Death on Covert Circle

by Patricia McLinn

  “Enough of the weather report. Did you or did you not read the flyer I gave you?” Clara demanded.

  He took his medicine. “Didn’t.”

  “Shame on you.”

  All three dog’s heads came up, looking around warily to Clara’s hands-on-hips position, then — with relief — noting it was directed at Teague, not them, they dropped their heads again. They weren’t saving him, either.

  “It’s all about the agility equipment we’re getting for the park. That’s what the meeting Sheila and I went to this morning with park officials was all about. And now we’re going to report to all the dog owners. That’s why we chose five-thirty. After people are home from work, but before dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah.” If he’d done undercover work as a cop, I sure hoped he’d been more convincing, because this performance would have gotten him spotted immediately.

  Clara clicked her tongue. “You could be a real help, you know. With the agility section, with this meeting, and with the investigating. Your experience—”

  “Not me. I need to get back to my own work.” His cheerfulness took most of the edge off it, while making his point that investigating murder wasn’t our work.

  Stern boss Mackey said, “Good idea. That wall won’t fix itself.”

  Served him right for going around shirtless.

  He left with an unintimidated wave.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As soon as Teague was out of earshot, which I doublechecked by getting up to look out the window before a side trip to the fridge for the lemonade pitcher, I said, “Clara, you do know the food allergy wasn’t what killed Birchall — according to the guy in jeans and Hensen basically confirmed it.”

  “Sure I do. Someone bashed him in the head. But Hensen told us not to tell anyone. And you almost gave it away. Saw it all over your face.”

  I suspected Deputy Hensen might make an exception for telling Teague. Hensen knew his background and they’d become rather chummy.

  “You could have skipped that without leading Teague to think the cause was the food allergy.”

  “Hmm. I did, didn’t I? At least I let him assume it.”

  As I added ice to the glasses, I chuffed out a laugh. “What are you up to, Clara?”

  “I figured if Teague happens to talk to Ned and says the cause of death was a food allergy, that won’t worry him the way a man being bashed over the head would. After all, I could get killed by being bashed over the head, but not from a food allergy. Because I don’t have any food allergies. I know it’s out of fashion these days, but I don’t have a single one.”

  Fighting a chuckle, I placed her refilled glass in front of her, then took my place with mine. “We don’t have a lot of time before the meeting at the dog park. We better get to work.”

  “And then yoga’s right after. We knew it was going to be tight, but with a murder happening… Maybe we should skip yoga tonight.”

  I shook my head. “Not only do we need the stretching after all the drama and tension, but we might pick up information.”

  She pointed a pen at me. “And we can stop at the café after. I heard they’ve changed the dessert menu.”

  “Definitely need to stop there then. Though we’ll have to be careful about what we say and who might be around to overhear us.”

  “Dessert to go. Now, speaking of eating, our first question has to be who knew about Birchall’s food allergy. Was it secret or widely known?”

  I tipped my glass at her in salute as she wrote it down. “I’ll check. The most likely people to know about a food allergy are people who knew him well.”

  “The only one in the store was Foster Utton. But why kill him today and that way? There must be ways he could have killed Birchall and not been one of the suspects, much less the main suspect who knew him.”

  “Agreed. Could there be something making killing Birchall right then necessary?”

  “Like Birchall was going to fire him or remove him as heir apparent. That’s good. Would the driver have overheard something?”

  “We might need a crowbar to get him to talk. While we work on finding one of those, let’s pump Petey. We’re looking for any hints, any at all.”

  She made another note.

  “For now,” I said, “let’s start by looking at the sequence of events. Rod Birchall shows up at the Haines Tavern store—”

  “With Foster Utton, driven by Isaac.”

  “—unannounced and—”

  “Not entirely unannounced if the manager heard beforehand.”

  “Right. We need to find out how far ahead he knew and if he told anyone else.”

  She mmmed agreement, making more notes. “It sounded like the manager had barely left when the CEO turned up. And it didn’t sound like he told anyone Birchall was coming, though would they admit it if he did? But you’re right. We need to check.”

  “Assuming no one else in the store knew Birchall was coming, the murderer — unless it’s Utton — could only have decided to kill Birchall and started looking for opportunities after he arrived. Even Utton couldn’t have predicted Birchall would go in the back room alone.”

  “That makes sense. And that should tell us something about the crime and who committed it, shouldn’t it?”

  “I’m sure it should. I just don’t know exactly what. But it’s something to keep in mind.”

  “There’s something else.” Clara leaned forward. “I was thinking about how they say poison’s a woman’s method of murder. Well, I didn’t hear somebody say it. I read it.”

  “Don’t say that when you meet Aunt Kit.”

  “When I meet her? Is she coming to visit you? When? We’ll have to have a party. A special book signing. I bet the library would love to have her speak. If you give Amy Kackley the dates, she—”

  “Wait, wait. There’s no trip planned. I doubt Kit will be here any time soon. She’s having too much fun at her new Outer Banks home.”

  “The cute widower you said she’s dating,” Clara said wisely.

  “Probably. Anyway, I meant a theoretical someday when you meet Kit, don’t bring up they say about things having to do with murder. A lot of what they say is wrong. Don’t get her started on the misconceptions about serial killers.”

  “I won’t,” she said fervently. “But you didn’t let me finish about women using poison. Because after I heard it, I looked up statistics from the FBI. I figured it’s good practice if an author wants me to research. More men actually murder by poison than women do, but lots more men are murderers. Only if you go by percentage, are women more likely to use poison to murder.”

  “That’s impressive, Clara.”

  “Thanks. So, shouldn’t we look at women more closely in Rod Birchall’s murder? The food allergy served as a kind of poison.”

  “Hmmm. If being bashed in the head was what killed him,” I said slowly, “that ordinarily would point more toward a man as the killer. Or strong, anyway.”

  “Which pretty much means the guy in jeans, because Foster’s not strong.”

  I heard her, but was following my own line of logic. “Because, a strong murderer would have had the choice of a bunch of things they could have used to kill him in the back room. As rudimentary as knocking his head against the floor enough times.”

  “Birchall could have cried out if he was being attacked and people could have rushed in.”

  “They could have rushed in if he’d made noise while reacting to the food allergy, too. More noise, if his exclamation was from that.” I looked at Clara, and added, “Or not. You’re right. If there’d been sounds of a physical attack in the back room, people probably would have rushed back there. But, even if he did make more sounds like he was being sick, would anyone have risked his abuse by going back there? Probably not.”

  “Almost certainly not,” she amended.

  Recalling Birchall’s behavior and how everyone reacted to him, I agreed.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. My pen hit the table.

  I felt words r
ising. Not pausing to review them first, I said, “I think this was a spur of the moment murder. A murder of opportunity. They didn’t know he was coming. They didn’t have time to select a weapon — the higher percentage of female murderers using poison could figure in if there’d been time for planning. In this the murderer had to use whatever was at hand.”

  “I see what you’re saying.” Clara slowly nodded. “There was this huge animosity toward Birchall, then suddenly he’s there, and he’s acting like a total jerk—”

  “Which seemed to be his normal mode.”

  “—and the murderer’s overwhelmed with rage. So, they take the first means that occurs to them. Birchall ate the food voluntarily, but it left him weakened from the allergic reaction, making bashing him in the head a whole lot easier.”

  Clara continued, “Maybe nobody could have triggered his allergy on purpose because Birchall ate that thing on his own, but someone who knew about his allergy could have stopped him. Or tried. And someone who knew him well could have been diabolically clever in pushing his buttons, knowing he’d react by defying logic and good sense to eat something with an incomplete label. Since only Foster and Isaac knew him before today and Isaac wasn’t there, it would have to be Foster.”

  Her excitement immediately ebbed.

  “Though diabolically clever doesn’t fit him,” she concluded.

  “You might be on to something. The food allergy could point to someone who knew him at the very least taking advantage of his eating that thing to act. A sort of catalyst.”

  Was Jacqueline’s blankness when Foster Utton mentioned Birchall’s food allergy from not knowing he had one? Or … from trying to hide dismay at his bringing it up?

  And then there was Utton. Would he view it as clever to be open about the allergy? A facet of an act?

  “Even someone who didn’t know ahead of time about the allergy, knew about it after the woman with the little girl said it,” I said. “Then they could have taken advantage when it happened.”

  “That makes sense.” She chewed on her bottom lip. I waited. It seemed to me her lip-chewing often meant something more was coming. “Foster Utton could be an exception to the spur of the moment crime. Because he knew where they were going and when they’d get here.”

  “And he knew about Birchall’s food allergy. But then why would he bring it up to us and Jacqueline?”

  “Guilty conscience? Said it without thinking? Clever ploy to divert suspicion? Figured the woman with the little girl had said enough that if he didn’t bring it up someone else would and then he’d look guilty? All of the above?”

  “Those are enough possibilities to leave him as a strong contender despite bringing up Birchall’s food allergy. But, how would he know ahead of time the snacks would be there and have sesame in them?”

  “Something standard they have in all the stores?” She wrote into her note app. “We should ask Jacqueline. But how could he know Birchall would eat it?”

  “Clara, that’s it — how would anyone know he’d eat it?”

  “They couldn’t. But, if someone knew he had the food allergy, it would let them react faster. Like you said, a catalyst.”

  Fireworks went off in my head.

  Two wrappers.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “There were two different wrappers on the floor by his feet. That’s what bugged me when Teague talked about Birchall picking up the food himself and nobody being able to know he’d eat it. Because the second wrapper was different from the one from the tray.”

  “Like someone got the idea from seeing him pop the sample in his mouth and maybe gave him a second dose?”

  “Or the second wrapper has nothing to do with it.”

  She slumped. “I wonder when the sheriff’s department will find out if Birchall even ate any sesame.”

  “Maybe we could find out from— No, no. If that’s how it’s going to be solved, the sheriff’s department will solve it.”

  “But we have advantages, too. We were actually there. And we can talk to people without them thinking they’re being interrogated or going to be arrested any second. We should come up with a list of who to talk to.”

  “Yes, we should. But first, I was thinking about Rod Birchall usually going in the back room with other people might be significant, too,” I said. “Because that could make it a spur of the moment crime for Utton, too.”

  “Oh. Yes, I see. Because he would have expected Birchall to have a bunch of other people around him and it would only have been when Birchall went in back alone and nobody followed him that Utton saw his chance.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think he’s that smart?”

  “I don’t know he’s not that smart. He’s someone we definitely need to talk to — and get other people to talk about.”

  “Isaac the driver,” she said immediately. “I bet he’d tell us anything negative he knows. He didn’t seem the least bit fond of Foster. Although, if it wasn’t a spur of the moment crime, Isaac would be a prime suspect, too, because he probably knew they were coming here. And he might know about Birchall’s food allergy from driving him around a lot.”

  “He didn’t seem to have any issues with Birchall, but we should check. Maybe Birchall’s assistant— His real assistant. No, wait. Before we start listing folks to talk to, let’s take your other brilliant point first, Clara. We were there. And we haven’t even compared notes yet.”

  “But we were together the whole time.”

  “We could have different interpretations. Let’s start at the beginning.”

  She said, “You spotted the limo in front of the Roger and brought it up because you didn’t want to talk about me trying to become an author’s assistant.”

  “What? No. How could you think that? You’ll be a great author’s assistant. And I’m all for you doing whatever you want to do.”

  “Then why did you change the subject so abruptly.”

  This is the problem with secrets. They keep jumping up and biting you in your most tender spots.

  And causing you to lie to a good friend.

  “Because of the limo. It surprised me. Weren’t you surprised?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “And then we pulled into the parking lot and Isaac got all defensive like you were going to plow into that behemoth limo he tends like a baby.”

  “With my dirty behemoth.” Clara grinned, diverted.

  “Exactly. So, we got out and…”

  Our memories matched with a few minor exceptions, including Clara seeing Birchall’s suit jacket on a hanger, while Foster’s was scrunched up on his seat.

  Our recollections also synced through talking to Petey and joining the group around Birchall.

  “You’re sure you don’t know the woman from the dog park? The one who complained about inferior products pushing out the long-time brands she wants. She comes with a mixed terrier with the neon green collar. They’re usually leaving as we arrive.”

  “That’s familiar. I know I’ve never met her formally.” She chuckled. “Though our dogs have with the ritual sniffing routine.”

  “What about the dignified woman with the white wings in her hair.”

  “I’ve never ritually sniffed her,” Clara said solemnly. After I tossed a napkin at her, she giggled. “I don’t know her, either, but I think she’s principal of the elementary school in south Haines Tavern. Or was. She might have retired. I’ll find out. Millie probably knows.”

  Millie was a fellow member of Clara’s book club and seemed to know everyone.

  “What about the guy? The one who stayed with the body?” I asked.

  “He was interesting, wasn’t he? He didn’t say much, but I thought he was truly angry at Birchall. Far more so than any of the others.”

  “Agreed. But… Did he seem familiar to you?”

  She frowned, thinking. “No. I’m sure I’d remember even if I’d seen him around. Why? He seemed familiar to you?”

  “Sort of. Not like
I knew him, but like something about him reminded me of something else.”

  “What?”

  “I wish I knew. Then it would stop nagging at me. There was one time I heard stuff you didn’t. When the guy in jeans said Birchall was dead, Jacqueline made a weird sound, then covered her mouth.”

  “Weird? Like how?”

  I tried to replicate it. Several times. Until I threw up my hands. “Feels like I came in last in an amateur duck-calling contest.”

  “Try another approach,” Clara said. “What emotion did it convey to you?”

  I grimaced. “It could have been almost anything. Horror? Fear? Distress? Even amusement. It sounded … almost like a strangled laugh. But some people do laugh in moments of stress.”

  “What about her face?”

  “Her hands covered too much to even guess, especially with someone I’d just met. That reminds me, did you notice the exchange between the guy in jeans and Jacqueline before she went to close the store doors and wait for the sheriff’s department?”

  “Didn’t hear what they said. I was listening to the dispatcher. First I knew, the guy closed the door with him inside the back room, you on guard duty, and Jacqueline headed off.”

  “Darn. I would have liked your impression.”

  “What did they say?”

  I repeated the few words as neutrally as I could.

  She considered a moment. “It’s interesting he said stay out of this. Not to stay out of here. You’d think the natural reaction would be to tell someone not to come in because of what they’d see. But it sounds more like he was saying it was his business, not hers.”

  “Possibly. But we jumped ahead. Let’s go back to when the customers were arguing with Birchall.”

  From there, we continued our chronological comparison of notes and impressions through the moment we’d returned to her SUV and could talk freely. Basically in agreement all along.

  “Which puts us back where we were.”

  “Pretty much.”