* * *
Val went directly from Holly’s house to Chief Yardley’s office and told him about her conversation with Holly and the gift bag she’d seen on Oliver’s doorstep. “The bag she described matches the one in the kitchen at the Naiman house. It was there early this morning, in front of the sidelight by the door. It would have been visible to Oliver when he came downstairs.”
“So Oliver probably took it inside.”
“Someone put the bag there under cover of darkness, an anonymous gift-giver, like the Ghost of Christmas Presents with the gingerbread cookies. The box of chocolates must have been inside the gift bag. As for the chocolates—”
The chief held up his hand like a crossing guard stopping traffic. “The doctor says chocolate and coffee might have affected Oliver and led to his death, but no one could predict that result. You can’t hold the person who gave him the chocolates responsible for his death.”
“Unless something else went into them that could kill him. I saw those bonbons in the kitchen. I could tell they were homemade. A chocolate maker could easily add another ingredient to the recipe for the shell or the filling, and you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at it.”
“The piece of chocolate Wade found in the kitchen did have a filling.” The chief frowned. “How hard is it to make filled chocolates?”
“It’s easy. You can use a mold, like a flexible miniature muffin pan. For each candy, you brush melted chocolate around the edges of each little cup in a thin layer, put it in the fridge so it hardens, and then brush on the next layer. Once you have a thick base layer of chocolate on the bottom and sides of the mold, you add the filling and the chocolate on top of it.”
“How long would it take to make chocolates like that?”
“At least an hour, maybe two. Most chocolate molds have cups for fifteen or eighteen pieces.” Val pointed to the grocery sack she’d put on the floor next to the chair. “I took the chocolates from the Naiman kitchen to make sure no one ate them. I wore plastic gloves when I put the box and the gift bag in this sack.”
“Did you share your suspicions about the chocolates with Elaine Naiman?”
“I had to explain why I was taking the candy with me.”
“She’ll want it tested. I’ll try to make a case for the lab to test the partly eaten chocolate that Officer Wade bagged at the scene. I can’t say if and when they’ll do it. It would help if I could tell them what to test for. If the chocolate tests positive for any added substance that would affect the heart, we’ll get the autopsy. I expect the test will come out negative, and the daughter will have no reason to agitate for an autopsy.”
“I’m not sure she’ll give up on it. She’d like the autopsy to relieve the guilt she feels for not being there to help him. An autopsy that shows he died instantly of cardiac arrest would suit her. It would be worse if someone deliberately poisoned him, but she couldn’t blame herself for that either.”
“We don’t do guilt-relieving autopsies. She’ll have to pay a private lab for that.” He pointed to his watch. “I have a conference call any minute now. If you have anything else to say, make it quick.”
“About Jake. He jilted Holly Atherson on their wedding day thirty years ago. She’s a pharmacist and poison specialist, and she got close enough to him on Saturday night to slip him poison.” Val had learned that when the chief found anything she said worth pursuing, he jotted it down. This time he didn’t even pick up his pen.
“A lot of people had more recent grudges against him,” he said. “We’re looking into the folks he cheated and anyone who gained by his death.”
The spouse, who usually had the most to gain, made an obvious suspect. If the police were investigating other possibilities, it was because they didn’t have enough evidence against Jewel. Val stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to see me, Chief.”
Val climbed into her car in the police station parking area and checked the time. Five thirty already. By now, Granddad would have left to meet his friend, Ned, for pizza. And she was supposed to meet Bram for dinner in half an hour.
She called him and asked how his mother was doing.
“She’s busy. That keeps her mind off what happened here Saturday night. The police announced Jake Smith was poisoned. Mom’s glad they didn’t say where it happened. They’ve gotten what they needed from the CAT Corner, so it’s no longer blocked off.”
“Great. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. It’s your turn to pick the restaurant. Where do you want to go?”
Val glanced at the bag of leftovers from Oliver’s birthday on the passenger seat. “How about coming over for dinner? Granddad won’t be there. It’ll just be the two of us.”
“Wouldn’t you like a night off from cooking?”
A night off from murder would be even better. “This is the food I cooked yesterday for the party I catered. All I have to do tonight is make a salad.”
“We’re having a romantic dinner of leftovers?”
She laughed. “Really yummy leftovers.”
“Anything I can bring?”
“ ‘A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou.’ By which I mean a hearty red wine, a crusty French bread, and Bram Muir.”
“All three will be at your place by six thirty.”
Chapter 11
Val and Bram sat at the small table in the kitchen where she always ate with Granddad. Eating at the big mahogany table in the dining room wouldn’t have been cozy for two. She’d made the table more festive by putting on a white tablecloth and setting it with Grandma’s good china and crystal instead of the everyday dishes she and Granddad used.
“Did you get to do anything today, Bram, besides restocking the books and ringing up holiday sales?”
“I renewed my passport. I can’t believe ten years have gone by since my first one.” He broke off a piece of the baguette. “Do you have a passport?”
“Yes, and it has a few years left on it.” The last overseas trip she’d intended to take had been a honeymoon in Greece, but breaking her engagement had put an end to that. A canceled vacation was the only negative part of ditching Tony. “Are you planning to travel abroad?”
“I’d like to go to Europe, but I don’t have anything specific set up yet. Have you been there?”
“When my father was stationed in England, we traveled around the British Isles. My parents went to the romantic places like Paris and Rome when my brother and I were spending our summers here in Bayport with our grandparents.” Val sipped her wine. “You think your mom’s ready to run the bookshop without your help?”
“Once we find an assistant manager who can handle shelving and selling.” He put down his fork. “I’ve made a big decision. I’m moving.”
Moving? Val felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, surprised at his news and at her own reaction to it. She would miss him. Though they’d known each other only six weeks, she’d begun to think he might be Mr. Right. And she’d looked forward to introducing him to her parents when they came for Christmas.
She slid a piece of French bread around her plate, letting it soak up gravy and trying to look unconcerned about his departure. “When are you moving?”
“As soon as possible. But in December not many places are available. I’ll have to wait until after New Year’s at the earliest.”
Happy New Year, Val’s cynical inner voice said. Early last month he’d told her he would be staying in Bayport, but he didn’t say for how long. She should have known that a man who’d spent the last decade in Silicon Valley would think of California as home, not the Eastern Shore town where his mother had grown up.
Afraid that her face would betray her sadness, Val popped out of her seat. “I meant to put water on the table. I’ll get us both some.” What had made him change his mind about staying here? Maybe she’d been mistaken in thinking he’d fallen for her as she had for him. As she filled two glasses, she pondered what to say next. She could ask where and why he was moving, but she’d
rather not dwell on it.
Time to change the subject. Focusing on other people’s woes would help her forget her own problems. She brought the water to the table. “The birthday dinner I catered last night ended badly.”
“The food didn’t fall short. This beef dish is fantastic.” He scooped a second helping from the serving dish. “What happened at the dinner?”
She began with Oliver’s bombshell about marrying his aide, the reaction of his daughters, and the banishment of the aide. “This morning a neighbor found Oliver dead.”
“That must have been a shock to this family. To you too.” Bram reached across the small table to pat her hand. “Was he in bad health?”
“He had a heart condition, but it seemed to be under control.”
“At least the poor guy had a really good final meal on earth.”
“The dinner I made wasn’t his last meal. He had a rather less healthy one this morning—chocolates that someone left on his doorstep.” Val put down her fork. “His death was a little like Jake’s.”
Bram’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying two people died of poison in Bayport within two days?”
“Not two days in a row. Sunday went by without anyone dying of poison,” she said wryly. She shouldn’t have shared her suspicions with Bram. After two murders, he’d probably want to leave town even faster, and take his mother with him. “Oliver’s doctor says he died of natural causes, but only an autopsy would tell for sure, and the police haven’t ordered one . . . yet.”
“If they thought there was any chance Oliver was poisoned like Jake, they’d get an autopsy. Not every death in this town is a murder.” Bram sipped some wine. “The last time you got involved in a murder investigation, it was personal. Not this time. Why do you even care who killed Jake?”
A fair question. She took a moment to think about why Jake’s death bothered her. “Jake was killed in a horrible way. Food is supposed to nourish and give joy. His murderer turned something good into evil, using it as a weapon. Oliver also died after eating something sweet. Someone else might die if the killer isn’t stopped.”
Bram buttered a piece of bread. “You don’t know for sure that Oliver’s death is connected to Jake’s. We’re in the biggest gifting season of the year. Sweets are common gifts, and Oliver had a birthday.”
“People who give gifts don’t usually hide their identities behind elaborate costumes or drop off their gifts in the dark.”
Bram finished chewing his bread before he spoke. “Did Jake and Oliver know each other?”
She shrugged. “They didn’t move in the same circles. Oliver’s family has owned a house for decades on Bayport’s classiest street. Jake moved into a modest neighborhood a few months ago. They had nothing obvious in common. One was a slightly cranky widower who probably never hurt anyone, the other was a crook who made enemies wherever he went.”
“What did Jake do to make enemies?” Bram forked another piece of beef into his mouth.
His plate was all but licked clean by the time she finished telling him about Jake’s crooked real estate dealings and his practice of decamping when his creditors got wise to him. “Then he’d relocate and run another real estate scheme. He’s been trying to buy up older houses in Bayport, probably with intent to defraud.”
“He sounds more like Scrooge than Santa.”
Yet he’d played Santa. Ironic that he was killed on the one day a year when he tried to do good. Val took the dinner plates to the sink. Unlike Bram’s, hers still had food on it. Hearing that Bram was leaving and talking about Jake had made her lose her appetite, but she regained it as she sliced the lemon chiffon cake. “Do you want coffee or tea with dessert?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just finish my wine. You think someone Jake cheated caught up with him?”
“Possibly.” Val placed the dessert plates on the table, sat down, and picked up her fork. “Jake was rotten in other ways besides fleecing people. For example, he cut down Irene’s prized shrubs. That’s small potatoes compared to what he did thirty years ago. He jilted his fiancée right before the wedding. Exactly what you’d expect from a jerk like that.”
She dug into her cake. Sweet, tangy, and melt-in-your-mouth delicious, even after sitting around for a day. This was the food she needed now. She took another bite and another, savoring each one. She looked across the table, and saw that Bram had eaten almost none of his dessert. He stared at his plate. Maybe he didn’t like lemon cake. “We have some apple pie if you’d prefer that.”
“No, no. I love the cake.” As if to prove the point, he took two quick bites, the second one even before he’d finished the first. Then he laid down his fork and put a hand on his stomach. “I’ve eaten too much and too fast. I’d better walk it off.” He stood up and turned away from the table.
She was about to say she’d go along on the walk, but he was already out of the kitchen. She followed him through the dining room and living room.
He hastily put on his fleece-lined black jacket. “I’ll be fine after a brisk walk. That was a terrific dinner. Thank you.” He closed the door behind him.
She’d never seen him leave any uneaten dessert on his plate. He must feel really sick. Strange how it had come on so suddenly . . . or maybe not. Her laser focus on the two suspicious deaths might have kept her from noticing what was going on across the table.
As she turned to go back to the kitchen, Granddad opened the front door. “I just saw someone who looked like Bram hurrying toward Main Street. Was he here?”
“Yes. We ate leftovers from last night’s birthday party. We’d just started dessert when he said he’d eaten too much and insisted on leaving.”
“He might have a stomach bug. There’s one going around.” Granddad hung up his parka. “Ned wanted to catch the Monday night football game, so we skipped dessert at the pizza place. You got any left?”
“I saved you a slice of Oliver’s birthday cake. How about some tea with it?”
After they settled down at the table, Val told him what she’d learned about Jake from the chief and Holly.
When she finishing talking, Granddad was scraping the last of his dessert from the plate. “Mighty fine cake. I can’t say I’m surprised by Jake’s history. Someone he cheated could have tracked him down, disguised himself to leave the poisoned cookie, and then skedaddled out of Bayport.”
Val sipped her tea. “I agree that someone Jake defrauded might have killed him, but not an out-of-towner on a brief visit. Only a local would know that Jake was playing Santa and that he’d go to the volunteers’ tea in the bookshop. That tea wasn’t listed in the festival’s public schedule. And where does a visitor to town bake a poisoned gingerbread cookie?”
“So we’re looking for someone Jake swindled who was either a festival volunteer or tight with one. Could be anybody.” He shrugged. “Let’s focus on the people we know would benefit from Jake’s death, starting with his wife.”
“Jewel may not benefit much, between her not-quite-legal marriage and Jake’s many creditors. But if she thought she would benefit, she had a motive. She also had the opportunity to drop poison in his tea. But did she have the means to do it? Where would she—or anybody else—get cyanide?”
“I did some online research on that. Chemical supply houses sell cyanide. It’s used for metal polishing, jewelry making, and photography.”
“The police could check if a suspect bought cyanide. Chemical suppliers must keep records of their buyers.” Val put down her mug. “Of course, the buyer could have used an alias.”
“Chemical suppliers aren’t the only sources. Cyanide was used in rat poisons and pesticides until it was outlawed. People may still have it in their garden sheds.” Granddad sipped some tea. “You can even make it yourself from apple seeds or the pits of other fruits. You need a lot of pits and patience, but you can do it.”
“Would Jewel know how to do that and leave no trace? The police must have had a forensic team crawling all over Jake’s place.”
; “Jewel mighta had an accomplice, a lover, who got the cyanide for her. Once they were rid of Jake, they could live off his money.”
No surprise that Granddad had come up with that film-noir plot. He never tired of re-watching 1940s and ’50s crime classics from his video collection. But Granddad could be right. Jewel hadn’t shown up in Bayport until Jake had been here for months. She could have been with another man during that interlude. “I think the police are watching Jewel closely. If there’s any sign of a lover, they’ll be on it.”
“Let’s not forget Holly, the pharmacist and poison specialist. She’d know where to get cyanide and how to extract it. She had the chance to poison Jake after he keeled over, but her motive isn’t as strong as Jewel’s.”
Val thought Holly had a perfectly fine motive. “There are other ways to benefit from a man’s death beside inheriting money. Though Holly insisted she wanted Jake alive, what she said convinced me that she’s been thinking about him for thirty years. And revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“If she served Jake that dish, she must have known he was Santa before she came to the tea. Why else would she have brought cyanide with her?”
“Exactly. She told me she didn’t know Jake was in Bayport until he sat next to her on Saturday night. Of course, she could be lying, but there’s no way to prove it.” Val loaded her fork with another bite of cake. “Not counting Irene, who I’m sure isn’t a murderer, we’ve gone through everyone who had the opportunity to poison Jake—Jewel, Holly, and the ghost.”
“Don’t count out Irene. And there’s someone else who had the opportunity. Franetta could have been the ghost. She wasn’t at the tea yet when the ghost came. She knows how to make really good cookies. At bake sales I always ask which ones she made. Jake raved about the gingerdead man, and he didn’t say anything nice about the food you and Irene made.”
“On the plus side, our food didn’t kill him. I agree that Franetta would be a good suspect, but what’s her motive for murdering Jake?”
Gingerdead Man Page 10
