by Nancy CoCo
Frances’s expression grew solemn. “I certainly hope not.”
“What if Heather and Tammy got into a fight over the job and Tammy pushed her into the shredder?” I shuddered at the thought that someone might be alive when they fell into the massive shredder.
“Oh, surely not.” Frances looked like she tasted something bad.
“Pretty darn convenient that Heather went away and Tammy got the job.”
“It could be coincidental,” Frances said.
“I’ll call Jenn and have her find out from her science beau which shredder had evidence of human DNA. If it’s Gooseworthy’s then we should seriously consider Tammy our prime suspect.”
Mal uncurled herself from the dog bed by the fireplace where she slept while I was making fudge. She stretched leisurely, wagged her little tail, and came over to Frances. She jumped up and stretched against Frances’s leg.
That was Mal’s typical sign for “take me out please.” Frances patted her on the head and scratched behind her ears.
Mal sat down and waited for Frances to realize it was time to go out. Mal had us well trained.
“Okay, little one.” Frances stood, putting her coffee cup behind the reception desk. “Let’s get your leash.”
Mal popped up and ran to the hall tree that held her halter and leash.
Frances helped Mal into her star-studded halter and leash. Straightening, Frances looked at me.
“What?”
“What will we do if it’s the Jessops’ shredder that holds evidence of murder?”
I winced. “Um . . . look for a killer?”
Frances blew out a long sigh. Mal pulled and tugged on the leash, dragging Frances toward the back door. “Motive,” Frances said over her shoulder as they headed down the hallway to the back door. “We need motive.”
I tested the fudge for what stage it was in. Still not the soft-ball stage. I didn’t like to stir too much—it kept the fudge cooler and meant a longer cook time and more likelihood of sugaring.
“Motive,” I muttered. “That’s what we need in all three incidents—Heather, Cathy, and Peter.” Wait—were they all related? Cathy and Peter were easy to see a motive for—the $100,000 grand prize. But what did Heather have to do with the competition? Anything? I put a sugar dispenser on the countertop. It represented Heather. Next was a salt and pepper shaker—pairing for Cathy and Peter? “Some murder board,” I muttered. I took a lemon-juice dispenser and called it Tammy. She circled around Heather due to their competition for the job. Plus Heather was dating Tammy’s brother, so they fit on two connections.
I pulled the lemon-juice dispenser to the salt and pepper shaker. Tammy also had reason not to like Cathy. For two reasons: 1) Cathy wasn’t a real chef, 2) Tammy wanted a spot on the cast. Then there was the fact that Cathy was poisoned with fudge—something easy for Tammy to re-create.
I rocked back on my heels and studied my murder board. It seemed pretty straightforward. Tammy was the connection in all three crimes. I frowned. Did Rex already think the same thing?
CHAPTER 29
“That would have been more fun if it weren’t for the crew being all weepy,” Jenn grabbed a flowered mug and made herself a cup of tea. It was near dinnertime, and Jenn had been gone twelve hours. “The cast seemed happy to all be working. I made some friends with my suggestion that they use tossed-out candidates as judges.”
“So what is it now? Survivor of the fudge contest?” Frances asked. She turned and looked at Jenn over the top of her pink-with-white polka dotted reading glasses.
“They thought that might not be the best title for the episodes considering that Cathy didn’t survive.” She dunked her tea bag in hot water a few times.
“Who was at the audition?” I asked as I inventoried the kitchen ingredients. My baking-supply driver would be in in the morning, and I needed to know what I should stock up on before he got here.
“Your friend Tammy Gooseworthy was there.” Jenn sat down in one of the winged-back chairs near the fireplace. “She almost beat me to my place in line.”
“Almost?” I teased Jenn.
“I ran faster.” Jenn grinned. “There might have been a tiny bit of shoving and possibly some hair pulling.”
“Jenn!” My mom piped up from her position in the winged-back chair across from Jenn. Mom worked her crochet needle, the pink-and-white yarn she used twisted and looped into a lovely flower-pattern afghan. “I thought better of you than to pull another woman’s hair.”
“Hey, all bets are off, Mrs. M, when a position becomes open for a cast member in a reality show.” She took another sip, her eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I wanted the producers to see that I could play the mean girl if they needed me to.”
“What about this Tammy person? What is her excuse?”
“She thinks she’s a better fudge maker.” Jenn shrugged. “She may be better than me, but she’s not better than Allie.”
“Thanks for the endorsement,” I called from my corner of the lobby.
“Anytime, dear, anytime.” Jenn kicked out her legs, and Mal took the opportunity to jump up in her lap. “Hey, hot beverage.” Jenn held her cup up high, and some of the contents splashed on the chair as Jenn juggled her drink, trying to stay dry while Mal made a bed of her lap.
“You shouldn’t let her climb up on you without permission,” Frances pointed out.
“Aw, she’s fine.” Jenn settled in with her tea and ran her free hand over Mal’s soft curls.
“So what did the producers say about your screen test?” I asked as I marked the last of the inventory and closed the cupboards.
“It was okay.” Jenn shrugged. “I was one of three callbacks.”
“That’s fabulous,” I said as I came out of the fudge shop. I took the inventory page over and pinned it up to the bulletin board where notes were left for people coming and going. “Way to bury the lead.”
“Speaking of leads, your reporter friend was there.”
“Liz?” I pulled off the apron I wore. “Was she trying for a position?”
“She went through the process with us, but she made it clear to everyone that she simply wanted a firsthand account of what it was like in order to enrich her exposé.”
“Speaking of exposés”—I sat down on the settee and rested my tired feet—“what does your science guy say about the investigation? Did they figure out which mulching machine was used to disperse the body?”
“Yes.” Jenn grew solemn. “It was Jessops’.”
“What! Really.” I sat up. “I would not have bet the farm on that.”
“Why?”
“Because Tammy Gooseworthy was my pick for having motive and means to fight with Heather and push her into the shredder.”
“Wow, that would have been horrible.” Jenn shuddered, and we all gave a moment of silence for the woman, each praying she had been dead already when she was shredded.
“I know you think that Tammy is an aggressive person,” Frances said. “But just because a person has a prickly personality doesn’t mean they’re a killer. How many times have you seen on the news that a serial killer was that nice, quiet man next-door?”
“True,” I said, my expression clearly registering my idea of what a terrible fact that was. “Too bad, it would be so much easier if all killers were terrible, pushing meanies.”
“Right.” Jenn chuckled. “They should all be followed by a neon sign that flashes killer!”
“Oh, no,” I said when it hit me.
“What?”
“I saw Trent the other day and he asked me if I suspected him again.”
“You said no, right?” Jenn sipped her tea.
“Of course I said no.” I frowned. “Now he’s going to think I lied to him.”
“No, he’s not.” Frances shook her head.
“Do the police have any idea who at Jessop’s might have been involved?” I asked Jenn.
“The thing is that the business is open to the public so it could be anyon
e.”
“So how are the police going to figure it out?”
“Shane thinks that they will try to re-create Heather’s last hours.”
“That makes more sense than interviewing anyone who bought mulch or had a gardener who used Jessop mulch.”
“The real question is”—Frances interjected—“who killed Cathy? Were they the same person who hurt Peter?”
“And are they even slightly related to Heather’s death?” Jenn asked.
“That’s where Tammy worked as a suspect,” I said and ran a hand over my face. “She is connected to Heather—her brother was dating Heather and if they found her DNA on the shredder at the Gooseworthy’s place that would put a neat little bow on that.”
“Then you could connect her to Cathy and Peter, as well,” Jenn said with a nod of her head. “We were all here when she came storming in to pounce on Peter about how she should have had a chance to be on the fudge show.”
“Three crimes, one perpetrator,” Mom said as she crocheted in a soothing rhythm. “That would have been a hat trick.”
“Unfortunately,” Frances said, “life is rarely a neat little bow.”
“How much longer do I need to wear the ankle bracelet?” I asked Rex the next morning. I had broken protocol and walked over to the police station. Really, it was a small island. Where was I going to go that I needed to be tracked anyway? “I hate the fact that I have to stop and think before I take my dog for a walk or open the door to go for groceries or the post office.”
“I appreciate your patience.” Rex sat behind his desk and had that trust-me-I’m-a-cop look in his pretty blue eyes. “It’s only been thirty hours.”
I made a face and slumped into my chair. “It’s putting a crimp in my daily activities.”
“You have a date I’m keeping you from?” He raised one eyebrow.
“No.” I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t had a date in months, but it was a small island. I’m sure people had already noticed I wasn’t exactly on the party scene at night. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.” I lifted my leg. Today I wore my standard uniform of black slacks and pink polo. “This is one giant buzzkill, if you know what I mean.”
Rex chuckled. “You have some fudgie you have your eye on?”
“Oh, Good Lord, no,” I said and covered my ankle. “I want to stay on island, remember?”
“That doesn’t seem to be a popular notion.” Rex sobered. “Most kids from here can’t wait to get off the island and drive in fast cars and shop in big malls.”
“Whoa now, don’t lump all women together like that.” I put out my hands. “There are plenty of lovely women who settle down on island and are happy to do it.”
“Like who? You? You haven’t ever wintered here.”
“Yet. And I was thinking of women like Liz MacElroy and Frances and my Grammy Alice and your mom and—”
“Okay, okay, I regret I made an assumption.” He waved me off. “One should never argue with a woman.”
“That’s right.” I crossed my arms. “So, what’s the word on my bracelet removal?”
“I have a person in the auditions right now,” he said. “I’m hoping that they can figure this out undercover.”
“Good, then I can—”
“I need you to wear it until shooting on the regular show returns,” he finished my sentence for me.
“Wait, that wasn’t part of the deal.” I put my feet down and stood. “This was supposed to be a temporary thing. It is temporary, right? This arrest doesn’t go on my permanent record, does it?”
That got him chuckling. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t go on your permanent record. Unless you want it to say you did this in the fullest cooperation with the law.”
“Wow, that sounds nice and all.” I crossed my arms. “But I’d prefer you kind of don’t mention it at all. The last thing I need is to have trouble getting a loan or hiring good people because they did a background check and found that I was arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“Is he harassing you?”
I whipped my head around to see Mrs. Finch standing in the doorway with her legs spread wide and her arms crossed as if she were the Jolly Green Giant. “No, this ankle bracelet is.” I pointed to my bracelet.
“What did you do to have to wear that?” The old woman stepped in closer to get a look at the equipment.
“I’ve been arrested for the murders of Heather Karus and Cathy Unger.”
“I don’t know who Cathy Unger is, but that Heather was nothing but a troublemaker.”
“How so?” I asked and turned my body to face the old woman in the doorway.
“She used to take a broom to my Daisy. Why, just a couple of weeks ago she got out a gun and threatened to shoot my baby.”
“Wow, that’s a bit extreme,” I said.
“I know.” Mrs. Finch nodded. “How would you feel if someone tried to shoot your little white puppy?”
“I’m taking a chance saying this in front of a police officer, but it has to be said. If anyone hurt my puppy, I’d have to hurt them.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “And if they put your innocent doggie in jail, then what would you do?”
Oh, boy, she was leading the witness, and that witness was me—stuck between Mrs. Finch’s honest question and loyalty to my friend Rex Manning, who was only looking out for the dog’s best interests.
“Well?”
I swallowed hard. “I would stage a protest.”
“Exactly.” Mrs. Finch pointed with her finger to emphasize the point. “Daisy might be a bit scruffy at times, but she is my baby. My baby loves this island and so do I. I know I can let her outside without worry that she’ll be hit by a car.”
“I put Daisy in that cell because we are currently sifting through mulch across the island, looking for the remains of Heather Karus,” Rex said as he sat back. “I need to see how many—if any—bones Daisy passes and to keep her out of any other crime scenes.”
“It’s been a week. She’s passed what she’s going to pass and you know that.”
“I’m still sifting mulch,” Rex said calmly.
“And just how long is that going to take?” Mrs. Finch demanded.
“Another two days tops,” Rex replied.
“That awful girl never did like my Daisy,” Mrs. Finch muttered. “We need a law against torturing pets.”
“What did Heather do to Daisy that you think means she didn’t like her? Besides the broom, which I’m here to say I can’t see how it would discourage a dog as big as Daisy.”
“That girl used to chase Daisy around island with a BB gun in her hands. The day I find BBs in my Daisy is the day I start a petition to outlaw weapons of all kinds from this island.”
“Heather hasn’t had a BB gun since she was nine years old,” Rex frowned. “That was twenty years ago.”
“So you think.” Mrs. Finch put her hands on her hips. “Why, just the other day I caught her lying in wait for Daisy with a BB gun in her hands.”
“Were you walking Daisy?” I asked, aghast at the idea of someone shooting you as you walk by.
“No, I saw it in a vision.” Mrs. Finch was serious. “I was deep into Transcendental Meditation when the vision of that girl being cruel to my Daisy came through the cosmic vibrations.”
“Really?” I was stunned—surely she was pulling my leg.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Finch said. “My guru has taught me how to use my third eye. I use it frequently to ensure Daisy is safe.”
“Okay, what did you do when you had the vision?” I asked.
“I commanded Daisy to watch out and come straight home.”
“And did she?”
“Of course.” She looked at me as if I was an idiot for even questioning her.
“Okay.” I didn’t understand, but I wasn’t about to quibble with the woman.
“Officer Manning, you’re lucky my lawyer is in Cancun. I’ve contacted him psychically and let him know he’s to come straigh
t here when he gets back.”
“I’ll keep a light on for him,” Rex said with a straight face.
“You may think you’re funny but I intend to sue you and the entire Island Police Department for kidnapping and unlawfully restraining Daisy.”
“There is a city leash law,” Rex said. “If you’ve got a dog running loose, it’s a ticket and a fine of one hundred and ten dollars. This is the third time I’ve written a ticket for Daisy.”
“And I’ve paid them.” She countered. “There is no need to hold my Daisy hostage and I’m certain the city council will agree.”
“Feel free to take this up with them when they meet next week,” Rex said. “Until then, Daisy will remain in lockup until we are finished with the mulch and you produce a leash to keep her under your control. There are leash laws for a reason.”
“That reason is not applicable to Daisy. She would never hurt a soul.” She nodded. Her mouth was a straight line of tightened skin. “Now, for the last time, Officer Manning, I’ve come to collect my baby from your jail cell.”
“Daisy is not supposed to go outside without being on a leash,” Officer Manning said.
“Fine, I’ll get her leash,” Mrs. Finch said. “When I get back I expect my Daisy to be released into my company.” She walked off in a bit of a huff.
“If I catch her off leash again, I will have animal control ban her from the island,” he called after her.
She waved him an obscene gesture as she continued out the door.
“Wow.” I turned back to Rex. “Are you ready to chase that dog around some more?”
He shook his head and moved some papers from one pile to another, stamping the pages as he went. “No.” He shook his head. “If I had it my way that dog would be taken off the island until this entire murder investigation or investigations—however it turns out—was solved.”
“Can’t you do something about Mrs. Finch interfering with a police investigation?” I asked hopefully.
“If I wanted to do that—which I don’t—I can only hold her forty-eight hours. I unlocked the cell after that and the old bat moved herself into the hall outside Daisy’s door and won’t budge. She’s already been under my care a week and she’s been in my office at precisely ten AM every day.” He looked at his watch. “Huh, she’s later than usual today.”
