Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  “Why would I?” Diane replied.

  “You worked with Jake day in and day out, even the day he was murdered. Did you see or hear anything suspicious the day he was killed?”

  Diane still didn’t seem to realize why I was really there. I wanted to keep that up as long as I could. If I could get some additional useful information along the way, that was just a bonus.

  Luckily, it looked like she was going to give me something to work with.

  “Actually, yes,” Diane said. “You should talk to Trevor Skelton.”

  “Why him?”

  “He stormed into Jake’s office completely drunk and just started going off on this long and rambling diatribe about how Jake had ruined his life.”

  My eyes lit up. “When did this happen again?”

  “Just a few hours before the murder occurred. Let me tell you, Trevor was out of control. Jake had to have him removed from the building,” Diane explained.

  “Really?”

  Diane nodded.

  “Well, that’s definitely something that needs some following up on.”

  Diane dropped what remained of her cigarette on the ground and crushed it with her boot. “Anyway, I’m going to head inside now. It’s freezing out here. But, I really hope you can find some peace.”

  Freezing temperatures aside, Diane sure seemed to be in a hurry to head back into her apartment. The time for congenial conversation was over. I had to pull out the heavy artillery.

  “Not so fast,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not quite done here.”

  Diane wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you where you were on Tuesday night,” I said.

  “But, I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just tell me where you were between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday,” I said.

  Diane put her foot down. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

  Detective Stone was done standing idly by. He pulled out his police badge and flashed it at Diane.

  “You can either answer the question here or at the station,” the detective said.

  Panic entered Diane’s voice. “Wait a minute. You’re a police detective?”

  Detective Stone nodded. “Now, why don’t you answer the question?”

  Diane stared me down, outraged. “So, that’s why you really came here, huh?” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t believe you just pretended he was your friend while acting like you cared about my feelings.”

  Detective Stone stopped her right there. “Ms. Stanton, do you really want to raise your voice in the presence of an officer of the law?”

  Diane backed down momentarily.

  Stone continued. “Now, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. So, answer the question. Where were you between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday?”

  “I was at a nail appointment,” Diane replied.

  Detective Stone immediately pulled out his cell phone. “What nail salon? I’ll give them a call to corroborate your story.”

  Diane clearly hadn’t expected the detective to follow up on her alibi so quickly. She revised her story. “What I meant to say was that I was driving home from a nail appointment.”

  The detective gave her a critical stare. “Driving home, huh? Did you happen to stop back at the office on the way?”

  Diane became curt. “No.”

  Stone didn’t buy that. “You’ve already lied to us once. Why should we believe you now?”

  She was vehement in her denial. “I didn’t lie. I just got the exact times mixed up a little. What you were asking about happened a few days ago, and a lot has happened since then.”

  He still didn’t completely buy her story. “Was there anyone in the car with you when you were driving home who could verify your story?”

  “No. But that’s what I was doing.”

  We were getting nowhere with this line of questioning. I decided to take the conversation in a different direction. “If I remember correctly, you own a gun, don’t you?”

  Diane became more argumentative. “That doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know anyone in this town who doesn’t.”

  I stopped her cold with my answer. “I don’t.”

  She changed her line of reasoning. “Last time I checked, this is still America, and I have a legal right to own a gun.”

  Detective Stone jumped in. “Is it a thirty-eight caliber?”

  Diane seemed more interested in evading questions than answering them. “I don’t see how any of this is your business.”

  “I can run your registration papers, but I’m already pretty sure of the answer,” Detective Stone replied.

  Diane quickly changed the subject. “This is ridiculous, anyway. Why would you think I had anything to do with Jake’s death?”

  She could play dumb all she wanted, but I was too smart to fall for it.

  I pulled out the last piece of incriminating information that was in my arsenal. “Diane, I know you had a crush on Jake.”

  Diane stammered, blindsided by my words. “Wait, how did you--?”

  I interrupted her. “A girlfriend always knows things like that.”

  The detective stepped in. “Ms. Stanton, is that true? Did you have a crush on the victim?”

  I watched the gears spin in Diane’s head as she tried to talk her way out of this. Ultimately, she came clean.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  Detective Stone’s eyes opened wide. “Interesting.”

  Once again, Diane tried to talk to her way out with some verbal gymnastics. “So, I liked him. That gives me less reason than ever to want him dead.”

  I saw a major flaw in her logic. “Normally, I’d agree. The problem is, the only thing stronger than the power of love is the scorn of heartbreak. Your feelings for Jake were unrequited. He loved me, and you knew that. Maybe you figured if you couldn’t have him, then no one could.”

  Diane was outraged. “That’s a big assumption, which you have no way of backing up.”

  I fired right back at her. “Like you should talk. You don’t have any way of backing up your story.”

  Diane changed the subject again. “I’m telling you, you’re talking to the wrong person.

  Detective Stone called her out. “The problem is, you already lied to us once in this conversation. Why should we believe you now?”

  “Because I’m telling you the truth,” Diane pleaded.

  The detective looked at her sternly. “I wish I could believe that.”

  Diane folded her arms in defiance, completely shutting down. “I have nothing else to say.”

  That put Stone in a tough spot. He didn’t have enough to arrest her, but it was also clear that Diane wasn’t going to volunteer any further information.

  He glared at her. “I do. Don’t think about leaving town.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After a rocky first interrogation with Diane, the detective and I moved on to the next suspect on our list. Diane hadn’t given us all that much to work with, but she did provide us with one solid lead worth checking up on.

  We headed over to Trevor Skelton’s apartment to hear his side of the story. Trevor lived in Break Up Park. To most people, it was The Brea Park apartment complex, but in my experience, only recent divorced men ever moved there. I didn’t have the stats in front of me, but I was pretty sure it was home to the highest concentration of divorced men in the entire county.

  In stark contrast to the Old West-themed complex that Diane Stanton lived in, Break Up Park was nothing more than slabs of concrete without even the slightest hint of personality. It was hard not to be struck by how soullessly utilitarian it was. It was so drab looking that if barbed wire were to be erected around it, the complex could easily be mistaken it for a prison.

  Then again, I was looking at it from a distinctively feminine point of view. The people that liv
ed there didn’t care about things like décor. They just wanted a roof over their heads. To most of the residents, it was only a temporary stomping ground for them—a cheap place to sleep at night while they cobbled their lives back together after their breakup.

  For Trevor Skelton, that rebuilding process had been going on surprisingly too long, with more bumps in the road than he expected. As Detective Stone knocked on the front door to his apartment, I fully expected Trevor to answer the door drunk, or at least slightly buzzed. The man treated beer like it was his best friend instead of his greatest adversary.

  Sure enough, when Trevor swung the front door open, it didn’t take long for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. His oval face was beet red, his brown eyes were bloodshot, and his short brown hair had not been combed. He was a tall fifty-four-year-old man who, in his intoxicated state, looked as imposing as he was unpredictable. At that moment, I was glad that I wasn’t investigating this case alone.

  It was hard to believe it was two p.m. on a weekday. Trevor had clearly hit the bottle early and often. That pretty much summed up the last year of his life. His ex-wife had taken him to the cleaners in divorce court, but I had assumed he was able to retain at least a shred of dignity. Looking at the beer stains on his white tank top, I realized that I’d overestimated him. To me, this looked like rock bottom, but did he still have a ways to fall yet?

  As expected, Trevor did not give us a warm greeting.

  “What are you doing back here?” he snapped.

  Detective Stone wasn’t about to let himself be intimidated. “A little unfinished business.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Didn’t you ask me enough questions the last time you were here?” Trevor barked.

  “I’d watch my voice volume if I were you. I’m a police detective.”

  I could tell that Trevor wanted to fire right back at the detective, but he thankfully found some restraint.

  Stone continued. “Now, we need to ask you a few more questions.”

  Trevor turned a critical eye to me. “Who is this?”

  Luckily, he didn’t recognize me. If he knew I was Jake’s girlfriend, the conversation would devolve even quicker into chaos.

  The detective stepped in. “We’re the ones asking the questions.”

  Trevor glared at Stone. “I don’t see the point. My answers won’t be any different than the last time.”

  “Who said we’re going to ask the same questions?” Stone replied.

  By then, Trevor was annoyed beyond belief. “What haven’t you asked me?”

  I went right after him. “Like how you stormed into Jake Talbot’s office the day of the murder and had a blowout fight with him.”

  Trevor opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off, in no mood for nonsense.

  “Don’t try to deny it. We have a source who told us all about the fight,” I continued.

  The complexion of Trevor’s face changed. He paused before answering, looking like he was grasping for words that wouldn’t incriminate him. “All right. I was there. But that was hours before the murder occurred.”

  “It’s interesting that you of all people would bring up time. There you were, almost a full year after your divorce, no closer to getting over your resentment for Jake. If anything, you seem just as bent out of shape as ever--”

  This time, it was Trevor who cut me off. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “It doesn’t make you look innocent, either,” Detective Stone said.

  While Trevor and the detective exchanged glares, I dug deeper.

  “What got you so worked up that made you storm into Jake’s office in the first place?” I asked.

  Trevor tried to downplay things. “I just had a bad day. We all have those.”

  “You mean the kind of day when you’re so angry that you feel like you could kill someone?” I replied.

  That nearly threw Trevor over the edge. “You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s what you meant, wasn’t it? Why else would you get so worked up over a figure of speech?” I said.

  Again, Trevor tried understating things. “It was just a bad day is all.”

  Refusing to be discouraged, I kept pressing. “You still didn’t answer my question. What kind of bad day were you having?”

  Trevor clammed up. He looked like he had no interest in giving me an answer.

  I prodded him again. “You know, the more you avoid the questions, the guiltier you look.”

  Trevor groaned and then finally gave me some details. “I had just seen my wife…” He stopped himself. “I mean, ex-wife, kissing her new boyfriend. She was as happy as could be. Her life was just how she wanted it--”

  “And yours was anything but,” I said.

  “Stop putting words in my mouth,” Trevor barked.

  Detective Stone took the lead again. “Are you still going to try and tell me that you had no part in this murder?”

  Trevor nodded. “Yeah, because it’s the truth.”

  The detective had a hard time believing that. “Why don’t you tell me where were you again between seven and seven fifteen on Tuesday?”

  “I already told you that,” Trevor said.

  “Tell me again,” Detective Stone replied.

  “I was right here.”

  “Watching TV, right?”

  “Yeah. The game was on.”

  “The game was on until ten o’clock. Just because you watched a part of the game doesn’t mean you were watching it around seven,” Detective Stone said.

  “You wanted an answer, and I gave it to you,” Trevor replied.

  “It would be easier to believe you if you have someone to corroborate your story. But you don’t, do you?” the detective said.

  Trevor tensed up.

  Detective Stone continued. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

  “What’s the point of answering your questions if you don’t believe a word I say?” Trevor replied.

  “Your word is only as strong as your ability to back it up, which you haven’t been able to do.”

  “You haven’t been able to prove that I’m guilty, either. You have no evidence of anything, just theories. That’s why I’m done answering your questions,” Trevor said.

  That might have been the most truthful thing Trevor had said all day. As much as we wished that we could refute that, neither the detective nor I had any incriminating evidence…yet. With Trevor going tight lipped on us, we elected to move on to the next suspect on our list.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Unfortunately, Kristen Cramer was not at home when we stopped by her place. On a positive note, unlike with Jake’s ex-girlfriend, there was no need to put out an all-points bulletin to find Kristen. A simple call to her workplace gave us the information we needed. Kristen was at Ainsley’s Bakery, finishing up her shift. If we sped over there, we could just catch her before she headed elsewhere.

  Detective Stone put the pedal to the metal and burned rubber over to the bakery as I readied my questions for her. At the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but hope that she’d still be inside when we got there. Interrogating a suspect was bad enough. Having to do it out in the cold was excruciating.

  My prayer was not answered. I’d been to Ainsley’s Bakery many times in the past. My waistline might argue a little too often. Typically, the moment I spotted the store’s pink sign, my mind drifted to thoughts of delicious pastries. In fact, if it wasn’t for this murder investigation, no doubt I would have put my diet to shame by stuffing my face with a few chocolate croissants.

  Perhaps, after I’d solved the case, I’d do just that. In the meantime, my taste buds had to take a backseat when I saw Kristen emerge from behind the building, headed for her car in the parking lot.

  “There she is,” I pointed out. “You can’t let her get to her car.”

  “Don’t worry. She won’t,” Detective Stone replied.

  I tried to look on the bright side. While we’d ha
ve to brave the cold for this questioning, at least Kristen hadn’t already left the parking lot, headed to parts unknown. Still, we had precious little time to work with and needed to get straight to the heart of the matter.

  The detective cut through the parking lot until his car was halfway between Kristen and her parked car. If Kristen wanted to get to her sedan, she’d have to go through us. The detective quickly turned off the car and got out. I joined him with a steely resolve on my face.

  Kristen had a completely different expression. Her face was frozen in a state of shock like she’d realized she’d been pranked on a hidden-camera reality show.

  “Ms. Cramer, we have to talk to you,” Detective Stone said.

  The shock wore off on Kristen’s face, replaced by confusion. She had only half-zipped her parka revealing the 1950s-style pink work uniform she was wearing underneath. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which only made the freckles on her oval face stand out even more.

  Sensing she wouldn’t be getting to her car as quickly as she’d hoped, the curvy fifty-four-year-old flipped the hood up on her parka and zipped the jacket all the way to the top to shield herself from the cold. For added warmth, she folded her arms.

  Puffy parka aside, Kristen was carrying a few extra pounds than when I’d last seen her. It could have been from all the stress eating after her divorce. Then again, spending her entire day working around delicious pastries made it awfully difficult to keep the pounds off.

  I knew that if I were in her line of work, the chances of me ballooning up in weight would be dangerously high. I could admit my faults, and my willpower around tasty treats was sorely lacking. Kristen knew a thing or two about having a shortage of willpower.

  Her inability to keep her adulterous desires at bay led her to have an affair that tore apart her marriage. That lack of willpower ended up having dire financial consequences in divorce court. Kristen’s Pie Palace, the dessert emporium she’d spent over fifteen years building up, was the biggest casualty. The judge forced her to sell her business and give her husband half of the profits.

  With nowhere near enough money to open a new dessert place of her own, she found herself having to take a job working for Ainsley’s Bakery instead. That was a lot of crow for her to eat, which was especially difficult for her to choke down seeing as how discerning of a culinary palette she had.