He handed me the tattered sheet of paper. “Here. This is identical to the e-mail the police have.” Drinking his coffee and pinching donut crumbs into piles with his fingers, he watched me read.
The e-mail was addressed to Taylor Wishbard. It said: “You promised you would always be mine. It’s time for you to stop pretending you prefer him. You succeeded. You made me jealous. Stop playing around. Leave him and come back to me. If you don’t, I’m going to do something that will make you very sorry.”
It was hardly romantic, and certainly not worded to make an estranged lover come running back. I understood why the police had interpreted it as a threat. I hoped, for Taylor’s sake, that she hadn’t read it and hadn’t felt threatened on the last day of her life.
Barely breathing, I eased down into the chair beside Ian. “Did she read it?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid to ask.”
“What were you planning to do to her?”
“I wasn’t going to do anything to her, but I know that’s what it sounds like.”
Wondering if he’d been trying to harm Nicholas, not Taylor, I nodded.
A new group of customers came in. Tom gestured with one hand to show that he’d look after them and headed toward their table.
Ian looked at the paper as he refolded it along its creases. “I was going to move away from Fallingbrook, go where I wouldn’t see her with someone else. I was going to start a new life. I was giving her one last chance to come back to me. That’s all. I wish I’d written it that way instead of the way I did. Maybe she would have come back to me. Maybe she’d be alive right now.” Without seeming to realize how incriminating his words sounded, he poked the e-mail message into the coupon book and looked up at my face again. His mouth worked like he was trying to gulp down sobs. “You must have connections in the police force from the other times you solved murders. I saw you out on your patio earlier this morning talking to that woman who drove Taylor’s car in the parade. Can you tell her or other police officers what I really meant?”
He wanted me to believe his one-sided story. I said as gently as I could, “I think you should tell them.”
“I did. They didn’t believe me. And there’s more that makes them suspect me.”
This was getting worse. Strangely, though, my spidey senses weren’t sending out warnings about Ian. Maybe Philip Landsdowner had exhausted them.
Or Dep was taking over for them. She was still in the office, but she’d moved to the windowsill next to the dining area, and she was puffed up with her back arched. She was staring straight through her window at Ian.
I looked at him again and asked as kindly as I could, “What else makes the police suspect you, Ian?” The approximate ten-year difference between his and my ages was making me feel ancient.
“I left the fireworks before Taylor was hurt, and I didn’t find out about her death until the next morning. I stopped in at Frisky Pomegranate for a coffee before work on the fifth. You know who Gabrielle is, don’t you?”
“The duchess.”
“She’s a waitress at Frisky Pomegranate. She told me flat out that Taylor had been . . . was gone, and that Nicholas had been beside her when a firework exploded close to them, and that he was only slightly hurt.”
Reeling in sympathy at the painful way he’d heard about his ex-girlfriend’s death, I shut my eyes for a second until the room stopped whirling. Later that same evening, I’d gone to Frisky Pomegranate’s Friday Happy Hour. Gabrielle had been smiling and talking to patrons. She hadn’t mentioned Taylor’s death, and the only indication that she knew about it was her smudged eyeliner. I supposed I had to be fair. She’d been in Ian’s grade in high school. She knew him better than she knew me. I didn’t discuss my grief with strangers, either, especially when I was at work. Besides, maybe as the hours passed on Friday she had become more used to the death of her best friend and less willing to talk about it.
I said softly, “Hearing it that way must have been horrible. Gabrielle probably didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“I’m not sure Gabrielle can help it. She was born that way. I never knew what Taylor saw in her, but I guess Taylor was loyal to her childhood friend.”
I thought, And I don’t know what you saw in Taylor.
“But here’s what I said that I wish I hadn’t,” Ian told me. “Without thinking, I said that the wrong person died. I meant that if either Taylor or Nicholas had to die, it should have been Nicholas, not Taylor. It wasn’t a nice thing to say, and even though Nicholas stole Taylor from me and I never liked him, anyway, neither of them should have died. I never would have said such a thing if I’d been myself, but hearing about Taylor that way upset me, and I said the first thing that came into my head.” As if the logo of the cat in the Deputy Donut hat didn’t belong on his plate, he scraped at it with a fingernail. “I’m sure that Gabrielle went running to the police with that information the first chance she got. I’m sure she spun it to make it sound like I admitted to her that I planted the firework that killed Taylor but had actually been trying to kill Nicholas. I didn’t do either of those things.” He took a deep breath. “Gabrielle was behind me in the parking lot that night, and I didn’t see what she was doing when she was farther down the hill, where I’d seen Taylor with Nicholas. Gabrielle was always jealous of Taylor. She could have lit that firework.”
I didn’t want to rile him, but I couldn’t help asking, “How do you know that Gabrielle was behind you?”
“I turned around when I was almost at my car, and she was right behind me. I guess she lit that firework and then got close to me so if anyone saw her near the firework that killed Taylor, Gabrielle could say I was also there. I can’t prove it.”
“Or she hoped you’d see her and give her an alibi.”
“Or both.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped down more coffee. “I saw her, but I don’t know when that firework went off, and I don’t know if it was lit before I drove away, so I can’t give her an alibi and I can’t say she did it. I don’t know if I even heard the one that hurt Taylor. The fireworks were still going off when I was on my way out of the fairgrounds. It was like, bang, bang, bang!” With the last bang, he opened his fists and spread his fingers out as if his hands were starbursts.
I asked him, “What was Gabrielle wearing?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to ignore her. I pretended I didn’t see her and got into my car. I didn’t want her starting another conversation and going on and on again about how sorry she was that Taylor dumped me. She didn’t care. She just likes to rub things like that in.”
I suspected that, in those conversations, she’d also been suggesting herself as Taylor’s replacement in Ian’s heart, and Ian might not have noticed. I asked, “Did you see if she was carrying anything big enough to hide a large firework inside?”
“I did notice that. She had a shiny silvery bag like one of those insulated cooler bags, and maybe a purse, too.”
“And you told the police this?”
“Yes. But there’s another reason they suspect me, not her. I didn’t tell them at first that I’d had a six-pack cooler with me. I didn’t want to be in trouble for bringing beer to the fireworks display, which was supposed to be alcohol-free. Someone, probably Gabrielle, told them, so I had to admit later that I’d had it, which made me look even worse for not telling them at first. See, whoever brought their own firework to the town display probably hid it in something like a cooler.”
I couldn’t help heaving a huge sigh. I thought Brent was most suspicious of Philip Landsdowner, but Ian could be right up there on Brent’s list. “You really know how to make trouble for yourself, don’t you?” I asked.
He hung his head like a little kid. “Yeah.”
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for this pained and, it seemed, rather open young man, and my probing was undoubtedly making him feel worse. But he had asked for my help, and I went on with my questions. “When did you see Taylor and Nicholas at the fireworks?”
He winced. “When I was leaving. They were cuddled together.”
“Did you see if either of them had brought anything resembling a firework? Or did you see fireworks near them? Or a picnic basket or cooler?”
“No. I couldn’t stand seeing them like that and him smirking like he thought he was about to get away with something, so I looked away. But I would never have done anything to harm Taylor. I always loved her. And hurting the guy she was dating, even if she didn’t really care about him, could have hurt her. What if he’d been killed? She could have been blamed. She could have spent the rest of her life in jail, and what would that have gotten me? I just plain would not have harmed either one of them. Or anyone else. I’m not like that. You believe me, don’t you?” The dark eyes in that handsome, chiseled face looked at me pleadingly.
How was I supposed to answer? I wanted to tell him the truth, that I didn’t know him well enough to tell if he was being honest. But what if the truth angered him and endangered me? I avoided answering by asking another question. “Before you sent that e-mail message to Taylor on July third, did you tell anyone else about your plans to move away from Fallingbrook?”
He looked down at his hands, gripping his emptied mug so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Too embarrassing, like ripping open your heart and letting people see inside it.”
I was touched that he had let me, a stranger, see inside that ripped-open heart. Maybe a stranger who gave him hot and delicious coffee and a super-yummy donut seemed almost like family. I suggested, “Did you research other towns? Apply for jobs? Update your résumé? If the police have your computer, they might find your search history and job applications, and then they might believe that you were only doing what you said, planning to move away.”
He suddenly looked less devastated. “I was looking into Milwaukee. And Minneapolis. Chicago, too. I didn’t write a résumé, but I’ll tell them to look at my search history. I knew you could help me.” Blushing, he stood. “Thanks.”
Watching him leave, I wondered what had drawn him to Taylor in the first place. Unless she’d changed a lot since tenth grade, it probably hadn’t been her personality.
And I also wondered when it might occur to him that researching moving away could be seen by the police as a premeditated escape plan....
I probably hadn’t helped him at all. The trouble was that I wanted to believe him. Although I’d observed him for a total of only a few minutes on the Fourth of July, he’d clearly been hurting. Had that been because Taylor had dumped him or because he was planning to harm her or Nicholas?
It seemed to me that Ian’s grief over her death was genuine.
Knowing firsthand how grief could tear one apart, I was probably too susceptible to giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Besides, trusting people even when they appeared innocent was not a particularly good idea, especially when a murderer was roaming around free.
I wasn’t scratching Ian off my list of suspects.
Chapter 28
By the time we closed Deputy Donut for the night, Jocelyn had not called or shown up. “I must have misunderstood,” I told Tom. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Probably,” he answered.
Walking home with Dep, I considered telling Brent about Ian’s visit to Deputy Donut.
The police had confiscated Ian’s computer and phone. If they didn’t already know everything that Ian had told me, they soon would.
I convinced myself that there was no reason to call Brent.
I felt almost relieved. I didn’t know how to act around him after that possible kiss on my hair the night before. “I guess I’ll have to pretend that nothing happened or, if it did, I didn’t notice,” I muttered to Dep. She batted a pebble off the sidewalk and into the grass, as if she were reminding me that I had decided it hadn’t really been a kiss.
After dinner, I went upstairs to the computer in my guest room and found the page of prizes awarded to this year’s Fallingbrook Fabulous Fourth Festivities royal court. Deputy Donut’s fifty-two coupons were at the top of the list. Other local businesses had given gift cards, pens, mugs, and T-shirts emblazoned with logos.
Sitting on the guest room windowsill, Dep watched the flag flutter from its pole on the porch roof. I shut off the computer and told her, “I don’t think Taylor was killed for a collection of advertising T-shirts.”
Dep led me downstairs. In the living room, she sat with her nose to the front door and lobbied for Brent or another friend to appear. I took her out to the garden beyond our patio. She played in the grass and I read until the evening started becoming chilly.
I didn’t hear from Brent and I didn’t call him. And that was fine with me.
* * *
Jocelyn was scheduled to work on Thursdays. She didn’t arrive at six thirty.
At seven, the always punctual nineteen-year-old still had not shown up.
I made the first pot of the day’s special coffee, a light and tasty roast from, appropriately, Java.
At seven thirty, I asked Tom, “Should we call the police?”
“She lives with her parents. They’re the logical ones to report that she’s missing, if she is.”
“What if they don’t know she’s missing, like they’re out of town or something?”
“Call her again,” he suggested.
For privacy, and also to spend a little time with Dep, I called from the office. Jocelyn didn’t answer. I left a message and then tried her parents’ numbers and received no answers from them, either. I disconnected and had a closer look at the information that Jocelyn had given us. She had listed her parents’ work numbers.
The person who answered the phone at Jocelyn’s father’s office told me he wasn’t available.
“Is he in town?” I asked.
There was a silence, and then a prim, “I can’t divulge information about our employees.”
I didn’t have much better luck at the vast tree farm where Jocelyn’s mother worked. The man who answered put me on hold for a few seconds and then came back on the line and said, “She’s probably out on the grounds somewhere. What’s your number? I’ll have her call you when she comes back.”
I gave him my number and asked, “Is she at work today?”
“She should be.”
Disconnecting the call, I thought, So should her daughter.
Jocelyn had commented to me that no news from my parents was good news. Maybe she knew that she might not make it into work someday and she’d been telling me not to worry if she didn’t turn up. That thought didn’t reassure me. If she’d been planning a trip, wouldn’t she have simply asked for time off?
Back in the kitchen, I told Tom about my lack of success. He asked if I knew who Jocelyn’s coach was. I didn’t.
“We can find out,” he said. “Can you keep an eye on the donuts while I go make a few calls?”
“Sure.”
Through the window into the office, I saw Dep greet Tom and then try to keep him from paying attention to anything besides her.
I turned the donuts in one basket over, raised another basket out of the hot oil, and sifted cinnamon over a tray of old-fashioned donuts.
Tom came back into the kitchen and handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s Jocelyn’s coach’s name and phone number. I’d have called the woman, but more customers are coming in.”
I thanked him and pocketed the information. “I’ll try her when I get a chance.”
After the lunch crowd left and before most people’s afternoon coffee break, I tried Jocelyn, then her parents’ personal phones. Nothing. I tried the coach. She didn’t pick up, either.
I returned to the kitchen. Tom asked me, “Could they all be at a gymnastics meet?”
“Jocelyn didn’t say anything about one, and she did tell me she wanted to work lots of hours to save for college.”
After we closed the shop, I said to Tom, “That photographer, Philip Landsdowner, didn’t come into the shop today. Yesterday, h
e did, and he wanted to talk to Jocelyn.” Fear grabbed at me. “I wonder if he found her. The way he doctored those pictures makes me think he might have something to do with the death of Taylor Wishbard. I think Brent is suspicious of him, too.”
“You have Brent’s number, don’t you? Maybe Brent knows where Landsdowner is.”
“Arrested, I hope.”
Tom’s smile was brief and grim.
I had a thought that was only a little better than my previous one about Landsdowner finding Jocelyn. “I hope the DCI detective hasn’t arrested Jocelyn.”
Tom said gently, “They could be questioning her. That could explain why we haven’t heard from her or her parents.”
“I’ll call Brent.”
In the office, Dep ran up one of her twisty staircases to a shelf of toys and peered down at me.
Brent answered curtly, “Fyne.”
“Sorry to bother you at work, Brent. I need to tell you something that might be connected to the Taylor Wishbard case.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Imitating his businesslike tone, I explained as briefly as I could, concluding with, “I wondered if you might know where Jocelyn is. Or where Landsdowner is.” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“You’re wondering if they’re here.”
I answered in a voice that barely made it out of my throat, “Yes.”
“They’re not. Can you give me a list of the names and numbers you called about your assistant?”
I did.
He thanked me. “I’ll check here for any reports we might have about her, and I’ll put out an alert for her and for Landsdowner. Meanwhile, let me know if any of them contact you.”
In the kitchen, I told Tom what Brent had said.
Nodding, Tom raised a basket of fragrant strawberry cake donuts from the boiling oil.
The boy who had fetched Taylor’s car for her at the start of the Fourth of July parade came in and sat fidgeting with sugar packets at a table near the front windows. Unless he’d been driving without a license on the Fourth, he had to be at least sixteen, but he barely looked it. He shoved the sugar bowl aside and ordered iced tea and a donut.
Jealousy Filled Donuts Page 17
