“Is Bernice Jenkinson here?” Officer Crawford asked knowingly.
“Why?” I asked warily.
“Answer my question, Mrs. Steed. Is she here or should we look for her at her residence?”
“I-I-I, uh, yes she is here,” I stammered. “She’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” Officer Crawford drawled as he strode into the kitchen with his partner.
“What’s going on?” I asked to their backsides, but they made no reply.
Nervously, I followed them into the kitchen as Aunt Bernice glanced up in surprise from her cherry cheesecake. “Oh! Officers, you startled me.”
“Apologies, ma’am,” Officer Crawford clipped.
“Are you Bernice Jenkinson?” Officer Richmond asked gravely.
“Yes, I am. Why? Is my husband okay? Did something happen?”
“As far as we know, your husband’s just fine,” Officer Crawford replied as my aunt visibly relaxed. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the mayor. As you know, he’s dead as a doornail. And you’re under arrest for his premeditated murder.”
Chapter 10
“Is this some kind of joke?” Aunt Bernice rasped. “Please tell me this is a joke!”
Like a surreal nightmare, the policemen gestured for her to put her hands behind her back. The moment she complied, they slapped a pair of handcuffs on her. Speechless, I watched the horrible scene unfold, wishing there was something I could say or do to save my relative.
“Do you have an arrest warrant?” I demanded.
“Right here,” Officer Crawford pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it up.
“The autopsy results came back yesterday,” Officer Richmond explained levelly. “Cause of death: acute cyanide poisoning.”
I felt like someone had just knocked all the wind out of me. Cyanide poisoning? Was it possible? Did Aunt Bernice really taint the chocolate batter with a deadly substance? But why? She didn’t have anything against the mayor. No, there had to be another explanation.
“How do you know that Mayor Glisson didn’t eat something else that was poisoned with cyanide? Maybe he was poisoned before he even got here!” I tossed out the theory like a football.
And Officer Crawford threw my theory right into the garbage disposal. “Not possible. Based on the timeline that the coroner established, Mayor Glisson consumed the cyanide mere moments before his death. The concentration of poison was very high. Murder was definitely the intention.”
“But I swear I didn’t poison the mayor! I wouldn’t even know where to buy cyanide!” Aunt Bernice cried.
“It’s true! Officers, you’re arresting a woman who bakes bread from scratch and crochets baby blankets in her spare time! She’s not a killer!” I protested, but the cops were unmoved.
“We just go by the facts, Mrs. Steed,” Officer Richmond said.
“Check my cabin!” Aunt Bernice urged. “Go ahead, turn the whole place upside down! You won’t find a drop of cyanide.”
“You prepared the dessert at home?” Officer Crawford raised an eyebrow.
“Yes!” She wriggled within the handcuffs’ tight grip.
“Well that makes things easier for you, Mrs. Steed. We were going to start by investigating your entire shop, but now we’ll use our other search warrant and explore the cabin in question.” Officer Crawford led Aunt Bernice out the door as humiliated tears cascaded down her face.
“Please Patsy, do something!” She begged.
“I’ll do whatever I can! Don’t worry, Aunt Bernice! I know you’re innocent!” But in fact I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe my aunt had snapped from too many brawls with her husband and too many monotonous years in a small town. Maybe she had simply lost her marbles and poisoned poor old Mayor Glisson.
Innocent until proven guilty. The words reverberated in my mind as I resolved to put aside my nagging suspicions and quest after the truth. For an agonizing evening, I had wrongly believed that my husband was missing, possibly even dead. I couldn’t jump to conclusions about Aunt Bernice. All I could do was get to the cabin before the police officers did and conduct my own rogue investigation.
***
I fidgeted outside the log cabin waiting for Uncle Phil to answer the door. He gave me a look of huffy impatience as the door creaked open. “Patsy. I hate to sound like a broken record but, now what?”
“Well I hate to be the one to bring you bad news,” I said sincerely. “But Aunt Bernice has been arrested!”
“Arrested?” He muttered gruffly.
“Yes! The autopsy report came back and apparently the mayor died of cyanide poisoning. The cops are sure that Aunt Bernice did it and they’re taking her to jail right now!” My emotions threatened to overtake me as I envisioned my petite, elderly aunt locked in the same cell as vile criminals.
“Taking her to jail?”
“Yes!” I didn’t know if the man was in shock or had taken a horse tranquilizer, but his heavy-lidded reaction was oddly calm. “Not only that, but the cops have a search warrant for your cabin! They’re going to come here and look for a bottle of cyanide.”
“Are they? Well let them look.” He shrugged. “They’re not going to find anything.”
“No, of course they’re not,” I said gently. “Are you going down to the police station now? Maybe we can bail Aunt Bernice out.”
“She’ll have to appear before a judge first. They’re not going to set bail an hour after they arrest her.”
“Oh you’re right! Then maybe Aunt Bernice is going to have to spend the night in jail!”
“No doubt about it. She certainly is.” His lips curled into an enigmatic sneer.
“Well why don’t you head over to the jail and give her some moral support at least?” I coaxed, eager to have a few minutes to myself to scope out the cabin.
“Maybe I’ll go in the morning. I’m a little tired today. Not feeling very well. Got a bad case of heartburn.” He pointed to his chest and then inexplicably shut the door.
Gape-mouthed, I stared at the closed door, feeling like I was a guest star in an episode of The Twilight Zone. “What just happened?” I muttered.
Shaking my head, I got back in my car and headed towards the municipal complex. One block away from my destination, I received an ecstatic text message from Ron:
Babe, I’m back! The car just dropped me off. Hurry home! Love you!
Tires screeched as I made an abrupt three-point turn in the middle of the road. Nothing could trump my need to see my husband again and hold him in my arms. Not even a murder investigation. Faster than Roadrunner, I sped home and climbed the curb in my haste to park in the driveway. Flying out of the car, I fumbled with my house key and opened the door.
Chapter 11
“Patricia!” Ron set down the iced tea he was drinking and ran to me.
Twirling me around in his arms, he planted a tender kiss on my mouth and gazed magically into my eyes. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too. You have no idea,” I whispered.
“I don’t know about you, but I could go for some dinner! How about we cook it together?” His burnt sienna eyes glowed.
“I’d love that sweetie, but I’ve got a big problem on my hands,” I sighed.
“What’s going on? Is it about the mayor’s death?” Ron’s full lips stiffened in a worried frown.
“Yes. His autopsy results are in. The man was poisoned with cyanide.”
“Poisoned?” Ron was flabbergasted.
“I know, it’s insane. But the worst part is that the cops think my Aunt Bernice did it and they arrested her this afternoon at the shop!” I rested my cheek against Ron’s chest as he stroked my hair.
“But that’s ridiculous! Your Aunt Bernice wouldn’t hurt a fly! And she didn’t even have a motive! What kind of shoddy investigation are they running? Is Chief Harrison involved in this?”
“I wish! Maybe he could talk some sense into these guys,” I mused.
“There’s something I�
��m not understanding, though. Who made the chocolate mousse? Your aunt? I thought that was your domain.”
“It is. But we’ve been so busy lately that I’ve been having her help me out more. She prepared the batter at home and…”
Ron’s complexion turned alabaster. “At home?”
“Yes…”
Ron retreated a few steps and blew out an astonished breath. “I knew I should have reported it!”
“Huh? Reported what?” My mind felt like a blank slate again.
“Something Phil said one day,” Ron replied ominously.
“What did he say?”
“I thought he was just joking around. I mean, he said it with a laugh when we were shooting a game of pool at the tavern…”
“Ron, what did he say?” I pressed. “Did he want to kill the mayor?”
“No, he wanted to kill his wife.”
Chapter 12
My blood froze like January icicles as Ron revealed the shocking secret. “What exactly did he say?” I felt faint.
“I don’t remember his exact words. Just some babble about killing the old bag if she made him meatloaf one more time. I swear, Patricia, he didn’t say it in a serious way or else I would have called the police! And he only said it once.” Ron’s features were etched with regret.
“But it doesn’t make sense. Aunt Bernice is not the one who was poisoned…” I trailed off as Aunt Bernice’s words in the cabin replayed in my mind. Uncle Phil suggested I have some of our top selling products ready to go. I also made some raspberry mousse at home…
Uncle Phil had convinced her to prepare the batter at home! It had been his idea! And why? Probably so he could pour the fatal cyanide into the mixture when she wasn’t looking. He must have been banking on Aunt Bernice’s sweet tooth tempting her into trying some of her own concoction. The batter wasn’t meant to leave that cabin! And neither was she…
“What’s going through your head, babe? I see the wheels turning.”
“Uncle Phil meant to kill Aunt Bernice. He poisoned the mousse batter. Mayor Glisson was just a casualty of Uncle Phil’s wrath! He wasn’t supposed to be the victim, but somehow he got caught in the middle of all this!”
“Where is that creep right now? Is he home?” Ron thundered.
“Yeah, the jerk said he had heartburn and was going to bed. Let’s ambush him! We’ll grill him until he confesses! Then Aunt Bernice can walk out of jail and he can take her place!” I felt flush with passionate vengeance.
“I’m with you. Let’s go!”
Ron and I hurried out the door, boarding his Jeep and laying out a game plan as we drove to the cabin. “Let’s just play innocent at first,” I suggested. “I’ve knocked on his door so many times over the past few days that I’m sure he won’t suspect a thing.”
“Good idea. We’ll act casual, get him comfortable, and get him to confess! Man, I’ll never forgive myself if this doesn’t work. Even now, I feel like dirt. Mayor Glisson shouldn’t have died. No one should have died!” Ron choked up.
“Don’t beat yourself up, sweetie. You had no way of knowing that Uncle Phil was serious. Ugh, I can’t even call him that anymore! He’s not my uncle! He’s just an evil slime bucket!”
“Take it easy, babe. He’s going to be an evil slime bucket in prison by the time we’re through with him,” Ron vowed as I nodded vigorously.
At the cabin, we strolled over to the front door, plastering fake smiles to our faces and trying to appear nonchalant. I knocked several times, but Phil didn’t come to the door. “Maybe he’s asleep,” I whispered in Ron’s ear.
“Well, he’s gonna have to wake up!” Ron pounded his fists against the door, but still there was no reply. There wasn’t even any movement inside the cabin to suggest that Phil was awake…or alive.
“Do you have the key?” Ron asked.
“No, unfortunately. What should we do?” As I posed the question, I heard a rustling in the back of the cabin. “Sounds like some animals are going through the trash.”
“Maybe,” Ron said doubtfully. “Let’s take a look.”
Creeping around the side yard, we arrived behind the cabin as our jaws shot open simultaneously. Someone was rustling through the garbage, but it wasn’t wild animals. It was Phil!
“Phil!” Ron boomed as the old man convulsed with fright.
“What are you doing here? Trying to spook me on my own property?” He demanded as he affixed a hand over his heart.
“What are you doing over there?” Ron countered. “Throw something out by accident?”
“Er, yeah, I did.” Phil’s eyes roved and his nose twitched. “Tossed a baseball card. Collector’s item. Worth a fortune.”
“Really?” Ron called him out. “Which team?”
“Er, team? Uh, the Yankees.”
“The Yankees.” Ron chuckled without humor. “Never knew you were a fan. Kind of unusual for a backwoods Montana man to support a New York team.”
“Huge fan,” Phil nodded unconvincingly.
“Which player?” Ron probed.
“Who else? Babe Ruth,” Phil answered quickly as he dug his mitts back into the trash bag.
“You’re right. That could be worth a fortune,” Ron whistled.
“Yeah, maybe you could use some of that money to bail Aunt Bernice out of jail,” I said slyly. “Or better yet, use it to bail yourself out.”
“What on earth are you babbling about?” Phil snapped as I stubbornly stood my ground.
“You know,” I said plainly, all notions of making casual conversation with the creep hurled out the window.
“No, I don’t know,” Phil muttered. “You should keep your woman in line, Ron.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that!” Ron barked.
Ignoring us both, Phil plunged his hand back into the bag and retrieved a small object. Hiding it in the palms of his hands, he walked towards the front yard.
“Is that the cyanide?” I challenged. “Trying to get rid of the evidence?”
“If he is, then it’s too late,” Chief Harrison appeared like an apparition of the night as I sighed with instant relief. Tall, broad, and mustached, the veteran cop clearly had an ace up his sleeve.
“Can I have a look at what you’ve got there?” Chief Harrison asked.
“No.” Uncle Phil moved a few paces away from the authority figure.
“That wasn’t a yes or no question. That was a rhetorical question,” Chief Harrison said frankly.
“Do you have a search warrant for my property?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Now open up your hands before I arrest you for hindering a criminal investigation.”
Slowly, obstinately, Phil peeled his hands open and revealed a tiny glass bottle with a white label taped to the front. “Cyanide,” Chief Harrison read. “Why am I not surprised? I had a talk with your wife down at the jailhouse and she seemed to think that you wanted her dead.”
Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection) Page 4
