Death Trap

by Karin Kaufman

  I almost felt sorry for Stuart. He had invited two thieves to his party. “Chief Gilroy didn’t find anything in your purse or coat,” I pointed out.

  “I had it in my hand. A little carving from China, probably worth a few thousand. But then I heard Lesley scream. I remembered I’d gone past some stairs, so I ran back, just three or four feet. Stuart was on the last step.”

  “Then how do you know—” Julia began.

  “He was facing my way. Get it? Coming down the stairs. He saw me, shoved me up the stairs ahead of him, and ran up behind me.”

  Now my mouth was hanging open. “Brynne, why didn’t you tell Chief Gilroy that?”

  “Because I dropped the jade carving,” she said. “Stuart saw me drop it on the stairs.”

  “He didn’t say anything to Gilroy.”

  “I was hoping he wouldn’t. Hoping he’d forget since his wife . . . you know.”

  Wait a minute. “Brynne, I walked up the back stairs not long after Lesley died. I didn’t see a figurine.”

  “Well I didn’t touch it. Your Chief Gilroy told us not to move. I didn’t budge from the second floor, and then he took us down to the great room.”

  I gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I remember. So what happened to the carving?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Is it wise for a teacher to wear heels like that?” Julia said. “She’s very unstable on them.”

  I watched Brynne head back to the high school, wobbling her way across the asphalt parking lot as fast as her stilettos would take her.

  “It’s just her way of walking,” I said. But my mind was on what Brynne had told us rather than her odd, prancing way of carrying herself from one place to another, as weirdly riveting as that was.

  “Did you believe her when she said she didn’t have an affair with Stuart?” Julia asked.

  “I did.”

  Thinking back to my talk with Stuart at his house, I had been the one to suggest, however obliquely, that he was having an affair. He’d merely jumped on the life raft I’d supplied. Muddied the waters with my help. Who could blame the poor man, people would say. He needed comfort and he found it where he could. Any of us would do the same.

  “She got awfully angry when we brought it up,” Julia said. “I think she was overreacting, and that’s the clear sign of a liar.”

  “But if she was having an affair, I don’t think she’d call Stuart an old goat and look like she’s going to throw up at the thought of him.”

  I was about to drive off for Maurice’s bookstore in Loveland when Holly called me on my cell, ordering me to the bakery—pronto. “I have news and it’s not good,” she said.

  I stuffed my phone back in the car’s console, told Julia we were taking a slight detour on the way to see Maurice, and sped off. “Holly didn’t want to talk on the phone,” I said. “That worries me.”

  Five minutes later, we were inside Holly’s Sweets. Peter, Holly’s husband, gave us a grim-faced nod, and Holly waved us around the counter to the back of her shop.

  “I’m so angry,” she began. “That insufferable man!”

  “Who?” Julia asked.

  “Who do you think? Mayor McDermott.”

  “Oh, no.” I sank to a stool in front of a tray of freshly baked puff pastry waiting to be stuffed with cream. I wasn’t the least bit hungry. “What did he do?”

  Holly drew her ponytail over her shoulder. “He was talking to a customer, reassuring him that the town would—get this—find itself a scandal-free police chief.”

  “Scandal free?” I said, feeling a surge of anger.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Holly said. “The customer was Frederick Farkas, and he owns a big parcel of land Town Hall has been trying to buy at a bargain price. Farkas has never liked Gilroy. He likes to control his police and politicians.”

  “How do you know all this?” Julia said, taking the stool next to mine.

  “My bakery is like Piccadilly Circus. It’s something about the atmosphere in here. People talk freely, and for some reason, no one thinks I listen in on them.” She sighed. “I usually don’t, but I’ve been waiting for McDermott. I pretended to mop down the counter while they chatted.”

  I lowered my chin into my hands. “So McDermott wants to please Farkas, and Gilroy is the sacrificial lamb.”

  “McDermott said he was going to shake things up very soon,” Holly said, “and when Farkas pressed him, McDermott said, ‘Before the week is out.’”

  “It’s Thursday,” I groaned. “He’s going to fire Gilroy today or tomorrow.”

  “My guess is today,” Holly said. “In a matter of hours, if not sooner. Those two met here by chance, but their conversation wasn’t new. This has been brewing for a while. McDermott wants to please Farkas. Their conversation had the sound of quid pro quo about it. If I fire the chief, you have to sell your land cheap. Otherwise, I think McDermott might have given Gilroy a few more days. But he felt pressure.”

  “And saw an opportunity,” I said.

  “That’s corruption,” Julia said.

  “That’s government,” Holly said. “Gilroy has powerful enemies in Juniper Grove. Not just McDermott and Farkas.”

  I felt queasy. McDermott was as dirty as the former mayor of Fort Collins, and neither of them could stand to have a decent and honest cop in their town. They couldn’t afford it. Honest men, merely by being honest, tended to shine lights on the dishonest. “If Gilroy is fired, he’ll never take his job back, even if McDermott asks him back and apologizes. Gilroy will never trust him or the town again. How do we stop McDermott?”

  “The only way we can,” Holly said. “By solving the murder and proving Stuart Hunter wrong.”

  Julia got to her feet. “And shaming McDermott in the process. I have half a mind to go to his office right now and tell him what I think of him—and what I will shout from the rooftops if he fires Chief Gilroy. The whole town will know about his corruption.”

  Holly put a hand on Julia’s arm, trying to calm her.

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. “It could buy us a few more hours.”

  “Really?” Holly said.

  “It’ll distract him. While he’s trying to figure his way around Julia, probably by trying to bribe her in some way, he won’t be drawing up dismissal papers for Gilroy. He might even think twice about doing it.”

  Holly untied her apron. “We should all go. I’m the one who heard him and Farkas.”

  “Not me,” I said, pushing to my feet. “I’ve got a fish to fry in Loveland. You two go. I don’t think Julia should go alone.”

  Julia huffed at me. “I can take care of myself.”

  I grinned. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s him.”

  As I headed for the front of the bakery, Holly stopped me. “I remembered something last night,” she said. “I don’t know how important it is, but a few weeks ago, Lesley Hunter picked up donuts for the police station. She said they were for Gilroy mostly, because they were friends, but she’d never taken them donuts before. And when I saw her again a few days later and asked if Gilroy was pleased by the surprise, she said she didn’t see him. She said only Turner was in. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

  there was a stone in the pit of my stomach all the way to Loveland, a thirty-minute drive east. Try as I might to focus on what questions I was going to ask Maurice—trip him up with, really—I couldn’t get my mind off Lesley, Turner, and those donuts.

  All along I’d thought McDermott or one of his cronies had taken Gilroy’s five-year pin, but now I believed Lesley to be the culprit. Gilroy’s friend of more than seven years. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry,” I said aloud. I didn’t have proof, but it all fit. Lesley had never taken donuts to the station before, Holly said, and I knew my friend remembered such things with clarity.

  And Turner! He’d been there too, without Underhill. Had he let Lesley into Gilroy’s office? Or even shown her where the pin was kept?

  As I sat at a red l
ight on 287, my mind tumbled with questions, scenarios. If Lesley took the pin to frame Gilroy, what was the crime she would frame him for? Surely not her own murder. Had she done the bidding of her husband, taking the pin because he asked for it? Was Stuart going to accuse Gilroy of theft? Maybe that was why he had cried out, “Which one of you thieves took it?” He’d planned to frame Gilroy for taking the cross. Or maybe the jade carving.

  The light turned green and I swung left onto Eisenhower. A few minutes later I was in downtown Loveland, half a block from Bloomsbury Books, Maurice’s store.

  The bell over the door jangled as I entered, and Maurice, hope in his eyes, glanced up from his book. “Oh,” he said, looking deflated. His shoulders sagged, and he slouched on his stool. It was no wonder. There wasn’t another soul in the store. He’d thought I was a customer.

  “Have you got a moment?” I asked, though considering the scene around me, the question was silly.

  “Are you here for a book?” he asked.

  I could at least buy a book before I interrogated him, I thought. “Where’s your mystery section?”

  “Mysteries?” He curled his lip. “There’s nonfiction and fine fiction. That’s it.”

  And I’d just about forgotten what a snob he was. “Don’t you think fine fiction is anything readers enjoy?”

  He laid his open book on the counter, spine up. “I do not. If I ever do, feel free to shoot me. How can I assist you?”

  “I’m helping with the investigation in Lesley Hunter’s murder.”

  “Because our police chief is out of the game,” he said.

  “Not for long.”

  Maurice raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Anyway, I understand that Lesley asked you to design a blog for her.”

  His eyes shot to the ceiling and rolled dramatically. “A blog. She wanted a blog. Is there anything more plebeian?”

  “Hot dogs, baseball, flower gardens, cars, department stores.”

  He glared.

  It was time for me to mention Jova. The two obviously disliked each other, and mentioning her might set Maurice’s aristocratic chin wagging. “Jova tells me that you got into an argument with Lesley over the design of her blog and refused to set it up.”

  “Jova the Amazonian is correct. Not that it’s her business. Who is she, anyway? Stuart’s spy? When did she tell you this?”

  “Yesterday. She said Stuart joined the argument too, and it got nasty.”

  “Quite the nosy woman, then. If I never meet her again, I’ll be happy.”

  “Did you know Brynne and Kip also got into major arguments with the Hunters?”

  His interest piqued, he slid off the stool and leaned across the counter. “No, I didn’t. I heard Stuart insulting them, but he was insulting me and Jova the Nutter too. How does the Amazonian know this?”

  “Unlike the rest of you, she knew the Hunters. They gossiped.”

  He snickered. “Even about Kipton Dempster? Can’t imagine there’s much to say there. Bo-ring.”

  “They gossiped about all of you. Do you have any idea why Stuart would invite four people he disliked to Lesley’s birthday party?”

  “Party? That was a party? What a shambles. Even before, you know, the unfortunate thing happened.”

  “You hadn’t seen the Hunters since the fight over Lesley’s blog. Why did you accept the invitation?”

  “Free snacks, free champagne, a chance to hear Stuart’s big announcement.” He sniffed and straightened. “We never did find out what that was. Not that I feel I missed out. It can’t have been earthshaking.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know I hadn’t seen them since the blog?”

  “You told Gilroy it had been ten months, and Jova said the argument was ten to eleven months ago. Can I ask you about the night of the party?”

  “This is more fascinating than Faulkner,” he said in a deadpan voice. “Go for it.”

  “Did you go straight upstairs after leaving the dining room?”

  “I stopped for champers.”

  “Champagne?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I stood in the general region of the foyer and watched Stuart follow Brynne to the other side of the house.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I don’t think she saw him, and she looked like she was up to no good.”

  “Stealing, maybe?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “So then what? Where did you go next?”

  He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was quickly becoming bored with me.

  “I went up the stairs, champers in hand. I heard Lesley down the hall, calling everyone, and I thought I’d take my time. I didn’t want to see a stuff old collections room. But if they had a library—and I thought I remembered Lesley saying they had—then that might be of interest. Turns out, they have one. Small but comfy in its own way. Not a bad selection of reading material.”

  “Then?”

  He exhaled impatiently.

  “This is very important.”

  He pursed his lips in concentration. “Then. I heard the Amazonian saying she was lost, though how you get lost in a hall, I can’t fathom. And then I didn’t hear anything for a while. I was looking at the books. After a minute, I heard a boom of sorts, like someone dropping something, and soon after, Stuart began to rant about us all being thieves. Charming evening.” As if suddenly recalling something he’d forgotten, he stuck out a hand and said, “And I heard Brynne’s voice, but a long way away.”

  “I remember you saying the word ‘cheese.’ Why was that?”

  He snickered again and jammed his hand back in his pocket. “That was me joking, hoping Stuart would hear me. Jova was getting lost, Brynne was saying the house is huge, Lesley was asking where everyone was, someone was stealing something from right under Stuart’s nose. The house was a maze, wasn’t it? Remember Stuart said, ‘If you want to get to the cheese, you have to work your way through the maze’?”

  “I remember.”

  “While I was in the library, it came to me. There’s no cheese. It’s just us mice and a maze. No cheese, no reward, except for Stuart. He controlled the evening—where we went and when. Insulting us, though none of us really wanted to be there. He was the maze master. Well, this little mouse decided to stay in the library. So apologies to you, but all I saw was Brynne sneaking off and Stuart following her. The rest of it I only heard.”

  “Until the scream?”

  “More precisely, until Lesley screamed your boyfriend’s name.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Back in my Subaru, I called Holly to find out how things had gone in Mayor McDermott’s office. When she didn’t pick up, I optimistically imagined that she and Julia were still reading McDermott the riot act—and that he was pledging to let Gilroy resume his work on the Lesley Hunter case if only they would keep quiet about Farkas.

  That was about as likely as me losing twenty pounds and never picking up another cream puff.

  Driving back to Juniper Grove, I considered what Maurice had told me. As unpleasant as he was, I had to admit that his observation about Stuart’s maze and cheese had been shrewd.

  I now had to consider that there was never going to be an announcement, that Stuart had used the promise of one as his cheese. A means of drawing mice to his house. But draw them for what? If not to hear his announcement, then what? Nothing but revenge? Had he planned to retaliate against them all, one by one, during the party?

  Maurice had been right about the party too. It was awful, even before the murder. Guests who hated one another, an upset Lesley, an abusive Stuart. We’d been forced to play cards and then forced to look at the new collections room. It wasn’t a party at all by any normal standards.

  But it wasn’t meant to be.

  By the time I made it to Main Street in Juniper Grove, I’d become convinced that Stuart’s party was about one thing only: revenge. His grand announcement was never part of it. Neither was the “chees
e”—our little reward for making it through the uncomfortable evening.

  It was urgent that I talk to Underhill, and that I find out if Holly and Julia had managed to stall McDermott.

  I parked at the curb and hurried into the police station. Turner was behind the front desk, the crime scene photos spread out before him. But his eyes were on Underhill, who was standing in front of the desk, staring down at Stuart and Kip. The two sat side by side in plastic chairs, Stuart chewing angrily on the inside of his lip and Kip looking like someone had told him he could never eat another cookie.

  Stuart looked up at me. I caught a flicker of surprise on his face.

  Underhill lifted a hand, palm out.

  I held my tongue and sat in the chair closest to the door.

  “Mr. Hunter, truth is, a prosecutor would have a hard time making a case against Mr. Dempster. We didn’t find the cross on him, and it never left your house. Mr. Dempster has admitted to taking it from the display case, but he still insists he didn’t intend to steal it.”

  So Kip’s confession yesterday in the interview room hadn’t made it to paper after Underhill told him to write it all down. He’d backed out, probably gambling that a jury wouldn’t convict him.

  “He thought it looked better in a drawer?” Stuart said, an angry glint in his eyes. “Is that it?”

  “I told you I didn’t mean to leave it there,” Kip said. “I heard Lesley screaming and shoved it in. I didn’t think.”

  “What garbage!” Stuart said.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” Kip said, his voice rising in pitch. “I said I was sorry about taking it from the case. I wanted to hold it in my hand.”

  “And you walked down the hall with it,” Underhill said.

  “Gotcha!” Stuart said.

  “No, we haven’t got him.” Underhill spoke with a mixture of patience and mild irritation, a blend calculated to push Stuart toward a settlement. Gilroy would be proud of him, I thought. “No prosecutor will take this on. But if you agree to drop the charges, Mr. Hunter, perhaps Mr. Dempster can help you out. Say, helping you in your greenhouse for two days.” Underhill looked to Kip. “When he’s not at Wyatt’s, of course. When are your next two days off?”