Jam, Jelly and Just Desserts

by Carolyn L. Dean

  "Okay, okay," Amanda said, her eyebrows drawn together as she went over what George had said. "So, if thallium is what killed him, how did he actually get poisoned? I mean, did he eat it or what?"

  George shrugged. "We don't know. The ME said thallium is tasteless and odorless. It looks a lot like powdered metal, kind of dull-colored. It can be ingested or can even be absorbed through the skin. Now, we’ve been doing some legwork and it turns out that Radcliffe almost never left his house. As far as we can tell he had his housekeeper do all the shopping for him, and he stayed mostly indoors. I've had Officer Rollins keep the crime scene tape up and put a notice on the front door of his place, barring anyone from going inside. " He gave a deep sigh. "My best guess is that if he was poisoned by thallium it probably happened somewhere in that house, and I don't want anyone else to be exposed to it. That stuff's deadly."

  "Obviously," Lisa added dryly, and George pointedly ignored her.

  Amanda, on the other hand, was thinking back to the fact that she'd been the one to find Radcliffe sprawled out on his dining room floor. "You don't think I've been exposed to something, do you?" she asked. "I mean, I was only in there for a bit..." her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized she was talking to a police chief who had been investigating the death with his officers, and who had spent a lot more time than she had inside Radcliffe's house.

  George shook his head. "I don't think so, but it wouldn't hurt to see your doctor to be sure. None of my team have reported any sort of reaction after they were onsite, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra cautious in a case like this."

  Lisa was back in reporter mode. "Chief, why would you think this is a possible murder? Maybe it was accidental exposure," she said, but George looked down and shook his head.

  "I don't think so. According to the medical examiner, Radcliffe got a pretty big dose of thallium to have a reaction like this. Remember how his shoes and socks were off, and how his skin looked? Those are all signs of thallium contamination, and with its use being so restricted in the States, how would he have been accidentally poisoned?" He shook his head again and looked up. "I don't buy it. It's possible but unlikely, and let's face it. That man was truly hated for how he got his business up and running and the things it did to the town."

  He shifted his car keys to his other hand and looked out at the lake, his face sad. "No, my money's on murder. Someone gave this guy his just desserts."

  Chapter 17

  One of the best things about Ravenwood Cove was its old movie theater. The Liberty had originally been built in the 1920s and had been restored a while back by a new owner. These days it showed second-run films to an eager hometown audience, and once a month or more it had a featured classic movie that brought the film buffs out in droves. Between the real butter on the popcorn and the all-beef hot dogs, the snack bar was a huge hit.

  It was also a great place to people watch. Mrs. Granger had taught Amanda that going to the movies was the best way to find out who had started dating who, which couples were fighting and didn’t want to touch each other, and who was hanging onto a grudge that made them do their best to be nowhere near the person they were mad at.

  Jennifer tried to go when she could, but normally worked the night shift. She did keep track of what movies were due to come to town, though, and when the weekly classic film was announced as being Robin Hood with Errol Flynn she did her best to persuade her boss to rearrange her schedule. Amanda had laughed, and been happy to make sure her only employee got a much-needed night out at the movies. "I'm not much of a medieval movie fan," she admitted, then waved goodbye as Jennifer had nearly skipped out of the Inn, purse and coat over her arm.

  It was the first time she'd seen Robin Hood on a big screen and she loved every minute of it. The Technicolor adventures of Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland were just as fresh and exciting as the day they’d been filmed. As the lights came up and she watched the last of the credits scroll by, she finally picked up her things with a satisfied sigh and walked into the packed lobby.

  After taking just a few steps, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

  "So, I hear you have certain skills."

  Jennifer's hand froze halfway to her mouth, the buttered popcorn she was clutching suddenly forgotten.

  "Um..." She glanced around, worried that her past and government training had suddenly come home to roost.

  A familiar smile greeted her, and Gable pushed the heavy theater door open ahead of them as they walked out into the cool darkness of the spring evening. "Amanda said you'd had some training with art appraisal and had passed all your business classes at the college."

  "Oh, yes," Jennifer said, trying to keep the note of relief out of her voice. "I'm interested in starting my own resort or bed and breakfast someday, so I went through their program. It was actually really good, really thorough. Now I'm starting to wonder if I would rather flip houses or invest in real estate instead. Dad always said I had a knack for being able to see the value in something." She smiled a bit at the memory of her father's proud statement. Even though they hadn't had much time together at the end of his life, she'd treasured every minute she'd been able to get to know him better before he'd died.

  "Even things that other people think are worthless?" Gable asked.

  The question stopped her cold in her tracks. "What did you say?"

  The expression in his gray eyes was unreadable as he looked down at her. "It's a serious question. Can you tell if something has hidden worth?"

  Jennifer shifted from foot to foot in the cool spring breeze, suddenly feeling a bit like a bug under glass.

  "I think so. Sometimes. Well, usually."

  He smiled, satisfied. "With a background in art and real estate and hospitality, I’ll bet you could. Well, then I think we should talk. Is there anywhere in this little town we could get a drink?"

  Suddenly, Jennifer had the sensation she was getting swept along in his dazzling, even-toothed smile and the subtle scent of his expensive aftershave. He wasn’t the sort of guy she was interested in, but there was a strange charisma the man had that was undeniable.

  Steeling herself to be cautious, she walked with him down the street to Benny's bookstore, where Truman was entertaining the usual post-movie crowd with espresso, good music, and lively conversation. Maybe most small towns' social lives would’ve centered around the local bar or tavern, but it was a testament to Truman's well-known friendliness and reputation that his second-hand bookstore and kite-and-bike shop was the most popular place to be after hours.

  "Jennifer! Buddy!"

  Truman was just inside the door of the bookstore and loped over to give his friend a big hug. The business owner's hair color changed with his mood and the seasons, and apparently the throngs of brilliant daffodils emerging all over town had inspired him to spike his hair wildly upward, after dying it a stunning shade of yellow. "What's shakin?" he asked while looping one tattooed arm through hers. "Hey, I tried out that chocolate eclair recipe you gave me." He sighed happily and rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable. Spectacular. I don't care if I weigh 900 pounds when I die. I'm never eating anything else."

  His exuberance, as always, was infectious, and Jennifer couldn't help but giggle and smack him playfully on the arm.

  "Gonna die fat and happy, huh?" she teased, and he nodded in agreement.

  "It's worth it."

  Gable had been standing behind Jennifer, watching the curious exchange between the two of them, with a bemused expression on his face. Seeming to notice him for the first time, Truman let go of Jennifer and stuck out his hand, a friendly smile in place. "Hey, Gable. Good to see you again. Can I get you your favorite?"

  That was a surprise. To Jennifer's knowledge, Gable had only been seen a couple of times in town since he'd shown up unexpectedly at Amanda and James' wedding.

  "You know it," was Gable's happy reply, and by the time Jennifer had thought to ask the tall man standing next to her about how he knew Truman so well, their wild-haired ho
st was already carefully maneuvering through the crowd with a tall mocha in one hand and a glass soda bottle in the other.

  Gable thanked Truman as they took their drinks and gently put his hand on Jennifer's elbow to guide her toward a corner of the room that was fairly clear of people.

  "Dr. Pepper?" she asked incredulously, as she saw Gable take the first big swig of the soda. "Your favorite drink is Dr. Pepper?"

  Gable swallowed and set the bottle on a nearby ledge that ran the length of the wall. "What's wrong with Dr. Pepper? It's an American classic, you know." He took another quick drink, then smiled in mock bliss. "Good stuff. Aged for weeks. Very smooth."

  Jennifer couldn't help but laugh and she could see he was enjoying her reaction. She finally said, "I thought a man who was as well-traveled as you would be drinking brandy or some sort of really expensive wine, that's all. It just seems a bit… weird."

  He shrugged. "I like what I like. Why would I care what other people think?" The grin he gave her was a bit wicked. "I'm only interested in pleasing myself. Haven’t you heard that about me?”

  Jennifer looked confused, until Gable finally chuckled a bit. “Okay, enough of that.” He leaned against the ledge and set his soda down.

  “I’ve come here to offer you a job.”

  Chapter 18

  Amanda was sitting on a wicker sofa on the wide front porch of the Inn the next morning, enjoying the slightly warm breeze wafting through as she flipped open the newspaper. The porch was original to the century-old building and one of her favorite places in the entire Inn. She'd gotten in the habit of going outside in the mornings with Benson, wrapping up in an afghan or a quilt and tucking her feet up underneath her on the wicker sofa. She’d read the morning paper while Benson watched the birds and squirrels on the front yard, his tails wagging in appreciation. It was amazing how much you could learn about what was going on in town from the announcements and articles in the Ravenwood Tide. Lisa was proud to be the editor and the reporter for the tiny paper, but there was an assortment of people who loved to contribute articles about whatever was on their mind.

  Today's articles didn't disappoint. The front page was dominated by the death of Buster Radcliffe, complete with a photo of the outside of his grand home. Lisa had told her ahead of time that she would be putting Amanda's name in the article, as the person who had discovered the body, and even though Amanda hadn't been thrilled at being discussed so publicly she hadn't objected. That was the price of having a friend who reported the news for a living.

  She scanned through the article. Lisa had been able to get a quote from Radcliffe's housekeeper, Elizabeth Porter, saying that he'd been a good and fair employer, and that his favorite dinner was Campbell's tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. One of Radcliffe's many contractors had been interviewed, too, apparently with the provision that he remained anonymous. He'd supposedly said Radcliff was "a real son of a... I can't say it in front of you." The rest of the article skimmed over Radcliffe's past but left out the more salacious parts, like how angry the townspeople were with him. Lisa knew what his plans were for the house, too, and Amanda had given her an earful about his plans to maybe bankrupt the Ravenwood Inn, but Lisa had left that out as well.

  Her huge orange cat, Oscar, came trotting across the wooden planks of the porch, obviously intent on where Amanda was sitting and jumped onto her lap. Amanda could almost swear he had a smug expression of satisfaction on his furry little face as he looked down at Benson, who was too big to be a lap puppy. Oscar immediately snuggled into the warm quilt, and Amanda laughed a bit as she flipped the edge of the blanket over him.

  "You know a good thing when you see it, don’t you?" she asked, and the cat blinked in apparent agreement.

  The rest of the paper was full of advertisements and tidbits. Madeline Wu was having a coloring contest at her fish store for kids twelve and under. Petrie's Soda Fountain was bringing in new ice cream flavors, including spumoni, and their chicken salad sandwich had earned a rave review from a well-known Portland food blogger. The firefighters were selling vegetable starts, with several varieties of heirloom tomatoes, to raise money for more equipment. Petunia, the florist, needed part-time help on weekends. People were cautioned to be sure to beware of unusually high tides down on the beach.

  There was also a small note about Sage's car accident, where he'd swerved to avoid Bev's little dog and had wrecked Mrs. Sandford's Cadillac. He'd been quoted as saying that he'd do everything he could to be sure she had her car back in perfect condition, and his insurance was working with hers to get everything straightened out. Amanda had to scoff at that one. If she knew her cousin, she knew that Hortense wouldn't be satisfied until every speck of dust and damage had been eradicated from her car. Good luck with that, Sage, Amanda thought, and flipped the page.

  Halfway down was a new column that had recently been added to the Ravenwood Tide, highlighting people who had just moved to the community, and when there wasn't anyone to talk about, interviewing tourists about their impressions of the town and what they liked best. Today's subject was Elizabeth Portman. There was a nice photo of her outside Radcliffe's house, and Amanda had to wonder if the article had been written before he died.

  She was so engrossed in her paper that at first Amanda didn’t notice Lisa’s little car pulling into the circular driveway in front, but she set down her paper when it came to a stop by the front steps. Lisa got out and jogged to the trunk to retrieve a folded walker, then around to the passenger door. She held it open while a very familiar ninety-year-old pulled herself up on the walker, waved a cheery hello at Amanda, and slowly wheeled her way over to the ramp on the side of the porch.

  By the time Mrs. Granger had reached the top of the ramp she was wheezing a bit, even with Lisa helping her. “’Manda, I think it’s about time you get an elevator for me. After that trek, I’m gonna need a serious nap.”

  Amanda laughed and gave the old lady a hug. “This is a surprise! I didn’t know you two were stopping by.” She could see Lisa secretly rolling her eyes behind Mrs. Granger, which usually meant that she’d been pushing to get her way and visit Amanda, regardless of whatever Lisa’s plans may have been.

  “Would you like to have a seat?” Amanda asked. The moment Mrs. Granger plopped down on one of the white wicker sofas Oscar peered at her, as if judging if she was worthy, then jumped onto her lap, his huge body nearly coming up to the tiny lady’s chin. It was unusual for him to be so friendly, and Amanda instantly offered to shoo him off Mrs. Granger’s lap, but the old lady just smiled smugly and kept petting him.

  “This cat loves me,” she said happily. “Don’t ever make him move.”

  After a proposal of fresh coffee and leftover apple and cinnamon scones had been refused, the conversation meandered around a bit until it finally wound up exactly where Mrs. Granger wanted it.

  “I’m not surprised he’s dead, to be honest. There were a lot of people who would’ve been happy to see that boy take a dirt nap.”

  “A dirt nap?” Amanda asked, then laughed out loud. “That’s terrible,” she said, not really believing it was, and Mrs. Granger looked mildly offended.

  “It’s a perfectly acceptable expression. I heard it on TV a week ago, so it’s very hip.” She sniffed and petted Oscar’s head. “One has to stay current with the new expressions, you know.”

  Oscar purred like a happy buzzsaw, always content to get anyone’s attention. Mrs. Granger scratched him under the chin and made a kissing face at him. “You know, if I were choosing suspects I’d definitely already have my candidates,” she said, looking around to be sure both Lisa and Amanda were listening to her.

  Okay, I’ll bite, Amanda thought.

  “Who would you suspect?” she asked, and Mrs. Granger seemed delighted to tell her.

  "Well, we’ve already talked about Hortense, but I have to say I'm also not so sure about that housekeeper of his," Mrs. Granger said, her eyebrows narrowing together in sudden suspicion. "From what I heard s
he was really eager to get the job, and I have no idea why she wanted to work for a cranky so-and-so like Buster Radcliffe. He wasn’t exactly the catch of the day, you know, and having to look that puss every day would be enough to put me off my Wheaties." She screwed up her face in distaste. "I'd rather work for just about anyone else than Radcliffe. He gave me the creeps, even if I hadn't known about the sort of stunts he'd pulled to get his start with his first factory."

  Lisa, always the analytical one unless her own love life was involved, shook her head. "I don’t see it that way. Elizabeth Porter's got her reasons for wanting a job with a steady paycheck. Radcliffe paid well, supposedly. When Elizabeth first moved here from Africa she had a tough time getting on her own two feet. I don't mean to be rude, Mrs. Granger, but I think you're being suspicious of the wrong person. She’s a hard worker, and she saved every penny she could get her hands on, so she could buy Mr. Jensen's old greenhouse and home. It's been amazing how much she's been able to fix it up," she said, her voice resolute.

  Amanda was silent during the conversation, watching Lisa's soberly pronounced response to Mrs. Granger's suspicions, and feeling a little out of place. It wasn't every day that Lisa stood her ground like that against her ninety-year-old friend, and she could see it wasn't sitting too well with Mrs. Granger, either.

  "Well, I'm just saying she's tougher than I am, that's all," the old lady said, quickly backtracking. "I'm not trying to insult her." She gave a loud sniff. “Plenty of other people who are probably gonna get questioned by George, you know.”

  The uneasy silence between them was broken by the rumble from a happy cat, unaware of any tension between the humans around him.

  “I guess we’ll see,” Amanda said. “James is flying home tonight, and I’d bet he’s going to be working with George to get this case solved.”