I looked at Captain Nelson. He was frowning again. He nudged Vance on the shoulder and inclined his heads toward the door. Both of them exited the room and came hurrying inside the observation room.
“What is it?” Vance was saying. “What’s up?”
“The kid’s story checks out,” Captain Nelson told him.
“It’s true,” Stidwell confirmed. “Everybody we talked to said the kid was pleasant to be around. They could even confirm the times.”
“That means the kid is innocent, right?” I asked.
All three cops turned to look at me as if they just noticed that a civilian was present.
“His alibies have checked out, true,” Vance admitted, “but we cannot ignore the evidence. Those tires were at the scene of both crimes.”
“Unless there’s another vehicle driving around with the exact same tires,” Stidwell suggested.
“I’m not letting this guy go,” Captain Nelson stated. “I can hold him for 24 hours.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “That gives you less than 22 hours, detective. Find me a smoking gun or else I have to cut him loose. I don’t need to remind you how much I don’t like open cases.”
Vance nodded. He gave me an inscrutable look and automatically headed towards the door. I followed. Just as we walked by the front desk, a commotion sounded from behind us.
“What’s that all about?” I asked, turning to look back down the hallway toward the interrogation room we had just exited.
“I’m not sure,” Vance admitted. “Stay here. I’ll find out.”
Five minutes later Vance was back. And he was out of breath.
“We… we have the wrong guy, Zack.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because there’s been a fourth burglary!”
NINE
Monday morning found me pacing the confines of Cookbook Nook while I waited for Vance to call. Yes, there had been another burglary, but I had been told that the dogs and I wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside the crime scene until all the evidence had been processed. In layman’s terms it meant that the PVPD had to say they’ve collected every feasible bit of evidence before they’d allow me on scene.
I eyed the clock up on the wall behind Jillian’s register. It had been over 12 hours since the call came in last night. Clearly the PVPD wasn’t taking any chances this time and were doing as thorough of an investigation as possible.
Nothing will make you look bad like bragging to the general public that you have a ‘person of interest’ in the case and yet another burglary happens right under their noses. I chuckled and shook my head. Talk about poor timing. The mayor had literally been in the middle of his town meeting when he had been notified about the burglary. To say he was less than amused would have been an understatement.
So, while I waited for permission to take the dogs to the crime scene, I was killing time in Jillian’s shop. And, I have to tell you, it was a real eye-opener. Having never worked in retail before, I could only gawk at Jillian and her staff. She had confided in me that she usually only has four or five employees on her payroll, but during the holiday season it wouldn’t be surprising to see that number swell to over a dozen.
Her store was hopping.
People were lining up, waiting to make their purchases. Customers would then ask about certain recipes, to which Jillian would point them to the correct cookbook, all without batting an eye. If someone asked where a specific kitchen utensil could be found, then Jillian could not only pinpoint exactly where it was in the store but also instruct them on how to properly use the item. And, nine times out of ten she could typically tell the customer how to do the job better with a completely different utensil.
The people loved her. She was knowledgeable and it showed. Jillian worked the registers, answered questions, and replenished stock whenever a hole appeared on any of her shelves or displays.
“We just sold our last KitchenHelper mixer on the floor,” I heard one of the girls say to Jillian.
“The pink one?” Jillian asked, turning to the girl.
“Yes. I didn’t think that one would ever sell.”
“Welcome to the final Christmas rush. Do we have any more left in the back?”
The girl nodded, “I think so. It’s not pink, though. I think it might be stainless steel.”
“That’ll do.”
“Are any of the carts available?” the girl asked. “It’s too heavy for me to lift.”
I watched Jillian scan the store, looking for one of the store’s two push carts that she used to haul books and heavy items from one end of the store to the next. Before she could locate one, however, her eyes locked on me and she smiled. I had just sat down in one of the comfy arm chairs Jillian had set up in a reading area when I noticed I was being watched. Right about that time both dogs stretched out on the thick rug and sighed contentedly.
“Do you need something?” I asked.
“Would you mind giving Cassie a hand? We need to move a few mixers from the storeroom to the front area.”
“Sure,” I said, rising to my feet. I looked down at the dogs. “Wait here, guys. I’ll be right back.”
Sherlock promptly yawned and closed his eyes. Watson looked like she was moments away from joining him. I looked up to see Jillian still watching me.
“I’ll keep an eye on them. If I see them move then I’ll offer them a t-r-e-a-t.”
I’ve always heard people spell words around dogs. Back then, I had thought it was a pointless waste of time. Now, however, I totally understand. Anyone who owns a dog knows there are certain words you just don’t say aloud. Treat, ride, and walk being three of the most popular.
“She must really like you,” Cassie quietly informed me as I followed her into the back storeroom.
“Oh? Why do you say that?”
“Not only is she planning on having the store closed on Christmas but she’s also planning on closing the store on Christmas Eve, too.”
I felt my face flaming up.
“Why do you think I had anything to do with that?”
Cassie turned to look at me with an incredulous look.
“Because she talks about you all the time. And your dogs, too. I love your dogs. They’re so cute!”
“Dare I ask what she’s said about me?” I asked as I picked up the box that she had indicated.
“Just that she enjoys spending so much time with you,” Cassie wistfully said. “It’s so nice to see. Don’t you dare hurt her.”
Surprised, I looked over the large bulky box and saw the teenager giving me a stern look.
“Have no fear. I won’t ever hurt her. And I think it’s nice that you’re looking out for her.”
“She’s done a lot for me,” Cassie told me as she held the doors open leading back out to the showroom. “I’ve worked for her for several years now. And I will tell you that this is the first year that I’m aware of that Jillian has said she has no plans on coming in on Christmas day.”
“That might change,” I chuckled.
Cassie stopped so suddenly that I almost ran into her.
“Why would you say something like that?”
I smiled, “No, let me explain. My parents are coming for Christmas. She might be spending more time here than you think. And you know what? I’d keep her company.”
Cassie laughed and indicated a spot on the floor in front of an empty section of shelving. I set the box down, helped unpack the shiny new stainless steel mixer, and volunteered to return the box to the storeroom. I checked on the dogs and was pleased to see that both were still in their ‘down’ positions. In fact, both dogs were fast asleep.
Not long afterward, the morning rush passed and I was delighted to see Jillian heading my way, holding a mug of hot tea. She gave me a questioning look and held up her mug. I shook my head no. Tea. Blech.
“So what did you think of the town meeting last night?” I companionably asked her as she sipped her tea.
“Bad timing,” Ji
llian decided after a moment’s hesitation. “I actually felt bad for the mayor.”
Bad timing was an understatement. The mayor had been nearly an hour into his scheduled town meeting. He had been fielding questions from concerned citizens left and right. He had handled himself with poise and dignity. I’m told that the people were visibly starting to relax. Nothing, it would seem, helped calm frayed nerves better than hearing about the police had a suspect in custody. Everything was going precisely as planned.
And that’s when the proverbial shit hit the fan.
As I was saying, about an hour into the town meeting one of the reporters must have been sent a text from an editor with a police scanner, because out of the blue the reporter wanted to know what the mayor thought about the most recent burglary. When the mayor started in with what had to be a scripted speech about how sorry he was to hear about the dreadful murder happening in their beloved city, he became understandably flustered when the reporter mentioned that this was from earlier in the day. After they had taken their suspect into custody.
Questions were bandied about. Voices were raised. Shouts erupted. The mayor tried to regain control of the crowd but anyone could see that he was now fighting a losing battle. His aids ushered him away from the melee as the police arrived on the scene.
From what I’ve been told, the mayor placed a none-too-pleasant phone call to Captain Nelson and probably ripped him a new one. It would also explain why the naturally photogenic police captain deliberately avoided anyone with a camera or microphone. That was also why every single policeman and policewoman had been called into active duty.
The owner of the home where the fourth burglary had taken place was given lodging at one of the nearby hotels. The home owner, one of only two lawyers who called PV home, had agreed to vacate the house while the forensic team went through everything with a fine tooth comb.
“So, do you think the police have arrested the wrong man?” Jillian asked, breaking me out of my reverie.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I think they have. I’m not convinced that the guy with the van is our culprit.”
“Why do you say that?” Jillian asked.
“Well, first off, all of his alibies have checked out. Vance told me that they’ve checked every single delivery that kid has made since last Wednesday. Everything checks out. Then there are the tires.”
“I thought the police said that it was a match?”
“They did,” I said, nodding. “However, the report only said that both sets of tracks were made by the same make of tire. A closer examination of the van’s tires confirms that the tires on his van are too new. The tire tracks at the crime scenes show more wear on the tread.”
“What did Vance say they were going to do now?” Jillian asked.
I shrugged, “I don’t know. He didn’t say. I feel bad for the guy. This is no way to spend the holidays. I can only hope that Sherlock finds something else when we’re finally allowed into the house.”
My cell phone started ringing just then. I fished it out of my pocket, glanced at the display, and groaned. I turned it around so that Jillian could see it.
“You’d better answer that,” Jillian warned, giving me a frown.
“Hey, mom. What’s up?”
“Zachary! How good of you to answer your phone!”
“Have I ever not answered it?” I asked, adding my own frown to the mix.
“Why, yes, come to think of it.”
“We’ll table that argument for another time,” I jovially told her. For some reason I was anxious to prove to Jillian that I could get along with my parents. “What can I do for you, mom?”
“You can tell me where you are.”
“Where I am? I’m in Pomme Valley, mom. Where else would I be?”
“But where specifically?”
“I’m out and about. I had some errands to run. Why? Where are you?”
“Having coffee at a place called Wired Coffee & Café. It’s quite nice in here.”
I’m sure my face drained of all color. They were at the coffee shop here in town? Hell, that meant they were presently only a few doors down, off of Oregon Street! What the hell! They weren’t supposed to be here for another week! My sneaky mother must have hit the road the instant she decided she was planning on coming to PV for Christmas. Shitshitshit!
“What’s the matter?” Jillian asked me in a hushed voice, concerned. “Your face has gone completely pale.”
While my mother began to regale me with her adventures on the open road with my father, I muted the phone and gave Jillian an alarmed look.
“They’re here.”
Jillian’s eyebrows shot up, surprised.
“I thought they wouldn’t be here for another few days.”
“That makes two of us,” I grumbled. “They’re already here in town.”
Jillian smiled, “Really? Where are they?”
“Just down the street at Wired Coffee & Café. I can’t believe they’re already here. Hell, I haven’t even had a chance to clean the house yet.”
“Well, invite them over.”
“Here?” I sputtered. “Now? Words cannot begin to describe what a bad idea that is.”
“Why?” Jillian innocently asked. “You have nothing to hide. I have nothing to hide. And besides, I’d like to meet your parents.”
“I don’t think you truly understand the gravity of the situation,” I began.
“Zachary Anderson, either you tell your mother where we presently are or else I’m walking straight to Wired and will escort them here myself.”
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” I muttered as I unmuted my phone. My mother was still going on and on about how cars nowadays were way too complicated to learn how to use. Evidently my mother had traded in her old Buick and splurged for a new Acura ILX. “Mom? Mom! Hey, take a breath, okay? I’ll tell you where I am. We’re not far from where you presently are. Yes, you heard me right. I said ‘we’. Yes, she’s here, too. Her name? Her name is Jillian. Look, I know you have questions, but why not just ask them in person? Come on down to her store. That’s where we are right now.” I muted the phone one more time and gave Jillian an imploring look. “This is your last chance to get out of this.”
Jillian laughed and swatted my arm.
“So where are you?” my mother asked me again.
I sighed and unmuted the phone.
“I’m at a store called Cookbook Nook. It’s…”
“…the big purple building we passed on the way in!” my mother finished for me. “We’ll be right there!”
I hung up the phone and looked down at the dogs. Sherlock, sensing he was being watched, looked up at me and cocked his head. Watson also had opened her sleepy eyes and was watching me closely.
“Man your battle stations, guys. We’re going to have company.”
Two minutes later, they arrived. My mother, a short woman with curly, short, unnatural auburn hair, appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a full winter coat complete with a brown wooly scarf wrapped securely around her neck. And, just in case there was someone in the vicinity that hadn’t pegged her as a tourist, my mother was wearing gloves and a set of ear muffs.
My father was holding the door open for my mother. I had received my height from him, which meant he was a solid 6’ tall. If I wasn’t mistaken it looked like my father’s hair was even more gray than I remembered it. Perhaps my absence had something to do with it?
I hoped not.
“Zachary! There you are!”
My mother rushed forward to encompass me in a full bear hug. I’m certain she would have not broken the hug if not for the warning woofs Sherlock directed at her. Surprised, my mother looked down at the corgis, as if noticing them for the first time. Who knows? Maybe she was.
“I recognize you from the other night!” my mother said as she squatted down to give Sherlock a friendly pat on the head. “Oh, look, William! There are the dogs! Aren’t they the sweetest things?”
&n
bsp; My mother’s voice had risen in pitch and had taken on an undertone of sheer giddiness. In essence, it was corgi-speak for, ‘I want to be a member of your fan club, so you can trust me’. Sherlock’s ears went down, his butt started wiggling, and he whined. He wanted to be released so he could go welcome the newest member of his pack.
My father stepped up to me and shook my hand
“Damn glad to see you, boy. How have you been?”
“Good, dad. Thanks. Listen, you two, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet. Mom, dad, I’d like you to meet Jillian Cooper, owner and operator of Cookbook Nook. Jillian? These are my parents. This is William Anderson, my father, and Dana Anderson, my mother.”
Jillian smiled and offered them her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. You must be so proud of Zachary for moving all the way out here and running such a successful winery.”
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about Lentari Cellars,” my father returned, giving Jillian’s hand a formal shake. “I can’t wait to try it.”
My mother, being 5’2”, looked up at Jillian and gave her a guarded smile. I deliberately stepped in front of my mother, effectively blocking Jillian from her view. I pointed at a nearby rack of books.
“Let me show you around, mom. Jillian? Would you mind?”
Jillian managed to hide her smile before she turned away. Thankfully I could tell that she knew I wanted a private word with my mother and I didn’t want any witnesses.
“Before you say anything,” my mother began, “I should let you know I have a right to make sure my son is okay.”
“By showing up a week early and giving Jillian a less-than-enthusiastic smile? Come on, mom. If I noticed then you’d better believe she noticed it, too.”
“I just want you to be happy, Zachary,” my mother protested.
“And I am. I actually didn’t think I could be after Sam’s death. So I need you to listen to me now. Do not try to psychoanalyze her in any way shape or form. No trick questions, no puzzles, and no asking her about her family unless she brings it up first.”
“Really, Zachary,” my mother exclaimed. “Do you really think so low of me?”
Case of the Holiday Hijinks Page 14
