“Cats?”
“You know, cats and bookstores, cats and mystery stories.... Work with me, Livie.”
“Okay, just asking. Looks fine. Are you going to be using the mixer right away?”
“I need about ten minutes of wild imagining,” Maddie said, “before I settle on the icing colors. Why?”
“I want to make a couple phone calls.” Olivia glanced at the kitchen clock. “Seven thirty. Good, there’s time. By the way, I called Bertha last night. She’ll be here at eight forty-five to help you open.”
“And you will be . . . ?”
“With luck, I’ll be in jail, wrenching information out of that brother of mine.”
“You might want to start with bribery,” Maddie said as she stood on tiptoe to retrieve a box from the top of the refrigerator. “We have about half a dozen leftover baby shower cookies. Well, not exactly leftover; I lost count and made extras. I’m not good with numbers, so sue me.”
“Luckily, you always seem to err on the side of too many,” Olivia said. “I’ll take them all, thanks.” She settled at the kitchen phone with a pen and pad. Her hand on the receiver, she gathered her thoughts before dialing the police station. Del answered on the first ring.
“Del, it’s me. I have a favor to ask, only you can’t say no. I need to talk to my brother. Alone. I won’t hurt him, I promise.”
Del cleared his throat and hesitated. Never a good sign.
“Did I mention I’m bringing cookies?” Olivia heard a faint chuckle. A better sign.
After another moment of silence, Del said, “I’m thinking. It sounds like you want to ask Jason some questions you don’t want me to know answers to, right? Don’t answer that. He probably won’t talk, but if you could convince him to . . . Time is getting short, Livie. I’ve been trying to keep him here while the investigation proceeds, but the Office of the State’s Attorney is making noises about transferring Jason to the Circuit Court for arraignment. I’ve held them off for about as long as I can. Like I told you earlier, the process moves much faster once we have a confession.”
“I know.” Olivia fought back tears of despair. “Del, please let me talk to him alone. I think I can get through to him.”
“Okay, but bring Mr. Willard again. If Jason has his attorney present, I can stay out of the picture without having to explain myself to the State’s Attorney. Remember, even if Jason recants his confession, there might still be a trial, and I’d be called upon to testify. Unless he is cleared first, that is.”
“I understand. Thanks, Del.”
“Don’t thank me. Get Jason to talk.”
Olivia hung up and immediately dialed Mr. Willard’s office. He agreed to meet at the police station at eight thirty before visiting Jason again. When that was settled, she called her mother’s cell.
“Mom, I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a few minutes, or are you off to something or other?”
“I’m skipping many of my something-or-others,” Ellie said. “I’m too upset about Jason. I guess yoga might help, but honestly, I don’t think I could focus. Do you have one of your lovely plans, Livie? Is there any way you could convince Jason to talk to me?”
Once again, Olivia had to swallow her fears, this time for her mother. “I’m going to give it my best shot, Mom, I promise. Right now, you can help most by dredging your mind for some information. I’m still finding my way around after living in Baltimore for so long, so I need to pick your brain.”
“Of course, dear. Aything I can offer.”
“Thanks, Mom. First, have you any idea where Raoul lives? In town somewhere, or does he commute?”
“Raoul? He lives above the studio. Remember I told you about the two sisters who owned the building when it was a dress shop? When they bought the building, they had the upstairs renovated as a two-bedroom apartment, where they lived for more than thirty years. Did you know that they died within a week of each other? It was so—”
“Mom . . .”
“I’m sorry, I guess sometimes I want to escape to happier days.”
“I know, Mom. It’s going to get better, I promise. Meanwhile, you are my best source of information about all things Chatterley Heights. Do you happen to know who owns the dance studio building now?”
“Yes, but why . . . ? Never mind, I’m wasting time. The dance studio is owned by the Chatterley Heights Management and Rental Company. It is called M & R Company for short. Continue.”
If her mother was making such a determined effort to stay on topic, she must be frantic with worry. “Where is this company, and who owns it?”
“It’s west of the town square,” Ellie said, “on Apple Blossom Road. I’m not sure of the exact address.”
“That’s okay. I’m looking it up on my laptop.”
“As for the owner, I believe she’s a former high school classmate of yours. She’s divorced now, and I think she went back to her own name, as you did. Her name is Con—”
“Constance Overton.” Olivia had found the M & R Company website and was staring at the photo of a woman whose existence she had forgotten about. “Oh dear,” she said.
“Is there a problem?”
“I remember Constance. She thought I stole her boyfriend junior year.”
“Now Livie, I’m sure she has forgotten all about . . . Wait, you stole another girl’s boyfriend in high school?”
“What, you think I couldn’t attract someone else’s boyfriend? Anyway, she only thought I stole him. He was too timid to tell her he wanted to break up, so he just started asking me out. To be fair, Constance was mighty scary.” Olivia remembered Constance Overton as tall, model slender, a cheerleader, smart, and destined to be homecoming queen. She’d had a commanding personality, in that she commanded those around her to do her bidding. Constance had vowed eternal vengeance on Olivia for crossing her. She wasn’t the type to forget.
“I suspect she has changed, Livie. Life is not always kind,” Ellie said.
Olivia looked at the picture of Constance on the M & R Company website. She was sitting behind an imposing desk, smiling into the camera. She still had lush blond hair and perfect features, and now she owned her own company. It seemed to Olivia that life had continued to shower favors on Constance Overton. “Well, all I can do is try.”
“Does this have anything to do with Jason?” Ellie sounded desperate.
“I’m not sure.” Olivia told her mother about watching Raoul and a lovely woman with a scarred cheek waltz together at the dance studio. “I’m wondering if this woman might have been dancing in the park at the time of the murder. Do you have any idea who she might be? Is Raoul married or involved with someone?”
“Goodness, I have no idea. Such an attractive man, one would assume he is involved, but he never mentions his private life. I’ve never seen him with anyone. I’m fairly sure no one else has, either. At least, I’ve heard no gossip. I’ll ask around.”
“Good idea,” Livie said. “Do you know his teaching schedule? Does he ever leave town . . . to teach elsewhere, maybe?”
“Let me think.”
Olivia could almost see her mother searching her memory. Ellie, normally serene and fluid in her movements, had a habit of playing with her hair when she was upset. When Olivia’s father was dying, Ellie had absently braided and unbraided the lower half of her long tresses. Now Olivia could almost see her trying to braid with one hand.
“The only information I know for sure,” Ellie said, “is Raoul’s teaching schedule. He teaches Monday through Wednesday, plus Saturday, from nine a.m. to eight p.m., including the noon hour because some students work full time. He says it is best not to eat until he has finished dancing. He also teaches on Fridays from nine a.m. to five p. m. He takes Thursdays and Sundays off. Does that help?”
“Why Thursdays?” Olivia asked.
“That’s a mystery. I’ve heard that he leaves town on Thursdays and doesn’t return until evening. I do know that Sunday is his day of worship. He is quite devout. I’ve heard
from several friends that he goes to early Mass at St. Francis every morning. Sunday Mass, too. My friend Julia told me he goes to confession right after early Mass every Friday. She was impressed.”
“Perfect,” Olivia said. “Thanks, Mom, this really helps.”
“I’m glad, Livie. Do you think Raoul’s friend might be able to clear Jason?”
“I hope so.” Olivia glanced at Maddie, who was trying to pipe green icing onto a cookie and listen to the phone conversation at the same time. Maddie paused, her eyebrow raised in a question. Olivia gave her a thumbs-up.
“Livie, you’ll be careful, won’t you? I couldn’t bear it if both my children . . .”
Olivia knew her mother’s fingers were torturing her hair. “I’m always careful,” Olivia said. “Do me a favor, Mom. Go to your yoga class.”
“I’ll try.”
As soon as Olivia hung up, Maddie asked, “So what was all that about Raoul’s schedule? Are we going to break into the dance studio? Do you think the ballerina is a live-in girlfriend? Don’t even think of going alone, Olivia Greyson, because much as I love The Gingerbread House, I will not mind the store while you have all the fun. I thrive on excitement. It is the blood of my life.”
“ ‘Blood of my life’ . . . ?”
With an impatient shrug, Maddie said, “ ‘Life’s blood’ is so hackneyed. Answer my questions.”
“I will, later. Right now I’m due to meet Mr. Willard at the police station. We’ll twist both of Jason’s arms until he squeals. It’s for his own good.”
“Jason still refuses to see you.” Sheriff Del stared into his coffee cup with puffy eyes. His shoulders drooped as if he were too exhausted to sit up straight.
Olivia and Mr. Willard exchanged glances. “Del, level with us,” Olivia said. “Have you uncovered enough evidence to convict Jason without his confession?”
Del sighed and stared into his coffee. “Here’s how it is,” he said. “If he hadn’t confessed, your brother would be a person of interest among several persons of interest. We wouldn’t have enough to arrest him, let alone convict. He can’t produce an alibi, but neither can Charlene or Charlie Critch, both of whom have motives. However, we don’t have enough to arrest either of them yet, so Jason is sacrificing himself for no compelling reason.”
“So you’re confirming my brother is being stupid,” Olivia said.
“Blunt,” said Del, “yet accurate. You know how I feel about your penchant for getting involved in police business, but, frankly, I’m getting desperate.”
“If I may,” Mr. Willard said. “Have you any reason to believe that Jason is innocent?”
Del stared up at the ceiling and wiggled his fingers on the arm of his office chair. Finally, he said, “So far, I’ve been able to convince the State’s Attorney to hold off arraigning him for a few more days. The reason is this—and I cannot stress enough that you must keep this to yourselves—Jason can’t seem to identify the murder weapon. He knows the victim was stabbed, but he could have heard or guessed that. He’s vague when it comes to details. Of course, he could be hedging to create doubt in my mind.”
“My brother, and I say this with love, is not that clever,” Olivia said.
Mr. Willard cleared his throat. “I am inclined to agree. Jason has always struck me as a young man without guile.”
Del rocked his chair gently and frowned at his desk. After some moments, Olivia said, “I hear things, see things. Remember, I filled you in on the cache of stolen goods in Heather Irwin’s barn, as well as everything Maddie and I heard at Gwen and Herbie’s baby shower. You wouldn’t have heard about the loan shark threatening Geoffrey King and King’s use of that threat to put more pressure on Charlene if I hadn’t told you to interview Lenora Tucker.”
With a brief smile, Del said, “Quite a character. Though I keep wondering if she embellished her memory with scenes from a movie.”
“It was helpful, though, right?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“The knife . . . it was from The Vegetable Plate kitchen, wasn’t it? Charlene had a set of four knives, each decorated at the top of the handle with a different vegetable. I saw one of them, the tomato knife, among the stolen items in Heather’s barn.”
Del’s gaze met her eyes but he said nothing.
“One of the remaining three knives was used to kill King. I’m right, aren’t I?”
With a sigh, Del nodded his head. “Keep that information to yourselves.”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “And we won’t tell Jason, you can be sure of that. He’d use the knowledge to cement his confession. Del, if we could put our information together . . . I’m not trying to interfere, but I can’t sit back and wait for Jason to get himself convicted of a crime I am absolutely certain he did not commit.” Olivia did not mention seeing Raoul dance with the mysterious woman from the park. She was afraid Del might barge into the dance studio with a search warrant, causing Raoul to disappear, along with his partner.
“You first,” Del said.
To catch him up, Olivia quickly told him about the cookie cutters missing from The Gingerbread House, adding, “When I found Geoffrey King’s body I thought I saw something shiny and silvery in his hand. It looked like the edge of a cookie cutter. Was it?”
Del fetched the coffeepot and filled their cups before responding to Olivia’s information. “Okay, yeah, we found a cookie cutter in King’s hand. No clear indication as to how it got there, whether he grabbed it from his killer or it was placed in his hand. No fingerprints but his. We didn’t know what it was meant to be, but it sounds like the Duesenberg shape you described.” Del took a sip of coffee. “So thanks for that.”
“So what about the knife that killed Geoffrey King?” Olivia asked.
Del stared into his coffee cup for several moments before he said, “We found the knife flung a few yards from the body. No usable fingerprints. The storm washed off most of the blood, but there was enough for analysis. It was King’s.”
“What did the knife look like?” Mr. Willard asked. “It is essential that we know this detail.”
Del nodded. “All right. It was about eight inches long, including the decoration at the top, which looked like a very orange pumpkin.”
“Thank you, Del,” Olivia said. “Can we see Jason now? Even though he refuses to talk to us?”
“I’ll lock both of you in with him, then it’s up to you.” Del took the jail key off a hook and led them down the hallway toward the cell. “When it comes right down to it,” Del said, “a guy under arrest for murder can’t demand a lot of privacy.”
“I know you didn’t murder Geoffrey King, so you might as well drop the self-sacrificing hero act,” Olivia said. Jason’s bones looked ready to break through his skin. “You look awful. You haven’t gone on a hunger strike, have you? Are you trying to kill your mother?”
“I’m not trying to do anything to anybody,” Jason said.
“Here.” Olivia handed him a Gingerbread House bag. “Maddie sent these. Sugar in various shapes and colors, all delicious. Personally, I’m for letting you starve to death for what you are doing to your loved ones, but Maddie has a softer heart.”
Jason tossed the bag next to him on his bunk, but his eyes strayed in the bag’s direction. He reached for it, pulled out a pink bunny cookie, and bit off the ear. “Thank Maddie for me,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Okay, Jason,” Olivia said, “tell me how you killed Geoffrey King.”
Jason’s open face tightened with suspicion. “Why?”
“Because if you can convince me you really killed him, I promise I’ll stop bugging you.”
Jason munched his way through a gingerbread teddy bear, deep in thought. When teddy was no more, Jason said, “I stabbed him.”
“I see. With what did you stab him?”
“A knife.”
“What kind of knife?”
“A knife kind of knife. Geez, what do you want from me?”
&n
bsp; Olivia grabbed the cookie bag out of her brother’s hand. Jason’s bereft expression made him look young and vulnerable . . . and scared. Olivia pressed harder. “Describe the knife to me, in precise detail. And tell me where you got it.”
Jason’s dark wavy hair hung in greasy strings, and his frantic hazel eyes searched the tiny cell. Olivia wanted to throw her arms around his thin shoulders. She steeled herself and asked again, “Where did you get the knife?”
“From Charlene’s kitchen,” he said.
Olivia felt the blood rush to her head. Jason was probably spouting an obvious answer, since he’d spent so much time with Charlene. But still....
Mr. Willard must have sensed her confusion. He dragged his visitor’s stool close to Jason’s bed, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I am not convinced. The Vegetable Plate is replete with knives. Precisely what type of knife did you select? What did it look like?”
“I . . .” Jason’s mouth hung open, as if he’d forgotten how to form words.
Mr. Willard shifted his stool closer. “Jason, this should not be a difficult question. What type of knife did you take from Charlene Critch’s kitchen? We are waiting.” His voice had lost its normal diffident quality.
“Big,” Jason said, barely above a whisper. “It was big.”
“How big? You are a mechanic, are you not? You ought to be able to estimate the size of a tool. How long was the blade?”
“A foot.”
“Twelve inches? Are you sure?”
“Maybe bigger. Or smaller, I don’t remember.”
“Which is it, bigger or smaller?”
“I told you, I don’t know. It was night, so it was dark.”
With a stern frown, Mr. Willard asked, “Are you claiming it was dark in Ms. Critch’s kitchen? Where was she at the time? If it was dark, how did you know where to find this knife? Did Ms. Critch find it for you?”
“No! Charlene . . . she wasn’t there. Don’t you try to blame her for anything.” Jason shifted from confused little boy to angry protector.
A Cookie Before Dying accsm-2 Page 17
