Nathan nodded.
“How do you know that?” I said.
“Because I’ve seen the will.”
I filed that point to use later. In the meantime, I pressed Nathan for details.
“Do you have any proof of that your uncle is the killer?” I asked.
As I expected, he had no evidence to speak of. Not that he came right out and admitted that. Instead, he chose to remain vague. “Let’s just say that I have an instinct about it.”
What he failed to realize was that instincts weren’t enough to convict someone of murder. A prosecutor needed more than that. Since Nathan didn’t volunteer any additional information, I was confident that he didn’t have any.
Nathan did manage to unknowingly open up a new line of questioning for me to follow.
“Money is a good motivator,” I said.
“It sure is.”
“Speaking of your father’s will, I’m sure you are mentioned in it as well.”
Nathan became defensive. “Hey. I don’t like where you are going with this—”
“I’ll bet you stand to inherit a bunch of money from your father’s death.”
His face tensed up. “Stop that right now!”
“Are you denying it?” I asked.
“I would never kill my father, much less for money.”
“You said it yourself, money is a big motivator.”
“Yeah, for my uncle, not for me.”
“A big payout doesn’t interest you, then?” I asked.
He tried to plaster on the most sympathetic look that he could muster. “I’d rather have my father back.”
“Even after how he cheated on your mother?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very forgiving of your father,” I said.
“I’m not happy about what he did, but there’s a big difference between being upset and killing someone,” he said.
I had hesitated in nailing him on the harder points, but since he was already so heated, I figured there wasn’t a better time to go after him. “You keep accusing your uncle of being a murderer, but from what I hear, you don’t have any proof of your own innocence. Isn’t it right that your alibi is shaky at best?”
I had taken a risk calling him out like that. The potential upside was the prospect of getting him to crack. That didn’t happen. Instead, I was faced with worst-case scenario.
“I want you out of here!” he yelled.
My boyfriend had told me that when it came to arguing with a suspect, the best course of action was not to fight fire with fire. As a suspect became more unhinged, it was important to keep cool. The calmer I remained, the more unsettling it would be for Nathan.
I replied in as calm of a manner as possible. “What’s the matter? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
That was an understatement. Nathan became completely unhinged. He opened up a closet that was beside the entryway to his apartment and pulled out a baseball bat.
“Out—now!”
This was one of those times when even pepper spray wouldn’t do. With the interview having taken a violent turn, I knew it would be best for me to back away. Sure, I could have pepper sprayed him, but that wouldn’t get me answers. I took a few steps back and made one last plea.
“For someone who insists they are innocent, you are sure making yourself look guilty,” I said.
He shot me a glare. “Don’t make me use this bat.”
Nathan had lied to me throughout much of the interview, but as I looked into his eyes, I could tell that he was now telling me the truth.
I saw no choice but to tuck tail and run. When Nathan saw that his threats had forced me away, he slammed the door shut to his apartment.
As I made my way back to my car, I heard him say one last thing.
“Don’t you come back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
That definitely could have gone a whole lot better. It would have been easy for me to let myself get discouraged, but I knew how important it was to hold strong. It could spell disaster if I let the missed opportunities with Nathan spill over into my next suspect interview.
From an investigative standpoint, it was crucial to approach every conversation with a level head and a short emotional memory. Each discussion was different. Just because the last one had blown up in my face didn’t mean that the same thing would happen again. After all, my next interview could potentially provide me with the break I had been looking for.
Driving back toward the coast, I found that steadying my emotions turned out to be a lot easier said than done. I took one deep breath after another, hoping that would lower my heart rate, yet my pulse continued to race. The threat of violence had that effect on me.
Fortunately, by the time I reached the chocolate shop, I was able to get my breathing under control. Whether I would be able to keep calm for long was entirely dependent on how Patrick Doherty reacted to my questions. I would like to say that the chance of a violent outburst from him was minimal, but if this investigation had proven anything, it was that all bets were off.
I did have higher hopes for this next interview, solely because it would be conducted in a public place. A murder suspect would have to be crazy to cause a scene in plain view of customers. Then again, I was dealing with murder suspects here, so the idea that they could be crazy wasn’t so far-fetched. That being said, I didn’t know any business owner who wanted to cause a fracas in their own store. Would Patrick be different?
I headed inside the shop with my focus on talking to Patrick, but I quickly found myself becoming distracted as I ran into a familiar face. Of all the people to spot in the chocolate shop, I saw Tom Dillon waiting in line. The real estate developer who had once been one of my regulars had not set foot in my coffee shop since I had asked him about the mysterious meeting that he had attended the other night.
When I saw him holding a cup from a rival coffeehouse in town, it became clear to me where he had been going to get his caffeine fix the last few days.
With my curiosity stoked, I took my focus off of Patrick for a moment and zeroed in on Tom. After all, Patrick wasn’t going anywhere. Tom, meanwhile, was a different story.
I snuck up behind the real estate developer and surprised him with my greeting.
“Mr. Dillon,” I said.
I saw Tom’s muscles tense up as he heard my voice. He reluctantly turned around, keenly aware that there was no escaping the awkward conversation that was to come. Tom had a nervous look on his face that was akin to a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Oh, hi,” he replied.
Who did he think he was fooling? I had no interest in making small talk. There were some big issues on my agenda, and I didn’t hesitate to launch right into them.
“I haven’t seen you at the shop in a few days,” I said.
Sweat beads formed on his forehead. Tom couldn’t wait to duck out of the conversation. With me standing between him and exit, he knew that he couldn’t get out of answering my questions. Not that he was terribly descriptive with his answers.
All he was willing to give me was a one-word reply. “Yeah.”
I would be doing my curiosity a grave disservice if I didn’t address the elephant in the room. My focus switched to the coffee cup in his hand. “It looks like you jumped to my competitor.”
He followed my eye line to the cup that he was clutching onto.
Tom fired off the best excuse he could come up with. “McLatte’s is closer to my house.”
Really? He was going to pretend that he had stopped coming to my shop because my rival’s place was closer to his house? There was one major problem with that logic, especially since I was talking to him while standing in the chocolate shop that was located directly next to my coffeehouse.
“Yet you had no problem driving all the way over here to get some chocolate,” I replied.
“This place has the best chocolate in town,” he said.
Tom thought he was doing a good
job of covering his tracks, but in the process, he had managed to insult my coffee shop.
“Excuse me, but Daley Buzz has the best coffee in town. Or are you really going to tell me that McLatte’s brews a better cup of coffee than I do?”
Tom grimaced. One thing he didn’t do was provide an answer. I had never seen him look more out of sorts in my life. It should have come as no surprise. He had been evasive a few days ago when it came to his secret meeting. Tom was just repeating the pattern here—with the same lousy result. Now he found himself backed into a corner, and he was having trouble finding a way out.
Since things didn’t look like they could get more awkward between us, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to cut right to the heart of the matter.
“Or did you just go to McLatte’s because the baristas there don’t ask you questions about that secretive mixer you went to the other night?” I asked.
Tom became squirmy. “I just needed a quick cup of coffee to get my day going, and they were closer to my house.”
I had to stop myself from laughing. One of the byproducts of investigating Andrew’s murder was that it had given me some clues about human behavior—especially when someone was lying to me. Without even realizing it, I had used some of the same tactics to question Tom as I had when talking to the various murder suspects.
The similarities didn’t stop there. Tom was wriggling just like a number of the suspects had when I had asked them some uncomfortable questions. Whether he intended to or not, instead of satisfying my curiosity, Tom’s responses only made me want to dig deeper.
“So when is your next mixer?” I asked.
Tom tried to slink away. “I’m not sure.” He set his sights on the exit. “Anyway, I should be going.”
Could he be more obvious that he was hiding something? Tom was just lucky that I was so busy with this murder investigation that I didn’t have the time or the energy to pin him down any further.
Seeing how much I still had on my plate, I didn’t give him the business.
“Let me guess. You have work, right?” I asked.
He gladly used my excuse. “Right.”
“Well. Enjoy this chocolate shop now. Jake Williamson is going to buy it and turn it into another soulless chain.”
Tom still cringed when he heard the name of his old business partner. They had gone their separate ways over a year ago, but the bad blood still boiled between the former partners. Tom’s lips pursed as he tried not to let his bitter feelings burrow too deep under his skin. His efforts were in vain. He was still so bitter about how they had parted ways that the mere mention of Jake’s name still set Tom off.
To fully understand Tom’s animosity, you had to know their history. Since getting into the real estate game, Tom’s success had come from the residential side of the business, while Jake had specialized in commercial properties. A business partnership seemed like a natural fit, as it allowed them to dominate both sides of the industry.
The problem was that their company wasn’t big enough to house both of their egos. They were both alpha men, refusing to settle for nothing less than top-dog status. The more their egos clashed, the more untenable the situation became, until finally their partnership imploded. Like a romance that had gone sour, the subsequent breakup of their business partnership was messy. Not only did they have a falling out—the two men completely hated each other.
Tom’s spiteful reaction spurred on a number of questions in my mind.
“By the way, is Jake a part of your mixer group?” I asked.
Tom was hesitant to reply. Even though he didn’t say the words, his silence acted as the equivalent of a resounding “no.”
Instead of responding to my question, he just avoided the topic entirely. “I really do need to be getting to work.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Tom went on his way, I turned my attention back to the case. Zeroing in on Patrick Doherty, I couldn’t help but feel that it was fitting that I had just finished speaking with a man who was still wrestling with the fallout of the dissolution of a former business partnership. Would Patrick talk in the same bitter terms about Andrew Stewart that Tom Dillon had about his former business partner?
Patrick was a five-foot-nine sixty-two-year-old who was in surprisingly good shape considering that he ran a chocolate shop. Amazingly enough, despite being surrounded by truffles all day, his belly had no pronounced budge to it. His waistline wasn’t the only part of his body that had dodged a bullet.
Even though he was deep into middle age, he had also managed to keep a full head of brown hair without a single gray strand to show for it. Whether that was the work of a hair dye or just plain luck was as yet undetermined. Either way, the round-faced, hazel-eyed co-owner of the chocolate shop had taken good care of his physique over the years.
I approached the front counter of the shop and greeted him with a smile.
Patrick responded in kind. “Afternoon, Sabrina. You having a craving?”
Wow. Talk about a stroke of luck. Patrick thought I had come in for chocolate. This was just the start that I needed. With him looking at me like I was just a customer, he would have no clue about the questions that I was about to send his way. Knowing what a big surprise he was in for, I almost pitied him. The key word there was “almost.” After all, he was a murder suspect.
I was more than happy to indulge Patrick’s false assumption that I was just a customer. The benefit was two-fold. First, since he had brought it up, there was no reason to turn down some chocolate. After all, a woman only had so much willpower. Besides, if I kept things conversational and low key, perhaps he would give me some useful information without even realizing it.
“Caramel buttercream truffle,” I said.
Caramel was my absolute favorite. That was saying a lot, considering how many of the other treats I loved at this shop. The peanut butter patties here were delicious, too. Not to mention the butter toffee bars.
Mmm.
Honestly, you couldn’t really go wrong with any of the desserts sold here. I had a firm belief that you could cover almost any dessert item in chocolate and it would taste fantastic. That said, the creamy mixture of caramel and chocolate was hard to beat.
“Coming right up,” Patrick replied.
He reached into the display case to grab a truffle.
I glanced around the shop and lobbed an unassuming question his way. “Looks like you guys are back to business as usual, huh?”
Patrick nodded. “Yeah. You know how it is. The business world stops for no one.”
In an effort to keep the conversation light, I didn’t switch the topic to Andrew’s murder quite yet. “Yup. Your business doesn’t care what is going on in your life. It only cares if you are turning a profit.”
Patrick let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, that’s the truth of the matter. It’s pretty crazy how much of life revolves around money, isn’t it?”
I nodded unenthusiastically. “I wish it wasn’t the case.”
“So do I, but I have bills to pay.”
Speaking of a bill, I owed him for the truffle. I paid for my snack and took a bite. I was happy to report that the caramel buttercream was just as amazing as ever. Talk about a little taste of perfection. My taste buds were transported to chocolate heaven.
The only problem was how quickly I devoured the truffle. Two bites, and it was gone. My natural impulse was to order another, but that would only test my willpower even further. What I had learned about these caramel buttercreams was that if I didn’t muster enough restraint, I could plow through half a dozen truffles in short order.
I didn’t like owing my treadmill hours of my life. Besides, I was at the shop that day for a very specific purpose, which did not entail gobbling up chocolates.
Patrick was amazed by what quick work I had made of the truffle. “I guess it’s safe to say that you liked it.”
I gave him a smile. “For my money, these are still the best chocolates around.”
“Than
k you.”
It would have been easy to fritter more time away discussing truffles, but it was time to get down to business.
“I guess I should appreciate these truffles now while they are still around, huh?” I asked.
Patrick tensed up. It was pretty clear that he sensed where I was going with my question. He seemed to be in no hurry to go there.
A few moments went by with me waiting for an answer that never came.
“How much longer will you be here?” I asked.
A blank look came over his face. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
What a crazy time to play dumb. Patrick must not have been aware that I knew about his push to get Andrew to sell this place.
“Aren’t you going to sell this place to Jake Williamson?” I asked.
Patrick bit the corner of his lip. “That is yet to be determined. The mourning process takes precedence right now.”
“Yeah. It’s terrible what happened to Andrew,” I said.
He nodded. “It truly is.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed Andrew?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. Whoever it was, they were out of their mind.”
“I have heard some pretty interesting rumors about Melissa Wilcox,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” he replied.
My eyes scanned the shop. “By the way, where is Melissa? Is she off today?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then where is she?” I asked.
“Leah fired her,” Patrick replied.
My eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded but did not elaborate.
“Why?” I asked.
“Leah said that Melissa just wasn’t the right fit for the store.”
Enough with the understatement. Patrick clearly didn’t want to cause a scene, but I had no such qualm.
“So Leah didn’t fire Melissa because she was sleeping with Andrew?” I asked.
Patrick grimaced. “You know about their affair?”
I nodded. “I sure do. With Andrew dead, this is clearly a case of Leah not wanting Melissa around anymore.”
Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set Page 94
