by Liz Mugavero
“I sure do,” Stan said.
“So I was coming inside to get Michelle. Or leave her, if she didn’t want to leave. Then I was going to go home and write my resignation letter.” He smiled a crooked smile. “I was never as good as you with money, but I had enough. Thought maybe I’d take a three-month sabbatical to Thailand or something. I’ve always wanted to travel the world.” His face twisted into a grimace. “Guess that dream’ll never come true now.”
“Richard! Don’t say that,” Stan said. “They’re going to figure out who did this. I know they are. Don’t give up. Promise you won’t give up. Listen. I’m not the only one who thinks you’re innocent.” She leaned forward earnestly. “Whoever posted your bail certainly thinks you are. Who posted it, anyway?” She’d intended to be more subtle with that question, but it just blurted out.
He looked at her, head tilted slightly. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
“You don’t know? How could you not know?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It was cash. They didn’t tell me who it was when they let me out, just said I’d made bail.”
Stan sat back, trying to process that. Richard had an anonymous donor with that much cash on hand?
He looked like he was about to say something else, but it was lost when Nutty jumped into his lap. Nutty settled in and began kneading lightly on his leg. Stan held her breath. Richard never cared much for Nutty. Or any animal, for that matter.
But today, he reached down and stroked the cat. “I take it that means you think so, too? Thanks for believing in me, Nutty.” He glanced back at Stan. “I never did find Tony’s cat. I feel bad about that.”
“Don’t. The animal control officer trapped him. He’s totally fine and back home.” She smiled. “I have to say, I’m impressed that you gave the cat a second thought.”
“Yeah. You taught me well.”
Chapter 52
Stan followed Richard out to the porch. She stood there for a long time after he drove away, then went back to her car with a renewed sense of purpose. Richard hadn’t killed Eleanor, but he’d pay for it if they couldn’t figure out who did. Caitlyn was probably dying of suspense, but she didn’t have time to go fill her in. She had a murder to solve.
Her phone rang as she got back in her car. She didn’t recognize the number and answered warily, figuring the media had tracked her down.
“Stan, it’s Garrett Colby.”
“Garrett!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you called.” She was. Finally, someone who might know what was going on with Jessie, since she still hadn’t heard from Jake.
“Not as glad as I am that you’re hosting a fundraiser for me and Rosie,” Colby said. “Jessie told me it’s tomorrow at the vet clinic. Rosie and I are so excited. Is there anything I can do to help you out?”
“No,” Stan said. “Just show up with Rosie and be ready to do some demos and introduce her, talk about her training, what she does, all that good stuff.”
“You got it,” Colby said. “If you think of anything else, just give me a call.”
“Will do. Is this the best number to reach you?”
“It is. Or try me in the town hall office.”
“You’re at the town hall office? Terrific. Is Jessie there? I’ve been trying to call her.”
Silence.
“Garrett?”
“She’s not.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
He hesitated. “I’m not expecting her back.”
“You mean this afternoon? Is she off?”
“Sort of,” Colby said.
Stan swallowed against the bad feeling rising in her throat. “What’s going on, Garrett? Where’s Jessie?”
“I can’t believe she hasn’t told you,” he muttered.
Her stomach twisted into a vicious knot. “Told me what?”
Colby sighed. When he spoke again his voice sounded funny. “Jessie’s been suspended. The captain asked me to take over in town for the time being.”
* * *
Stan sat in stunned silence in her car after Colby hung up. Suspended? Had someone found out they’d been looking into this further? She had to call Jake, but the phone rang in her hand first. Another unrecognizable number. “Hello.”
“It’s me,” Jessie said.
“Jess! Thank God. Where are you? Colby said—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “Don’t worry about it. Can you and Jake meet me somewhere? Somewhere the whole town won’t hear us.”
“Izzy’s back room,” Stan said immediately. It wasn’t lost on her that was one of Eleanor’s last haunts in town. “When?”
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll call Jake. He’s out looking for you.”
“He was never that great of a detective,” Jessie said, and hung up.
* * *
Stan called Jake first and told him to meet her, fending off his million questions. Then she called Izzy and asked if they could borrow her room.
“Use it for as long as you need to,” Izzy said. “I’ll tell Jana. I’m heading over to the bookstore. Your sister is coming to help me.”
“My sister?” Stan asked.
“Yeah. She found a playgroup for Eva and now she’s looking for something to do before she goes to the clinic later. It works out perfectly because I have some shelves up and I need books stocked. And she’s going to help me sketch out some displays.”
Stan shook her head and hung up as Jake climbed out of his truck and walked over.
“What?”
“My sister’s turning into quite the little helper. She’s working at the bookstore with Izzy today.”
“It’s good for her. She’s a good kid, Stan.”
“I know. I’m just . . . not used to this Caitlyn.”
“People change.”
Yes, they do. She thought about Richard, his soul-searching and ultimate decision. She hoped, once this mess was over, that he stuck to it and found real happiness.
When they got inside, Jessie already waited in the back room with coffees and pastries—and Scott. He lifted his hand in a sheepish wave.
Stan looked from Scott to Jessie to Jake. “What’s going on?”
“It better be good,” Jake said, eyes on Scott.
Jessie shot her brother a look. “Sit and eat something,” she said. “Izzy insisted they serve us.” She turned to Stan. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. I got my behind handed to me by Captain Quigley—you heard I got suspended—but I’d already asked a friend to run that plate at the DMV. So I went over to see my friend. As a civilian, of course.”
“But why are you so blasé about being suspended?” Stan demanded.
“I’m not. But I’m dealing with one thing at a time. And when my friend ran that plate and the only other possible combination in Connecticut registered to a red car like the one you described was out in Danbury, I went looking for our friend here.” She indicated Scott. “And now he’s going to tell you why he was at Tony Falco’s house the other night.”
Stan whipped her head around and eyed Scott. “It was you picking up Monica.”
He nodded.
“Did Monica kill her mother?” Stan asked.
Scott’s mouth dropped open. “What? Is that what you think?”
“We don’t know what to think,” Jake said. “But we don’t want our little sister involved, whatever it is. So how do you know this girl?”
Scott toyed with his coffee cup but didn’t drink. He looked troubled.
Jessie nudged him. “Go ahead. I already told you this would stay confidential.” She looked at Jake and Stan. “I promised. Not a word outside of this room.”
Stan had to refrain from pounding on the table in frustration. “Will someone tell us, already?”
Scott held up a hand. “I’m telling you. But this is a breach of privacy for Monica, so you can’t discuss this with anyone.”
“You were counseling her,” Stan said, th
e light finally dawning.
Scott nodded slowly. “I worked with Monica in my last job. I worked solely with addicts. She’d just come out of a special rehab program and the counseling was part of her release. She’d had a really rough time and . . .” He hesitated. “Her family life wasn’t helping. Her mother didn’t understand her illness. She wanted Monica to pick up where she’d left off. Be sorry for all the trouble she caused and work hard to make up for it.” A look of disgust crossed his face. “It caused Monica a lot of anxiety. Anyway, I worked with her until I took this new job, and it seemed like she was on the right track.”
“But she had a relapse,” Stan said.
“Unfortunately, yes. Her mother freaked out, Monica left home. When she turned up she was in pretty bad shape. They got her back into treatment, but she didn’t hit it off with her counselor. She started calling me again. She’d kept my phone number. I never changed it, job to job, because . . . if someone needed me I always wanted to help, if I could. Anyway, she called me. I tried to convince her to give this new person a shot. It’s not good to be dependent on one person. You start looking at them like a savior or something. But she wouldn’t do it. Said she wouldn’t do counseling at all. So I started having unofficial sessions with her once a month. Her mother found out and called me. Offered me almost another year’s salary to work with her consistently, outside of my regular job.” He paused. “Social workers don’t make any money. I accepted the offer.”
Stan poured some coffee and sat back. “So theoretically, you were working for Eleanor.”
Scott set his jaw. “I did it for Monica.”
“But you had to answer to her mother,” Jake said.
“Yes and no. She grilled me after every session, sure. But I told her from the outset that everything Monica told me was confidential.”
“Eleanor didn’t like that,” Stan guessed.
“No. But too bad for her.”
Stan looked at Jessie, trying to read her. Jessie had her cop face on, letting Scott explain. She turned back to Scott. “Monica got very defensive with me when I asked her if she was drinking Saturday.”
“She was also taking pills,” Scott said grimly. “And obviously would want to deny it. Her mother would’ve killed her.” He grimaced at his choice of words. “Sorry. When she called me to come get her, I could tell right away she was using. When she told me what happened I honestly thought she was hallucinating.”
“What did she say when she called you?” Stan asked. “She used my phone, but I couldn’t hear anything.”
“She said someone killed her mother. That she was in Frog Ledge. I didn’t know her mother worked with Tony. Monica never mentioned that, so I was really confused about why she would be there. She told me where she was. I asked her if she’d been doing drugs and she said yes, but she was very adamant about her story.”
“So you came to get her,” Jake said. “Funny how it didn’t take you long.”
Scott met his gaze, unflinching. “I was at your pub. With Brenna and a hundred other people. Helping in the kitchen.”
Jake looked at Jessie. She nodded. “I have witnesses. You think I wouldn’t check that out?”
“Monica was back here yesterday,” Stan said. “Were you meeting her?”
“No.”
“She came to file a police report about her missing purse,” Jessie said.
“Yeah, she did say her purse went missing. I think she was freaked out because she had a stash of pills in it.” Scott hesitated. “And because of Pastor Ellis. I thought she just misplaced it, but so weird no one found it and turned it in.”
“Wait. Why would she freak out because of Pastor Ellis?” Jake asked.
“Pastor Ellis does a lot of work with addicts. He volunteers tons of time up in the Hartford area. We’ve worked together often. We actually worked together on Monica. Pastor Ellis talked to me about the special pilot program and I suggested Monica for it.”
“So he knew Eleanor, too,” Stan said.
They were all quiet.
“I guess he would’ve met her,” Scott said. “But I really don’t know.”
“Scott.” Stan took a deep breath. “Are you sure Monica didn’t . . .”
“No.” He shook his head, adamant. “Monica’s a sweet kid. The only person she’s ever hurt is herself.”
“Did you ask her if she had any idea who did this?” Stan asked.
“I did. She said she didn’t know.” He met her gaze again, and his own was troubled. “But like I told Jessie, she said something like ‘If my mother had just let him fire her this wouldn’t have happened.’”
Jake frowned. “Let who fire her? Tony?”
Scott shrugged. “Had to be. Who else would she be working for down here?”
Chapter 53
Curtis Wallace did his accounting on the second floor of a dilapidated building on Main Street in Bloomingfield, one of the towns bordering Frog Ledge. Stan’d never visited, and hoped she’d never have to again. From what she could tell, Main Street was in serious need of some TLC. The burrito place on one side looked like it specialized in E. coli, and the storefront windows on the other side had boards across them.
She found a parking spot right away across the street and hurried into the lobby. Opting for the stairs instead of an elevator that looked like it could plummet her to her death, she hurried upstairs and into the office.
A receptionist talking on her cell phone looked up, annoyance crossing her face at the interruption. While she waited, Stan took in the dirty white walls and carpet desperately in need of an upgrade. The wall art was old and faded, all drab colors and historical depictions of the Revolutionary War, a big piece of this area’s history.
The receptionist switched to Spanish, said a few more words, then put the phone down. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone bored.
“I’m looking for Curtis Wallace,” Stan said.
She picked up the phone and jabbed a couple of buttons with a long nail. “Someone to see you,” she said, then hung up and began playing with her phone again.
Curtis Wallace came out a minute later, his face expectant, his bow tie askew. Must be a tough day in the office. When he saw Stan, he looked confused. “Ms. Connor,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, please,” Stan said.
When she didn’t say more, he motioned her to follow him. His office was the size of a large walk-in closet, and the decor was similar to the waiting area. She pulled out a mismatched chair in front of his desk and sat.
“Are you looking for a new accountant for your business?” he asked. “Or do you have IRS issues?”
“Neither,” Stan said. “I wanted to ask you about Tony Falco and why you’re so interested in removing him from office.”
That wiped away the smirk. He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “Why? Did your mother send you?”
Stan leveled her best ice queen stare at him. “I’m not an errand girl. I’m here because I live in Frog Ledge and I’m interested in knowing why your position changed on the mayor.”
“People change their minds. So what?” Wallace said.
“You were his strongest supporter.”
Wallace shrugged. “I smartened up. I supported him because my brother asked me to. They were friends. But I soon learned he’s all talk.”
“Your brother?”
“Tony,” Wallace said through gritted teeth. “Matthew and Tony were law school friends. Matthew said he was the real thing and asked me to help him. So I suggested he run for mayor and helped with his campaign. Live and learn.”
“So what did he drop the ball on that made you so mad?”
He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of his desk. “Young lady. I don’t understand why you came all the way out here to talk about this, but if you must know, I’m a proponent for farming. Our town has deep agricultural roots, and those shouldn’t be tossed away lightly. We’re getting further and further a
way from those roots with every trendy storefront that opens up.”
Stan bristled. She hadn’t been called “young lady” since she was sixteen, and she certainly wasn’t going to put up with it from this presumptuous, bow-tied big mouth. And she was pretty sure those “trendy storefronts” he referred to would include her own shop. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, though she wasn’t sorry at all. “But I think many people in town would disagree with you. Change isn’t a bad thing, as long as those people who still want to farm are being supported. And a smart leader would understand that. New shops bring new people, which could benefit the farmers.” She thought of Emmalee Hoffman and the milk, cheeses, and homemade candies on which she turned a profit. Her business grew when college students and families spilled into town because of Izzy’s café.
But Wallace didn’t want to hear it. “Well. I don’t choose to support those places, Ms. Connor. And I’ll continue to advocate for what’s best for our fine town. I think what happened Saturday was disgraceful, and another smudge on Frog Ledge. Tony should be accountable for that. Now if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.” He turned back to his computer, dismissing her.
“If you’re such a fan of Frog Ledge,” Stan asked, “why isn’t your office there?”
Wallace sent her a withering look, but didn’t answer.
Stan shrugged and remained seated until Wallace turned back to her, exasperated. “What?” he demanded.
“That’s a pretty big leap to accusing him of murder,” Stan said.
His eyes narrowed into slits. “I did no such thing.”
“Maybe you were too drunk to remember, but Sunday you were at the pub and said it was suspicious that he was missing when Ms. Chang died.”
Wallace chuckled. “Therein lies the problem, Ms. Connor. Regrettably, you’re correct. I’d had too much to drink and don’t even remember what I said, to be honest. So I wouldn’t put much stock in whatever it was. At the end of the day, it was Tony’s house, so whatever happened he’s not completely blameless.”
