by V. M. Burns
“Charmaine was shocked because Sharon was telling her things about the chief of police, and she even said a few things that might have incriminated poor Nelson. Then she saw Sharon reach in her purse and take out a handkerchief. This woman opened it, and there was a ring that belonged to Charmaine’s great-grandmother and a diamond and gold tie clip and cuff links that belonged to Nelson’s father.” She looked around. “Charmaine was shocked, I can tell you.”
“Did Charmaine know who the woman was?” Nana Jo asked.
“Not at first, but a few days later she saw the woman on the news. She was standing right there next to John Cloverton. She asked Nelson who the woman was, and he said her name was Mildred Cloverton.”
“The mayor’s wife is the one who’s been leaking information to the media?” I asked.
Mom nodded.
“But why? If she was the force behind him running for office, why would she deliberately sabotage him?”
Dorothy raised a hand. “I think I might be able to help with that.” She turned to Mom. “That is, if you’re finished?”
“Yes, that’s all the information I was able to find out.”
“Your information was surprisingly very helpful,” Nana Jo said. “Well done, Grace.”
Harold beamed proudly. “You did wonderful, my dear.”
Dorothy had pulled out her phone while Mom was talking, and was frantically swiping and looking for something. “I didn’t connect things until I heard Grace’s information, but you know how when we go to the casino I usually go into the high-limits room?”
We all nodded.
“There’s a woman that I’ve noticed quite often. I thought she looked familiar, but I never really put two and two together until now.” She held up her phone and passed it around. “That’s a picture of Mayor Carpenter and his wife at the Blossom Festival last year, and that’s also the woman that I’ve seen in the high-limits room at the casino. And she has not been having very good luck, at least not while I was there.”
We all looked at the picture of Sharon Carpenter smiling. While Mayor Carpenter was short and fat, Sharon Carpenter was tall and thin. She had a long, thin face and jet-black hair, which she wore teased in the front and pulled into a French roll with pin curls along the sides.
“We know that John Cloverton is a member of the Pontolomas,” Dorothy said. “If Sharon Carpenter had lost a great deal of money, she might have made a deal to eliminate her debt.”
“Could he do that?” I asked.
Dorothy shrugged. “I can ask my friend who works there, but I think the tribe’s council members can do just about anything they want.”
“Let’s play this out,” Nana Jo said, taking notes as she talked. “Sharon Carpenter has been going to the casino and losing a lot of money. Maybe she’s in over her head. Cloverton recognizes her.”
“Or Mildred,” I suggested.
“Right, if Mildred recognized her, she might suggest a way that she can make all of her troubles go away.”
“But if she’s selling information, why is she also handing over her valuables?” Ruby Mae asked.
“Maybe the information wasn’t enough?” Nana Jo said.
“Or maybe the information she sold was enough to cover her debts, but the jewelry was to keep Mildred from telling the mayor and to keep Sharon’s name out of the paper?”
“Blackmail?” Jenna asked.
“Possibly,” Nana Jo said. She turned to Dorothy. “Do you think your friend could look and see how much Sharon Carpenter owed?”
“I’m not sure, but I can ask.”
Nana Jo looked about to move on when Dorothy stopped her. “Actually, I have more. My assignment was to check with my friend Lucas Banner. He’s in public relations. Lucas and John Cloverton used to be in business together. They started a public relations company. When Cloverton married Mildred, he got bit by the politics bug. He lost interest in helping his clients and the business. Eventually, he sold his half of the business to Lucas and began pushing his own agenda. Lucas said John was always ambitious, but Mildred was even more so. John had the intelligence and the drive, but he had a problem keeping his pants zipped. He would go after just about anything in a skirt.”
Irma patted her hair. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Not unless you’re married and your wife is extremely jealous.”
“Was Mildred jealous?” I asked.
“Extremely. Lucas said she would go into these mad rages if she thought John was even looking at another woman, let alone . . . well, you know. Anyway, that’s all I was able to find out.”
“That was quite useful in helping to understand John Cloverton’s character, as well as Mildred’s,” I said. “Thank you.”
Dorothy smiled. “I’ll work on my friend in the high-limits room next and see what he can find out.”
Irma raised her hand. “I talked to my friend who works in security at the casino. I asked him about John Cloverton. I didn’t know about the mayor’s wife, but it’ll give me a reason to go back and work on him further.”
Nana Jo rolled her eyes. “Get on with what you’ve found out.”
“He said John has a suite at the casino’s hotel where he can . . . entertain his lady friends. He was sure that Mildred didn’t know anything about it, and the Pontolomas would never tell. According to Davy, John is there at least two nights every week. Lately, he’s had a young girl with wavy hair with him.”
“That must be Chastity Drummond, his assistant,” I said.
“He didn’t know the woman’s name, but he did say that any cameras that might have picked up anything incriminating against the members of the tribal council would be erased before anyone could subpoena them. The guards were instructed to look through them nightly and flag the ones that they thought could be harmful. So, there won’t be any records that could prove that John Cloverton was unfaithful if Mildred wanted to sue him for divorce.”
Jenna muttered an oath.
Mom looked shocked. “Jenna Renee Rutherford, watch your mouth.”
“Sorry.”
Emma had been so quiet at the end of the table that I’d practically forgotten she was there until she raised her hand. “I heard a lot of gossip about Chastity.” She was so excited, she practically bounced in her seat. “Before John Cloverton started adjunct teaching on campus, Chastity Drummond used to date this guy named Adam Harmon. Adam dumped her for a cheerleader, Stephanie Littleton. Well, Chastity didn’t take getting dumped very well. In fact, she completely freaked out.”
“Freaked out how?” Jenna asked.
“Screaming, throwing stuff. She tried to run him over with her car. He had to get a restraining order against her.”
Jenna pulled out a notepad. “I’ll look into the restraining order. It sounds like Chastity Drummond has quite the temper.”
Something in my mind flipped on. “Can you describe Adam Harmon?”
Based on the description that Emma provided, I had a strong feeling that Adam Harmon was the rude quiet guy in the social media class. “What happened?”
“Stephanie dumped Adam for a guy on the soccer team,” Emma said, “and last I heard, Adam was trying to get back with Chastity, but she’s moved on. Was any of that helpful?”
“Definitely. We’ve learned that Chastity Drummond has quite the temper. If she tried to murder one of her former boyfriends who dumped her, she might have succeeded with another.”
Emma fished through her backpack and pulled out a flyer. “I almost forgot. MISU is having a memorial for John Cloverton this evening. I thought maybe you guys might want to come.”
“Absolutely, thank you,” Nana Jo said. “Well done.”
Frank cleared his throat. “My military contacts were able to find out a bit about John Cloverton’s military service. Turns out, he served in the same division with another prominent North Harbor resident. Any guesses?”
“Chief of Police Zachary Davis?” Jenna said.
Frank smiled. “Bingo. John Clover
ton and Zachary Davis were friends. Cloverton’s record was fairly clean, apart from complaints from some of the local men that Cloverton had . . . ah, deflowered their daughters, which can be a major problem depending on which part of the world you’re deployed in.”
“You’re saying one of these fathers might have come seeking vengeance against Cloverton?” Nana Jo asked.
“Honestly, I doubt it, but it goes with what we learned from Dorothy’s friend. John Cloverton was a playboy. If he cheated before, he was probably still cheating. Chastity Drummond may have been the latest flavor of the day, but it doesn’t sound like any of them lasted very long.”
“None, except for Mildred,” I said. “I wonder why?”
“Zachary Davis was dishonorably discharged when he was caught selling military supplies on the black market.”
“Why, that dirty little bas—”
“Irma!”
Irma burst into a coughing fit. This time, she reached into her purse and pulled out a flask. She took a swig and then returned the flask to her bag.
Nana Jo looked around. “Is that everyone?”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mildred Cloverton,” I said, “but I’m going to swing by later today.” I gave Frank a puppy dog stare. “I was hoping I could take over one of your delicious cakes.”
“I have a lemon cake that has been very popular. Please, include my condolences.”
“Of course.” He really was a good man. Why was I hesitating? A good man who likes to cook is golden. Life with him would be spent with corn chowder soup, bacon sandwiches, and lemon cake. What more could any woman ask?
Nana Jo put down her iPad and cleared her throat. “I talked to my friend who’s a research librarian. He looked through his archived newspapers and found a curious article.” She seemed reluctant to talk, but she took a deep breath and came out with it. “It seems that when Detective Pitt was in high school, he was trying to break up a fight between a couple of boys. Well, things got very heated, and the bigger boys turned on him. They beat him to a pulp. He was hospitalized with two broken ribs and a broken leg.”
Jenna put her head in her hands. “Please don’t tell me one of the boys was John Cloverton.”
Nana Jo nodded. “I vaguely remembered it when it happened, but the problem was the incident took place on tribal land.”
“Which is considered a separate nation and not subject to the laws of the United States,” Jenna said.
“Wait, I don’t understand,” Mom said. “What do you mean?”
“American Indians and Alaska Natives are United States citizens and therefore are subject to federal, tribal, and state laws. However, for crimes committed on federal Indian reservations, only federal laws apply. Even still, not all federal offenses are prosecuted. It’s a big contention between Native Americans and the Justice Department. I just read an article about it. Crime on federal reservations is two and a half times higher than virtually anywhere else in the country. The statistics for crimes against Indian women are shocking, and they are ten times more likely to be murdered and four times more likely to be raped or sexually assaulted than the national average.”
“Good God,” Nana Jo said. “What’s going on? Haven’t those people suffered enough? I mean, they had their land taken from them. They were murdered. They were lied to and given promises which we failed to keep.”
“Why isn’t anyone reporting about that?” I asked. “Why is it I can pick up a newspaper like the North Harbor Herald and read about rumors and accusations, but this is happening right under our noses and no one is doing anything?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Jenna said. “I have no idea. The Justice Department claims there’s a lack of evidence, but who knows the truth.”
We sat in shocked silence for several moments. Eventually, Jenna stood up. “I’ve got to go track down my client and find out when he planned to tell me that he and the man he is accused of murdering had a history.” She sighed. “This explains why the district attorney was so cocky in court.” She walked toward the stairs but turned before she went down. “I sure hope you all can figure out who murdered John Cloverton, because otherwise, Detective Bradley Pitt will have about as much chance of beating this as a snowball in . . .” She glanced at our mom. “Well, you know where.”
Chapter 14
Christopher, Zaq, and Emma agreed to hold down the fort at the bookstore while I took the cake that Frank had packed up for me to Mildred Cloverton’s home.
Mildred Cloverton lived in the same area as my sister, Jenna. It was a street known as the historic district. During North Harbor’s thriving past, this was the place Southwestern Michigan’s wealthy manufacturing titans called home. There were large Victorian and Georgian homes, cobblestoned streets, and yards with wrought-iron fences. Unfortunately, when the automobile-manufacturing jobs left town, many of the area’s wealthy families followed suit. The large homes fell into disrepair. The people who remained broke up the big older homes and converted many of them into rentals. In the last decade, there was a movement to save the area and the homes that were vacant were bought by the city and sold for a dollar each to individuals willing to rehab the homes, convert them back into single-family residences, and live in the area. Jenna and Tony were among some of the first to snag one of the Harbor’s painted ladies.
John and Mildred Cloverton’s home was a large Victorian that had been renovated to the max. I’d passed the house many times over the years and often commented about the extent of the renovations. There was too much of what Nana Jo called gingerbread for my liking. Between the embellished millwork that surrounded the wraparound porch, the turned posts, turrets, and stained-glass windows, the bubble-gum pink and white-trimmed house reminded me of a wedding cake topper or a dollhouse. No detail was left undone. Wherever an embellishment could be placed, it was.
I pulled up to the front, and Nana Jo and I stared.
“All that gingerbread and sweetness makes my teeth ache,” Nana Jo said. She opened her door. “Come on. Let’s get this over.”
We walked up the front porch and rang the doorbell.
Mildred Cloverton opened the door and stared as though she knew our faces but couldn’t remember our names.
“Mrs. Cloverton, my name is Samantha Washington, and this is my grandmother, Josephine Thomas. We’re in your class.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember.”
“We heard about what happened, and we wanted to come by and give you our condolences,” Nana Jo said. “We are both very sorry for your loss.”
“My loss?” Her eyes glazed over as though she had no idea what loss we were referring to. Within moments, she was back and forced a smile. “I’m dreadfully sorry. Please, won’t you come in?”
She held the door open, and we stepped inside. I’d often wondered if the inside was as hideous as the outside. It was. The house was crammed full of Victorian furniture and covered with lace doilies. The hardwood floor peeked out from under the large rugs that covered practically every inch.
“My boyfriend owns the North Harbor Café downtown, and the food is wonderful, but the cakes are fantastic.” I held out the white box. “He sent this along with his condolences.”
“How kind.” She took the box and then stood awkwardly as though she had no idea what to do with it.
Situations like this were where Nana Jo shone. She put an arm around Mildred and gazed into her eyes. “How are you holding up? Have you eaten today?”
“Eaten?” She thought. “I don’t know . . . I don’t think I have, but I honestly can’t remember.”
Nana Jo patted her arm. “That’s okay. You’re probably in shock, but you must eat.” She turned to me. “Sam, take that cake in the kitchen.” She turned back to Mrs. Cloverton. “You don’t mind if I call you Mildred, do you?”
Mildred shook her head.
“Good, and you must call me Josephine.”
Hearing no opposition from our host, I wandered around a corner where I assumed th
e kitchen was located. I was right. The kitchen was small, with avocado-green appliances. I put the box on the counter. Nana Jo joined me. “I think the woman is in shock. You go in there and stay with her. I’m going to make her some scrambled eggs and hot tea.”
Mildred was sitting on the Victorian settee in the living room. I sat next to her, expecting to sink into the cushion, but I nearly bounced up again when my rear hit the hard cushion covered in velvet upholstery.
“You look familiar,” she said.
Considering we’d just told her who we were, I wondered if she was suffering from more than just shock. Nana Jo was the one with the nursing experience. She should be here. I could certainly scramble eggs. I patted Mildred’s hand and tried to think of something to say or do. “You saw us at the social media class. I’m an author, and my publisher wants me to build my social media platform.”
“Have you written anything I might have read?”
Boy, how I hated that question. “No, my book hasn’t been published yet, but I write British historic cozy mysteries set between World War One and World War Two. I used to teach English at North Harbor High School, but when my husband died I opened a mystery bookshop.”
“Your husband died too? Was he poisoned?”
“Ah, no. He died from cancer.”
Nana Jo came out with a tray. There was a steaming-hot cup of tea and a plate with scrambled eggs and toast. She also had a slice of Frank’s lemon cake. “Now, you need to eat, and I’m going to sit here and see that you do.”
Mildred Cloverton must have recognized the authority in Nana Jo’s voice, because she ate most of the eggs, half of the toast, and none of the cake. She did drink the tea. I wondered if she was afraid that we had poisoned the cake. I was tempted to pick up the fork and take a bite to prove to her the cake was safe to eat. Well, partly to prove to her the cake was safe and partly because Frank’s cakes were moist and delicious and I was looking forward to eating it. Normally, when you bring a cake to a grieving widow she offers you a slice. Mildred must have missed that lesson in the grieving-widows handbook.
