“I don’t believe it. Why would she make a decision like that at the last minute? And why lie about leaving the stall?”
The chief shook his head. “Maybe she wanted to draw our attention away from the fact that she booked so close to the day. Why would a business owner do that, Jessie?”
Jessie shook her head. “I can’t think why. We considered applying for a stall way back in June. We decided against it, but… town hall sent information packs to local businesses back then. It’s not like she didn’t know about the parade.”
“I think we’re going to have a busy day today, Jessie. I hope your aunt doesn’t need you at the café.”
15
Cassie was the first to come into the station. Jessie positioned herself in the reception area, reasoning that she could be an impartial observer of how their suspects carried themselves when they thought nobody was watching.
Cassie looked nervous. She fidgeted with her sleeves as she waited for Chief Daly to come out of his office. He had agreed with Jessie that they might be best served by having their visitors wait some time before being greeted. Jessie focused all her attention on the magazine she was reading, while watching the other woman in the reflective surface of the glass wall.
“Thank you for coming in again,” the chief said as Jessie took her seat in the observation room.
Cassie Baker shrugged. “That’s quite alright. I get so little business at my store that it was really no skin off my nose.”
Jessie sighed with exasperation. She felt callous for thinking that way, but she couldn’t help it. It seemed like Cassie took every opportunity to make herself out to be a victim. Jessie couldn’t think why: her store was in a prime location and she was quite a likable woman when she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself. Too bad you couldn’t just go and say that to somebody.
But maybe, Jessie thought. Maybe it’s all an act. Who knows? She might have been planning this for years.
Chief Daly shifted in his chair. It was clear that he had no idea how to respond to such a statement. “Yes. So anyway. There are a few more questions I’d like to ask you.”
Cassie flushed. “Of course.”
“Well first off,” he said, looking down at the notebook in front of him. “You mentioned all the trouble you had getting your stall set up. Now forgive me if I’m wrong, but you only applied for a permit for your stall two days before the parade, is that correct?”
Cassie gasped. “What are you suggesting? Chief, have you been following up on me? What’s this about?”
“I’ve been following up all avenues that might help me solve this case, Ms. Baker. You understand that, surely? Now, can we talk a bit about why you didn’t apply until two days out? That seems a strange decision when you told us about the logistics of getting ready for the parade. If you’d booked in advance, you could have hired somebody to help.”
Cassie flushed the color of beetroot. “I hardly think…”
“Please,” the chief said. “Just tell me. I’m not accusing you of anything, but you’ve got to admit it’s odd that you only chose to sign up two days before the parade and then a man got murdered a few feet away while you didn’t notice a thing.”
Jessie watched her reaction closely and even though it seemed impossible, Cassie became even more distressed than before.
“What are you saying?! It’s like you’re suggesting I’m some kind of monster!”
“I’m not,” the chief said, speaking as calmly as ever. “Please, Cassie. Just talk me through that week before the murder.”
The woman had tears in her eyes, Jessie saw, feeling sorry for her. It wasn’t nice to have somebody suspect you of committing such a horrible crime—Jessie knew that well because she had been in that situation herself. She wanted to rush in there and comfort Cassie, but she also knew that it was important to remain objective and listen to the facts rather than be swayed by somebody’s tears.
“Okay,” Cassie said, taking a deep breath. “I want you to know that this isn’t an admission of guilt. It’s just a coincidence.” Her face screwed up. “Oh goodness, I know it looks bad. But it’s not. I just have to admit it. I’ve been having trouble making payments on my loan. The store just isn’t seeing the foot traffic it used to get. People don’t care about quality anymore. They like their cookies cheap and mass-produced.
“I don’t much like being around people so I’ve always stayed away from the parade. Except this year it seemed like a good way to get people’s attention on the store. It seemed like too good an opportunity, especially when I overheard two of the women from the town council discussing how there were still a number of spots left for food vendors this year.
“I still didn’t want to. Lord knows I don’t like dealing with crowds at the best of times, but if it meant keeping my business…?”
Chief Daly nodded and handed her a fresh tissue from a pack on the table of the interview room. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when an interviewee might become upset.
It was even more admirable a skill when one realized that up to the previous year, the chief had rarely been required to investigate a crime more serious than jaywalking.
“Go on, Cassie. I can understand that this is an emotional subject for you, but you’re doing great.”
She scrunched up the sodden tissue in her fingers. “Well that’s all there is to it. I applied at the last minute. I must have spent twenty-four hours working through all of that awful paperwork. Then I spent the rest of the time leading up to the parade sourcing additional ingredients from suppliers. If you must know, it was my best chance of making up for the dismal performance over the last few years.”
Jessie shook her head. For all of Cassie’s protestations that she was doing it for her business, it just didn’t wash. Why had she left the stall and then lied about it? Why go to all that trouble only to abandon her stall?
The chief was clearly thinking about the same thing. “Why, Cassie, would you have gone to such trouble; debated it at such length, only to turn around and leave your stall unattended in the middle of the parade?”
All of the color blanched from Cassie’s face when she heard that. Literally—she had been purple with frustration one moment and she was pure ghostly white the next. “I didn’t. I was there all afternoon. I saw you drive past in your cruiser advertising free pancakes to the first twenty people in Bee’s Bakehouse. I must say, by the time I got there the wait time was ridiculous!”
“But you did,” Chief Daly said quietly. “I have a witness who has made a statement to say your stall was unattended when they went to it.”
Cassie shook her head. “Who? They’ve made a mistake.”
“No,” Chief Daly said after a long pause. “No, I don’t believe they have. Why would somebody just make up a story like that? Who would gain from it?”
“I don’t know. I… I…”
“Tell me the truth, Cassie,” Chief Daly said calmly. “There’s no sense in lying. It’ll only make things worse for you.”
She opened her mouth to say something and then clamped it shut as if she had thought better of it.
“Come on. Where were you when you weren’t at the stall?”
Cassie shook her head. She had wrapped her arms around herself and was rocking back and forth as if she was alone in the room.
Jessie was entirely torn as to what she wanted to do. Her sympathy had been partly replaced by a sense of revulsion, because Cassie sure looked guilty from where Jessie was sitting.
16
Chief Daly had spent the best part of half an hour trying to coax an answer out of Cassie, but the woman was inconsolable. She had finally opened her mouth to speak, but the only thing she could manage to say was that she wanted to go home. Given her fragile emotional state, the chief had opted to let her do that, on the condition that she was escorted by Officer Stanley.
Jessie was heartened by his kindness but still confused by his decision. “It’s pretty clear she’s hiding something. Is it really saf
e to allow her to leave like that?”
Chief Daly grinned. “It’s not like I’ve just allowed her to walk out of here and disappear. She’s with Stanley. Have you ever seen Officer Stanley on the athletics field? She’d outrun half of the Olympic team, I’m pretty sure, especially when she’s been riled up. No, Cassie isn’t going anywhere.”
“So do you think we’ve got our murderer?”
Chief Daly didn’t answer. He was staring off behind Jessie’s head. She turned and looked through the open blinds of his office, which faced the reception area. Jeff had just entered the building.
“I don’t know, Jessie. I told you, this case just keeps on getting stranger. Here’s another one who looks guilty as sin. They can’t all have done it.”
She shook her head. It was certainly more of a puzzle than the other cases she had helped the chief to solve. Here was a man who had had a public disagreement with the victim and who had a pumpkin patch. His business card was found on the victim’s body.
“Come on, Jessie,” the chief said gravely. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”
“This is preposterous,” Jeff muttered. “I wasn’t even at the parade.”
“Weren’t you?” The chief’s voice was full of cheer and it was clear that Jeff found it irritating.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I just told you. I wasn’t.”
“Very good. Now, I’ve been told by many different people that you were seen arguing with Albie in the Bakehouse a few days before the murder. Care to tell me what you were discussing?”
“He was trying to ruin me. There was no need for him to call in that loan; not with the payments that were due on my other business,” Jeff said simply.
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You seem to think that means I killed him. Look around this town. There are a lot of people who had problems with him.”
The chief nodded. “I’m well aware.” He paused, giving the impression that he was gathering his thoughts. “Not all of them find themselves in your position.”
“And what position is that?”
“Your business card was found in his pocket. In fact, that’s the only thing he was found with. Care to explain?”
Jeff appeared momentarily taken aback. He shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s never visited my business.”
“So you don’t know how he came to be in possession of your card.”
“No.”
“Did he try and contact you on the day of the murder?”
They already knew the answer to this, at least on Albie’s known cell phone accounts.
“No,” Jeff said.
“Well then…”
Chief Daly let the question hang in the air as he rearranged the loose pages sticking out of the notebook in front of him.
Jeff slammed his palms on the table. “I don’t know how he came to have my business card. I have thousands of them printed at a time, okay? I have stacks of them in my store and I sent them out with online orders. It’s not exactly a conspiracy. Maybe he found it in my file. Maybe somebody gave it to him.”
“You said you print thousands of cards. I take it that means your business is booming.”
Jeff’s ears burned red. “I didn’t say that. I said I print thousands. They’re a way of raising awareness of the business.”
“But you’ve had some problems. That was why you argued with Albie.”
“Yes,” Jeff said abruptly. “I already told you that. But that doesn’t make me a murderer.”
“A funny thing, Mr. Morton. One of my officers drove past your property earlier. Quite a fine pumpkin patch you have there. It looks like you’re allowing them to keep growing until Halloween.”
Jeff balked. “You want to waste my time talking about pumpkins?”
“Not at all,” Chief Daly laughed. “Though my wife makes a wonderful pumpkin pie and I could chat about them all day.” His expression changed in an instant. “I just think it’s strange that all of your pumpkins are still growing—except one.”
Jeff shook his head, his face the picture of bewilderment.
“Well?”
“Maybe somebody drove past and decided they’d harvest one? I don’t know.”
“You’re saying somebody just happened to steal one of your pumpkins.”
Jeff shrugged.
“Out there on the outskirts of town, where there’s seldom any traffic?”
“What is this? A murder investigation or an investigation into a missing pumpkin? You’re wasting my time.”
“It turns out that it’s both,” Chief Daly said, clasping his hands together. “Well, in a manner of speaking. Your pumpkin’s not lost, Mr. Morton.”
“Is that so?” Jeff asked, laughing even though his eyes were blazing with anger. “What a relief. This is harassment, Chief Daly.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Morton. Nobody’s harassing you. You’re standing in the way of my investigation.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You’re missing a pumpkin; we find a pumpkin at the scene and it turns out that it’s our murder weapon, as difficult as that is to believe. Your business card is found in the vi—”
“A pumpkin?” Jeff muttered. “Are you telling me that man was killed with a pumpkin?”
The chief tilted his head to one side. “That’s exactly what I told you. Now, Mr. Morton, where—”
“This has got to be some kind of joke!”
“I’m afraid it’s no joke. Now, where were you on Saturday afternoon between one and two?”
Jeff, seeing that he was going to get nowhere by protesting, tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. His lips moved though he made no sound. After a few minutes of this, he looked back at the chief.
“I was visiting a client.”
Chief Daly looked taken aback. “I see,” he said, taking a pen from his pocket. “Can you give me the name and address?”
“I can,” Jeff said, suddenly looking morose. “But I don’t know if it would do any good.”
“Please, Mr. Morton. Try to be specific. You’re just wasting both our time by talking round in circles as you are.”
“No, Chief. You don’t understand. The reason I missed the parade was I received an inquiry. A man over near Glenvale asked me to visit him with samples; said he was the buyer for a large holistic medicine company.”
“I see. And this is the gentleman you were with at the time of the murder.”
“That’s the thing,” Jeff said, staring down at his hands. “I went there; I got all my samples together and went over there thinking I could make a big sale. But when I got there, there was nobody around. No car; no people. I couldn’t see inside, but judging from the way the garden was overgrown, it looked like there had been nobody there for quite some time.”
“I see.”
“Do you? I don’t think you do. I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m sure you are. Is there anybody who can confirm you made this trip? Did you take a business partner? Did a neighbor see you at your new client’s address?”
By now Jeff had turned pale. “No. I told you. There was nobody around. It’s an overgrown lot that’s even more out of the way than my place.”
“Okay,” Chief Daly said, pen poised. “In that case, tell me the name of the client and his number.”
“I don’t have a number.”
“What do you mean you don’t have a number?”
“Exactly what I said. It was an inquiry that came through my website and he preferred to deal with me via email. Who was I to disagree? He was talking about buying more product than I can produce in a month at my current rates. Of course I was going to arrange our meeting over email if that was what he wanted.”
“So you don’t have his number?”
“No,” Jeff said. “We talked by email. His name is Oliver Mason and he lives out on the road to Glenvale. I’ll need to check my emails for the exact address.”
“Go on t
hen.”
Silence filled the room as Jeff pulled out his phone and tapped at the touchscreen. Without saying a word, the chief stood and moved behind the man’s back. He didn’t say anything, but from the way he hunched over it was obvious he was uncomfortable with the intrusion.
17
By the time Officer Kendall had returned to the station after checking out the address, Jessie and the chief had already ascertained that it was unlikely that there was a man called Oliver Mason living there.
The building was owned by a company based in Rockfield and a quick phone call had established that the place hadn’t been let in years. The realtor, Candi McShane, laughed at the very suggestion, saying that Chief Daly wouldn’t ask such a question if he had seen the place.
Pete Kendall had formed a similar opinion. His exact reaction was to mutter something about the place not even being fit to raise chickens. And Pete wasn’t particularly fussy about where his food was reared.
“So where does that leave us?” Jessie asked.
The other two shook their heads. The email address had been a dead-end too. It wasn’t linked to a company website, rather to a free email provider. They stared at it as if the format might offer them some clue if they concentrated hard enough.
“This is hopeless,” Officer Kendall said shaking his head. “It’s just some random email address. There’s nothing significant in it. It’s just his name—or some name Jeff made up.”
“You think he created this whole thing?” Chief Daly asked. It was impossible to tell from his expression whether he believed that or not.
Jessie sighed. “It seems a bit bizarre. I mean, he must have known that claiming to have visited some guy he’d talked to over email wouldn’t work as an alibi. So what would be the point?”
“He could be scrambling.”
“No,” Chief Daly said thoughtfully. “I did see the date stamps on those emails. Now, as far as I know, that would have been difficult to falsify. Maybe a screenshot but not in his email app.”
Pumpkins are Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 8) Page 6
