A Slice of Murder

by Chris Cavender

  “Hi, Helen,” I said. “We’re here to see Kevin.”

  She tried to smile at me, but it died on her lips when Bob pulled me aside by the arm. “What are you doing?” he asked me.

  “Saying hello to an old friend,” I said, startled by the intensity of his glare.

  “You’re not here on a social call, remember? The chief of police is getting ready to question you about the murder of a man you had a public confrontation with. This isn’t going to work if you act like it’s a family reunion. No talking, remember?”

  “Can I at least shrug every now and then?”

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” he said. “Eleanor, this is serious, and I expect you to treat it as such. Do we understand each other?”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Make certain of it,” he said. “Now listen carefully. When you see me nod, answer his questions, but not until then. When you speak, give him as brief a reply as possible. If you limit your answers to yes or no, I’ll be a happy man.”

  “What if I have to explain something?”

  “Don’t,” he said. “That’s where you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

  His lecture was a dose of reality, one I clearly needed to hear. He was right. Bob was my attorney, there to protect me and my rights, but he couldn’t very well do that if I didn’t listen to him.

  We approached Helen again, and Bob said, “We’re here to see the chief of police, at his request.”

  “Take a seat. He’ll be right with you,” she said curtly. I had a feeling there was no love lost between the two of them.

  Since the station was empty of other visitors, we took seats by the door and waited. I wanted to ask Bob how long we were going to wait when he pulled out his cell phone and started making more whispered telephone calls. I found a current copy of Timber Talk, our local newspaper, on the table beside us and started looking through it. No surprise, Richard Olsen’s photograph was on the front page, and most of the rest of the space was taken up with the story of how a local deliverywoman had discovered the body. They didn’t mention me by name, but they might as well have used an eight-by-ten photograph from the way they described me. I wondered what kind of impact the story would have on my business and then realized I should be more concerned about tainting the jury pool. Still, without my business, I might as well be in jail. Since Joe died, it had become my life.

  After waiting twenty minutes, I’d read the thin paper front to back twice and was ready to interrupt one of Bob’s telephone calls when Kevin walked out of his office. He scowled in our general direction, and Bob held one hand up as he finished his call. It was clear Kevin was not pleased with my attorney’s presence, and just as clear that Bob couldn’t care less.

  For a second I thought Kevin was going to go back to his office, but Bob finished his call and said, “You wanted to speak with my client, Chief?”

  “How long ago did she hire you? One hour or two?”

  “Is that really relevant?” Bob asked.

  “Come on. Back in my office,” he said, and my attorney and I followed the chief to a small workspace that offered a little privacy, at least more than anyone else had in the department.

  I sat in one of the visitors’ chairs and immediately felt something wasn’t right. It took me a few seconds to realize that we were below Kevin’s eye level when we were all seated. It gave me the distinct impression that I was a bad student in the principal’s office waiting to be disciplined. I knew in an instant that the arrangement was anything but random. If it bothered Bob, he didn’t show it, so I decided to act as though it didn’t bother me either.

  Kevin shuffled some papers on his desk, then said, “Let’s get started. Ellie, what time exactly did you find the body?”

  I was about to answer when I felt Bob’s fingertips press my arm, so I remained mute. My attorney said, “You’ve got the 911 call, Chief. I’m sure you have a record of the exact time the telephone call was made.”

  Kevin leaned back, crossed his fingers over his uniformed chest, then said, “What I’m trying to determine is how long she waited to call us after she found the body.”

  Bob nodded to me, and I answered, “Almost immediately.”

  “Why the delay?” Kevin asked.

  “She answered your question,” Bob said.

  “I had to get my telephone out of my purse,” I said abruptly.

  One glare from Bob was enough to shut me up.

  “Did you go inside when you saw the body?”

  I looked over at Bob, who nodded again.

  “No,” I said, remembering to keep my answers brief, as he’d instructed.

  “Why not? Why didn’t you try to save him?”

  I started to answer when Bob shook his head. “My client has already given a statement that she ascertained the victim was dead when she got there.”

  “She has a medical degree, does she?”

  I started to answer when Bob rose from his chair, instructing me to follow. “My client came here of her own free will, and I won’t allow her to be bullied.”

  “Sit down, counselor,” Kevin snapped. My onetime boyfriend was gone, replaced by the chief of police he’d become. I’d never had any reason to see him in his official role, and I wasn’t enjoying it very much now.

  “You’ll be civil?” Bob asked.

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

  “And please address my client as Mrs. Swift from now on,” Bob instructed him.

  There was a slight eye roll before Kevin nodded, and we all sat down again.

  “Now, Mrs. Swift,” he said with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice, “tell me about the events on the night of December twenty-seventh of last year.”

  Before I could answer, Bob asked, “What does that have to do with her discovery of the body?”

  “It was the night of the Harvest Festival,” Kevin said. “Your client and the murder victim had a pretty heated confrontation in public, and two weeks later he’s dead. It’s a legitimate line of questioning.”

  “It may be, but my client and I haven’t had time to confer about the night in question. I’d appreciate it if you’d limit your line of queries to last night’s events.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d appreciate a straight answer,” Kevin said. “You’re not making this any easier on yourself; Eleanor you know that, don’t you?”

  “That’s it,” Bob said. “We’re leaving.”

  Kevin shook his head in obvious disgust, but he didn’t make any moves to stop us. I held in my shaking until we got outside.

  “That was pretty unpleasant,” I said.

  Bob laughed. “That? It was nothing. Just a little cat and mouse. We’re just getting started.”

  “Oh, boy,” I said. “I can hardly wait. What do we do now?”

  Bob looked surprised by the question. “There’s nothing we can do. Don’t talk to anyone about anything involving this case—especially the chief—without me by your side. Understand?”

  “I guess so. Is that it, then? We just wait?”

  “Despite the impression your former boyfriend might have just given, he’s a decent police officer. I have every confidence he’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “And in the meantime, am I just supposed to sit around and wait?”

  As Bob opened the door for me, he said, “I can’t tell you how to act, but in my opinion, that’s exactly what you should do.”

  Bob dropped me off at my house, pleading an impending court date that he hadn’t been able to postpone. I went inside, changed from the dress I was wearing back into my more familiar blue jeans and T-shirt, and tried to decide what to do. As I walked around downstairs, I marveled again at how much the house had changed since Joe and I had first bought it as newlyweds. Over the years before we found it, most of the Arts and Crafts style in the bungalow had been buried under layers of paint and outdated carpets until it was nearly unrecognizable. I thought my new husband had lost his mind when he insist
ed that there was beauty under all that mess, but I was young, in love, and willing to walk through fire for him, so I gladly signed the mortgage papers right alongside him. It had taken us seven years of hard work and a great deal of imagination, but the results were indeed spectacular. Lustrous quarter-sawn oak was everywhere, ecstatic to be freed from its painted bonds. Rich, mellow wood with fine, black-lined grain filled the place, from the built-in bookcases to the floors to the ceiling beams. It was cozy, a home worth coming back to every day, but it lacked one thing that I sorely needed: my husband.

  I picked up a framed picture of the two of us standing in front of a fireplace. We were smiling and laughing in the foreground, with the cabin interior of the place we loved to rent at Hungry Mother State Park in the background. It was autumn, and the leaves had just begun to burst into dazzling arrays of red and gold. I could feel my gut wrench as I remembered that day, and how happy we’d been, not knowing that we had less than two weeks left to be together. I’d forgotten all about the photograph, but Maddy had found it in my camera months later, and had used a picture frame Joe had made out of some oak that had been in too bad shape to use for anything else.

  My cell phone rang, dragging me back to the present, and my new set of troubles.

  “You were supposed to call me, Sis.”

  “I’m sorry; I guess I just lost track of time.”

  Maddy asked, “What happened?”

  “Nothing much,” I said. “Bob took over, and there wasn’t anything left for me to do. I probably didn’t answer half the questions Kevin asked me, and before I knew what was going on, we were leaving.”

  She couldn’t keep the crowing out of her voice. “Bob is good. I knew he’d be able to get you off.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “I’m nowhere near in the clear. It feels like Kevin’s determined to pin this on me, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop him. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s got a point. There’s an awful lot of evidence that leads right to me.”

  “But we know something he doesn’t, don’t we?”

  “What’s that?”

  She paused, then said, “We both know you didn’t do it.”

  “There’s that,” I said.

  Maddy took a deep breath, then asked softly, “You’re not going to just give up, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed today. Why don’t we close the pizzeria today? I’m not really in the mood to face anybody.”

  Maddy paused, then said, “That’s exactly the wrong thing to do. We need to be open for business today with smiles plastered on our faces.”

  “I don’t think I could smile if I had a gun pointed to my head.”

  She laughed, and I felt a little of my energy coming back. As much grief as Maddy gave me at times, she could pick me up when no one else on earth could. “I could arrange that, but I didn’t say the smile had to be sincere. Be like Andy: fake it till you make it.”

  I laughed despite the dire shape I was in. We’d gone to school with a boy named Andy Grant, who’d been mediocre at just about everything but kissing up to the teachers. The funny thing was, though, he believed he could bluster his way through any situation, which led to some comical results. The time he’d borrowed Kyle Monroe’s stick-shift Mustang without a clue how to drive it was a legend around Timber Ridge. Andy had worked most of one summer to earn enough money to replace the wrecked clutch.

  “Got it,” I said. “Do you want to pick me up, or meet me over there?”

  “What are you talking about? I got to the pizzeria about the time you were visiting the police chief. I’ve done all the prep work, even the dough.” She paused, then added, “If you get your tail down here, you can be the one to unlock the door for our first customer of the day.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said. “And, Maddy? Thanks.”

  “Hey, it’s what I do,” she said.

  I felt better as I drove to A Slice of Delight. Working there had gotten me through some tough times in the past. Maybe it would help again. But could I face the folks who lived in Timber Ridge? Would they support me, or accuse me of killing Richard Olsen? What would I say to them? If Bob had his way, I’d meet the questions with silence, but even he realized I couldn’t do that. Still, I had to do the best I could not to say anything that could be misinterpreted.

  I drove the Subaru behind the pizzeria and pulled into my spot, beside Maddy’s car. We took deliveries in the back, and it was usually how we came and went, choosing a much shabbier facade than our fancy front entrance. I tried my key in the lock to the back door, but the huge, red metal door wouldn’t budge. What was going on? I pounded on the door, but Maddy didn’t respond. Now I was getting worried. Had something happened to my sister since I’d spoken to her? I could have gotten back into the car and driven around the abutted cluster of buildings, and it’s what I should have done if I’d been thinking straight. Instead, I hit the remote lock on my car and ran toward the walkway that separated the long line of facades, a set of spaces twelve feet wide that ran the entire ninety feet of the buildings’ depths. The town had really done a wonderful job decorating the square in an attempt to bring folks back to our downtown area for shopping. A huge mural in the walkway, filled with scenes of Timber Ridge a hundred years ago, nearly covered one wall, and the shortcut featured a brick, two-tiered footpath with benches, quaint electric lights, and individual plantings interspersed along the way.

  I barely noticed it this time through, though. As I came out onto the plaza, I rushed past the dress shop; the pharmacy; the candle shop; and the Shady Lady, a store that somehow managed to stay afloat selling only lamps, shades, and accessories. There was an empty space beside mine, one that had last featured a yarn shop that had barely lasted three months. Finally, I was at my door.

  I started going through my keys as I reached A Slice of Delight—searching for the right ones—as I peered inside. There was a light on in back, but I couldn’t see Maddy. If anything had happened to her, I’d never be able to forgive myself. What was that noise coming from inside? It sounded like someone was pounding in an odd, rhythmic order.

  I finally managed to get the door open and was hit by a wave of music that nearly deafened me. I rushed through the front dining area, where we had several booths and tables for our customers, then went past the front register, through the kitchen, and into the back prep area. Maddy looked up from her chopping station, waving a knife in the air and singing to the odorous tune slamming out.

  “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said as I lunged for the radio and killed the music.

  I looked at her with disbelief. “Really? It’s not like I haven’t been pounding on the back door or anything.”

  She winked at me. “That’s a good thing. I put the old barricade up, so you wouldn’t have been able to get in even if you’d tried.”

  The fire marshal had questioned the wisdom of an old-fashioned timber dropped between two metal brackets across the back door when he’d first inspected the place, but Joe had assured him that it would be taken down whenever anyone was in the store, and the fire marshal had let it pass. I wasn’t positive money had changed hands, but I wouldn’t have put it past my husband. He and I had different ideas about security. I didn’t think there was that much worth stealing in the shop, but he acted as though we were guarding Fort Knox and all its gold. Maddy and I had gotten out of the habit of blockading the door, but it appeared that she was beginning to reacquire it.

  “Since when did you start blocking the back door?” I asked as I removed the timber. It was cumbersome and heavy, one of the reasons I’d stopped moving it back and forth.

  “I feel better having it there when I’m here alone.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Are you here alone much?”

  “Not these days, but there was a time….”

  I knew what she was talking about. After Joe’s accident, I’d been absent quite a bit, and honestly, if my sister hadn
’t stepped in, I probably would have lost my restaurant along with my husband, a double blow that I doubt I would have ever recovered from.

  “I understand,” I said as I surveyed her work, trying to change a subject neither one of us wanted to discuss. “Everything looks good,” I added.

  She pointed a knife at the mushrooms. “I have a few more to cut. Then we should be ready for business.”

  We normally opened at noon, but the call-in orders usually started around eleven. At least on normal days.

  “No orders yet?”

  She shrugged. “It’s still early.”

  “It’s not that early.” I picked up the telephone, found a dial tone, then put it back into its cradle. “I was afraid of this.”

  “Of what?” she asked.

  “Timber Ridge is a small town. It doesn’t take much to kill a business here; the hint of scandal and murder is probably enough to do it.”

  Maddy frowned. “Don’t be such a drama queen. You don’t know that’s what’s happening.”

  “Do you honestly think the entire town got tired of our pizza all at once? There’s got to be a reason, and I know what it is.”

  “Then we’ll just give them a few days to forget what happened,” Maddy said. “In the meantime, we’ll be here if anyone comes to their senses.”

  “They’d better not take too long,” I said. I had enough in savings to cover six weeks of expenses before I had to shut the place down. Joe and I had planned to use the surplus on a honeymoon we’d never taken, but with A Slice of Delight requiring so much of our time and attention, we’d never gotten around to it.

  “You worry too much. Can I make you something to eat? You can have any pizza or sandwich on the menu, and you don’t have to lift a finger.”

  “Thanks, but I can make my own lunch,” I said.

  “You still don’t trust me? I told you, that wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to know that those canned tomatoes had gone bad? Besides, you act like it killed you or something. You bounced right back.”

  “I was seventeen, I missed my prom, and I was sick in bed for the first three weeks of summer vacation. I hardly call that bouncing back.”