by Mary Maxwell
Sonja nodded grimly.
“And if they paid him more than twenty,” I continued, “Like, say they gave him fifty or a hundred, he’d be even happier to do the job. And as far as he could tell, just by looking at the paper bag, it was food from a restaurant.”
“But he’s not an idiot,” Sonja said. “And if that’s truly what happened, the person who got him to deliver the poison dip would probably be kind of shady.”
“Chances are,” I said. “And I think we should try to find out.”
Sonja winced. “Find out? What’re you talking about?”
“See if we can find the person that paid your brother to deliver the poisoned dip.”
Her face cracked into a grin. “Are you joking?”
I shook my head. “I’m completely serious. This happened to our friend, Sonja. To Rosemary. And I, for one, want to find out who did it. And why. What reason did they have to kill her? I mean, of all people, what could Rosemary have done that would deserve such a horrible thing?”
Sonja turned her head slightly and stared at the wall. Her fingers drummed softly on the table as the thoughts tumbled around in her mind. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was feeling. Her face clearly showed the fear and uncertainty of a family member caught up in something as dark and merciless as murder. Before I could tell her again that I wasn’t the enemy, Detective Ford came into the room and closed the door.
“Before we get into it,” he said, taking a seat across from us, “I’d like to thank you both for taking the time to meet with me.”
Sonja glanced up from the spot where’d she’d been staring. “Like I had a choice?”
“I know this is difficult,” Ford said. “And I want you to know that we’re handling things as carefully as we possibly can. But when new information is presented, we have to consider how it may or may not be associated to our case.”
Sonja shot me a cold look. “New information? You mean when a friend turns in another friend’s brother?”
Ford pulled a small black leather-bound notebook from his coat. “What can you tell me about your brother, Mrs. Anderson?”
“He’s an idiot,” Sonja said, biting her lower lip. “But he’s my brother, so I love him.”
The detective nodded. “And what about his whereabouts on Saturday?”
She winced. “His whereabouts?”
“I understand that he’s been staying with you,” Ford said. “Was he at home with you on Saturday?”
Sonja pressed her lips together to think. “Well, I was busy that morning,” she said. “Doing the usual weekend things—laundry, shopping, cleaning the house. And Warren asked to borrow my car.” She shifted in her chair and brushed some hair from her eyes. “But I had book club that afternoon, so I…” Her voice grew faint and she leaned forward, pressing the tips of her fingers against the table. “I gave him a ride,” she said finally. “He was meeting some woman, somebody that supposedly was going to hire Warren for odd jobs or something. I didn’t ask questions; that’s something I stopped doing a long time ago if my brother was involved.”
I looked at Ford, but he was concentrating on every word that Sonja was telling us.
“Where did you take him?” Ford asked.
Sonja shrugged. “To a coffee shop,” she said. “The one over on Royal Avenue.”
“Brenton’s?” I suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said, turning to me with a watery smile. “I drove him over, he gave me a little peck on the cheek and then he was gone.”
“Did you see who he was meeting?” asked Ford.
Sonja shook her head. “Not really. He got out of my car and walked over to a shiny black SUV. It had those tinted windows, so I couldn’t tell who was inside.”
“Was it an Escalade?” I asked.
Ford turned to me. “If you don’t mind,” he said.
“Oh, of course,” I gushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Mrs. Sullivan. I’d prefer to conduct the interview, although I appreciate your enthusiasm.”
“I just want to find out who killed our friend,” I said for what felt like the millionth time in the past few days.
“Yes, that’s quite clear,” said Ford. “And more than a little understandable. If I was in your position, I’d be doing the same thing.” He paused, made a quick note on his pad and then glanced back at me. “Why did you ask if it was an Escalade?”
“Because we did a little…” I looked at Sonja. She was nodding her head in encouragement, so I continued with a brief account of our conversations with Brent at Rusty Red’s and Carter at the tattoo place. “And that was it,” I concluded. “We talked to those two and then I met Brock Truscott when I was out to dinner with my family. And I think his wife is driving the Escalade.”
Detective Ford smiled. “I’m sorry, but who’s Brock Truscott?”
I instantly realized that I’d left out a sizeable chunk of information. “Now it’s my turn to apologize,” I said. “Brock Truscott is a local entrepreneur. He owns several manufacturing businesses, and he’s been negotiating with my husband’s firm to sell them one of his companies.”
Ford raised one eyebrow. “Okay, that’s all interesting, but I still don’t understanding exactly how—”
“Oh, sorry again!” I blurted. “Truscott’s going through a very contentious divorce. My husband was told that he’s been receiving death threats and his wife drives an Escalade!”
The detective snickered. “I can tell you’re pretty amped up about all of this, but it doesn’t exactly—”
“And she was married to an ex-con before she met Brock!” I added quickly. “Sorry to interrupt, detective. But I think she might be a person of interest.”
He laughed again. “Sounds like you’ve been watching your fair share of police procedurals,” Ford said. “You’ve got the terminology down and seem pretty familiar with how we do things around here.”
“We just want to help,” Sonja interjected.
“Not to mention that it happened at my house,” I said.
“Yes, of course,” said Ford. “But I should caution you about actually conducting your own investigation. Witnesses and other people connected to these kinds of cases aren’t as friendly and cooperative in real life as they are on television shows.”
Sonja bristled at the remark. “What’re you saying?” she demanded. “We have every right to find out what happened to Rosemary.”
Ford nodded. “Absolutely. But I don’t think it’s wise for you to go around town interrogating potentially shady characters.”
“Like Brent and Carter?” I said.
He nodded again. “Exactly like those two. Rusty Red’s is fairly notorious. And the guy that owns the tattoo place did five years in prison for armed robbery.”
“Well, here we are,” I said, gesturing at Sonja. “In one piece and completely unharmed.”
“This time,” said Ford. “And I apologize if I’m not being very articulate. I just want you to be safe. And I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if you let us conduct the investigation. I promise to keep you apprised of any developments as soon as we have something solid.”
“Then go talk to Brock Truscott’s wife!” Sonja demanded. “See if she’s responsible for sending the poisoned spinach dip to Jana’s house.”
Before Ford could reprimand us again, I decided to share my theory. After talking to Brock’s girlfriend at Russo’s, I’d started sifting the facts and clues through my mind. I wanted to see if Ford was on the same wavelength.
“Do you want to know what I think happened?” I asked.
Ford put his pen on the table. “I’m all ears,” he said.
“I think Brock’s wife somehow learned that he was having dinner at our house on Saturday night,” I began. “Through her ex, she got her hands on strychnine. Then she ordered some carryout spinach dip from Olive Street Café, dosed it with the poison and hired Sonja’s brother to actually deliver the package.”
“Why would she want to kill her husband?” Ford asked.
“Oldest story in the book,” I said. “Greed. I have a source who told me that Brock plans to change his will once he remarries. His current wife will end up with nothing from his estate instead of the millions of dollars she’s been expecting all these years.”
A sideways grin bloomed on Ford’s face. “A source?” he asked. “Does this source have a name?”
“It’s Amanda Winslow,” I answered. “Brock’s girlfriend.”
Sonja leaned forward in her chair. “How do you know her?”
“We talked a little bit at the restaurant last night,” I explained. “Just long enough for her to confide that Brock’s wife has been threatening her, too.”
Ford picked up his notebook and tucked it into his back pocket. “Sounds like I should probably talk to Miss Winslow then.”
I shook my head. “Can you start with Brock’s wife?” I asked. “I mean, it really sounds like she’s behind the whole thing.”
“Which makes her the killer!” Sonja said. “She’s responsible for Rosemary’s death!”
Chapter 18
Java Jolt was packed to the rafters when I walked in to meet Dora and Eve. I spotted them in the back, huddled together at a small table near the display of packaged coffee beans. We were getting together to devise menu plans for Rosemary’s family that we could then split between the book club members. If everyone pitched in and prepared some easy meals that could be frozen and reheated whenever Ed and the kids were hungry, we’d be taking one small burden from their shoulders.
“You look cute!” Dora gave me a big hug before I sank onto a chair. “I almost bought that same outfit last week.”
“Thanks, hon.” I glanced over at the counter where a line snaked halfway toward the front door. “This place is insane. How long have you two been here?”
Eve smirked. “Forever,” she said. “And you’re late, Jana.”
“I’m sorry,” I said remorsefully. “Sonja and I were at the police station talking to Detective Ford.”
Eve’s eyes flashed a dark scowl. “You still trying to play Nancy Drew?”
I was stunned by her harsh comment. “We’re trying to help in any way to find Rosemary’s killer.”
“Maybe it was Professor Plum in the billiard room with a candlestick,” Eve murmured before reaching into her purse.
“Why are you being such a…” There was no need to finish the thought; she knew what I meant. “I mean, aren’t you curious about who murdered our friend?”
Eve opened a compact and began studying her face in the small mirror. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say Rosemary and I were friends,” she sighed. “More like acquaintances through the book club.” She snapped the compact and dropped it into her purse. “Which, by the way, I’m going to have to stop attending.”
Dora shot me a worried look. “Why?” she asked, clutching Eve’s hand. “This is a time for all of us to band together and support one another.”
Eve raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t that what our therapists are for?” Her mouth formed an icy smile. “Or your Xanax prescription?”
Dora was speechless. She frowned and shook her head. I waited for a few seconds to see if she’d admonish Eve, but she simply hunched over her cup and stared at the tepid coffee inside.
“Eve?” I kept my voice firm. “Can I ask a question?”
“If you must,” Eve said.
“Why are you being so cold about Rosemary?”
Eve smoothed a wrinkle from the sleeve of her blouse. “It’s what Dr. Flagg would describe as shock,” she said. “Yes, that’s it; I’m in shock at the untimely death of a member of your little book club.”
I bristled at the reply. I wasn’t close to Eve, but I’d never seen her being so frosty or detached. At our monthly book club meetings, she’d engaged in lively banter and conversation with the other girls. And the few times that I’d run into her around town, she’d been cordial and friendly. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly being so aloof and surly.
“Well, I hate to be a killjoy,” Eve announced, reaching for her purse and jacket. “But I’ve got a facial in thirty minutes on the other side of town. If you two decide what meals I can contribute for Rosemary’s family, just text me and I’ll forward the details to our chef. Julio will be glad to whip up something delicious for Ed and those two brats that Rosemary used to drone on about.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to decide if I should let her have it or ignore the cruel insult. Before I could settle on the right course of action, Dora grabbed Eve’s arm.
“What gives you the right to be such a bitch!” she shrieked. “Our friend just died. And she was murdered! Now, while we’re trying to discuss ways we can help her family, you suddenly drop out of book club and start saying really mean things about Rosemary’s kids. What is going on with you, Eve?”
“Don’t grab me like that!” Eve snapped, tugging her arm away. “I agreed to meet you here today. And I’ll be more than happy to have Julio help feed Rosemary’s family. But I’m not interested in book club. Or anything else you’ve got to say!”
A few people at nearby tables were now watching the outburst. An elderly woman sitting with two teenagers asked Eve to keep it down, but there was no need. In a flash, Eve whirled on her heel, hurried across the crowded coffee shop and disappeared out the door.
“What was that?” I asked Dora.
She fell back in her chair with a stunned expression on her face. “I have no idea. She’s always been a little chilly to me, but that was…” She giggled nervously. “That was truly worthy of an Academy Award.”
“Do you think she’s joking then?”
Dora shook her head. “Not at all. That was the shriek of a very sincere psychopath.”
The remark was out of character for Dora. She was usually so soft-spoken and demure that I was momentarily rendered speechless by her description of Eve.
“I’ve heard rumors around town,” Dora said as I shifted closer. “And I didn’t want to say anything.”
“Rumors?” I whispered, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one could hear us. “About Eve?”
“And her husband,” Dora continued. “She thinks he’s having an affair.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re serious?”
Dora nodded. “A friend in my yoga class told me. She overheard Eve talking to someone at the drug store. Eve was convinced that her husband was sleeping with another woman.”
“Why would she think he’s cheating?”
“She found a pink thong in his gym bag,” Dora said.
“Did she ask him about it?”
“I don’t know. My friend didn’t hear the whole conversation that Eve was having. But she heard enough to know that Eve said she’d do whatever it took to put an end to the affair.”
I sat back and smiled. “I guess it’s true what they say, right? You reap what you sow?”
“Meaning?” Dora asked, sipping her coffee.
“Eve walks around with her nose held so high it’s a wonder it doesn’t scrape the ceiling,” I said. “If you don’t already know that she’s rich, she’s more than happy to boast and brag about it.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Dora said. “But I—”
My phone bleeped loudly in my pocket. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “Do you mind if I check that?”
Dora shook her head. “I’m going to the little girl’s room. I’ll be right back.”
While she made her way toward the restrooms, I pulled out my phone. The call was from Detective Ford, so I figured that I’d better take it.
“Have I called at a good time?” he asked after I clicked onto the line.
“Yes, sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Well, I was following a few leads, and I wanted to ask you about a member of the book club.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“Eve Walker,” he said.
My heart thudded i
n my chest. “She was just here,” I said in a rush. “We were having coffee to talk about…” I decided it wasn’t important to explain, so I switched gears. “Why are you asking about Eve?” I continued. “What did you find out?”
“Well, after you mentioned Brock Truscott and his wife, I made a few calls. I happen to know Brock Truscott’s lawyer, and he confirmed what you told me about the divorce being pretty tricky.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I said. “What did the lawyer tell you?”
“He couldn’t get into any specifics, of course. But he did say enough to paint a pretty bleak picture.”
“Okay, so how does that relate to Eve?”
“Truscott’s lawyer said he’d also met recently with another woman who was referred by Mrs. Truscott. The second woman, who also seemed convinced that her husband was having an affair, was—”
“Eve?”
“Yes, Eve Walker. But she was so…” He paused briefly and I saw Dora coming back toward the table. “Let’s just say that her behavior during the initial meeting was so unusual, my friend declined to take her case.”
“What do you mean ‘unusual’?”
Ford cleared his throat. “I’m not comfortable getting into the specifics, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s secondhand information, and it was very unflattering. I also don’t think it’s necessary to get into the nitty-gritty at the moment. If my hunch plays out, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it in court one day.”
My breath caught in my throat. The detective was being cagey, but it seemed like he was trying to suggest that Eve might be somehow involved in Rosemary’s murder. When I came right out and asked him, he again deflected the question.
“I’m not trying to be evasive,” he assured me. “I’m just trying to be careful.”
Dora sat down and waited while I finished the call with Detective Ford. He asked me a few questions about Eve, but I could only answer two or three. I explained that I’d only recently joined the book club and she was a relatively new member as well. The most telling question that he asked was the final one.
“Do you think it’s possible that Eve joined the book club to gain access to Rosemary?”
