by Krista Davis
“She stepped on everyone’s shoulders on her way up and never looked back.”
Nina stopped in front of her house. “Do you think there’s a connection between Patsy Lee’s death and Grainger’s murder?”
“I guess that’s what we need to find out.” I gave her a little wave and walked on. But before we crossed the street to our house, Daisy stopped cold. She lifted her muzzle and sniffed the air. Under the light of the streetlamp, I could see her nose twitching.
“Raccoon?” I asked.
A light breeze blew and I thought I saw someone dart into the dark of night. Daisy relaxed and crossed the street. Everything seemed fine at home. Nevertheless, I double-checked all the doors to be sure they were locked.
I wanted to curl up on the love seat in the glass-enclosed sunroom again that night, but the lights would expose me to the lurker—if there was one. Now that we knew Dooley wasn’t a stalker, I thought that was behind me. Maybe it had just been my imagination that someone lurked in the dark.
I settled in the small den off the kitchen, where I could pull the curtains shut. Daisy jumped up on the sofa with me, and Mochie settled on the back of the sofa, his legs splayed like a wildcat on a branch.
There was a detail I was curious about and I hoped I might find it in the materials Aly had supplied to us. The transcript of Nellie’s case was shorter than I expected. There was no mention at all of Dooley or any other potential murderer. In my opinion Nellie’s attorneys had done a halfhearted job.
But I found the item I wanted to know about. Kenner had taken the stand, and the prosecutor asked if the murder weapon had been found.
“Poisonous rhubarb leaves were discovered during the autopsy. The knife wasn’t on the ground in the vicinity of the kitchen, but when Sergeant Gibbard arrived and unlocked the restaurant door, there was a distinct odor of bleach. Clearly, the knife had been cleaned of blood and replaced where it belonged.”
I scanned for the defense questions regarding the weapon. There were none, but in his closing statement, Nellie’s attorney had argued that the prosecution had not been able to produce the murder weapon. The prosecution, on the other hand, argued that Nellie had taken the time to bleach any blood that she might have tracked into the kitchen when she cleaned the knife.
I sat back, listening to Mochie purr. If I had been on the jury, would I have bought that explanation? I didn’t think so. Nellie had been more persuasive with her account of the timeline.
How could I find out what had been going on in Grainger’s life back then? Was it possible that the same person had poisoned Patsy Lee? Maybe he or she had felt the attorneys’ treatment of the knife issue had been a lucky break and returned to poison to get rid of Patsy Lee?
* * *
Monday morning brought crisp air, a reminder that fall would soon be upon us. When I took Daisy out for a morning walk, I scanned the street to be sure no one was hanging around. Everyone seemed to be on their way somewhere. Morning traffic passed slowly as if no one was eager to work in the last weeks of the summer.
Daisy and I were a block away from home when Dooley strode up to us and gave me an awkward hug.
“Thank you, Sophie. Nellie’s spirits haven’t been this high in years. Mine either. I’m counting on you to bring my sweet Nellie back to me.”
While he talked, a sleek black limousine glided by us. We watched as it came to a halt on my block.
“You have some snazzy neighbors,” said Dooley.
Chapter 18
Dear Sophie,
My mother-in-law’s pie recipe begins with these words, “Blind bake the shell. ” Help! What does that mean?
Perplexed in Shell Island, South Carolina
Dear Perplexed,
It means you need to prebake the bottom crust of the pie. Prick the dough with a fork, line it with aluminum foil, and pour uncooked beans into it to weigh it down. Bake about twelve minutes.
Sophie
The driver stepped out and opened a back door. Natasha emerged from her house, gracefully walked down her front stairs, and entered the limo. The driver closed the door. The limo merged with traffic and rolled away.
Dooley checked his watch. “I’d better get to work.”
“Me too.”
Taking giant strides that made me think of Ichabod Crane, Dooley was halfway down the next block before Daisy and I reached the cross street.
After our morning walk I made a big mug of tea for myself and popped a frozen bagel into the oven for my breakfast. Mochie sat next to his food bowl watching me. Daisy’s eyes darted from the counter to the floor and back. She was telling me she wanted her breakfast. I fed Mochie and Daisy while the bagel came back to life.
It was hard to focus on work. I made phone calls and booked some venues a year and a half in advance for upcoming conferences. But Nellie and Patsy Lee continued to haunt me.
At lunchtime I took a walk down to Alex’s office. I could see him through the big plate-glass window in his reception area. He had furnished the office in a classic style with Oriental rugs and antique furniture. On a pedestal in the corner a bronze statue depicted Lady Justice in a blindfold and holding scales. His administrative assistant, seated at her desk, was on the phone.
I walked in quietly, lest I interrupt something. It sounded like they were trying to locate a client.
Alex slid his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.
His assistant hung up the phone. “Hi, Sophie. No luck, Alex. No one has seen him.”
Alex clutched his head. “What does he think he’s doing?” To me, he said, “One of my clients didn’t show for court this morning. We have no idea what happened to him. How about an iced coffee, Soph? I could use a little break.”
“Sure.” I asked if we could bring anything back for his assistant, but she had packed a lunch.
When we stepped outside, Alex headed toward Moos & Brews.
“Are you ready to drink their coffee?” I asked.
Alex shot me an amused look. “You mean because of Patsy Lee’s death? It had nothing to do with Moos and Brews. She added the powdered caffeine herself.”
“How do you know that?”
“Simple logic. She had a brutal schedule and probably did it on a regular basis when she needed a boost. I’m sorry to say that we’re all ingesting a little more caffeine than we probably should. My assistant drinks coffee all day except for the caffeine-laden energy drink she must have every day around three o’clock. She’s not the only one. Everybody is overworked and overbooked. Besides, who would have wanted to kill Patsy Lee?”
I smirked. “Little do you know.”
Alex moaned. “Don’t tell me you think she was murdered?”
“Let’s just say she wasn’t as beloved as one might have thought. I’ll have an iced mocha, please.”
We paid for our cool drinks and giant fluffy ham biscuits that they made from scratch. Alex carried the drink tray, and I carried the sack of food. We wandered over to Market Square, where we perched on the edge of the fountain to eat. “So what do you know about Fribble and Dothford?”
“The law firm?” Alex handed me an iced coffee and took a sip of his. “Yuck. Wrong drink.” He swapped his for mine.
I nodded. “Yes, the law firm.”
With a serious look Alex said, “You know that one of the perks of dating a lawyer is free legal advice.”
“Thank you! Good to know if I should run into trouble. So what do you know about those guys?”
He sipped his iced coffee while he thought. “I will simply remind you that someone is at the bottom of every graduating law school class.”
“Ouch! That’s brutal.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe so, but it’s still true.”
“So you’re saying they’re dolts.”
“I don’t believe I said that, nor did I use that word, but I wouldn’t hire them to fetch my coffee. Why are you asking about them?”
“They represented Nellie Dooley.”
; Alex swallowed a bite of his ham biscuit and turned his head to stare at the fountain. “Grainger Gibbard’s murder? That was years ago.”
“Know anything about it?”
“Nope.”
“Some help you are.”
“You’re so bored that you’re digging up closed cases?” he asked.
“I’m not bored, and I’m not digging up anything. There are some people who don’t believe that Nellie Stokes killed Grainger. Fribble and Dothford represented her. It’s possible that she didn’t get a decent defense. I know nothing about trials, but I suspect that I could have done a better job than they did.”
Alex laughed. “I bet you could have.”
“Nellie’s ex-husband said they had already been through an appeal based on ineffective counsel—”
“But the conviction was affirmed.” Alex completed the sentence for me. “It’s a pretty high standard.”
“They didn’t put her on the stand to testify on her own behalf,” I argued.
“That’s not unusual. You take a big chance when the defendant testifies. A lot of people make things worse for themselves. It’s a judgment call.”
“You’re not saying things I want to hear.” I bit into my ham biscuit and savored the salty flavor of Virginia ham.
“Sophie, I know how you love to investigate. And I think I’ve been pretty indulgent about that. But this is a little bit different. The case was decided. It was appealed and affirmed. It’s a done deal.”
“Are you saying courts are never wrong?”
“Of course not. But now you’re fighting the system.”
“Maybe someone needs to in Nellie’s case.”
“Does it have to be you?”
“Alex! What happened to being entitled to free legal advice?”
“I meant for you.” He wadded the paper that had wrapped his biscuit, shaped it into a ball, and pitched it into a trash can like a basketball. “And he scores!”
He was trying to lighten things up. I understood. I didn’t like it, but I knew what he was doing.
“Look, Sophie. I don’t want to fight over this. But I have serious reservations about you getting involved in a case that has already been tried.”
I handed him the wrapper from my biscuit. He wadded it up and tossed it at the garbage can. It hit the edge and fell to the ground.
I walked over to it, picked it up, and threw it into the receptacle, along with my coffee cup. “I win.”
Alex walked up beside me. “How would you feel if I got involved in event planning?”
“I’d think I would be holding your hand through the entire process the first few times.” Just like I had been helping Roger.
“And we might be after the same clients?”
“Maybe . . .”
“What if I tread on the toes of your friends?”
“How would you do that?”
“I might use you as a reference. Or maybe I would steal clients from your buddies.”
I raised my hands in the air. “I give. You could have just come right out and said that I might damage your reputation as a lawyer. I get it. You don’t want to date someone who is a pest to the people in your field.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I’m still going to look into Nellie’s case because I promised someone very special that I would. But I’ll be careful, and I won’t embarrass you.”
He eyed me. “I guess that’s the best I can ask for?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me.”
Ha! Did he not know me at all? After that little warning it would have to be an emergency of the highest order for me to go to him seeking help.
“Sophie,” Alex said softly, “if you’re right and Nellie was unjustly convicted, that would mean someone violent is still out there.” He stopped walking and placed his hands on my shoulders. “You could be stepping into a hornet’s nest. Think about it. What would you do if you had quietly gotten away with murder years ago and someone started poking around?”
His concern was sweet, but he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. “If that had been me, I would have gotten out of town while the getting was good. Whoever murdered Grainger is probably long gone, like your missing client.”
Alex blinked rapidly. “I’d better get back to work.”
I had to admit that there was a slightly bitter taste in my mouth when I left him at his office. Alex didn’t want me involved. Legal matters were his territory, not mine. Even though I understood his desire to keep me out of his area of expertise, I wasn’t pleased.
It even crossed my mind that this reluctance was exactly the reason I needed to help Nellie. Only an outsider would be willing to cut through the baloney to get to the truth. I didn’t want to believe that was true, but I suspected Dooley was right. No one else cared. Even Alex tried to tell me they had their man, as it were, and the matter was closed.
I tried to put Alex out of my mind to focus on Nellie. It seemed to me that the key was Grainger. If I worked backward from the premise that Nellie didn’t murder Grainger, then there was someone else who was angry with him. What had Grainger done?
I strolled down to Star-Spangled Pies. A sign on the door said CLOSED ON MONDAYS. A light flicked off inside the restaurant, but I couldn’t see anyone through the windows.
I walked to the end of the block and doubled back through the alley to see the place where the murder had occurred.
It was a sad place to die. Garbage sat outside the backs of stores, waiting to be collected. A lone cat stared at me before jumping onto the top of a fence that separated the alley from houses. He disappeared over the other side. A few cars were parked in reserved spots.
I could imagine how desolate it probably felt at night. Looking up at the houses that backed to the fence, I saw a few rear windows. But leafy trees had grown tall, probably planted as a buffer between the homes and the business area. Unless someone happened to be awake and looking out a back window at the time Grainger left the restaurant, no one would have noticed anything. There must have been some loud arguing or screaming. Grainger would probably have called for help, wouldn’t he? But maybe his pleas melded with the normal sounds of the night as bars and restaurants closed and employees left.
The gate to the back patio of Star-Spangled Pies banged open. A boxy man with tanned skin and white hair barged out yelling, “Eighteen hundred! Be ready.”
A slender woman followed him at a relaxed pace. She flapped her hand at him dismissively.
As he hurried into a car, she noticed me in the alley. Without a word she made a subtle gesture with her hand that I took to mean I should stay where I was.
Chapter 19
Dear Sophie,
I’m in a complete panic. I promised to bring pie to my bridge club (and they’re very critical), but the edge of my crust is an unsightly mess. What now?
In a Pickle in Goofy Ridge, Illinois
Dear In a Pickle,
Don’t panic. If your piecrust isn’t pretty, pipe whipped cream around the edge for a quick fix.
Sophie
The car sped through the alley away from me, moving much faster than it should have. The woman waited until it reached the street and turned left. Only then did she walk toward me.
“You’re Sophie Winston.”
“Yes.” I met her halfway.
“I recognize you from the annual Hope gala.”
The popular ball raised money for families of local children who were sick so their parents could focus on their kids getting better instead of the bills that were mounting. I had been the event planner of the gala for the last few years. “Thank you for participating. It’s one of my favorite charity events.”
I felt a little bit guilty for not recognizing her, but I arranged a lot of events. Mostly I dealt with those in charge and didn’t meet the attendees.
She held out her hand to me. “Martha Gibbard. My daughter told me you dined at the restaurant last night.�
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“I enjoyed it very much.”
Martha looked back at the road where her husband’s car had driven away. “Won’t you come in and have a slice of pie with me? I missed lunch.”
“I would love to.” We walked through the gate, which she latched behind us from the inside.
“What’s your favorite pie?” I asked.
“It’s not even close. I’m afraid I’m a chocoholic. Chocolate cream pie with whipped cream on top just cannot be beat.” There was a sparkle in her eyes when she said, “I hope there’s one in the fridge!”
Martha unlocked the door and stepped inside. But I stopped and looked back. How stupid of me. I had forgotten about the patio when I thought about the killer washing the knife. Grainger’s killer would have had to walk across the patio to unlock the door and wash off the knife. Nellie was right. There would have been blood somewhere.
The faint smell of bleach lingered in the kitchen.
I turned to find Martha gazing at me silently. She didn’t wear much makeup. A touch of eye shadow, but nothing else.
“My hair went white when Grainger was murdered.” She said it as a matter of fact, without emotion.
I closed the door. “I’ve heard of that happening after a big shock.”
“Doesn’t get much bigger than the shock of your child being killed. We stopped offering any kind of rhubarb pie after Grainger died. I won’t have rhubarb in the house or the restaurant.” She put on a kettle of water. “Are you a tea drinker?”
“I am.”
“So am I. It’s calming. All my children will tell you that the louder it got in our house, the more tea I drank.”
“You have a lot of kids.”
“It was tea or booze. I had an uncle who drank too much alcohol. It made him vicious. When you have a family member who overindulges, you think twice about drinking.” She brought a sinfully luscious pie to a tiny table. Whipped cream was piped around the edge, but the chocolate center shone under the lights.
Martha sliced the pie and delivered mugs of tea to the table. We sat down and tasted the pie.
