I drummed my fingers across the counter and sighed. “Uh, Rebekah was claiming to be the illegitimate daughter of Tom Butterfield.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. The jig stopped. In fact everything stopped. She plopped the spatula back in the pan and stared. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
I glared. “You heard me.”
A look of awe broke across her face. “Whoa. No wonder Johanna was pissed enough to take her on in public.” She shook her head. “The whole Butterfield clan must be up in arms.” Jane leaned back against the counter. A speculative look glinted. “Wait a minute. Does this mean any of them could have killed her? Hmmm. I wonder where Thomas was during the murder.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Could you be serious? Jo is in major trouble. Whoever killed Rebekah is doing an excellent job of making it look like Johanna was involved.”
Jane sighed, picked up her spatula and checked her melting chocolate. “Why? What makes her so much more special than any other Butterfield?” Her gaze widened. “The fight, of course.”
I nodded. “Exactly. When Johanna had that fight with Rebekah, she put herself in the perfect position to be framed.” I threw up my hands. “There are no other suspects, unless you count the other Butterfields and none of them would frame Jo.”
“Someone else maybe,” Jane concluded, “but you do have a point. They wouldn’t frame Johanna.”
I watched as she took a taste from another pot that looked like a melted dark chocolate, caramel, marshmallow, and nut mixture.
She glanced back up. “And?”
“You already know that Johanna and I found the body?”
Jane nodded.
“Well, when Gabe and Pete searched the room, they found Johanna’s earring on the far side by the telephone. You know, those silver ones with her initials her mother gave her. The problem is neither Jo nor I went over there.”
Jane took the mixture off the stove and poured it into a shallow pan. The spatula was used to spread and smooth it. “How’d it get there?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Johanna doesn’t know. She just knows that she didn’t put it there. She did mention that it could have fallen off during her scuffle with Rebekah at Annie’s. That answer didn’t really satisfy Gabe’s curiosity.”
Jane chuckled softly. She must have caught my glare because she shrugged. “Hey, that’s just sort of an understatement you just uttered, okay?” Jane kept smoothing the mixture. “Is that it?”
“I wish it was. But it’s not the truly incriminating evidence. Gabe found a scarf from Johanna’s new spring collection under the body. It was used to strangle her. The problem for Johanna is that she just unpacked the collection that evening. No one’s purchased any of that merchandise. And it’s an exclusive piece for her store.”
Jane finished spreading and set the pan with others along one side wall. She turned and wiped her hands on a towel tucked into her apron. “So let me get this straight. Johanna’s earring was found at the scene and a scarf sold exclusively at her store, which hadn’t been put out for sale, was found at the scene as the murder weapon. I am getting this right?”
I nodded.
“Well,” Jane spoke with a thoughtful bob of her head, “I can see why Gabe thinks Johanna is the number one suspect.” She rolled her eyes. “She couldn’t be in a worse position if she’d helped the individual first hand.”
“Jane.” I gave her a fierce glare. “You’re not being helpful. This is not the reason I decided to talk to you.”
She shook her head. “No. What I meant is that I can see Gabe’s side.” Jane held up a hand to halt my words. “But I agree with you. I’ve known Johanna all my life. She’s arrogant, selfish and manipulative but not stupid enough to leave the earring and scarf behind.”
“They’ll probably say it was a crime of passion, done in the heat of the moment.”
Jane frowned. “What? Johanna went over there to talk and when she couldn’t handle what the woman said, she whipped out an exclusive scarf from her store and strangled the woman?” Her brow tightened. “Didn’t anyone hear anything?”
“Gabe said the woman was struck with a blow to the head to subdue her.” I shrugged. “I saw the blood. I figured that’s what killed her.”
“I could see Johanna getting upset and striking a blow. Any of us might fit that profile. But whipping out the scarf to finish her off?” Jane shuddered. “That’s just too coldblooded for even Johanna.”
I blew out a gust of air. “Thank God. Someone who believes me. If only I could pound that into Gabe’s head.”
“It’s amazing how quickly thoughts of violence come into our minds,” Jane stated matter-of-factly.
“It’s not like I would actually hit Gabe,” I muttered, though thoughts of smacking someone were rising.
Jane shrugged and walked back to her melting chocolate. It was nearly a smooth mixture. She stirred it once more. “He’s a cop. He’s just doing his job. Gabe’s got to go by the rules. It’s who he is.” Jane stopped stirring and looked at me. “You know deep down that Gabe’s not going to railroad Johanna; not that her family would let him. Why are you so worried?”
I thought of her words while I watched Jane set the chocolate off the heat and start to brush it in the torte pans. She was right. I knew Gabe. He was a decent man and a good sheriff. If nothing else, the past year had proved it. I shoved my hands down in the pockets of my jeans and spoke, “Because I can’t think of who might want her dead. There are no other strangers in town that I know of and that only leaves our friends and neighbors. You don’t find that a little disturbing?”
“Of course it’s disturbing, which is why we need to find out all we can about this Rebekah Peterson. Maybe if we do, another name will come up in connection to her. We just have to look at the facts.” Jane finished one pan and started another. The chocolate in the first pan had already started to harden. “Now, you’ve told me that Rebekah claimed to be the daughter of Tom Butterfield. Who was her mother?”
I shrugged. “Her name was Cindy Peterson. She used to work for the Butterfields as an upstairs maid. It’s during that time that the alleged affair took place.”
Jane lifted her brush from the pan and frowned. “Just because Cindy worked for the Butterfields during that time didn’t mean that Tom Butterfield was the father of Cindy’s daughter. Did Rebekah say anything about proof?”
“Johanna mentioned that she did.” I snapped my fingers. “Rats. I should have asked Johanna if Patrick knew exactly what Rebekah had spoken of with his law partner.”
“Patrick? Patrick McGill? The Butterfield’s lawyer?”
“Yesterday morning, Rebekah went to see them. She spoke with Patrick’s partner, Gerald Swensen.”
Jane scooped the last of the chocolate. “Ah ha,” she stated with a knowing look, “I wondered how Johanna found out.” She gave the torte pan a final swipe.
“Yeah,” I said with frustration. I couldn’t help but wonder if none of this would have happened if Johanna hadn’t answered the phone that morning. Maybe Rebekah Peterson would still be alive. Maybe Johanna wouldn’t be the main suspect.
Jane set her brush in the sink and turned on the water. “Why didn’t Cindy bring all this up when she got pregnant? I don’t recall hearing any rumors.”
I shrugged. “Rebekah claimed that her mother left Merry Hill under pressure.” I sighed wistfully. “It sure would be nice to see what evidence she’d had. I guess I can ask Johanna later after her meeting with Gabe.”
“Johanna’s having a meeting with Gabe?” Jane held up her spatula, exasperated. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“I was building up to it,” I stated, irritated by the glow of budding excitement across her face, “I know you like your dessert spoon fed to you.” She rolled her eyes at the acid tone in my voice. “Anyway, after Gabe found all the evidence I told you about, he asked her to come down to the office and answer some more in depth questions about last night. Apparently the murder
occurred before Johanna and I went over to the B&B.”
“And he wants to know what Johanna was doing earlier in the evening because?” A light clicked on in her eyes. “Oh.” Jane whistled softly. “Please don’t tell me. She was alone at the store?”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded with a grim look. “Right. Stocking inventory and setting out parts of the new spring collection.”
Jane shook her head in disgust. She threw me a curious glance. “I thought Beverly was there to help her?”
I gave her a shrug of one shoulder and leaned against the counter. “At the last minute her babysitter for the twins reneged.”
She shuddered. “I’d pull out, too if it involved twins.”
“I have twins,” I stated darkly, “in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jane held up a finger. “Seven year old boys. Not one year old babies. There is a difference, Sophie.” She shook her head. “A seven year old and I can communicate. That cannot be said of a one year old. They just sit there and scream and you’re supposed to know what they want by that?”
I chuckled. Jane’s mothering instincts hadn’t quite kicked in. She was a great aunt. You know, someone who loved to play with kids…for a little while.
“Johanna couldn’t have made herself more vulnerable if she planned it,” Jane muttered in annoyance.
“Hello,” I stated with a laugh. “I think this is where the conversation started. She needs our help. From the evidence, most people will believe her guilty.”
“Fingers are going to point at all the Butterfields.”
I tried not to snarl. Jane looked a little too intrigued by the thought.
Jane must have seen my glare because she cleared her throat and asked nonchalantly, “So what are we going to do about it? Find out about the evidence Rebekah spoke of?”
I nodded. “I can ask Johanna about it later; see if they discovered anything at the crime scene that backed up Rebekah’s story. I planned to stop by Johanna’s shop on the way home.”
Jane shook her head. “You’ll have the boys. No good. She won’t be comfortable talking about this in front of them.” Her look brightened. “You could run over there before you leave here. I can watch the rugrats for a few minutes.”
“And if she doesn’t know anything particular?”
Jane gave me a derisive glance. “She knows. It’s more a matter of whether she’ll tell us the truth. No one likes to see a person they’ve looked up to torn down. The Butterfields are no different in that respect.”
Jane took down several bowls and started mixing ingredients for the mousse to fill the torte pans. As I pulled out an apron, I was left to wonder—how many people would I view with different eyes after the dust had settled?
5
It was well after three by the time Simon and Steven barreled through. Paige followed more slowly, her nose buried in a book. My afternoon had been spent selling chocolates, defending Johanna and evading questions about last night. The good news: bad news always sells. Chocolate sales were up. Jane was ecstatic. I got the impression she might not mind having me stumble over a few extra bodies if it would boost sales. I was less enamored by the rising visits. Jane was tucked safely in the back while I had to smile and hold back my pie throwing arm from satisfying disgruntled feelings about my fellow citizens of Merry Hill. When the kids whizzed through the door, my first genuine smile broke forth. “Hey, guys.”
Simon, as usual, started looking at the display cases to see if there was something new. Steven ran over and gave me a tight hug. “Hey, mom.”
I looked down at my youngest by five minutes. “Want a cookie?”
“Mmmm,” he said with a heartwarming grin. “I’ve been thinking about it all the way here. It doesn’t help that everything smells so good.”
I laughed. “Who’d want to buy chocolate if it smelled bad?”
“Like the fishing boats,” Steven stated with a serious look.
I nodded back with my own serious smile. “No one wants to buy chocolate that smells like fish. That is a good selling point.”
Simon looked up. “Everything looks good, too.”
“Looking good is another selling point,” I said with a chuckle as I glanced at Paige. “My sons are on their way to becoming excellent entrepreneurs.” I slid open the display door. “You want a cookie too, Paige?” I set the dish atop the counter.
The backpack slid from her shoulder and hit the floor with a thump. She trudged over and grabbed two with a smile. “Thanks, mom.”
I leveled a finger at her. “That had better not be supper.”
“Lisa and I are going to grab a bite at her mom’s before we go to the library.”
I watched her pack the cookies in the top of her pack. “By the phrase ‘her mom’s’, do you mean at Lisa’s actual house or Annie’s?”
Lisa Young is one of my daughter’s good friends. Her mother is Annie Young. Annie and her husband Paul run Annie’s, a place of true southern cooking. You know this by the fact that you gain two pounds just by walking through their door. I swear that sometimes it seems Paige eats more with the Young’s than me. Not that Annie is the type to complain. She’s more the type who jumps up and hops to it when fifty people suddenly show up for dinner, and does it with joy. I’m more the type that would simply pass out or run for take-out, but that’s why Annie runs a restaurant and I don’t. David was more the cook in our house than me. I’ve always loved to jump to the end, the desserts, especially chocolate. Jane and I share this passion. That’s one of the reasons we now own The Chocolate Drop.
My daughter looked unsure. “Lisa told me her mom asked if we wanted to eat before we went to the library but to tell you the truth, I’m not actually certain where she meant.” Paige shrugged. “Lisa has to check in with her mom at Annie’s anyhow so I’ll find out when I walk over.”
“Just as long as you’re getting a nutritional meal.” I reached back into the case where I’d reset the plate. “Here, take a couple for Lisa.”
Paige grinned at the irony of my actions. “Thanks, mom. Tell Jane I said hi.” She tucked the cookies with the others and swung the pack over her shoulder. Paige gave both of her brothers a swipe on their heads. “See you later, guys. Take care of mom for me.” She waved as she went out the door.
I looked at the twins happily chomping on their treats. “Okay, guys. Once you finish, start your homework in the kitchen and stay out of Jane’s way.” There was the usual grumbling but they angled off down the hall and into the kitchen without much complaint. An hour and a half later I popped back into the kitchen. Jane was peering down over Steven, studying his book. I stifled a grin. “Sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re getting help with math from Jane?”
Jane glanced up and lifted her brows in frustration. “How do they do this without a calculator?”
I gave her a bizarre glance. “Jane, they’re only seven. Their math revolves around addition and subtraction.”
Jane’s nose turned up. She sniffed disdainfully, offended, and pointed down toward the page. “Hey, there’s some big numbers here on this page to figure out.” She shrugged and added defensively, “Why do you think I let you keep the books?”
I rolled my eyes. My first answer was that her mind was too eclectic and free flowing to handle numbers in rows and columns. My second was that when it came to things besides cooking, she simply lacked patience. I’d learned to look over her office work after I’d had her fill out an online order form and discovered that she’d ordered twelve hundred pounds of marzipan. Luckily the seller had contacted me before sending and saved me a lot of hassle. Still, I groaned at her example. “How’s that sound coming from a woman who was once a teacher?”
Jane held up her upturned palms. “I was an English teacher, and a good one I might add.”
It’s true. Jane had had great skill as a teacher. When the board had talked about her taking additional time to teach math and history due to lack of teachers and a growing crowd of kids in the classroom, Jane saw
it as a divine sign for a diverging path in her career and a push to the board to put forward the money to bring in more teachers. She had some inheritance money and I’d had the money from selling David’s share of the fish market to his brother Robert. With the combined total we became partners and created The Chocolate Drop.
The twins gave Jane a curious glance. She patted Steven on the head and pointed to his worksheet. “Don’t worry. It’s right.” She paused and frowned as she looked over it.
I laughed at her expression. “I’ll check it later, Steven. Stick with English with Jane.”
Steven glanced at me with polite frustration. “But I know my English, mom.”
He went back to studying his math. Simon had a paperback book in his hands he was reading slowly. If I remember correctly, he had a book report due by the end of the week and Simon hated to read with a passion. Steven was quite the opposite. More like me, a literal bookworm. I sighed. I could already envision Simon up late Thursday night working on the report he’d have to give the following morning. I walked over and rumpled his straight blond hair. “How’s it going, partner?”
Simon slid me a pained look and then went back to his silent reading.
I gave Jane a meaningful glance. “I need to make an errand run. Can you watch the boys a bit?”
Jane responded with a nod. “Sure. Go ahead.”
The sun was waning as I walked out of the shop. A cool wind was blowing off the ocean. It hurried me along the sidewalk. There was one thing I hadn’t mentioned to Jane. I wasn’t visiting Johanna. I’d placed an earlier call to her. She’d sounded miserable and too quiet and had told me she’d call me later, that her afternoon was simply too busy. Johanna had sounded so reserved that I hadn’t pushed with the questions.
I had someone else in mind to push. The door to the Sheriff’s office slid open quietly and I slipped inside. Melinda gave me a grin but motioned to Gabe’s office and shook her head. I could hear him. He appeared to be in the throes of an argument. I raised a brow.
Melinda shrugged. “Thomas Butterfield.”
When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries) Page 8