by Laura Quinn
“Wait ‘til you hear this,” Marti said, beating Bob to the punch. “I asked Jill if her brownies really matched the nutrition label she claimed, and she turned into a fire-breathing dragon and lunged at Bob…”
“…and threatened you,” Bob finished. “Her eyes turned black and she hissed ‘that lying bitch better shut her mouth if she knows what’s good for her.’ Her python arms flexed with every syllable.”
“I presume she meant me,” Claire said. “She’s the least of my worries, I…”
“You didn’t see her glare,” Bob interrupted. “I would steer clear of her for the next decade if I were you.”
“I’m trying to tell you both some big news,” Claire said. She barely got the story out when Bob switched on his phone to find several missed calls and texts announcing Larry’s death. He raced to his office as Marti dialed Traci’s number. The front door chime called Claire to the shop floor. Baron jumped up on the counter to greet his Great Dane friend.
“What a day,” Helen said. “Pixie and I are going out on the boat to get away from everything. I thought you might be ready for a break yourself.”
“I wish,” Claire said. “How about a glass of lemonade? I’ll lock the front door and we can let the kids run around the shop for a bit.”
The dogs took full advantage, running through the aisles and up and down the stairs while the ladies caught up on the latest tragedy.
“I still can’t believe it,” Helen said. “Dottie texted me with the news, saying to keep it top-secret to protect that hunky friend of yours. I suppose it was a heart attack or something, but I wouldn’t blame Traci if she killed him.”
Claire’s phone played “Put out the Fire” by Queen, a personalized ring tone she now regretted. Baron ran up next to her and plopped down on the cool tile with Pixie.
“Aren’t you going to take Nick’s call?” Helen asked. “Extend my invitation to him for an afternoon on the lake.” She stepped away to pick up a few essentials while Claire took the call, then wished she hadn’t. The news was grim.
Acting nonchalantly, Claire rang up Helen’s purchases and told her Nick asked for a raincheck. She wished her bon voyage, then raced to the back room just in time to hear Marti’s leaving a voicemail for Bob. Claire’s face fell further as her friend relayed that Traci had left after the mass and saw her husband’s car in the driveway. To avoid a confrontation and to clear her head, the cheated-on wife took a long drive, only to find his car was still there when she returned and, soon after, discovered his body.
“What’s wrong?” Marti asked.
“Nick just called. He talked to the paramedics on call, and they think Larry may have been poisoned. If Traci was just driving around, she won’t have an alibi. She really will be arrested.”
“Well, crap. I was really hoping it was natural causes. Maybe Lydia was right to tell her to play dumb when she makes her statement. If the police find out that Traci knew her husband would be there, it fits her with motive, means and opportunity.”
“No, that will be worse. She was talking about Larry’s visit at the wake. Someone may have heard her. Then, she’ll sound even more guilty.”
“This is getting worse and worse,” Marti said. “I’m going to call her back and see if we can stop by this afternoon. We need to get her focused before she goes to the station. Is it okay if I tell her we’ll stop by right after you close?”
“Yes, we’ll bring Baron to help comfort her.”
With most of the town’s businesses closed on Sundays, few customers came in, making for a long afternoon. Claire tried to think about Lana’s order, but kept drifting back to the two murders. Marti was on the phone most of the day, bouncing between calls with Traci, Bob and a criminal attorney friend of hers. A new customer was a welcome distraction and Claire took extra time to show the man all the Cubs merchandise as gift ideas for his sister’s new dog.
As she piped “Santo” on a large peanut butter bone cookie, Marti rushed up and whispered that she had to go and would call soon. The distraction caused the piping to go astray and Baron gained a treat. After the customer left with a new cookie and assortment of gifts, Claire fidgeted with her phone, until Marti’s text appeared. It said the police were at Traci’s house with a search warrant and she would call as soon as she could.
At precisely five o’clock, the closed sign blinked on in the Posh Pup window and Claire took a walk with Baron. She chose a route through a residential area, hoping to avoid any questions from well-meaning acquaintances or others. She took out her phone several times to check for missed messages, but found none. After a two-mile loop, she stopped at Lakeside Park to let Baron splash in the water. Lydia called her from her backyard, having just come in from a swim herself. Claire waved back, which the older woman took as an invitation to join them.
“Your dog is so adorable,” Lydia said, offering water to each. You look exhausted, but that must mean your business is doing well.”
Claire poured one of the imported bottle into the collapsible dog bowl and drank the other. Lydia continued with small talk, which eventually led to the hot topic.
“So, did you hear about poor Mrs. Hamilton? I’ve been praying for her.”
“Yes,” Claire said. “She’s been through so much already, and now this.”
“You can hardly blame her.” Lydia reached over to pet Baron, but he dove into a wave generated by a passing speed boat. “Not that I think she’s guilty of course. I mean no one could blame her if she had done something.”
“Which she didn’t,” Claire snapped. “That’s how rumors get started.”
“Oh, I would never discuss this with other people, but I’ve heard that you’re something of an amateur sleuth. So, you must know that the spouse is always a prime suspect. Especially one who was recently humiliated by a cheating scandal.”
“I think he humiliated himself, as he was hardly Kim’s only lover. Maybe he killed himself.”
“Do you think so? That would be a relief for his widow and the police. Let’s face it, Chief Maloney is hardly experienced in solving serious crime.”
“Is that why you told Traci to lie to the police? Don’t you know how foolish that was?”
“I was only trying to help,” Lydia said, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. “I happened to arrive just after her husband’s body was removed, and she was a wreck. She told me all the circumstances, which I’ll keep private, but trust me, they made her look very guilty and I believe in her. I thought a little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone and would save a lot of heartache.” She lowered her head and looped the silk sash of her lace caftan through her wrinkled fingers. “I didn’t stop to think, but you’re right. I should have kept quiet. I’ll call her and apologize for my error in judgement.”
“You meant well, but it’s never a good idea to lie to the police,” Claire said, feeling guilty about causing Lydia’s distress. She reminded herself what she told Peggy, the woman was action-oriented. “I’m sure everything will be straightened out soon enough.”
“Believe me, this foolish old woman will leave any legal advice to lawyers from now on. I just hope I haven’t caused any damage. Maybe it will turn out that Larry did kill himself. He might have even killed Kim. That would fit with a jealous lover, wouldn’t it? At least, that’s what those CSI shows say. Television keeps me company late at night since I lost my dear Alfie.”
Claire said she hoped so and wished her a good afternoon. Before she was out of range, Lydia reminded her that she had her penciled down as a donor for the upcoming auction. Claire gave her a thumbs up, marveling at her laser-like philanthropic focus, despite the events of the day.
Before Claire returned to the shop, Marti finally called. She said Traci was resting at the North Haven Suites, but the situation was serious. After a quick change into dry clothes, Claire called in a dinner order from Traci’s favorite restaurant and drove to the hotel.
Marti met the pair at a side entrance, skirting the hotel’s dog polic
y. Along the way to the suite, she updated Claire with everything that had happened since she last saw her. After receiving an anonymous tip, the police obtained a warrant and searched the entire home. Officer Vert discovered an opened forty-pound bag of cherry pits stashed in a tote in the garage. Traci was taken in for questioning and Marti filled in as solicitor until a criminal attorney could be secured. Marti couldn’t share further details, which were protected by attorney-client privilege.
“That’s why I wanted you to come here,” Marti said. “I hope she’ll tell you everything so we can help her. I’ve already briefed her new lawyer, so I’m officially off the case. She was lucky to get Carl Shaw, one of the top defense attorneys in the city.”
Marti knocked the agreed-upon three times and Traci let them in. Baron walked alongside his patient, taking his role of chief comforter seriously. The new widow started crying as he jumped up on the couch beside her and licked her arm. She struggled to regain composure as she recounted her experience with the police.
“Marti was magnificent,” Traci said. “I was a blubbering mess. If I hadn’t called her, I don’t know what would have happened. They wanted to hold me until they could match up the poi, the poi…” Her voice disintegrated.
“It was textbook law,” Marti said. “They didn’t have enough evidence to charge her, so they made the wise choice to let her go. Carl will see that they continue to make wise decisions.”
“It was so scary,” Traci cried. “I was still in shock from finding, finding….”
“Don’t try to talk yet,” Claire said. “Cuddle with Baron and I’ll get you a plate of food. You probably haven’t eaten all day.”
“And don’t try to tell us you’re not hungry. You have to keep your strength up,” Marti said. “Baron brought his dinner too.”
“I heard that Mrs. Williams is watching Humphrey for the next few days, so I stopped there on the way over. He looks very happy playing with their doxies,” Claire said. “I dropped off a few of his favorite dinners and treats.”
“Everyone’s been so kind,” Traci sputtered. She pecked at the lobster ravioli, gradually working up to dunking a breadstick in the butter sauce. Marti kept her wine glass filled.
They kept the conversation light while they ate, focusing on the adoption success stories from the grand opening events. As Traci relaxed, Marti steered them back on track, urging her to share her story with Claire.
Pulling out her spiral to take notes, Claire listened as Traci detailed her movements that day. She left the hotel to attend the funeral service, but skipped the luncheon after feeling that everyone was staring at her. When she pulled up to her house, she saw her husband’s car in the driveway and left. She followed the lakeshore for a long time before pulling over to call Larry to find out if he had left yet. Realizing she left her phone at home, she decided to turn around and see for herself. She admitted to losing her temper when the car was still there. As soon she opened the door, she started shouting, blaming him for making her feel ostracized in her own community, and wanting him gone for good. When he didn’t answer, she stormed into his home office, ready for a confrontation. Instead, she found his body convulsed next to the chair. She called 911 and paramedics took him to the hospital, though they said he was non-responsive. Then, a firetruck and gas company truck arrived, fearing a gas leak from the construction. In the midst of the inspection, Lydia arrived with one of her famous homemade cakes, concerned about Traci’s frail appearance at the wake.
“Yes, I talked to Lydia this afternoon,” Claire said. “She’s very worried about you.”
“She was so kind,” Traci said. “When she heard what happened, she was very protective. She talked with the emergency team and when the house was cleared, she sat and talked with me for a long while. She was afraid that I would be framed, because she says it happens all the time on TV, so she gave me hints to expedite the process, as she said.”
“Lydia meant well, but she isn’t a lawyer,” Marti said. “Stick to the truth. You have nothing to lie about.”
“She was concerned that I didn’t have an alibi, and now it seems she was right.” Traci pulled out another tissue.
“Too bad you didn’t have your phone with you,” Claire said. “They can tell where you are in relation to cell towers. That would prove that you hadn’t been home since the day before.”
“At least you can show the hotel receipt for proof,” Marti said. “I’m sure this building has plenty of cameras, and must have recorded you at some point.”
“They were booked last night,” Traci said. “I had to stay at some Airbnb in the city. I don’t remember the name of it and didn’t get a receipt.”
“It will be on your credit card statement,” Marti said. “Go online and print it or have Carl’s team do that for you, so you can’t be accused of faking it.”
“I paid cash,” Traci said, starting to cry again.
“I know,” Claire said. “OnStar should be able to prove where your car was, right? I’m sure that’s all recorded somewhere.”
“If she hadn’t been driving her ’63 T-bird,” Marti said.
“GPS unit?” Claire asked, answered by more sobs.
Baron licked the tears from Traci’s face and offered a supportive paw. Claire assured her that they would do their best to find alternative leads for the police to investigate. She suggested her theory that Larry may have killed Kim, then killed himself. The fact that he was found processing the dog rescue’s donations during his final breaths didn’t support that scenario, however. Furthermore, Traci vehemently denied that Larry was capable of killing anyone, and definitely not himself. He was too smart, she said, to have to kill anyone to get out of a predicament. For a moment, she smiled, recounting how her husband would watch American Greed, analyzing what the criminals could have done to get away with their crimes.
“He was the one who reported his competitor, you know. He looked up public records of a former client and put the pieces together, outlining the scam to the FBI. He had an incredible mind for figures.” Despite her late husband’s affair, she broke down into sobs at his loss, cursing herself for caring.
Traci declined their offer to stay with her, preferring to be alone while she processed everything. Claire and Baron snuck out the side entrance, while Marti waited for room service to bring up a pot of warm milk, which she planned to doctor with a splash of whiskey.
The two friends met in the parking lot, deciding to drive to their favorite ice cream parlor in Evanston to debrief. Claire secured seats outside while Marti ordered a berry-topped sundae to share plus a scoop of vanilla for Baron. When they were all seated, Claire commented they were lucky to get a space since the city was so busy the night before.
“Here’s a strange thing,” Marti said. “I tipped the hotel server extra for prioritizing my request, given the full guest load. He said it’s been pretty quiet since the holiday.”
“Really? Maybe he meant room service has been quiet.”
“No. I confirmed with the front desk that there were several open rooms all week. Why would Traci lie about that?”
Chapter 13
Monday, July 11th
Murderous plots were temporarily supplanted by the gloriously sunny day that greeted Claire. With her shop closed on Mondays, she embarked on a relaxed day at home. It began with strawberry crepes for herself, a liver omelet for Baron and tuna truffles for the cats. During her three-mile run, she listened to a playlist of Daft Punk and other French artists to inspire her for the recipes she had to create for Lana’s overseas order.
While the furry kids slept, Claire prepared the starter for the baguettes, swapping whole wheat flour for white flour and homemade beef broth for water. While the yeast mixture slowly activated, she mixed the ingredients for the tri-color pinwheels. Stacking thin rectangles of blue, white and red, she tightly rolled the dough into a log and chilled it to slice later. The opening of the refrigerator door awoke the cats, scoring them each a piece of chicken from the
ir conditioned human. The pair played a game of swat-the-foil until they walked through a trail of flour, necessitating scornful glares and extensive self-grooming. Claire cleaned up after the mess before starting the cupcakes. When the tins were safely in the oven, she designed greetings for the edible paper toppers, translating a few into doggy terms, such as Bone-jour, and swapped paw prints for vowels in others. The sheets would be printed at the shop the next day, using the edible ink printer for the first time.
The scent of peanut butter wafting through the kitchen awoke Baron. As the cupcakes cooled, the two headed out for a walk around the neighborhood. They made the usual sniff stops and water breaks, with several curious neighbors asking about the murders. Faking incoming phone calls, she cut the inquisitive conversations as short as possible. She was nearly outed with one particularly persistent person when her phone actually rang while she was on the fake call, but she covered by saying it was an alarm reminder to start the next batch of treats.
Baron wagged his tail when he recognized his Aunt Marti’s ringtone. Claire answered as she explained that Marti was working and not coming over with Clarence and Darrow.
“We can’t all lounge around in pajamas all day,” her friend said.
“For your information, I am nearly a third of the way through Lana’s order already. We’re just taking a break. Any news?”
“No. Carl’s assistant stopped by to debrief me on the case. They’re very thorough, proving she’s in excellent hands,” Marti said. “I’m calling to let you know I might be a little late tonight. My client’s asshole husband suddenly decided he is available for an impromptu arbitration meeting this afternoon. He’s jetting off to Bangkok with his mistress tonight, but still contests his wife’s alimony requests.”
“One night in Bangkok and the…”
“Ok, I’m going now. Let Baron endure your latest re-lyric.”
Claire laughed at the term, despite being dissed, and returned home. With Baron sleeping and the cats taking their afternoon nap, she was able to frost the cupcakes, slice and bake the pinwheels, and mix and knead the bread dough. Focusing on baking kept her mind busy, but the time required for the dough to rise allowed her thoughts to drift back to the murders. She pulled out her notes and organized them on the computer, adding a timeline where she plotted movements of everyone she knew, suspect or not. The list of unanswered questions quickly outgrew her list of facts, with precious little to clear Traci except the fervent belief of her friend’s innocence. The case against Bunny was strong, but only for Kim’s murder. According to Lana, Bunny was still in Cuba, so she couldn’t have killed Larry. The murders must be connected, but that only made Traci seem guiltier. Did Larry kill Kim? If so, why would Traci need to kill him? He would have been sent to prison for the rest of his life.
