“Elena?” a woman calls as she walks into the room. “I found this in the dining room.” She holds up a bottle labeled “fish oil.”
“Oh, thank you, Grace. We were just discussing where Mother’s fish oil could be. She’s been looking for them.”
Grace shakes the bottle, which doesn’t make a sound. “Well, I’m afraid she’s all out.”
“That can’t be. I just bought that bottle last week,” Elena says, taking it from Grace and opening the lid to peer inside. “Oh dear. I hope she didn’t take them all in her sleep.”
I look at Cam, and his expression says the same thing I’m thinking. Someone definitely stole Mary Ellen Reede’s fish oil pills and used them to kill Sherman Cromwell. “I have to call Quentin,” I tell Cam. “Elena, I think I know what happened to your mother’s fish oil.” I pull my phone from my back pocket and dial Quentin’s number, which is still programmed in my phone.
“Detective Perry,” he answers, because clearly I’m not still programmed in his phone and he has no idea it’s me calling.
“It’s Jo. I need you to get over to the Reede B&B. I know where the fish oil capsules used to kill Sherman Cromwell came from.”
“What?” Elena shrieks. “You can’t seriously be accusing my eighty-two-year-old mother of killing the man she loved like a son.”
“No, I’m not accusing your mother of anything. But someone who had access to her room took these pills and then gave one to Sherman Cromwell.” The phone is still to my ear, so Quentin heard every word I just said.
“I’m on my way. Don’t let anyone leave.”
“Sure. I’ll use my invisible badge to keep everyone here,” I say.
I can hear the engine of his patrol car roar to life, so I know he’s already on his way.
“Tell them I’m ordering everyone to stay put. Anyone who leaves will be hauled into the station for questioning.” He ends the call.
“Elena, Detective Perry wants everyone to stay where they are. He’s on his way. That bottle of pills is evidence in a murder investigation now.”
“This is crazy.”
It might be crazy, but so is the fact that someone might be trying to frame me for murder. Or maybe the drink was just a convenient way to poison Sherman Cromwell and the killer never considered it would implicate me. Right now, I don’t care why they did it. I just want to find out who they are.
Quentin arrives about seven minutes later. He flashes his badge, and Elena hands over the pill bottle, which Quentin zips into an evidence bag. “Who touched this bottle?”
“My mother, of course, since they’re hers,” Elena said. “Obviously, I just held the bottle, and Grace found them and gave them to me.”
“Who is Grace, and what is her last name?” Quentin asks, jotting this down in a notepad.
“Grace Wexell. She’s the cook. She found the bottle in the dining room. I don’t understand how it’s empty. I just bought it last week. I might need to have a doctor come examine my mother. If she took that many—”
“I don’t think she did,” I say. “I think someone stole them with the intent to give them to Sherman Cromwell.”
“Ms. Reede, were you in Cup of Jo Monday morning?” Quentin asks.
“No. I was here Monday morning.”
“Is there anyone who can verify that?” he asks.
“Yes, Grace for one. My mother also saw me and so did several guests.”
“Okay. Who else has access to your mother’s pills?”
“They’re usually in her room.”
“And who has access to her room?” Quentin asks.
“The cleaning lady, Harper LaForge.”
“Is she here now?”
“Yes. She’s probably in room 202. That guest checked out this morning.”
“I’ll need a list of guests from this week and last,” Quentin says.
Elena nods. “Why would someone use my mother’s pills to do something like this?”
She looks so horrified by the idea I almost dismiss her from being a suspect. But it’s possible she’s a good actress, and I need to tell Quentin what Mary Ellen told me about Elena and Sherman.
“Rest assured I’m going to find out,” Quentin says. “Don’t let anyone leave. I’m going to talk to the cleaning lady now.” He starts up the stairs, and Cam and I follow. Quentin turns around. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping. I know more than you do. Trust me. You’re going to want me to be there when you talk to the cleaning lady.”
He stops walking. “No. What I want is for you to tell me what you know. Then I can talk to the cleaning lady alone.”
I look at Cam and squint. “What was it Mary Ellen said? I’m having trouble remembering.”
“I am, too. That’s so strange. It was there a minute ago,” Cam says with a shrug.
“Maybe Harper will say something that sparks our memories,” I say, walking past Quentin. “You coming, Detective?”
“Jo.” Quentin hurries to catch up.
The door to room 202 is open, and Harper has the vacuum running.
Quentin steps in front of me. “Let me do the talking. I mean it. This is a police investigation. I’ve already told you I’m not letting you get in the way of my work.”
“When this case is solved, you’ll be thanking me for my help. Just wait and see,” I say.
Quentin knocks on the door, but Harper keeps vacuuming, and I know why. I walk over and lightly tap her on the shoulder. She powers off the vacuum, turns around, and removes the earbuds from her ears.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” she says.
Quentin walks past me with his badge in hand. “I’m Detective Perry. I need to ask you a few questions about Mrs. Reede’s fish oil pills.”
“Her fish oil?” Harper couldn’t look more confused.
“Yes.” Quentin pulls the ziplocked bag from his pocket. “Do you recognize this bottle?”
“Yes. It’s usually on Mrs. Reede’s nightstand. I have to move it when I dust.”
“When was the last time you saw it?” I ask, earning me a disapproving look from Quentin.
“A few days ago, actually.”
“Can you remember when exactly?” Quentin asks.
Harper takes a moment to think. “Yes, it was Sunday. I remember because Mrs. Reede always takes a bubble bath on Sunday morning. I had prepared the bath for her, and then I cleaned the room while she was bathing.”
“And the bottle was on her nightstand?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Did it feel full when you moved it?” Quentin asks, jumping back into the line of questioning.
“Pretty full, yes.”
And now it’s empty days later. “You’re certain you didn’t see it on Monday?” I ask.
“I don’t remember, to be honest. I do know that someone found the bottle in the kitchen the other day. That could have been Monday.” Harper gives a slight shrug.
Even though it’s clear Harper listens to music while she cleans, I’m hoping she might have overheard some argument between Elena and Sherman Cromwell. “Harper, did you happen to hear Elena arguing with anyone on the phone in the past two weeks?”
“Arguing? No.”
“How about discussing money?” I ask.
Harper shakes her head and picks up an earbud dangling around her neck. “I’m afraid I have these in most of the time.”
“Thank you for your time,” Quentin says and ushers Cam and me from the room. “What part of ‘let me do the talking’ did you not understand? I want to make sure I explain it properly next time.”
“So you’re saying there will be a next time.” I smile.
“Tell me about this argument between Elena and Sherman Cromwell,” he says on the walk back downstairs.
Since Elena doesn’t appear to be in the check-in area, I decide it’s okay to tell him here. “They argued over remodeling the place. Sherman won because Mary Ellen sided with him. Then Elena tried to convince Mary Ellen to buy o
ut Sherman’s share of the place, but Mary Ellen turned down that idea, too. She said Sherman was family.”
“So Elena had a motive for wanting Sherman gone,” Quentin says.
“Bingo.”
“And she also had access to her mother’s fish oil pills.” Quentin examines the bag. “She has an alibi for Monday morning, though, and she wasn’t at Cup of Jo.”
“Think she was working with someone?” Cam asks. “Possibly another one of the people Sherman Cromwell invested in who wasn’t happy with the way he was running things?”
Quentin’s gaze volleys between Cam and me. “You two know you’re not really detectives, right?”
“What do you mean? I have an invisible badge, remember? You had me use it earlier.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Cam says, bumping his shoulder into mine.
Quentin pushes past us. “Just leave the police work to me, alright?”
Elena comes walking back into the front room. “Did you find Harper?”
“Yes, and I have a few more questions for you,” Quentin says. “Did you have an argument with Sherman Cromwell about redoing the bed and breakfast?”
“Before you answer, you should know your mother already told us you did,” I say. I figure it’s best to put it all out there before Elena tries to reinvent the truth.
Elena clears her throat. “It wasn’t an argument. We simply had different opinions. All decisions are made between Mother, me, and Mr. Cromwell. I was outnumbered on that particular one.”
“Did you disagree with Mr. Cromwell about anything else?” Quentin asks.
“No. We usually saw eye to eye on things.”
“Then why did you want your mother to buy-out Sherman Cromwell’s share in the B&B?” I ask.
Elena lets out a long breath. “The B&B has become too much for Mother, but she won’t let it go because she sees it as a gift. You don’t return a gift, and you certainly don’t sell it either. I thought if I could convince her to buy back Sherman’s share of the B&B she’d be open to the idea of selling it once and for all.”
“But if you’re running it now, why is it too much on your mother?” I ask, ignoring the looks Quentin keeps shooting me for directing the line of questioning.
“In short, I’m bored. I don’t want to work here anymore, but Mother gave me a third of the business. And she can’t run the place anymore. What else could I do?”
“What do you mean by that?” Quentin asks, clearly thinking he’s caught her in a slip, but I don’t think she was confessing to murder.
“I mean, I want out. I was supposed to meet with Sherman Monday morning to discuss him buying my share of this place. If she wouldn’t get rid of him, I was going to take myself out of the equation by convincing him to buy me out and hire someone to run the place. With all of Sherman’s business contacts, I didn’t think it would be too difficult for him to find someone to replace me.”
“Does your mother have any idea you were planning to do this?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to upset her, so I figured I’d tell her after all the arrangements had been made. I thought it might soften the blow that way.”
I’m starting to think Mary Ellen needed Sherman just as much as he needed her when they met.
Elena hands a piece of paper to Quentin. “Here’s the list of all the people who stayed here in the past two weeks. Everyone is from out of town, so I’m not sure it will be much help.”
Unless one of those names matches a name on the list Mo made of business contacts for Sherman Cromwell. I step closer to Quentin to examine the list, but he tugs it away.
“Need I remind you this is police business, Jo?”
I roll my eyes and remove a paper from my pocket. “Here. Mo made a list of all Sherman Cromwell’s business partners. See if any names match.”
He holds the two papers side by side, and this time he doesn’t complain when I step closer and read them. “Alec Whitaker is on both lists. He stayed here this past weekend and checked out Monday morning.”
“I know that name,” Cam says.
“You do?” I ask.
“Yeah, I bake for Rachel Whitaker. Alec is her father.”
“Then he was in town visiting his daughter,” Elena says.
“Or he wanted it to look that way,” I say, meeting Quentin’s gaze. “Let’s go talk to Rachel Whitaker and see if she knew her father was in town.”
Chapter Ten
Cam and I hurry outside to my car, and Quentin comes rushing out after us.
“Hold up, Jo.”
I open the car door. “Quentin, Rachel is a client of Cam’s. You can’t stop him from talking to his own client. And I’m tagging along because I’m the driver.” I smile at him and get in the car.
“You know, I’m really liking this side of you,” Cam says as I start the engine.
“What side is that?”
“The side that sticks it to Quentin every chance you get. I admit I was a little worried when I saw him at your place last night.”
“I’m sure that looked worse than it was. I don’t think things will ever be good between Quentin and me, but I’ve come to terms with what he did.”
Cam points up ahead to the intersection. “Turn right. We’re going to the sandwich shop on Fifth.”
“I know where that is.”
“You’re not going to forgive Quentin, are you?”
“No. No matter his reasoning, he’s a jerk for what he did. But at one time, I cared a lot about him and Sam, and there’s a part of me that’s happy for them. There’s also a part of me that thinks they deserve each other and hopes they come to make each other miserable, but that part is much smaller.”
Cam laughs. “So you won’t be attending their wedding?”
“Not a chance!”
“What if Samantha asks you to be a bride’s maid? She doesn’t seem to understand that there’s tension between you two.”
I never even considered that. “You don’t think she’d really do that, do you?”
“I’d have a good excuse on hand unless you’re ready to explain to her why she’s the worst friend ever.”
“God, that conversation would probably take years, and she still wouldn’t get it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be your alibi. You can say you’re going to a different wedding with me that day.”
“We’re going to a wedding?” I ask.
“Why do you say it like that would be the worst thing ever?” He turns to look at me.
“I’m not big on weddings. That’s all.” I bob one shoulder as I turn onto Fifth Street.
“So it’s not my company that disgusts you?”
“Yes, I’ve secretly been disgusted by you since childhood,” I tease, pulling to a stop. As I put the car in park, Cam places his hand on top of mine.
“I hope not.”
I’m officially rendered speechless. There’s no way Cam has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me now. Is there?
Someone knocks on my window, making me jump. I turn to Quentin as I open the car door and get out. “Was that really necessary?” I ask him.
He looks over the top of the car at Cam, who’s glaring back at him. “I think it was.” He returns his gaze to me. “Anyway, I need to talk to Rachel. If she doesn’t want you two present, you’ll need to leave.”
“Why wouldn’t she want us there?” I ask.
“Jo, do not make me…”
“Make you what?” Cam asks. “Don’t threaten her. Come on, Jo. I’m sure Rachel will be happy to see us.”
I follow Cam into the sandwich shop. Rachel is at the counter. She’s young, only about twenty-seven. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing latex gloves since she’s preparing food.
“Hey, Cam. What can I get for you?” She smiles at him.
“Actually, Jo and I were just at the Reede B&B, and we saw your dad stayed there recently.”
> “Yeah, he did. He was up visiting for the weekend. My place is a single bedroom, so he couldn’t exactly stay with me.”
“Was the visit for any special reason? Did he have any plans while he was here?”
“Um, not really. He mentioned he wanted to see Sherman Cromwell while he was here. He usually takes him out to dinner when he’s in town, but they weren’t able to meet up. It’s so sad what happened to him. Dad was really broken up about it. Mr. Cromwell gave my dad his start in the casino business. Dad always says he wouldn’t have anything without Mr. Cromwell.”
“So they had a good relationship?” I ask.
“Oh, definitely. Mr. Cromwell always sent me birthday and Christmas cards, too. He was a really nice man.”
Seems that way, but then why did someone want to kill him?
“Excuse me,” Quentin says, stepping around Cam and me. He holds up his badge. “Detective Perry. I’m going to need a number where I can reach your father.”
“Why?” Rachel asks.
“I need to ask him some questions regarding his visit.”
“What kind of questions?” Rachel’s face loses all color. “Is my dad in some sort of trouble?”
“We’re following up with anyone who was supposed to see or who did see Mr. Cromwell on the day he died.”
“But my dad didn’t see him. He called Mr. Cromwell Saturday night, hoping to get together for dinner, but Mrs. Cromwell said he wasn’t feeling well.”
That’s new. She didn’t mention that to us when we talked to her. “Did she say what was wrong with him?”
“She said they went out to lunch that day, and when he got home, he wasn’t feeling well. I assume it was something he ate.”
It’s too much of a coincidence that he’d get sick at a restaurant on Saturday and then be poisoned at my coffee shop on Monday. What if the killer tried to murder Sherman Cromwell on Saturday but failed, so he came back to finish the job on Monday?
I tug on Cam’s arm and whisper, “We need to go.” I want to get to Mrs. Cromwell and find out exactly where they went to eat on Saturday.
“I need that phone number,” Quentin tells Rachel.
While she gets a pad and pen to scribble down the number, Cam and I make a speedy exit. Quentin turns to see us just as I’m pulling out of the parking spot.
Macchiatos and Murder Page 7