by Ellery Adams
“Thanks.” Molly almost hated to tell her mother the next part. “There are two other people I’ve met with who I haven’t mentioned yet. I don’t think they were involved in the Pruett case, since they barely knew Charlotte fifteen years ago. But a connection to her murder certainly isn’t out of bounds.” She hesitated. “You’re not going to believe it.”
Concern tightened Clara’s features. “Why? Do I know these people?”
“It’s Wyatt and Alison Lyman—Pamela’s son and daughter-in-law.”
Clara’s eyebrows shot up. “How on earth is that possible?”
“It turns out Wyatt had an affair with Charlotte. It started last January, and ended a couple of months ago. Alison claims she only found out about it yesterday when Wyatt confessed. As for Wyatt, he says he was working from home Monday morning, but no one can confirm it. And to make matters worse, it turns out Charlotte was blackmailing him.” She told her about the land sale, and the ten thousand dollars he’d given her on Sunday, the day before she died. “At first, I thought it was possible he had regrets about the arrangement to buy the property from her and handing over the ten grand. I thought maybe he returned on Monday morning to get the money back, she refused to give it to him, and he killed her. But that doesn’t make sense, does it? If he had gone back, why wouldn’t he have taken the cash? It was sitting right there in the cashbox.”
Clara sighed. “Well, it sounds like Wyatt is in a lot of trouble. I feel sorry for Pamela, and his wife. But what do you think? Could he have done it?”
“Pamela says he’s weak in business, and Alison said he can’t kill a bug. He comes across as laidback, and a nice guy. He doesn’t seem like someone who’d smash an urn into the back of Charlotte’s head. But what do I know? I’ve been tricked before by smooth-talking criminals.”
“Alison has a strong motive, being the injured spouse.”
“Yes, and she’s certainly strong enough to have done it. But on the flip side, she practices yoga, and she’s a nurse. She doesn’t really fit the profile of a murderer. She strikes me as someone who would confront Wyatt and ream him out.”
They heard the front door open, and Clara got up. She went into the shop, and Molly heard her say, “Good afternoon. May I help you find anything in particular today?” Whoever the customer was, he spoke softly, and Molly couldn’t make out his reply. Clara said, “I’ll be in my office, if you need anything.“ She came back to the office, and returned to her chair. “Well, this has all been fascinating, dear. And I’m impressed at how much you’ve learned in such a short time. Have you updated Tony?”
“Not yet. I’ll call him later.” Molly’s phone rang in her purse, and she took it out, thinking it might be Lombardi, but it was Shelly Osborne.
“Molly! Are you free?”
“I’m at the Treasure Trove visiting my mother.”
“Are you about done? Because I’m on my way to Java Jitters, and I got your message about the Pruett files, and I’d like to talk to you in person. I’m also in desperate need of a caffeine fix or I won’t make it through to the end of the day. Can you join me?”
“Sure, I’ll meet you there.” Molly ended the call and looked at her mother. “That was Detective Osborne. She wants to talk about the Pruett case. I hope she takes an interest in talking to Quincy Clarke. She could search his coin collection, which is something I can’t do, unless he invites me to see it.”
They got up and went into the shop. Clara put Molly’s package of potpourri into a Treasure Trove paper bag. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to her. “Good luck tonight.” For a moment, Molly was confused. What was she wishing her luck for? And then she remembered. She was having dinner with her father. “You look like a frightened rabbit,” Clara said. “Please don’t be. Your father isn’t someone you need to be afraid of. Just try to enjoy the evening as best you can.”
Molly looked at her. “Did Nathan cook for you, when you were together?”
“Of course. All the time.” Clara looked wistful for a moment, perhaps remembering meals that he’d prepared for her. “Even before he went to culinary school in New York, he was an excellent cook. Whatever he makes tonight, I’m sure it will be delicious.” She walked her to the door. “Call me tomorrow?”
Molly stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Of course, I will,” she said, and smiled. But as she walked to Java Jitters, her smile faded, and she found herself saying a silent prayer that when she gave her mother an account of the evening, it wouldn’t include her running away again.
Chapter 17
Molly walked into Java Jitters and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked goods and fresh-brewed coffee. Her mouth immediately began to water. On a Wednesday, in the middle of the afternoon, there were plenty of empty tables. She didn’t know Shelly Osborne, but no one waved at her, as Janell had, and she figured she must have beaten her there. She walked to the counter to place her order, although it wasn’t really necessary. The owner, Joyce “Jazzy” Chen, knew exactly what she wanted. She was Molly’s best friend in Vermont, and she was already heading over to her industrial stainless steel coffee machine to prepare her coffee.
“One French vanilla latte coming up,” Jazzy said. They had met when Molly was planning her wedding. Molly had been so impressed by her baking talents, she had hired her to bake their wedding cake.
Molly took a moment to peer into the refrigerated display case where Jazzy’s homemade creations were proudly showcased. “What do you recommend for a sweet today?”
“The carrot cake.” Jazzy was in her late twenties and liked to wear her dark hair short and spiky, highlighted with purple streaks. She also liked fun aprons, and wore a different one each day. That day’s read: Classy, Sassy, and a bit Smart Assy. Molly thought that was the perfect description of her friend. “It’s a new recipe,” she went on, “with a secret ingredient, which is divine, and which I will not divulge, so don’t even ask. I’ll only say it gives the cake an added flavor of yummy.”
“Well, in that case, say no more. Yummy carrot cake it is.”
“Coming right up.” Jazzy checked on her latte as the coffee machine whirred and frothed. She said over her shoulder, “Is Clara joining you?”
“No, but I just came from seeing her. I’m meeting Detective Shelly Osborne. Do you know her?”
“I sure do. She’s a regular. Comes in every morning for a cappuccino. Are you working with her now?”
“Sort of. She’s a cold case detective, and because one of her cold cases has a link to one of Lombardi’s, she let me read the files.”
Jazzy opened the glass case. “Oh, so you’re involved in another case with the hunky detective. I suppose that means someone in the antiques world has died. Who is it this time? I hope it’s no one I know.”
“Charlotte Blair. It was on the news.”
“I’ve never met her, and I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to listen to the news.” Jazzy cut a slice of carrot cake, closed the case, and set the plate down on a tray. “You know I practically live here.”
Molly did know. She felt bad sometimes for Jazzy. Dating was difficult, because she felt the need to be at the helm of her coffee shop on most days. “Ma and I found Charlotte’s body at her shop Monday morning.”
Jazzy stared at her. “Oh, Molly. Not again.” She shook her head, and went back to the coffee machine. “You always manage to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I like to think of it as being in the right place at the right time.”
“I know, but really . . .” Jazzy poured her latte into a large mug. “How you do it is beyond me.” She set the mug down on the tray. “I’d be having nightmares every night if I found a body.”
Molly knew this was true, because Jazzy was lightness and laughter. The criminal world in which Molly dipped her toe occasionally was the polar opposite from her friend’s sweet life. There had been a time when Jazzy had been interested in dating Lombardi, and Molly had tried to fix them up, but they both knew it would n
ever work. He needed someone like Starling, who was able to get into the nasty weeds of a case and talk it through with him, and not be unsettled by the gory details.
Jazzy said, “I hope they find whoever did it soon.”
Molly used her credit card to pay for her coffee. “Lombardi’s in Boston trying to dig up some clues there. Charlotte had only moved here about two months ago.”
“How does the cold case tie in? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask.”
“It’s too long of a story to go into right now, but I’ll tell you about it next time we get together.”
“Okay. As long as you leave out any violence and gruesomeness. You can do that?”
“I will do my best,” Molly said.
Jazzy smiled. “Shelly just came in.”
Molly turned around. A plump woman in her mid-fifties was heading toward them. Her gray hair was in loose curls that bounced around her head as she walked; her clothes were baggy, and gave her a disheveled air. The coat was an old herringbone tweed, her slacks were a dull maroon color, and an inch too short, and her shoes were clunky scuffed brown clogs. If Clara had been there, she would have immediately started plotting how to give her a makeover.
Shelly walked right up to her and stuck out her hand. “Hey, Molly. I’m Shelly.”
“How did you know it was me?”
Shelly laughed. “Are you kidding? Everyone at the station knows who you are. And although you don’t remember my face, I’ve seen you there, talking to Lombardi in his cramped little cubicle.” She grinned. “I have an office. Nothing fancy. You can barely find my desk through all the boxes, but at least I’ve got a door.” She turned to Jazzy. “Hi, hon. I’ll have a regular coffee, and a slice of that cake Molly’s got going on there. Looks delicious.”
“Coming right up,” Jazzy said. “If you want to find a seat, I’ll bring it to you.”
Jazzy didn’t ask Shelly to pay for her coffee and cake. Was it one of the perks of being a cop, or a one-time thing? Did she usually charge her for her morning cappuccino?
They settled on a table away from the door to give them privacy and distance from the cold air that rushed in every time someone walked in or left. Molly hung her jacket on the back of her chair, while Shelly threw hers over the empty one beside her.
“So, I have tell you,” Shelly said in a rush, “I was delighted when Lombardi told me that Charlotte’s name popped up in the Pruett file. But man oh man, I’m sure disappointed in Schmitt. He missed his opportunity to solve the case. Did he even ask Charlotte where she worked?”
“No. His interviews were standard, with all three women. He asked them where they were at the time of the murder but never got into their backgrounds. To be fair, he did have his hands full. It seems anyone who read the newspaper knew about Larry finding those coins. He gave an interview.”
“Oh.” Shelly shook her head. “What a dope. Larry, I mean, not Schmitt. You’re right, he was probably slammed. But if I’m right about my first impression, he was actually just a short-timer who didn’t care anymore.”
Molly took a bite of cake and moaned out loud. “Oh, my gosh. This is so good.” She took another bite, and a sip of coffee. “I don’t want to blame him. Even if he had questioned Charlotte about her work at the antiques store, I don’t think he could have proved she was involved in the robbery, not with Janell backing up her alibi.” She took another big bite of cake. At this pace, she’d be done before Shelly even got hers. It was so good, though, she couldn’t stop eating it. “It hasn’t been lost on me, though, that it worked both ways.”
“What did?”
“The alibi, which is why I talked to Janell.”
Shelly looked at her. “Why did you do that?”
“Because she could be involved. They might have done it together.”
“Based on what? Did she change her story?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Charlotte had some of those stolen coins, and more importantly, she had Pruett’s gun. She did it, Molly. You said in your voice mail, she could have left the house and Janell never heard her. I say she’s the guilty party, and I’m prepared to inform Keith Pruett that his father’s case is finally closed.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve just gotten started, and if others are involved, you should bring them to justice. The fact that Charlotte is dead is a red flag warning.”
“You think her death is tied into her past criminal life.”
“I think there’s a strong possibility that it is. Let me tell you about the interviews I’ve conducted.”
Shelly listened to her, and didn’t interrupt. When she was finished, she said, “I’ll grant you, Quincy Clarke seems like an interesting character.”
“Interesting? He could be complicit, if he knew what Charlotte was planning and bought the coins from her.”
“All but five, remember, all but five.”
Jazzy appeared with Shelly’s coffee and cake. She set it down in front of her and said, “Enjoy.” Then she flashed a smile at Molly, and walked away fast. She knew she was working, and didn’t want to interrupt.
Shelly took a bite of cake. “You weren’t kidding. This is fantastic. Jazzy is amazing, isn’t she? I don’t know how she stays so slim. If I was baking sweets like this every day, I wouldn’t be able to resist eating it all.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I wonder why she held on to those five coins, and especially the gun. We’ll probably never be able to positively identify those coins as being from the stack stolen that night, but the gun is a whole other animal. Ballistics don’t lie. It’s Pruett’s, and the fact that she had it is enough evidence for me that she killed him.”
Molly was starting to feel exasperated with Shelly. “You’re losing sight of the bigger picture, that she had an accomplice, or accomplices. Don’t you even want to talk to Quincy Clarke?”
Shelly shook her head. “Not really, no. There’s no point in going down some rabbit hole that won’t get me anywhere. Even if he played a role—if any of these people you’re talking to played a role—no one is going to admit it. Not after fifteen years, Molly.”
“The emerald and diamond ring is still missing. If you got a search warrant—”
Shelly laughed. “I’d need a lot more to go on than your suspicions to get a search warrant, and may I remind you, you haven’t even talked to the man yet.” Molly sighed. It was true. She was working on her hunches, and that wasn’t even based on meeting the man, only the fact that his name kept coming up. Shelly said, “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but all of these connections, Charlotte’s old friends and acquaintances, there’s no evidence they killed her. But there is evidence that Wyatt Lyman had an affair with her, and he has no alibi. Lombardi told me he’s his prime suspect, and unless he turns up something in Boston, I don’t think he’s going to change his mind.” Molly was disappointed in Shelly. Lombardi always listened to her theories and took them into consideration. Shelly was dismissive. She went on. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You took the time to read through the Pruett files, and you found Charlotte living right next door. That’s all the connection I need.”
“The doors and windows of Larry’s house were intact. There was no sign of a break-in.”
“Pruett probably let her in. Again, she lived next door, he’d probably met her enough times to trust her.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Maybe she said she was in trouble.” Shelly sighed. “Who knows what kind of lie she told him to get into his house. She stole the coins, she shot him with his gun.” There were so many unanswered questions, Molly thought her head was going to explode, but Shelly didn’t care. She went on blithely, “Cheer up, kiddo! You helped solve a murder that’s been sitting around for so long it had grown cobwebs. You’ve really been an enormous help. Now we know, Charlotte Blair killed Larry Pruett. End of story.”
“Except it might not be.” Molly couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to shut this down, not yet, not without more informatio
n. “Someone killed Charlotte two days ago, and if it wasn’t a random crime, it had to be someone she knew. I have all these names, and—”
Shelly cut her off again. “I know, I know. You told me.” She finished her last bite of cake, then drank the rest of her coffee, smacking her lips. “Truth is, none of this concerns me. I have enough on Charlotte to pin the Pruett murder on her. That’s all I care about. If you want to pursue other leads, and go down that rabbit hole, you’ll have to do it with Lombardi. I’m out, okay?”
It actually wasn’t okay with Molly, but she couldn’t force Shelly to take an interest in connecting the two cases.
Shelly pushed back her chair. “Lombardi did warn me. He said you were stubborn.” She grinned. “I take that back. He said ‘tenacious.’ Molly is tenacious. I like the sound of that better, don’t you?” She put on her ugly coat, and buttoned it. “Oh, by the way, I’m going to need those files back. I’ll send someone over to your house this afternoon to pick them up.”
Chapter 18
Molly felt deflated watching Shelly leave the coffee shop. She had expected a lot more from her. This was a reminder that not everyone on the police force was like Lombardi. He took her seriously, and encouraged her to think outside the box. He believed in keeping an open mind.
A line had formed at the counter, and Jazzy was busy taking orders. Molly waved to her, and went outside, where the sky was still overcast, but the rain seemed to have stopped for good. She had almost reached her car when she saw Rene standing in front of a sports shop window.
Molly walked over. “Hi.”
Rene looked surprised. “Oh, Molly. It’s you.”
“Do you ski?”
The shop was advertising an early sale on skis and skiing apparel.
“No, I don’t ski, but I like that parka.” Rene pointed to a red parka with a faux white fur hood. “It gets cold in Boston, too.”
“I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you. But first, how are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better.” Rene sighed. “I had to identify Charlotte’s body yesterday afternoon. Detective Lombardi had promised to be there, but he couldn’t make it. He sent some other police officer who wasn’t very sympathetic.” Molly was silent. She wasn’t about to tell Rene that Lombardi was in Boston digging up information on her and Charlotte. “Identifying my best friend’s body in a cold room at the medical examiner’s office was by far the worst experience of my life, and one I hope I never have to repeat for anyone else I love. And they still aren’t sure when they’re going to release her body, although they’re going to try to make it happen before I leave on Sunday. I hope they will. I’d like to be there when the funeral home picks her up.” She looked at Molly. “So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
