Death Trap

by Karin Kaufman

  “James, this is amazing. I had no idea you could cook like this. What’s this sauce on the veg? It smells awesome.”

  “It’s a mixture of honey, apple juice, mustard, and thyme.” He smiled proudly, like a little boy showing off a new skill, and I almost laughed with delight.

  For the first few minutes we ate silently, gratifying our hungry bellies. And then, as I buttered a roll, I told him about my encounter with Jova.

  He listened with rapt attention, never interrupting me to ask me why I’d done something so dangerous. He knew me too well to ask that. When I finished, he said, “It sounds like Stuart was planning an unpleasant surprise for everyone.”

  “Do you mean his announcement?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Did you have an argument with him or Lesley in the past year? Even a small disagreement?” I tore off a bit of roll and popped it in my mouth. No way would Gilroy be cruel, I thought. It wasn’t in his DNA.

  “No, nothing I can think of. Whenever we met it was a friendly occasion. Dinner or drinks at Wyatt’s, or I’d run into them downtown. Besides, we hadn’t been in contact for weeks.” He frowned and poked at a carrot. “Stuart. What happened to him?”

  Without missing a beat, I said, “His wife’s impending death.”

  Gilroy looked up from his plate. Sometimes I spoke too quickly about death. I’d lost both my parents and missed them terribly, but Gilroy’s loss had been greater. His beloved wife had died in a carjacking gone wrong. No, “wrong” was not the word. It was too kind to the killer who took her life. A carjacker in Denver had murdered her for her car. It was as simple and as brutally evil as that. Gilroy and I had dated a month before he was able to talk about her death. And all the while, I had assumed he was divorced.

  “You may be right,” Gilroy said. “And we don’t know what was going on in Lesley’s mind. What was her part in this? Those two were close.”

  “Stuart was the one being a jerk at the party.”

  Gilroy agreed. He laid down his fork. “He was planning some kind of revenge. Remember how he introduced everyone, making sure to point out their worst faults? He was telling us why they deserved what he was going to do.”

  “All that stuff about Venus flytraps and insects that think they’re superior, invading the plants’ territory.”

  “Thinking the plant will never strike back because at first it doesn’t.”

  Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a sense of horror. “James, Stuart was the flytrap.”

  “You’re right,” he said without hesitation.

  “Please tell me he didn’t think you . . .” Unable to finish my sentence, I set down what was left of my roll and wiped my hands on my napkin. Stuart’s strange lecture in his greenhouse was making sense now, in a demented kind of way. But what did Stuart think Gilroy had done to him that deserved the fix, the trap, he was now in? And what had been Lesley’s part in that trap? She’d been terribly uncomfortable yesterday evening. She knew Stuart had hateful plans for her party. Why had she gone along with him? Was she spineless, like Jova said, or had she merely been playing her part in the game?

  Gilroy finished my thought. “You’re wondering if Stuart thought I was one of the insects.”

  “That’s how he saw his other guests.”

  “Stuart tended to see himself as a victim, but never to this extent. There’s got to be more to this.” Gilroy shook his head in frustration. “We’re missing something. I don’t know about his revenge plans, but I don’t believe Stuart was capable of killing Lesley, especially with a dagger. Just physically speaking, he could never bring himself to do that. I think his plans for the party went wrong somehow. Something happened that he hadn’t counted on.”

  “One of his guests found out he was about to skewer them all and killed Lesley? I’ve been thinking about it, but that doesn’t sound right either.”

  “I need to talk to Stuart. Tonight.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Then Underhill and Turner have to.”

  It seemed Gilroy also knew that his time as police chief was short, that McDermott was about to let his ax fall and he had to act quickly. “Just Underhill,” I said. “I can call him from my cell. He’s still at the station.”

  “Why just Underhill?”

  I hated piling bad news on bad news, betrayal on more betrayal. “Royce found out that Edward Turner, Turner’s dad, is very tight with Mayor Wick, and has been for decades.”

  Gilroy looked at me as though he didn’t understand.

  “Edward Turner was a Fort Collins cop back then,” I said.

  “I know that.”

  Of course he did. The Fort Collins force wasn’t that big, and we all knew that Turner’s dad was a cop. Turner must have mentioned it himself on his application to the Juniper Grove force. But I had assumed his father was a Windsor cop. “It sounds like Edward would have done anything for Wick. Taken sides against you, for instance. And Turner, you know . . .”

  “Turner what?”

  “Acts like he doesn’t know much about what happened to you back then. He said he thought you wanted to leave Fort Collins.”

  Gilroy gave the back of his head a scratch. “It’s possible that’s what he was told. He was pretty young at the time.”

  “I’m sorry about this, but I thought you should know.”

  “You know me, Rachel. I’d rather know than not. Thanks.”

  “Underhill was angry about it.”

  “Underhill’s a good cop, but he sometimes jumps to conclusions. He hasn’t said anything to Turner, has he?”

  “No, he’s just giving him the evil eye. Are you going to ask Turner about it?”

  “No.”

  “What if his dad—”

  “What if his dad didn’t do anything unethical seven years ago? And even if he did, how does that involve my officer today? I have to trust him, Rachel.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Then in my relatively short career as a law enforcement officer, I will have made two crucial hiring mistakes.”

  I knew about his first mistake. Last September. I’d been there. Officer Hammond, his second in command, was the man who had helped plant the note that had accused Gilroy of being a liar. It had cut Gilroy to the core.

  “And if I have made two crucial mistakes,” he went on, “I need to consider if I have the judgment it takes to be a police chief. Judgment is paramount in this job.” A shadow of regret came over his face, and he stared past me, unblinking.

  I didn’t like what I was hearing. Gilroy never lacked confidence. Or if he did, he never admitted to lacking it. “You do have the judgment, James. Don’t doubt that for one second. You should have heard Underhill at the station. He said you were the best cop he’d ever worked with.”

  He fixed his eyes on me.

  “He also said you have more supporters than you think you do,” I added. “So did Holly. Her bakery customers are angry about what McDermott did. They’re not going to let it stand.”

  It was apparent I hadn’t convinced him, but he nodded nevertheless. Probably so I’d be quiet and stop embarrassing him.

  But I wasn’t finished. “I still worried about Turner. I want to trust him, and mostly I do, but then I wonder. What if he’s leaking information to McDermott or working with Wick to get you thrown out? He could make a lot of trouble for you.”

  “Then I’m in trouble,” Gilroy said. “But if I accuse him by questioning him, I’ll never get his trust back.”

  CHAPTER 15

  I had called the station from Gilroy’s house and told Underhill I “had a feeling” he should talk to Stuart before the night was over. He understood without either of us saying it that Gilroy wanted him to go. But calling from my cell phone and never mentioning Gilroy meant both of us could deny Gilroy’s involvement.

  Then I’d suggested he take Turner with him. Silence on the other line. “It’s best,” I’d said. “Stuart may be dangerous.” Underhill knew that G
ilroy was also behind that instruction. He had to take Turner.

  Giving him the abbreviated version of Jova’s commentary, I told him why Stuart hated every single one of his guests. “He was planning some sort of revenge on them, maybe Lesley was too, and it backfired.”

  It was after ten o’clock by the time I made it home. I grabbed my drawing of the Hunters’ house and my three-by-five cards from the kitchen table, trudged upstairs to my office, and tacked them all to my corkboard. Tired and frustrated with all the brick walls I’d encountered in the investigation, I glared at the drawing and scanned the suspects’ names for the umpteenth time. The corkboard had always served me well when plotting my mystery novels. But novels, unlike real life, weren’t messy. I had the power to fashion and bend their plots to my desires. On my board, my stories’ connections and motives were crystal clear.

  Not so with Lesley’s murder. Even with all I had learned in the past twenty-four hours, the motive for her murder remained unknown.

  I mentally examined my very short list of motives. Stuart couldn’t stand to watch Lesley suffer, so he killed her. With a dagger? At a party, surrounded by people she couldn’t stand? Or one of the guests knew Stuart was about to take his revenge and killed Lesley. Why not just leave the party? The former mayor of Fort Collins was out to get Gilroy, so he framed him. More than seven years after Gilroy had arrested his wife? Murdering an innocent woman to accomplish his petty revenge?

  My thoughts kept returning to Gilroy’s five-year pin. It was possible it was stolen just days ago, but it was also possible it was taken six or more months ago. How patient was Stuart? Patient like a Venus flytrap. Were Kip, Jova, Brynne, and Maurice as patient?

  Gilroy wouldn’t have noticed the missing pin. He didn’t even care about it enough to throw it out. He kept his office door open most of the time, and an inattentive or busy Underhill or Turner wouldn’t have seen McDermott or one of his Town Hall cronies slipping inside and snatching the pin.

  Could Gilroy’s officers remember if McDermott or any of the trustees had visited the station while Gilroy was out? Surely in the past year some of them had. I dialed the station but there was no answer. They were still at Stuart’s house, or maybe on their way back. As anxious as I was to know what Stuart had said, I was fading fast, and I was of no use to Gilroy in my exhausted and fuzzy-headed condition. Tomorrow, I’d think more clearly. Tomorrow, I’d see what I was missing tonight.

  i woke at dawn, before my alarm went off. After throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater, I made coffee, ate what was left of my cream puff from the morning before, and called the station. Underhill was still there, his voice ragged from lack of sleep. He’d already phoned Gilroy. Stuart Hunter had admitted to everything Jova had said about Brynne, Kip, Maurice, and herself, but he’d claimed his big announcement—his big plan for the evening—was simply to tell everyone that he and Lesley were going on a cruise, and that it might be Lesley’s last.

  “It’s possible,” Underhill said, clearing his throat over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Unlikely, but possible. We have no proof. What’s your agenda for today?”

  I told him I’d let him know when I figured it out and hung up. But I knew what I was going to do.

  Before I could get my hiking shoes on, Julia rang my doorbell, telling me she’d seen my lights. “I’m ready if you are,” she said, pushing past me and heading for my kitchen. “Coffee ready?” she called.

  I sat at my table. “Help yourself. I need a couple more minutes. We don’t want a car accident.”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  Julia poured herself a cup and joined me at the table.

  She drank, and I informed her that Underhill and Turner had paid Stuart a visit last night. “Stuart didn’t cave, though he admitted he had reason to dislike all his guests. He said his big party announcement was that he and Lesley were going on a cruise and that it might be Lesley’s last.”

  “Nonsense,” Julia said. “You don’t invite people who rub you the wrong way to your wife’s birthday party just to say, ‘Hey folks, I’m going on a final cruise with my wife.’ Utter claptrap. What cruise line? Did he buy the tickets? Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Underhill should check.”

  “Stuart could always say he was going to buy them in a few days or a week.”

  “I suppose so. Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to visit Brynne and Maurice,” I said, struggling to jam my feet into my shoes. Had I put on more weight? I wondered. Good grief, wasn’t twenty-five pounds overweight enough? I really, really had to lay off the cream puffs. “I have a few pertinent questions to ask them.”

  “Brynne’s in classes.”

  “Too bad.”

  Julia rose, deposited her cup in the sink, and flicked off my coffeemaker. “I like your attitude. It’s time to get hard-nosed.”

  “I tell you, Julia, I’ve had enough. Gilroy shouldn’t have to go through this. The mayor trashing his reputation. People gossiping about him at Holly’s Sweets—the same people he’s helped over the years! People whose cars he’s pulled out of snow drifts and up canyon walls, people who call him in the middle of the night because they hear a noise outside their bedroom window or want a neighbor to turn down a radio or stop mowing their lawn at five o’clock in the morning.”

  “They shouldn’t mow at five in the morning.”

  I puffed and leaned back in my chair. “No, they shouldn’t, but there’s no common sense anymore. Gilroy’s the common sense—that’s why they turn to him. He plays the bad guy so people can live in peace. He gets no sleep so others can get theirs. And his reward is a corrupt mayor and a population that doesn’t care.”

  “Rachel, that’s not true. People do care. I care, Royce cares, Holly and Peter care. I’ve never seen you so upset.”

  I ran a hand through my limp hair. Limper than usual since I hadn’t shampooed. “My stomach’s in knots, Julia.”

  “Don’t you give up,” she said. “Chief Gilroy needs you. Now get up. Stop dilly-dallying and shilly-shallying.”

  With that corny encouragement from Julia echoing in my ears, I grabbed my jacket and keys and we hurried to my Subaru. Our first stop was Juniper Grove High School. On the way there, we hatched a plan to get Brynne out of her classroom. As it turned out, we weren’t allowed inside the building, but Brynne, who was in the teacher’s lounge when we arrived, agreed to meet us. All it took was a note I wrote passed by the security guard to the office. Stuart was telling the police that Brynne wanted Lesley out of the way, I wrote. He suspected her of murder. A big, fat lie, but times really were desperate.

  Brynne came flying out of the high school’s front doors, frantically searching the parking lot for my Subaru while her hands dangled at her waist. I waved her over and she got inside.

  “Who are you?” she hissed, eyeing Julia suspiciously.

  “I’m privy to important information in this case,” Julia said.

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. What did that even mean? And how did my sweet neighbor come up with cop-show lines like that?

  Brynne turned her guns on me. “Stuart is a rat-faced liar. And how do you know what he’s told the police?”

  “I’ve been in contact with them,” I said. I moved on quickly, hoping she wouldn’t have time to think through my lame excuse for questioning her. “Stuart said you were having an affair, and that’s why—”

  “What? An affair with that old goat?”

  “He’s not that old,” Julia said.

  I gave Julia’s shoe a little kick. “That’s what Stuart said. He claims that’s why you and he were the last to arrive on the second floor after Lesley screamed.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Brynne said, shoving back a wave of chestnut hair.

  “At first, the police thought he was being gallant, trying to explain why you were on the other side of the house. They thought he wanted to spare you becoming the prime suspect and so he suggested
that you two were . . .” I paused, looking for the right words.

  “Playing kissy face,” Julia said.

  I nodded. “On the other side of the house, while his wife was waiting for him upstairs.”

  “Of all the nerve,” Brynne said.

  “But then he admitted that you weren’t—”

  “Playing kissy face,” Julia said.

  “And his story changed. He said you . . .” Again I searched for the right words.

  “Longed for him,” Julia said.

  I shot her a look. “And wanted him to divorce Lesley. He wouldn’t, and that’s when you decided to kill her. On the spur of the moment.”

  Brynne’s mouth hung open, her lips like a red flytrap ready to snap. “I will kill him.”

  “He said you and Lesley hadn’t gotten along since they took that adult French class with you. In fact, Stuart said he urged Lesley not to invite you because of it. He finds you unpleasant.”

  “Oh does he?” Brynne said. “Let me tell you about Stuart and where he was at his party. You think he came up the stairs the same time I did? Wrong. When I was downstairs, he was upstairs. He came down before he went back up.”

  “Wait just a second,” I said, throwing my arm over the back of my seat. “Where were you? How did you see where Stuart was?”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and began to lace and unlace her fingers. “I told Chief Gilroy I was snooping. I was. I didn’t like Stuart. No one liked him. None of us could figure out why we’d been invited. It was bizarre. And the Hunters, those good people, spread rumors about me after that French class, saying I was a terrible teacher and filing a complaint at Town Hall. That class was my last adult class at the high school. I depended on that extra income, and I lost it because of them.”

  “But you were cruel to Lesley,” I said.

  “You can’t have people holding back a class. I was honest. I’m being honest now. When everyone went upstairs, I saw my chance to snoop and maybe . . . take a thing or two. Recompense for what I’d lost. I knew Stuart had a nice jade figurine collection.”