by Patti Larsen
“Everyone,” he shrugged. “It was common knowledge.”
The house door opened, Jill returning, while I refocused my questioning.
“Can you tell me what Thea and Dominic Twigg might have been fighting about?” I still needed to have a chat with the choir master.
Andrew seemed confused. “No idea,” he said. “You’ll have to ask Dominic.”
This wasn’t getting me anywhere, though from the tightening around Jill’s eyes and lips she had something that might shed some light on my last question.
We left with a brief thanks to Andrew, this time taking my car, Jill in the passenger’s seat while I drove.
“Well?” I glanced at her when I came to a stop at the end of the street and waited for two kids on snowmobiles to illegally cross the main road before tearing off toward the tree line. “What do you know?”
Jill’s hesitation only lasted another moment and then broke in a flood of words. “I might know what their fight could have been about. Dominic has a… reputation.” Her jaw jumped. “He enjoys the company of… young women.”
Um, ew. He was what, in his mid-fifties? I tried not to judge, but how young?
“No one’s done anything about it?” Growl. I wondered if Crew knew.
That look on Jill’s face? Told me I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and maybe should have instead kept my mouth shut because there was suddenly a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as my friend finally spoke again.
“I might have some experience with his interest,” she said, soft and level. “I sang for him when I was in high school.” Wait, what? Here in Reading? “In Montpellier.” Ah, right, she wasn’t from here, I knew that. “He was younger then, of course, but I was only seventeen, Fee.” Jill’s hands clenched in her lap. “He didn’t make it far, but far enough.” Wow, we all had our secrets, didn’t we? This totally explained her discomfort the day of the murder, though. Clear as a bell now, her awkwardness. I’d chalked it up to her and Matt, a possible fight or even her wanting to get married herself. I had no idea Dominic’s presence was making her upset.
She’d held it in this long? I refused to pity her, just held space and listened as she confessed to the fact she’d been abused as a teenager by someone she trusted. “I managed to convince him to look elsewhere. And he moved away, left my school, not long after. But the fact I didn’t do anything about it… still weighs on me. That I didn’t stop him say something, try to keep him from making someone else a victim.” She unwound slowly, but not relaxing, more like an uncoiling weapon waiting to strike. “It’s part of the reason I became a deputy. So I could keep men like him from doing things like that to girls like me.” She shrugged but it didn’t fix it, nope. “When I moved to Reading and discovered him here…” Jill’s whole body shivered. “I have, and had, no proof, though. My word against his. And you know this town.” Did I. Dealt with it daily. “Anyway, I doubt he’s changed his ways since I was one of his students. It could be he was preying on Katelyn, Fee. If so, if Thea found out and threatened to expose him…”
Right. Because while a young girl’s voice might not be listened to, that of a respected minister would be.
“Giving Dominic motive for murder.” I headed left instead of right and back toward the office as I’d planned. Nope, going to the church and a confrontation with Dominic Twigg. “Let’s have a chat with our choir master,” I said. “I’d love for you to run the interrogation.”
She looked shocked and then wickedly delighted. “I’ll do my very best for you, Sheriff.”
He was in for a world of hurt.
***
Chapter Twenty Three
Jill’s suggestion we try his house first turned up a darkened residence with no car in the driveway.
“If he did it, he could have cut town by now.” She sounded anxious enough I drove a little faster than normal on my way to the church. When we pulled into the parking lot, the tall, white steeple overhead, shaded maple trees stark and bare in the December mid-morning, my deputy friend sighed at the sight of a few cars in the lot, one of which she pointed out specifically.
“He’s here,” she said.
I didn’t ask Jill how it was she knew what kind of car Dominic drove, assigning it, instead, to good police work and an excellent memory on her behalf. However, it did worry me a little, the grim expression on her face, and I started to wonder if letting her question him was a good idea after all.
I peeked in the nave and instantly noticed Ian at the organ yet again. Jill was already stalking toward the basement door and the choir room downstairs so I let her go, especially when the familiar nasty scent of rubbing alcohol reached me.
Ian was rubbing at the front of the organ with a white rag in slow, loving strokes. It was very clear he adored the old instrument and its care was a labor of love. Wasn’t lost on me, though, that the bottle he was dabbing against his cloth had the tell-tale scent and label of the murder weapon.
“Hi, Ian.” He turned with a start, one hand covering his heart, nose wrinkling as the other, rag still clutched tight, came too close to his nose. “Sorry for startling you.”
He shook his head, clearly more under control now, though the redness around his eyes told me he’d been crying lately. “I was j-j-just lost in thought.” He turned toward me, setting the rag aside, capping the bottle. “Can I h-h-help you with s-s-something, Sheriff?”
I gestured at the clear plastic container. “I guess I should inform you the murderer used that exact product mixed with Thea’s grapefruit juice as the means to poison her.”
He blanched and set it aside almost like he’d somehow found himself in possession of a venomous snake. “That’s h-h-horrible,” he said, eyes sparking anger behind his glasses which he pushed up his narrow nose with one thin index finger. “She was so ag-g-gainst alcohol. Whoever did this, d-d-do you think they had some kind of m-m-motive connected to her ideals?”
I didn’t respond to that, nor tell him I couldn’t discuss an ongoing investigation. Instead, I held out one hand. “May I?” I took the bottle when he instantly offered it, not bothering with gloves considering he’d been handling it and, if it were the murder weapon, the fact it had CHURCH PROPERTY written across the label in thick, red marker told me anyone likely had access.
“I’m n-n-not the only one who uses that b-b-bottle,” he said so horridly he might have been reading my mind. “I’ve seen the c-c-cleaner, Mary Jones, using it as w-w-well. To polish the s-s-silver.”
As I suspected. “I’m going to have to take it regardless,” I said with enough regret in my voice he didn’t argue, just gestured for me to do so.
“W-w-whatever you n-n-need to do to find the m-m-monster responsible.” He shook all over again, thin body quivering.
“Where is this kept, Ian?” I looked down at the label again, but nothing stood out to me. I’d have to wait until forensics checked it against the type that killed Thea. Looked to me, in the 16oz. bottle, more than half was missing, though. So it was possible the 8oz. used to poison her had come from it.
“The m-m-main cleaning closet,” he said, pointing down the aisle toward the entry. “Downstairs next to the choir room. And Thea’s office.”
Interesting. I wondered if Jill had Dominic nicely softened up by now and nodded my thanks to Ian before leaving him in pursuit of the choir master.
I found her standing outside his office door, shaking. Not in fear, but in fury, and it was clear she hadn’t talked to him yet because she blushed as she met my eyes, whispering to me.
“I worried I might hurt him,” she said. “So I waited for you.”
I handed her the bottle of rubbing alcohol, grateful to have something to give her as a distraction. “Turns out everyone had access to this stuff,” I said. “Cleaning closet.” I pointed at the small, narrow door just past Thea’s office. “Unless forensics can identify the exact brand, we’re no further along on means when it comes to the murder weapon.”
She sighed, bounced
the bottle in her hand, before fishing out a plastic evidence bag from inside her jacket, her focus on the container and, as I’d hoped, off Dominic Twigg. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Might even deliver it to the lab personally.”
And leave Barry Clement out of it? Nice.
“It’s unfortunate this narrows nothing down,” I said, keeping my voice down as she had. “Each of our suspects not only knew about Thea’s impairment, they all knew where her office was.” I crossed to the door, tried the handle, shook my head as it snicked softly open. “And looks like she didn’t lock her door, either.”
“Which means anyone could have spiked her juice,” Jill said. “You’re right. Very unfortunate. We’ll just have to keep looking for motive. And pin down alibis.”
“That’s going to be hard,” I said. “We don’t know when the poison could have been added to her juice. It might have been in the main bottle for days. Or added directly to hers yesterday morning.”
“Let’s test the main bottles,” Jill said, slipping into Thea’s office and heading for her bar fridge. “That could give us a better idea of timeline.”
Smart thinking. And yes, I’m not an idiot. I’d thought of that. I was trying to keep her occupied and out of the wretched state I’d found her in not so long ago.
Jill turned slowly from her crouch and looked up at me, eyes narrowed slightly when she, a trained investigator, after all, put it together herself in a visible jigsaw assembly that crossed her beautiful face. “You’re distracting me by getting me to collect evidence we both know is obvious.”
I shrugged. “It’s working,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
With that, I left her to finish up, crossing the hall and, rather than bothering to knock, pushed my way through the door into Dominic Twigg’s office.
He had a few things to answer for.
Trouble was, when I entered, there was no one there and, while I frowned around the empty space I heard the tell-tale thud of the front door upstairs and knew my prey had bolted.
Damn it.
I returned to the hall when my phone vibrated, my tangled thoughts blaming me for not leaping on the chance to question the choir master, that I’d let him sneak past me while I did my best to help my friend regain her composure. Then again, Jill was worth it and so much more important to me. I’d track Dominic down, never fear. And just let him try to run. The state troopers would be happy to put a BOLO out for his smarmy ass.
I checked the text, this one from Dad, inviting me to the Fleming Investigations office. Maybe they’d made more progress than we had. Jill joined me in the hall, arms full of bottles, scowling when I told her what happened.
“Let’s see what Dad and his new partners found out,” I said, heading for the exit. “If they have corroborating evidence about Mr. Twigg, maybe we can bring him down for indecent assault or something related to that, even if he didn’t commit murder.”
Jill didn’t seem to think that would pan out, but she kept her mouth shut, bless her.
It was a short drive to the office, Jill locking the evidence in the trunk though she fretted over the security of leaving it there, chain of possession making her uncomfortable.
“Stand in the doorway if you want,” I said, pointing at the glass as we entered. “Keep an eye on the car. That’s good enough.” Considering how things happened in Reading? More than good enough.
She shrugged, instead, heading down the long, narrow office to the back of the room where Dad’s desk was now Crew’s, apparently, my fiancé sitting behind it with his feet up, Liz perched on the edge, my true love grinning at my dad who scowled a little.
My, how the tables had turned.
“Sheriff Fleming,” Crew said, “I’ve been poking my nose into your murder investigation. Want to know what I’ve uncovered you missed along the way?”
Okay, that was going to be annoying and I totally earned it. When he rose and came to me with an evil chuckle, kissing me softly, I smacked his hip with one hand.
“No kissing in the office,” I growled.
I would have loved to hear what he had to say to that, the bratski, except the ringing of the entry bell caught all of our attention, more so when a booming voice cut through the air like a grenade going off.
“By order of town council,” Geoffrey Jenkins said as he strode toward us, coming to a halt with that shark expression firmly in place, “Fleming Investigations is required to cease and desist their interference in the murder of Thea Isaac or be arrested for impeding a criminal investigation.”
He did not.
***
Chapter Twenty Four
Vivian looked utterly delighted to see us. I could tell by the chilly, downright frosty greeting she gave, the way Hugh eye rolled at me on the way by and mouthed, “She’s in a mood,” to which I shrugged. He was used to temperamental and volatile Olivia Walker and her hard-hitting, dedicated and often chaotic way of doing things. Vivian French, on the other hand? Might as well try to sort out the feelings of an ice sculpture.
Okay, so not entirely fair because I’d seen that soft side of her that she hid so carefully from the rest of the world. And yet, I could see while someone like Hugh would be struggling to connect to his new boss and wondered if she was as much a nasty witch to him as she seemed to be to the rest of the world.
Aside from my mother. Go figure.
I crowded into the mayor’s personal space with Dad, Crew, Jill and Liz all behind me, Geoffrey and Robert, Rose tucked into the dark patch that was my cousin’s shadow, the three of them against the five of us. No way were they going to win.
Trouble was, the second we arrived the shouting started and the accusations flew while I inhaled, exhaled and kept out of it.
Vivian let it go on for a moment before one of her hands came down on the surface of her desk with a loud bang. That shut up everyone, including—surprising me and him, too, if the widening of his eyes was an indicator—Geoffrey.
“I’ve had enough,” she said, not a hint of snark in sight, an ice queen in a pink pencil dress with her hair in a French tuck, lips frosty with gloss. Going for a theme, Vivs? “Sheriff Fleming.” She addressed me and ignored everyone else. “What exactly is the problem and why are you in my office sharing it with me when you’re supposed to be out there solving a murder?”
She did not just smack me in the face with that kind of sarcastic disdain.
“The Reading Sheriff’s Department has, in the past, utilized the research skills of Fleming Investigations for their background checks on victims and suspects in previous murders.” I had tons of precedent, so there.
Dad grunted. “Olivia hired me all the time, Vivian,” he said.
And instantly I knew that was the exact wrong thing to say while, from the expression on my father’s face, so did he. Likely, he spent the next few minutes kicking himself as the Queen of Wheat turned fearless leader of the cutest town in America positively froze us all with her response and what, exactly, she thought of that state of affairs.
“I am not,” she said, teeth barely clenched, tone deeper than usual, eyes narrow and tight, “Olivia Walker, Deputy Fleming,” at least she remembered I’d made him a part of the department again, “nor would I want to be.” She turned her attention to Geoffrey. “I take it this is the source of this invasion of my office? You’re protesting, at length, knowing you, Geoffrey, the use of an available resource in the investigation of a crime I’d really like solved as soon as possible?” Wow, backhanded and absolutely smooth all in one go.
Geoffrey chose to ignore the fact she’d just taken a chunk out of his argument and pressed on. “If the Reading Sheriff’s Department, as it stands with its present leadership,” oh, now who was being backhanded, “can’t handle a simple murder,” seriously, the dude was on his very last tiptoe with me, “perhaps choosing another sheriff would be prudent now instead.”
Vivian’s eyes flickered to me. No way was she blaming me for this. I was doing my damned job, thank yo
u very much, the job she’d forced me into, by the way and never was I told I couldn’t use Fleming Investigations and this was ridiculous and unfair and I ran on and on in my head while she responded to him.
“Fine,” Vivian said, “if this will get you out of my office and let me get back to work, Geoffrey, you can have half of what you want.” She turned then to Crew and Liz. “Please turn over what you’ve uncovered to Deputy Carlisle and divest yourselves of any further investigations into the murder.”
Crew looked furious but Liz handed off the file. Instead of giving it to Robert, however, she set it on Vivian’s desk, right in front of the mayor, with a pointed look that clearly said you give it to him because no way was the FBI agent doing so.
The mayor’s mouth twisted just barely, enough Vivian had to know what Liz’s act of rebellion meant. Considering she didn’t work for Reading and honestly could have come into the investigation if she so chose to make it an FBI matter (and could find a way to do so), Vivian should have been grateful that Liz was being so compliant.
Yeah, she looked grateful.
Robert crossed to her and, I kid you not, snapped his fingers at her for the file.
And the whole room went silent. Dead. Silent.
I almost laughed. I was this close to erupting into hysteria and cheering Vivian on because it was clear to me—to everyone in the room—that he was about to die a painful, agonizing, horrible death at the mental command of the Queen of Wheat. The look she aimed at him could have alternately frozen magma and liquefied diamonds. Did he notice? I have no idea if the stunned bag of hammers (and that’s an insult to hammers, frankly, that have a very important job to do, after all, while he did nothing of value ever, if you asked me) noticed or not. Couldn’t care less. Instead I stood there, breathless in anticipation of his demise, vibrating with my silent shrieking for her to crush him like a bug.
