Fortunately, the door opened and Cooper walked in with two uniformed officers of the law. “This is where the domestic disturbance is.”
It was now or never. If the deputies started arresting them, they’d never get a confession out of Monty.
Taylor kicked Aviva.
It was her turn.
Aviva sat up slowly, head in her hands. “It hurts so bad,” she murmured.
“What’s going on?” One of the deputies, a motherly though well-armed woman, knelt by Aviva on the ground.
“I fainted. I, see, I was there when she died, and so when I got here, I just. It was too much for me.”
“When who, died sweetie?” the cop asked.
Monty twisted hard, almost knocking Sissy over.
“Hold on there.” The other deputy was the boy-Taylor—Taylor Green, who had graduated with her from Comfort High. “Why don’t you let me take care of him?” Taylor Green asked Sissy.
“You gonna cuff him?” Sissy asked.
“Depends, what did he do?” Taylor Green had the same kind of affable smile Clay had, but he was huge—a bulky six-one and not to be messed with.
Aviva sat up slowly, bent her knees and wrapped her arms around them for stability. “Reynette Woods died at my restaurant. Well, she got sick there. It’s not my restaurant, it’s my uncle’s, but I was there that day and the ambulance came and Reynette died later and they said it was poisoning, but it wasn’t us. I swear we didn’t do it. We couldn’t have.” Aviva rested her head on her knees.
Aviva was actually hurting, and Taylor was the one doing this to her. She was sick with guilt—like find the bathroom and be sick, sick. But she held herself together by force of will. She had gotten them into this, she’d get them out. “Hold on, kiddo, it’s okay.”
Aviva took a deep breath. “We didn’t do it, I swear because this kind of poison, the aspirin kind, it’s either a big fast overdose or it builds up slowly over time and she hadn’t eaten anything yet. Just like a sip of coffee and there was no way there could have been enough in the coffee. Right? And everyone wants to know who did it, but only one person could have, don’t you think? The only person close enough to her to sneak poison in her food over and over and over again would have been…”
“Not my father!” Una shouted. “My father didn’t kill her! I swear it forever. He loved her so much. I loved her too! She was like a real sweet aunty or grandma. Please don’t arrest my father. He’s really sick and he didn’t do it and I just…I’m not supposed to know.” Una stood, shaking, her tall, thin, young frame looking ready to collapse.
“Oh, honey!” Taylor reached for her, but there were just too many people in the way.
Breadyn put an arm around her friend. “No one thinks your dad did it.” Perhaps Breadyn thought she was being quiet, but her voice was like her mom’s and carried through the room. “We all know Monty did it, but we’re afraid to say it.”
Taylor stared at the child.
“Monty couldn’t have done it,” Aviva said. “He’s not smart enough. It had to be someone really smart.”
“No, no. You don’t have to be that smart.” Breadyn was ingenuous. She didn’t know this was a trap, she was just being…honest in the way only a kid can be, because they don’t know enough to lie about it. “He used to bring these packages with him all the time to the house and I saw him putting this stuff from little brown bottles into that big gross kombucha jar out back, in the shed you have locked. I know it was him.”
“Couldn’t be.” Aviva’s weak voice argued. “He’s much too stupid.”
The motherly well-armed deputy shushed Aviva.
“What do you think you saw, kid?” Monty seethed.
“What were you doing here?” Sissy twisted Monty’s arm harder but addressed her daughter.
“Aunty Reynette said I could play here sometimes, in the shed out back, like, playhouse I think, but I’m too old for that. But I did come anyway, because it’s a cool old house and I liked to sit out there and read and stuff.” She scratched at her knee. “And I saw him putting stuff in her drink, and one time when we were all here, he told me not to drink any. And he did again that time you were here.” She looked at me. “Remember he told them not to drink the kombucha because it was bad?”
“I remember,” Una said.
“As do I.” Fawn sat down. “I remember he said that, but it didn’t make sense because it doesn’t go bad. I just thought…I thought he didn’t really understand.”
“You thought I was stupid?” Monty spit the word out.
Fawn nodded.
“I’m the smartest one of you all. How were we going to keep running our business once Art got his fingers in it? We had to be able to keep it going. Ask Hannah.”
“Why don’t you let go now?” Deputy Taylor Green said to Sissy.
Sissy dropped Monty’s arm.
Monty shook his arm and glared at Sissy. “Everyone kept calling Reynette a genius, but only an idiot would think she could make the kind of money she was making by selling used clothes online. You think I’m stupid? Art thought I was stupid, but I showed him. He never even saw me coming. He was an idiot. You’re all born idiots. If you wanted the good life, babe, we had to get the business all to ourselves so Hannah and I could do what needed to be done.”
“And what was that?” Taylor Green asked.
Monty stared at him and seemed to realize the man was with the law. He clammed up.
“Why don’t you come down to the station with us.” Taylor Green took Monty’s arm as Sissy had done. He took the other as well and cuffed him. Then he looked around the room. “Quinn, you and that guy.” He pointed at Clay. “And Sissy and…you.” The last was for Fawn. Why don’t you all come down to the station.” He looked at Breadyn for a moment. “Sissy, bring your daughter.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Christmas break at Oregon State University where Belle went to school, would begin tomorrow. Taylor would have three short but sweet weeks with her baby sister.
Some of their plans were tougher than others.
The summons to appear at the trial for the woman who had murdered their mother was stuck to the fridge with a Flour Sax Quilt Shop magnet. Taylor was due there on December 21.
Sleep wasn’t easy to come by as the date approached. At the moment, Taylor sat in the kitchen with her friend Reg.
“It takes time.” Reg, it turned out, was full of both concern and clichés. He also had a business card for her. A counselor whose expertise was in grief and trauma. “But it takes a lot longer if you try to go it alone.”
Taylor took the card. “Thanks.”
“I have a feeling you think you don’t have time for it.”
Taylor shook her head. “Who has any time?”
“Life doesn’t get less busy or less complicated as time passes. You might have noticed.”
She had. Here she sat across the table from a man anyone would be willing to call cute. Though they had met just after her high school graduation, while he was a working man, he was still only a couple of years older than her.
He was single and had expressed his interest.
That was why he was at the house.
They were about to go to Portland together to have some dinner and see a band they both loved.
Grandpa Ernie was in the living room with Ellery, who’d spend the night here with him, since they wouldn’t be back till well after midnight.
On the fridge next to her summons was her grocery list. Belle’s bio family was coming to their house for boxing day to exchange gifts and celebrate a little.
And Clay was upstairs.
Yes.
She knew.
But he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and she felt like she owed him one.
Monty Dipple was in prison, being held for the murder of his mother-in-law Reynette Woods and for selling drugs, though the actual charges had something to do with mail fraud as well. A lot of pot went from Oregon to states where it wasn’t l
egal, via the US mail.
Hannah Warner was out on bail for the same charges.
Taylor was out what she had thought was a great new employee, but Clay had stepped in. He knew holidays in a retail environment.
Once Belle got back to claim her bedroom, Clay would move into the apartment above the shop. It wasn’t a permanent move. Taylor promised herself that.
She flicked the card between her fingers a few times. She needed to see this counselor.
The real reason Clay was living in the second upstairs bedroom of her house was because Taylor was still struggling with night terrors. She still pushed her dresser in front of her bedroom door a few nights a week.
She was just too scared to live alone.
This was also the reason she still hadn’t called Bible Creek Care Home to find a space for Grandpa Ernie. But she knew this, and she acknowledged it, so maybe she didn’t need a counselor. Right? She understood herself so what did she need from anyone else?
Taylor had a text from Hudson East on her phone that she hadn’t responded to yet. He had seen the news of the arrest three days earlier and wanted her to know he was here for her.
She also had a message from John Hancock, the charming bank manager. He had tickets to the winter show at George Fox University and wanted to know if she was up for it, no strings attached.
No, nothing seemed to get less complicated with time.
The counselor was a good idea.
“Ready?” Reg asked.
“Sure.”
They had a long drive up to the city to discuss the way the case had unfolded, or whatever else they wanted to talk about. Part of her longed to do whatever she needed to get him to tell her what was revealed when Monty and Hannah had been interviewed. Had they confessed all? Had they been planning this murder from the beginning? And had they planned on running away together? But though signals all implied that a carefully draped hand on the knee, or a whisper in his ear, or other womanly wiles might soften him up, she refrained.
What she already knew was good enough:
Based on Breadyn Dorney’s statement the police were able to collect and test the kombucha from the summer kitchen as well as dig around in Monty’s Amazon account. They found the salicylates in the drink and the regular order for willow bark extract.
From Monty’s statements, both in their dramatic show down and to the police, they were able to pin the marijuana sales on Hannah and Monty alike.
Fawn was implicated as well. She knew exactly what was being sold behind her mother’s back and who was growing it, but she also explained the threat of physical violence she lived under and was willing to be evidence against her husband in exchange for a plea deal.
The surprise to Taylor was that the surfer with the handy out of country hideaway wasn’t a part of the scheme, though it was early and there was still a chance that Guy Sauvage’s name would turn up in the pot selling part of the affair. It still seemed impossible that Guy and Gracie could be as rich as they seemed from a little surf shop in a tiny town on a cold ocean.
“You seem a million miles away,” Reg said as they drove in the thick, slow traffic of the I-5 corridor.
“Sorry.” Taylor dropped her hand on his knee after all, but only because she liked him.
Just like she liked Hudson, and John Hancock.
She had loved Clay once upon a time.
She had a feeling it would be quite a while before she ever felt that way again.
“You’re good at this crime thing, you know? Have you ever considered joining the force?”
“Sounds like a great use for that degree in fiber arts I’ve got.”
He laughed. It was a good laugh, solid. “Maybe fiber arts are your past and crime fighting is your future.”
“Nah. I’ve got quilt fabric in my blood. There’s no way I’m giving up Flour Sax.”
This was her first statement of absolute commitment, and it surprised her. Taylor had still been holding on to the maybe.
Maybe after Grandpa was settled in a home.
Maybe after Belle graduated college.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But firm felt great. “Nope, nope. It’s Flour Sax for me, all the way.” She sat up a little straighter, enjoying this confidence.
“So…you’re not moving back to Portland?”
“No way. Comfort is home, and I’m back home for good.”
He glanced at her for a sec, with a warm smile. “If you’re going to be around, you won’t mind if I call for a little outside advice every now and then, right?”
Taylor laughed. “You don’t need crime as an excuse to call.” Nope. This guy could call whenever he wanted. As could Hudson, or John Hancock, or whoever. She wasn’t going anywhere.
* * *
Cups and Killers: A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery
Everybody keeps saying it’s time to send Grandpa Ernie to an old folks home, but Taylor Quinn isn’t sure she agrees.
As Grandpa says, “Everyone who moves there dies.”
And since the latest death at Bible Creek Care Home was the chaplain who was stabbed in the back during the annual resident tea party, Taylor is beginning to believe her Grandpa.
One of the waitstaff thinks she saw the murderer and turns to the only person she knows can help: Taylor Quinn, Comfort, Oregon’s favorite amateur detective.
While Taylor isn’t sure she’s the right one to solve every murder, she’s ready to help. After all, Comfort is a small town, and townies take care of each other.
Grab a copy of Cups and Killers: A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery
About the Author
Tess Rothery is an avid quilter, knitter, writer, and publishing teacher. She lives with her cozy little family in Washington state where the rainy days are best spent with a dog by her side, a mug of hot coffee, and something mysterious to read.
Sign up for her newsletter at TessRothery.com so you won’t miss the next book in the Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery Series.
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