“Well, Lucy just saw it in my kitchen and said that it was Antoine’s stalker, Marie Parsons.”
“That’s not the name she was registered under. The ID she gave Derek said her name was . . .” I heard paper rustling. “Mandy Pope.”
“Lucy was really certain it was her.”
“I’ll see if I can find her.”
“Oh, also, I saw the mystery woman again.”
Seven
For a second, I wasn’t sure Dan had heard what I’d said because he didn’t say anything. “The woman I saw at the café the morning I found Melanie was lurking behind my shop.”
“Lurking? What does lurking look like?” He yawned.
“It looks like someone who might have been hiding underneath my back porch.” That seemed like bona fide lurking to me.
“Are we talking about a woman or a stray cat here?” Dan asked.
“Dan, why aren’t you taking this seriously? This is the third time I’ve seen this woman.” I was beginning to think he really didn’t want to examine any other possibilities besides Antoine. “She was skulking in Barbara’s shop, too. Faith thought she was a shoplifter.”
“Lurking and skulking?”
“Yes. Lurking and skulking. What are you going to do about it?”
I heard what sounded like a pen tapping on a desk over the phone. Finally he spoke. “Here’s why I’m not taking your reports of strange women lurking or skulking in the area seriously. First of all, you’re the only person who saw this woman at the hotel. Julie at the café doesn’t remember anyone coming in who wasn’t with the television crew.”
“She was busy. Maybe she didn’t notice. Maybe . . .” I could have spun a dozen reasons Julie might not remember a woman coming through, but Dan interrupted me.
“Maybe pigs flew by the window and distracted her, Bec. I don’t know. I’m supposed to gather evidence, not speculate. I just know she doesn’t remember seeing this woman you report being in the area. Second, I’m guessing Cynthia told you one of the best defenses for Antoine was to find someone else to blame for the crime.”
That knocked the top off my meringue. “That’s beside the point.” My face felt hot. Was he implying what I thought he was implying?
“No. It’s not. I know Cynthia and I know her tactics. I also know how persuasive she can be. And now here you are delivering two suspicious people to me. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.” He was speaking slowly and clearly, a sure sign he was getting ticked off.
Which was fine, because I was already ticked off. “It’s not a tactic. That woman was here. She was at the café. She was at the lighthouse when Antoine was filming there, too.” I couldn’t believe he wasn’t taking my word for it. “You’re the one who gave me the picture of the woman who went to jail for stalking Antoine and said she was at the hotel the night Melanie was killed.”
“Do you think there might be tape of your lurker at the lighthouse? That the crew might have caught her on tape?” He sounded a little more interested.
My answer wasn’t going to encourage that, though. “Probably not. They keep the camera focused on Antoine for the most part. I mean, he’s why people tune in after all. You could ask Jason. Maybe he panned over the crowd for some reason.”
“I’ll ask,” he said, but it didn’t sound like it would be at the top of his priority list. “I’ll see what I can do to track down Marie Parsons, too.”
* * *
The news vans were still in front of the store when it was time to close up. So were the Belanger Bunnies with their signs. Seriously, what had I ever done to them? Whatever it was that they thought I’d done, I didn’t have the energy or the heart to confront them about it today. I snapped Sprocket’s leash on and we snuck out the back door into the alley.
Jasper was waiting for the leftovers. He wasn’t always here when I left, but he generally came by. I thought he’d eventually get sick of popcorn leftovers, but it hadn’t happened yet. Then it occurred to me that with the amount of time he spent in the back alleys of Grand Lake looking for handouts and leftovers, he might have seen my mystery lady.
“Hey, have you happened to see a dark-haired woman hanging around here?” I asked.
“Nope.” He took the bag of popcorn from me. “Looking for a one-armed man, are you?”
“What?” I didn’t think I’d mentioned numbers of limbs at all.
“You know. Like that old TV show. The Fugitive. The guy always says there’s a one-armed man who actually did the crime.”
“Did he do it? In the show?” I asked.
“Come to think of it, he did.” Jasper scratched the back of his head. “I’ll keep an eye out for her.”
When we reached the end of the alley, Jasper turned to stay with me as I took the back route home. “Isn’t your place the other direction?” I asked.
He looked a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, but those Belanger Bunny ladies? They really kind of hate you.”
“Really? What was your first clue? Their chants about me being the root of all evil? Or was it the posters with my face inside a red circle with a slash through it?” The Belanger Bunnies had a way of making their opinions known.
“Both, to be honest.”
“Do you know why?” I asked. I really couldn’t come up with something I’d done to make them hate me so much.
“Something about deserting Antoine. Leaving him heartbroken.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I thought I’d walk you home. Make sure you got there okay.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket.
I stopped. “Jasper, that is really sweet.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard of Jasper doing anything that altruistic before.
He shrugged. “I kind of owe you. With that whole making-sure-I-didn’t-get-charged-with-murder thing.”
I may have also been part of why he’d been arrested in the first place, but I decided not to bring that up, and he walked me to the house.
“Thanks, Jasper.”
“No problem. See you tomorrow.” Then he turned and walked away, bag of leftover popcorn tucked beneath his arm.
* * *
Sundays I sleep in. I still open the shop, but not until the afternoon. The problem is that since I get up every other morning at five, sleeping in tends to mean seven. I like the extra sleep, but it doesn’t feel as decadent as I’d like it to.
I sat up slowly in bed so as not to knock my head against the slanted ceiling. Sprocket lifted his head from where he slept in his bed and gave me a harrumph. “I hear you, boy,” I said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
It was more like fifteen minutes, but I figured that Sprocket couldn’t tell time so he’d never know I lied to him. By seven thirty, I was in the kitchen with the radio switched on, making scrambled eggs. I’d considered poached, but it brought back too many memories of Melanie in her tub.
I was grooving to “Body and Soul” when the announcer cut in. “We bring you breaking news from Grand Lake.”
I turned the heat off under the eggs. We had breaking news? I cringed. It had to be about Antoine.
“Antoine Belanger’s attorney is about to make a statement.”
I ran over to the television and snapped it on. Sure enough, on channel thirty-seven Cynthia was climbing the steps in front of the Sheriff’s Department to stand in front of a veritable forest of microphones.
“Thank you for coming out today,” she said, smiling to the reporters. “I wanted to make a brief statement on behalf of Monsieur Belanger.”
She unfolded some papers and smoothed them in front of her on the podium. “Monsieur Belanger would like all of you to know that he is not guilty of the heinous crime of which he has been accused. The death of Melanie Fitzgerald was tragic. She was an integral part of his team for many years and was a trusted part of the Cooking the Belanger Way family. She will be missed. He is, however, in no way responsible for her passing.”
Cynthia took off her reading glasses and looked out at the camera. “Monsieur Belanger was here in Grand Lake to feature his ex-wife’s shop on his very popular television show. This kind of generosity is typical of him. A mention from Monsieur Belanger can make or break a restaurant or a product. He chooses to help people who he deems worthy no matter what his personal relationship is with them. Unfortunately, there are some who do not understand that sort of kindness. Ms. Anderson’s relatives, such as Sheriff Dan Cooper, have always harbored ill will toward Monsieur Belanger and have used this opportunity to persecute him.”
I gasped and sat down on the couch. Sprocket nudged my hand with his nose and I scratched his ears. Cynthia had just accused Dan of arresting Antoine because he didn’t like him. On television. In front of God and everybody.
“Monsieur Belanger will be pleading not guilty tomorrow at his hearing. It is our first step in proving that he is completely innocent and is being framed by a malicious and vindictive law enforcement official.” She folded up her papers and said, “That’s all for now. No questions.” She strode away from the podium.
I bet Dan wished he picked up my strange lurking woman now or had found Marie Parsons.
I went back over the conversation I’d had with Cynthia on the steps of the Sheriff’s Department. Had I said anything about Dan in particular? Had I mentioned who my family was? I was still sitting on the couch with the spatula in my hand when the pounding on my door started.
I knew it was Dan. Of course it was Dan. Who else could it be but Dan?
I opened the door.
It was Dan.
“What the hell did that piece of French filth say to his lawyer about me?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure it was Antoine,” I said. “I’m afraid it might have been me.”
* * *
In the end, Dan decided it wasn’t my fault. He even conceded it wasn’t Antoine’s fault. After all, Cynthia knew exactly who Dan was because of his long friendship with Garrett. It wouldn’t have taken Sherlock Holmes to figure out that I was Dan’s sister-in-law as well as being Antoine’s ex-wife. He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t calling Antoine names by the time he left. Even better, he wasn’t calling me names.
I called Garrett. “Did you see Cynthia’s press conference?” I asked.
“I did.”
I waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. “Did you know she was going to do that?”
He sighed. “No. I’m not really surprised, though.”
“You’re not?”
“One of the reasons I suggested you contact Cynthia is because she will do anything—and I do mean anything—to defend her client. She will use the media to create sympathy for Antoine. She will point fingers. She will do everything she can to muddy the situation until it’s not really clear why anyone would have ever suspected Antoine in the first place. If there’s someone out there who can get him out of that jail cell smelling like a rose, it’s Cynthia.” He didn’t sound like he totally admired that quality.
I knew that was good, but I still felt uncomfortable. “Did she have to do that at the expense of Dan’s reputation?”
“Until Dan hands over a retainer to her, he is simply another tool to be used in the service of clearing her client. She’s that single-minded.”
“I don’t think he likes her anymore,” I said. “He was a little angry.”
Garrett made a funny noise. “He never liked her. Don’t let him try to tell you any different.”
It made me feel kind of good that Dan had never liked Cynthia. “What didn’t he like about her?”
“I’m not going there, Rebecca. Ask Dan if you really want to know.”
“He said the same thing about talking to you about her. What did you guys do? Take some kind of blood oath?” Boys. They were so frustrating sometimes.
“Sort of. Think of it as our own personal code.”
“Fine. See you later?”
“You bet.”
Maybe I could use bacon to get the information out of him.
* * *
By Monday morning, the television news people had figured out what time POPS opened in the morning and were stacked two deep out front by the time I opened the doors. They had also figured out where they needed to go to get decent coffee. They might be vultures, but they weren’t stupid. The second the doors opened, they rushed in, demanding coffee, popcorn bars and comments on the feud between Dan and Antoine. Yolanda Barnett took her large coffee and breakfast bar and shoved a microphone in Dario’s face. “Do you have any comment on Sheriff Cooper’s persecution of celebuchef Antoine Belanger?”
Dario pointed to the counter and said, “Half-and-half and sugar is over there.” Then he turned to the next customer who ordered the same thing and asked if it was true that Antoine had been sleeping with Melanie. It went like that for about five minutes and then Dario looked at me and said, “I can make this stop. Permission to set a few ground rules?”
“Permission granted.”
In one smooth move, he leapt on top of the counter. If he loomed before, he was now mega-looming. I was surprised he hadn’t hit his head on the ceiling. “Listen up, people.”
Cameras went off. Microphones turned toward him. “From now on, only one member from each news team is allowed inside the shop at a time.”
“Wait. What?” Rick Day from the Chicago Examiner asked.
Dario pointed a finger at him. “I’m not finished. If that one person wants to fill orders for his or her team, that’s fine, but the second a question is asked that is not related to the food we are serving you, that person will be banned. For life.”
Someone gasped. Someone else said, “Hey, that’s not . . .”
Dario whirled. “There will be no arguing with those rules. Arguing with POPS staff about the rules will result in you being ejected from the shop.”
“For life?” someone asked.
Dario nodded. “For life.” There was silence. Dario looked over the crowd. “I suggest all of you who have not been served yet go outside, choose a representative, give that person your order and send that one person back in. Make sure it’s someone who doesn’t ask a lot of questions.”
No one moved.
“Or go get your morning coffee from the diner.” He crossed his arms over his chest and his biceps bulged.
Two reporters got stuck in the door trying to go out at the same time.
* * *
Antoine’s hearing was scheduled for eleven o’clock. I left Dario at the shop as soon as the morning rush was over and began my walk over to the courthouse. Normally, I felt a little jolt of pleasure every time I walked out of POPS onto Main Street in Grand Lake. It was so perfectly small-town picturesque, especially on a crisp fall day, yellow-orange leaves silhouetted against a crisp blue sky with little wisps of clouds floating around like marshmallows melting in hot chocolate.
Today, not so much. Virtually everyone who had been in front of my shop that morning was gone. I had a feeling they were already at the courthouse. They’d left behind what large groups of people always leave behind. Flattened grass, trash, the detritus of human life. I went back into the shop and grabbed a garbage bag. As I walked, I picked up the discarded wrappers and cans and cups.
“Who assigned you community service?” Faith asked as I passed her antique shop.
“My conscience?” I suggested. After all, none of these people would have been massing on Main Street if it weren’t for me and my cuckoo ex and his thieving assistant.
“Those things are overrated if you ask me.” Faith leaned against the doorframe of the shop.
I shrugged. “I feel a little guilty about the mess.” I gestured at the litter on the street. “I don’t want all the other shop owners to be pissed at me.”
She waved her hand as if to clear it away. “They should al
l be thanking you. Everyone’s business has doubled since the press arrived. We’ve got people in here doing early Christmas shopping. The diner can’t make the grilled cheese sandwiches and hamburgers fast enough. It’s all good.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel a little better.”
“Besides, if anyone’s to blame it’s that ex-husband of yours.”
“It’s not exactly his fault he was arrested for murdering his assistant when he didn’t do it.”
She shrugged. “So you say. Have fun at the hearing.” She went back inside.
I walked the rest of the way to the courthouse. I was right. Everyone was there. The press. The Bunnies. Half the town. What was worse, they were intermingling. I overheard one of the Bunnies talking to Yolanda Barnett. “You know she was suspected of killing that nice little old lady here just a few months ago,” the Bunny said. “She was even brought in for questioning. Twice.”
“Wasn’t someone else charged with that killing?” Yolanda asked.
The Bunny shrugged. “Eventually, but everyone here in her own hometown thought she could have done it. Tells you something about a person, doesn’t it?” She pursed her lips.
Mayor Thompson strode up next to the Bunny. “Excuse me, but not everyone here in Grand Lake considered Rebecca a viable suspect. Many of us knew she was innocent from the start. We are proud to have her return to Grand Lake and think her shop is an excellent addition to our Main Street thoroughfare.”
I blinked. I guessed Mayor Thompson totally forgave me for hitting him over the head with a flowerpot. Good to know.
I didn’t wait to hear more even if it was giving me a big case of the warm fuzzies deep inside. I headed for the front steps. I would have much rather stayed at POPS and made the fudge for the afternoon rush, but Cynthia had been adamant that I must be by Antoine’s side when he came in front of the judge.
I opened the door to walk into the courtroom and immediately backed away and shut it again. The room echoed with noise. The oak of the door pulsed under my hand when I touched it. I looked over at Deputy Stephens, who stood next to the door, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead, his head so low it seemed to rest on his thick shoulders. Stephens was one of the beefier of Grand Lake’s deputies. Between the imposing muscles and the shaved head, not many people wanted to mess with him.
Pop Goes the Murder Page 11
