by K. J. Emrick
She was now firmly of the opinion that Rosen wasn’t the killer. However, Jerry was right. Since the chief was the sort of man to let other people get their hands dirty for him, it was entirely possible that he’d sent someone else to kill Sheila. They wouldn’t know for sure until they had proven that Ed Rosen knew about Sheila’s personal fortune… or that he didn’t.
They needed to see the will, and look for Rosen’s name in there somewhere.
“Let’s get to the car,” Jerry said to her. “We should maybe stop for something to eat, too. I don’t know about you but I’m getting hungry. Seeing that lunch tray in Amanda’s room was making my stomach growl.”
“Oh, you don’t want that food,” she laughed, picturing the bland and sterile concoctions the hospital was passing off as sustenance. “You want some real food. I can whip us up something when we get back to the bakery.”
At the elevators, they stopped and waited for the car to arrive on their floor after Jerry pushed the call button.
And a thought crossed Cookie’s mind.
Jerry rocked on his feet while he waited. “Oh. We’ll need to get something for Cream as well. We promised him something special for leaving him at home. Cookie? What is it?”
She realized she was frowning, but she was thinking about something she had seen in Amanda’s room. Not the tray of food. Something else…
Without telling Jerry what she was up to she rushed back to the hospital room. The Trooper saw her coming and stood halfway out of his chair, looking up and down the hallway, alarmed by her sudden reappearance. She waved him back, letting him know everything was fine with a smile.
The doctor saw her at the door and looked up from his clipboard. “Please, Miss, you can’t be here. Your friend needs time to recover.”
Cookie didn’t answer him. She came right into the room, past the bed and the rolling table holding Amanda’s food tray, to the window.
The flowers in their vase were yellow and blue, the stems a healthy green. They were the only real spot of color in here and because of that they had seemed out of place to Cookie. It just took a bit for her brain to register that fact.
She looked through the flowers in their tall vase until she found what she was looking for. The card a flower shop always sent along with a gift like this.
There it was. A simple card, without a name.
Sorry to hear you were hurt. We’ll talk soon, and good fortune.
That last word certainly caught her attention. Fortune. That’s what this whole case came down to. A fortune. Now here was that exact word written on the card sent with the flowers. The message was almost personal, like whoever had sent them had a fondness for Amanda, or at least knew her personally.
Only, who sent the flowers? She hadn’t sent them. Amanda’s mother couldn’t have sent them because she was dead. Grayson couldn’t have sent them to his girlfriend because he was in jail. Benjamin Roth? No. He would have signed the card so that everyone knew about his generous good deed. So then, who?
As Jerry returned to the room, Cookie showed the card to Amanda. “Do you know who sent this to you?”
“No,” she answered, her face pinched with confusion. “I have no idea. They were here when I woke up.”
“All right,” the doctor said, “I really have to insist that you leave my patient alone now. She needs her rest. Please go.”
“Come on,” Jerry said to Cookie. “We should leave.”
She went with him, with a little wave for Amanda as she left, and another nod of thanks for the Trooper watching over the room. She and Jerry didn’t speak until they got on the elevator and the doors had closed.
“What did you find?” Jerry asked her.
Cookie held the hand-written card up to show him. “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe… everything.”
Chapter 8
Getting something to eat was going to have to wait, much to Jerry’s disappointment.
“Oh, stop whining,” Cookie told him. “I’ll make you something special when we get back to the bakery. We need to get Sheila’s will first.”
Jerry was just parking in Amanda’s driveway now. He shut off the engine and snapped the keys into the holder on his duty belt. “I know, and you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not hungry. Sheila wouldn’t mind if I ate a meal while I was proving who killed her.”
She reached over and patted his arm. “Then I’m sure Amanda won’t mind if you raid her refrigerator. I’m sure there’s some bologna or apples in there. They aren’t doing her any good while she’s in the hospital, after all.”
“Hey, that’s true.” He smiled. That idea agreed with him. “Then let’s get this will and see what it says.”
There was yellow police tape across the front door of the house, for whatever good that would do. The window was still shattered, and no one had made any attempt to cover it. Cookie made a mental note to have someone take care of that. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but you never knew, and rain getting in would ruin the furniture and the rugs. Amanda was supposed to be getting out tomorrow but if she ended up staying in longer Cookie would hate for her to come home to find everything was ruined.
Jerry reached through the two strands of plastic barrier tape tacked up between the sides of the doorframe. The door was unlocked. He pushed it in, and then snapped the lower of the tape pieces, and graciously waved Cookie to go in ahead of him. Such a gentleman.
They weren’t prepared for what they saw.
The house was a wreck. Floor cabinets had been pulled over and left lying on their sides. Couch cushions had been tossed everywhere. Anything that had once been on a shelf wasn’t on one now. Every single piece of furniture had been moved out of place.
“Was this how it was before?” Cookie asked. Looking further into the house, she could see that the rest of the rooms were in the same state.
“No, it wasn’t like this at all.” Jerry immediately took out his phone and started taking pictures. “Someone’s been here.”
“The police?” she suggested, knowing she was wrong even before he started shaking his head.
“We don’t search houses like this. Besides. What would we be looking for…”
They met each other’s gaze with the same answer. The money.
The killer had been here.
“That must have been his plan all along,” Jerry reasoned. “Shoot at the house, get Amanda out of here, and then he could search it at his leisure. Someone wants this money really bad.”
“Someone?” Cookie asked him, careful not to touch anything unless she had to. “I thought your money was still on Rosen.”
“It is. I’m just being objective. Whoever did this is long gone. Run upstairs and get the will. Let’s just hope they didn’t find it. I’m going to take some more pictures. When we’re done here we’ll go report this down at the station. I’m not calling this in until we have the will in our hands.”
Amanda had told them where to look in the house for her copy of the will. It was a simple matter of going upstairs to the bedroom, and bending down under the bed to find a key that was taped to the underside of the frame. Then she had to take the key to the bedroom closet and look behind the hangers for a square of paneling that was hinged to swing outward.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all that simple after all.
The mess in the room didn’t help things any. The clothes that had been in the closet were all over the floor. The mattress had been moved and then dropped so that it hung half off the bed. Thankfully the key was still there and the panel in the closet wall was deftly set in place, and even knowing it was there it took Cookie a long moment to find. The killer had missed it in his hasty search.
Thank God for small favors, she thought to herself.
Inserting the key in the safe’s lock, Cookie opened it to find envelopes and small boxes and other things one might expect to see in a safe. She found the manila envelope marked “Mom’s Will” in Amanda’s neat handwriting. She slid it out, and shut the s
afe again without disturbing anything else.
Before she left the room, Cookie took a moment to look around. Clothes were everywhere. Some of them were Amanda’s, obviously, but some were a man’s. Grayson’s, must be. The two of them had been living together. Had Grayson seen Sheila’s will before? Surely he must have. Possibly. Amanda said that she hadn’t looked through it, but that didn’t mean her financially strapped boyfriend hadn’t taken a peek.
If he knew who the beneficiaries were, would that make him more, or less of a suspect?
Well, either way, he certainly couldn’t have done all this. Not from Chief Rosen’s holding cell.
Someone had gone looking for Sheila’s money at her apartment, and here, and they had even tried to corner Zane Gillman. They were determined to find it. Of course, the fact that they were still looking meant they didn’t know where it was.
Cookie smiled to herself. She and Jerry knew exactly where the money was. It was safe. She liked Jerry’s idea of using the money for bait. It sounded exciting.
She sighed to herself as she started down the hallway to the stairs. Jerry was certain the killer was Rosen, either directly or indirectly. Cookie trusted Jerry more than any man she had ever trusted in her life. But, he was still just a man. There was no red cape hanging in his closet, and no red letter S on his shirt. He could make mistakes. She felt like she owed it to him to keep her mind open to other possibilities. She didn’t feel like Rosen was the killer. Oh, she hated the man, nearly as much as Jerry did, but Quinn was right. Hating someone didn’t equal proof of their guilt. If it did, the jails would be full. There was a lot of hate out there in the world.
So Cookie was keeping an open mind. Hopefully the answers they needed would be in this manila envelope.
Downstairs in the kitchen she found Jerry sitting at the center island eating a sandwich and some apple slices. An open can of cola sat close by. He was taking a huge bite as she took a seat on the stool next to him. All around them were empty cupboards and disarray. A bag of flour had fallen to the floor and burst open. A few glasses had broken on the countertop. Dishes had been piled sloppily in leaning stacks. Detergents and cleaners had been pulled out from under the sink. Amanda was going to have more than just a broken window to worry about cleaning up when she got back from the hospital.
“Well,” Cookie said. “I’m glad to see the killer left the contents of the refrigerator undisturbed.”
“Me, too,” Jerry agreed with a bright smile. “I’m seriously hungry. Is that it?”
She opened the clasp on the envelope and slid the sheaf of papers out. “Yes, it is. Try not to get mustard on this. We don’t want to mess up the evidence.”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, his mouth full again. He took a drink of his soda. “So you think the card you found in Amanda’s flowers has something to do with her will?”
“I’m sure of it.” She laid the packet on the table and began reading through the very confusing language. “My word, why can’t lawyers just say what they mean? Therefore this, and so thencewhat that. How can anyone understand this?”
“I think you made a few of those words up,” he laughed. “Here, give it to me.”
He brushed his hands free of crumbs and brought the papers closer. He turned one page, and then another, and then another.
“Here it is,” he said. “Beneficiaries. It goes through several eventualities… her death, incapacity due to age or mental defect, prolonged medical issues… every one of these lists Amanda as first beneficiary. There’s a few charities mentioned here and a sizable donation to the town.”
All of that seemed very normal to Cookie. She was hoping to do something very similar when she passed away. Her daughter Madison would get most of what she had, and what was left over would go to her two grandchildren. She even had some set aside to donate back to the town, just like Sheila had.
“Now here’s something,” Jerry said, running his finger across a few sentences in a paragraph. “There’s a subsection that seems to reference money that should go to a numbered bank account. No name.”
“Would the bank tell us who it belongs to?” Cookie asked. “I know Renae who works down there. She’s not exactly a friend but she’s a nice woman. She might know who that account belongs to.”
He rubbed a hand over his head. “That’s the thing though. I know what my bank account numbers look like. I know what the bakery’s look like. This doesn’t look like that. It’s different. So possibly it’s an account number, but maybe not. I don’t know… I’m not sure.”
Cookie couldn’t help but be disappointed. Finding the will was supposed to bring them right to their next suspect. Instead it just brought them to another clue that didn’t seem to match up with any other of the puzzle pieces they had so far.
“Well.” She took the half of his sandwich that was still left from his hands and took a bite of it herself. She’d been right. Mustard and turkey. One of his favorites. “Maybe Amanda would know what the number means?”
“I doubt it. If her mother had mentioned it to her at some point she would have told us earlier at the hospital.” He eyed his sandwich in her hands longingly, and then with a sigh he picked up an apple slice instead. “Zane might know, but then again he might not. It might be just a numbered account and instructions to send money to it. No one might have known who it belonged to except for Sheila.”
“And,” Cookie pointed out, “whoever the account belongs to.”
“Well, sure. Him too.”
“Or her. Let’s not be chauvinistic.”
He laughed. “I’m not, I promise. I’m assuming whoever owns this bank account is a man, because our killer is a man. Remember, Amanda heard a man threatening her mother.”
“That’s true.” Cookie offered the last bite of the sandwich back to Jerry. “A man she thought sounded familiar. All right, so our phantom bank account holder is a man. That narrows it down to half the people in the world.”
“Actually, men outnumber women in the world now. So, our suspect pool is a little bit more than half.”
“Where do you learn this stuff?”
He shrugged. “The internet. You can learn anything online.”
“Uh-huh. Most of it false… Oh my. I just had the craziest idea.”
Jerry blinked at her. “What do you have going through that wonderful mind of yours?”
“I’m just wondering,” she said with a smile as sweet as sugar, “if you can really find anything you want on the internet. Come on. Let’s go back to the bakery. I haven’t turned my laptop on in a few weeks. It could use a good workout.”
They put Jerry’s dirty dish in the sink even though at this point it would be hard for anyone to notice one more plate left out of place, and then Cookie gave the house one last look over. It was going to need some tender care once Amanda got out of the hospital. With another heavy sigh, she followed after Jerry with the will tucked under her arm in its envelope.
When they stepped back out of the house, they saw another car parked behind theirs.
The patrol car was idling, it’s engine still running, and Chief Ed Rosen stood leaning up against the fender. His arms were crossed over his barrel chest and his dark eyes were narrowed right at them.
“You know what?” he said to them in a low, rumbling voice. “I’m getting a little bit tired of running around after you two. Maybe I should just fire you, Jerry. Maybe that will get you out of my hair.”
Jerry didn’t stop. He walked right down the steps with Cookie to the driveway. “Your car’s in my way, Chief. Mind moving that for us? We’re sort of busy.”
Rosen pushed away from the car, blocking their path with his body, and held out his hand.
“Give it to me,” he said.
Cookie was still holding the manila envelope with the copy of the will under her arm. There was no doubt that was what he was asking for, and there was no time for her to hide it under her skirt now. She looked to Jerry, silently asking him what she should do.
“Give it,” Rosen repeated, “to me. Unless I’m mistaken, you still work for me, Officer Stansted.”
“Not if you fire me,” Jerry said mockingly.
The cords in Rosen’s neck stood out. “Stansted, I’m giving you an order. Give me Sheila Tucker’s will. Right. Now.”
Jerry reached over to take the envelope from Cookie. He held it tightly in his hand. “You know what this is, do you Chief?”
“Of course I know what it is,” Rosen snapped. “That’s Sheila Tucker’s last will and testament. It’s evidence of Grayson DeBeer’s motive, and you’re going to give it to me, right now. I already told you that you weren’t a part of this investigation. You want to retire so bad then go spend your last days behind a desk pushing papers, or take your sick days and stay home binge watching soap operas, I don’t care. But until someone else takes over as chief of police I’m the one in charge of this department and I’m giving you a direct order. Give me that envelope!”
His face had turned bright red in his anger and now he reached out to pull the envelope away. Jerry didn’t try to resist. He knew better. There was no reasoning with Rosen in the best of times. Now, when he thought he was being directly challenged, he was worse.
Checking the contents of the envelope, Rosen nodded dismissively and turned to open his car door.
Cookie watched the will leaving with him, realizing they had just lost their latest clue.
Jerry cleared his throat. “How did you know Sheila’s will was even here, Chief? Who told you?”
That was a very good question, Cookie realized. Amanda had only just told them that the will was here. How did Rosen know?
“Not your business,” he said to them.
“The house is a wreck in there,” Jerry told him. “I think the killer’s been here—”
“Not your business!”
Then he slammed the door, and pulled out of the driveway.
“What are we going to do now?” Cookie asked Jerry. “That was our best chance of proving who killed Sheila.”
