Of course, I went with him. In his police car, no less. I had no choice. The spell of rain had ended, but mist still swaddled the dark shoulders of the mountains. There was no gleam of Glaciers today, just a gleam in the chief’s eyes when I ended up sitting in his office.
“Can’t I at least read the pages I paid for?” I asked as the chief rounded his desk and sat down, fuming.
“You’ll get your money back. Those pages are evidence,” he bit off.
“Chief! That’s not fair!”
“I’ll tell you this. It’s pretty clear he was still married to a woman in Manila. Okay? Satisfied?”
“You have to arrest Margaret Santos then.”
“We have no evidence she’s anything but a victim in all this.” He leaned towards me. “You did good work with Allan, but it has to stop right now.” He toyed with my recorder and slipped it into a clear plastic evidence bag. “I’m taking this too. We arrested Allan with your marked bills in his pocket. Thanks to you we got him on tape about the blackmail. You did a really good job, Ms. Willoughby. With the pages and the other stuff in his briefcase, I’m pretty sure we can get him on at least five more cases. He’ll serve fourteen years for each charge. You did good.”
“But he won’t confess to his mother. Not a chance,” I said crossing my arms.
“There’s no death penalty in this state, Ms. Willoughby. Even if we could prove he dumped her in the freezer, he’d get a life sentence anyway and he’ll already have seventy years on his tab for the blackmail.”
“Unless you can cut a deal with him.”
The chief frowned at me. “You telling me you’re an amateur lawyer now too?”
“Until we get Utta Podeski’s killer behind bars, her death is going to hang over my uncle Barney like an axe!” I paused in frustration. “Allan could change his testimony about when my uncle Barney left Utta’s. He could say I bribed him to lie, so as to get back at me for helping you catch him. What then? Barney goes right back to being a suspect.” I folded my hands on his desk. “What if you offered him manslaughter? What if you dropped the blackmail, and offered to charge him with manslaughter for killing his mother instead, if he confesses and cooperates to catch Dr. Santos’s killer?”
“Ms. Willoughby, I’m a small town cop. I can’t cut a deal like that.”
“Then convince someone who can! You’ll be solving both murders, Chief. Isn’t that worth it?”
“How does getting his cooperation help catch Dr. Santos’s killer?”
“Do you think either Jean or Pavel killed Dr. Santos?”
He shook his head and sighed. “No evidence. No.”
“Then who had the motive? Who had the motive, Chief?”
“Go on.”
“She did!” I slammed my fist to his desk. “Margaret Santos. She has worked at the hardware store for twenty years. She knows it like the back of her hand. Do they stock strychnine?”
“Strychnine is a controlled substance, Ms. Willoughby. It’s not readily available anymore.”
“But Jean got hold of some, didn’t she?”
The chief nodded.
“Where might she get it? Old stock at the hardware store, maybe? And who’d be in a better position to know Jean had strychnine than the person who sold it to her? I wasn’t the only person in town who knew Jean was baiting skunks. Every dog owner in Glacier knew.”
“So Jean would have been an easy patsy for the strychnine. I’ll give you that.”
“Margaret found out about Dr. Santos’s wife and child in Manila. She wanted to get even. She knew her husband loved carrot cake. She had access to strychnine from the old stock at the hardware store.”
“But how do we get her to admit that?”
“We might be able to with Allan’s help,” I said. “And mine. I can goad her. I know I can. But you’ll need to cut him a deal to get him to cooperate and take me in to see her.”
The chief sat quietly for a moment with his eyes closed. “I’ll try to get him a deal. But you realize if this little plan of yours with Margaret Santos fails, any deal Allan gets falls apart too. And if that happens, your uncle Barney is sunk as well because, dollars to donuts, Allan will change his story about your uncle to get even with me and you.”
I nodded.
“My life’s not been the same since you got to Glacier,” he said ruefully. “Okay then, give me some space.” The chief cocked his head towards the front vestibule. “I need to call Eugene.”
24
Not all that surprisingly, the assistant District Attorney in Eugene was happy to cut a deal with Allan. Now that he didn’t have my uncle Barney on the hook anymore, if there was a prospect of getting two fast convictions for murder by going a little easier on Allan, he would. He’d be willing to drop the blackmail charges if Allan cooperated with “the chief’s plan” and admitted to dumping his mother in the freezer. He’d face a charge of unintentional manslaughter as a result. A sentence of five or six years for “accidently” killing his mother was far better than fifty or sixty for all the blackmail convictions. It was a given that Allan would accept the arrangement eagerly. But the chief, Allan and I still had to bring home the bacon with Margaret Santos.
I hated standing there with him, knowing what he’d done, knowing he would have let Barney go to jail if I hadn’t interfered with his plans. The lump in my craw was huge, but I forced myself to chew and swallow. I had no choice now. I had to prove Margaret Santos’s guilt or my scheme would fall apart. Without her confession, Allan’s plea deal would disappear as well. We’d have him for Utta Podeski’s death but Dr. Santos’s killer would still be free. This simply had to work.
The chief had made a copy of my recorded visit to Allan’s bedroom and returned my recorder. I checked the red light on its side and fingered the microphone taped to my chest as well. My recorder would be backup in case the police recorder taped in the small of my back failed.
“What’s she you doing here?” Margaret Santos was aggressive when she opened the door.
I stepped back on the stoop and let Allan move into the house first. “You didn’t think any of this was a secret, did you?” I asked. I tried to mimic Allan’s best smirk as I followed him inside. I purposely brushed her backwards with my shoulder as I entered to emphasize I wasn’t someone to argue with.
“I already paid you!” Margaret shouted at Allan, slamming the door closed. “What do you want now?”
Allan strolled into her house and relaxed on her couch in a lazy sprawl. I sidled in next to him. “You remember meeting my partner in crime?” Allan’s smile was slimy. I had to force myself to turn from it so I didn’t face Margaret.
“We’ve met,” she answered with an unhappy inflection.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t she didn’t play nice?” He tutted his tongue. “I had to make sure you’d follow the rules,” he said. He motioned for Margaret to sit down. “From what she told me, you did, Maggie May.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“Relax! I need to make a few small changes to our arrangement.” Allan’s voice was smooth and sugary. He was playing his part in this sting to a tee and it made me want to retch. I hated doing this with him but kept telling myself you have to …you have to. I turned away from Margaret and checked the street through her window. I was afraid I’d give myself away if I looked at her.
“What do you want? Why’d you bring the daughter of a murderer into my house?”
What she said stung, but I didn’t react.
“My friend’s a smart lady. My mother dying sort of brought us together, didn’t it, honey?” He reached over and rubbed my shoulder. “She knows things. Like insurance. See, she told me if a person with life insurance is killed, the beneficiary gets paid out as soon as the police clear them of murder. Your insurance company paid you out?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Hmmmm.” Allan perched forward over his knees and clasped his hands. “Could mean they’re worried, Maggie May. My friend here tell
s me the insurance won’t pay out if they even have a whiff of suspicion that you were the murderer.” He smiled. “Be a shame if someone stuck his nose in about now while they’re considering. What if that person made the police wonder? Could the widow have anything to do with her husband’s death?”
“You’re wasting your time.” Margaret leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands in her lap. “They questioned me. I have a solid alibi. I was working when he was killed.”
It was my turn to speak. There was no doubt Allan could be intimidating and threatening but scaring Margaret to death wouldn’t get her talking. He was taking his part too far and I needed to step in. “And you thought I was the bad mannered one,” I said. I patted Allan’s leg and smiled at him. “He can be a bad boy.”
“What do you want?” Margaret asked again.
“We don’t want to worry you, Mrs. Santos,” I said. “Quite the opposite. We want to tell you how you can make us go away forever.”
She stared at me, carefully scanning my every feature.
I dug deep, reminding myself what I had to do. “We do our homework when it comes to our clients. Don’t we, honey?” I patted Allan’s leg. “Well, I do the homework. His job is collecting the winnings.”
“Winnings?” Margaret snorted.
I continued, pretending I didn’t notice her reaction. “We started watching you and your husband quite a while ago, Mrs. Santos. It helps us come up with a number.” I smiled. “We watch where you go, what you spend money on, that sort of thing. Helps us figure what you can afford. And the day your husband died we noticed you being a loving wife.”
Margaret’s face blanched.
“You paid him a visit, didn’t you? You walked over to his office and went in through the back door. We know that because we had somebody watching the front. He was in a white Jeep. Did you happen to notice?” I asked, adding a little fact to my fiction. “You went in around lunch time with a fluffy white cake covered in Saran Wrap. A very thoughtful little present for your hardworking hubby. We didn’t think much of it until we heard the good dentist was poisoned.” I turned to Allan. “What was he poisoned with, honey?”
“A cake,” Allan said, a huge smile on his face.
“That’s right! A poisoned carrot cake.”
“What do you want?”
“You killed him over his little marriage mistake. You couldn’t live with it. You figured if he was dead, Allan would leave you alone.”
“What do you want?”
“Half your settlement,” I said, watching her face. “Your husband’s other little problem doesn’t compare with yours. It’s worth a lot more. Pay us half and Allan and I will go away.”
“You think I’m worried?” Margaret huffed a shallow laugh. “You won’t go to the police. Besides, I take my husband lunch all the time. It’s nothing new.”
“Lunch.” I nodded. “But they didn’t find any lunch. Just poisoned cake.”
“Half is too much,” she finally said. “I didn’t do everything I did to only get half.” She patted the arm of her chair. “Twenty-five percent or go to hell.”
“You don’t seem to understand…”
“Stuff it,” she shouted. “I have a solid alibi. I was taking stock in the back of the hardware store and I have witnesses.”
“Your boss will say—”
‘Stop it,” she said, cutting me off with an abrupt command. “My twit of a boss won’t admit he was in the bar for his liquid lunch like he is every day, or his teetotalling wife will skin him alive. My alibi is solid gold.”
I turned to Allan. “You good with this, honey?”
Allan shrugged, playing his defeat. “Same day you’re paid, we’re paid or we do go to the cops.” We left the living room without saying another word to Margaret. On the sidewalk, Allan gave me an affectionate hug. “You’re in the wrong business, girlie!”
I stopped and slowly turned towards him. Staring into his eyes, I smiled and then quickly raised my knee.
I watched Deputy Duffy slowly take the steps to Margaret’s door as Chief McCaffrey climbed out of his car. “Did you get it?”
I nodded. As he lifted my shirt to remove the strap holding the tape recorder in the small of my back, I pressed rewind on my microcassette recorder. Margaret’s voice was loud and clear.
“What happened to him?” The chief was smiling at Allan, curled in a fetal position on the sidewalk.
“He tripped over his ego,” I said with cold disinterest. The chief unclipped the microphone cable from the recorder and I peeled it from my chest. As I handed it over, we both watched Duffy pushing Margaret to the wall and cuffing her wrists behind her back.
“I guess her daughters will stay at Grandma’s now,” I said sadly.
The chief moved to Allan who was still coiled on the sidewalk, groaning. As he handcuffed him I tucked in my shirt and stared. “He did a good job.”
“He had good reasons.” He pulled Allan to his feet and maneuvered him to the police car.
“Tomorrow is Thursday,” the chief said.
“I know.” I watched Duffy escorting Margaret down her walk towards the sidewalk and his car. “I guess I’ll get some pastries.”
“Make sure you get lots of glazed doughnuts. Barney never got enough for the whole week.”
We were alone in The Grind. Nancy and Bill had taken Su for a quick walk as Barney brewed coffee and so we had a chance to be with each other. I watched him pour himself a cup and add cream. He closed his eyes and sipped almost reverently. “I didn’t think I’d ever taste coffee this good again,” he said.
I leaned on the display counter and smiled. “Nancy kept it all going. She deserves a raise.”
My uncle chuckled and nodded. “I already said this but I gotta say it again. Thank you,” he said softly.
“We’re family.” I went to his chair, and bent to hug him, laying my cheek on his head. “I need to thank you,” I said. “You’ve been the best uncle any girl could ask for.”
He reached with his free hand to clasp one of mine. “I’d do it all over again.” Then he chuckled, staring at the baking stacked beside the display case. “Think you bought enough?”
“The whole town will be in here tomorrow,” I said. “I doubt it.”
He turned to me. “You heading home now?”
I paused for a moment but then shook my head. I haven’t even got started on sorting out my own life, but I do have an idea for a novel to write. A mystery novel. Maybe I can still get started on that this summer.
“Think I’ll stay a while longer,” I said.
“Good,” he replied. “Because I still don’t know the first thing about selling books.”
I hope you enjoyed Cool Demise. Read on for a sneak peek of Widow’s Walk (Grind and Bookmarks Book 2).
Widow’s Walk
WIDOW’S WALK
© 2020 STANLEY SAUERWEIN
Excerpt from Chapter 1
She floated through the hotel. I was mesmerized at first. Her stride was so effortless and smooth it gave me the impression she might be wearing roller skates.
I recognized the bestselling novelist and featured speaker for the upcoming Glacier Writers Conference from her book cover photograph.
The modest lobby of the English inn knock-off our little village was so proud of boasting about was clogged with conference attendees. I still couldn’t believe our luck. Remarkably, it appeared the first annual conflab Nancy, Bill and I had spent months organizing might turn out to be a hit.
To help our bookstore, Bookmarks, build a customer base bigger than just the regulars who came to The Grind cafe to listen to me read my short stories, I’d followed through on a promise I made to my uncle Barney six months earlier. I’d talked Bobbi Hudson, a bestselling romance writer from Canada, into coming to Glacier and giving a workshop and a reading. Her visit turned out to be the hottest event to hit town in years, even smack dab in the middle of the ski season. And it gave us an idea.
Bill Reamer, m
y handsome sort of boyfriend and bookstore helper, actually dreamed up the writers’ conference. I had put Bill to work recommending new title stock for the store and he reported that a novel by Tricia Curtain was blowing off the doors on best seller lists across the country. More importantly, her story was about a real suicide that had happened in Glacier in the early 1900s.
Bill asked Nancy and I a question a few days after Hudson’s visit. “Why don’t we host a small writers’ conference featuring Tricia Curtain and ‘The Blast Mystery’ novel? It’d give the Lee Hotel and The Grind some business even if we only get a handful of attendees from Portland and Eugene.”
The idea sounded like fun and kind of exciting. We decided that if we could get the village council and local businesses behind a small conference, we’d give organizing it a shot. I’d play chairperson and invite writers to speak, Nancy would do the event coordination and Bill would handle the bills and income.
Nancy started everything rolling with a presentation to the village council and they absolutely loved the idea. The Blast mansion highlighted in the book, a Victorian three-storey everyone in Glacier called Blast Castle, had fallen into disrepair but it was owned by the village for back taxes. The mayor convinced the council to pay for stairway repairs up to the Widow’s Walk so tours could be hosted during the conference. The council was overcome with enthusiasm. After gabbing on the subject during their mid-meeting coffee break, the village fathers (and mother) decided to go the stair repair project one better. They determined to turn the Blast Castle into a permanent local museum attraction. That municipal improvement project would be kicked off with the conference.
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