by Laura Quinn
A call interrupted Claire’s musings. “They just arrested Traci,” Marti announced.
“What?”
“I don’t have all the details, but Traci’s phone records show she was at home that morning. Not only does that contradict her statement, it places her at the scene with a huge supply of suspected poisonous material.”
“She told us she left her phone at home,” Claire said. “Since she’s constantly on the phone, no activity should prove her story.”
“That’s the problem; it shows she took a call that morning.”
“How can that be? Will she have to go to jail?”
“They’ll probably hold her until the arraignment, which might not be until tomorrow,” Marti said. “After that, I’m sure she’ll be able to get out on bail. She doesn’t have any criminal history and has strong ties to the community.”
“Poor Traci, I can’t believe it.”
“I’m heading into my arbitration meeting, but I left a call for Carl’s assistant to see if he can tell me anything. Bob is checking with his source at the station too. He’s not sure if he can make it to dinner tonight, depending on how the case proceeds. He’s covering it all himself.”
Claire felt helpless as Traci faced such a terrifying experience on her own. Back at home, she punched down the risen dough, formed bone-shaped mini baguettes and covered them for a second proof. She took Baron out to play in the backyard then came in to play dancing ribbons with the cats. Nothing could shake the image of Traci locked in a jail cell, so Claire returned to the computer to add in any other possible clues she could remember. She stopped when the timer buzzed, brushing some of the rolls with a beef-broth glaze and others with blueberry puree before returning them to the oven and repeating the process fifteen minutes later.
She checked her phone again for messages from Bob, then packaged cookies, watching the second hand drag around the clock. Judging by the amount of calls she was receiving, it seemed news of the arrest was spreading. Claire answered some, but let most go to voicemail. When the North Haven Police Department phone number flashed on her phone, she picked up immediately.
“I’ve been dying to hear from you. What’s going on over there?”
“Is this Clarissa Noble?” the caller asked.
Claire was startled not to hear Bob’s voice, having assumed it was he who was calling. “Yes, who’s this?”
“Officer Sheila Connors. Who were you expecting?”
Claire stammered, failing to think of a feasible cover story.
“I’m calling to confirm a statement,” Sheila continued. “On the evening of Saturday, July 9th, did Traci Hamilton advise you that she knew her husband would be at her home, and that it was by her request?”
“Who told you that?” Claire asked, suspecting it was Jill.
“That is police business, Ms. Noble, something I suggest you remember in the future. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously as a female officer in this department, without you running around playing Nancy Drew.”
Claire could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment and indignation. She struggled to pull off a defiant tone. “I am doing nothing of the sort and I resent your admonishment.”
“Just remember that interfering with police business is a crime. Now, did you or did you not hear Mrs. Hamilton say that?”
Claire was tempted to say she couldn’t remember, using the emotion of Kim’s death as an excuse. Then, she remembered what she said to Lydia, and admitted the truth. The policewoman ended the call with a curt thank you.
Claire steamed over the accusation and had to set the table three times before getting the right combination of silverware. Bob was the first to arrive, but was under strict orders from Marti to keep all updates to himself until she was there. Claire printed out the notes she had been working on and Bob checked and circled items as he read through the pages. At last, Marti arrived, sans dogs, to Baron’s disappointment.
“Sorry, I got here as soon as I could,” Marti said. “The asshole was just about to agree, but then had to leave for his flight. I could have killed him.”
“Careful,” Bob said, “or you’ll be added to our suspect list.”
“We all better be careful,” Claire said. She told them about the police warning, and her suspicions that Jill had been the source of the statement. Bob knew Sheila, who had transferred to FHPD the previous summer. Marti met the officer in court and was impressed by her professionalism.
“Well, she’s certainly no fan of mine,” Claire said. “Lucky for you, she seems to think I’m a lone busybody. Anyway, I’ve been going crazy for news. Let’s hear what you found out.” Baron barked, either in agreement or for the cubes of cheese Bob was stacking on his plate.
Bob brought them up to date on Traci’s plight as he tossed a piece of cheese to the grateful dog.
“We know all that already,” Marti interrupted. “Don’t you have anything new? What kind of reporter are you?”
“I’m getting to the main story, but you’re not going to like it,” he said. “Ken confessed to both murders.”
“What?” the women shouted in unison.
“There’s not much I can tell you. My source said Ken came into the station claiming he killed his wife and her lover and couldn’t let an innocent person take the blame. They’re waiting for his attorney to come in with him tomorrow to take his official statement.”
“What about Traci? Did Chief Pete call her attorney yet?” Marti asked as she dialed Carl’s number.
“I called the law office for a statement as soon as I heard,” Bob said.
“There’s no way Ken is a murderer. We’ve known him all our lives,” Claire protested. “Why would he confess to something he couldn’t have done?”
“Given the right circumstances, anyone could be a killer, even someone we’ve known all our lives,” Bob reminded her.
Marti ended her call and reported that Carl and his assistant were unavailable. “That probably means they’re working on getting Traci released.”
“That’s good news, but what about Ken?” Claire asked.
“They’ll probably hold him overnight and organize their cases before charging him officially.”
Claire left the table to call Ken’s son, Matt. Penny took the opportunity to jump up on the empty chair and struck her adorable begging pose. As she attracted attention and offerings of sliced turkey, her partner in crime nudged the platter of smoked salmon closer to the edge of the table. Baron woofed, signaling that someone needed to check on the felonious felines. When Claire shouted Hercule’s name, he made a quick escape through the stack of PR and case files, scattering photos, notes and articles across the floor.
Claire rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and began picking up the mess. Marti moved the tempting platter back to the center of the table and poured another glass of wine for her friend. Bob climbed under the table to help collect the contents, aided by Baron who grabbed a selection of photos that were taken at the bag assembly night the prior Saturday. A judicious offering of prosciutto was swapped for the mouthful of pictures.
“I hope you have the digital copies of these,” Bob said, noticing a few bite marks as he wiped off the drool.
“Kendall took those,” Claire said. “I think Mike told her to catalog the donations, to ensure I brought everything to the tent the next day. He’s such a trusting soul.”
“I might have been tempted to take something myself,” Bob said. “The value of each bag must be at least five hundred dollars. Look at that magnum of Veuve Clicquot just setting out, waiting to be pillaged.”
“We may as well have,” Marti said. “That’s the bottle they planned for christening the cruise. What a waste of good champagne.”
“C'est une tragédie,” Claire commented before remembering the real tragedy. “Matt wasn’t there, so I left a message for him to call me. Ken must be covering for someone, but who?”
“Maybe what was good for the goose was good for the gander,” Bob speculat
ed.
“I can see if Ken’s lover would kill Kim, to eliminate the competition,” Marti said. “But, why would she kill Larry?”
“Or he,” Claire said. “Either way, maybe Larry had something on this mysterious lover.”
“Ken must really love her, or him, to sacrifice his life to protect this person,” Bob said, then paused. “There’s no way his son could be involved, right?”
“Of course not,” Claire said. “What would he gain?”
“Inheritance?” Marti guessed. “Kim didn’t have any children of her own.”
“But, his father’s fortune eclipses anything Kim had, by tenfold at least,” Bob said.
“And Matt would have to know his father would be the prime suspect,” Claire said. “He loves him too much to put him in jeopardy.”
“I know you’re going to hate this, but as a journalist, I have to play devil’s advocate. We can’t deny that Traci is the best suspect for Kim’s murder and now Ken confessed to Larry’s murder. What if this is a ‘Strangers on a Train’ plot? Maybe it was Ken’s idea, so he’s taking the fall for both.”
The ladies had to admit they promised to be objective, though Marti still said it was a stupid theory. She said there was no reason Traci would want to kill Larry, since at the time, she didn’t know about the affair. Claire grudgingly reminded her that they only had Traci’s word about that, and she had been less than truthful so far. They vowed to be more direct in their questions to Traci; both her and Ken’s freedom may well depend on it. In the meantime, the Mystery Mavens continued working with the information they had, distilling clues into a feasible alternative suspect or suspects.
If it were a crime of passion, Marti surmised that the most viable person left on their list was Brendan Hughes. Claire was dubious, as it seemed more of an opportunistic relationship for both him and Kim. Considering Brendan was openly dating Sam, jealousy wasn’t a strong motive. Josh, the hunky volunteer, was nothing more than a dalliance, and had been removed from the list.
They brainstormed for another hour, but had few alternative narratives that would fit both crimes. More investigation was needed.
Chapter 14
Tuesday, July 12th
Little did Traci know the inquisition that awaited her when she arrived at the Posh Pup. Following a warm welcome, Claire and Baron ushered their newly liberated guest to the back office while Barbara manned the store. The amateur detective planned to start with tea and sympathy, before leading up to tough questions that needed straight answers.
“It’s so good to see you,” Claire said. She winced slightly when Barbara removed the large Gucci sunglasses, revealing swollen red eyes and puffy lids. “I can’t begin to imagine everything you’ve been through in the past few days.”
“It was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, and now all I can think of is Ken sitting in my place. He couldn’t have done it, there’s just no way. How can we help him?”
Claire tried to phrase her question delicately, but realized there was no way to avoid upsetting Traci. Asking about Ken’s possible lover would undoubtedly cause the widow to relive her own husband’s betrayal. Traci’s voice trembled slightly as she answered that she wouldn’t know Ken’s private affairs. Claire quickly changed the subject to the night of Kim’s murder. Traci confirmed she hadn’t seen Ken in the park at all.
Noticing that Traci was still trembling, Claire offered to make her an Irish coffee. While she prepared Barbara’s famous recipe of coffee, whiskey, cream and sugar, Baron attended to their guest. Claire was grateful for the reinforcement, as her next question would be blunt. She handed the steaming mug topped with whipped cream to Traci, and gave a small dish of whipped cream to Baron.
“I have to ask you this, not as an accusation in any way, but I have to see the true picture of the night,” Claire began. “You said you didn’t go on the cruise because you had a migraine.”
“Yes, that’s true. It had been building throughout the night, and I knew I’d be miserable onboard.”
“What’s been bothering me is that I saw photos of you watching the fireworks, cheering the finale. I’ve witnessed the severity of your migraines enough times to know that amount of lights and noise would have crippled you.”
Traci’s swollen eyes filled with tears and she ransacked her purse, retrieving a folded piece of paper from inside a tin of mints.
“I don’t know why I held onto this,” she said, handing the note across the table. She explained that she found the note on the table next to her gift bag in the tent that night. Claire took a photo of the paper, to avoid contaminating possible evidence with her fingerprints.
“I know what you’re up to and I’m going to prove it and expose you for the lying bitch you are, signed K.B.,” Claire read aloud. “What does that mean?”
Traci looked away, then lowered her head. Her upper lip quivered as she tried to speak, but lost out to a bout of tears and gasping breath. She pulled out a packet of tissues from her bag and worked to slow her breathing. Claire held her friend’s hand and Baron placed a supportive paw on her knee. After downing the rest of the fortified coffee, Traci started again. “Oh, Claire, this is a real mess, and I don’t know what to do.”
In bursts of staccato speech, Traci confessed to a relationship with Ken. It started a few months prior, after meeting to discuss suspicions that their partners were having an affair. No one, not even Amanda or Matt knew. She thought their secret was safe, until she saw Kim’s note. Fearing a confrontation on the boat, she gave her ticket away to Josh and spent the night with Ken, planning how to deal with the situation.
Claire tried to hide her shock at hearing the news. In a town that had no secrets, this was a massive surprise. She had a million questions, but had to balance what she needed to know with what Traci could handle.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Traci said, sobbing again. “I’m a hypocritical hussy, as bad, if not worse than Kim. But, I swear, neither of us planned this; it just happened. We’re really in love.”
“You should know me much better than that. I’m trying to get my head around this. I knew you were hiding something, but I never guessed it was an affair with Ken. Actually, I can see where you two are a perfect couple…if we can keep you both out of jail.”
Traci broke down again, rendering herself speechless. Claire told her everything would be ok, wishing she believed it herself. With Ken’s confession, they would both be instantly judged guilty if the affair were made public. Remembering the shaky story Traci told her about the hotel the night before Larry was killed, Claire asked if she had been with Ken then too. Traci nodded.
“Being each other’s alibi won’t help in this case,” Claire said. “Plus, they have evidence that shows you were at home talking on your phone that morning. How can that be?”
Traci explained that when she left for the wake, she was feeling very apprehensive. It was the first time she and Ken would be together in public since they started their affair, and she feared someone might notice a careless gesture. In her anxious state, she left her phone on the counter, where Larry heard it ringing the next morning. Seeing Ken’s name on the screen, he answered the phone. Ken tried to cover, but his shock at hearing Larry’s voice painted a vivid picture. After a heated exchange, Larry said Traci was sorely mistaken if she thought she would get a penny after the divorce. Claire realized that the revealed details were burying Ken and Traci even deeper in guilt.
“Is there anyone you can think of who could possibly alibi your whereabouts?” Claire asked. “What about your security code, isn’t that recorded?”
“I took it offline during the remodel.”
“It’s like you’re trying to be convicted,” Claire thought aloud, prompting more waterworks. “It’s going to be ok. We’ll think of something.” They sat in silence, Traci with a cool, damp towel on her eyelids, trying to regulate her breathing, and Claire racking her brain for some miraculous answer. Suddenly, she stopped twirling her ponytail and l
ooked up. “Tell me again how Ken said he entered your house.” She visualized the scenario as Traci relayed Ken’s alleged search for a spare key and entry into the back door. Claire’s face brightened.
“You’re sure he said he went in through the back door?” Claire asked.
“Yes. He said he was avoiding being seen.”
“Traci, the back door?”
“Yes, the back—oh my gosh, you’re right, that door has been boarded up since the kitchen demolition started. Ken wouldn’t know that. There’s no way he could have entered my house that way. Is that enough to get his confession thrown out?”
“It should cast doubt, but we could use some new suspects for the police to focus on. Larry wasn’t Kim’s only lover, and she seemed to mix business and pleasure.”
“Are you talking about Brendan? Larry was on a tear about him lately, threatening to get his real estate license revoked. That might have been fueled by jealousy; God knows Brendan is a lot better looking than Larry was.”
“I’ve got Brendan on my list, for personal and professional reasons. I’m beginning to think this isn’t a crime of passion…"
Peggy walked in, then spun around. “Sorry, I thought you guys were done.”
