by Nancy CoCo
“We shouldn’t be talking about our investigation around her. It puts her in a bad position of having to report it or keeping secrets from her bosses,” Aunt Eloise insisted.
“She seemed to understand,” Porsche pointed out.
“Fine,” I said. “Tell us why you think Theodore Woolright murdered Agnes and is framing me.”
“Well, Theodore went to Bernie today demanding that he get his money back,” Aunt Eloise said.
“Okay, first of all, how do you know that? And second, what money did he want back?” I asked.
“He demanded that Bernie pay him the money that he’d paid to Agnes,” Aunt Eloise said. “I know because I was talking to Eleanor Stone—remember she works at the bank. She said that Theodore and Bernie went to the bank today. Bernie wanted to see Agnes’s accounts. It seems she didn’t tell him about her blackmail schemes. She’d been hoarding the money. Bernie nearly passed out when he saw the amount she had in the bank.”
“So, Bernie didn’t kill her for money,” I surmised.
“No, and he gave Theodore his money back right down to the penny,” Aunt Eloise said. “So whatever Agnes was blackmailing Theodore over, Bernie didn’t want to continue the ruse.”
“It was pretty gutsy of Mr. Woolright to go to Bernie and acknowledge that Agnes took money from him, don’t you think?” I asked. “I mean, if your blackmailer died wouldn’t you be relieved and let it alone? Especially if he killed her for it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Aunt Eloise said and tapped her finger on her chin. “What if he killed her and then realized that killing her isn’t enough to keep his secret? I mean, Bernie had to find out about the secret bank account, right? Maybe he thinks by demanding his money back, he’ll seem innocent of the murder.”
“Why would that make him seem innocent?” Porsche said. “I’m confused.”
“I bet he asked for his money back to throw everyone off the scent that he killed Agnes. Think about it. While he was making a scene about getting his money back, his wife was at the police station identifying Wren as the killer.”
“In a twisted way that makes sense,” I said.
“You have to be twisted to murder someone,” Porsche pointed out.
“I’ll call Matt.”
“Before you do that . . .” My aunt touched my wrist. “We really need to have some solid proof that backs my theory.”
“Okay, how are we going to get it?” I asked.
“We need a plan,” Porsche said.
“Maybe I can invite the Woolrights over to my house for game night. Then, while I’m keeping them busy, you two gals can go in and leave a recording device. Then we can listen in to their daily conversations. After all, if they are working together on this crime, then they’re bound to talk about it. We can collect the information later and give it to the police.”
“Or even call the police and let them find the recording in the house,” Porsche said.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said and rolled my eyes. “This is not a cop show. One, we don’t have a listening device, and two, we don’t have a recording device that will run around the clock and long enough to maybe catch them talking about their plan. And three, the only way to legally record a conversation is if one of us is there. I’m pretty sure one person has to know they are being recorded.”
Porsche and Aunt Eloise looked defeated.
“It was a nice thought, though,” I said, trying to cheer them up.
“What do you suggest we do?” Aunt Eloise asked and hugged Porsche. Suddenly I was the one in the hot seat again.
“Let’s see if I have any record that proves Mr. Woolright bought a lip balm from me,” I said. “Aunt Eloise, come with me. I keep the sales receipts from the last month in my office.”
We went upstairs, leaving Porsche downstairs to take care of any last-minute shoppers. My new computer held all of my downloaded transactions. The problem was I didn’t keep customer names of people who paid with cash—unless they signed up for my newsletter. Right now twenty percent of my customers paid in cash and of that, only twenty percent signed up for a news-letter. That meant that the purchaser of the lip balm could still be missing from my lists and information.
We scoured the names. My hunch was right. Whoever bought the lip balm must have done it fully aware that they were going to use it to kill someone. They had to have paid in cash and not signed up. Of all the lip balms I sold in the last two weeks, there were five that didn’t have a name attached. Those that used their name didn’t include Mr. or Mrs. Woolright or Mildred.
“This was a dead end,” I said and sat back from my computer. Aunt Eloise stood over my shoulder.
“Well, this proves whoever killed Agnes planned to frame you,” she said.
“Does it?” I asked. I did a filter of my database for Agnes. “Look, Agnes bought a lip balm from me every three months. It was a regular pattern.”
“Did she buy one of the new labeled ones?” Aunt Eloise asked.
I sorted the dates. “Here.” I pointed to the screen. “I did have the new labels in stock the last time she bought it. Now, she might not have bought a new label one. I didn’t make a note of the label, only the date.”
“So we’re back to where we started with no proof of anything,” Aunt Eloise said.
“We did run through some theories,” I said and gave her a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Everett meowed from my desktop. He put a paw on Aunt Eloise as he tried to comfort her. “I don’t want you to go to jail over this,” Aunt Eloise said. “If they try to indict you, I’m going to say I did it.”
“Aunt Eloise, no!”
“What are they going to do? Put this old woman in jail?”
“Yes,” I said, “and I don’t think you’ll like the orange jumpsuits.”
“I’ll be fine; I can handle myself.”
“Let’s not even think about this now.” I went over to the murder board. “We really don’t have any good suspects. I mean, the spouse is usually the main suspect, but Bernie did seem truly devastated by Agnes’s death.”
“Plus, I haven’t been able to dig up any girlfriends or any other motive for him to want Agnes dead.”
“Linda is still a good suspect,” I mused. “I’ve got her candles in the shop. So far I’ve sold one. I’m not sure the co-marketing is making any difference. What I don’t understand is how Linda fits into the picture.”
“Agnes was blackmailing Theodore, right?”
“I think so,” I said. “According to your insider at the bank anyway. We should ask Mr. Woolright about that.”
“Why would he tell you?” Aunt Eloise mused.
“That’s a good point,” I said and drummed my fingers. “What if I get my reporter friend to ask him? Maybe he’ll tell her more.”
“Or maybe he won’t because he doesn’t want to run Agnes through the muck now that she’s dead.”
“Why wouldn’t he if she was blackmailing him and he already made a big show of confronting Bernie to get his money back?”
“Because he doesn’t want everyone to know what Agnes was blackmailing him for,” she said.
“Okay, so how can we find out?”
“We need to find Agnes’s book of business,” Aunt Eloise said.
“Her what?”
“When someone is blackmailing as many people as we suspect Agnes was, then they have to keep the information somewhere. I bet she kept it in a diary or journal.”
“Like a ledger?”
“Exactly, “Aunt Eloise said. “Or even just a list of clients. Anyway, she had to keep track somehow.”
“Wouldn’t she keep that in her office or desk?” I asked. “It’s not like you keep something like that out in the open.”
“I say we sneak into the Snows’ house and find Agnes’s client list. Then, we can see who she was blackmailing and make sure everyone is on our suspect list.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” I said. “Except we don’t know
how to break and enter into someone’s home. We will most likely get caught. Then, we really will be guilty.”
“Don’t be so defeatist,” Aunt Eloise said. “I have a plan.”
Great, I thought. I just hoped her plan wasn’t going to get us put in jail or worse . . . killed.
Chapter 12
The next morning, I was up at 5 a.m. I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and went downstairs and let Aunt Eloise in. She was dressed all in black.
“Maybe I should have gotten ski masks for our faces,” she said. “It would help hide your very pale face.”
“And yours,” I teased her. We both had the light complexions of our Scottish forebears. “Let’s have some coffee. I can’t break and enter without caffeine in my system.”
“I told you it wasn’t breaking and entering. It will be ‘searching for Everett.’ ” She used air quotes.
“Right, then how would we explain the ski masks? I mean, who wears ski masks in the morning when they are looking for a lost cat?”
“That takes the wind out my sails,” she said with a pout. “But you’re right, if we are to do everything planned, then we need to make it look as if we were only going for a walk and then Everett ran off and well, the Snows’ door was open, so we slipped inside to get him.”
I poured us both coffee and added cream to mine. My mugs were white with Oregon coast views on them. I never got tired of Oregon’s beautiful shoreline. I pushed the creamer and sugar dishes toward my aunt.
“Thanks,” she said and dumped two teaspoons full of sugar into her mug and stirred.
“Are you sure Mr. Snow will leave the house open?”
“The word is that he goes to the YMCA every morning at six thirty to swim laps and work out. That means we’ll have an hour to get in and get out. Everett is our ruse to get in.”
“Meow,” we heard from the bedroom door.
We laughed. My cat looked as sleepy as I felt. “Yes, Everett,” I said. “We are talking about you.” I picked him up. “Do you really think this is going to work?”
“It has to work,” my aunt said. “We can’t have you going to jail.”
“But this will be the most illegal thing I’ve ever done. We could go to jail for this.”
“We won’t go to jail and we aren’t taking anything. We’re going to explore and if we find a ledger or client list then we’ll take photos of it.”
“Let’s go then,” I said. “Before I lose my nerve.”
We checked the time. It was nearly six. I lived far enough away from the Snows’ house that we would get there after Mr. Snow left. I put Everett on his leash and we walked out into the cool dark air. Everett loved to walk on his leash. He talked to us about everything we saw or passed along the way.
“He knows we’re going in a different way,” I said.
“Of course, cats are not stupid. Have you ever taken him by the Snows’ house?”
“Maybe once when I first got him,” I said. “But you get into a routine, you know? I learned he loved the beach and that’s where we would go every day.”
“That’s even better, really. It would make more sense for him to get into the Snow house if he doesn’t usually go that way. It would seem more plausible that he would get lost.”
We made our way quietly for the next block or two. We got to the Snows’ house. It was a regal 1920s craftsman-style home with rock trim and a side portico. The driveway was lined by hedges so we hurried toward the house. That way it would look like we were chasing after Everett if anyone saw us. My aunt went right up the side steps and opened the door with a doggy door in the bottom, inviting Everett inside.
I dropped his leash and my kitty ran right in.
“What if Bernie is inside?” I whispered.
“Well, we’re only going in to get Everett.” She opened the door wider. “Everett. Here kitty, kitty.”
I looked around but didn’t see anyone who might see us go into the house and went in myself. We entered the kitchen. I remembered the house from the night I brought over the casserole. It was quiet and I figured either Mr. Snow was in bed or he was gone. I prayed he was gone. “Everett,” I called.
“Here, kitty,” Aunt Eloise said as she went straight through the kitchen to a back room. I followed. “This is Agnes’s craft room.” She flipped on a light and rummaged through drawers. Every kind of craft supply imaginable seemed to be located in the room. Agnes’s awards covered every wall. She had framed her grand prize ribbons and had two shelves full of trophies.
I went over to the shelf. One trophy read BEST KNITTER, another WORLD CHAMPION EMBROIDERY. “She really did win a lot of prizes.”
“Stop looking at those silly things and help me go through drawers. If you were a client list or ledger, where would you be?” She opened and closed drawers rapidly. She had to, as the room was filled with drawers of bits and pieces of fabric and fluff and paint and twine.
“If I had a blackmail book I would keep it somewhere safe, like in a safe.”
“I don’t think there’s a safe in the house.” My aunt kept opening drawers.
“What about a false bottom drawer?”
“Oh, man, you mean I need to go back through the drawers and knock on them for a false bottom?” She looked at the half wall of drawers that she had just gone through.
“Maybe,” I said and moved two of the awards on the shelf that were used as bookends. “Or maybe you hide it in plain sight.” I pulled a notebook out from two that were marked journal. This notebook was bound, but black and unassuming. I opened it and there inside was a list of names and amounts of money along with dates. “I found it.”
“Wonderful! Quick, open it and I’ll take pictures.”
I laid the notebook on the counter and tipped a goosenecked lamp so that the light shone directly on the book. Aunt Eloise pulled out her phone and snapped page after page as I flipped through them.
“Okay, put it back,” she said. “I’ll find Everett and we’ll get out of here.”
“Great!” I put the notebook back on the shelf as my aunt made her way out of the room calling Everett’s name. I waited and heard her going through the house. I hoped Everett hadn’t gone and hidden under a bed somewhere. Cats were notorious for sneaking into obscure places and not coming out for days.
Suddenly my aunt screamed.
Racing toward the sound, I went upstairs. Aunt Eloise stood in front of a door. The light was on but she blocked my view. She screamed again. I pushed her aside and saw Bernie Snow facedown on the hardwood floor. Everett stood on top of him. Blood was everywhere. I grabbed my kitty and shakily called 9-1-1.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Josie?”
“Yes, is this Wren?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you sound upset. Take a deep breath and then tell me what’s going on.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m at the Snow house. We need an ambulance as soon as possible. Mr. Snow is hurt.”
“Help is on the way,” she said. “How bad is he hurt?”
“He’s lying in a pool of blood.”
“Oh dear, okay, is he breathing?”
I looked at Bernie. “I can’t tell.” Aunt Eloise held her stomach. She looked stricken and staggered against the wall in the hallway. “I think he might be dead.”
“We need to go through this one step at a time,” she said. “I need you to put two fingers on his neck near his collarbone and feel for a pulse.”
“I don’t want to touch him,” I said and tried not to sound whiney. “The police already think I killed his wife.”
“I understand,” she said with more confidence than the last time I had called her. “But you need to check for a pulse.”
“Okay,” I said and blew out a breath. I hitched Everett up on my hip and knelt down. “He’s lying facedown.”
“You can still check for a pulse.”
“Right.” I put my phone on speaker and maneuvered it so that it and Everett were in the
same hand and then I reached down to put my fingers to Mr. Snow’s neck. He was ice cold. I jerked my hand back, scrambled back and fumbled my phone. “He’s really cold. I think he’s dead.”
“Okay,” she said and I heard her swallow. “Are you safe?”
I looked around, suddenly aware that my aunt and I were at a crime scene. “Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Then stay on the line,” the operator said. “I’ve called an ambulance and the police. It will be a few minutes before they can get to you. Did you take CPR?”
“No,” I said. “It was on my list of things to do but I never got around to it.”
“No problem, I’ll walk you through it. Did you feel a pulse when you touched him?”
“No, all I felt was cold.”
“You have to see if he has a pulse,” Josie said.
“His neck is cold.”
“It might be shock,” she said. “You don’t want him to die while you watch, do you?”
“What? No! Of course not, but I think he’s already dead.”
“Listen, Wren, you’re not a trained doctor,” she said calmly. “I need you to at least try to save him. Feel for a pulse.”
I gave Everett to my aunt, knelt back down by the body, careful not to step in the blood, and pushed my fingers into the space just above his collarbone. “I don’t feel anything. There’s no pulse.”
“Okay,” she said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead. Put your ear on his chest and see if you can hear a heartbeat.”
“I can’t, he’s chest down,” I said.
“Okay,” she continued. “Does he appear to have a neck injury?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Try to turn him over.”
“Do you think that’s good advice?” I asked her.
“Is there anyone with you?”
“Yes,” I said. “My aunt is here.”
“Then one of you carefully hold his head while the other turns him. If you’re going to be doing CPR you’ll need him on his back.”
I motioned my aunt over. She seemed frozen to the spot. “Aunt Eloise,” I said. “Please, we have to help him.”