“Emmy, if it’s all right, I’d like to go back to when you were arrested and Assistant Chief Lonsbury questioned you.”
“What do you want to know?” She set her cup in her saucer.
“Did he tell you where they found the evidence?”
“Yes, he said it was in the garage, but he didn’t go into specifics. That’s why I thought to look there. And now I know it must have been in a box from my husband’s shop.”
“What else was in it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I hadn’t looked through the boxes yet. My husband was a carpenter by trade and rented a warehouse space for his tools and supplies. He had a little shop inside of it where he did different projects, woodworking, mostly small items like birdhouses to give to friends, things like that.”
“Did he use glass in his projects or make anything out of glass?”
“Well, not that I know of . . . Wait a minute.” She looked from Lester to me. “Let me back up here a minute. When I was in jail for my husband’s death, his friend Darwin asked me what I wanted to do with all his tools and supplies. There was no reason to keep renting the warehouse, so I asked if he’d mind selling or giving away everything except maybe what he was working on in his little shop.”
Emmy got up, went to the living room, then came back holding a glass ornament in the shape of a Christmas tree. It was intricately etched on both sides. “After I was acquitted, Darwin came over to my home and gave me this. It was on my husband’s workbench. It even has my name on it.”
“It’s beautiful. So your husband also did glass etching?”
“Not that I knew about until then. I think it was supposed to be my Christmas present. He was always working on something.”
“He must have had a big assortment of tools,” I said.
“Hold up here,” Lester interrupted. “Glass etching, you say?”
Emmy and I both turned to him.
“I seem to remember one of my clients years ago telling me about this glass and metal etching hobby of his where he used cyanide something or other. He gave it up after he got sick and nearly died. He wasn’t wearing safety glasses and splashed a drop in his eye. Lucky for him he got medical help right away.”
“Oh my Lord, that’s awful. Howard never told me he worked with cyanide. Maybe so I wouldn’t worry. His shop was his sanctuary, and I didn’t pry until he showed me his finished products. Lester, you said he could have used cyanide to etch the glass on this ornament?” She held it up.
“It seems like a good possibility from what I know,” he said.
Emmy frowned and thought a minute. “Howard came home that day, said he wasn’t feeling well, and collapsed. He had a cut on his arm. I remember looking at it and thinking that it didn’t look bad enough to make him pass out. I thought he had been out on a job, but he could have been at the warehouse. Our house was just a couple of blocks from there.
“I called nine-one-one, but it was too late. Of course I thought he’d had a heart attack, but the medical examiner suspected cyanide. He had smelled an almond-like odor on Howard. I surely hadn’t smelled any such thing.”
I interrupted. “You couldn’t smell it?”
She shook her head then went on. “The police looked at my husband’s job log and mapped out where he had been that day. There was no mention of being at the warehouse, and there wouldn’t have been. Howard only recorded his paying jobs. The police eventually determined I’d done it because I had access to chemicals at the hardware store. And there was a twelve-bottle case missing from the store’s inventory.”
“Really?”
“The owners of the hardware store didn’t suspect me until Howard was poisoned. And the other thing they looked at was Howard’s very large life insurance policy. We’d had our ups and downs over the years, but I loved him with all my heart.”
I reached over and put my hand on hers. “If Howard had been using cyanide and splashed it on his cut, that might have been what caused his death. You need to tell your story to the police.”
Lester nodded. “And they should be able to tell whether the cyanide that was in your garage—if it was your husband’s—is the same stuff that killed Molly. I watch those forensics shows, and they solve cases similar to that every now and again,” Lester said.
I felt a ray of hope for Emmy. “Lester’s right. There must be different grades of the poison. Is it okay if I call Mark?”
Tears formed in Emmy’s eyes, and she nodded.
I phoned Mark, and he arrived a few minutes later. His sidekick Clint wasn’t far behind him. Emmy’s story trumped any personal embarrassment I felt when his eyes met mine. The two officers listened intently and wrote down the details of what Emmy now surmised had happened to her husband. She showed them the ornament at the story’s climax.
“If what you’re telling us turns out to be true, that would explain why there were no fingerprints on the cyanide bottle. He would have been wearing gloves if he was working with that chemical. I figured the killer wore them to hide her—or his—prints,” Clint said.
Emmy shook her head. “When my husband died, I had no idea how he could have been poisoned. I guess we still don’t know what happened for sure. I was an easy one for the police to blame.”
Clint pursed his lips. “We’ll make sure all the tests we need are run right away. And when the results come in, hopefully you can get your life back.”
The look Emmy sent him said that wasn’t possible. But then she and Lester caught and held each other’s eyes, and it seemed to me things were looking up for both of them.
—
I got home late morning and found the note I’d left myself on the kitchen counter, reminding me to find out what I could about Will Dalton’s buddy. Before I dove into the search, I checked in with Pinky. She said she was doing fine managing the shops, no problem. We had made a pact that if it was an unusually busy day, one of us could call the other one in. It had happened a couple times over the past few months.
I grabbed a protein bar as a late breakfast treat then went into the spare bedroom that also served as my office. I opened the laptop and followed Susan’s instructions. They worked like a charm, and I navigated through the site in no time. I typed Will’s friend’s address in the property search line, and in seconds I had the information. The house was owned by Bryan George.
Next, I looked up the law firm Will Dalton worked for, Turner and Marshall. I knew it was one of the top ones in the Twin Cities area and learned it was the fourteenth largest with 63 lawyers. The largest one had 254, and next largest was close behind with 251. I did a search of the firm’s attorneys and found something that got my attention. Congratulations were in order for Bryan George, who had made partner on Thursday, November 13. He thanked his mentor, William Dalton, for the recommendation. November 13. That was two days after Molly died and the day before her service. Given those circumstances, it seemed in poor taste to post his promotion at that particular time, whether it was scheduled or not. They should have held off for a week or two out of respect for Will Dalton.
Emmy phoned when I was logging off the computer. “Camryn, there is something I keep forgetting to tell you about that day, the day Molly and I started at your shops. The day she died.”
My heart rate picked up a beat, hoping she’d remembered something about a man who acted strange or out of place. “What is it?”
“I need to apologize to you and to Pinky. And I can’t tell you how much I wish I could tell Molly that I’m very, very sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For being so crabby. I was not myself that day at all, and I’m not sure why. I took it out on Molly, and the only reason I can think of is I was afraid she’d do well and I would fail. I felt insecure and worried I’d do something wrong like break one of your precious pieces.”
No, Ramona Zimmer had done that inste
ad. And she had yet to apologize or at least pay for the snow globe. “Emmy, we were all nervous about how it would go, and that might have made things tenser than they should have been. It’s not necessary, but I accept your apology.”
“Thank you, Camryn. I’ll talk to Pinky, too.”
“She’d like that.”
After we disconnected, I phoned Irene Ryland to ask her about writing a letter to Troy. “Cami, I took to heart what you said yesterday and wrote the letter this morning. I wrote ‘Urgent’ and included my return address on the envelope. And what I said in the letter is about Molly, so it is urgent.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you for doing that. I’ll run over now and pick it up then drop it off at the post office. If it’s collected tonight, or even first thing in the morning, it’ll be in St. Paul by Tuesday morning for sure.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can mail it.”
“I was going to go out, anyway, so it’s no problem, really.” I wasn’t being completely honest with Irene, but I had thought about stopping by the shops.
“All right.”
—
With the letter safely mailed, I stopped in to see Pinky. A few customers were sitting at her front counter, and she was wiping off tables in her back area. No one was browsing in Curio Finds. “Cami, what are you doing here?” she said when she saw me. “And no offense, but you never wear jeans to work.”
I glanced down then shrugged. “It’s my day off.” Actually, I had been so preoccupied with the day’s events I hadn’t even remembered what I was wearing. “Did Emmy call you?”
“Emmy? No, why? Or maybe I don’t want to know.”
“No, it’s good. It looks like she’s going to be cleared of both murders.”
She threw the towel on her shoulder. “Get out of here. A miracle happen or what?”
“I’m sure she feels like it did.” I gave her a rundown of the morning and the new information the police now had to work with.
“That is just crazy. She had to be accused of a second murder so she could be cleared of the first one. Well, maybe the first wasn’t a murder after all,” Pinky said.
“I guess. So should we offer her the job back?”
Pinky waved her arms around in the air. “Holy moly, I can’t even think about that right now.”
I nodded. “I get that. To let you know, I’m going to ask my dad if he can work for me Tuesday afternoon, maybe see if Erin can come in, too.”
“Your dad? What are you planning?”
“I’m helping Irene Ryland out.”
Pinky left it at that. “Well, it seems like your dad is getting more comfortable leaving your mom from time to time.”
“And she may want to come along with him. It does her good to get out for a few hours.” I knew how much it lifted her spirits, and she was getting a little stronger every day.
—
When I asked Dad if he could fill in for me, my parents decided they’d both mind the shop Tuesday afternoon. If Mom got too tired, Dad would run her home. I looked around my house, not interested in doing any of the things that needed to be done, but finally coaxed myself into doing some cleaning. Then I sorted through the mail I’d ignored all week.
That afternoon, I got a frozen dinner out of the freezer for a late lunch/early dinner. It wasn’t the best lasagna by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t the worst, either. I ate it quickly, thinking about the letter Irene had written and wondering if Troy would take the bait. As I threw the paper container away, I noticed a penny on the counter. “Where did you come from?” I said, then I picked it up and carried it to the blue and brown ceramic dish on the coffee table. As I dropped it in it, I nodded at the penny. “Between pennies from heaven, lights turning themselves off and on, and ghosts talking to me in my dreams, I wonder if I should seriously consider taking a long vacation, somewhere warm.”
—
I got to the shop a little before nine on Tuesday morning so I could get some bookwork done before Curio Finds opened. Pinky waved me over. “Clint said to call when you got in. He said you weren’t answering your cell phone.”
“Oh.” I pulled it out of my purse and saw I’d missed his call. “I must have been in the shower when he called. Thanks.” When I phoned him, I got good and better news.
“Camryn, the results on the contents of the envelope came back. No trace of a poison. Just a letter and some money. Are you at home?”
A letter and some money? “No, I’m at work.”
“All right, I’ll be down there shortly.”
“Well?” Pinky nosed her face close to mine.
“Clint’s bringing me a letter and money, minus any poison. The envelope from Ramona.”
“Wonders never cease.”
—
Clint came by about ten minutes later. I was matching credit card receipts with the totals from the card company. He walked up to the counter carrying the envelope like it contained gold. When he gave it to me, I opened it up and withdrew the folded page. A crisp one-hundred dollar bill fell out and dropped on the counter. My face must have registered surprise, because Clint said, “The letter explains that.”
I read it out loud. “‘Camryn, I’m the one who broke your Marilyn Monroe snow globe, and I’m sorry. But when I spotted you in the shop, I noticed you were wearing the same outfit you had on that day you were with my husband. That snow globe was sitting on the shelf in front of me, and I can’t explain it, but I picked it up and dropped it. I heard it break, but I was too upset to do anything except leave. I am sorry and hope this covers its replacement.’” I looked up at Clint. “I think a hundred more than covers it.”
Clint lifted a shoulder. “I’ll have to defer to you on that one. Our fear that the envelope contained poison has been alleviated, in any case. It seems Senator Zimmer did not intend to harm you, after all, and I see no reason to charge her with petty misdemeanor criminal damage to property.”
“No, she has enough problems, between her husband and . . . other things.” No need to tattletale about her male houseguest or explain why I was spying on Ramona in the first place. “I was right about one thing, though. She saw Molly from the back and thought it was me.”
“That’s what she meant?” He shook his head. “Molly. But at least this envelope mystery is wrapped up, and that’s good.” Then he stood there like he had more to say.
I finally broke the silence. “Thank you.”
Clint nodded then left. Apparently he wasn’t ready to share whatever was on his mind. The figure of Marilyn Monroe, the one from the broken snow globe, was lying on the counter next to the cash register. I picked it up and looked it over. “Well, Ms. Monroe, we can probably buy two more of you with the amount of cool cash Ramona left. Dad may know where to look.”
Pinky came into Curio Finds carrying a newspaper and looked around. “I heard Clint leave, so I’m hoping you’re talking to yourself and not a ghost.”
I held up the figurine. “No, just wondering where to find another Monroe snow globe. Ramona gave me a hundred bucks for damages.” I picked up the bill with my other hand and waved it.
“As well she should have. Good. And speaking of Senator Zimmer, there is something you need to see. I was about to throw out the Sunday edition when I spotted this.” Pinky opened the paper and spread it on the checkout counter.
What I saw made my mouth drop open. “You have got to be kidding me.” There, front and center, was a picture of Ramona Zimmer and her brother Randy Arthur. Her brother? He was the man I’d seen carrying a suitcase into her house. The man I’d seen hugging her before catching a taxi. The man who had recently returned from five years of mission work in the Congo. The brother I’d heard about but had never met.
The article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune went on about Randy’s ventures for the past twenty years, working with underprivileged people a
nd helping in various ways. When I finished reading, I folded it up and handed it back to Pinky. “Wow,” I said. It was my turn to eat a big piece of humble pie. First, I worried that Ramona had tried to poison me. Twice. Then I convinced myself she was having an affair, thinking it was to spite her wandering husband. I looked at Pinky. “Pinch me.”
“Pinch you? You really want me to?”
“No, but I deserve it. I was ready to believe the worst about someone I trusted and cared about for a long time.”
Pinky gave me a gentle pinch in the arm.
It didn’t hurt, but I said, “Ouch.”
“Ramona Zimmer turned her back on you when she should have believed you. Who can blame you for doubting her?”
—
I was nervous the rest of the morning. Ramona Zimmer’s strange behavior had led me to the wrong conclusions. I thought awful things about her and what her anger might have led her to do. Peter’s actions had hurt her career; there was no doubt about that. I felt badly she was blind to that, but it was up to her to wake up and see things as they really were.
The other thing keeping me on edge was wondering if Troy Ryland was the actual renter of the P.O. box. And if so, would he get a text message from the post office about the letter and then go pick it up? I hoped Irene Ryland was right when she said Troy was a night owl and that we’d be safe getting to the post office after noon. One o’clock seemed like a reasonable time. The post office lobby was open until 6:00 p.m., so that meant it was possible we’d have to wait five hours for him. And he might not show up at all.
I took my cell phone off the charger then went into Brew Ha-Ha for something to do for the last few minutes before my parents relieved me. Pinky was washing cups and had splashed some drops of water on her face. She lifted her bony shoulder and used her shirt to swipe the side of her cheek dry.
“Holy moly, Cami, you seem jumpy.”
The Iced Princess Page 23
