Murder and the Secret Spring

by J. D. Winters

  Wow. One simple question and I got a whole new slant on possible suspects.

  “How about Gwen?”

  “Never Gwen,” she said firmly. “Thank Goodness for Gwen. With her around, I didn’t miss my own mother so much.”

  “I thought your mother only died fairly recently?”

  “Sure.” She looked uncomfortable. “But my mother—she wasn’t around all that much when I was growing up. She considered herself a free spirit. I mean, she spent a lot of time off with some new guy she’d fallen madly in love with. It was a new guy every month. When I was young, she would just drop me off at Gwen’s and disappear for a few weeks. Gwen would take care of me. Just like she took care of Jeremy when Nigel was working his 18 hour days, trying to buy the restaurant or whatever. We both had parents who let us down in a lot of ways, but Gwen was always there. She’s the one who talked Nigel into hiring me at the restaurant in Santa Barbara. I’m sure he didn’t want to do it. I was that pesky kid who was always accusing him of abandoning me. But still, she talked him into it and that’s what kept me from starving all through my college years.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for your candid answers, Sandy. I appreciate it.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m going to town to do some shopping. I’ve got to do something to get my mind off this stuff.”

  She began to swing her leg over the bar of her bike just as I thought of something else I needed to clear up.

  “Sandy, wait a sec. Tell me this. Where did you get the poison?”

  She blinked and froze for a moment. I could practically hear her thought processes whirring away in that pretty head. Should she tell me? Would she get someone else in trouble? Would anything in her answer incriminate her?

  “I got it from Carlo,” she said at last. “He had a bunch and I needed it to kill a rat.”

  She was lying. I could read it in her eyes.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. But I knew I was going to have to look further for that truth.

  I needed to get down to the station and see if Carlo had been charged. I also needed to see my client for a few minutes, both to find out how he was doing and to see if he could give me any more fuel for the sleuthing fire.

  I drove down to the station, parked, and as I was walking up the sidewalk to the brick building, I saw Jeremy coming toward me. I waved and waited for him to reach me, then said, “I’ve just been talking to Sandy. You told her about the wallet and the poison envelopes.”

  He nodded, giving me a quick casual hug and standing back. “Yeah, I figured she deserved to know what had happened.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “And I have to thank you for giving me the advice about the forensics lab.” He waved his hand toward the next building where the forensics lab was located. “I just got through filling out the paperwork for the DNA test. It should be ready in a couple of days.” He looked like a man happy he’d gotten a problem out of the way. “So we should know soon.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Know what?”

  He looked like he was sorry he’d brought it up. “Oh, nothing. Just something that’s been nagging at me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Jeremy, you do know that if you have evidence regarding the murder, no matter how innocuous, you are required by law to turn it over to the police.”

  He shook his head, dismissing that. “This has nothing to do with the murder. It has nothing to do with Marguerite. It’s a personal thing.”

  “A personal thing that just cropped up on the day of the murder?”

  “Not really. It’s…oh hell, it’s got to do with Sandy. You probably know. Just about everybody does.”

  “Know about what?”

  “That Sandy thinks my father is her biological father.”

  I bit my lip. “I had heard something about that. So you don’t think it’s true?”

  His laugh didn’t have much humor to it. “I know it’s not true. And I’m going to prove it to her.”

  I winced slightly. “Do you think that’s wise?” I mentioned.

  “I have to. You see where that goes, don’t you? She thinks she’s my sister.”

  “Uh…is she?”

  He made a face at me. “What do you think?” he said sarcastically. “Of course she’s not. But she’s been riding that hobbyhorse for years. At first I just kidded her about it, thinking she would wake up and see the truth. I accused her of using it as an excuse not to date me. But you know what? She really does believe it. That’s why she got a job with his restaurant. She wanted to be close when he finally admitted it.”

  “But he never has.”

  “No. Because it’s not true.”

  I shook my head. “Why does she think it is?”

  “Because her mother raised her that way. From the time she was a little girl, her mom would take her to one of my father’s restaurants or bring her to one of the Christmas parties and say, ‘There he is honey. There’s your father.’ Everyone would laugh and treat it as a joke, but Sandy took it in and believed it.”

  “Has she ever confronted your father about it?”

  “Oh yeah. First she wrote him a letter, back when we were still in high school. He never did answer her. He just blew it off. She got a job in one of his restaurants right after high school—while she was going to Santa Barbara City College. He didn’t realize she was the girl with the letter until later, and then he thought it was a joke. For some sick reason, he likes keeping her around.”

  “Weird.”

  “You’re telling me. Right around the time her mother died, Sandy went to him and told him that she believed he was her father. And that her mother was dying and he ought to go see her. He told her she was nuts, but Sandy brought him proof that he had dated her mother years ago. That floored him, but he still denied having fathered her. Still, she won’t give up.”

  “And that’s why you’re planning to get the DNA confirmation that there’s no paternity there. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “All because you want to date her?”

  He glared at me. “No. It’s much bigger than that now. I think…” He moved restlessly. “I think it’s a sort of pathology with her. I like her a lot and I think she deserves to be set free from this obsession. You know what I mean?”

  I did know what he meant. People and their obsessions were endlessly complicating the world. If only there was a way to give everyone a big dose of common sense, we’d all be better off.

  “Does Nigel know you’re doing this?”

  He shook his head. “He doesn’t like me to talk to him about this stuff. But we’ve all talked it to death anyway over the last few months. He’s talked to her, I’ve talked to her, even Marguerite talked to her. It’s just not even a possibility. Oh sure he dated her mother back in the old days, but that was over by the time I was born, and I’m almost a year older than she is. There’s just no way.”

  “So you’re getting a DNA test on Sandy to prove it to her. Make it all official.”

  “Yup.” He nodded happily.

  I almost laughed but I managed to control myself, and as he began to walk off, I called after him.

  “Hey Jeremy. What are you going to do if the test proves that she is your sister after all?”

  “Can’t happen,” he said with a cocky grin. “See you later.”

  I took a deep breath and let it back out again as I watched him go. I sure hoped that his confidence was justified.

  And then it occurred to me that his motive for getting her proven to be not Nigel’s progeny might have a deeper root. Hadn’t Sandy told me he was anxious about having to share his inheritance with another sibling if Nigel produced one? Oh Jeremy! That made me laugh.

  Chapter 15

  I very carefully avoided Roy. I knew he was probably in his office, so I went toward the cell area by the back way. The desk clerk let me sign in and go right to the room and then Carlo was led in.

  He looked awful, all wizened and drawn, like an apple left
out in the hot sun. I hated seeing him like that.

  “Carlo, no!” I said as we sat in our chairs across the table from each other. “You shouldn’t let this get to you so badly. They haven’t charged you yet. Keep the faith.”

  He shrugged hopelessly. “It’s coming. I can feel it. I’m doomed.”

  “Doomed?”

  “Doomed. Tonight once again I cannot go to my beautiful restaurant and prepare the wonderful food I have promised to make for the people. I can’t cook. That is my job. I am a cook. It is a sacred honor to cook for the people who love me on the Central Coast. If I can’t cook for them, I might as well die.”

  He said it so dramatically that tears sprang into his eyes.

  “Carlo, you can’t give up like that. Stay strong. You can fight this. You have the truth on your side.”

  He sniffed back the tears. “But if no one knows I am telling the truth, what good does it do?”

  I grabbed his hands and held them. “Okay, listen. I’m working on this and I’m making progress.” I only wished I knew what that meant. “What I need from you right now is a complete explanation of exactly what happened that night. From beginning to end, I have to know everything. Every single thing.”

  “Alright. I’ll try to remember.”

  “Good.”

  “But it’s hard.”

  “It’s not that hard, Carlo. Just do it.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m thinking.”

  “Good.” I waited. He was still thinking. “Go ahead any time.”

  He looked up at me. “Alright. I’m ready.”

  I held back my impatient snarl. “Go,” I said, urging him on.

  He sighed. “I made the tiramisu…”

  “What did you make it out of? Where did you get the ingredients?”

  He gave me a look of pure disdain. “Don’t you worry. They were pure ingredients. I wanted it to be perfect for her. She’d been so mean to me and I just hoped, if I showed her how I felt, if I gave her my heart…” He held out his hand as though that vital organ was resting on his palm as we spoke. “Maybe she would begin to turn toward me.”

  Something in his pitiful words reminded me of an old country and western song about giving a girl your heart and watching “her stomp that sucker flat.” Maybe not the best idea before you are sure how you will be received.

  “Didn’t you know that she was rumored to be engaged to the owner of the restaurant that you worked for?”

  “Nigel? Oh yes. I knew all about that. But you have to understand, that was not a love match. She didn’t love him. That whole business involved some things I can’t talk about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No, I can’t say.” But still, he continued talking. “I knew her game with Nigel. I knew that wasn’t for real.”

  “Oh? What was it for then?”

  “Oh, uh… well, Marguerite was crafty and very smart. She knew how to manipulate you with information. She knew where the weak spots were and how to use them.”

  “Are you talking about…” My mind flitted through a number of things but only one word seemed to fit the bill. “Blackmail?”

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you implied…”

  “I’m not talking about anything at all. Just guessing. But what do I know?”

  I sat back sensing I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this right now. “Alright. Never mind that for now. I want to hear what happened. You made the tiramisu and put it in two pans. Did you cover them?”

  “Yes. With foil.”

  “You are sure you didn’t accidentally put the rat poison in by mistake? Maybe knocked it over or…?”

  He swore in Italian and gestured with his hands to the point that I was afraid he was going to go for my throat.

  “Okay, okay. But tell me this. Where do you keep your rat poison?”

  “Not in the kitchen. I have it outside in the back shed.”

  “And you’re sure….?”

  “I am sure. Every cook has rat poison handy, you know. It’s the bain of a cook’s life. Where there is food, there is vermin. And at our restaurant, sitting as we do with agricultural fields on one side of us and the wild on the other, of course we have rats. We have to get rid of them. They’re dirty, filthy animals and we fight a constant battle to keep them at bay.”

  “Where did you get the poison?”

  “I…I don’t remember.” He looked away guiltily.

  “Come on, Carlo. I have to know the truth if I’m going to find a way to get you out of this mess.”

  “All right. I’ll tell you the truth. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Funny how so many people didn’t seem to notice when they ask you to promise not to tell anyone else and you don’t exactly do that, but they go on as though you had. It’s as though all they need is the intent on their own part, not on yours.

  “I stole it.”

  “Stole it from whom?”

  “Gwen.”

  “Gwen?”

  He nodded. “I saw that she had some and I needed some so I took it from her back porch. It was right out there in the open.” He grimaced. “See, what you don’t understand is, Gwen is like an earth mother sort of lady. Everything she has she wants to share with those people she likes. She leaves her doors and windows open and always has food out for the taking. She leaves her tools out on the back porch, hangs an extra jacket there for anyone who is cold to use. And she tells you every time, go ahead and take what you need.”

  “So why are you hesitant about taking the poison?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’m never sure if I’m one of the people that she likes, or not. I’ve never been one of the inner family, like Sandy and Jeremy and Nigel—or even Marguerite. So I’m kind of careful, you know? I meant to tell her I took it but I just never did.”

  “What did Gwen have it for?”

  “I don’t know. For rats, I suppose.” He frowned at me as though finding that a dumb question. “You do understand how it is, don’t you? You live up the hill too. Rats are naturally there. We have to guard against them.”

  “Okay, let’s go back. You made your tiramisu. You put it into two containers.”

  “Square 8 inch pans.”

  “Okay. And you covered them with foil.”

  “Yes. To keep them fresh. They were so good. I could see that Marguerite was home. Her window was open and I could see her watching her television show. That one with the dancers and the judges? She loved that show. She told me that once she got famous, she was going to be on that show.” He sighed sadly.

  “Famous? Famous doing what?”

  He shrugged. “I think she was counting on Nigel with all his money to make her famous. That was never going to happen but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “So you went to the door.”

  “Yes. I knocked, she opened. She started to say something mean and nasty, but she saw the tiramisu and she stopped and let me in. We talked about this and that and she was eyeing my tiramisu. It always worked with her. Softened her right up. And that was when I tried to kiss her.”

  He went back over what happened next and it was just a repeat of what he’d told me before, how she’d jerked away and fallen, hitting her head on the coffee table, and then she’d ordered him out, throwing one pan of tiramisu after him.

  The tiramisu that ended up all over her little front yard. The poisoned tiramisu, the batch that didn’t get eaten. So how had Nigel been able to eat from the other pan and not be poisoned?

  “Tell me this,” I said, watching for his reaction. “Did you eat any of the tiramisu yourself?”

  He thought for a moment. “I tasted it before I put it in the pans. But not after.”

  “No reaction?”

  “No, of course not. It was fine.”

  “And you didn’t see Marguerite eat any before she kicked you out?”

  He shook his head.

  “Interesting
.” Or perhaps I should say, baffling.

  There was something else that Nigel had told us about just before we left his house in Malibu. He said they had been drinking tea. He didn’t remember if she’d made a whole pot or had used tea bags, but she’d definitely offered him tea and he’d downed that too.

  “Was she drinking tea when you went in? Did she offer you any?”

  He shook his head again.

  No tea at that point. Nigel said they’d both had tea with their plates of tiramisu. And at that point there was no reaction to poison, which there would have been if either of them had ingested any. Strange.

  I knew what I had to do next—take a good look at the scene of the crime. As always. I knew I should have done it right away. I could only hope that it hadn’t been cleaned up yet.

  And to find out about that, I had to stop by Roy’s office. He was busy but he smiled at me and motioned for me to come in.

  “Where have you been all day?” he asked.

  “Bebe and I went down to Malibu,” I told him as I slipped into a chair. “I wanted to have a talk with Nigel Champaine.”

  A slight frown appeared between his eyes. He didn’t like me sleuthing. He never really had.

  “Was it a success?” he asked.

  “Of sorts.” I looked at him frankly. “What do you think of the man? What do you know about him?”

  Roy thought for a moment. “By reputation, he’s a good business man, forceful and motivated. He’s built a small empire for himself and he likes being emperor.”

  “Ah.”

  “As for my feelings about him, I’ve only met him a few times. He seems a bit full of himself. Likes to throw his weight around. But that’s pretty much all I’ve got and that’s just from a few brief meetings. Why?”

  I gazed at him levelly. “I’ll tell you why in a minute,” I said. “But first tell me this. Is the crime scene still intact? Has anything been done to the condition it was in yesterday morning?”

  He gave me a puzzled frown and spoke quickly as though he thought I was about to accuse him of something. “No, Mele. Everything is still the way it was. Nothing has been cleaned or cleared or moved—or hidden.” He gave me a significant look at this point. “Pictures are still being taken. Experts are still studying the evidence. Police work is moving along just like it always does. Why?”