“I could be wrong about the precise year,” Sarah said. “You had better check it.”
I nodded. “Thanks, I will, but it’s helpful to know that anybody could have it lying around in their garage. Most people have old products lying around.”
“Does that help narrow down your suspects?”
I ran my hand over my eyes. My first instinct was to say, “No,” but then I thought on it some more. “Actually, it does help in that I now won’t go looking for pharmacists, or people in the medical profession, or people who have special access to laboratories, or other things like that.”
Still, while I was trying to put a positive spin on it, I was quite deflated. Anybody at all could have a pre-2012 bottle of antifreeze in their garage. And anybody simply had to google poisons to discover the fatal dose rate and to know that it had been successfully used in murders previously. This wasn’t helping me get any closer to the killer.
The thought of another thunderclap sounded, and I jumped again. “Sounds like that storm’s getting closer,” Sarah said.
I stood up. “Thanks for your help again, Sarah. I’d better get home or I’ll get drenched running from the car to the house.”
As I drove away, the rain started to ease somewhat. Just as it did so, a bright yellow car passed me. Could it possibly be Horatio’s car?
I turned around as soon as I could and drove in that direction. At first, I thought that the car had gotten too far ahead of me, but I soon caught up. I hung back so as not to make him suspicious.
I didn’t even know if it was Horatio’s car, but right now I was all out of options. I was glad that he kept driving, and half an hour later, I was glad my car was full of gas. I watched as the car turned down a private road in a remote area. I parked under the cover of a black walnut tree and waited until the car was out of sight.
I sat there, debating what to do. It might not have been Horatio’s car at all. Still, the road obviously led to private property, and I didn’t want to be trapped there, especially if Horatio was the murderer. I knew it wasn’t Horatio’s official address as one of the first things we did was to search his address online.
I was still pondering what to do when another car came along. It slowed down to take the turn. As it did, so I caught a good look at the driver. It was Cheryl.
Just then, Cheryl turned and looked straight at me.
Chapter 22
Without thinking, I crouched down in the seat. This, no doubt, looked suspicious, but it was too late. When I looked up again, Cheryl’s car was parked at the start of the private driveway, but the rain was coming down too hard to see inside.
I immediately drove away in the opposite direction. Had Cheryl recognized me from the distance? I tried to call Matilda and tell her that there was no cell phone service. I looked in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t see a car following me.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Was Cheryl the woman who was having an affair with Horatio? I remembered something. She had said she was at the show watching the goat classes, but she hadn’t seen Gigi eat the judge’s beard, and that had been the only class in the ring at the time. Of course, that wasn’t exactly incriminating, because she might have been drinking coffee or chatting to somebody and not actually looking in the ring.
What seemed more suspicious was Cynthia’s falling out with Gemma which had lasted a few months. Gemma discovered her son’s relationship with a woman several months ago. The timing was spot on.
The rain came down harder. I decided to drive straight home and call Damon to tell him what I had discovered. He would be angry with me for following Horatio, but I didn’t have an option.
When I got home, I cut the engine, slammed the door, locked it remotely over my shoulder, and sprinted up the stairs into the house. I turned on the light, but just as I did so there was a flash of forked lightning, and the lights went out.
I was soaked right through. I needed to have a nice warm shower, but first, I called Damon. To my dismay, it went straight to voicemail. I stared at the phone in disbelief and then left him a message. I immediately called Matilda. “Don’t let Rebecca hear what I’m saying because I don’t want to worry her,” I said, “but I think Cynthia and Horatio were in it together.”
“Yes, do go on,” Matilda said in a monotone.
I told Matilda all about it, how I had followed Horatio to a private road and how Cheryl had turned up and had looked at my car. I finished by saying, “I called Damon, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“And did you leave a message?”
“Yes, of course I did,” I said. “Anyway, she didn’t follow me.”
“Can you be certain?”
I shook my head but then realized nobody could see me. “No, I can’t be certain. It was raining heavily, but I don’t think I was followed.”
Matilda must have gone outside to speak because I could now hear traffic sounds in the background. She said firmly, “Jane, lock all the doors and don’t let anybody in. Be very careful. You said she saw you?”
“She looked straight at the car, but I don’t know whether or not she saw me.”
“We can’t take any chances. Do you have any weapons?”
“Weapons?” I said in disbelief. “Of course not!”
Matilda sighed. “Then keep trying Damon, and Eleanor and I will catch a taxi straight home.”
I was about to protest but simply said, “Thanks.” I hung up and took the stairs two at a time to the bathroom. I was absolutely drenched and wanted to have a very quick shower. I was halfway up the stairs when the lights came back on. “Thank goodness,” I muttered to myself.
After my shower, I quickly threw on some nice clothes and some make-up in case Damon came here when he got my message. I walked down the stairs and into the living room.
To my shock, Mr. Crumbles was sitting in the chandelier. “Mr. Crumbles, get down from there at once!” I scolded him. “How did you get up there?”
Of course, I knew how he had gotten up there. There was a ladder perched directly under the chandelier. Matilda had intended to change out the light globes for energy-efficient ones. Mr. Crumbles had climbed up the ladder, the attraction of the sparkling chandelier tassels obviously too much for him. He was perched there precariously, one paw outstretched and swiping at intervals at the sparkling chandelier tassels.
I walked over to the ladder, intending to climb up, when I suddenly realized that Mr. Crumbles would not come willingly. I walked over to the coffee table to check my phone. I must have been going mad, as I was certain I had left it on the couch right by Eleanor’s discarded socks. Still, nobody had called.
“Damon, where are you?” I said to the phone. I left it there and walked into the kitchen to fetch some kitty treats to entice Mr. Crumbles down from the chandelier.
Just as I walked back into the living room, I heard a sound. I walked over to test the front door. Thankfully, it was still locked. I peeked out the window and saw another car. I gasped. That looked like the car I had seen Cynthia driving.
But where was she? My blood ran cold.
I turned around, intending to run for my phone to call 911.
Cynthia was barring my way. She was brandishing a large butcher knife. “How did you know it was me?” she snapped. Gone was her pleasant, socialite demeanor. Her expression was that of a madwoman.
“I, I wasn’t certain until now,” I sputtered. “How did you get in?”
“One of the windows wasn’t locked.” She spoke fast.
“Oh well, I’ve already called the police, and they’re on their way here now.”
“You’ve made two calls, one to somebody called Damon and one to that old woman, Matilda,” she said smugly. “I looked through your phone while you were upstairs.”
“Damon is a homicide detective,” I told her. “His name is Detective Damon McCloud.”
She sneered at me. “How gullible do you think I am?”
I sized up the distance between us. She could close
the ground to me fairly quickly. She had a large knife, and I did not.
Matilda and Eleanor were on their way, so I had to stall for time. “So, let me get this straight,” I said. “You had a bottle of coolant from before 2012 that didn’t have the bittering agent in it.”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “And it smelled delicious too.”
“And you poured it into a shot glass and gave it to Gemma to drink.”
“She drank it without batting an eyelid,” Cynthia said in boastful tones. “It was quite a pleasant shade of green.”
“So what did she think it actually was?” I asked.
Gemma’s expression darkened. “How should I know? I told her it was absinthe. I assume she believed me.”
“But didn’t you and Gemma have a falling out when she found out you and Horatio were still dating?”
Cynthia let out a string of obscenities. “She couldn’t mind her own business! Yes, she threatened to cut him out of the will. He had to pretend we weren’t dating for a long time. Somehow, she found out we were, so she said she was cutting Horatio out of the will. She even made an appointment with her lawyer. That’s when we knew we had to kill her before she actually did change her will.”
One thing puzzled me. “Then how did you get her to drink the shot? I mean, she was angry with you, so why would she drink shots with you?”
Cynthia smirked at me. “Because I did a rather good acting job, if I do say so myself. I told her that I was in love with Horatio, but that she had won. I said I couldn’t live with myself if she cut Horatio out of the will and she believed me. I told her I was leaving for California and I was going to live there with my sister and start a new life. I begged her not to tell Horatio and said I would tell him.”
“And she believed that?”
Cheryl smirked at me. “Not at first, but yes, she did. Anyway, enough talking.”
“This is your last chance,” I said. “Give yourself up or it will be the worse for you.”
She looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses. “Are you stark raving mad? I have this.” She waved the huge knife at me. “And you don’t have a weapon.”
“Oh yes, I do,” I said. “I have these.” I waved the packet of cat treats at her. They were Mr. Crumbles’ favorite treats, little bits of tuna, dry inside but moist on the outside.
She broke into raucous laughter. “You have gone mad. That’s not a weapon.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I tipped the contents into my hand and threw them at her. She was still laughing as they hit her and landed her hair.
The next thing I knew, Mr. Crumbles leaped from the chandelier onto her head to eat the treats. Cheryl screamed with fright and dropped the knife. As she frantically moved around, trying to dislodge him, Mr. Crumbles dug his claws into her head to keep his balance. Cheryl spun in circles, screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs with Mr. Crumbles digging his claws in harder and harder.
I ran over to her and kicked the knife away, just as Matilda and Eleanor burst through the door. It all happened so quickly, I could scarcely believe my eyes.
Eleanor grabbed Mr. Crumbles in one move. I could hear him purring loudly even over Cheryl’s screams. Clearly, he had been enjoying himself.
At the same time, Matilda did what looked to me to be jujitsu moves on Cheryl and pinned her to the ground. “Rope!” she called out.
I hadn’t even seen Eleanor leave the room, but there she was suddenly by Matilda’s side with a length of rope. Matilda hogtied Cheryl, before grabbing Eleanor’s sock from the couch and shoving it in a protesting Cheryl’s mouth. Mr. Crumbles was still purring loudly.
Matilda turned to me. “I can hear sirens. Get your story ready, Jane. You will need to tell the police that you were the one who tied up Cheryl. You have to leave me out of it.”
Chapter 23
I had known the Pet Protection classes would change Mr. Crumbles. I simply had not anticipated how much.
Mr. Crumbles no longer looked like Mr. Crumbles. Mr. Crumbles is now looked like a cat cop. He wore tiny aviators, and a navy jacket that read FBI.
My mouth dropped open. “Eleanor, our cat does not work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“No,” Eleanor said, cutting an elegant figure as she bobbled out of the footpath in five-inch heels. “FBI stands for the Feline Bureau of Investigation.”
My face burned. “Take that jacket off him before Damien sees him,” I pleaded. I tugged at my collar, letting cool air tickle my throat. It was bad enough that Eleanor had enrolled Mr. Crumbles in Pet Protection classes—I didn’t need Damon to see the complete and utter madness that ran in my household.
Matilda squealed as she stepped from the house. “Oh look! Mr. Crumbles is ready to catch some purr-petrators.”
I looked at Matilda, shocked. “Matilda, please don’t tell me you of all people are enjoying this.”
“Jane, look at that tiny little jacket. He’s so cute!”
Eleanor beamed. “Aaron spoke with conviction when he said Mr. Crumbles has the most powerful toes he’d ever seen.”
“More like spoke with confection as Aaron was eating one of Rebecca’s cupcakes at the time,” Matilda said. “Still, I always knew that cat would make something of himself. He solved that murder all on his own.”
“He didn’t solve the murder,” I said in exasperation. “I had already figured out that Cheryl was the murderer and in it with Horatio.”
“Mr. Crumbles must have overheard what I said about cats jumping on enemies’ heads when they were storming a fortress,” Matilda said smugly. “He used the same technique on Cheryl. I knew it would work!”
Eleanor rubbed Mr. Crumbles behind the ear. “Mr. Crumbles needs to be a detective. Then murderers wouldn’t even think of murdering. They know a cat was on the case.”
“Who is on the case?”
I jumped as Damon closed his car door. I hadn’t even noticed him arrive. “Nothing. No one. Matilda and Eleanor were just taking Mr. Crumbles inside.” I stepped in front of the cat hoping that Damon had not seen the FBI jacket.
“Damon, your girlfriend is being very unsupportive,” Matilda said.
“Matilda!” I sputtered.
Damon’s face turned bright red.
I bent over and scooped Mr. Crumbles into my arms. There was no point in trying to hide his outfit anymore. “I’m sorry, Damon. Matilda and Eleanor have been taken over by body snatches. As you know, Eleanor enrolled Mr. Crumbles in Pet Protection classes.”
“His toes are very powerful,” Eleanor confirmed.
“I can see that.” Damon tickled Mr. Crumbles under the chin. “Good boy.”
“Put him down, Jane. He is clearly interested in following a clue.” Eleanor snatched Mr. Crumbles out of my arms and placed him on the ground. He at once shot off into the bushes.
“He’s not a detective, Eleanor.” I brushed a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. The whole world had clearly lost the plot. “He saw a mouse or something.”
“A criminal mouse.”
I sighed. “No, just a regular mouse.”
“If it’s just a regular mouse, then why is Mr. Crumbles chasing it?”
I slammed the palm of my hand against my head. “Because Mr. Crumbles is a cat!”
Damon interrupted us. “Jane, could I maybe have a word?”
I nodded and followed Damon as he walked toward his car. I pretended not to notice that Matilda was pulling faces behind my back.
“Who knew so much drama could happen around goats?” Damon said with a chuckle as he leaned against his car. He looked very handsome, dressed in a white cable knit sweater, jeans, and a pair of dark blue Chukkas. “So, what’s new with you?”
“Nothing.” I folded my arms. I was determined not to look over my shoulder at Matilda and Eleanor, who were now crouched on all fours accidentally flashing their underwear to the entire world as they called encouragement to Mr. Crumbles who was now hiding beneath the house.
> Damon cleared his throat. “Do you like dinner?”
“Dinner? Yes, I like dinner.”
Damon chuckled. “I mean, would you like to have dinner with me? One where I don’t have to run out on a case? Not that I can promise that,” he added lamely, “but I’ll have one of the other detectives cover for me.”
“When, now?”
“Oh so, so you are using me to escape from Matilda and Eleanor? I see how it is. I bring you flowers and I ask you out on a romantic date and you only say yes to get away from your housemates.”
My heart beat out of my chest. “You didn’t bring me flowers,” was all I could say.
“Didn’t I now?” Damon opened his passenger door and picked up a bouquet of beautiful red roses. “These are for you.”
“Thank you.” I trembled. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“So, yes? To dinner?”
I smiled at him. He was standing close. “I already said yes.”
Damon smiled. “Yes in the sense of you really truly want to let me take you to dinner? Not yes in the sense that you really truly need to escape from your FBI cat?”
I chuckled then. “There is no escaping my FBI cat. He’s ruthless. He has the most powerful toes in all of America.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Inside the restaurant was warm with soft, romantic lighting. Damon placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to our table, which was tucked in the corner beneath a beautiful candelabra. I was grateful for the candlelight. I wasn’t much good at applying make-up, and any type of harsh lighting would no doubt make that apparently clear.
Dinner, this time, went by without a hitch. Damon was charming and I found myself light-hearted and giggly. Damon even ordered me another slice of cake for dessert. I left the restaurant feeling pleasantly happy delighted.
On the way home, we sang along to a cheesy song on the radio. I knew how the world looked at a woman my age—or to be more precise, didn’t look at a woman my age. The world expected dashing detectives like Damon McCloud to chase younger women, but here he was, driving me home, not worried in the least about my wrinkles or my not-perfectly-flat stomach. I stepped from his car giddily and walked with him to my door.
Speak With Confection: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery Page 13
