by Raven Snow
Margo didn’t flinch. “It’s not Channel 2, ma’am. We’re not here to shove a camera in your face.”
There was silence, but this time it was a promising sort of silence. Rowen heard footsteps approach the door. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Margo and Rowen Greensmith, ma’am. We’re no fans of Channel 2 either. They have some pretty shady journalistic ethics if you ask us.” Margo was using her most polite, sympathetic-sounding voice. Rowen noted that she made a point not to mention they were also journalists. That got Beatrice to open the door at least. Margo took a step forward, putting her foot in the way of it closing. That also seemed a bit shady if you asked Rowen, but she was sly about it and Beatrice didn’t actually seem to notice.
“What do you want?” Beatrice asked, not shouting now that the door was open. The poor woman had probably seen better days. She was looking a lot older than Rowen remembered from the prison. She looked tired. Her gray hair was falling out of its up-do, and she had already changed into a nightgown and robe. It definitely didn’t look like Channel 2 was going to catch her heading out into town any time soon.
“Your side of the story,” said Margo. “We know what it’s like to be accused of crimes while there’s still an investigation going on. I don’t know if you’ve ever read the Lainswich Inquirer, but-”
“I’ve read it,” Beatrice said, interrupting. “I like that paper. You’ve done articles on my church. I liked the one you did on our Christmas fundraiser.”
Margo’s smile widened. “So you know we don’t sensationalize things like Channel 2 does.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow at that. “So, you want an interview?”
“We want to hear your side of things.”
Beatrice gave Margo a critical look. She turned her gaze to Rowen next, as if appraising her as well. Rowen had remained silent up until now. “I wrote that article about your church’s fundraiser,” she said, honestly. “I’m not about to start publishing anything that isn’t true.”
That did the trick. Beatrice stepped aside. “Come in then,” she said with a sigh. “Forgive the mess.”
The place was hardly what Rowen would call a mess. Her clothes from the day were draped over the back of a chair. There was an ironing board out and the remains of a light lunch on the coffee table. Aside from that, the place was immaculate. Rowen and Margo followed Beatrice into a living room full of pristine furniture that looked like it had come right out of the seventies. They sat together on the sofa adjacent to a tan recliner. Beatrice took a seat in the chair, rocking a bit and looking distracted. “I didn’t murder anyone,” she said after a moment.
“We have no reason to believe you did,” said Margo.
“She does.” Beatrice pointed at Rowen.
Rowen was setting up her recorder. Recording the whole conversation was a lot easier than taking notes. “You told me not to eat the food in the aluminum foil.”
Beatrice nodded. “I was told to keep an eye on that. I was supposed to make sure it went to an inmate with a wheat allergy.”
“Who has a wheat allergy?” asked Margo.
“I don’t remember. I was supposed to ask.”
“You didn’t ask me if I had a wheat allergy,” Rowen pointed out.
“Well, you didn’t look like an inmate. It was supposed to go to an inmate.”
“Fair enough.”
“We get this sheet listing food allergies when we’re cooking.” Beatrice looked in the direction of the kitchen as if she might spot the list lying around. “I can’t remember who had the wheat allergy, but I knew it wasn’t you. It wasn’t that poor Rhonda woman either, but I didn’t stop her. I was in the bathroom. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have wandered off. I should have left someone to watch it.”
“Someone would have still gotten murdered,” Margo pointed out. That seemed to soothe Beatrice a bit, but not much. “Who told you to stand guard over the food?”
“There was a note on it. We have a lot of people at our church. A lot of them cook the food but don’t volunteer to serve it. We couldn’t all fit in that little room anyway. When they make a certain food special for someone, they’ll put a note on it. I was watching over the dessert table, so…” Beatrice fidgeted in her seat. “I didn’t think anything of it.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Margo said again.
“Was Rhonda the one with the wheat allergy?” asked Rowen.
“I don’t think so.” Beatrice was staring off into space again, distracted. She shook her head, focusing on the question and looking a little surer of herself. “Actually, I know she wasn’t. She was never on the list but had a tendency to take whatever she liked, get seconds before everyone had eaten, that sort of thing. I put another note on the tin foil before I headed to the bathroom, but I imagine she ignored that. She was known to. Not that she deserved to die.”
“Of course not.” Rowen thought back to the day it had all happened. So, Rhonda almost certainly wasn’t the intended victim then. “Do you have any ideas who might have cooked the deadly dessert in question here?”
Again, Beatrice shook her head. “If I did, I would have told the police. They asked me all sorts of questions this morning. Not that they were mean about it or anything. They were all very polite and understanding. It’s those pesky Channel 2 people who won’t leave me alone.” Beatrice glared out the window where the van was just visible through the blinds. “Not that my own church is much better. They’re treating me like I’m some kind of murderer.”
“So, they can’t narrow it down?” asked Rowen, trying to steer the conversation back to what was important. “Is there a list of people from the church who normally cook or something?”
“Anyone who wants to cook cooks.” Beatrice shrugged like that was all there was to it. “We don’t keep a record of that sort of thing. People just drop off food and we serve it.”
“Your own church doesn’t believe you’re innocent?” Margo asked, steering things right off topic again.
Beatrice winced at the words. “I imagine so. No one has called me or come to speak with me. You would think someone would be here to support me. This is an awful lot to deal with, and I’ve always been so active in the church. You’d think they would return some of that now.” Rowen wasn’t sure that was how it was supposed to work, but some support for this poor woman would have been better than letting her stew alone here in her own guilt.
“Why didn’t you come forward immediately?” asked Margo. “Rowen here had to identify you to the police from security footage.”
“I was asked to. I didn’t put you forward as a suspect, just a person of interest. Reverend Byers helped too.” Rowen looked over at Margo, startled. Had it seriously been necessary to throw her under the bus like that? “The reverend didn’t think you were guilty either,” she added quickly, just in case Beatrice started thinking that the whole world was against her right about now.
Beatrice was looking progressively more uncomfortable with the questions. “I don’t know. I got scared. They had us in that waiting room for so long after the murder, I started thinking.”
“You were afraid they would blame you,” Margo concluded for her when she stopped talking.
“Of course I was,” Beatrice snapped, growing defensive. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Absolutely,” said Margo, even though Rowen knew for a fact that she likely wouldn’t. She was trying to ask some invasive questions while staying on Beatrice’s good side, Rowen realized.
It worked. They got plenty of material for an article. Margo even convinced the old lady to let her take a few pictures to go with it. When they finally headed out the front door, they were still on good terms. “You’re welcome to come on over to my place for dinner any time,” Rowen told her as they were saying their goodbyes. “It’s a judgment free zone, I promise. Plus, my husband cooks some mean spaghetti.” She didn’t like the idea of Beatrice holing up here and none of her friends coming to visit.
Beatrice s
miled. “I might take you up on that.” Her expression immediately darkened when she looked past the Greensmiths. “I’m looking forward to the article,” she said quickly before shutting the door. It was no wonder why. Rowen could already hear Julia before she had turned around.
“Stealing stories now?” Julia was standing at the end of the drive with her arms folded over her chest. Benji was nearby, looking sheepish. He’d been shooting the door when it opened. He didn’t look proud of it.
“Hassling old women?” Margo shot back. “I mean, we know you’re not above camping outside of someone’s house just for one of those ‘gotcha’ moments.”
Julia didn’t look bothered. “And I’m sure whatever article you’re cooking up isn’t fishing for attention at all. Don’t get all high and mighty with me. I know you had to smooth talk your way in there.”
Margo ignored her, which was probably the right idea. She wasn’t wrong. Rowen said as much when they were in the car. “You did sort of manipulate that poor woman into liking you.”
Margo didn’t look bothered. She only shrugged her shoulders as Rowen pulled the car away from the curb and headed back to the Lainswich Inquirer. “It got us what we needed and she didn’t seem any unhappier when we left, did she?”
“Still.”
“Still, what? It’s not like she’s wholly innocent. She sat on some important information.”
Rowen raised an eyebrow at her cousin. “And you would have done the same, right?”
Margo smirked as if to say she’d caught her there. “I’ll call Rose and let her know we have the story.”
Chapter Eight
It was late in the afternoon by the time Rowen and Margo headed through the front door of the Lainswich Inquirer. Willow had gone home, meaning Peony had returned to her desk up front. Rose was in her office again. “Ben is in there with her,” said Peony when Rowen was about to just barge in. She knocked instead.
There was some laughter on the other side of the door. “Come in,” Rose said after a moment.”
“Glad you can be so positive during a murder investigation,” Rowen teased as she headed in with Margo.
“Did you get the story?” Rose was sitting in her desk chair, her face red. Ben sat on the edge of the desk, looking utterly unconcerned with whatever Rowen might think.
Rowen produced the recorder from her purse. “Got it. You can thank Margo for getting her foot in the door. Literally.”
Margo shrugged like it didn’t matter to her either way, but she looked pleased with herself. “I’m good with people. What can I say.”
“Humble too. She’s humble.” Rowen went to stand in front of the desk. “Anyway, the whole thing was pretty straight forward, though it did raise some more questions.” At this, Rowen turned to Ben.
Ben immediately frowned, his blue eyes narrowing. “Great,” he said, flatly.
“You have Margo to thank for that too, I’m afraid.” Rowen didn’t think he was all that annoyed by her asking more questions. There was no way he wasn’t used to this by now. “So, Beatrice said the poisoned dessert was for an inmate with a wheat allergy. It sounds to me like Rhonda wasn’t the one with the wheat allergy. That dessert was meant for someone else.”
Ben nodded. “That’s our best guess here, yeah.” It didn’t sound like he was going to offer up any information willingly.
“So, have you asked at the prison yet? Who has the wheat allergy? It’s not a very crowded prison. Sounds like maybe there’s only one inmate with that particular affliction.”
Ben’s expression was stony. “I’m not really at liberty to-”
“Was it Jessica Landis?” asked Rose, beating Rowen to the punch. Darn it. She’d wanted to blurt the name. She’d had this feeling it was going to be satisfying to watch Ben react.
It was still satisfying. Maybe more so. Ben’s eyes widened, and he looked back at his girlfriend. “Great. No secrets between you guys, I guess.” He looked back at Rowen, his expression tired like he was disappointed he’d even been surprised. “I shouldn’t have sent you to talk with your grandmother.”
“So, she’s the one our mystery poisoner wanted dead.” Rowen considered that information, though she didn’t have a whole lot to go on just now. “Do you know why? What’s she in for?”
“I’m not talking about this,” Ben warned. “This sort of thing could get me into trouble. I’ve been in enough hot water recently as it is.”
That cowed Rowen a bit. “Sorry,” she said, and she was. She shouldn’t be pushing it. Ben was a nice guy. He got enough heat just doing his job and associating with a bunch of Greensmiths. He was a good Chief of Police. Rowen wanted him to keep the position for as long as he could, or as long as he wanted it anyway. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I can tell you I would rather you didn’t write about any of this.” Ben gave Rose a serious look as he spoke.
“It’s going to break eventually,” Margo pointed out. “I’d give it a day. Two at most.”
“Hold off for two days then.” Ben was silent for a moment, seeming to consider something. “Fine. Just give me until tomorrow then. We’re still working on getting in touch with the family.”
“Do you mind if we interview them right after you’re finished?” asked Rowen, thinking of the paper. It would be nice to have a huge lead on Channel 2.
Ben didn’t say anything. He just frowned at her. “Did you get any pictures?” Rose asked, steering the subject back to the recent interview with Beatrice.
Margo pulled her compact camera from her purse. “Yep. Right here.”
“Good. Take those to Peony. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Rose smiled at Margo. “I really appreciate the help. We’ve missed you around here.”
“If you say so. You seem to be getting along fine without me.” Margo looked to be actively trying to shrug off Rose’s words, but she couldn’t hide her smile as she headed out of the office.
It was about fifteen minutes before Ben left. He said his goodbyes and wished everyone well. Rose gave him a quick kiss after walking him to the door. “All right,” she said, turning back to her cousins once he was out of sight. “So, we have another person of interest in this thing.”
“Who?” asked Peony, looking lost.
Rose waved a hand. “I’ll fill you in later.” She looked at Rowen and Margo. “Are you two up for another interview in the morning?” She didn’t even have to say who she meant.
Rowen was surprised to hear Rose suggest it. “Are you sure? Didn’t Ben say –”
“Ben doesn’t need us asking him permission all the time.” Rose didn’t say it like she was dismissing her boyfriend’s concerns. She said it very seriously. “We need to be aware of how things might reflect on him. We should give him another day before we release this new info, but –”
“What new info?” Peony interrupted.
“But we can’t go consulting him on every story,” Rose continued.
Rowen supposed she understood that. Rose and Ben might be in a relationship, but they both had to keep doing their jobs. She wasn’t sure how trying to keep their work and personal lives separate like this was going to work out in practice, but that was their business. All Rowen could do was hope the people of Lainswich didn’t read too much into this. “I’m up for another interview.” Rowen looked at Margo.
Margo shrugged. “Sure. What else do I have to do?”
“It’s two interviews, actually.” Rose went to Willow’s empty desk and took a seat there.
“Two?” Rowen took a seat at her own desk. She felt some news coming on. “Who? Jessica Landis and who else?”
“The Nielson family,” said Rose.
Rowen couldn’t place that name in connection with the murder they were looking into now. “Who’s that?”
“Wasn’t their kid killed last summer?” asked Peony.
Rowen and Margo both looked at their typically scatterbrained, cousin. Even Rose looked a bit surprised. “That’s right. Sarah and Martin
Nielson lost their little girl.”
“That’s right.” Rowen wasn’t sure how she could have forgotten that. It took up a lot of headline space for a couple of months there. It was very sad stuff. The whole town had been sort of gloomy for a week. A little girl had been hit by an SUV. Skid marks indicated it had been speeding. “Are you saying… The woman who hit the kid was a Jessica… not Landis. Was her name Porter? Porter, right?”
Rose nodded. “That’s why none of us place the name at first. She got remarried in prison. It went under the radar. She was old news by then.”
“After what happened, I’d want to change my name too,” muttered Margo.
“So, this is the same woman who hit and killed a kid.” Rowen gave a low whistle. “Guess there are people with plenty of motive to kill her.”
“Why?” Peony frowned. “She didn’t do it on purpose, did she? She must feel horrible about it. I mean, I speed all the time and I don’t know how I’d feel if I hit a kid.”
Rose looked at Peony with a frown. “Don’t speed.” Knowing Rose, she was probably the only person in the whole of Lainswich who didn’t. “And, sure, she might feel bad. I imagine her family feels worse. And, depending on how big her family is, we could have a pretty big pool of suspects to wade through here.”
Rowen looked at Margo again. This sounded like more work than either of them had planned for. Margo only shrugged. “I’m game.”
Chapter Nine
Rowen did some reading up on the whole Nielson tragedy that night. There were plenty of articles about it on the internet, including the ones written for the Lainswich Inquirer. The girl had been a cute little thing with blond hair and green eyes. She had dimples and the most precious little smile. She was eight, almost nine, when she got hit. She had been playing in her front yard. No one knew why she went out into the street, but she had. That’s when Mrs. Landis’ SUV had whipped around the curb too fast. It looked like she had tried to hit the brakes, but it was too late. Stephanie Nielson was killed on impact.
