“What proof?” Bee challenged.
“Surveillance footage that I’ve given to the police. The camera outside my front window caught me in the living room watching TV at the exact time that Moira was killed.”
If that wasn’t a rock-solid alibi, I didn’t know what was.
“So, you see, it wasn’t me who killed my friend.” Violet patted her crimson locks. “Now, I know you must think I’m a terrible person for forcing Harry to break it off with Moira, but I did what I had to do to protect my dignity and hers. Harry is a wretch. He cheats on his wife continuously. He told me and Moira that he wanted to marry us, and I couldn’t abide that. So, I did what was necessary to protect myself and my friend.”
I wasn’t sure I bought that. Either way, Violet had an alibi.
Silence followed her speech, and Bee was positively mutinous.
“I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Violet said. “I just wanted to throw a nice party for my friend and have the man who hurt her leave us both alone. Now, I have bigger problems.”
“The theft?” I prompted.
“Yes, the theft. Items have gone missing, along with money, and my cameras haven’t picked up any irregularities. I’m in the process of getting more security installed, but I feel as if it’s already too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“My ring is gone.” Violet gestured to her ring finger. “My late husband’s grandmother carried it over from Italy when she immigrated to America, and it’s got a lot of sentimental value for me. I need you to help me get it back.”
“Surely, you’ll find the thief when you install the cameras.”
“But what if they’re long gone by then?” Violet asked. “Please. I need your help.”
This was already out of the scope of the murder investigation. I didn’t see why we should help this old woman who’d threatened us. Unless, she decided us not helping was an excuse for her to press charges against us for trespassing on her private property.
“How long has this been going on?” Bee asked.
“For a few weeks,” she replied.
“And you didn’t find anything irregular on the cameras. The police didn’t either? No one exiting and entering the place?”
“No, but I don’t have the kitchen entrance covered. That might be where they’re getting in.”
“What are you thinking?” I asked Bee.
“Hmm.”
“Bee?”
She gestured back the way we’d come. “That it wasn’t Violet who poisoned the frosting. That it was someone else, and that they might be the same person who’s been stealing her things.”
“That’s quite an assumption,” I replied.
“Violet, are your knitting needles missing too?” Bee asked.
“Why, yes they are.”
Cold realization washed over me in waves. Knitting needles, poison, money going missing, they were all linked, if only I could figure out how. “Violet,” I said, “we’ll help you. But you need to do something for us.”
“Anything.”
17
The following evening…
The party was due to start any minute and the guests had already started arriving. I hovered in Violet’s upstairs study, peering out at the front pathway and the cars parking below, people emerging all dressed in black.
It was meant to be a memorial party for Moira. Everyone had been invited—from Hanson to the knitting club members to Harry Dean himself. All the major players in one room, and all for good reason.
We had planned a trap that would snap closed the moment the murderer and thief—we suspected they were one and the same person—set a foot out of line.
“It’s going to work, right?” I asked.
“Of course, it’s going to work,” Bee said, tugging her black leather gloves into place. “It’s foolproof.”
I didn’t see it that way. There were too many things that could go wrong.
“Do you want to go over the plan one more time?”
“Yeah.”
“Right, so Violet has invited everyone over for a memorial service,” Bee said. “While they’re here, she’s going to brag that she’s actively helping the police investigate the murder because she has an amazing surveillance set up and had secret cameras installed just this past week—before Moira was stabbed in hospital.”
I nodded, my palms growing clammy.
“She’ll also tell them that she’s struggled to get hold of her security company to pull the footage from the cloud but she’s just achieved it this very evening and that the police are on their way to get it. The murderer, if they’re here, will be alarmed. They’ll want to get their hands on the surveillance footage before the cops do.”
“Right. Except there is no surveillance footage.”
“Exactly. But they don’t know that. The murderer or the thief, assuming they’re two different people,” Bee continued, “will come looking for the room where Violet keeps her computer.”
“And that will bring them here. To the study.”
“Where we’ll be waiting to tackle them to the ground and call the police,” Bee finished. “It’s pretty simple. The only part we really have to worry about is whether the murderer and the thief are one and the same.”
“And you think they are.”
“I do,” Bee said. “I have a gut feeling about it. What are the chances that Moira was poisoned here, the murder weapons came from here, and Violet’s ring is missing, and it’s been different people doing it? It doesn’t make sense.”
I returned my attention to the guests below.
A car door slammed, and Harry Dean appeared from a black SUV, tugging on the lapels of his suit. He was accompanied by his wife, a rake-thin woman with crimped hair. Hanson arrived a short while later, dapper in a black suit and tie, his hair parted to one side, and his eyes downcast.
It might be him.
It was unfathomable to think that the man who had been so lovely and helpful during our short vacation at the campgrounds could murder his own grandmother for her money. But then, human beings had surprised me many times in the past.
Finally, all the guests had arrived, the front gates had closed, and it was up to us to do nothing but wait.
And wait we did.
For hours.
Nothing happened. No murderer opened the door to the study and sneaked toward the computer on the polished desk in the center of the room. Bee waited next to the bookcase, and I crouched behind the sofa, occasionally stretching myself out or switching to a seated position.
“Nothing’s happening,” I whispered.
“Shush. They might be outside the door as we speak.”
But still, nothing.
After two hours of waiting, the clink and chatter from the party downstairs began dying down. Another hour and car doors slammed outside. People had started leaving.
“It’s not working, Bee.” I stretched out my aching muscles. “They’re not coming up here.”
“You never know. They might be biding their time, waiting until everyone has left before they try something.”
But another forty-five minutes passed, and all the guests were gone. The only car left was Violet’s. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t understand,” Bee said. “The plan was flawless.”
Footsteps approached the other side of the door. But it wasn’t the murderer who entered the room. Violet clicked on the study lights. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Bee said, bitterly. “I don’t get it. It was flawless. Did you brag about the investigation? The cameras? The footage?”
“Everything. I did everything according to plan.” Violet looked about ready to burst into tears. “This is terrible. I’ll never get my ring back at this rate.”
I flopped down onto the chair in front of her computer and bumped my elbow on the desk. The PC woke up, probably from me disturbing the mouse, and a document appeared on the screen.
A final notice from
the bank addressed to Violet.
“What’s this?” I asked, gesturing to it.
“Oh that? It’s nothing. Nothing,” she said, blushing. “Just, well, I took out a personal loan to help my Ronnie. He’s having some troubles with, well, it’s not really of any consequence, but he… look. He…”
“He what?” Bee asked, impatiently.
“He has some gambling issues. I’ve just been helping him pay off debts, and the loan, well, he said he would pay that off himself. But he hasn’t.”
“You took out a loan in your name to help him pay his gambling debts?” Bee was incredulous.
“Yes,” Violet said. “He’s my grandson. And I know he’ll pay it off in good time.”
“Except he hasn’t.” I scrolled the mouse-wheel.
“Yes, well, I spoke to him about it and he said he’ll find the money. He’s just working some extra hours to make it up and then he’ll pay it. I don’t mind paying it for now.”
“But if you have the money to pay it, why take out the loan in the first place?” I asked.
“I didn’t have the money to pay it all back at once, you see. Just in increments. Like I said, things have been going missing, and I’m not exactly flush with cash at the moment. If things continue this way, I’ll likely have to sell the mansion.” Violet cleared her throat. “Anyway, that’s my private business. It’s got nothing to do with the murder or the theft. What will you do now?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Bee beat me to the punch.
“We’ll stay an hour or so more. See if they turn up.”
“Right, good. Then you’ll excuse me while I take my nightcap.” Violet left the room with a harried glance over her shoulder.
I didn’t blame her. Bee’s glare would’ve put the fear in anyone.
“I can’t believe how stupid she’s being,” Bee said. “To trust that grandson of hers to repay…to repay… oh my heavens!”
“Bee?”
My bestie’s eyes had gone round as cake tins. “Ronnie. It’s Ronnie!”
“What?”
“The murder. The money. The… poison. The drugs.”
“Benzodiazepines?” A cascade of realization tumbled through my mind, as it had through Bee’s, and we stared at each other, unspeaking.
Ronnie had access to the drug that had poisoned Moira. He’d needed money and possibly stolen from his own grandmother, and she wouldn’t have realized that it was him, just by virtue of the fact that she’d expected to see him coming in and out of her mansion because he lived there.
Of course. Of course!
“But why?” I asked. “Why would he hurt Moira? It’s not like he could have gotten money out of—” I sucked in a shuddering gasp. “The cupcakes!”
“What about them?”
“There were two. One that was specifically for Moira, it was covered in moon sprinkles, and then one that was for Violet, covered in star sprinkles. But Moira took the cupcake that had the stars by accident, and I didn’t bother stopping her because I had no idea that… I—Ronnie was trying to kill Violet, not Moira.”
“And he wasn’t here tonight for Violet’s big speech about the security footage,” Bee said.
“We have to tell her before—”
Glass shattered downstairs, and Violet let out a bloodcurdling scream.
18
Bee rushed from the room before I could squeak out a warning, but I didn’t follow. Not yet. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called 911. The dispatcher took down my information and my request, but instead of staying on the line, I dropped my cell and headed out into the hall.
I couldn’t leave my friend to fend for herself against a murderer.
The house was quiet, and I crept along the carpeted upper hallway toward the staircase. I grasped the balustrade and peered over it into the lobby. It was empty.
My heart thrummed against the inside of my throat.
Come on, Ruby, get down there, before it’s too late.
“Ruby!” Bee shouted from somewhere nearby—the living room was my best guess. “A little help, please?”
I took the stairs two at a time and skidded across the wooden floorboards, scrunching up the lobby’s fancy Persian rug. “Bee!”
“Living room.”
I sprinted into the living room and nearly fell over Bee and Ronnie. He was on top of her, then her on top of him, rolling back and forth on the floor, growling at each other and struggling. Violet was tied to her armchair, her eyes wide and filled with tears.
“Let her go!” I yelled at Ronnie.
But he ignored me. It was fortunate that he was so skinny. If he’d had any muscle mass to speak of, he likely would have overpowered Bee by now.
“Let go!” I took off my sneaker and thwacked him on the back of the head.
“Yeah, that’s not helping,” Bee shouted. “Maybe call the cops?”
“I have already.”
Ronnie went stiff at the mention of the police and I took the opportunity to slip an arm around his neck and tightened it into a headlock. I wrapped my legs around him and held him still as best I could, using one of the techniques I’d learned in a self-defense class.
I’d taken karate for the discipline, and self-defense classes because Daniel had insisted that I wasn’t safe as a woman living alone in New York City.
Bee scrambled up rubbing her wrists and throat. “How are you doing that?”
“Using his strength against him,” I grunted. “Violet?”
“Right.” Bee untied Violet from the armchair, but she didn’t get up. She gripped her head and peeked through her fingers at Ronnie.
“It’s all right,” Bee said. “We’ve got him.”
“Why, Ronnie? Why!” Violet howled.
Ronnie choked and struggled, his fingers scratching my forearms.
I tightened my grip. “Stop scratching me or I’ll cut off your airflow until you black out.”
Ronnie went limp and let out a wail. “Please,” he whined, “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t like this?” I asked. “I bet Moira didn’t like it when you plunged two knitting needles into her chest.”
“It was one,” he said, sniveling. “Just one. And I had to do it. She knew that I was the one who poisoned her. She figured it out and she was going to tell the cops. I had to do it.”
“You wanted to kill Violet.” Likely, his grandmother wouldn’t believe it unless she heard it directly from his mouth, even after he’d attacked her.
“I need the money.”
“What money?” Bee asked.
“My life insurance policy,” Violet whispered, quivering. “You horrible, horrible boy. How could you? I gave you a place to stay. I gave you—”
“You only gave me that stuff because you wanted to brag to your stupid friends in the knitting club,” he spat. “You don’t care about me. If you did, you would have paid off all of my debts.”
“You took my ring!” Violet pointed a quivering finger at him. “You took my ring.”
“Get over it, grandma.”
“Want me to knock him out?” I asked. “I can do that.”
Sirens wailed and lights flashed in the front windows. Ronnie started struggling again. I nearly lost my grip on him, but I held him tighter, ignoring the pain as he scraped and scratched my forearms.
Soon, the detectives entered and Detective Wilkes formally arrested Ronnie and read him his rights. The emergency services arrived and tended to Violet, Bee and me. The scratches weren’t too bad, and Bee only had a couple of bruises, while Violet was more traumatized than physically hurt.
The glass breaking had been a vase that Ronnie had bumped over while forcing her into her armchair. He’d planned on coercing her banking details out of her before murdering her. Whether he would’ve claimed the life insurance policy after all of that was a question we didn’t need an answer to, thankfully.
“How did you do that, Rubes?” Bee asked, as we waited to give our statements to the police. “Have
you secretly been working out when I wasn’t looking?”
“No,” I laughed. “It’s not about strength, it’s a specific hold that uses the opponent’s weight against them and gets you into a comfortable position to keep them in place for a long time. Thankfully, Ronnie’s quite weak so it wasn’t a struggle. If he’d been any stronger, I would’ve been out of luck.”
“Well, you have to teach me how to do that,” Bee said. “It beats rolling around on the floor trying to keep from being strangled.” She gestured to her neck.
“Are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Can’t say the same for Violet, though. Poor woman.”
We watched as Ronnie was driven off in the back of a police car, glowering at us. Another case solved, and Muffin peaceful again.
There was only one more thing I had to do before I’d be satisfied that we could lay this mystery to rest…
19
I tapped my manicured fingernails on the table in front of the windows in the Nodding Frond café, my heart skipping a beat each time the door opened and another person entered.
You have to relax.
I brought out my phone and checked the time. Jamie was a half an hour late for our meeting, and I couldn’t help but think he’d stood me up. I wouldn’t blame him. I’d been terrible over the past week or two. I’d practically accused him of murdering his grandmother when he’d been dealing with her passing all on his own.
He’s not coming. I sent the message to Bee. I should probably just leave.
My phone pinged with her reply. Don’t be ridiculous, Holmes. He’ll come.
It’s been a half an hour!
“Hello.” The warm, melted chocolate voice spoke next to my table.
I squirreled my phone away and turned to meet Hanson. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a gray t-shirt that fit him just right. His blond hair was ruffled, a casual bedhead look, and the undersides of his eyes were dominated by dark semi-circles.
He’d had a rough time, and I’d made that worse.
“Hi,” I said, and got up. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
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