He was alive, and I was still in danger. Also, if I wasn’t around to prevent it, he might date Samantha, marry her, and make her miserable with his jealousy. Maybe even kill her . . .
Cautiously, I braced myself on my hands and forced myself to stand.
Oliver was lying on most of the oil I’d spilled. I skirted around him and dipped the emptied carafe into the fryer I’d turned all the way up. In my panicky rush, I splashed hot oil on my right wrist.
Trying to ignore the burning pain and keeping my feet and ankles out of Oliver’s reach, I stood over his head. “You stay right where you are, Oliver Rossimer, or I’m pouring boiling oil on your face.”
He must have believed me. He didn’t try to get up. His eyes seemed almost focused on my face, but he seemed slightly stunned. Maybe I wasn’t the only one to have dented a skull during our short fray.
Through Dep’s window between the kitchen and the office, I saw movement.
Tom was walking stealthily from the back porch into the office. Brent was behind him. Appearing to check everything at once, they turned their heads toward me.
I yelled, “I’m in the kitchen!” What a useless thing to say. “I could use your help!”
Dep galloped away from the front door toward the office and two of her favorite people.
Abandoning stealth and caution, Brent dashed into the kitchen. “What the . . . ?”
Oliver seemed to wake out of his stupor. “She attacked me.”
“He has water slide paper in the trunk.”
Tom asked, “What?”
“He killed Matthias and Georgia,” I said. “He impersonated Randy both times.”
Oliver thrashed on the oily floor but couldn’t seem to get his feet underneath him. “She’s hallucinating. You’ve got the right person in jail. But you’d better arrest her. She’s threatening me with boiling oil.”
Tom pried my fingers off the carafe of hot oil and set it on the counter.
Avoiding the slipperiest parts of the floor, I raced to the sink, turned the cold water on, set a big stainless-steel mixing bowl underneath the faucet, and thrust my right wrist into the stream pouring into the bowl. With my left hand, I pointed at the painful spot on my temple. “He threw your favorite rolling pin at me, Tom.”
Oliver insisted, “She fell.”
Tom looked into the corner. “My rolling pin is on the floor, and there’s a major dent in the wall above it.”
Oliver had an answer for everything. “She was throwing things.”
“Em?” Brent asked.
“Look at Oliver’s watch. I’ve never seen Randy wearing one, but the man in the post office video put one on like Oliver’s when he got back into his car. Oliver’s 1950 Ford is in the parking lot, painted like a police car. Check the trunk for a package of water slide paper and a white Packers cap like the one the Randy look-alike was wearing in the videos. Also, look in the Ford’s glove compartment for a temporary tattoo that’s a replica of Randy’s.”
“You need my permission,” Oliver said. “And I’m not giving it. This is an outrage. She’s raving. If she wants a lawsuit, she’s going to get it. I’ll talk to my lawyers tomorrow. Tonight.”
He was probably right about that, but they’d be defense lawyers. “Get a search warrant.” I blushed at telling Brent what to do. “And get them for his home and office computers. Look for a file he made, or even a drawing, copying Randy’s tattoo.” The cold water was numbing my wrist.
“Arrest her,” Oliver said.
Brent refused. “We’ve been asking Randy about that watch. He doesn’t wear one.”
“He lies,” Oliver said.
Brent informed him, “Randy’s allergic to metal. That checks out.”
Oliver scoffed, “He wouldn’t be allergic to gold.”
I was bursting to join the conversation, and I could tell that Tom was, too, but we both resisted, and Brent jumped on Oliver’s comment. “How do you know it was a gold watch?”
“He borrowed mine. And gave it back.”
“When?” Brent persisted in that steel-cored, controlled voice he used when he was angry.
“He borrowed it before that woman was murdered and her friend was attacked, and gave it back the day after. He thought he could pass as me. He’ll deny it, of course, but what can you expect from that loser?”
My hand still in the bowl of cold water, I stared into Brent’s face. He gave me a little nod. Brent had caught on that Oliver had incriminated himself by admitting he knew about the assault on Lois.
I brushed my hair back to uncover the rapidly swelling lump where the rolling pin had hit me. I asked Oliver, “Did Randy tell you why he didn’t kill the second woman, the artist who you told me had moved back to Fallingbrook?”
“He wasn’t certain that he hadn’t, but he heard someone calling a deputy, so he couldn’t stick around and make sure.”
Again, Brent and I traded glances. Had Dep and I saved Lois’s life that night, Dep by going into Lois’s yard, and me by calling my cat? I was sure I’d called her “Deputy” at least once during those few minutes.
Brent told Oliver, “Randy confessed to something.”
Oliver snapped, “Of course.”
“Not what you think.” I would never want Brent, or anyone else, to turn that laser-like gaze on me. “Randy’s been spending time with your ex, but she didn’t come forward about being with him in his apartment early Monday morning or being with him in her apartment Monday evening. I had a call while I was on my way here. Your ex is at the station now, explaining it all. Apparently, she was afraid of what you’d do to her if you found out she’d been seeing someone.”
“I’ve known for years,” Oliver muttered.
“Exactly,” I blurted. “That’s why you decided to ruin Randy’s reputation and have him put away for life. So, you went out in his car, supposedly test-driving it, and you came upon Matthias Treetor. You didn’t care who you killed, as long as Randy was blamed.”
Oliver flailed, started to get up, slipped in the oil, and fell again. “Emily has a wild imagination. We all know that Randy killed those two people and came close to killing that other old woman.”
Brent and Tom moved closer to Oliver. I warned them about the slippery floor.
“I noticed.” Brent’s eyes hadn’t lost their grim expression, but I thought I caught a slight lilt of humor in his voice.
Tom shot me a quick grin.
The cold water on my wrist masked the pain of the burn. Oliver’s face was still red, but the hot water had apparently missed him. Otherwise, he’d have accused me of scalding him. His flush must have been entirely due to his anger.
“We can talk about this in a more comfortable place, Rossimer,” Brent said. “Em, Tom and I need to stay with this guy. Do you mind letting those folks in?”
Chapter 38
“Those folks” turned out to be Misty and three other Fallingbrook officers clustered outside the locked front door.
I opened it and turned on the lights in the dining room.
“Are you okay?” Misty asked me. “What was it—a burglar?”
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t. No longer in cold water, my wrist was hurting again. The good news was that the pain in my wrist was distracting me from the pain in my head. “But Brent could use your help. He’s in the kitchen.”
Equipment jingling and boots loud on the hardwood floor, the other three officers trooped toward the kitchen.
Misty laughed. “I’m not sure Brent needs much more help. Chief Westhill’s looking very ferocious.” She stared pointedly at me. “And so are you.” Purring, Dep wound around our legs. “Who are they giving that death glare to?” The half wall prevented her from seeing the kitchen floor and Oliver, presumably still lying on it.
I picked Dep up and cuddled her. “Oliver,” I said. “He fell. He did it.”
“Did what?”
“Murdered Matthias and Georgia, attacked Lois, and would have murdered me, too, if I hadn’t thrown scaldi
ng water at him.”
“Emily! At Oliver? Your heartthrob! Why?”
“He stopped being my heartthrob years ago.” I showed her the lump on my head. “Now you could call him my headthrob. Tom’s big marble rolling pin can pack a wallop, even if you duck.”
“Need medical attention?”
“I should be checked out so the police can have official evidence for charging Oliver with assaulting me. And he might say the same thing about me and my pot of scalding water, except I think the water missed him.” The warm cat made my wrist feel worse, but she was purring, and hugging her was comforting in other ways. “I did booby-trap the kitchen floor by sprinkling oil on it, but Oliver’s to blame for stepping in the oil while he was charging at me, probably to pick up the rolling pin he’d bounced off my head so he could bounce it off my head a few more times.”
“And the oil caused him to slip and fall?”
“Yes.”
I could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Serves him right.” She became serious again. “Want me to call an ambulance? Samantha’s on duty.”
“Not for me. I’ll get to the hospital on my own steam.” It wasn’t a good word to choose, considering how my wrist felt. “After I give the video files to Brent.”
“Video files?”
“From our surveillance cameras and my phone.”
“Good for you.” She was smiling again. “I can hardly wait to hear the details.”
The three officers who had arrived with Misty escorted Oliver, now handcuffed, toward the front door. Oliver spat, “You’re going to pay for your lies and for assaulting me, Emily Westhill.”
“That’s enough, Rossimer.” Misty could be every bit as ferocious as Tom.
But Oliver only sneered. “Emily might have friends among the policewomen in this town, but you’ll see who has the important friends. And which policewoman ends up out on the street with no job.”
The other officers hustled him outside.
Misty winked. “This is going to be fun.” She hollered toward the kitchen, “Brent, after you get Emily’s statement, take her in for photos and a checkup!” She turned back to me and whispered, “I always wanted to order one of my bosses around.” She winked again and then, handcuffs dangling from the back of her belt, she strode out behind the others.
I carried Dep to the office, shut her in, and returned to the kitchen.
“Let me see your wrist, Em,” Brent demanded.
I held it out. “It’s not bad.” A nickel-sized blotch was an angry shade of red.
Tom plunked the bowl of cold water on the counter beside me. “It’s not exactly good, either. Soak your wrist, Emily.”
“I know.” I parroted, “First Aid 101—for minor burns, ten minutes in cold water.”
“How’d you get minor burns?” Brent asked.
“My fault. I was kind of in a hurry when I dipped the carafe into hot oil. It splashed.”
Tom’s voice was gruff. “Your quick thinking might have saved your life.”
“Yeah, well. He wouldn’t have gotten away with killing me.”
Tom looked at Brent. “She didn’t need the cold water. Ice runs in her veins.”
I retorted, “No, it doesn’t.” I had proof. The tops of my ears were becoming very hot. “Oliver pretty much confessed, describing how the crimes were committed, all the while saying it was Randy who had done it all. The surveillance camera over the cash drawer will have caught some of it, and my phone over there will have caught most of it from a different angle.” I told them about seeing Oliver put his watch on exactly the way that the Randy look-alike had, complete with a tap from his right index finger on the face of the watch.
“I’ll capture the videos from all of our surveillance cameras for you, son,” Tom told Brent.
I retrieved my phone from behind the espresso machine.
Standing close together, Brent and I watched and listened to the recording it had made. I didn’t think Brent noticed putting an arm around my shoulders when the small screen showed Oliver hurling the rolling pin at me. Brent dropped his arm from my shoulder when the video showed me towering over Oliver with that pot of hot oil, but under his breath he murmured, “Way to go, Alec. You trained her well.”
When my phone showed Brent, with Tom’s help, handcuffing Oliver, we joined Tom in the office and watched the other videos. A pleased smile on his face, Brent e-mailed them, along with the recording my phone had taken, to Yvonne Passenmath. “We’ve got enough to charge him with assaulting you, Emily. And, as you told us, he came close to confessing to two murders and an attempted murder. We might even get him for attempting to murder you.”
My knees were going all flimsy again. “Let’s celebrate. Who wants donuts?”
Brent grinned. “Sounds good, but let’s get you to the hospital and the police photographer first.”
“Then can we come back for Dep?”
Tom pointed at the front. Misty was stringing yellow tape across the door. “This is now a crime scene,” he said. “I’ll stick around here to greet the investigators, and then I’ll take Dep to your place, Emily.”
Brent checked his phone. “Are you sure you want to stick around, Tom? Yvonne Passenmath will be here soon.”
“I’ll stay. I look forward to making certain she watches the videos.”
I gave Tom the spare house key I kept in the office desk. “Why’d you come, Tom? Did our security system auto-dial you?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I didn’t have my phone with me, and I didn’t get the message until about ten minutes after it was sent. I drove fast, though.”
I hugged him, thanked him, and turned to Brent. “I know that our panic button summoned the patrol officers, but why did you come? You were out by the river.”
He brushed a hand across his forehead and then tugged at his earlobe. “Alec told me about your secret signal. He and I had a variation of it.”
Brent took me to the hospital. He stayed with me while a police photographer took pictures of my head and a doctor examined me and declared that if I had a concussion, it was slight. The doctor also said that no one needed to check on me during the night.
When Brent and I arrived at my place and greeted Dep, it was late. Brent was going back to Deputy Donut. “I’ll try to get them to release your shop to you soon, Em.”
“What about Randy?”
“I’m afraid he might spend the rest of the night in custody, but we should get those search warrants for Oliver’s computers and his 1950 Ford first thing in the morning. We should be able to release Randy soon.”
* * *
Four days later, Deputy Donut was open again, the red on my wrist had paled and stopped hurting, the lump on my head had shrunk, and Oliver was in jail, charged with the murders of Matthias and Georgia Treetor. Other charges were pending.
Lois served a delicious gourmet dinner to Randy, Nicole, and me. For some reason, Lois had also invited Brent.
I brought dessert. Donuts.
Nicole was as sweet as I remembered her from high school, and she and Randy were obviously besotted with each other. Lois beamed at all of us.
Afterward, Brent walked Dep and me home, and I didn’t mind his quick good-night hug. I even hugged him back. He hurried away, and I dead-locked the door.
“We’re friends again,” I told Dep. “I guess we always were.”
“Mmp.” She started toward the kitchen. Somehow, she seemed to know that I was about to open the can of sardines I’d bought the day before.
Survival of the Fritters Recipes
Cranberry-Orange-Walnut Fritters
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
2 eggs
¼ cup less 1 tablespoon milk
2 tablespoons fresh cranberries, chopped
1 tablespoon walnuts, chopped
2 teaspoons orange zest
¼ teaspoon orange extract
Granulated sugar
Vegetable oil with a smoke point of 400
degrees or higher,
or follow your deep fryer manufacturer’s instructions
Stir flour and sugar together with a fork.
Stir in eggs, milk, cranberries, walnuts, orange zest, and orange extract until blended.
When oil reaches 370 degrees, drop batter by large spoonfuls into the oil without crowding them. Fry until both sides are golden, approximately 1 minute per side, turning once. Lift basket to drain, then drain fritters on paper towels.
While still warm, roll in granulated sugar and serve.
Fudge Donuts with Fudge Drizzle
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ cup unsweetened Dutch process (alkalized) cocoa powder
1 egg, beaten
½ cup milk
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
Vegetable oil with a smoke point of 400 degrees or higher,
or follow your deep fryer manufacturer’s instructions
Sift flour, baking powder, and cocoa powder together.
Place beaten egg, milk, sugar, and melted butter into large bowl.
Stir in mixture of flour, baking powder, and cocoa powder.
Flours vary. If dough is too wet and sticky to form a ball, stir in flour, 1 tablespoon at a time. If it is too dry, stir in milk, 1 tablespoon at a time.
Form into ball. Optional: wrap and chill.
Roll dough to ½ inch thick.
Cut out with donut cutter and let cut donuts rest for 5 minutes.
Heat fryer to 360 degrees.
Place donuts, a few at a time, into hot oil. Fry for about 1 minute. Turn and fry for about 1 minute longer.
Drain on paper towels.
OR bake at 350 degrees for approximately 7 minutes on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper or a silicone baking sheet.
When cool, decorate with fudge drizzle.
Fudge Drizzle
⅓ cup 35 percent butterfat cream
¼ cup corn syrup
⅓ cup demerara sugar
cup unsweetened Dutch process (alkalized) cocoa powder
Survival of the Fritters Page 27
