Baker raised an eyebrow.
“It concerns Joyce Widman . . . and Officer Pearson.”
Baker’s gaze intensified and he grabbed Tricia’s elbow and steered her away from potential eavesdroppers farther down the empty corridor.
“Okay, spill it.”
“Well, it’s just that . . . they seem to have a relationship.”
“And you know this because?”
“I saw them in a restaurant in Merrimack. They were gazing into each other’s eyes and holding hands. It seemed a little strange under the circumstances.”
Baker did not seem pleased. “Anything else?”
“Not about Joyce.”
“If you must know, Officer Pearson came to me the day after Vera Olson’s death. Except instead of intimating a lesbian relationship with a possible suspect, she admitted that Joyce Widman was her stepmother.”
“Stepmother?” Tricia echoed. No wonder Joyce had been so angry with Tricia. But then why didn’t she just admit what her real connection to the officer was? And why had she been keeping it a secret?
Baker’s gaze was penetrating.
Tricia offered a weak smile. “Boy, I really stepped in it, didn’t I?”
“I’ll say. Do you have any other brilliant tidbits to offer me?”
“Well, just one. I spoke to a number of the volunteers at Pets-A-Plenty, and one of them—who has been asked to leave—mentioned that Vera was very interested in Monterey Bioresources and that something fishy was going on between them and the animal shelter.”
Baker’s eyes narrowed. Aha! He hadn’t heard about that. “Go on.”
“I myself noticed that one woman seemed to be adopting an awful lot of animals. I saw her leave the shelter with a couple of beagles. The Pets-A-Plenty volunteer said that often all the ferrets and guinea pigs would disappear all at once. Monterey Bioresources sells all those kinds of animals to their clients, claiming that they were bred to be disease-free for experimentation by the medical and pharmaceutical industries. It seems Vera had a thing for beagles, and Pets-A-Plenty has a deal with a Massachusetts beagle rescue to find homes for their dogs. Potential owners are vetted through Pets-A-Plenty and the dogs placed in their forever homes. But from what the woman I spoke to said, there was no vetting. The dogs came in and went so fast it was like they’d passed through a revolving door.”
“And just who is this person who told you about the situation?”
Tricia frowned and looked around. “Cori Haskell,” she whispered. “She was frightened the last time we spoke. She thought Vera might have uncovered evidence about the shady dealings and was killed for it.”
“Have you got a suspect?”
“Toby Kingston.”
Baker looked skeptical. “How long has it been since you heard this information?”
“Thursday,” she answered sheepishly.
“Why didn’t you immediately come to me?” he berated her.
“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I didn’t run into you. What will you do with the information?”
“Our department will look into it. But I don’t want you talking about this to anyone. Understand?”
Tricia nodded. He must have thought the news was worthy of consideration or he wouldn’t have issued such a warning.
“I’m going to talk to Lara to see if I can get a reprieve and leave until the actual judging starts. Stay out of trouble,” Baker said, and headed for the culinary rooms. As he went in, Rebecca came out.
Tricia busied herself by pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Can I get you a cup?”
“Are you kidding? It’s way too hot for that. I was heading to the ladies’ room. Where did Lara say it was?”
Tricia pointed down the corridor and Rebecca went on her way. As Tricia approached the culinary room, she found Toby nearly blocking the doorway, his expression one of irritation.
“Good luck,” Tricia said.
“Good luck to you, too. You’re going to need it,” he said, and turned away.
It almost sounded like a threat.
THIRTY
The coffee had been a big mistake, Tricia decided by the time she’d drained her paper cup and discarded it. By then, Lara and the chief had finished their conversation, and then Lara spoke with someone else on the phone for several minutes. She stabbed her phone’s end-call icon and called the contestants together once again.
“I’m sorry for the delay, but it seems Chef Andrews is going to be later than he anticipated.”
Several of the contestants groaned.
“So, we’re going to start the competition without him, which will also give Chief Baker an opportunity to check in with his officers.”
“Thanks,” Baker said. “Give me a call when you want me back. I can be here in five minutes.” And off he went.
“Speaking of phones, would everyone please silence your phones so that they aren’t a distraction during the competition.”
Tricia turned off her ringtone and placed her phone in her purse, and then placed her purse in one of the cabinets in her kitchenette.
“If everyone’s ready, let’s get started.” Lara pulled a little bell from a pocket of her jeans and a stopwatch from the other. “When you hear the bell ring, you will have ninety minutes to prepare your cupcakes. Ready, set—”
Ding!
All eight contestants dashed for the ingredients cupboard and fridges to secure flour, butter, eggs, and flavorings, as well as grabbing nuts and other embellishments to top their cupcakes. Once back at their cooking stations, they immediately turned to their ovens to preheat them before starting to work on their batter. Again Tricia lamented the fact that the school wasn’t air-conditioned, and in no time the room became unbearably warm. Tricia wondered if upon finishing her decorating her chocolate books might melt. Well, if hers melted, the same would befall the other three contestants who’d had the same idea as her.
She measured her ingredients, prepared her lemon zest and squeezed the juice, and was ready to go. And though Tricia had little time to observe Toby or Rebecca, she did catch glances of Angelica whipping around her kitchenette and preparing her cupcakes with what seemed like incredible speed and efficiency. She had her cupcakes in the oven long before Tricia and was working on her chocolates before Tricia had poured the batter into the paper liners in her muffin pan. Once they were in the oven, Tricia decided she might want to embellish her cupcakes with some colored sprinkles and went to the cabinet, but there were none left.
“Is it all right if I borrow some sprinkles from the other contestants?” she asked Lara.
“Sure.”
Tricia checked the workspaces of the contestants and was given a small amount of both green and yellow crystalized sugar. She peeked around the corner and saw Mr. Everett working slowly and methodically. She gave him a wave and a nod and smiled. The others just ignored her.
Returning to her kitchenette, Tricia got straight to work on her chocolates, noting that Toby and Rebecca were now ahead of her, too. Still, she wasn’t going to let that rattle her. A glance at the clock on the wall told her she still had plenty of time.
Once she’d melted the chocolate in the microwave and filled the mold, she popped it into the freezer to set and let out a weary breath. The stress from concentrating on her work made her feel jittery, and she wished she’d gone for decaf instead of the caffeine-laced stuff. But now she found she needed to visit the ladies’—or more probably marked in a school—the girls’ room.
“Five minutes,” Lara called out from her position between the two culinary rooms.
Tricia took her chocolate from the freezer and saw ice crystals on top. Had she left them in too long? She set a dish towel on the counter and turned the mold over it, giving it a smart thump. Nothing happened. She gave it another whack and the chocolates went flying—with five of them hitting the floo
r and shattering. That left her with only four, but thankfully they were perfect. She looked around and saw that Angelica’s white candy melts had been tinted a deep green. Green books? Tricia didn’t have time to think about it.
She patted dry her already sweating chocolates. She’d already picked out four of her prettiest cupcakes and had frosted them, piping the icing into a mountain of citrus joy. Now all she needed was a few careful shakes of the yellow crystalized sugar and to set the chocolate books at a jaunty angle in the mounds of lightly tinted frosting. She did the same to the three others and carefully set them on a plate. Voilà! Three flawless cupcakes to entice the judges, and one extra.
“Time’s up!” Lara called, and, like they’d all seen on the Good Food Channel’s cooking competitions, the four pseudo chefs in the room threw their arms into the air—hands off!
Just then, Larry Andrews showed up. “And I’ve arrived right on time!” he proclaimed smugly.
Lara, who must have worked with the chef countless times before, merely shot him a glowering look before turning back to her charges. “If everyone could bring their cupcakes up to the table in front, we’ll take some photographs of the group and the food, get the chief back here to judge, and then we can all go home.”
Well, she certainly knew how to take the fun out of things.
Tricia was the first to set her cupcakes on the table. Lara placed a small paper with each contestant’s number before the offerings. The frosting on Angelica’s cupcakes was green, but much lighter than the little tinted “chocolate” books that sat on them. “What kind did you make?” Tricia asked.
“Pistachio—totally flourless. It’s a surefire winner!”
“You hope,” Tricia muttered.
The others had all embellished their cupcakes with intricate frosting and/or fondant roses and other flowers. And then there was Mr. Everett’s entry. His cupcakes were covered in a slightly off-white frosting with only a solitary walnut on top as decoration. Poor Mr. Everett. He didn’t stand a chance against the other beauties on the table, but he looked pleased. He had honored his late wife and her recipe. He saw Tricia’s gaze upon him and gave her a shy smile. She smiled back.
Adelaide, who’d been flitting back and forth between the rooms throughout the contest, watching and offering encouragement, clapped her hands in delight. “You’ve all done marvelous work. I’m sorry you all can’t win, but I want you to know that you are all winners because you’ve asked your sponsors to back you. Every dollar you earn for your chosen charity will help those among us who have little hope. You’ll help others—and there can be no greater gift from the heart. Thank you.”
During Adelaide’s impromptu speech, Lara had been on the phone. She stabbed the end-call icon and called for everyone’s attention. “Chief Baker will be here in about ten minutes. Let’s get these pictures taken, and then everyone is free to take a bathroom or smoke break—whatever—before the judging starts.”
Everyone assembled behind the table and in front of their cupcakes while Lara took some pictures on her phone and a member of the crew pulled out a larger-format digital camera and took a few more. Once the pesky humans were out of the picture, he took more of the cupcakes themselves.
“I need to go to the ladies’ room. Do you need to go?” Tricia asked her sister.
Angelica shook her head. “You go ahead. I want to see if I can talk to Lara—to pick her brain.”
“Okay.”
Tricia left the room and started down the hall. She pushed through the door to the john and found Rebecca had gotten there before her and was washing her hands in front of one of the white porcelain sinks.
“Some contest,” Tricia quipped, and headed for one of the stalls.
“Too bad it’s over.”
“We’ve still got the judging,” Tricia said.
Rebecca shook her head, reached for the paper towel dispenser, and pulled one out, wiping her hands. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to attend.”
“What do you mean?”
Rebecca reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a tarnished, silver-handled paring knife. It looked old and had apparently been sharpened many times, for the blade had been whittled down and the point was ultrasharp—reminding Tricia of a stiletto. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.
“What’s going on?”
“I heard your little conversation with Chief Baker earlier this morning,” Rebecca said.
It took a moment for Tricia to recall the gist of their discussion. Rebecca could have no interest in Joyce and her relationship with Cindy Pearson, so . . .
“How are you involved with Monterey Bioresources?” Tricia bluffed.
“You’re a woman with all the answers . . . or so you think.”
Tricia thought about what she’d seen at Pets-A-Plenty. “The shelter clears out at noon. When I was there, it was just you and the receptionist. Am I right in assuming you set up the volunteer schedule?”
Rebecca merely shrugged.
“And the woman who takes the animals away—Cheryl—does she drive them directly to Concord and Monterey Bioresources?”
Rebecca said nothing.
“Vera Olson figured out what you guys were up to—selling dogs, ferrets, and guinea pigs for research from the strays and surrendered animals at Pets-A-Plenty. The shelter is affiliated with a beagle rescue in Massachusetts. They give Pets-A-Plenty the dogs not knowing they all go to Concord, too.”
Still, Rebecca said nothing.
Tricia looked down at the knife. “The animals Monterey sells are supposed to be disease-free and specially bred for experimentation.”
“And who can tell when they aren’t?” Rebecca asked.
“But why would you do that?”
“For the money, what else? Besides, everybody makes such a fuss about animal experimentation. They’re dogs and rodents—period. The Bible says man shall have dominion over the animals. We’re just exercising that right.”
“You and who else—besides Cheryl and the receptionist Doreen?”
Again Rebecca shrugged.
“What happens next?” Tricia asked.
“You had to stick your nose into business that doesn’t concern you, and now you’re going to end up like poor Vera. Come on, we’re going to take a little walk.”
“And go where?”
Rebecca nodded toward the washroom’s door and jerked her free thumb in its direction. “Out!”
Tricia turned and Rebecca was suddenly at her side, with the tip of the knife poking through her thin sweater and touching her skin. Rebecca rested a hand on Tricia’s left shoulder and gave her a small shove. “Go,” she said, practically in Tricia’s ear.
Tricia pushed through the washroom’s door. There were people just down the corridor. People meant safety. All she needed to do was give a shout and—
“Say a word and you’re dead,” Rebecca growled.
Wait, Tricia told herself. Wait for an opening.
As difficult as that might be, she did just that as Rebecca guided her toward the stairs.
Chief Baker was on his way. If they ran into him, Tricia would be safe—or at least he could subdue Rebecca. What organs were near where the knife rested against Tricia’s side? The liver. The blade was only about four inches long—but if Rebecca twisted it, it could still do lethal damage.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tricia started to turn left, but the hand on her shoulder pushed her the other way.
“Where are we going?”
“Not outside, that’s for sure.”
“Then where?”
“You’re going to take a little swim.”
For a moment Tricia didn’t understand. And then she remembered the school’s big, empty twenty-five-meter pool—which had no water.
THIRTY-ONE
Tricia’s and
Rebecca’s footsteps echoed as they continued down the empty and eerily quiet corridor, heading toward the gymnasium and pool.
Keep her talking, Tricia thought.
“How did Vera find out about your little operation?” she asked.
“It was those damn dogs. She had a thing for beagles. She took special note of when they came and went. She brought them treats and toys. It was hysterical to see how much she loved them, spoke baby talk to them, and how much she wanted to pet them but couldn’t because of her allergies.”
“I suppose you taunted her about that?”
Rebecca laughed. “Why not?”
“How did she end up in Joyce Widman’s yard with a pitchfork through her middle?”
“Now, that’s an interesting story,” Rebecca said, and laughed again. “Vera called me at Pets-A-Plenty last Monday and said she had taken pictures of Cheryl’s license plate and of her loading her car with the ferrets and guinea pigs. She said she was going to take those pictures to the police.”
“But she never got the chance.”
“I drove right over to her house. There was no answer when I rang the bell, so I walked around to the back and found her coming through the gate that connected to her neighbor’s yard. She had a handful of catnip. She dried it and made toys for the shelter cats. Stupid.”
No, caring.
“Did you argue before you strangled her?”
Rebecca grinned. “Maybe just a little. But she was a lot smaller than me. It didn’t take long.”
“But why did you drag her into her neighbor’s yard? What was the point of running the pitchfork through her if she was already dead?”
“As a warning.”
As Tricia had suspected. “But she’d already mentioned the scheme to Cori Haskell.”
Rebecca’s voice was deadly calm. “She’s next on my list.”
If she hadn’t already left the area.
They came to the door that led to the locker rooms and pool.
“Open it,” Rebecca ordered.
As before, the door was unlocked. Rebecca gave the knife just the smallest of jabs, which prodded Tricia to move forward.
A Killer Edition Page 25