Death at the Day Lily Cafe (30 page)

I slid my phone in my purse and hitched it up my shoulder. I believed Jake. And I was extremely relived to cross him off the suspect list. I walked back into town and headed for the sheriff's department. I had three more suspects left. My body resonated with the feeling that I was close. Really close.

I waited at a light, although there wasn't a car on the road. I could see the sheriff's department at the end of the block. It was housed in an old train depot that had to be at least two hundred years old. A large, sloping patinated copper roof made it a landmark in Cardigan.

*   *   *

Delilah sat behind a desk, her dyed red hair glowing in the sun streaming through the dimpled windows. She had been the secretary at the sheriff's department for the last forty years. Her cat-eyed glasses protected a pair of wide blinking blue eyes.

“Afternoon, Miss Rosalie.”

“Hi, Lila. Is the sheriff in?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I just typed up Lori's interview. Hearing's tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“State's attorney is ready to move.”

“Can I go on back, or should you announce me?”

Lila looked over her shoulder. “Joe—Rosalie Hart's on her way back.” She looked at me and smiled. “It's a small space.”

I poked my head into the sheriff's office. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said and walked in the door. I sat in a gunmetal gray chair opposite his desk. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

He leaned back so far I thought his chair would topple over. “I thought I told you I had a case. And I also told you I'm tired. Spent. Kaput.”

I set my purse on the floor. “Sheriff, where is CJ's truck?”

“Impound lot.”

“How did you get it there?”

He frowned. “We had to tow it.”

“Was the money inside?”

“No.”

“Were the keys on his body? Pockets, maybe?”

The sheriff sat forward. “No. But they could have fallen out.”

“You said the body wasn't moved. That whoever shot him left him the way he landed.”

He lifted his chin. “So maybe Mrs. Fiddler has them. Maybe she wanted to keep her house key.”

“If it was a crime of passion as you suggest, she certainly was thinking clearly enough to remember to get the keys.”

“Doesn't have to be about passion. I'd be just as happy accusing her of having planned the whole thing.”

“And the gun. Whoever shot CJ tried to wipe it clean but didn't do a very good job. Is that right? I mean, the woman cleans houses for a living. She certainly would know how to dust.”

“Maybe she was in a hurry to get out of there. Wouldn't you be?”

“There were more than Lori's prints on it, though, am I right?”

He pinched his fingers together and zipped his lips.

“Sheriff, if I told you there is someone else who might have killed CJ, would you at least check to see if there were unknown prints on the gun?”

“No need.”

I sat back, trying to regroup. “Oh, Sheriff Wilgus, is there someone in town who keeps a boat on one of the Caribbean islands?”

“Say what?”

“Sorry. Subject change.”

“Fred Banks. Down in the Caymans. Why do you want to know that?”

“Fred Banks? I don't know him. What does he do here in Cardigan?”

“Retired. His wife left him a bunch of cash.” He crossed his hands across his stomach. “Now he thinks he's Jimmy Buffet.”

“I think I know who killed CJ and took the money. I'm very serious about this.”

“And I'm laughing while you get the hell out of my office.”

I stood. “Thank you for your time.”

“What are you up to, Hart?.”

“I'm just being me, and you are back to being you. But if I ask, will you please check for prints?”

“Get out of here. You're giving me a headache.”

“Maybe drink some water. You may be dehydrated.”

“Get out,” he roared, and I skedaddled out of there as fast as I could.

“Thanks for stopping in,” Lila called after me.

I checked the time and headed for my car. If I took the long way home I would pass the Cardigan Tavern. I had a favor to ask Chuck, and I prayed he would agree to do it.

 

F
IFTY
-
ONE

I found Annie and Bini by the henhouse. Bini was on a ladder, and Annie was on the ground surrounded by pie tins and old CDs. “What's going on?”

“The hawk came back, so Bini and I are going to hang this stuff in the trees,” Annie said. “Bini did some research, and apparently the noise and reflection of the sun will confuse the hawk.”

“Wow,” I said as I looked at the strings of aluminum foil Bini had looped around some branches. “Yard art.”

“You want your eggs, don't you?” Bini said without turning around.

“She put that fake owl on top of the coop, too,” Annie said.

Bini climbed down the ladder and brushed her hands together. “Hawks are solitary hunters. If they think another bird of prey is in their territory, they'll stay away.”

“Whatever works,” I said. “Is Tyler gone for the day?”

“He's talking to one of your suppliers,” Bini said. “Can you do anything with pastrami?”

“That's sounds delicious. Same guy I get the bacon from?”

“Yup.”

My mind was already coming up with ideas. I had recently discovered an amazing creamy Dijon mustard from France. A breeze rustled the aluminum. A pie tin took flight, and I ran after it. When I brought it back I said, “Do you need some help?”

“Sure,” Bini said.

I settled into the grass next to Annie, and she handed me some string and a pair of scissors. “There's something about scaring off predators that's therapeutic,” I said. “Right, Annie?”

“I'm all about the fight.” She grinned.

Bini was about to ascend the ladder again but stopped and turned to look at us. She blinked a few times. “So, you said that because of Butch. Is that right?”

“Yes, exactly,” I said.

“Hmph,” Bini said, and went back to work.

*   *   *

Later that evening, Annie and I sat at a card table and worked on the jigsaw puzzle. The doors were open, and we were accompanied by a nighttime symphony of chirps, yips, and hoots, punctuated with an occasional deep croak. Aunt Charlotte's table was torn in spots. The batting puffed out of the vinyl surface like little clouds. Rust crusted the joints of the chairs. But it was the only place I could imagine doing a puzzle in this house.

I'd stopped by the tavern on my way home that afternoon. Chuck had agreed to help by letting me know the next time Jackson showed up. Apparently he had been there every night so far this week drinking a very expensive whiskey. I hoped he wouldn't end his streak now. His visit to a Caribbean island made me think he had come into some cash. If CJ had been keeping the money in his truck to prevent Lori from giving it back, Jackson could have taken it after he killed him. Glenn agreed my scenario had some potential. But how would I get him to confess? I flipped a five-pronged jigsaw piece between my fingers and frowned. This was a process of elimination. Just as I had done with Jake, I had to learn whether or not Jackson was a murderer. If he wasn't, my next conversation would be with Jamie.

“I told Dad what happened,” Annie said as she tapped a piece in place.

“What's that?” I eyed her over my reading glasses. “What did he say?”

“He was really nice.”

“He was?”

“Instead of telling me what I should do or what I'd done wrong, he asked what he could do to help.”

I set the oddly shaped piece down and selected one with a flat edge. I looked over at Annie. “That's wonderful.”

The savory aroma of rye bread filled the living room. I checked the timer. Five more minutes before I would remove it from the oven. I noticed Annie reading something on her phone. “Are you going to see Custer tonight?”

“Would you mind?” She eyed me tentatively, her eyebrows arched. “I know we're doing the puzzle and all.”

“Of course I don't mind.”

Annie typed with both thumbs.

Ten minutes later, Custer's motorcycle was propped in the drive and he and Annie had settled on the porch. The bread was resting on a cooling rack, golden brown on top. My idea was to make paninis with the pastrami, adding some mustard and Swiss cheese. What else … red onion? A spicy relish? Maybe both.

I jumped when my phone signaled I had a text message.

Custer had his arm around the back of the wicker love seat. His fingers twisted a lock of Annie's hair. His eyes were brighter, his nose still bandaged, the tape making an ex across his nose. “Hey, boss. Cops found my dad.”

“Is he okay?”

“He got beat up pretty bad. He's in a hospital near DC.”

“Oh, how awful. Is he in police custody?”

“For certain.” Custer gave his head a definitive nod. “They charged him with kidnapping, among other things.”

“I hate that word.” I hugged myself. “It's terrifying.”

“Agreed,” Annie said, and snuggled in closer to Custer.

“Hey, I brought you something.” Custer reached into the back pocket of his jeans, jostling Annie, and removed an index card. He held it out to me. “I don't know if you're interested, but my grandmother has offered you one of her secret recipes. It's been in the family for generations.”

“Your grandmother on your mother's side?”

“That's the one. She lives down on the water in Oxford. Has her whole life.” Custer drummed his fingers on Annie's shoulder.

The recipe was scratched out in a light pencil. “Shrimp and grits?” I looked up. “That's one of my favorite dishes.”

“There's a secret ingredient.”

I reread the card. “Scrapple?”

“That's it,” Custer said. “She doesn't give it out to anyone. But when I told her how you've been helping me, she came up with the idea. It's her way of saying thanks. Maybe you could serve it as a special someday. I mean, only if you want to.” He peered up at me.

“Oh, my goodness, Custer. This is a fabulous idea. It's like with Crystal's teas. We can do a little write-up about your grandmother. Maybe add a map of the Eastern Shore with a star for Oxford's location.” I smoothed my thumb over the card. “I need to do some research on scrapple.”

Custer tried in vain to suppress the smile on his face.

“Hey, you two, I need to run out again. I shouldn't be long. You okay?”

“No worries,” Annie said as Custer kissed the top of her head. “Especially now that Butch isn't on the loose anymore.”

 

F
IFTY
-
TWO

I called Glenn as I drove into town. “I'm on my way to the tavern. Glenn, can you call the sheriff and tell him I'm going to confront the killer?”

“That won't be good news for him,” Glenn said. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“Ask him to check the prints again and if there is a set that doesn't belong to either CJ, Lori, or Jamie, to please consider coming to the tavern.”

“I will call him right away.”

“Thank you. I'm still trying to figure out what to say to Boone. How on earth will I get him to confide in me?”

Glenn exhaled into the phone with a loud whoosh. “Rosalie, I don't know if you notice this kind of thing, but Jackson is a little sweet on you.”

“He is?” I stopped at a light a little abruptly. “Really?”

“Um, yes. Very much. Why do you think he's been at the café every day, seated at the bar?”

“He likes the food?” I said, trying to take in what Glenn was saying.

“I know this goes against your nature, but maybe you could play that up.”

“Glenn,” I said, “I don't know how. I'll make a fool of myself.”

“If Jackson is our man, do you want him to walk away?”

I continued down the road and turned into the tavern parking lot. “I've got to think about this for a minute. But I know one thing. Blue Point will be involved.”

“Whatever it takes. But I don't think it will be as difficult as you think. Jackson has already bought an expensive watch and a gold chain. My guess is he's busting at the seams to tell someone he's rich. Who better to tell than you? A woman he wants to impress.”

“I'm listening.”

“Watch his alcohol intake. Gauge your timing. Let him get inebriated, but not so drunk he can't think straight.”

“And if I'm close to getting a confession?”

“I'll wait in the parking lot, hopefully with our good sheriff. You text me when it's time to come in.”

I turned off the car. The engine ticked and then fell silent. “The sheriff won't do it, Glenn. And he'll be very upset if I have him come here but can't get any results.”