by Mary Maxwell
Ben confirmed the appointment before Truscott offered a few more rhetorical remarks about meeting our family. Then he guided the slender waif toward a table near the bar.
“Well, that was pretty random,” Ben said quietly.
I smiled and sipped my wine.
“What’s that mean?” asked Matt. “Is that guy a creep or something?”
“No, buddy,” Ben said. “That guy owns a company that we’re buying.”
Our son frowned. “People buy companies?”
“Yep,” Ben answered. “It’s the same as when you buy things at the store, only a whole lot more complicated.”
“Like death threats?” I whispered in Ben’s ear.
“Exactly like that,” he agreed.
“What did you say?” Sam demanded. “No secrets at the dinner table!”
“It wasn’t a secret,” I told him. “It was nothing.”
Sam launched into his trademark pout. Then he went back to his video game and ignored us until the server returned with our appetizers.
“Come on, buddy,” Ben said, giving Sam’s elbow a gentle tap. “Let’s put that away now.”
“Only if you tell me what you guys were whispering about,” Sam said.
“Hey, what happened to you telling us that you were going to be good?” I asked.
His eyes flickered a few times. “Oh, yeah!” The Game Boy disappeared and he smiled like an angel. “I forgot.”
“Well, lucky for you, mister,” I said. “I didn’t forget. Now, let’s all have a nice family dinner and we can go back to pouting later, okay?”
Sam smiled. Matt shrugged and rolled his eyes. And Ben pressed his leg against mine under the table. For the next hour and a half, as we indulged in delicious Italian fare and decadent desserts, all was right with the world. It was a welcome respite from the chaos of the past two days, and a chance to catch my breath surrounded by the people that I loved most.
While we enjoyed dinner, I kept one eye on Brock Truscott and his fiancé huddled at their table. I wondered how the black Escalade with his company’s personalized plates was related to Rosemary’s death. I also wondered if the chilly woman with the dark hair was the reason someone had tried to kill Truscott or if it was connected to the sale of his multi-million dollar business.
“Hey!” Ben said as I contemplated the situation and thought of questions to ask Detective Ford the next morning. “Would you quit staring at those two?”
I glanced over and blushed. “Sorry,” I said. “I just can’t stop admiring her complexion.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Ben leaned closer and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I know that look, babe.”
“No secrets!” Sam yelped. “We’re supposed to be one big, happy family!”
I reached over and held up my hand. “Gimme five up top, handsome.” We touched palms and he giggled. “There’s no doubt that we’re exactly that—a big, happy family!”
The server came by and asked if we needed anything else. When Ben and I shook our heads, he put the check on the table.
“Okay,” Ben said after the man left. “Let’s pay our big, happy tab and head for home. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to loosen my belt and sprawl out on the floor for a couple of hours.”
“Me, too!” Sam cheered. “And then we can have ice cream!”
As we waited for the server to return with the check, I noticed Brock Truscott’s fiancé leave their table and head for the ladies’ room. I quickly excused myself and followed her. It was an unconventional move. And I didn’t know what I might learn from her. But I was determined to do everything possible to help solve Rosemary’s murder.
When I slipped through the door into the restroom, Amanda was leaning toward the mirror above the sinks. She was applying lip gloss with short, precise strokes and didn’t even glance to see who had joined her in the silent space.
“Amanda?” I said after an awkward moment.
She twirled her eyes at my reflection in the mirror. “Oh, hi. You’re…” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, what was your name again?”
“I’m Jana,” I said. “Ben’s wife?”
She finished with her lips and turned to face me. “Well, I know that much,” she giggled. “I’m just not very good with names. Especially the first time I meet somebody.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I can be the same way.”
“Are you enjoying dinner?” she asked.
“Oh, very much. This is one of our favorites in town.”
“Brock likes it,” she said with a resigned sigh. “But I don’t much care for pasta.”
“Then it’s good of you to indulge him once in a while,” I joked. “Especially before the wedding ceremony!”
She scowled at my remark. “Who knows if there will even be one!” she hissed, her faint grin suddenly changing into a frown that crinkled her forehead. “Brock’s witch of a wife is causing so much trouble.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “What’s she doing? I mean, if it’s not too personal to ask.”
Amanda shook her head. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you. I mean, I just met you, and now you’ll think…” She eyes filled with tears and she covered them with one hand. “Oh, jeez! I’m not usually this…” I plucked a tissue from the dispenser by the sinks and pressed it into her other hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s just been a really stressful time, you know?”
“Do I know?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Some days, I think stress is my middle name! Ben and I have two boys under the age of twelve.”
Amanda blotted her eyes and blinked away the last few tears. “I can’t even imagine,” she said. “I can barely take care of myself. Brock wants to have kids, but the difference in our ages…” She waved one hand in the air. “Oh, there I go again,” she continued. “Talking about stuff that you don’t need to hear.”
Another woman came through the door. She smiled nonchalantly and made her way to one of the stalls.
“I should get back to the table,” Amanda said. “Brock gets anxious if I’m gone too long.”
I quickly washed my hands to justify my trip to the ladies’ room. Then I followed her into the hallway leading back to the dining room.
“Do you mind if I ask a quick question?” I said.
Amanda shrugged. “What’s that?”
“Do you know if Brock’s wife drives a black SUV?”
She scoffed. “That’s one of the ten zillion things she’s fighting over,” Amanda said. “The crazy witch refuses to give up her company car. She’s still got the Escalade that Brock leased for her before she cheated on him with her personal trainer.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said. “I had no idea what had happened.”
“Well, not too many people do,” Amanda explained. “But if she doesn’t see the light, this whole thing is going to end up in court. Then everybody in town will know every nasty little detail about her sleazy ways.”
“I sure hope that doesn’t happen,” I said, touching her arm lightly. “For your sake. And for Brock’s.”
She smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say, Jana. Maybe we can have lunch sometime after the dust settles.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “My husband told me that Brock’s staying on as a consultant for a year after he sells Zephyr Industries. Maybe the four of us could go to dinner, too.”
“That would be wonderful.” She glanced over at Brock. He was tapping his watch and grinning widely. “Oh, shoot,” she gushed. “I better run. It was nice talking to you. And I’m sorry about all that dirty laundry that I spilled.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” I said. “I just hope everything works out okay for you.”
Her smile softened. “Yeah, so do I. Brock’s ex has been stalking me and leaving all kinds of rude messages on my phone. He doesn’t know a thing about it, but it’s freaking me out like you wouldn’t believe.”
The look in her eyes told me she was truly ter
rified by the situation. As she turned to walk back to their table, I thought of two more questions.
“Do you think his wife could be violent?” I said. “Or do you think she knows someone who could be?”
Amanda laughed. “She was married to an ex-con before she met Brock. From what I’ve heard, she and her ex-husband are still pretty close. She’s also aware now that Brock plans to change his will once he and I get married. Instead of millions of dollars and two plush houses, she’ll end up with a big, fat zero!”
After another remark about having lunch, she walked toward the far side of the restaurant. I hurried back to the booth where Ben and the boys were anxiously waiting.
“Mom!” Sam whined. “You were gone for an hour!”
I gave his nose a little tweak. “More like two hours,” I said. “And I bet you were a patient little man the whole time!”
Ben grumbled. “Hardly,” he said under his breath. “He’s been counting the seconds since you left.”
“I want ice cream!” Sam said. “That’s why!”
“Then let’s go,” I said, taking his hand.
I hugged him as we got up from the table. There was nothing better than the excitement of a young child to remind you that, despite the evil and dark forces behind Rosemary’s death, there is still hope and goodness in the world.
Chapter 16
“Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan,” Detective Ford said after I answered the droning phone the next morning at eight. “Hope I haven’t called too early.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m actually home from work today, so…” I waved at Ben as he rushed out the door with his briefcase and travel mug of steaming coffee. “What’s going on?” I continued. “Have you figured out what killed Rosemary?”
“Yes, I’m afraid we have,” Ford said solemnly. “The toxicology report came in late yesterday afternoon from the lab. It looks like someone put strychnine in the dip that your friend sampled at your house.”
I felt my lungs constrict and my body go limp. I quickly pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down before I collapsed.
“And you’re sure about that?” I finally said in a quivering voice.
“Yes, the tests were conclusive; it was a fatal amount of poison, enough to kill dozens of people.”
My mind flashed back to Sonja’s brother delivering the package from Olive Street Café. I saw the red cap he was wearing, the slack expression on his face, the paper bag in his hands.
“What did they say at the restaurant?” I asked.
“One of our other detectives interviewed the manager, kitchen staff and the person who took the order placed by your husband,” Detective Ford answered. “None of the employees remember spinach dip being included in any of the delivery orders that day. And I spoke to your husband’s assistant, Rachel Fitzgerald.”
I conjured an image of Ben’s admin. She was a short redhead with twinkling blue eyes and a calm, confident manner. Since he’d already told me that Rachel had both placed and canceled the order for the Brock Truscott dinner at our house, I interrupted the detective and asked if he had any solid leads.
“About the person responsible?” he asked.
“Yes, who do you think put the poison in the dip?” I said. “And why did they bring it to our house?”
The silence that followed seemed to be endless. But eventually Ford cleared his throat and asked if he could call me back.
“Does that mean you don’t have any ideas?” I asked.
“No, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said slowly. “It just means that our investigation is ongoing. I can tell you that the housepainter who allegedly stole money from Rosemary’s house is not involved in her death.”
“How do you know that?”
“One of my partners went to interview the man after Rosemary’s husband provided us with his name,” explained Ford. “While the man confessed to sending a couple of aggressive letters to Rosemary and her husband, there was—”
“How can that be?” I interrupted. “You just told me that he isn’t involved in her murder?”
“That’s correct,” the detective answered. “He sent the threats, but he didn’t have anything to do with the poison. It turns out that the housepainter was arrested after a bar fight in Texas a couple of days before Rosemary was poisoned. He couldn’t make bail, so he was still behind bars in Houston at the time of the incident.”
I let the news sink in before another name popped into my mind.
“Then what about Brock Truscott?” I offered. “Maybe somebody at his company is upset that he’s selling. Or maybe his wife is angry that he’s leaving her for a younger woman.”
“Brock Truscott?”
I sighed and repeated what I’d just told Ford. “I know that I mentioned him on Saturday,” I said. “But maybe I told the other two officers. It was all kind of a jumble to me, but I’m certain that I explained about my husband’s business dinner that we were having catered that night.”
“Tell you what,” the detective said. “If you can hold for a minute, I’ll push back my meeting so we can talk now.”
“That would be great. I know you’re doing everything you can, but I want to make sure that whoever did this to Rosemary is brought to justice.”
After Ford put me on hold, I went into the bedroom, retrieved my laptop and went back to the kitchen table. As I was checking the notes that I made on Saturday night, the detective clicked back onto the line.
“Thanks for your patience, Mrs. Sullivan. Now, where were we?”
“Brock Truscott,” I said. “I think you should look into his company and talk to his wife and girlfriend.”
“He has one of each?”
“Yes, he’s getting divorced. And from what I’ve heard, things are pretty contentious.”
“Between Mr. Truscott and his wife?”
“Yes, the divorce is even rockier than the marriage.”
“And how do you know this?” asked Ford.
“My husband’s company is in the process of acquiring Truscott’s business. And he’s heard things—from Truscott and a couple of the guys involved with the deal.”
“Okay, so your husband has heard things and he’s shared that with you?” Ford clarified. “But you haven’t actually heard Mr. Truscott or his wife speaking about their marriage or divorce?”
The question seemed odd, but then I remembered that Detective Ford was working a murder investigation and everything was under the microscope. I confirmed what he’d just said before telling him that I had more to say about Saturday.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Well, I know who delivered the poisoned dip,” I said hesitantly.
Ford was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “How long were you going to wait to share that information?”
“I tried telling you yesterday,” I said. “But you didn’t return my calls.”
“Who was it?” he asked, ignoring my comment.
“My friend’s brother,” I said. “His name is Warren Davis. But he isn’t the killer. He was just hired to deliver the package that contained the poison dip. I don’t even think he knew what was in the paper bag.”
The line was silent again. I felt like Ford was annoyed at me, like I’d purposefully withheld critical information.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry if you—”
“Pardon the interruption,” said Ford. “But I think we should talk face-to-face. How soon could you come in? Or would you prefer that I come to your house so we can go over things?”
I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was half past eight. I told Ford that I would see him at the police station.
“Perfect,” he said. “Before we finish, can you tell me your friend’s name?”
“Sonja Anderson,” I said. “She’s in my book club. Along with Rosemary.”
“Do you have her phone number handy?”
I felt instantly guilty sharing Sonja’s name and number, but I also knew it was the right thing to do.
>
“Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan,” Ford said crisply. “I’ll look forward to seeing you at ten.”
Chapter 17
When a uniformed officer escorted me to an interview room at the station, Sonja was already seated on the edge of a chair. She was sipping a cup of coffee and twirling her phone idly on the table.
“What did you tell him?” she hissed as soon as we were alone.
“Detective Ford?” I asked.
She gave me a wordless nod.
“I just told him that your brother delivered the dip. And that I thought maybe Brock Truscott was somehow connected to Rosemary’s murder.”
“Brock who?”
“Truscott. He’s the guy that Ben’s company is negotiating with.”
“My brother didn’t kill anybody.” Her eyes were fixed on me, a fatigued stare edged with fury. “He’s a stupid jerk maybe. And he makes really bad choices. But he’s not a murderer.”
“I’m on your side, Sonja.”
Her sigh was loud and dismissive. “I thought you were,” she said. “But when the cops showed up at my door and told me the detective was requesting my presence, I did the math pretty quickly.” Her phone rang and she silenced it with one quick tap. “I don’t know what kind of friend would tell the cops that Warren was involved.”
I took a breath. “The kind of friend who believes in the truth,” I offered. “Because that’s what it was, Sonja. And your brother is involved, whether you like it or not.”
“Come on, Jana! My brother may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he would never kill anyone.” Her face was red and her chest was heaving from the sudden surge of adrenalin. “And I mean never!” she added harshly. “Warren’s made a lot of bad choices in his life, but I know he’d never be capable of murder.”
“What if he wasn’t in on it?”
Her eyes blinked rapidly. “What’re you saying?”
“Maybe your brother didn’t know the dip was poisoned,” I explained. “What if somebody said, ‘Want to make twenty bucks delivering a package?’ He’d jump at the chance, right?”
