Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  Jude’s motive was clear—money. It was one thing his mum had a great deal of. But, what was Jude willing to do to get it? That’s what Oliver and I were there to find out.

  Jude was defiant as he sat across the table from Oliver and me in the interrogation room. Surprisingly, he did not appear intimidated in the least. That was a real head-scratcher to me. The poorly-lit, claustrophobic environment nearly threw me off, and I wasn’t even a suspect.

  Somehow, he was able to shrug it all off. That was some impressive work. The question became, how long could he keep it up?

  Before we had the chance to test him on that, he got the first word in.

  Jude snapped at us with the misguided attitude that he had the upper hand. “Why am I even here?”

  Oliver set him straight. “Really? You’re going to take that tone with us?”

  I stepped in. “It would be a wise decision to reconsider.”

  Jude groaned and dialed down his anger. “I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

  Oliver scoffed. “For a man who acts like he’s the smartest guy in the room, that was an incredibly stupid to say. You’re a murder suspect.”

  Jude revised his argument. “I meant, why are you questioning me a second time? I already told you I didn’t kill my mother.”

  “True, you did previously declare your innocence. The problem is, we just don’t believe you,” Oliver said.

  I took a different approach in an attempt to get Jude to talk. “This is your last chance to tell us your story and plead your case. So, if there’s anything you’re not telling us, now is the time to come out with it.”

  Jude didn’t budge a centimeter. “I already told you. I’m innocent.”

  Oliver shook his head with disappointment then got back on point. “Let’s go over the facts one more time. We know you had a big argument with your mum a few hours before the murder.”

  Surprisingly, Jude didn’t argue Oliver’s point at all. He instead honed in on a small portion of Oliver’s statement. “The key words there being a few hours before the murder.”

  Oliver kept the pressure on. “You do not deny that the argument took place, then?”

  Jude replied again without admitting any fault. He appeared more interested in taking the conversation down a distinctly different path. “You also neglected to mention that the argument took place at her bookshop. My poor mum was murdered at her home.”

  Oliver was becoming annoyed at Jude’s attempts at verbal gymnastics. He tried to put a stop to it right there. “Regardless of where the argument took place, that spells out a very clear motive.”

  Once again, Jude disagreed. “What do you mean, regardless? What happened at the bookshop had no bearing on what followed hours later so stop tying the two together.”

  Jude had already proven he had no qualms with arguing about the most granular of details. What he failed to realize was that Oliver was up to the task.

  Oliver countered. “To your point, you said yourself that the argument took place hours before the murder occurred. There was plenty of time to drive over to your mum’s home.”

  “Except, during the interim, my mood simmered down,” Jude said.

  I found that hard to believe. “Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell us you were able to make all your frustration melt away in the span of a few hours?”

  Jude nodded. “A few pints will do that.”

  That was a peculiar argument. I knew far more belligerent drunks than calm ones. Jude’s statement demanded a follow-up.

  “Actually, a pint is often known to do just the opposite,” I said.

  “Not in my case,” Jude replied.

  I stared him down, looking for any sign of cracking. None was apparent.

  Oliver steered the conversation back to his line of thinking. “Why don’t we talk about what you and your mum argued about?”

  For the first time during the questioning, I saw anxiety in Jude’s eyes.

  He folded his arms. “That’s not relevant.”

  Oliver continued. “On the contrary, in this case, it couldn’t be more relevant. You asked her for money, didn’t you?”

  Jude was reluctant to answer.

  Oliver gave him a menacing look before pounding his fists on the table. “Didn’t you?”

  Jude finally gave in. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean--”

  Oliver interrupted him. “Let me guess. She said no.”

  Jude lowered his head. He didn’t seem to realize that not replying was an answer of its own.

  Oliver kept the pressure on. “There you were, desperate for money, shot down by your own mum. But there was still a way to get the money you needed and more—by collecting on your inheritance.”

  Jude looked up with a face full of rage. “No. I told you. I didn’t do this.”

  Oliver didn’t back down. “You keep saying that, but you have no verifiable alibi.”

  Jude shook his head. “I was at the pub at the time of the murder.”

  “That’s what you said, but we checked up on your story. The bartender at the Greasy Weasel told us you’d already left the pub by eleven. Security tapes in the pub confirm it,” Oliver said.

  Jude’s face went white.

  Oliver continued. “Care to tell us where you really were at eleven-thirty?”

  “I was driving home,” Jude said.

  I tried to break through the stalemate. “And you didn’t happen to stop by your mum’s place?”

  “No,” Jude barked.

  I kept an even keel. “You already lied to us once. Why should we believe you this time?”

  “Because it’s the truth,” Jude said.

  Oliver glared at him. “I find that harder to believe than ever.”

  Jude folded his arms again. “Believe it or not, that’s what happened.”

  Oliver and I tried pumping him for more information, but he wouldn’t give us anything else. When we realized that we’d reached the point of diminishing returns, a deputy dragged him out of the interrogation room and back to a jail cell while Oliver and I prepared for the next suspect.

  Chapter Five

  A few minutes later, Tilly Peabody was brought into the interrogation room. She was a spoiled thirty-year-old slender woman with heavy makeup, gaudy jewelry, wavy black hair, and was wearing a red designer dress that matched her expensive handbag.

  As I looked at Tilly, it was hard to believe she was even related to Jude. Even though they were brother and sister, the only thing they seemed to have in common was the same surname. Both their personalities as well as the trajectory of their lives were wildly contrasting.

  While Jude wanted to strike out on his own and make a name for himself, Tilly leaned on her mum in the most cloying way possible. I would say she had no ambition, but that wasn’t entirely true. She did have one very clear goal—to never work a day in her life. Until recently, she’d achieved that. She’d spent the majority of her years draining her mum’s pocketbook.

  Then, after she married a wealthy investment banker, she began leeching off of him. There was only one catch—the banker forced her to sign a prenuptial agreement before the ceremony. When the banker filed divorce papers a year ago, she was left completely in the lurch. With no money to support her lavish lifestyle, Tilly turned to her mum. Only, Lara was done letting her daughter mooch off of her. Lara refused to give Tilly a handout. Instead, she offered her daughter a job at the bookshop, which Tilly loathed with every fiber of her being.

  Although Jude and Tilly’s personalities were completely different, their motives for murder were exactly the same. It was all about the inheritance money. They both tried to deny it, but neither Oliver nor I would listen to their nonsense.

  Motives aside, there was another significant difference between Tilly and her brother. Unlike Jude, Tilly’s nerves were definitely getting to her. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the intimidating environment she suddenly found herself in, or because feelings of guilt were gnawing at her. Either way, the fra
zzled look on Tilly’s face could be a boon for Oliver and I. All we needed was for one of the suspects to crack under the pressure, and we could get the confession we’d been looking for. Would Tilly be the one to give it to us?

  “Nervous?” Oliver asked.

  Even though Tilly was downright jittery, she acted like the inspector’s question was absurd. “No. I don’t know what gave you that crazy idea.”

  It was not uncommon for a suspect to lie through their teeth, but that was probably the most egregious denial I’d ever heard.

  “I was just taking cues from the perplexed expression on your face. You looked like you had a guilty conscience,” Oliver said.

  Tilly scowled. “Guilty? Don’t be absurd. Why would my conscience be guilty?”

  Oliver scoffed. “Really? You’re going to keep playing dumb?”

  I decided to refresh her memory. “Tilly, we spotted you driving by the scene of the crime this morning, just hours after your mum’s murder.”

  Tilly was quick to defend herself. “There’s a perfectly rational explanation for that.”

  “You mean the one that points to your guilt?” I said.

  Tilly was vehement in her denial. “No. I was driving by her place to check up on her. I hadn’t heard back from her and was worried.”

  “Don’t you find your timing suspicious?” I said.

  “Of course not. What’s so strange about a daughter wanting to check up on her mum?” Tilly replied.

  Tilly kept disregarding the context of her actions.

  I had no qualms about reminding her. “If it was any other day, nothing. Considering it happened shortly after she was found murdered, I’d say it was highly peculiar.”

  “I didn’t know you two would be there,” Tilly said.

  Tilly had been so quick to defend herself that she hadn’t let me finish.

  I set her straight. “I wasn’t done. You’re not just any daughter. Try to skirt around it all you want, but we all know you had a contentious relationship with your mother.”

  “We had our differences, but don’t try to build them up into more than they really were,” Tilly said.

  I could see right through her act. Understatement appeared to be her plan of action.

  I wouldn’t let her get away with that. “Look at you, trying to downplay your animosity for your mother. Tilly, you were used to living in the lap of luxury. You wanted that life to continue. But, instead of your mother handing over the money you desired to live the ornate lifestyle you’d become accustomed to, you found yourself stocking bookshelves for a living. I think it’s time for you to stop misrepresenting how angry you were at your mother.”

  Tilly didn’t budge in the least. “I’m not misrepresenting anything.”

  Arguing with Tilly was getting us nowhere. It was a frustrating tug-of-war leading to nothing but a stalemate.

  Oliver decided to return to a previous point. “Ms. Peabody, you said you drove by the scene of the crime to check up on your mother. I have another explanation for your actions. It’s more likely that you drove by because you worried that you’d left a piece of evidence behind the night before. Or, perhaps you wanted to see how much progress we’d made on the case.”

  Tilly narrowed her eyes. “For the last time, I didn’t do this.”

  For a woman who seemed to be on the verge of cracking shortly after we sat her down, Tilly had sure held her ground.

  I figured it was time to try a different approach. If I got lucky, I could get the siblings to turn on one another.

  “You keep saying you didn’t do this. Let me ask you this, then. If you aren’t the killer, then who do you think is?” I asked.

  I laid out the bait, but Tilly didn’t bite on it.

  “I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus,” she replied.

  I tried again, this time adding a little twist. “What if I told you that your brothers haven’t been so tight-lipped?”

  That time, Tilly took the bait and went off on a rant. “Jude threw me under the bus, didn’t he? Well, let me tell you something, don’t listen to a word he says. Not only is he a liar, but he had more reason to kill my mother than anyone. That fool is drowning in debt.”

  “Those are pretty harsh words for someone who just told us they didn’t want to throw anyone under the bus. Did the accusations hit a little too close to home for you?” Oliver said.

  Tilly didn’t give us much to work with. She just replied with a simple denial. “No.”

  Oliver pressed further. “Why else would you be so eager to cast the blame on your brother?”

  “You don’t know him like I do. Money is his life. He’d do anything to bolster his bank account,” Tilly said.

  “Thank you for the tip,” Oliver replied.

  Tilly began to get up from her chair. “Now, can I go?”

  Oliver stopped her. “No. We’re not quite done yet.”

  Tilly became exasperated. “What else do you want from me?

  “I’d like to hear an alibi from you that wasn’t so flimsy,” Oliver said.

  “My alibi isn’t flimsy. I was at home at the time of the murder,” Tilly replied.

  Oliver stared her down. “At least that’s what you say. Unfortunately, you don’t have anyone to verify that.”

  “I don’t need anyone to verify it. That’s where I was. Why don’t you believe me?” Tilly said.

  “I don’t make a habit of taking the word of a murder suspect,” Oliver replied.

  I added a point of my own. “As much as you complain about your brother being motivated by money, I could say the same about you. You went from the high life to working a low-level bookshop job.”

  Tilly argued with me. “That’s only temporary.”

  “Because you had your sights set on your mother’s inheritance?” I said.

  She shook her head. “No. Because I’m determined to find another rich man to marry.”

  While the idea that Tilly was a gold digger was not a stretch, it also was not enough to exonerate her.

  “Once again, you feed us another story that’s impossible to verify,” I said.

  Tilly snapped at me. “I don’t know what else you want from me. I’ve already told you the truth.”

  As much as I wanted to keep questioning her, it was clear she wouldn’t give us anything else to work with. So, instead of going over the same points again and again, Oliver and I decided to move on to the third suspect in the case.

  Chapter Six

  Elliot Peabody was the last suspect on our list. He was a clean-shaven thirty-four-year-old bloke with short black hair, a thin body, and a button down shirt. As the middle child, he split the difference between his brother and sister. He neither wanted to strike out on his own and carve out a name for himself nor did he wish to mooch off of his mother.

  Of the three Peabody siblings, he had the closest relationship with his mum. That wasn’t to say they didn’t have problems. Their spats just happened to be work related, not personal. Elliot helped manage her bookshop chain. He was the third in command within the company. Ever since graduating from university, he’d been waiting in the wings, hoping to one day take over the entire operation. His dreams did not line up with reality.

  I personally knew that his mother didn’t have great confidence in his ability to run the company himself. Lara believed that Elliot was best suited for a supporting role. Year after year, she kept hoping he’d develop the leadership skills that were required to take over the company, but they never emerged. As much as it hurt her to admit, Lara knew the better business decision would be to start grooming someone from outside the family to take the reins when the time came for her to retire.

  Upon learning that he would not in fact ever have the company handed off to him, a fracture was formed between Elliot and his mother. Elliot took it as a sign of betrayal. Had he taken his anger to extreme levels? That was yet to be determined.

  One thing was quite clear. Elliot wanted no part of this interrogation. He sat i
n the chair across the table from us with his arms folded, looking defiant. While he had no intention of giving us anything to work with, Oliver went at him full steam.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Oliver said.

  Elliot was even less forthcoming than I thought he’d be. “I already told you everything. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  He hadn’t given us a ton to work with during our first round of questioning, but this time, he was practically slamming the door in our faces. We had to find a way to get him to open up. Even though we had our suspicions about him, as with the other suspects, we didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with murder.

  I tried my hand at getting him to talk. “As the only one of your siblings to remain silent, I think it would be wise to state your case. Right now, your word is your only defense, so if you don’t speak to us, it’s hard not to believe the worst.”

  That only served to make Elliot angrier. “You have nothing on me.”

  I decided to push my luck and see how far I could take my bluff. “How can you be so sure? Do you think we’d bring you in here if we had nothing?”

  Elliot squirmed. “I want out of here.”

  Oliver took over. “Tell us the whole truth. If you’re really as innocent as you proclaim to be, we’ll let you go.”

  “I already told you, I was at home at the time of the murder,” Elliot said.

  “You’re still sticking with that story?” Oliver replied.

  “It’s not a story. It’s the truth,” Elliot said.

  Oliver pressed on. “That means you still have no one to verify your alibi, seeing as how you told us before that you were home alone watching the Cougar match on the television.”

  The Cougars were the local football club.

  “That’s right,” Elliot said.

  “Only, the Cougar match was over at eleven. Your mother was killed between eleven-thirty and midnight,” Oliver replied.