Willa Mae’s jaw dropped. Freddy stared at me. I hadn’t told her my plan, simply that I was going to see Willa Mae and wanted company.
“You’re kidding me,” Willa Mae said, slumping into her shoulders.
“No.” I kept my voice gentle. “And those bruises on your arms? You didn’t get those from running into door frames, did you?”
Willa Mae drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, resting her face on them for a moment. She looked up at Freddy and me. “He’d been beating me again. He used to, when we were first married, and then he stopped. But he started up again earlier in the year after the partnership with Howard broke up. My husband broke my rib, ladies. He busted my nose and I had to pretend to my work colleagues that I’d tripped and fallen.” She rubbed her nose, then held out both forearms. “He grabbed me by the arms and threw me against the wall.”
“Did you ever take pictures of your bruises, or go to the hospital?” I asked.
“I had to go after he broke my nose. I lied to the doctor, but I’m not sure she believed me.”
Willa Mae had said Oscar had been repeatedly visiting her. I wondered if he suspected Jed had been abusing her. Maybe he’d asked the hospital for any record of Willa Mae being treated.
“Why didn’t you leave Jed?” Freddy asked softly.
“I don’t know if you can understand this. I loved him and I hated him.” Her eyes filled. “My life was a nightmare. But he’d stopped abusing me once. I thought he would again. He said he loved me and was going to start counseling. But that night after we went home from dinner?”
“Where you’d been wearing a red skirt,” I added.
“He nearly strangled me to death.” She pulled down the neck of the shirt.
I winced at the sight of the three-day-old bluish-purple marks. Freddy gasped and brought her hand to her mouth, her own eyes filling.
“I just snapped,” Willa Mae continued. “He went to bed. A couple of hours later, I grabbed a few gallons of water and headed out. Behind the library actually wasn’t the only spot I watered, but I didn’t think anyone would see me back there.” She choked out a harsh laugh. “Jed never, ever varied his walking route. He’d been having balance problems, some neurological thing, and all I wanted was for him to have a really bad accident. I wanted him to be hurt so bad, he couldn’t hurt me any more. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The poor woman. I’d heard of the classic abused-wife syndrome, where the abuser kept saying he would change, and the woman kept saying she loved him, sometimes until he killed her. I didn’t blame Willa Mae for wanting it all to stop.
“Did you tell Detective Thompson any of this?” I asked.
“Him?” Willa Mae scoffed. “Like he would be sympathetic. He’d have had me in handcuffs and out of here before I could put shoes on.”
I glanced at Freddy. Do we call Oscar right now? We had to. I had my recording, but I had no idea if what Willa Mae had said would be audible through the fabric of the bag. Plus, it probably wasn’t admissible in court, anyway. I’d texted Oscar about what Josie had told me, so the decision was already out of our hands.
“I thought I would feel so good, so free, after I heard he was dead.” Willa Mae put her feet back on the floor and sat slumped, her glass in both hands. “But I don’t. I don’t feel good at all.”
The doorbell rang. I rose. “I’ll get it.”
Willa Mae snorted. “Probably some snoopy neighbor pretending the reason she’s bringing a casserole is out of sympathy, but really she’s just a nosy parker.”
I paused. “Do you want me to answer it?”
“Go ahead.” She waved me away.
I pulled open the door to the tall sight of Buck, with Oscar hovering behind him.
“Hello, Robbie.” Buck frowned. “You should not be here. No way.”
“Call it a condolence call?” I winced. He was right, of course. “I came with Freddy O’Neill.”
Oscar pushed forward. “We’re here to see Willa Mae Greenberg. Bird is right, Robbie. You could be in danger here, you and Ms. O’Neill, both.”
I simply stepped back and got out of the way. Buck stepped in, removing his hat. Oscar followed and did not remove his knit cap, until Buck elbowed him, then he pulled it off his narrow head.
“Hey there, officers.” Willa Mae’s glass was now empty and her speech was sloppy from the whiskey. “Join the party.”
“Ms. Greenberg,” Oscar began, his hands limp at his sides. “Based on an eyewitness report, we have obtained additional security footage from the South Lick Library. It indicates that in the early morning of your husband’s death, you deliberately poured water on the pavement to cause icing. You are under arrest for the murder of Jedediah Greenberg.” He told her she had the right to remain silent and the rest.
Good. He’d followed up on the tip from Josie. And it must have taken this long because he’d needed to confirm her story with the footage.
“I just told these nice ladies the whole story,” Willa Mae said in a low voice. “If you knew how many times that man tried to kill me, you wouldn’t blame me for wanting to put him out of commission. But I wasn’t attempting murder. Just harm.”
“I recorded everything she said,” I told Buck. “You can check with the hospital for a record of some of her beatings.”
Oscar beat his hand against his leg, the picture of impatience.
Buck nodded. “Thanks, Robbie. The recording won’t be admissible, but get it to us before long. We’ll see if we can use it somehow.” He gave Willa Mae a sympathetic smile as he pulled out handcuffs. “Ma’am, if you’ll stand, please?”
She stood. “Robbie, will you get my shoes? They’re by the door.”
Buck waited until I brought Willa Mae her winter boots, as well as a coat hanging on a hook above the shoe rack. After she was ready, he cuffed her hands behind her back.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Willa Mae blew out a breath. “I’m ready to roll.”
Oscar headed for the door. Buck took Willa Mae’s elbow with a gentle touch and guided her out.
Before the door closed, she called back, “Turn down the heat and switch off the lights, will you, girls?”
“We will,” Freddy called back.
The door clicked shut. Freddy and I exchanged a look.
“Willa Mae is something,” Freddy said. “She’s not exactly acting like a widow, but not like a murderer, either.”
“I know. Her emotions must be so confused.” I got up and turned the thermostat down to fifty-five. Willa Mae wasn’t going to be back any time soon. “Not quite the condolence call you bargained for, I guess,” I said.
“No. Not quite.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I sat back in my chair at Howard and Freddy’s dinner table at eight that night. “I can’t manage another bite.” My plate still held a piece of the best turkey I’d ever eaten, a few bites of stuffing, a smear of cranberry sauce, and a stray garlicky green bean. “What a perfect Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Dad, you outdid yourself with that turkey,” Abe said. “Marinated and smoked is a winning combination.”
“Thanks, kids.” Howard beamed and drained his glass of Chardonnay. “I learned it from a Puerto Rican friend.”
Sean, who’d been as excited as a three-year-old when Abe and I had arrived with Cocoa a couple of hours ago, slipped the puppy at his feet a sliver of turkey. Cocoa scarfed it down.
“I saw that,” Freddy scolded. “Not too much of people food for the little guy, Seanie. You surely don’t want him upchucking on your bed tonight.”
“Yes, Grandma.” Sean popped in a huge bite of stuffing and washed it down with milk. “I’m going to take him out for a walk.” He stood. “Come on, Cocoa Puff.”
“We’ll have cookies when you get back,” his grandmother called after the two.
After the door shut, Abe set his elbow on the table and chin on his hand. “All right, Robbie, now that Sean’s out of the room
, dish. On the way over, you said you’d had a newsworthy afternoon and part of it happened with Mom. Tell us what went down.”
I exchanged a glance with Freddy, who pointed back at me. “All right,” I began. “Howard, you must have heard that Jed wasn’t poisoned. Buck came in and told me this morning.”
“Yes,” Howard said. “But they were still waiting to see if any of the chocolate had been tainted.”
“Right. Danna’s grandmother, whose condo overlooks the back of the library, came into the store a little later and told me she kind of saw a woman in a red skirt pouring water on the pavement.”
“Kind of saw?” Abe asked.
“One, her contacts weren’t in. Two, she has cataracts. Three, she’s seventy. So, yeah, saw but not clearly.”
“Then Robbie asked me to go with her to visit Willa Mae this afternoon, but I had no idea what I was getting into,” Freddy said.
“Willa Mae wore a red skirt to dinner here Sunday night,” I said. “Karinde Nilsson hated Jed, but she never wears skirts. I didn’t want to visit a murderer alone.”
Abe squeezed my hand. “Smart move.”
“I took a little digital recorder in my bag and turned it on.”
“The poor woman.” Freddy wagged her head. “Jed had been beating Willa Mae badly. She told us she did pour the water. She knew he would walk by there, because he never varied his routine. And he’d been suffering from imbalance. She said she just wanted to hurt him.” She glanced at me.
I nodded. “Enough so he would stop hurting her. She said she didn’t mean to kill him.”
“Makes your heart break, doesn’t it?” Abe asked. “I can’t understand men who hurt their women, or anybody.” He blew out a breath.
“But why didn’t she simply leave him?” Howard asked.
“We asked her that,” Freddy said. “It’s a terrible syndrome, hon. And love is a strong emotion.”
“Willa Mae had been to the hospital at least once with her injuries, so the abuse is documented,” I said. “I’m sure by now medical practitioners know the difference between a bruise from actually walking into a door and one caused by another person.”
“Good.” Howard nodded.
“To top it all off, Buck and Oscar showed up with a warrant for her arrest. They’d gotten security cam footage from the library that showed Willa Mae doing the deed more clearly than Josie Dunn’s eyesight had.”
“Did she go calmly?” Abe asked.
“Yes, with the help of a whiskey or five she’d had beforehand. I hope they’ll let her off lightly.”
Boy and dog blew in through the door with a gust of cold air. “Cookies?” Sean asked.
Cocoa barked. Freddy laughed. Abe and I stood to clear the table.
We ended the evening with hot dark cocoa—spiked for the grown-ups, including Abe and me, since we were staying overnight—and cookies. Sean stood in front of the lit fireplace and recited “The Night Before Christmas,” which Abe said was the family’s annual ritual ever since Sean had been in preschool. The teen didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by the attention, even when his changing voice cracked from low to squeaky.
When he was finished, the family began singing carols, one of my favorite things to do at Christmas. Freddy played the piano beautifully, and I discovered something new about my man—he had a strong and clear baritone singing voice. I must have never heard Abe sing before. Just one more thing to love about him.
I had a pang, picturing Willa Mae alone in jail tonight. I would do what I could to help her get a fair trial. In a misguided way, she’d been trying to save her own life, but she would probably end up in prison for years. I hoped she could find happiness, somehow, somewhere.
Recipes
Mexican Hot Chocolate
Californian Robbie makes up packets of this mix to sell in the store at Christmas. Too bad half of them were confiscated by the police.
Ingredients
1½ cups granulated sugar
1 cup all-natural unsweetened dark cocoa
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¾ teaspoon cayenne pepper (use ½ teaspoon if you want
more heat)
Directions
Whisk together all ingredients in a medium bowl. Store in an airtight container for up to 2 months. To make 1 serving of Mexican Hot Cocoa, heat 1 cup whole milk in a small saucepan over medium just until hot and milk begins to steam, about 5 minutes (or in a microwave for about a minute and a half). Remove from heat. Whisk in 2 tablespoons cocoa mix. Serve immediately with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.
Mexican Bridecakes
Freddy O’Neill uses her mother’s recipe for these easy buttery cookies. The original recipe comes from my grandmother Dorothy Henderson.
Ingredients
1 cup butter, softened
2 cups unbleached flour
¾ cup powdered sugar
1 cup pecans or walnuts, finely chopped (optional)
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ cup milk
Directions
Preheat oven to 375º F.
Mix all dry ingredients.
Cut butter into them until fine.
Add vanilla and milk and stir with a fork until mixed.
Form into a flat disk with your hands and chill for twenty minutes to a day.
Press or roll onto a cookie sheet to an even ¼-inch thickness.
Bake for about fifteen minutes, watching closely for browning.
While warm, sift powdered sugar over the top and cut into one-inch squares.
Eggnog Oatmeal
Robbie offers this seasonal oatmeal as a holiday breakfast special. Note: steel cut oats are chewier and more flavorful than rolled oats.
Makes two servings.
Ingredients
1 cup milk
1 cup eggnog (commercial or homemade using the recipe
of your choice)
¼ teaspoon salt
⅔ cup quick steel cut oats
Nutmeg
Directions
Bring dairy just to a boil. Stir in oats and salt, reduce the heat, and simmer uncovered for 6 minutes or until desired texture. Sprinkle nutmeg on top. Serve hot.
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed Christmas Cocoa and a Corpse. I had fun setting a story featuring Robbie Jordan and her country store during Christmas in southern Indiana. I loved thinking up tasty specials for her and Danna to offer every day and to imagine Pans ’N Pancakes all decorated for the holidays. The Nativity scene at the elder O’Neills’ home comes directly from my own, right down to the irreverent additions of plastic figures like Snoopy and Bert. The life-sized menorah is modeled on the one in the gazebo in my own Massachusetts town.
If you haven’t read any of the Country Store Mysteries yet, this is the seventh installment. The series begins with Flipped for Murder, which takes place on the first day Robbie’s country store is open for business. But after a difficult South Lick town employee is found dead—with one of Robbie’s cheesy biscuits in her mouth—opening week gets a lot more complicated. You can make the biscuits from the recipe in the back, or sample Robbie’s signature Banana Walnut Pancakes. The next book is Grilled for Murder, which occurs a little more than a year before Christmas Cocoa and a Corpse. It’s the week after Thanksgiving and Robbie is horrified to find a body in her store the morning after she hosts a welcome home party for a local woman. The apple-spice muffins are baked, not grilled, and are an easy addition to your breakfast.
In When the Grits Hit the Fan, Robbie and a friend are out snowshoeing when they encounter a corpse frozen in a lake. The creamy cheesy grits recipe will warm your insides even as you read about Robbie and her new guy trapped in the woods in an ice storm facing a killer with a gun. Book four, Biscuits and Slashed Browns, takes place during the Maple Festival. But when a man is found dead at a maple syrup farm, things get sticky for Robbie and her new helper, Turner Rao.
The recipe for Chocolate Biscotti doesn’t have maple in it, but is perfect for an Italian brunch or just a midmorning snack.
Death Over Easy, the next book, shows Robbie’s Italian father coming to town during a big bluegrass festival, when not one but two murders take place. If you make the Sugar Cream Pie, it goes down easier than finding the killer—or killers. Strangled Eggs and Ham, book six in the Country Store Mysteries, takes place during a steamy August, with controversy over a proposed real estate development in the county and Robbie’s septuagenarian aunt Adele leading a protest group. A cool cucumber-dill soup is a perfect accompaniment for both the weather and the heated controversy that leads to the murder of one of the protesters.
So a Christmas novella slides perfectly into book time. The seventh in the series, Nacho Average Murder, releases next year. Robbie heads back to her native California for her ten-year high school reunion in February. She samples new recipes featuring avocados and tortillas for her restaurant back home—and maybe digs up the real story behind her mother’s premature death.
It makes me so happy to write about Robbie, her cast of friends and family, and the delightful fictional town of South Lick in Brown County, Indiana. I lived in the neighboring county for five happy years a few decades ago, and I love being back in that slower-paced corner of the country. I get a kick out of including quirky regional sayings from Lieutenant Buck Bird and Robbie’s aunt Adele. And, within the confines of the story, I like exploring deeper questions of small-town life, family ties, and what would drive a regular person over the line to actually commit murder.
Christmas Cocoa Murder Page 20
