loop to allow passengers to get into the cathedral without crossing the parking lot. Some did walk through the lot though, wearing perfectly tailored, understated suits and dresses in muted tones. They also wore pinched, medically overworked faces. Many of them had skin that looked sallow, empty.
They were not mourning the loss of a friend. Bunny had no friends. They were here out of social obligation. Several of them probably owed their wealth to their association with Bunny’s family. There were undoubtedly others who were involved in charities that Bunny’s estate helped fund.
We were directed, by a man in a dark suit and trench coat, to park in the back parking lot, by the news vans, florist vans, and other vehicles that belonged to people working during the service.
Per Edgar’s instructions, we entered the east entrance and, as if we were on the most bizarre red carpet ever, followed a velvet rope to the child care room. Colin stopped to talk to another man in a suit, who stood at the entrance to that room.
I didn’t hear what he said, but initially the man shook his head. Then after a moment, he spoke into a hidden radio and walked away, Colin following closely behind.
I wondered what Colin said that made the man comply so quickly and easily. Maybe it was just that easy, polite approach he took with everyone. It seemed to disarm people.
The child care room smelled like baby powder and scorched coffee. It was already packed with reporters, and the hum of their conversation buzzed in the room.
The print journalists wore business casual attire but still looked frumpy—more casual than business. The broadcasters were heavily made up in suits, makeup, and stiff hairdos.
They were all an odd contrast to the surroundings—pastel pinks and purples and yellows in a mismatched but pervasive Noah’s Ark theme. There were cribs and playpens along one wall. Toddler-sized tables and chairs were clustered in the back of the room, and several rocking chairs were scattered throughout the room. A flatscreen television was mounted to the wall in one corner, near the ceiling.
The television showed the pulpit and altar area of the cathedral. A large portrait of Bunny, probably taken at least twenty years ago, sat on a table in front of the altar. It depicted her in a green dress, her mouth a tight line—neither smiling nor frowning. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a severe bun.
Beside the portrait was a box, slightly smaller than a shoe box, that looked like it was made of pewter and held Bunny’s ashes. Lavish bouquets of lilies, white roses, and other pale flowers lined the table.
Organ music streamed clearly from the television speakers and could also be heard faintly from the actual organ at the other end of the building. I didn’t recognize the song, but the only church song I really knew was Amazing Grace.
I saw Colin on the television as he walked into the camera’s view. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, no tie. He looked trim and handsome, his hair and beard short and tidy.
Colin seemed to tread lightly, always barely noticeable, on the periphery of the subject he, and his camera, studied. He knelt, pointed his camera at the table for a moment, then stood. He walked to the other end of the table and did the same thing. This time though, he stood in a patch of red, blue and yellow light. It was the morning sunlight streaming in through a stained glass window. It was easy to imagine how pretty that photo would be, hazy colors glowing warmly from behind the white flowers.
After Colin walked out of the camera’s view and was no longer visible on the television, I found an awkward seat for myself in one of the children’s chairs. Even though I’m a short woman, the chair was too tiny for me. My knees felt like they were at chest-height. I was grateful for my floor-length maxi skirt. That position would be extra-weird in a shorter skirt.
I took out my phone and opened my email account. There were the standard airline messages reminding me that this evening’s flight was on time and to get to the airport early. The car rental place had sent an email with drop-off instructions.
There was also a new message from Lance. He thanked me for all my news stories over the past few days. I sighed. He was just buttering me up for the next time he wanted to yank me off my beat.
Lance said ANA would run the “Assignment Denver” travel features in a few weeks, after the excitement over Bunny settled down.
That was a good idea—I wanted to keep my public persona focused on travel writing, not general assignment reporting or crime coverage.
I continued scrolling through my emails. I saw the email from Quinn that I’d passed over a couple days ago. The subject line was “Pettigrew’s BBB complaint.”
Initially, I’d skipped over that email because I didn’t have time to read it. Quinn had already told me that Mary Pettigrew had filed a complaint against Bunny’s shop, Antiquities, with the Better Business Bureau. It had something to do with unfair pricing.
But the “unread” flag beside the message in my email inbox was bugging me. So I clicked.
There was no text in the email, just an attachment. It was scanned images of the paper form Mary had filled out, describing how she’d apparently been wronged.
Mary claimed that Bunny “took advantage of my stepbrother’s lack of knowledge about antiques and did not pay fair market value for a family heirloom.”
The item in question was a 1904 gold pocket watch. According to Mary,
it’s worth $14,000, but Bunny only gave Mary’s stepbrother $500 for it. Mary also claimed Bunny refused to sell it back to her and, at one point, “told me to leave the store and threatened me with a broom.”
A form response from the BBB to Mary was also included in the attachment. It said the bureau is “taking your concerns under advisement, however no sanctions or further investigation is warranted at this time.”
A vague, panicky feeling crept over me. Mary believed Bunny had duped her family out of $13,500. That’s more than “doing some business,” like she’d said. That’s a reason to kill a rich old lady. I sat up straight in my chair and looked around for Colin—I needed to tell someone about Mary. Maybe we were all wrong about Gus.
Of course, Mary had an alibi—she was playing the slots that day at the Tin Pan Saloon. And it was Gus who had the murder weapon, not Mary. I eased back to slouching in my tiny chair. Yes, we should have taken a closer look at Mary, just like Quinn kept insisting, but the facts still pointed toward Gus.
The day before, I’d asked Quinn to double-check Mary’s alibi with the state lotto commission records, to make sure the machines were being played when Bunny was killed, but she’d never gotten back to me.
As I waited for the funeral to begin, I sent Quinn a text asking her if she found any information about the slot machines at the Tin Pan Saloon.
She replied, “I poked around, but didn’t get too far. Their system is really secure. And the penalties for getting caught hacking them are no joke. Lots of gambling cheaters are always trying to get into their programming.”
Before I could type a reply, the organ music grew suddenly louder as a priest appeared at the pulpit on the television screen. The room fell silent.
“We are here to celebrate the life of Guinevere Bunny Malone, a unique child of God who has joined His kingdom,” the priest said. I zoned out almost immediately as he launched into his long sermon.
Colin slipped into the room and sat down in a tiny chair beside me.
Assignment Denver: The Case of the Eccentric Heiress: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery One (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 12