Cast Iron Conviction (The Cast Iron Cooking Mysteries Book 2)

by Jessica Beck

  She looked surprised by it nonetheless. “Heavens. Annie, are you asking me for an alibi?”

  “No, it’s not that at all,” I said, hastily talking before things got even worse. “I spoke with him yesterday afternoon myself, and Pat talked to him even later than that. I was just wondering when you saw him last yourself.”

  Edith still looked uncomfortable by my question, but I’d done my best to defuse the situation by telling her about our own final encounters first. “Very well. I’m sure that you’ll find out eventually, given how small this town is. As a matter of fact, I spoke to Albert a little before six yesterday evening.”

  “Really? That was after we both saw him. What did you two talk about?”

  “Mitchell Wells,” she said with a frown.

  The pause was long enough to simmer for a few moments before I broke the silence. “What exactly did you discuss about Mitchell?” I asked her.

  “As a matter of fact, Albert accused me of killing him.”

  “What did you say when he accused you of murder?” Pat asked her.

  “I denied it, of course. What would you expect me to say?” she asked indignantly.

  “Hey, take it easy. We’re all friends here,” I said, trying to calm her down a little. I knew better than to tell her to do exactly that. It had been my experience that telling someone to calm down is the only surefire method of getting them to do just the opposite. “Why would he think that you might have had something to do with Mitchell’s death?”

  “Who knows? The man was a little bit crazy ever since he came back to town. Pat, you spent more time with him than I did. Surely you saw the madness in his eyes as well.”

  “Maybe, but so far, we’ve found a kernel of truth in his insanity,” my brother said calmly. “Edith, think hard. Was there any possible reason that Albert could have believed that you were involved in any way with Mitchell’s murder?”

  “No! Of course not! It’s ridiculous.”

  “Something to do with a secret, maybe?” I asked, and I saw Edith’s face go ashen.

  “You know, I’m not feeling too well. I believe I need to go home,” our postmistress said as she turned away from us and toward the front door.

  “Come on, Edith, don’t be that way. How are people going to get their mail?” I knew that she had a strong sense of duty, so if anything could get her to stay, it would be appealing to that.

  “Let Skip do it,” she said, and then, before I could stop her, she was gone.

  I turned to look at Pat. “Were you expecting her to react anything like that?”

  “No, I can’t say that I did. She took off as though she were on fire,” my brother said.

  “I believe we hit a nerve with that last question.”

  “There’s no doubt that your comment about a secret was what sent her fleeing.”

  “Pat, I’m sorry, but one of us had to mention it.” Was he really blaming me for running Edith off?

  “You misunderstood me,” he explained. “As a matter of fact, I believe that it was exactly the right thing to say. She may or may not have killed Mitchell Yeats, but there was some truth to Albert’s note; that much was clear based on her reaction.”

  “The real question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “What can we do? We have to keep digging, no matter who it hurts,” Pat said. “If Edith is a double murderer, she needs to pay for her crimes, regardless about how we feel toward her.”

  “I don’t know. I just can’t see her killing anyone. Can you?”

  “Annie, if she felt backed into a corner with no way to protect her secret, it’s possible that she killed not once, but twice, to keep it from being revealed.”

  I whistled softly under my breath. “What kind of secret would that take?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a hunch that we’re going to have to find out. In the meantime, we’re shorthanded on a day when we need everyone here.”

  “Where is Skip, by the way?” I asked him.

  “You’re asking me? I don’t have a clue.”

  “I was just checking. While you try to figure it out, I’ve got to get my grill ready. My breakfast customers will be in in no time.”

  “I’ll give him a call,” Pat said when I pointed to the door yet again.

  “Never mind. He’s here.”

  “He’s going to hate working in the cage all day,” Pat said. That was what our junior employee called the little corner of the Iron that served as the town’s post office. In a way, he was right. Surrounded by three solid walls, the fourth had a bank of tiny windows for the mail that could look like the bars of a cage looking out from the inside. Only the small opening where Edith normally delivered packages that were too big for the boxes and sold stamps from offered any kind of fresh light and air at all.

  “He’ll get over it, especially when he gets his bump in pay for the day.” We’d quickly defused Skip’s unhappiness about working in the post office occasionally by matching the hourly rate that Edith made whenever he was back there, a decent bump over Skip’s regular pay-grade. It would be a slight hit on our budget that day, but it couldn’t be helped. It was important to keep our employees happy if we could manage it, and we already had one of them apparently ready to leave us for good.

  Skip grinned at us as he walked in. “Check these out. I made them for my corner.” Skip’s ‘corner’ was in actuality a shelf in the store where we allowed him to sell things that he made himself. Over the last several months, he’d come up with half a dozen different items to peddle on the side, but so far, none of them had been the gangbuster seller he’d been hoping for. I took one of the rectangular gridded squares from him and flipped it over in my hands. “Nice trivet,” I said. “Is that cherry?”

  He nodded in approval. “It is. I was afraid folks wouldn’t know what they were for.”

  Pat took it from me and flipped it over and over in his hands. “The grooves run one way on one side and perpendicular on the other. Aren’t you afraid of them getting stuck together once they’re stacked in place on top of each other?”

  Skip took two more out of his bag and instantly realized that Pat had found the fatal flaw in his design. He’d made the openings match up too perfectly when the trivets were reversed, and he had a tough time prying them apart once they were lodged together. “Huh,” he said flatly and then brightened up. “Well, at least it’s an easy fix. I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he added as he put them back in his bag. “What’s going on today?”

  “Haven’t you heard the news?” I asked him.

  “What news is that? I was in my woodworking shop all night.”

  “Albert Yeats is dead,” Pat said softly.

  Skip shook his head sadly. “That’s too bad. I know most folks thought he was a little nuts, but I kind of liked the guy.”

  “So did we,” Pat said.

  “What happened to him? Was it a car crash?”

  “No, why do you say that?” I asked him.

  “Isn’t that what kills most folks these days? It wasn’t a heart attack, was it?”

  Pat shook his head. “In a way. Someone stabbed him in the heart, so quite literally, I suppose that’s exactly what it was.”

  “Oh, man. That’s gruesome.”

  “Do you mind working in the post office today?” Pat asked him.

  “The cage? Where’s Edith?” It was clear that even with the bump in pay, he wasn’t all that excited about dealing with the day’s mail.

  “She called in sick,” I said before Pat could answer. “It would really help us out if you could manage somehow.”

  Skip nodded and then offered a weak smile. “Consider it done, then.”

  “Thanks,” Pat replied. “You’re a real trooper.”

  “Well, I’d better get started, then,” Skip said as he made his way to the corner of the Iron that served as our post office.

  After he was gone, I said, “I’d better get things ready for breakfast. The doors will be opening soon en
ough.”

  “And our investigation can get started in earnest,” Pat said.

  “Funny, I thought it already had,” I answered, thinking of Edith.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he replied.

  As I started cooking bacon on the flat stainless-steel griddle and preparing for the morning rush, I couldn’t help wondering about Edith’s reaction to our questions. My work was nearly automatic, I’d done it so many times, so it left a part of my mind free to wander. Could our postmistress have actually killed Mitchell Wells? Or had Betty Murphy, Ollie Wilson, Harriet Parton, or Sally Tremont done it? Then again, there was a possibility that someone not on our list had committed both murders, but I didn’t buy it. After all, Albert had stirred the pot by going after the suspects he’d written about, and someone had been so threatened by his amateur investigation that they’d murdered him as well. Pat and I had better watch our steps.

  It was clear that with two murders under their belt, the murderer had no reason to stop killing if it meant protecting their identity.

  CHAPTER 12: PAT

  Just before it was time to open the doors, I glanced back at my sister and found her staring off into space instead of prepping her work area in the grill. I walked back to check on her. “Are you okay, Annie?”

  “What? Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

  I didn’t have to ask her where her thoughts were. Albert’s murder had been occupying much of my own mind as I’d prepared for the day’s work. “It’s almost time to open,” I gently reminded her.

  “Go ahead and unlock the front door. I’m ready.”

  Though she was trying to put on a brave face, I could see that my twin sister was still extremely upset about the recent murder, and why shouldn’t she be? It was bad enough knowing that Albert was dead, but discovering the body with Kathleen had made it that much more real to us both. I was more determined than ever to figure out who had done it, and I was glad to see that Annie was on board as well. For a moment, I pitied the killer. They were about to get a storm bearing down upon them: the Marsh twins.

  “Come on in,” I said to two of my favorite people in all of Maple Crest as I unlocked the front door promptly at 7:00 a.m. to find retired teachers Margaret and Larry Wilson. “Hi, Larry. How are you, Mrs. Wilson?”

  “Patrick, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I haven’t been your teacher in a thousand years. I believe it’s time that you and your sister started calling me Margaret.”

  I smiled at her. “Probably so, but I doubt we ever will.”

  “Why on earth not? You clearly have no problem calling my husband by his given name.”

  “That’s because we never had him in school,” I replied.

  “Even so, we’ve gone far past that and become friends.” She looked at me steadily as she asked, “We are friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are,” I said. “Cherished friends at that.”

  “Then I’m afraid that I must insist.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say, Margaret. Or should I call you Maggie, instead?”

  She was about to rebuff me when she saw the twinkle in my eye. “Patrick Marsh, you always were a scamp.”

  “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, Margaret.” It sounded funny as it rolled off my tongue, but I’d do my best to refer to her that way, if that was what she wanted. I wasn’t about to speak for Annie, though. Margaret had her own battle to fight on that front, one that I planned on staying out of. “What can I do for you two this morning?”

  “We need fuses for our old box,” her husband said.

  “You mean you don’t have circuit breakers?” I asked him. I knew that some of the older homes in our area hadn’t had their electrical systems updated for decades, but it always alarmed me when I heard it, even though I knew that the fuse system was still perfectly safe, if it was still in proper working order.

  “We keep meaning to get around to it,” Larry said almost in apology, “but for now, I need some of these.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of 20 amp plug fuses, the kind that screwed in like a light bulb. “Do you happen to have any of these in stock?”

  “I always keep a box or two on hand,” I said as I went to the small electrical section of the Iron’s inventory. The fuses came in pairs, so I grabbed a matched set for him.

  “It’s tragic, what happened to Albert Yeats,” Margaret said just off my shoulder. “How horrific to find the body the way that you and Annie did.”

  “Kathleen was there, too, but yes, it was pretty bad. How did you find out that Annie and I were there, too?”

  Larry laughed. “You’ve lived in Maple Crest all of your life. How do you think we heard? It’s all over town by now.”

  “I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” I said. Our local informal information conveyance system could match any national news network in its ability to disseminate information.

  “Does your sister Kathleen have any idea who might have done it?” Margaret asked me earnestly.

  “You’ll have to excuse my wife’s enthusiasm for homicide,” Larry said gently. “She followed the Mitchell Wells murder trial closely, getting a seat up front in the gallery every day.”

  “Really? Would you mind telling me about it?” I asked her.

  Margaret flushed a little. “I suppose that it’s a guilty pleasure of mine. I see segments on Court TV from time to time, but there’s nothing like sitting in the courtroom in person watching the case unfold. I thought it was clear from the start that Albert was being railroaded. The prosecutor just happened to have an answer for every doubt the defense attorney raised. It was all just a little too convenient, in my opinion.”

  “It’s a real shame that she wasn’t chosen for the jury,” Larry said. “If she had been, Albert Yeats would never have gone to jail.”

  “Who should have been there in his place?” I asked her.

  “How in the world should I know that?” she asked me. Margaret had paused before replying though, and I had a hunch that she suspected more than she was willing to share.

  “Come on, you’re as savvy a person as I’ve ever known in my life,” I said. “Surely you had a list of your own suspects, even if you never wrote them down.”

  “Patrick Marsh, are you trying to flatter me into talking?”

  “That depends,” I told her with a grin.

  “On what?”

  “Whether it’s working or not,” I answered honestly.

  Margaret looked around the empty store, and then she shrugged. There were a few folks at Annie’s counter, but they were too far away to hear us, and besides, it appeared that they had a conversation of their own going on. “I’d ask what it matters at this point, but you and your sister are investigating the murders yourself, aren’t you?”

  Annie and I didn’t want it to be public knowledge that we were digging into Mitchell Wells’s murder after all these years, or Albert’s either, for that matter, but I didn’t see what it could hurt admitting the truth to Margaret. “The truth is, we believe that if we find out who killed Mitchell, we’ll know who murdered Albert.”

  “That seems to be sound thinking on your part,” she said with a nod.

  Larry cut in. “While you two are reminiscing about the crime of the century, I’m going to go look for a bolt I need in the hardware section.”

  “Do you need any help?” I asked him.

  “No, thanks. The truth is, I’m not all that interested in what you’re discussing.” He said it with a grin, and then he walked happily away.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to run him off,” I said.

  “Patrick, he’ll be in heaven going through those little boxes you have holding all those different nuts and bolts. I’ll have to pry him out of there with both hands to ever get him to leave.”

  “Do you mind talking about the past?” I asked her.

  “Goodness, at my age, how could I be, given that it�
�s a rather big part of my life?” Her lips narrowed for a moment, and then she asked, “Now, do you want the official version of events, or would you like mine?”

  “I can read the transcripts of the court records any time I want to,” I said. “I want to know your thoughts.”

  She laughed. “Precocious as always, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know if that term fits me anymore. Don’t you have to be young to be considered precocious?”

  Margaret smiled. “To me, you are, my dear boy.”

  “Then I’ll own it with a smile. You were saying?”

  “Yes, back to the case. I’m afraid that I don’t have any definitive opinions, but I do have a few speculations about some of the other suspects I would have loved to have seen cross-examined on the stand.”

  “Who are we talking about, and why did you suspect them?”

  “You always had an orderly mind, Patrick. Very well. I believed then, and I’ve had no reason to alter my opinion to date, that Betty Murphy should have been looked at closer.”

  “I’ve heard her name linked to Mitchell’s before, but I haven’t been able to find out why.”

  “Didn’t you know? Mitchell was sleeping with her at the time of his murder, along with another woman or women I was never able to identify.”

  This was real news. A betrayed lover made an excellent suspect, and now I had a motive for murder for Betty. “Do you have any guesses about who the other woman might have been?”

  “Or women. I hesitate to speculate,” she said haltingly.

  “No one’s going to know what you tell me, with the exception of my twin, Annie,” I promised. “If you don’t want me to share anything with her, then perhaps we should drop this particular line of conversation right now.”

  “I appreciate the warning and your integrity for telling me,” Margaret said. “Though I would expect nothing less from you. Very well. Just this once, I will indulge in idle gossip. There were a pair of ladies, actually.”