Praline Murder

by Sandi Scott

  “Well, not exactly,” she answered. “Detective Luna has interviewed pretty much everybody on the crew, and there are several viable suspects, but we really haven't found any definite proof yet.”

  “'We'?” Smoke Daddy asked. “Are you sticking your nose into things again?” He sounded annoyed, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

  “Nope, not me,” Ashley laughed. “This time, everything I've done has been with the detective's blessing. All but a couple of the deputies, including all of his investigative team, were out of town so he let me sit in on some of the interviews. Patty and I talked to the widow, too, but I don't think she realized she was being interrogated.”

  Patty spoke up, “What have they learned since the last time we talked? I still think Ethel had a hand in it all.”

  “Yeah, Ash,” Ryan said. “Maybe if we talk it all out, we can pick up on something you and Luna have missed. Maybe we can solve the whole thing.” He was teasing Ashley, but she thought he had a point.

  “Well, I don't know about that,” she said, “but it might help me get things straight in my mind. There's something nagging at me, unfortunately I've heard so much that it's all mixing around, and I can't quite grab hold of anything.”

  “How about if we take a page from all the amateur sleuth mystery books we've read, Ashley?” Patty suggested. “We could make a chart of all the information you have and see how things connect. Do you have any freezer paper? We can tape a couple of lengths together to make a big sheet to write it all out.”

  “I can go one better,” Ashley answered. “I've got a whiteboard in the office; I use it to plan catering menus and to keep track of ingredients when I'm playing around with new recipes.” Ryan offered to wheel it into the dining room.

  “Bring it into the kitchen,” Ashley said. “That way, I can work on tomorrow morning's baking while we talk. I found out that a couple of the deputies are diabetic. They liked the sugar-free chocolate cherry cake I made the other day, so I want to try to switch a scone recipe to use stevia in place of the sugar.”

  “That would be helpful,” Patty said. “We get requests all the time for sugar-free or low sugar treats. And we can easily change the additions to make different kinds of scones from the same recipe.”

  Ashley measured flour, baking powder, and salt into a bowl and whisked them together while Ryan got the whiteboard set up.

  “Okay,” he said. “So, how should we do this?” He uncapped a marker and waited for instructions.

  Smoke Daddy said, “Most of the books have the sleuth divide the chart into columns for means, motive, opportunity, and other information, right? How would it work if we try it that way first?”

  Patty added, “Do you have different colors of markers? Maybe we could color-code information about each suspect to make it easier to see connections.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ryan responded, and he drew five lines on the board, then labeled the first column “Suspects.” He added motive, means, and opportunity to the next sections, leaving the final one for any information they had that didn't fit into those categories.

  As she cut cold cubes of butter into the dry ingredients, Ashley said, “The most obvious suspect is Lucy, the widow. Personally, I don't think she did it. Murder just doesn't feel right for her profile, but there's not enough evidence to rule her out yet.”

  Ryan wrote her name in the suspects column and asked, “What about motive and the rest? Why would she have killed her husband?”

  “I agree with Ashley,” Patty said. “I don't think Lucy's the murderer, either, but she did have a motive, of a sort. She was angry and embarrassed about the whole 'haunted house' theme of the show, and she was annoyed about the changes in Brent's attitude. Plus, he was kind of a jerk—the way he was treating her on the set. Still, I don't know that any of that's enough to kill someone. If embarrassing a spouse was a reason to kill, there would probably be a lot fewer divorces and more widows and widowers.”

  “Remember, the reason only has to make sense to the killer, not to us,” Ashley pointed out as they all laughed at Patty's comment. “Since Brent died at the mansion, pretty much all of our suspects had the same opportunity.”

  “But is she strong enough to hit him that hard?” Ryan asked. “For that matter, is she tall enough? I think I remember you saying that she's pretty short.”

  “Oh,” Ashley started. “I forgot to tell you! He didn't die from blunt force trauma like we thought. I saw the autopsy report this afternoon; Brent had burns on his hand, and the ME listed the cause of death as electrocution.”

  “He was electrocuted?” Smoke Daddy asked. “Whoopee, that's rough! That might eliminate a suspect or two, though. Would Miss Lucy know enough about wiring and stuff to be able to set that up? I don't know her really well, but she and Brent both seemed more like the hire-it-out types than DIYers.”

  “Ethel would be able to do it,” Patty interjected.

  Ryan looked puzzled and asked, “Who is Ethel? I don't think y'all have talked about her before. Is she a crew member?”

  “Ethel is a ghost,” Patty answered. “She died for love, and she haunts the house, going after people who take love for granted. She lived in the house when it was first built; she'd know all about the old wiring—and she'd sure be angry with Brent over the way he treated Lucy.”

  For just a minute, no one said anything. Finally, Smoke Daddy looked at Patty and asked, “You think a ghost killed that guy? You believe in ghosts?”

  “You had a good question,” Ashley interjected before things could get heated. Adding stevia and milk to the butter and flour mixture, she continued, “Unfortunately, I have no idea how to answer. Ryan, write that question under means for Lucy.” She mixed the dough, then folded in fresh blueberries before dumping it on the marble work area built into the counter top.

  As she kneaded the dough lightly and rolled it out, she said, “Trina Baumer definitely belongs on the suspect list. That woman is completely obsessed with Chance Fortune, and she's crazy enough to do almost anything. I have to say, though, she seems to have an alibi, and I'm not sure she's got it together enough to hide it if she did kill him”

  Ryan wrote the PA's name on the board as Ashley cut out the scones and placed them on the baking sheet. “What would her motive be?”

  “Well,” Ashley considered, “she resented the attention Brent was getting from the show's fans. She thinks that the spotlight should fall completely on Chance and that no one else involved in the show is necessary. She was sabotaging Brent every chance she got. A bunch of the so-called 'accidents' attributed to Brent's being a klutz were really because Trina set him up.”

  “We already said that everyone on the set had the same opportunity. How about means?” Ryan asked.

  Patty said, “Trina's worked in the business for a while. I'll bet she's picked up at least the basics of wiring and electricity, either by watching other crew members or helping them out.” Ryan nodded and made a note. “Besides, can't you find out about almost anything on the Internet these days?”

  “How about Sam?” Ryan asked. “I know you said she was stealing and selling Chance's stuff. Didn't you find some of Brent's things for sale, too?”

  “Yes,” Ashley said, “and as much as I'd like for Trina to be the killer, I think Sam's probably more likely. I hate to say that; I really like her, and she wasn't hurting anyone with her leaks and sales. Chance even said he didn't mind the leaks as long as he could be in control of them, but if Brent caught her and confronted her, she'd have a strong reason to shut him up. Even if neither of the guys filed charges, she'd surely lose her job, and it's unlikely she'd get another television gig when word got around.”

  After Ashley slid the baking sheet into the oven, the friends continued to review the facts they had and to consider all of the possibilities. Finally, they went into the backyard where they saw the two dogs curled up under a tree, sleeping soundly. After tasting and raving over the new scone recipe and having a last cup of c
offee, Patty and Smoke Daddy said good night and headed for home. Ryan helped wash the dishes, hinting again about how nice it would be to share the chore every night. Still not ready for the moving-in-together discussion, Ashley pretended to miss the hint. Eventually, everything was spotless, and Ryan left for home with the puppy.

  “Dizzy, what am I going to do?” Ashley worried as she prepared for bed. “I like Ryan; I like him a lot, but I don't want to rush this relationship. Ryan's my best friend, and I don't want to lose that. I'm just not ready to live together, but how do I tell him that without making him think I'm rejecting him?” Dizzy woofed, jumped up on the bed, and cocked her head at Ashley, as if considering her human’s words. Turning around a couple of times, she woofed again before plopping down at the foot of the bed and closing her eyes. Okay, girl, Ashley laughed to herself. I get it—we can worry about it when push comes to shove. She joined Dizzy in bed and was asleep, almost before her head hit the pillow.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Ewww!” Ashley squealed, as the sun peeked through the curtains the next morning. “Dizzy, silly girl; get down—go on!” She grabbed a tissue and wiped her face where the dog had given her a sloppy wake-up kiss. After sliding her feet into the flip-flops that served as summer slippers, she headed down the hall to start the coffeemaker and let Dizzy out into the backyard while waiting for her first cup of coffee for the day. Then, she checked the time on the kitchen clock.

  “Ooh,” she groaned. “Dizzy, you're killing me here! It's not even 7 o'clock! And filming doesn't start until 10 today so I don't have to be there so early.” She paused, remembering that Tim Mueller, the electrician, was coming to the set.

  “Okay, girl,” she grumbled. “You get a pass today. I need to be there earlier than I remembered, but we're gonna have to work on your timing—if you're going to be my new alarm clock.”

  Ashley sat down at the wicker table on the deck and enjoyed the quiet morning with her coffee. She considered all the points the friends had made the night before about the case, and she felt fairly certain that she knew what happened to Brent. She wasn't sure how it was done, and she didn't feel quite as positive that she knew who had done it, or why, but she'd think about that after her theory was confirmed. When Ryan's hints about living together came to mind, she worried over them for a second.

  “No,” she shook her head. “I'm not going to think about that now. There will be time to figure all of that out after this case and this job are both done. My brain can only handle so much at once, and that one's just going to have to wait.”

  After a quick shower, she slipped into a comfortable skirt in a fall leaf print and topped it with a soft burnt orange cotton sweater. The morning air was chilly, but Ashley knew that Texas weather was unreliable. By 9:00 a.m., the temperature would probably be in the high 70s; it wouldn't be unusual to see temps in the 80s on an October day so she knew to dress for the afternoon, not the morning.

  “Let's go, Diz,” Ashley called the rambunctious dog to her. “It's time to get to the shop and grab the rest of the treats for this morning.” She slipped on a cardigan that matched her top, hooked her tote bag over her shoulder, and grabbed the scones she'd made the night before. She'd add more cookies, some oatmeal-granola bars she and Patty had made a few days earlier, and the sausage-cheese biscuits she'd pulled from the freezer yesterday. Later, she'd go back to the shop to make some more sugar-free options for tomorrow while Patty handled lunch and the early afternoon snacks.

  Stepping out of the mansion to retrieve the last tray of treats, Ashley saw the electrician's van as it pulled up the long driveway. She waited until the driver parked and stepped out. “Good morning,” she called out. “You must be Tim. Thanks for coming. I'm hoping you can help me prove to myself that I'm not crazy.”

  “Hi,” he replied. “Yeah, I'm Tim—Ashley, right? My brother mentioned that you had some questions about electricity and wiring. Are you also a deputy?”

  “No,” Ashley laughed, “I'm just a nosy caterer. Sheriff Mueller and Detective Luna are indulging me as an amateur sleuth. Come on inside; there's plenty of pastries, and there should be some coffee left.”

  As they entered the foyer, Sheriff Mueller and Detective Luna stepped out of the dining room, heading for the food table. “Hey, Brother Tim,” the sheriff called. “Thanks for coming over. We need some expert input about a death by electrocution, but you're the only person we could find.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Tim shook his head. “Still not funny, brother of mine; don't give up law enforcement for stand-up comedy yet!” He mock-punched the sheriff in the arm. The sheriff pretended to flinch, clearly the two brothers were close, and they enjoyed one another's company.

  Luna cleared his throat and extended his hand to the electrician. “Detective Luna. I appreciate your taking the time to help us. Hopefully, we'll figure out some things today that will help us close this case.”

  “Glad to help, if I can. What exactly is happening here?” Tim looked a little confused.

  Luna glanced at Ashley, who took that as permission to take the conversational lead. “Brent and Lucy Redstaff were chosen for a reality show about this house. The premise is that the couple gets to renovate an old house, but first they have to choose one from a selection of haunted houses.”

  Tim nodded. “I knew Brent. I did the electrical work on the computer lab at the high school, and we got to know each other.”

  Luna picked up the conversation. “Last week, one of the camera operators found Mr. Redstaff's body in the house when she arrived for the work day. The scene made it appear that he had been struck with a crystal vase and died. However, the ME determined that the cause of death was electrocution. We need to know how that happened and how much someone would have to know about wiring to be able to set up the event.”

  Tim nodded. “Do you know if the wiring is original or if it has been replaced or updated? Could make a big difference.”

  Sheriff Mueller replied, “According to what we've learned so far, the house was wired for electricity in the mid-40s as part of a Rural Electrification Act program. The house has been abandoned for at least 45 years. Each generation of heirs has paid for enough maintenance to keep it standing and in reasonable repair, but I doubt they've done more than the basics. Probably, you can safely assume the wiring put here in 1944 is still here.”

  Luna pointed toward the dining room. “That's where Mr. Redstaff was found. The forensic team is sure that he died there and was not moved after death.”

  Tim stepped into the room and looked around. He seemed excited by what he saw. “Wow! That is for sure original,” he exclaimed. “Those pendant lights were the main lighting, other than table lamps, in the early days of home electrification. You can see where the bulb would have been in the keyed socket. It's hanging on a twisted cotton, insulated cord that is attached to a rosette on the ceiling. That ceiling is wooden, and the porcelain rosette is screwed into the ceiling. You probably figured out that there were no wall switches. You had to walk into the room to find the socket, then turn the key to turn on the lights.”

  He stepped out into the hall and looked near the staircase. “Yep,” he nodded. “The folks who had the electricity put in had some money to spend. See that?” He pointed to a long chain hanging from the second floor. “That's what's called a 'pull-chain ceiling snap switch.' With one of those, you could turn the second or even third floor lights on and off from down here.”

  “So,” Ashley started, “how could that have shocked someone seriously enough to kill him?”

  “There are many possibilities,” Tim answered. “A lot of people don't know this, but there were no ground wires in early home wiring. Both sides of a 110-volt VAC—a volt alternating current—fixture would have had a fuse. When you turned off the fixture, one side would have still been 'hot.' That shouldn't be enough to cause what you've described, but let me take a look at some things. Where is the master power breaker? I need to cut the power before I dig around; I'm not i
nterested in being your second victim here.”

  Luna led Tim to the right spot, and the lights went out. Ashley giggled, envisioning Chance's reaction if they'd already been filming at the time. He'd probably figure out a way to blame it on ghosts or “angry spirits.”

  After about a half hour, Tim came out into the foyer where Ashley was waiting. She took him into the morning room, and they both found seats near the detective. “Well, I know what someone did, but I don't know why they did it. There's a box in there with a photo sensor plugged into an extension cord. Whoever rigged this also plugged a night light into another cord and plugged both of those into an adapter in the pendant light's socket. Then, they plugged a third extension cord into the first one—the one with the sensor—and tucked it into a shoe box after they plugged an antique lamp into it.”

  “Why would someone do something like that?” Luna questioned.

  “The only time I've seen anyone do this was at a Halloween party. If you line everything up right, whatever is plugged into that last cord will flash on and off. I'm not sure why anyone would do that here.” Tim looked puzzled again.

  “Flickering lights—ghosts sending a message,” Ashley mused. “—like all the other tricks they've used to create the alleged 'paranormal events' they've filmed, but, Tim, if people do that for Halloween parties, I assume that it's usually safe so why would it electrocute someone now?”

  Tim shrugged. “The best I can tell is that whoever did it, didn't know that there was no ground wire and connected things in such a way that the 'hot' wire was somehow touching or connected to the lamp's switch, which, being an antique, was uninsulated metal. When someone touched the switch to turn on the lamp, it would have zapped them with the full voltage of the current.”

  Luna asked, “Was it malicious? Did someone set it up intentionally, hoping to kill whoever turned that switch?”

  Again, Tim hesitated. “Hard to say. The gadget was definitely put there on purpose, but they did a really bad job. Just by looking, I can't really tell what they intended—whether it was supposed to kill someone or just to mess with the lighting. I know this, though, if you find the person who rigged this mess, you'll have your killer.”