• • •
SHE WAS UP early and followed her routine as much as possible, walking Hoppy, feeding the pets, cleaning up the kitchen, but it was just distraction and make-work. All she wanted was to talk to the detective. Finally it was time. She locked up and headed out to her van, driving on automatic to the police station, her mind racing. She waited in a small room for Detective Vestry.
The detective entered and closed the door after her and told Jaymie that their interview was being videotaped. Jaymie already knew Chief Ledbetter was out of town for the weekend, so there would be no intervention from the sometimes genial chief of police. But she was happy to talk to the detective. Her thoughts on any man who would beat a woman were not something she planned on sugarcoating. She didn’t care to whom she spoke, so long as she could help.
“Witness interview, Jaymie Leighton, eight oh three, Sunday, December thirteenth,” Detective Vestry intoned for the benefit of the taping. “Why don’t you tell me your timeline of the evening, up to the moment you entered the storage shed and found Shelby Fretter.”
Detective Vestry’s cool composure was beneficial. It allowed Jaymie to disconnect her emotions somehow. She went through the evening, including seeing Shelby, Lori and Travis together. She spoke of Shelby and Travis fighting. She talked about who she met and talked to. “It was busy. I saw a lot of folks I didn’t know.”
“Did you see anyone who might be known to Shelby or her mother or brother?”
“I don’t know them that well, but . . .” She thought back. “I think I caught a glimpse of her boss, Delaney Meadows. I’d seen them arguing that morning and I recognized him.”
The detective made notes, her pale eyes blank of expression. “Why did you go to the band shell?”
“I had been there twice already before my last time. It was my job to make sure I caught everyone I could, to give them the brochure.”
“And you saw Cody Wainwright there?”
“Yes. He was watching the band. I didn’t say anything, and I don’t think he saw me. From there I walked away up to the boardwalk—what townies call the boardwalk—and watched the last boats that were lit up, and saw the lights go out over at the Ice House restaurant. I didn’t check my watch, but maybe they know what time they closed down.”
“How long was it from the time you saw Cody to the time you got back to the village proper?”
She thought about it. This was pivotal. “I would say it was about twenty or twenty-five minutes. Maybe a little more, but certainly not less. From the time I saw the lights go off over at the restaurant it was ten minutes or so. If Cody had headed straight to the village after I saw him he would have gotten there a good ten or fifteen minutes before me.”
“Are you saying you think he did it? Did you actually see anything that leads you to believe that?”
Jaymie thought for a moment, looking down at her hands. She rarely thought about how her hands looked; the nails were chipped and a little rough from work. She always seemed to have them in hot water, like she often was. She should take better care of them for all they did for her. “No,” she said. “I didn’t see him near her, and I don’t have a real reason to think that. Other than a couple of incidents I saw between them a few days before.”
“What incidents?”
She told Detective Vestry about the other morning in the Emporium. “It was weird,” she said, staring up at the acoustic-tile ceiling and catching sight of the camera. She looked back down. “It seemed like . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I would have sworn he didn’t touch her, but she fell down and blamed him for pushing her. He looked surprised.” Jaymie met the detective’s cold eyes and thought back.
“And then there was the one before that. It was another one of the mornings I was working at the Emporium. I normally go out to the porch for tea midmorning, unless it’s too cold. Usually Valetta is with me, but she was . . .” She thought back. “Yes, I remember. She was on the phone with a doctor and couldn’t leave the pharmacy. I saw Shelby and Cody over by the fence that separates the village green from the street. I had seen her before, but not him, so I didn’t know who he was until the other day, when I saw him at Nan Goodenough’s office. I couldn’t hear anything, but they were having a heated argument. You could tell by their body language. She said something, and he balled up his fist and clubbed her on the side of her head, knocking her sideways.”
Vestry’s eyes riveted on hers. She had stopped jotting notes, and the tick of the clock on the wall was the only sound. After a few moments she asked, “What day was that?”
Jaymie thought back and told the detective the date.
“Did you call the police?”
“No. The fight broke up and she stormed off. I didn’t know what to do. If she’d been hurt . . . I mean, it must have hurt, but she didn’t look like she needed my help. I thought if she wanted to, she could call the police herself because she had her phone out.”
“So she was not incapacitated?”
“No. Not that that matters, right? I mean, it indicates something about their relationship, a violence at the heart of it.”
Detective Vestry watched Jaymie. The woman’s gaze was calculating and she appeared to be deciding something. “Have you ever experienced domestic violence, Ms. Leighton?”
“No, I haven’t. Why?”
“Just asking. So you did not see the victim speaking with Cody Wainwright at any point during the evening of the crime.”
“No.”
“Did you see her with anyone?”
“Yes, of course,” Jaymie said, beginning to feel impatience well up in her. “As I’ve already told you, I saw her with her mother and brother. No one else.”
“And she was arguing with her brother, you said.”
“Yes, I guess that must have been her brother, Travis. A thin fellow, taller than her, with a bit of a beard and a slouch woolen hat?”
“That description matches.”
“Do you think he could have done it?”
The detective remained impassive. “Can you think of anything else at all that happened that evening?”
“Like what?”
“Did you see or hear anything unusual? Anyone behaving oddly?”
She thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, but one thing I thought of . . . Bill told me there were only four keys to the padlock, and that one was kept up on the ledge above the door. It was just earlier that day that Cody helped Bill in and about the workshop.”
“Yes. Well. You seem eager to prosecute Cody Wainwright.”
“No, not at all,” Jaymie said, stung. “I’m just telling you everything I know or have thought of.”
“I think we’re done here, Ms. Leighton. Thank you for coming in.” The detective stood. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.” She paused, then added, “But I don’t want to hear about you snooping or getting anyone upset. This is a police investigation and I would have no problem charging you with interference if you get in our way.”
Chilled to the bone, Jaymie said, “I won’t interfere.” As she slunk from the police department she felt chastened and misunderstood. How much better it was to work with Chief Ledbetter, who had a more creative outlook on policing. Jaymie understood that she needed to not interfere, but there were times when she stumbled on things that may never have come to light if she hadn’t been interested. And there were times when she had ended up in danger because of that. She hoped she now knew the difference.
She drove back to town, parking the white van when she saw Bill Waterman on the street outside of Jewel’s Junk. He was gazing sadly toward his workshop, which was still taped with crime scene tape. She got out of the van and joined him, threading her arm through his. “It’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Bill. I know how you feel.”
His weathered face was grim. “I was just thinking about Lor
i, actually. I feel real bad for her. I have a daughter. I don’t know what I’d do if someone killed her.”
“I was just at the police station. The detective asked me if I saw Cody and Shelby together that night, but I didn’t. I hope he didn’t do it. For Nan’s sake, I hope he’s released soon.”
Bill glanced over at her. “I guess you haven’t heard everything, then. Cody lied, Jaymie. He was seen with Shelby that evening.”
“Who saw them together?” she asked.
“Her brother, Travis. He saw her with Cody, and they were arguing, but she told him to take off, that it was private, so he left them alone.”
“What time was that?” Jaymie asked.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
Yes, it did, Jaymie thought but did not say. It mattered a whole lot.
• • •
JAYMIE COULD NOT stop thinking about the tragedy, but she still had responsibilities. As she had promised, she dropped in to help Pam Driscoll move some furniture for cleaning. They climbed the stairs together to one of the empty rooms, a small but pretty robin’s egg blue room with floral curtains and shabby-chic furnishing. Pam was upset about the murder.
“I know Lori,” she said, tugging at the end of the bed. “She was so nice to me right away when I moved here and she must be suffering so bad right now! I hope that guy rots in prison for what he did.”
Jaymie didn’t respond, her face hidden by the wooden headboard of the bed she was pushing around on the thick carpet. Finally, she stood, dusted her hands off and said, “I hope they have the right guy.”
“They do, trust me on this! I called Lori this morning and talked to her for a while.”
“How is she doing?”
“About how you’d expect. Poor girl can’t talk without crying. It was her son who saw Cody and Shelby together fighting.”
She moved the bed again, farther away from the wall. “But he didn’t see Cody do anything, right?”
“What happened was, Lori got separated from her kids while she was talking to someone, and when she caught up with Travis he was alone. He told Lori that Shelby had gone off, I guess with Cody. She found Shelby and suggested they go home—”
“She went off with Cody?”
Pam stood and squinted. “I don’t know. That’s what Travis said. Anyway, Shelby had something she wanted to do. So Lori gave Travis a lift home and she never saw Shelby again. Cody must have tracked her down and dragged her off to that shed.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Jaymie said, straightening and staring at Pam. “Did Travis tell her that that same night? That Shelby went off with Cody before she met back up with her mother?” The timing just didn’t seem possible, given that she saw Cody at the band shell at almost the last minute of the evening.
“I don’t know if it was that night or later that he told his mom about the guy. Why?”
It made a difference to the timeline, but her mind was a little tangled. She just shook her head.
“Look, this is all real clear to anyone who cares to see it; I’ve been hit around,” Pam said, her tone hard and cold. “I know how it goes. Shelby stayed with Cody because every time he hit her, he’d say it was the last time. Well, he did hit her again, one last time.”
Pam started up the vacuum cleaner, so Jaymie went to the next room to move the bed so they could get a head start there. One of the Queensville Historic Manor pamphlets was sitting on the bedside table, and for the first time Jaymie realized she was going to have to get the other batch she had ordered. The rest were in the storage room of Bill’s workshop, off limits because of the murder.
It was looking grim for Nan as far as her son’s innocence went. The simplest explanation, that Cody’s simmering anger toward Shelby had boiled over and he beat her to death, was likely the true one. She wondered how Nan would handle the reporting of Shelby’s death in the newspaper when her son was the prime suspect.
Pam got a phone call and had to rush through the rest of the vacuuming; her son was in some kind of trouble at a friend’s house and she had to run to pick him up. Jaymie returned to her own peaceful home. There were times when she just wanted to draw the shades and pretend the world, with all of its violence and trouble, did not exist. But she called herself an optimistic realist; she would acknowledge violence and glare at it with an unflinching stare, but she would also see all the wonderful people and the kindness that there was in the world as a counterbalance, hopefully tipping toward all that was good and right.
She called the newspaper office and got the weekend service. They accessed the printing floor, the staff of which was working through the weekend printing sale flyers for local businesses, to ask about the fresh order of Queensville Historic Manor pamphlets. When the answering service operator came back on she told Jaymie that the printers were almost done with her pamphlets and she could come pick them up the next morning. She hung up, thankful that she didn’t have to face Nan. What did you say to someone whose son had been arrested for murder, and who you feared was guilty?
The day went on and she did a few hours at the historic home, which was closing early since it was Sunday, then rushed home, gobbled down some dinner and headed out in her cloak for the Dickens Days walk. She didn’t have much to do, since she didn’t have access to any of the pamphlets, though there were still some available at the cider booth, which was manned by two gentlemen from the heritage society that evening, with Mrs. Bellwood in charge. So she just walked, talking to folks, trying to stay upbeat and positive. Many hadn’t heard about the crime that happened just steps away from the queenly elegance of the festively decorated main street, so it actually cheered her up to hand out candy canes and goodies to children as she told the adults about the manor house.
But then she noticed a news crew from Detroit interviewing Bill Waterman, who looked intensely uncomfortable in the glare of the camera light. She had no illusion that they were asking about the Dickens Days festivities, though they would mention that as a gruesome twist, she was sure. She was torn; if she approached, they would quickly release him once Jaymie was pointed out as the one who found poor Shelby. Bill would be grateful for the rescue, but the last thing she wanted to do was bring more notoriety to their Dickens Days celebration for all the wrong reasons.
She slipped over to the cider booth and muttered her reasoning to Mrs. Bellwood, who agreed with her. She had no pamphlets to give out anyway, and her earnest desire was not that the murder be swept under the carpet, but that it be viewed for what it was, an isolated incident that had nothing to do with their lovely seasonal festival. That would never happen if they interviewed her about finding the body while she was gowned in her Dickens Days cloak and bonnet.
She returned home, her heart heavy, and let Hoppy out into the backyard. He wobbled and bounced the perimeter, sniffing and barking at a foraging squirrel in the semidarkness. She brought him back in, wiped his muddy paws and made sure both Hoppy and Denver had dinner and treats. She then retreated to the front parlor of her beautiful old Queen Anne home and built a fire, settling on the sofa with a cup of tea and the phone.
She called her Grandma Leighton. After the initial chatter about family—Jaymie’s mom and dad were coming up for Christmas, but her grandmother was hoping that Rebecca would bring her down to see the house where she was a wife and mother for forty years before all of them headed back to London for Christmas day—her grandmother got down to business.
“I heard from Becca all about this fuss with that poor girl. I guess she heard it from your friend Valetta. It’s awful. How are you, my dear girl? I know how sensitive you are.”
Sensitive? “I’m okay, Grandma. Please don’t worry about me. I’m concerned about my friend Nan. It’s her son who is accused of beating the girl. He says he’s innocent, but I just don’t know. I think he probably did it.”
“That’ll be her cross to bear, chickadee.
But if it’s not him, then it means some fella got away with it. That’s not a good thing. Why don’t you try to sort this one out?”
“I don’t think it’s up to me this time. The police have it well in hand. The detective doesn’t like me, and she’s warned me not to mess in the investigation.”
“Well, then, maybe you’d better just stay out of it. Try to get your mind off of things. I hear you have a new boyfriend. Tell me all about him.”
She told her grandmother about Jakob and Jocie, but warned that it was early yet; they had just met a few weeks before and he was not her boyfriend!
There was something about the conversation with her grandmother, so accepting and sure that Jaymie could solve anything if she put her mind to it, that was soothing and helped her get perspective. By the time she hung up, she was feeling much better and could breathe. Yes, Cody was in jail and accused of the crime. But the detective was no fool. Mrs. Bellwood had mentioned to her that the police were still asking questions in Queensville, trying to account for every second of Shelby’s evening. If there was any chance it was someone else, there ought to be evidence.
She called Becca then, with some last-minute plan changes. “Grandma does want to come to Queensville and see the house. Do you think she can make it upstairs to a bedroom to stay over?” Jaymie asked. “The stairs are kind of long and steep.”
They decided that their grandmother would come to the house for a meal, but if they decided to stay over, she would be housed at the Queensville Inn. “That is an awesome idea,” Jaymie enthused. “Maybe you can put it to her that it’ll give her a chance to visit with Mrs. Stubbs. She’s been asking about Grandma and would love to see her.”
White Colander Crime Page 10