Strangulation & Strawberry Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  Zizka sighed. "That's what Mrs. Mallory says, too. We can't understand it. Maybe the killer is somebody from the outside, then. It's possible, I suppose.” She looked almost hopeful as she said it.

  Rachel nodded, pondering this. "It could be,” she agreed. "If you don't mind me asking, has Grandma Mallory known Johnny Hayes for long?"

  "For long? Since he was in diapers!” Zizka laughed. "Johnny Hayes' father, Johnathan Sr., used to be the accountant back when Mr. Peter was still alive. Mr. Peter died when the children were still young and Mrs. Mallory had to take control of the accounts. She was quite smart at it, too." Zizka's voice lowered to a whisper. "I heard she did much better than Mr. Peter with the family fortune. Doubled it through good investments. She even told me how to invest my money, you know. She's got brains, my lady."

  "Oh, you can tell that just by looking at her." Rachel nodded. "Nobody would mistake her for a fool."

  "Some have, and lived to regret it." Zizka smiled. "She could chomp up pushy salesmen for breakfast. Anyway, after John Sr. passed away young, Johnny took over as the family accountant. He's handled everyone's accounts ever since. Well, except Miss Florence, Scott's mother, that is. She... er..."

  Rachel nodded. "Mrs. Mallory cut her off, right?"

  Zizka pursed her lips. "A sad thing when families fight. Lose-lose situation, as they say."

  "When Johnny came over last night…was that a normal thing?" Rachel asked.

  "Oh, absolutely not. Johnny knew better than to disturb Mrs. Mallory after 5pm. Besides, he'd never come over without calling first,” Zizka explained. "I was actually shocked when he buzzed at the gate. And he looked so pale when I opened the door. He was muttering something to himself. Something about long horses? I didn't understand at all."

  "Long horses?" Rachel felt utterly confused.

  "That's right." Zizka shrugged. "I don't know what he was going on about."

  "Did he say anything else?"

  "Nothing." Zizka shook her head. "But he was insistent on seeing Mrs. Mallory. He told me he'd wait all night in the parlor if he had to."

  "Is…well…I really don't want to be rude but, is Mrs. Mallory still in charge of the family finances?" Rachel asked. "After all, she's 90. Surely her children are in charge now?"

  "Oh, no!” Zizka threw back her head and laughed. "The reins of the house are still firmly in her hands. Not that the kids are poor, mind you. They're all doing quite well. Mr. Jordan has his landscaping company and Mr. Sidney is a professor and Mrs. Paris used to be CEO of some publishing company before she retired three years ago."

  "Aunt Paris was a CEO?" Rachel was impressed. "Don't get me wrong but, between the two ladies, Aunt Bethany struck me more as the ‘CEO type’. You know? She's all firm and competent while Aunt Paris seems like she's more of a hippie at heart."

  "Well, she’s both, I guess,” Zizka considered. "Paris is a sensitive girl. I was always very fond of her. I've seen her grow from awkward teenager to successful adult, you know. We never expected her to go as far as she did. As for Bethany, you're right about her, too. She's the one who really runs Mr. Jordan's company. Not that he doesn't work hard, too. But she runs the books while he really just deals the customers." Zizka was smiling like a proud mother hen as she told Rachel this.

  "And Uncle Sidney?"

  "Ah, well." Zizka smiled. "Not everyone runs after money, you know. Sidney was always a bookworm. I'd never see him without his nose in a book when he came back home from college. His students love him, I've heard. Sometimes, I think he's the happiest of them all, even if his life is the most modest."

  "Zizka!!" A voice rang out.

  Zizka picked up the tray and motioned to Rachel with her head. "Go on, they're waiting in the family room. I'll be right behind you with the tray."

  *****

  Chapter 8

  A Walk In The Park

  "What took you so long?" Grandma Mallory grumbled as Zizka entered. "I've been waiting for my coffee. What's this?" She reared her head back in suspicion and narrowed her eyes as Zizka set the cake down on the table.

  "Ms. Rachel bought you a replacement since I dropped the cake yesterday,” Zizka explained.

  Grandma Mallory sniffed. "It isn't as big as the original one,” she said. "And where's my coffee?"

  Rachel wondered how Zizka abstained from rolling her eyes all the time. As it was, she just said, "I'll be right back with it."

  Uncle Sidney was seated on the sofa with a hardbound book in his hand, clearly engrossed. He smiled up at Rachel in a vague greeting, then went right back to his reading. Aunt Bethany, who was on an armchair with her laptop, stood up as Rachel came in. She looked quite excited.

  "I thought your name sounded familiar,” Bethany said. "So, I googled you. You're the Rachel Rowan! You're the one who solved those murders in Swaddle."

  "Oh." Rachel gave a self conscious chuckle. "I wouldn't say that. Scott's the one who did most of the solving, really. I just gave him some of my thoughts here and there.”

  "Should have known he’d someone's help,” Grandma Mallory muttered.

  Rachel bristled a little at this unwarranted attack on Scott. "You know, my grandmother used to say, ‘If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.’”

  "My grandmother used to say, ‘Respect your elders,’” Grandma Mallory shot back.

  Scott gave Rachel a wink and shook his head from behind Grandma, letting her know there was no point in continuing the conversation. He had a bemused smile on his face.

  Rachel couldn't help it, though. After her conversation with Emily earlier that day, she was on edge around Grandma Mallory. What she'd done to Scott's mother seemed so unjust. How could she have left Scott alone in a car as a baby and never even apologized? The thought of a young Scott, Ollie's age, suffering through it made Rachel's blood boil. And it didn't help that Grandma, herself, was in a bristly mood.

  Aunt Bethany shot up from her chair, intervening as she saw tempers beginning to rise. "Rachel, I haven't had a chance to show you the garden yet. Would you like to come see it?"

  "Sure." Rachel took a breath, smiled and let herself be lead away. They walked out through the French windows and down a path that snaked through the garden. Beautiful succulents of all sizes, shapes and colors squatted by the path with grey pebbles bedded between them. Recycled glass bottles in shades of blue and green were set upside-down in the earth as a border between the path and the plants, ensuring that nobody trampled the vegetation…or pricked themselves.

  "The landscaping is beautiful,” Rachel commented. "Your company does it, I assume?"

  Bethany nodded, looking quite proud. "We won an award for this garden back in ’08. I'm rather proud of it. Of course, I have lots of ideas for how to improve it but, since she stays indoors most days, Grandma Mallory doesn't seem very interested."

  "You run the company with Uncle Jordan, right?"

  Bethany nodded. "It was my family’s business, actually. My father started it. I've been playing around with plants since I was a child. Then I met Jordan and he joined the company, too. To be honest, we were just a small-town operation before. Grandma Mallory helped us with capital and we've been able to grow rapidly ever since. I wouldn't say we're the best in the nation but we're really in the big leagues now."

  "Congratulations." Rachel smiled.

  A shadow seemed to pass over Bethany's face. "Yes. Of course. Thank you. Well, Rachel, there's a reason I called you out here. I need a favor."

  "A favor?"

  Bethany took a deep breath. "You're an investigator of sorts, right?”

  "I suppose.” Rachel nodded.

  "There's something that's been bothering me,” Bethany said. She hesitated. "You know, forget it. I'm being stupid, I'm sure."

  "Trust your instincts,” Rachel said. "Tell me what you're thinking. Better yet, tell the police."

  "I can't tell the police." Bethany sighed. "That's the problem. The police would just roll their eyes and ignore me. I nee
d, well, a woman's perspective. This has nothing to do with the crime, you see. It's just…a tickle at the back of my neck."

  "I'd be happy to help, then,” Rachel said, now intrigued.

  Bethany sighed. "Alright,” she began. "Jordan and I live right here with Mallory, you know. It's been that way for thirty years now."

  "Oh.” Rachel swallowed. She'd been in the house for only a few hours and already she'd almost had a spat with Grandma Mallory. How had Bethany ever survived thirty years? Grandma Mallory couldn't be a very easy mother-in-law to handle. As though she were reading Rachel's mind, Bethany nodded vigorously.

  "Yes, exactly. You see? I can tell you understand. It worked out for us mostly because I let Mallory run the house. I was too busy running my own company, anyway,” Bethany said. "Jordan's a great salesman but when it comes to the nitty-gritty and the day to day operations, he's absolutely useless."

  Rachel nodded. "So you work best as a team."

  "Exactly,” Bethany said. "As long as everyone knows their roles, we're all happy. Not that I haven’t heard my share of snide comments. But I knew how to take them in my stride."

  "So what changed?" Rachel asked. "I'm assuming something did."

  "A year ago, Paris decided she'd had enough of her hippie lifestyle. She moved back in,” Bethany continued.

  "Ah,” Rachel said.

  "Yes. Ah,” Bethany said. "Ever since, life has been hell for me. Mallory's bad enough alone, but with Paris to add fuel to the fire? It's unbearable."

  "Aunt Paris?" Rachel looked surprised. "She didn't seem mean to me."

  "She isn’t,” Bethany agreed. "Believe me, she isn't. On her own, she's a gem of a person. Sweet, kind, generous. But mix in her mother and…hoo boy! It's like a whole new side of her comes out. It's really..." Bethany exhaled. "It's really strange, the kind of hold Mallory has over her children. You have to see her in action to believe it. She's all sugary sweet and loving one moment then, suddenly out of nowhere, she'll make a snide comment that leaves you doubting everything about yourself while still unsure if you're just imagining the malice in her voice. I have my walls up against her by now. But Jordan and Paris, they're like her puppets, and she's perfected her dance over the years. She dangles affection in front of them and they do anything to get their share. It's like a form of mind control, almost."

  Rachel felt a shiver wash over her. "Mind control?"

  "Yes." Bethany gave out a laugh. "You see how ridiculous I sound? What will I tell the cops? Paris killed Johnny Hayes because Grandma Mallory telepathically ordered her to? And yet, I tell you, it's possible. I've seen Paris change from sweetheart to vicious beast in seconds. I understand why, too. She's so brainwashed by Mallory that she'd do anything to please her…” She trailed off, looking unhappy. "You don't believe me, either, do you?"

  "I..." Rachel chose her words carefully. "I'm sure all of us change personalities around our parents a little bit. Regress to our childhood selves, perhaps. I imagine it happens, especially in this case, since Grandma Mallory is so spirited. I could imagine Aunt Paris getting affected, maybe being mean to you when she'd normally be nice. But murder? That doesn't make sense. Besides, what motive could Grandma Mallory possibly have to kill Johnny Hayes? He'd come to give her information that I presume would be in her best interest to know, hadn't he? On the face of it, he was killed to prevent that information from reaching her."

  "I know. It doesn't make sense,” Bethany said. "But…would you stay here? Just a few days? I need someone with a fresh pair of eyes to tell me I'm not crazy."

  "What?" Rachel took a step back and put her hands up. "Look, Bethany, I'm not a private investigator or anything like that. I'm a baker."

  "But you're here,” Bethany pleaded. She clutched Rachel's shoulders. "Surely that's a sign. It has to be. Please stay? I'll pay you.”

  The shiver multiplied, forming goosebumps on Rachel's body. There was a desperation in Bethany's eyes that bordered on madness. Did she really believe Grandma Mallory telepathically killed Johnny? Surely that was ridiculous. And, yet, she was making Rachel a very serious offer.

  "Let's put the telepathy aside for a moment,” Rachel said, detaching Bethany's hands from her shoulders. "Do you think Aunt Paris has any concrete reasons for wanting to kill Johnny Hayes? He was an accountant. What if he'd discovered Aunt Paris had been stealing money or something?"

  Bethany shook her head. "Paris doesn't need money. She has plenty. She got a great deal from selling off her company when she retired and she's got rich ex-husbands who still pay her alimony. I don't see her stealing anything.”

  "Well, maybe Johnny knew some other secret of hers,” Rachel suggested. "Did Aunt Paris ever give an alibi yesterday?"

  Bethany shook her head. "She said she was alone in her room, freshening up. When the lights went out, she came outside to investigate. Someone bumped against her and ran away. She went into the parlor to see if Johnny Hayes was ok in there and, when the lights came on, she saw what had happened and screamed."

  "There's no way to prove or disprove that." Rachel sighed. "How about you? Did you maybe see anything?"

  Bethany shook her head. "I have the same alibi she does. I was in my room freshening up, as well. I knew we'd be taking a lot of pictures while cutting the cake so I wanted to look presentable. While I was there, Jordan came in through the French windows with a drink in his hand."

  "French windows... does the parlor have them, too?"

  "All the rooms have them. Easy access to the garden. We redesigned the house that way a few years ago."

  "Oh. So the lights were still on when Jordan came in?"

  Bethany nodded. "He was grumbling a little about Scott being rude and he switched on the TV. I was in the middle of a shower when the lights went off."

  "Your room is just across from the parlor, isn't it?" Rachel asked. "Is there any chance you heard something? Anything at all?"

  Bethany shook her head. "Not a peep." Nervously, she wiped two fingers across her lips. “Boy, I wish I had a smoke right now." She took a deep breath. "Sorry. Just thinking about it gives me the chills."

  "I don't blame you,” Rachel said. "So you think Aunt Paris killed Johnny Hayes but you're not completely sure of the motive?"

  Bethany nodded. "I mean, it has to be her. Who else could it be? Tyler doesn't care, Sidney can't hurt a fly. Zizka would have no reason to—“

  "Not necessarily,” Rachel said. "Everyone, no matter how soft-spoken they are, has a darkness inside them. I really believe that anyone is capable of murder if the circumstances are right. Maybe the circumstances were just right for one of them."

  Bethany frowned. "You think so?"

  Rachel shrugged.

  "But why would they?" Bethany said, more to herself than Rachel. "I just can't figure out a motive." The same haunted look Rachel had seen before was back in Bethany's eyes. She was biting the edge of her thumb now.

  "Sidney and Tyler don't even stay here do they?" Rachel asked.

  "No. They just dropped in for a week to celebrate Mallory's birthday,” Bethany confirmed. "Tyler's been bored out of his skull, if you ask me. Not that I blame him, either. At his age, he should be with friends. But I guess one does not ignore a summons from Grandma Mallory."

  "Tyler's her only grandchild then? Apart from Scott and Emily?"

  "That's right." Bethany nodded. "The scion of the family, so to say. Jordan and I were never able to have children and Paris, I think, was too busy traveling the world to have them. That's not how Mallory would have liked it. She wanted a whole dynasty."

  Rachel laughed. "And herself as Empress, ruling over it?"

  "Exactly." Bethany laughed. "Anyway, will you please consider my offer, Rachel? I'd be willing to pay you most generously if you stayed. I know I sound mad, but I need this. Besides..." Bethany shivered. "There's one more thing."

  "What's that?"

  "If the killer is among us, there's a chance they could strike again,” Bethany said. "Everyone knows it
, though nobody's said a word. We're all sleeping with our doors locked and a chair against it now."

  "So, if I were to stay here, you'd want me as protection?" Rachel smiled. "I'm sure Scott's a much better option."

  "The more the merrier,” Bethany said. "I'd rather have you both than him alone. Please, Rachel? If something happened — would you be able to sleep at night knowing you had a chance to do something and didn't?"

  Rachel sighed, knowing Bethany had caught her well and good. She couldn't back away now. She was a part of this. "Three days,” she said. "Then I'll have to go back to my bakery. I can't be away for any longer than that."

  "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Bethany put her arms around Rachel and gave her a big hug. "You're making the right decision. You really are."

  That, Rachel thought, was debatable. She had few illusions about her skills as a detective, and even fewer about her skills as a fighter. If the killer wanted to strike again, all Rachel was doing by staying in Mulberry Mansion was giving him or her yet another target!

  *****

  Chapter 9

  Long Legs

  Rachel stayed out in the garden alone pondering Aunt Bethany's offer. She couldn't really back out now but, if she was going to stay there, she had to try and make the most of it. Which meant she had to ask the right questions. She frowned.

  Not for a moment did Rachel believe in Bethany's theory of telepathic murder. In fact, she doubted if Bethany quite believed in it herself. But, then, why would she want Rachel around? What could she hope to gain?

  It wasn't just Bethany's motives that confused Rachel. A lot of unanswered questions swirled in her mind, circling each other. She and Scott had seen a lighter near the fusebox. Who did it belong to? Or the earphones that had been used to kill Johnny, for that matter. Could they be traced to the killer?

  Then there was the question of the cake. Who had brushed against Zizka and made her drop it? Was it possible that Zizka was lying, and had simply dropped the cake on her own purposely?