Sandie James Mysteries Box Set

by Tessa Kelly

  “Well, tell her thanks. And that I’m glad you’re living with her.” Will put a piece of the frittata in his mouth and chewed it with appreciation.

  “Are you going to hold Josh much longer?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Can’t. Not enough evidence. We’ll have to let him go, though he won’t be able to leave town.”

  “Did Marcel Bright corroborate his story then?”

  “He did. He asked Josh to get a package for him at the gallery, but Josh never arrived with it.”

  I tried a piece of my food. Delicious. Tyrone didn’t appreciate how lucky he was. The thought gave me a nasty twist in the stomach and I quickly put it out of my mind.

  “What was in the package Marcel wanted?”

  “He told me it was a painting. He’d left it at the AGER for Dan Cobbs to examine. We searched for it, though. Found nothing.”

  “In other words, there’s no way to verify his story.”

  “Exactly.” Will frowned and reached for the cream for his coffee. We ate in silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in thoughts.

  I tried out a new scenario. If we were to assume that, after all, the motive for Alexa’s murder was professional jealousy, and if we supposed that Josh was innocent, then that only left Caroline King, the assistant curator. She was the only person who could benefit professionally from Alexa and Dan’s deaths.

  But killing them would’ve been a really stupid move on her part. Too obvious. And Caroline didn’t strike me as a fool. I told my thoughts to my brother.

  “Right. The redhead.” He grinned. “I was thinking of asking her out for coffee. After the investigation is over, obviously.”

  I coughed as a piece of the frittata went down the wrong way. “That’s...nice.”

  Poor Will. With Josh in the picture, he had his work cut out for him on the Caroline front.

  Was it my place to tell him that?

  “Besides,” Will went on, oblivious to my sudden discomfort. “Caroline’s got an alibi for both murders. She’s clear.”

  I stared at him. “You sure?”

  He clicked his tongue. “Do you think you’re the only one who can investigate? I know my job, sis. And I’ve been at it a lot longer than you.”

  I smiled. “Sorry. Of course you’d check her alibi. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t know your job.”

  So Caroline was out of the picture as a suspect. I was ashamed to admit the thought gave me a tiny twitch of disappointment.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t the only one who was less than crazy about the AGER’s assistant curator. Marlowe had taken an instant dislike to her, and he was usually an excellent judge of people. Unless they had dog biscuits in their pockets. Then all bets were off.

  But if Caroline was clean, then—

  “That brings us back to Marcel Bright,” I said.

  “There’s a thought.” Will pushed away his empty plate and leaned forward on his elbows, his right hand in the bowl of Pringles playing with the chips like they were fat-and-preservative-loaded potpourri. “I spent half an hour questioning Bright the other day. Still don’t have a handle on him. That guy reeks of weird.”

  “Maybe the problem is you've never spent much time around artists,” I said. “I have. I’d like to talk to him, see what I can get out of him.”

  Will quirked an eyebrow at me. “How would you get close? The guy’s pretty famous from what I gather. He's not likely to open up to a stranger.”

  He was right. Why would Marcel Bright talk to me of all people? Unless... I sat up, struck by an idea.

  “He’ll talk to me if someone he knows introduces us. Remember John Edwards, that book collector from Boston? He is a friend of Marcel’s.”

  Will curled his lip. “That guy gets around. Almost wish I could arrest him for causing all that trouble for Dad.”

  “He didn’t cause it, though,” I reminded him. “Lauren was the one who killed Sonny. John Edwards knew nothing about it until I called him.”

  Will shrugged. “Okay, it’s irrational. I know. But I can’t shake the feeling. Whenever that guy’s name comes up I just bristle inside.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but secretly a part of me felt the same. As if John Edwards was guilty simply by association.

  But I still needed him to introduce me to Marcel Bright. Grabbing my phone from the kitchen counter, I dialed his number.

  His voice came on the line, as smooth and refined as I remembered it.

  “This is Sandra James,” I said. “We met at the AGER on Marcel Bright’s opening night. We also spoke two months ago, regarding a case with the first edition of a Raymond Chandler book.”

  There was a short pause, then he said, “Yes, I remember you, Miss James. What can I do for you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Well...I’m calling because a friend of mine is being implicated in the murder of Alexa Grimes.”

  “I see.” He sounded slightly amused. “That’s twice in two months, Miss James. You must have a beacon that draws in that sort of trouble.”

  My fingers curled around the phone. This was the second time in one day that someone accused me of attracting disaster into my life. I didn’t care for it.

  “You know, I could say the same about you,” I pointed out.

  “That’s true in a way, I suppose.” His voice turned too casual. “Am I on your list of suspects? Is that why I have the honor of this phone call?”

  Maybe. He certainly had a connection to all of this somehow. But saying it out loud wouldn’t get me what I wanted.

  “Of course not,” I assured him. “I’m calling because I’m hoping to ask a favor. You see, I remembered you saying Marcel Bright was a friend of yours. I’d like to meet and talk with him face to face. After all, it was his exhibit and he might have valuable information that could give us a clue about the murder.” I paused, then asked, “Would you be willing to arrange an introduction?”

  “Hmm.” He mulled it over. After a moment, he said, “Let me check something.”

  There was the sound of paper being leafed on the other line, then he came back. “Fabian Morris, a mutual friend of Marcel and I, is having a soiree at his house on Tuesday night. If you’d like, I can bring you along as my guest.”

  A soiree with Marcel Bright and Fabian Morris? Two possible suspects in a murder case, under the same roof with me. Perhaps, most women in my place would’ve turned and run the other way. I grinned, the anticipation building in my gut.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Edwards. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and turned to Will with a triumphant smile.

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter 14

  Monday afternoon found me at the bakery, so busy I had to put aside all thoughts of the investigation. Adding to the injury, Tyrone called out sick for the first time in months and his tasks—making the focaccia bread and mixing cake batter—fell to me and Felisha.

  She wasn’t any help, though. Tyrone’s absence sent her spiraling down and she kept dropping things, messing up simple tasks, like adding too much sugar to the cake batter and then forgetting to switch on the mixer.

  From the other side of the bakery, Kathy gave me a look of frustration. Whether it was the stress from all the work or problems at home, she also didn’t act like her usual self as she darted around the back room, slamming trays and bumping into tables. She looked close to blowing a gasket and Felisha’s absentmindedness only made it worse. Afraid the whole situation would result in a scene, I finally cornered Felisha for a pep talk.

  “Please, you have to pull yourself together. Tyrone will be here tomorrow. What's the matter? Why are you so upset he’s out?”

  “You don't get it.” She sniffed, took a tissue from the tissue box and blew her nose loudly. “I haven't seen him all weekend! When I called to tell him about the Bed-and-Breakfast I booked, the call went to voicemail.”

  “He hasn’t called or texted at all?” I asked.

  “No, he did. He sent a text sa
ying he’s sorry he’s been so busy and that he’ll call me soon.” She sniffed again and several large tears rolled down her cheeks. “What’s he so busy with all of a sudden?”

  I looked away, feeling like a traitor.

  I should have told Felisha about the other woman right from the start, after I’d seen her with Tyrone the other day. Felisha would’ve been crushed, but at least she wouldn’t be driving herself into a nervous wreck.

  Trouble was, I kept hoping the problem would resolve itself and it would all turn out to be a big misunderstanding. Obviously, I’d been too optimistic. Or cowardly, because I hated to be the one to tell her. But I couldn't put it off any longer. I took a deep breath.

  “I think I know what Tyrone’s been up to. He’s—”

  “Sandie! Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”

  Mrs. O’Hara stood in the doorway connecting the cafe and the back room. Pale and frantic, her normally neat hair in disarray. Was everyone around me being affected by the Monday bug, or had they all made a pact to wake up on the wrong side of the bed?

  I hurried over to her. “Mrs. O'Hara, what’s wrong?”

  “I tried calling you on the phone but you didn't answer,” she wailed. She was wringing her hands, her moist eyes red-rimmed. I’d never seen her this upset before.

  “I got a call from the homeless shelter,” she said. “It’s Jeremiah. They said he was taken to a hospital last night. There was a fight between the residents, and he got hurt.”

  I gasped in shock. Jeremiah, involved in a brawl? Inconceivable.

  “How bad is he?”

  “I don't know. His caseworker didn't give me any details.” Clutching her shoulder bag for support, she glanced past me at Felisha, then back at me again. “I'm going to the hospital now. Will you please come with me? I'm so scared for him.”

  What could I tell her? The timing couldn't have been any worse. Kathy would kill me if I even mentioned having to leave.

  I was trying to decide what to do when a hand touched my shoulder. I turned around. Kathy stood behind me, her eyes full of concern.

  “Of course you can go, Sandie. Go with Mrs. O’Hara, make sure that man is all right.”

  “Are you serious?” I shook my head. “No, I can’t. What about you? This place is a mess.”

  She nodded and shrugged in a resigned way, then gave me a tiny smile. “We’ll manage. Go.”

  I put my arms around her, lacking the words to express my gratitude for her generosity. Then my eyes flicked to Felisha. “I’m sorry I have to go. We’ll talk when I get back. Is that okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She wiped her wet cheeks. “Of course you should go.”

  I ran downstairs, untying my apron as I went and threw it on the back of a chair, then grabbed my bag. Two minutes later, Mrs. O'Hara and I were hurrying to the train station.

  At the hospital, the front desk nurse directed us to Jeremiah’s room on the second floor. He smiled at us weakly from his bed, looking pale. His left arm was in a sling.

  Mrs. O'Hara hurried over to his bedside. “Dear me! Jeremiah, what happened?”

  He winced as he tried to rise up on his pillow. “There was a fight in the hallway outside my room, happened just as I was getting ready for sleep. I came out and tried to break it up with a few calm words. Thought I could reason with the men. Then one of the fellas took out a knife and stabbed me.”

  He held up a hand as Mrs. O’Hara and I both gasped in horror. “The wound isn’t deep. They bandaged me up, and I should be good to go by tomorrow. So please, don’t fret about me, I hate to be the cause of so much trouble.”

  He hadn’t been involved in a brawl but got hurt breaking up one. I should’ve known.

  Mrs. O’Hara smiled, but she had tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad it’s not serious.” She moved over to his head and began arranging his pillows. “It’ll all be okay, you know. You’ll be able to go home just as soon as we find your family.”

  Jeremiah nodded in the way people do when agreeing with a statement they don’t really believe in.

  “I’m all right, Geraldine,” he repeated and patted her hand softly. “Really, I’m okay.”

  But he wasn't. If not for Mrs. O'Hara's constant attention and care, where would he be?

  As she took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it tightly, I looked away, feeling as if I was intruding on a private scene.

  When it came to family, it was plain Mrs. O’Hare and Jeremiah had already found theirs. But none of that mattered as long as the possibility remained that somewhere out there, Jeremiah’s real family waited for him to come home.

  How long would it take before we knew for certain? Determined as we were to find out Jeremiah’s identity, the task appeared more hopeless than ever. Without any clues to point us in the right direction, I couldn’t see a successful resolution.

  Mrs. O’Hara touched my hand, bringing me back to the present. “Since Jeremiah isn’t seriously injured, you should probably get back to work, dear.”

  I looked at the time. “Yes. Since you have things under control, I better run. Kathy will have a breakdown if I don’t come back soon.”

  “She was a dear for letting you go in the first place,” Mrs. O’Hara said. “Thank you so much for coming with me.”

  She turned to Jeremiah. “I'll walk Sandie out and get us some lunch. I’m sure you’ll like something delicious instead of hospital food.”

  As we came out into the hallway, the door of a private room next to Jeremiah's opened and to my complete surprise, Caroline King stepped out.

  For a second, her face registered the same astonishment I felt. Then she flashed a smile and rushed in for a hug in an exaggerated show of delight.

  “Hi, Sandie! You’re like the last person I thought I’d see today. What are you doing here?”

  I pointed to the room we just left. “I’m visiting a sick friend. What about you?”

  “Oh, same.” She gave a small laugh. “Well, not really a friend. My boss, Mr. McNally. He’s still laid out with the appendix, recovering from surgery. I have to bring him updates on what's going on at the gallery. Ever since Dan, it kind of fell to me to do everything.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “How are you managing?”

  She shook her head, her forehead wrinkling. “I’ve had a few difficult days. We might even have to close the exhibit for now... Poor Dan. I just can’t believe any of this is happening. ”

  Seeing Caroline frazzled like this, it was hard not to pity her. Here was another person completely stressed and out of their depth. Everyone was unraveling lately.

  “I know it’s been rough,” I said. “I’m sorry, Caroline.” Then I remembered about Mrs. O’Hara standing quietly at my side. “This is Caroline King. She’s an assistant curator at the art gallery where Josh works.”

  Mrs. O’Hara tilted her head, the corners of her lips slightly upturned in apparent recognition. “You look so familiar. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

  “No...I don’t think so.” Caroline blinked but quickly shook her head. “Definitely not. I’m sure we’ve never met.”

  “No, no. I’m certain,” Mrs. O’Hara insisted. “You frequent the store where I buy my art supplies.” She smiled. “That hair and face of yours are hard to miss, dear.”

  Caroline beamed at the compliment and touched Mrs. O’Hara’s hand in show of thanks. “You might be right there... I mean, about the art store, not my face.” She laughed. “I do visit art supply stores on a regular basis. They’re good places if you want to find new talent and make connections. That’s where I found Josh, by the way.” A little frown creased her pale forehead. “I hope he comes back to work soon. I need him to take on some of the workload so we don't have to close. Even Mr. McNally agrees it would be a disaster for the gallery if we did.”

  She glanced around and asked in a hushed voice. “Do you know if the police are going to charge him with the murder? Your brother wouldn’t do that, right? I mean, he is so nice and all.�
�

  I felt a twinge of annoyance. Caroline obviously knew nothing about the criminal laws in our country.

  “It’s not a question of Will being nice,” I said. “He has to follow the evidence where it leads him. If enough of it points to Josh, then yes, he’ll have to charge him. As of right now, it’s impossible to say what will happen.”

  “I guess you’re right. I have to try and be patient.” Caroline sighed. “Well, I better go. I’ve got a gazillion things to do today.” She gave us each an effusive hug, then rushed off down the corridor, turning heads of the two male nurses as she went.

  I turned to Mrs. O'Hara. “I'm going too, I still have five cakes to decorate before five o’clock. If it’s not too much trouble, call me later and let me know how Jeremiah is doing.”

  Back at the bakery, everyone wanted to know if Jeremiah was all right. On hearing he’d been stabbed trying to break up a fight, Kathy’s eyes filled with tears.

  “I’ll set aside some of my best pastries for him,” she said, grabbing a wad of tissues. “You or Mrs. O’Hara can take them to him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be grateful.” I smiled as I put on my apron. My sister firmly believed there was not a problem in the world that couldn’t be solved with a good pastry.

  I hurried about my tasks, trying to finish the orders when I got a text from Will. Josh was out, though he'd been told not to leave town.

  Well, at least Caroline would get the help she needed at the gallery. I tried not to picture her and Josh working alone together in that big empty building. Maybe going out for a late-night dinner afterwards to commiserate about their troubles over a glass of Pinot Noir.

  My hand tensed around the bag of icing I was holding, squeezing it too tightly and causing a blob of green frosting to squirt out onto the cake I was decorating. I sighed and did my best to clean up the mess while pushing the image of Josh and Caroline out of my mind.

  So what if they started dating? They were both attractive and single, and it was no business of mine what they did. To prove how fine I was with the idea, I told the news about Josh to Felisha and Kathy.