by Jean Flowers
“I’m sorry you’re being held up on your plans,” I said.
“It’s okay. Thanks for checking, Cassie. There’s always plan B. I’ll just have to stick around until Monday when the bank opens.”
And Officer Ross Little might get the rest of the weekend off from following me.
On the way home, I wondered if it had occurred to Cliff that Jules might have more than one reason for skipping town.
* * *
I arranged it so that my evening check-ins with Linda and Quinn would be early, and all about them. The day had brought too much strain to my brain. Starting at the farmers’ market with Reggie on the offense, through several quilters with mixed results, and ending with a runaway accountant who might also be a murderer. I needed time away from the stress of a homicide investigation. It was hard to believe I’d asked for it.
Linda obliged me by talking about a new work project, updating a collection for the National Postal Museum in Washington, D.C. (“Everything is getting digitized these days.”)
“How about that postal inspection job?” I asked.
“I’m still thinking about it, but when I mentioned it casually to Buzz he indicated that I shouldn’t make a move without talking to him first. It will be worth my while, blah, blah, blah. So I think I’m in for something bigger around here, which would be easier in the long run.”
“I’m glad they appreciate you.”
“And to test flexibility theory, by the way, I’m going to take a long weekend and head out there on Friday morning,” she said. “I should be there in time to take you to lunch.” She paused and I knew what was coming. “North Ashcot does have places to eat lunch, doesn’t it?”
I’d long ago decided that, rather than letting it annoy me, I’d have fun with Linda’s mocking of small towns. “I’ll talk to the town council before you get here,” I said.
“You know I’m really coming to meet your mystery man,” she reminded me.
Linda had visited only twice in my year here, both of us preferring that I visit her and our posse, as we called our group of friends, in Boston instead. Quinn had been out of town both times, leading her to joke that I’d made him up. I promised that this time he’d be around, though maybe unrecognizable in a Colonial costume.
“Kidding,” I shouted, before she lost her breath in a gasp.
When it was Quinn’s turn on Skype tonight, I could tell he was tired. But he came to life describing his Saturday purchases: an Etruscan shell pitcher, a pair of mother-of-pearl opera glasses, and a silver gravy ladle one of his regular customers had been asking for. The latter was easy to unpack and he held it up to show me.
“No monos,” he said, testing my skills at antique-aficionado shorthand.
“No monogram,” I said. I was proud that I’d remembered his tutelage, but embarrassed to admit that I’d forgotten whether that made the ladle more or less valuable.
“I can’t wait to shower in my own bathroom,” he said, turning his laptop so I could see what might have been the world’s tiniest bathroom. He turned the camera back on himself and grinned. “Oh yeah, and to see you.”
I grinned back. “I might be around.”
After an hour of happy talk with my two favorite people, I was ready for a nap. All that stood in the way as I tried to nod off were images of me, chasing after Jules Edwards, looking for a weapon. In the half dream, the only weapon I could find was a stamp with raised letters. CANCELLED.
I needed to get out more.
18
Sunni showed up at my house around seven, as promised. I had hopes that this one-on-one meeting with the chief of police would accomplish what my fitful nap hadn’t: a clear path forged through the week’s accumulation of fact and gossip, thus curing my headache.
Knowing by now that Sunni would never be the first to share her findings, and not wanting to be accused of holding back, I wasted no time. I decided to fill in the gaps from the first of the week, assuring her it was just an oversight that I hadn’t told her about the theft of Cliff’s files from my car and that, while I appreciated the attention given to my safety, I was sure I didn’t need to be a line item in her budget.
She smiled, not budging, except to fold her arms across her chest. “What’s up with that first threatening note?”
“It wasn’t exactly threatening.”
“What’s up with it?”
“I tore my desk apart and couldn’t find it.”
“You think it was stolen? To rattle you, maybe?”
I shrugged, not wanting to say out loud that it certainly did rattle me. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure I put it in my middle drawer. But no one else has a key except Ben and he never goes into the desk drawers.”
“It’s not that hard to bypass locks and keys if someone is determined.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Do you remember anything about the paper or the handwriting? Was everything the same as with the second note?”
“Except that there was no envelope the second time. Otherwise, they were both on paper you can buy anywhere.”
“Okay, let’s put that aside for now. Tell me about the rest of your day.”
“You mean Ross didn’t tell you everything?”
“I’m listening.”
I moved on to the events of today while I made coffee, leaving her on the rocker in the living room. I began with my spontaneous talk with Reggie at the market, then reported on my interactions with Fran, Liv, Molly, and Terry.
“Fran brought up an argument Daisy had with Jules in the bank, but I didn’t think to ask if she knew what it was about or when it occurred. Dumb, right?”
“Go on,” Sunni said, not disabusing me of my self-assessment.
“Liv is the only one who gave me specifics about her alibi,” I said, relaying it in more pleasant tones than Liv herself had used with me. “Molly—”
“Molly came by the station after you talked to her.”
“What will happen to her? Is what she did . . . ?” I didn’t even know what to ask.
“Criminal? We’ll figure it out. I want to thank you for encouraging her to come forward. I’m not sure she would have without your urging. Anything more from the others?”
It was hard not to allow myself a moment of pride. My day hadn’t been a complete waste. It was also clear that I wasn’t going to be made privy to the outcome of Molly’s confession.
I outlined the stories and rumors that hinted of trouble in the Harmons’ marriage, especially in Terry’s outpourings. “I believe the tension was all about Daisy’s activism and how it might hurt the fabric shop business. No one said Cliff had any personal issues with his wife or vice versa. I can’t bring myself to take him seriously as a killer,” I admitted.
“The first thing an investigator has to do is put aside personal feelings,” Sunni said.
“And the second?”
“She has to pay attention to her gut. And sometimes those two things have to be reversed.”
My confusion lasted only a moment as Sunni broke into a broad smile. “It sounds contradictory, I know, but that is the job.”
“Okay,” I said, with new appreciation for my simple job of handling the mailing needs of a town with a population of three thousand.
Sunni accepted her cup of coffee and I took a seat opposite her in my living room. Her posture said she was waiting for me to finish before giving me any information.
I covered everything I could think of, including the quasi-secret citizens’ meeting last evening, but saved the Jules escape story for last. From her expression, I gathered that Sunni had not yet heard about Cliff’s immediate money problems and the reason for them. Cliff was much better at alerting the police to my crises than to his own.
“Hmm,” she said. “Does Cliff receive regular paperwork from Jules?”
I shook my
head. “From what I understand, Daisy handled the finances. Cliff has only what Jules gave him at the brief meeting the three of us had yesterday. Nothing substantial, which is why I suggested an outside audit. Now I can’t help thinking that’s what scared Jules away. And what if he’s the one who attacked Daisy? I might have put Cliff in danger. I might have—”
“First, let’s not do might-haves. Let’s stay with what we know.”
“But isn’t it looking like Jules was embezzling?” I asked. “We know he and Daisy argued. His taking off like this just makes it more likely that he’s guilty.”
“We can’t jump to that conclusion. He’s an adult, and not technically missing yet. I’ll have to talk to Cliff and find out exactly what Jules has reported as far as the financials go, and when.”
“Can you look around Jules’s house and office?”
“It’s not that simple, Cassie. But given the circumstances, I think I can make a case for it.”
“You can’t just go to his place? Hasn’t he been a murder suspect all along?”
“Not officially. I have no evidence that suggests Jules was involved in Daisy’s death.” She looked at me sideways. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
“Just my gut that I’m supposed to be listening to.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Touché. I know Jules. I know he can be short with people, and condescending to say the least. But that’s half the people in the town. It doesn’t make them criminals, let alone killers.”
“Half the people? Really?”
“That might be an exaggeration.”
“Tough day?”
“The last person I pulled over this afternoon, a lawyer, told me his intern makes more in his summer job than I do all year.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“And I can’t count the number of times I get ‘I pay your salary, you know,’ or the variation, ‘You work for me.’”
“I get that sometimes, too,” I said.
We moved off the “my job is worse than yours” routine and got back to Jules Edwards, fugitive accountant.
“What I don’t understand is why he’d embezzle from a small-town fabric shop. How much could he be making from that?” I asked. “Maybe he’s been cheating other clients in town also?”
“We’ll know soon enough when we check his roster. But don’t think it’s just a million-dollar score that’s attractive to someone who deals with other people’s money. And it’s not always the finance people. I remember a case where the crook was the director of a library in a small town not far from here. One of the employees got suspicious about some billings and it turned out that for years the director had been skimming. Nothing big, but he had recarpeted his house and was on a buying spree for a new living room set, mega speakers for his stereo, fancy kitchen appliances, that kind of thing.”
“Instead of books for the library?” I made a note to rethink my charitable donations for the rest of the year.
“Uh-huh. Or instead of the ten new chairs in his budget, he’d buy six and put the rest of the money toward a new flat-screen for himself. Instead of a new printer for the office, he’d buy one for his home. That kind of thing.”
“It hardly seems worth the risk.”
“Some people like the risk, and for someone who’s into cheating, he’ll take what he can get. It’s like gambling. Even a small score can be satisfying.”
I still had a lot to learn about what motivated people.
Eventually, Sunni owned up to wanting dinner. “Where’s all the stuff from your trek to the farmers’ market this morning?” she asked.
I showed her the new cutting board I’d bought from a woodworker and pointed to a new plant on my kitchen counter. “It came with papers certifying that it’s pest-free,” I said.
“It’s a good thing I have a couple of bags of real groceries in my car.”
“I was kidding. I also bought fresh cauliflower and goat cheese, grass-fed beef, and homemade bread.”
“Glad to hear it. And as luck will have it, there’s dessert in my car,” she said. “I’ll bring it in. Then I’ll make some calls to get started on Jules’s profile while you whip up something we can call a main course.”
“Deal.”
I gave my hands and eyes to dinner and trained my ears on Sunni’s side of her phone conversations once she’d returned. I heard her efficient delegation of look-up tasks to whoever was on duty. I was pleased to hear words like “warrant” and “search” in the mix. My eavesdropping was interrupted by a call to my own cell phone. I dug it out of my pocket. Cliff’s name came up. I looked at Sunni, a reflex, and turned my back to her as I slid the phone on and heard Cliff’s voice.
“I was going to drop in, but then I saw the chief’s car outside your house,” he said.
“You can join us,” I said, hoping the opposite.
“I don’t think so, but I wanted to tell you I got a look around Jules’s office a little while ago.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, I figured it would be forever until the chief got all the paperwork approved. Especially since she’s now having dinner with you.”
I chose “no comment” on the half joke. “How did you manage it?”
“Pete and I go way back and I’ve done a few favors for him lately. Like, his hardware store got broken into last year and I stepped in for security while he was trying to put the place back together. It wasn’t hard to talk him into letting me have a quick look upstairs today. It’s his building after all. He’s the landlord.”
Not the strongest defense. “That was not a good idea,” I said, imagining charges of tampering with evidence, corrupting the chain of custody of anything that might otherwise have been useful. I kept my voice low, but I had a feeling Sunni was listening and I’d have some explaining to do.
“I didn’t touch anything. Pete can tell you. He stayed there the whole time. I was just trying to see if there was anything obvious, you know. In plain sight.”
“In case Jules left a blank check sitting on the table, made out to you?”
Cliff chuckled. “Or a big ledger book with a clear bottom line. As if he’d leave anything like that behind. But I’m kind of desperate here.”
I wanted to know if he’d gotten anything useful from his questionable snooping. Aware of Sunni close by, I chose my words carefully. “How did the trip work out?” I asked.
“I think Jules is in the wind, Cassie. I think I can kiss my money good-bye. Maybe he printed out a jet plane on that fancy three-D contraption he has, and flew away.” He blew out a breath that sounded like despair. Otherwise, I might have laughed at the image of a 747 taking shape in the little cube in Jules’s office.
“Did you check his filing cabinets? Are all his files gone?”
I didn’t see how they could be, since Pete had mentioned that Jules had left the building with only one suitcase.
“I didn’t check any of the drawers. The only things still around were a couple of pillows on the sofa and the mugs on the coffee bar. But everything looked bare on the surfaces, like on his desk and conference table, which was always piled high with papers. It looked like he might have swept everything into his bag. What we need is for the chief to go in there official-like and figure it out. Open drawers and stuff.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, taking that as a request.
I signed off with Cliff and found Sunni at my side. I cleared my throat, ready to report.
“So, Cliff got into Jules’s apartment?”
“His office.” I gave her a questioning look. “How did you even know it was Cliff on the phone?” I’d been careful not to use his name. “Is there some X-ray vision that comes with the badge?”
“Oh yeah. Either that or I saw him drive by when I picked up the cake from my car.”
“Of course.
” I pretend-wiped my brow. “You’re only human, after all.”
“I’ve already cleared an authorized search with another member of our justice system, who works on weekends.”
“For less salary than an intern in a law office.”
“Right.”
Dinner was remarkably free of shop talk. Or anything substantive. Sunni wondered why we hadn’t been going to the Knox Valley Farmers’ Market all summer.
“I’ve never been a foodie,” I admitted, and told her about one Boston friend who’d go to great lengths to find just the right tomato for a Caprese sandwich and who refused to eat a pepper that wasn’t homegrown.
I imagined someone observing the scene at my kitchen table, hearing our conversation and reading little bubbles over our heads, with what we were thinking. He’d be able to see cogs and wheels in action in both our minds. My machine would be wishing I could go to Jules’s home immediately and tear it apart for clues. Sunni probably saw ahead to when she could write “case closed” on the murder of one of the people she’d sworn to protect and serve.
* * *
Was it mere coincidence that my doorbell rang ten minutes after Sunni left? Or had Cliff been sitting nearby in his car waiting till the coast was clear? My vote was for the latter.
“Hey, Cassie,” he said. He stood on my threshold, Bruins cap in hand, as if he happened to be in the neighborhood and it was not after ten o’clock at night. “Can I come in for a little while? Just a few minutes?”
As if I could refuse him, or anyone else who looked so needy.
I poured the last of the coffee into a mug for my latest guest. “I suppose you want an update,” I said. “There isn’t much. In fact, you’re ahead of the police if you’ve already been in Jules’s office.”
“His home, too,” Cliff said. “Same as his office. I’d swear he’s not coming back. I’ll bet they won’t even get fingerprints.”
“You realize how much you’ve compromised the investigation. Any defense lawyer will say you went in to plant evidence.”
