Gracie Greene Mystery Box Set

by Jack Parker

  "And she knows she doesn't have the money because she spent most of it at the mall and lost the rest at the bridge table," Gracie continued cheerfully. "She tries to slam the door in his face but he sticks his foot in the way."

  "And then he pulls a bag of cookies out of the pocket of his trench coat and hands them to her saying, 'Enjoy your last day on Earth. I'll be back this time tomorrow and you'd better have the money then'". Shawna shouted through her laughter.

  "I thought Mafia guys wore expensive black suits, not trench coats," Cheryl said, pointing out the inconsistency. But it took her two tries to get the words out in between bouts of chortling.

  "He's in disguise, in case any of the neighbors are watching," Gracie suggested.

  "He's got a Tommy gun in the other pocket," Kelly added, laughing as hard as the girls were. "In case she refuses the cookies!"

  "And he's wearing black leather gloves so his prints don't get on the wrapper," Shawna said. "It's the thousand dollar Italian leather shoes that give away his disguise."

  "Not to mention the overdone accent," Gracie suggested. "Now all I have to do is find which neighbor saw all this through her bedroom window and managed to write down the license plate number of his black Cadillac Escalade."

  "She'd have particularly noticed the Tommy gun," Shawna said. "You don't exactly hide one of those babies in your coat pocket."

  "How would you know?" Cheryl asked facetiously.

  Shawna shrugged. "I sat through a documentary on the St. Valentine's Day Massacre at school, okay?"

  "Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?" Kelly quoted.

  The girls gave him blank looks, though everyone continued to snicker at the absurdity of the scene they were painting.

  "Jeez, Gracie, goodness knows you watch those old flicks with your mom, I thought you'd recognize Mae West's famous line," Kelly said.

  Shawna burst out in a fresh wave of laughter as she suddenly got the joke.

  Comprehension dawned on Gracie's face. "After this I think we should all watch an old gangster movie – it might give us a clue how to find this guy." She grinned suggestively. "And goodness has nothing to do with it."

  Kelly smiled at her rejoinder. "Sure it does, Gracie. You're a good girl and you're good at this stuff, you'll get to the bottom of it."

  "Thanks, Kelly," Gracie said with feeling. She couldn't help a final giggle. "But in spite of the movie script we just co-wrote I somehow don't really think some Mafia enforcer gave Robbie those cookies. Do we even have Mafia in our city?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I wouldn't know. The only gambling I've ever done is playing poker for matchsticks on camping trips. Does anyone even play bridge for money?

  But I think you have a good idea, there. Someone with a clothing addiction would borrow money from anyone she could; between that and losing at bridge the odds are that she wouldn't be able to repay the loan."

  "You can bet on it," quipped Cheryl. "Unfortunately that widens the suspect pool considerably. I guess we could all go knock on her neighbor's doors and ask if she owed them money."

  Gracie thought about it for a moment, making a wry face. "Except they'd hardly tell us about it if they'd supplied the cookies that killed her. I think tomorrow evening I need to pay condolence calls on Jason, Charlie, and Ashley and see if I can learn anything. And hope Ken lets someone know if those cookies had nuts in them and whose fingerprint is on that plate."

  "I'll go nuke some popcorn," Cheryl offered. "You and Kelly go see what's available on NetFlix. We all need some more laughs."

  CHAPTER 72

  Monday

  "How do you explain your fingerprint on that plate, Mr. Wheeler?" Ken asked mildly.

  Jason jumped up from the table and hurried to shut the conference room door. In his haste he pushed it too hard and it slammed. He glanced through the slit window to see co-workers looking up curiously. "When you said you had a few questions I didn't know you were going to make accusations!"

  "Calm down, Mr. Wheeler. Sit down and tell me about it." Ken motioned toward the chair Jason had just vacated.

  Jason sat. He automatically reached for the coffee cup he'd brought with him at the policeman's request to talk, but merely turned it back and forth in place nervously. He was thinking about finding his mother's body on Friday morning, and how much he wished he had something to put in this coffee.

  Ken took pity on him. "I'm not making an accusation. There are lots of reasons your print might be on the plate, reasons that have nothing to do with murder." The man knew something, but it probably wasn't connected or he wouldn't be so nervous. If he were guilty he'd likely be quick to come up with some innocent explanation.

  Jason took a gulp of the lukewarm coffee and relaxed just the tiniest bit. "I did touch it, Lieutenant," he said in a shaky voice. "But it's not what you think! When I saw her still in bed I went over to wake her up. But something didn't look right, and when I touched her arm it was cold. I must've jumped back and knocked the plate off the nightstand; I remember picking the cookies up because it was easier to clean up the mess than to think about what was wrong with Mom." He practically sighed in relief at having gotten the words out and took another drink of coffee to wet his dry mouth.

  Ken nodded. "That tallies with the evidence," he said. "There were crumbs on the floor and fibers from the rug on some of the cookies. It's possible that your mother dropped them herself, but I believe you, Mr. Wheeler. It must've been a terrible shock to find her like that."

  "It certainly was," Jason said with feeling. "John's death we all expected, especially after he went to the hospital. None of us thought he'd be coming home again. Mom wasn't any spring chicken, and you never know with older people, but I just never thought…"

  "What did you think when you realized she was gone?" Ken hadn't forgotten what the man had said on Friday night, but Jason had been drunk then. He was curious what he'd say in the cold sober light of day.

  Jason's face took on a look of embarrassment. "Really, Lieutenant, that's not important now. It wasn't what I thought after all."

  "I think I can guess," Ken said. "We found several bottles of prescription pain pills in the bathroom, and empty liquor bottles in the trash. She wouldn't have been the first person to drink too much and forget how many pills she'd taken."

  Jason hung his head in shame. "This doesn't need to come out at the trial, does it? I mean, always assuming you catch whoever did this."

  Ken offered a kind smile. "No, it doesn't."

  Jason looked up at the cop. "You wondered if I thought she'd done it on purpose!"

  "It did cross my mind," Ken allowed. "It might've shown something about her state of mind that evening. But I can't imagine that she'd choose an allergic reaction if she wanted to commit suicide; the pills and booze would've been much easier."

  Now that he was off the hot-seat Jason was more relaxed. "Are you sure then that there were nuts in the cookies and that's what killed her?"

  "Not exactly," Ken replied. As a test he remarked, "Your sister says she added Bourbon to your mother's coffee, but we have only her word that's all she put in the cup."

  Jason shook his head firmly. "If she'd put in some kind of nut oil then Mom would've died while we were all sitting there with her. No, whatever it was killed her quickly. It makes more sense that it was something in the cookies. Haven't you – I mean, I'm sure you've checked them out."

  "Thoroughly," Ken said. "They're chocolate chip cookies without nuts of any kind, nor was there any peanut oil in the dough. The bakery is very aware of nut allergies and makes every effort to avoid contamination." He chuckled. "The owner is allergic to nuts herself, so she knows how serious it can be."

  "You know where they came from?" Jason asked in surprise.

  "Place called Cookie's Cookies, down on 10th street," Ken told him.

  Jason's smile turned sly. "I don't suppose they happen to remember any of the, ah, suspects buying cookies that day?"

  Ken laughed. "Y
ou wouldn't believe how many cookies they sell during a typical day! They even provide a delivery service to businesses in the downtown area; some customers have a standing order delivered every day. We showed them pictures of our suspects but if they were there no one remembered them."

  "And none of us live or work near that area," Jason said. "I'm sure you've checked that out. I suppose you'll want to know where we all were during Thursday." He chuckled wryly. "They don't let me out of the office, Lieutenant. I'm chained to my desk."

  "Thanks for the info, Mr. Wheeler, but it's a little early yet to start trying to track everyone's movements," Ken said. "Have you found your mother's Will yet?"

  Jason looked confused at the sudden change of subject. "Uh, no, we haven't. Not for lack of looking, I assure you."

  Did the man look a little nervous? Ken wondered. He sure grabbed up that coffee cup again, like he was trying too hard to act normal. "You're sure she had one?"

  "Yes. At least she told me she did."

  "So you looked where she'd told you she'd put it, and it wasn't there," Ken suggested.

  Jason reached for the cup again, only to find it empty. "Ah, yeah, that's exactly what happened."

  Definitely nervous, Ken thought. "Where was it supposed to be?"

  "In a safety deposit box at her bank," Jason replied. "But, see, when I opened it the Will wasn't there. Mom could've taken it out without my knowing." He began twisting a cufflink.

  "Did your brother or sisters know that?" Ken asked.

  "Sure. But they didn't have access; Mom put my name on the box too just for this reason." He ceased fiddling with the cufflink and began a minute inspection of the buttons on the end of his coat sleeve, one of which had a loose thread.

  "When was the last time you actually saw it? The Will, I mean."

  Jason frowned in thought. "Ah, must've been last year sometime. Yeah, now I remember; it was just after I bought the new car, I put the title in the lockbox."

  "Mr. Wheeler," Ken began. "If you should be the sole heir of your mother's Estate it would give you motive to kill her. But if you didn't do it, then you have nothing to worry about." That was Ken's guess as to what was going on.

  Jason Wheeler met Ken's eyes. "Lieutenant Freeman, I assure you that I didn't kill my mother and I do not have Mother's Will. I don't know what happened to it. If it turns up somewhere I promise to let you know immediately. That's all I can tell you."

  * * * *

  Gracie knocked at the door of a house for sale, having caught up with Ashley Kamp in the process of showing the house to prospective buyers. From deep within she heard the woman shout at her to come on in. Entering the front room she could hear muffled voices from the back part of the house, but chose to wait where she was rather than interrupt. Unfortunately there wasn't a stick of furniture in the room and she felt conspicuous standing there with nothing to do.

  Fortunately the group returned to the front within a few minutes, their footsteps sounding loud and hollow in the empty rooms. Ashley nodded to her but continued her conversation as if Gracie weren't there. The young couple looked uneasy and ended the viewing quickly, promising to think about the house but clearly uninterested.

  Ashley shook her head as the couple walked out the door. "I knew it was a mistake to show them this house," she said to Gracie. "It just went on the market yesterday and I haven't had time to move my stock furniture in. They're nice young people, but they have zero imagination. They can't see beyond four bare walls!"

  Gracie looked around and said, "I'm not sure I could either, Mrs. Kamp. It's hard to picture what this room would look like with furniture in it."

  Ashley smiled. "Think of the furniture in your house, or rather your mother's I guess, and how it might look in this room."

  Gracie did just that. "It's smaller than Mom's living room, not everything would fit. But the couch and end tables would look good on that wall over there; there's outlets for the lamps. Then the two big chairs could go over here across the room and you'd have a nice conversation area." She pointed at the appropriate walls as she spoke.

  "Great! You're getting the idea," Ashley replied. "What can I do for you today? You said you wanted to talk about Mother's death. You do know she was my step-mother."

  "Yes," Gracie replied. "I would offer my sympathy but somehow I don't think you need it."

  Ashley dropped gracefully to the floor, patting it to indicate that Gracie should imitate her. "Thank you anyway, Gracie," she said sincerely. "I'm sure the others have told you what a heartless woman I am and how I walked out on her years ago."

  Gracie sat down opposite the woman. "I have heard something about that," she admitted with a grin.

  Ashley laughed. "I just bet you have. And it's true! Mother – I really hate calling her that. I was very little when Daddy married her and they wouldn't tell me where my real mother was. When we were bad, my sister Theresa and I, my esteemed step-mother would tell us she'd run off and left because she couldn't stand dealing with two bratty little kids. Can you imagine?"

  Gracie winced at the story. "From what I've heard about her so far I'm afraid I can imagine her doing that. Did you ever find your real mother?"

  A look of pain flitted across Ashley's face. "I found where she was buried. She'd been going to school so she could get a good job and get us back, but she happened to walk into a robbery in progress at the convenience store where she got gas. The robber shot her."

  "Oh, I am so very sorry to hear that, Ms. Kamp," Gracie said.

  "Thank you. I've gotten a little off-track; the point is that I grew up calling her Mother and it just stuck whether I like it or not."

  "Do you blame Robbie for not telling you the truth?" Gracie asked. "Or did she tell you when you were older and that's how you found out what really happened?"

  "I blame her for telling us such ugly lies, but she had nothing to do with my mother's death. She probably didn't even know about it; Daddy didn't. As you say when I was older he told me what little he knew, that my real mother had moved to Washington state to go to college out there. I tracked her down from that."

  "Are you close to your father?" Gracie asked.

  "Reasonably," Ashley replied. "When my step-mother divorced him he moved to another city. He told me he was hurt that Theresa had moved so far away and Mother refused to let him have visitation with Jason so he just wanted a fresh start somewhere else. However, Loretta told me that the reason both wives had divorced him was because he played around. Supposedly Mother had proof of that and used it to get sole custody of Jason. I never asked him about any of it; no parent is a perfect human being. We keep in touch, although I don't get the chance to see him very often."

  Gracie wasn't quite sure how to respond to that until it occurred to her to ask about the sister. "Why did your sister move away? And how far is "so far"?"

  "She's living in New Zealand!" Ashley replied. "We used to write letters to each other, but these days we can e-mail, Google chat, and Skype and it's so much nicer! She married Tony just after high school; he joined the Navy so they saw the world for several years and fell in love with New Zealand and settled down there when he retired from the service." She stopped and gave Gracie a sly look. "I'm afraid I didn't tell the policeman that I knew how to reach her."

  "Oh, I'm sure he'll be able to find her phone number," Gracie assured the woman. "Did she get married to get away from Robbie? You didn't quite say." She realized she was being candid with Ashley because the woman seemed emotionally removed from the family and didn't seem to mind the personal questions.

  "Yes and no," Ashley replied. "We both wanted away from her but Theresa fell hard for Tony and they've had a great marriage, although they never did have children. At first she tried to keep in touch with Dad but he couldn't seem to understand the allure of the travel and insisted she come back home. And it was clear to both of us that Jason was his favorite, his only son. She got tired of the drama and stopped writing him."

  "So from Robbie's poin
t of view Theresa did just walk away and disappear," Gracie commented. "What about Jason, he's your half-brother; are you close to him?"

  "I loved him from the moment he was born!" Ashley replied, her face lighting up at the memory. "Mother dumped most of his care on me, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Even after I married I'd bring him to our apartment on weekends, and later he'd play with my boys." Her face darkened. "I wish I'd done more for him. As he grew up he took after Mother. He became selfish and greedy and whiney if he didn't get his way. He'd refuse to come back to my house if I punished him. I wanted to help him, but he didn't want help."

  Gracie thought about Ms. Rodgers' tale of an overly strict brother and realized this would be a good opportunity to see if others told the same story. "What about John Redmond?" she asked. "I understand he didn't put up with any nonsense like that."

  "Oh, he didn't," Ashley said. "I thought maybe he could make Jason see the consequences of acting out but that just made Jason worse. Jason could

  never accept him as a father figure and they argued all the time. I'm pretty sure that's when Jason began sneaking liquor from Mother's hidden stash. I felt helpless to help him, especially when my own marriage hit the rocks and I had my hands full supporting myself and the boys. Jason was nearly grown and I had to accept that he wouldn't be the man I wanted him to be."

  "But you keep trying, just a little, don't you." It wasn't a question.

  Ashley smiled sadly. "Yes, I do, for his sake. That's the only reason I have anything at all to do with my stepmother. Had. She would pit him against the others, trying to make them all do whatever it was she wanted at the moment; he couldn't see what she was doing. He always needs money so he'd go along with her schemes if she promised to pay him."

  "'Pit him against the others' – how?"

  Ashley rolled her eyes. "Tells him he's a bad boy – or that Charlie is a better boy – depending on what they've done for her. She makes it a competition and they all play along. Loretta says she doesn't, but she does just the same."

  "And you don't?" Gracie asked plainly.