by J. C. Kenney
Jeanette put up her hands. “Nobody’s saying she smoked pot.”
“The security guard at the bank said it’s connected to her murder. Is it?” Lori’s brows were furrowed. She and Brittany went to the library twice a month. I sympathized with her concern.
“At this point, we simply don’t know, so we’re not ruling anything out.”
I seized the opening my police friend had provided. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we do a little brainstorming. See if we can come up with some ideas of why the pot was there.”
An hour later, our flow of ideas had run dry. Despite my high hopes, we kept coming back to the theories Matt, Jeanette, and I had already discussed. Lori and Sloane were convinced the pot was somehow connected to Porter. There was no scenario we could come up with that brought Gary into the mix. When I mentioned Ozzy, the others chuckled and shook their heads.
“Allie, at this point, I think you need to let it go. Jeanette kinda knows her stuff, after all.” Sloane dipped her pizza crust into a cup of cheese sauce that had come with the breadsticks.
“Kind of?” Jeanette threw an unopened packet of red peppers at Sloane. “More like mostly. On good days, at least. Speaking of which, my day starts early tomorrow. Time for me to fly.”
Lori and Sloane agreed it was time to call it a night. As I stifled a yawn, I had to agree they were right.
Jeanette offered to walk Lori to her car. Sloane volunteered to stick around and help me clean up. I was delighted to accept. Any time spent with Sloane was time well spent.
After she put the plates and empty cups in the dishwasher, Sloane leaned against the counter, her brows creased. “I don’t care what Jeanette says. There is no way in the world that pot belonged to Mrs. Napier. It had to be some kind of mix-up.”
“Agreed. It kills me to think about the rumors Maybelle’s probably already spreading. Can’t wait for the police to prove her wrong, though.” I put the leftover breadsticks in a plastic freezer bag and handed it to Sloane.
“What do you think happened? It’s not like that stuff just walked into her office.” She rinsed out the empty two-liter bottles and dropped them in the recycle bin next to the trash can.
“I don’t know. It’s a mystery. The police will figure it out, though.”
“You sure? You’re not exactly known for waiting for Rushing Creek’s finest to do the job when someone’s been killed.”
“True, but this time around, the evidence is pretty strong against Porter.” I leaned against the fridge and drummed my fingers against its steel surface.
“Pretty strong, huh? You’re not convinced he’s the killer, are you?”
“You know me way too well. No. I’m not convinced he did it, but what am I supposed to do? Matt’s following up on my suspicions about Gary Napier, and he promised to go through his file on Porter again. I’m at a dead end.”
“If you say so.” Sloane’s phone buzzed. “Gotta dash. I’ve got a call with a race promoter on the West Coast about doing some promotional stuff for her event.”
“Awesome.” I gave her a hug. “I’m so proud of you. Living the dream, just like you talked about when we were young.”
“I’ve had a lot of support, especially from you when there wasn’t anyone else. I’ll never forget that, you know.” We walked to the front door. “One other thing I’ll never forget is how you wouldn’t give up tracking down my dad’s killer, even when it put you in the hospital.”
“You think I should keep investigating.”
Sloane never told anybody what she thought they should do. Her approach was to make suggestions until the person caught on to what she was saying. It was a nonconfrontational approach she learned growing up in a household with an alcoholic father and a distant mother.
“I think you’re not satisfied with the situation. So, the question for you is whether you’re okay with leaving things to Matt or if you need to keep digging.” She opened the door. “Love ya, kiddo. Whatever you decide, it’ll be the right one. I’m sure of that.”
After another hug, Sloane hollered goodbye to Ursi and took off. As I drifted toward the kitchen, I considered my bestie’s words. She knew me better than anybody, even Mom. She knew I wouldn’t be happy sitting on the sidelines like a spectator at one of the twins’ soccer matches, waiting for Matt to make an arrest.
She was right.
If only I could figure out what to do next.
Chapter Nineteen
Before I was going to do anything, I needed to finish cleaning up the kitchen. Jeanette had taken the leftover pizza home, so I folded the remaining pizza box in half and put it in a trash bag. After that, in went the bags the breadsticks came in.
I was about to rinse the empty cheese and marinara sauce cups for recycling when something made me stop. At first, I couldn’t figure out what had caught my eye. After a few seconds of staring at the trash, something rang a bell. Brownish paper was sticking out of one of the bags.
Brownish paper that looked familiar.
Seconds later, I had the paper in question out of the trash and smoothed out on the kitchen counter. The shade, a light brown, was right. I rubbed a corner between my fingers and thumb. The wax-like coating was smooth against my thumb. A closer inspection of the paper’s surface made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I’d seen paper just like this. Felt it, too.
It was the same paper used as the wrapping for the marijuana in Vicky’s office. Had to be. I fetched my case notebook. Sloane was right. I wasn’t ready to give up.
And now I had something to go on.
Step one—get my thoughts recorded before jumping to any conclusions. The paper in my hand was definitely from Marinara’s. The paper used to wrap the pot was the same.
No, it appeared to be the same. Did that mean Freddie was somehow involved?
That idea was absurd. The woman had owned that restaurant for decades. It was a favorite of tourists and locals alike. As for Freddie, her position as library board chair was more than honorary. She’d worked hand in hand with Vicky to keep the library up to date. The women had been friends, for crying out load. The murderer wasn’t Freddie.
The pot had to be connected to someone who worked for Freddie.
But what was the connection to Vicky?
I took a deep breath to gather my wits. Logic and patience were paramount. And a focused mind.
The latest rule in Allie’s book of amateur investigating—don’t go to the police if all you have is a hunch. I wasn’t going to bother Matt unless I could bring him a tangible lead to follow. The parchment paper on the table by my notebook seemed the same as what was wrapped around the pot.
Seemed the same.
The difference between seeming to be the same and being the same was as wide as One World Trade Center was tall. That was a huge problem. Even if testing proved the paper was manufactured at the same location at the same time, that didn’t necessarily mean they both came from Marinara’s.
After all, Rachel used similar baking material at the pub. There were probably a dozen or more businesses around town that used the paper. So, what did it mean?
Ursi jumped onto my lap and bumped her head against my hand. It was past my bedtime, and she was ready to head to bed.
“Sorry, girl.” I scratched her head, then under her chin. “Got a new puzzle piece. I’m not sure where it fits.”
My senses were tingling. A clue was right in front of me. All I had to do was work the puzzle. Identify the pieces. Organize those pieces in an orderly fashion. Study the pieces to see which loops went into the correct sockets.
Then stand back to see what secret the completed puzzle would reveal.
One might conclude the paper situation was a coincidence. If I did that, I could call it a night and get a solid eight hours of sleep before hitting the ground running tomorrow.
There was
a problem. I didn’t believe in coincidences. There was a connection, a missing piece to the puzzle. Maybe it was in my case notebook.
I went to the first page and studied every word, every observation, every supposition I’d recorded. Nothing jumped out at me. In a fit of frustration, I slammed the notebook shut, sending Ursi scrambling to the bedroom. The clue was somewhere among the pages, though. The tingling sensation confirmed it.
Too wide awake to even think about turning in, I brewed some coffee. While the pot gurgled, I closed my eyes and meditated, giving my brain a rest. By the time I took my seat again, with a chocolaty aroma from the dark roast emanating from my Wonder Woman mug, my head was clear.
Since my first review had proven to be fruitless, my second attempt needed a different approach. Before I got back to work, I looked around. Ursi hadn’t returned.
Great. She’d no doubt had enough of me and was curled up right in the middle of my bed. At least that spot would be warm when I eventually got there.
“You can do this, Allie. For Vicky.” I took a big gulp of coffee and started anew.
This time, instead of reading each word, I simply gazed at each page, like it was a work of art. I let my subconscious guide me, confident that if I stayed calm, the puzzle piece would reveal itself, like a stunning swirl of vivid color on a canvas of muted earth tones.
I devoted a minimum of two minutes to each page. On the seventh page, something caught my eye.
The library break room.
More specifically, the contents of the fridge when I visited the first time after the murder. My notes indicated all liquid containers had been removed because of the suspicion of poison. Something about the fridge, though.
“Aha!” I snapped my fingers as the imaginary light bulb above my head switched on.
There had been a Marinara’s pizza box in the fridge. I closed my eyes and replayed the scene in my head.
At the time, I’d assumed the remains of the deep-dish pie was someone’s lunch. What if that someone was Vicky? And instead of lunch, it had been her dinner?
Marinara’s delivered. What if she’d ordered the pizza because she was working late and somehow the pizza she ordered came with something that wasn’t supposed to be there?
A theory that completely exonerated Porter came together. The driver, who also sold drugs, delivered Vicky’s pizza. At some point during the exchange, the marijuana ended up in the library. Maybe the driver dropped it on his way out the door and didn’t notice until too late.
At some point that evening, Vicky must have found the pot and then hid each package in a different place for some reason.
I saw two scenarios. In the first one, she found the pot, panicked when she realized what she’d stumbled upon, and hid it in random places until she felt safe enough to go to the police.
In the second, instead of panicking, she hid the packages in random different locations with the intent of keeping them safe until someone suspicious showed up. Then she could put a face and name with the pot when she contacted the police.
For the same reason, neither situation satisfied me. Why didn’t she contact the police when she found the marijuana and turn it over to them? Her choice to hold onto the packages had been reckless.
And put her at risk.
Which led me to consider the ramifications of that fateful choice. By now, I was miles away from facts and completely into conjecture, but I stayed with it. I wanted to present a complete narrative to Matt.
At some point, the drug dealer must have returned to the library and confronted Vicky. Since I found the pot, she must have denied having it. When she didn’t cooperate, someone, the dealer himself or maybe his boss, must have decided to kill her.
Porter had claimed Vicky was the only person at the library when he arrived the morning she was killed. What if the murderer got into the library, poisoned Vicky’s drink, and got back out of there before Porter arrived? Implausible? Yes.
But not impossible.
An alternative scenario popped into my head. What if Porter had been in cahoots with the drug dealers and he poisoned her at their direction?
“Nah.” Despite my earlier research into Porter’s potential secret properties, that supposition didn’t feel right. There was nobody around to debate the point, but I was confident in it, regardless.
Porter had a crush on Vicky. He wanted them to be together. The explanation that if he couldn’t have her, nobody would have her made way more sense than an alliance with drug dealers. It was too far-fetched for my liking.
That left me with the pizza delivery driver.
I went to my suspect page and added a new line. The motive was easy enough. He wanted his marijuana back. The means didn’t take much thought, either. From what I’d read, drug rings were ruthless. It didn’t seem like much of a stretch for someone in that trade to have poison close at hand.
Opportunity seemed straightforward enough. The killer, probably someone different from the dope dealer, waited for Vicky to arrive at the library and approached her with some innocuous-sounding story. She doubtlessly let the person in. It was a well-known fact Vicky drank tea all day long, so when the opportunity presented itself, the killer put the poison in her drink, then got out of there. Then Porter showed up. He was too late to save her but was perfectly placed to take the fall.
Wow. I’d woven quite the tale. Would Matt buy it? I’d have to figure out a way to make sure he did.
Chapter Twenty
Slate gray skies loomed overhead as I left my building a few minutes before eight. Matt would be arriving at his office soon, and I wanted to catch him before he got too tied up to see me. We had much to discuss. And much to plan.
Hopefully.
I flipped up the hood of my jacket as raindrops as cold as ice began to fall. A shiver ran through me. If the dismal weather was any indication of my day to come, I was in trouble.
While I waited for the light at the Boulevard to turn green, I reminded myself that a little discomfort was a small price to pay for bringing justice to Rushing Creek. If that sounded overly dramatic to some people, so be it. Vicky was a treasure to my community, a true superhero without a cape.
Once the light turned green, I trotted across the street, weaving my way around a puddle formed by a storm drain clogged with leaves. I made a mental note to mention it to the mayor’s assistant. Things like that looked bad to tourists. I was always happy to help my community in ways besides solving murders.
By the time I pulled open the door to the police department, the rain had stopped. The sky was still foreboding, but I took the precipitation coming to an end as a good sign.
One of the weirdly good things about my history of solving murders was my ability to breeze into and out of the police chief’s office without anyone batting an eye. It was empowering, but I wished I didn’t have to do it.
Jeanette was on the phone, so I gave her a wave instead of stopping at her desk to say hi. Besides, despite my lack of one hundred percent confidence in my plan, Matt deserved to hear everything first.
I knocked on his door’s window. He wasn’t on the phone, so I entered without waiting for an invitation.
“Morning, Chief. I’ve got something you need to see.” I slipped into the chair across from him and opened my backpack.
Matt rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m busy, Allie. Besides, I thought we agreed you were done being Agatha Raisin.”
“If you’re going to needle me, you’ll have to do better than that. Aggie’s older than me and British. Besides, while the show’s a hoot, the books are better.”
“Is it encoded in your DNA to say the books are better?” He put up his hands. “Never mind. I know the answer. What news do I allegedly want to hear?”
“I think I have a lead for you on the marijuana packaging.” I placed the parchment paper on his desk. “This came from Marinara�
��s. They wrap their breadsticks with it. I’d bet my lunch money this came from the same source as the marijuana wrapping.”
In the blink of an eye, Matt’s demeanor changed from annoyed to completely engaged. He leaned forward to get a close look at the paper. After a minute of intense study, he consulted his notebook.
“Interesting.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Jeanette, could you join us, please? And bring your E.T. kit.”
While we waited, he stared at the clue, scratching his chin. His silence had me on edge so much, I almost jumped out of my chair when Jeanette knocked on the door.
When she entered, Matt pointed at the parchment paper. “What do you make of this, Officer?”
The formality was unnerving. It was also a sign to both of us Matt meant business. I’d made a calculated gamble by presenting the paper as part of the marijuana investigation. I’d figured if he bit on that, I could use the opening to tell him my new theory.
And my plan to catch the killer.
Using a pair of tweezers from her evidence technician kit, Jeanette held the paper to the light. “Common parchment paper. Used in baking. Similar in color and texture to the material used in the marijuana packing.”
“Agreed. Allie says this came from Marinara’s. Can you compare it to a piece from the library? See if it’s close enough to warrant further analysis.”
“On it, Chief.” With a nod to each of us, Jeanette dropped the paper into an evidence bag and left, closing the door behind her.
“Thanks for bringing this in.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Now, tell me your theory.”
Excellent. I told him about Jeanette picking up dinner from Marinara’s for our get-together, then went to my light bulb moment and finally to my conclusion. He took notes and gave me an occasional “uh-huh” and “okay” but offered no other comment other than that.
“I’m convinced there’s a connection between the pot and Vicky’s murder.” I shook my head. “I haven’t found the piece connecting them, though.”
