Scam Chowder (23 page)

She shook his outstretched hand. “Did you get what you came for?”

“Sure did. I got to see you.”

Flirt.
Val went back to the dining room.

Granddad sat in his usual chair at the far end of the table. “We've gone through everyone here and ruled out Irene, Lillian, and me.”

Val had ruled out Lillian poisoning Scott at dinner, but that wasn't Granddad's girlfriend's only opportunity. “Were you in the dining room when Lillian filled the water glasses?”

“I was setting up the bar in the sitting room.”

Val took the chair the deputy had vacated and fingered the place card with Scott's name on it. “Who put out the place cards?”

“Lillian did. She was following some social formula. Female guest of honor to the right of the host. Male guest of honor to the hostess's right. And so on.”

“Did you notice if Scott drank his water?”

“Why would I? He was at the other end of the table, and I was busy eating and talking.” Granddad frowned. “You're going somewhere with this.”

“Uh-huh. Lillian could have brought a small vial of arsenic solution with her and added it to his water. He might not have noticed its slight metallic taste. You said he was staring across the table during dinner, distracted.”

“How could she know he'd drink it?”

“She couldn't know, but it wasn't her only chance to slip something in his drink. Serving him coffee or tea with dessert would have given her another shot at poisoning him if the first one failed.” And she'd asked Granddad to wait until after dinner before confronting Scott. Val picked up the bowl from Scott's place setting. “Lillian also got rid of all the leftover chowder, in Scott's bowl and in the pot.”

Val watched her grandfather closely. A few days ago, he'd taken the blame for throwing out the chowder, trying to protect Lillian. Would he do it again?

His face screwed up. “So? How does throwing out the chowder have anything to do with poisoning Scott's water?”

No rush to shield Lillian this time. Val exhaled. “Lillian might have thrown out the chowder, not because she thought it contained poison, but because she knew it didn't and wanted everyone to think it did. The chowder could have been a smoke screen to obscure how she really killed him.”

Granddad's jaw dropped. “What twisted minds women have.”

Val always bristled at his generalizations about women. “Do you mean me or Lillian?”

“Both of you.” Granddad stood, walked to the windows, and looked up at the sky. “Storm coming.”

But no storm of protest from him over the idea of Lillian as a murderer. Before today, he'd have rejected it without a second thought, but now he seemed to give it serious consideration. He'd lost some of his illusions about his girlfriend.

Granddad turned away from the thunderclouds. “We need some light in here.” He clicked on the chandelier, returned to the table, and sat in the chair occupied by his girlfriend on Saturday night. “I can see Omar taking revenge for his father-in-law's suicide. I can't see Lillian murdering Scott because she lost a client, no matter how bad she felt about it. And she had no reason to murder Junie May. At dinner, Junie May might have seen someone poison Scott, but she wasn't here when you say Lillian could have poisoned Scott's water.”

Good point. “Junie May told me the night before she was murdered that she would research Omar and Lillian. Maybe she unearthed something about—No, wait.” Val flashed back to theories she'd heard but discarded. “I should have paid more attention to what Thomasina said. There's another scenario we shouldn't overlook.”

“That someone who didn't come to the dinner is the murderer? I'd really like to hear that.”

“Unfortunately, I'm going the other way—that two murderers came to dinner.”

Granddad groaned.

Chapter 24

Granddad rapped his knuckle on the mahogany dining room. “Two murderers sat at your grandmother's table? They conspired to kill two other people who sat here?”

“I'm thinking about two people who didn't collude. On Wednesday, before the details about Junie May's death came out, Thomasina claimed that Junie May murdered Scott and then committed suicide.”

“We know Junie May didn't commit suicide.”

“But if Thomasina convinced herself that Junie May did it, she had a motive to murder her in retaliation. I never believed Junie May committed suicide. Neither did you. Thomasina said it, possibly because she'd staged the murder as a suicide and expected the police to fall for the ruse.” Val shifted the wineglass and the tumbler into their original spots in the place setting. “What do you think of Thomasina as Junie May's murderer?”

“It makes more sense than Thomasina killing her own son or trying to kill Junie May and doing nothing to stop her son from dying.”

The kitchen timer went off. Val sniffed and jumped up from the table. “I've been too engrossed to notice that the cake smells done.”

She rushed to the kitchen, opened the oven, and took out the cake. Enveloped in sweet warmth, Val looked around the kitchen she loved. Whenever she baked here, the enticing aromas from the oven conjured up memories of her grandmother. She would never lose her connection to Grandma, who'd taught her to cook, but she never felt that connection as strongly in other kitchens. She would have missed that feeling if Lillian had moved in.

Granddad brought the wine bottle and the saltshaker to the counter. “When you went out to the porch with that deputy, did you tell him your idea about Lillian poisoning the water?” When she shook her head, he said, “Why not?”

“First, because I have no proof. And second, because I'm afraid Lillian will say
you
filled the water glasses. Your word against hers.” And he was the one who'd had arsenic in the house. “That's why you should hang on to your lawyer.” A clap of thunder emphasized her point.

“Lillian would only say that if she murdered Scott.” Granddad sat at the breakfast table. “We both agreed she didn't have a strong motive.”

Bit by bit, his rock-solid trust in Lillian had eroded. Now Val would take a mallet to it.

She sat across from him. “Remember what Gunnar said about con artists having accomplices? Geriatric care managers have access to older people and know their financial condition. Even more important, those older people trust them.”

Granddad flexed his fingers. With rain coming, his arthritis might bother him more than usual. “If Lillian helped Scott swindle people—and that's a big
if
—why would she kill him? She wouldn't do it out of greed.”

“I agree. As Scott's accomplice, she might have blamed herself in part for Mr. Tunbridge's suicide. She knew the law couldn't touch Scott and wanted to make sure he didn't drive anyone else to suicide.” Val waited for a protest from Granddad. None came.

He opened and closed his hands as if clutching at something that wasn't there. She reached across the table and squeezed his arm lightly. The idea that Lillian might have murdered Scott saddened him, but at least he would not protect her at his own expense.

He'd lost his illusions about her, but in making the case for Lillian's guilt, Val had lost something too—her own objectivity. To regain it, she'd have to review with an open mind what she'd seen and heard for the last five days, starting with what she'd observed the night of the chowder dinner.

“What's the bottom line, Val, after our crime reconstruction?”

“We have five possibilities. Three involve a single murderer—Omar, Thomasina, or Lillian killing Scott and Junie May. Two scenarios involve two murderers. Omar killed Scott, and Thomasina killed Junie May. Or Lillian killed Scott, and Thomasina killed Junie May. Bottom line, we have theories, but no evidence.”

“We have to find the evidence.” Granddad stroked his chin. “Where are you going to look for it?”

“My next stop is the vintage jewelry shop in town. Scott and Junie May went there Saturday evening. I'll ask if anyone there remembers them or overheard their conversation.” Val would need photos of them. Online newspaper articles would probably have photos she could print. She stood up.

“Aren't you going to eat some cake before you go?”

“I don't have time. I want to get to town before the jewelry shop closes. Then I'll stop at the supermarket. We're low on groceries.”

“Okay. I'll go to the Village and take Ned some cake.”

 

 

Val closed her umbrella and shook it at the entrance to the vintage jewelry store on Main Street. The shop's interior reminded her of a restored Colonial mansion. Wainscoted walls, mirrors in gilded frames, Persian carpets on polished wood floors. Salesclerks and buyers spoke in hushed tones.

Val caught the eye of the youngest salesclerk, a twentyish woman who wasn't busy with customers. “I'd like to see any cameos you have. My friend bought a really nice one here.”

“I'll show you the case where we keep them.” The clerk led the way to the cameo collection.

For five minutes, Val peered at cameos and discussed them with the salesclerk. “I don't see exactly what I want. By the way, were you working here last Saturday at about this time?”

The clerk nodded. “I'm here every Saturday. I work a three-day weekend and spend Monday through Thursday at Dewey Beach.”

“That sounds like fun. I don't get to the beach as much as I'd like.”

“I'm in a group house,” the clerk said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I sublet my room weekends. If you're interested, I can give you a good deal.”

“Thanks. I may take you up on that.” The clerk now had something to gain by making Val happy. Time to bring out the photos. “Here's a picture of my friend and the man she was seeing. Did you happen to notice them here Saturday, around this time?” Would the clerk recognize the photos as customers or murder victims . . . or both?

“I definitely noticed them. She was looking at necklaces. He called her over to the case where we keep the most expensive rings and told her to pick out her favorite. The one she picked fit her finger perfectly. He said he'd buy it for her as an engagement ring.”

“I didn't know they were engaged.”

“They weren't. She said he'd have to convince her first that he wasn't a mama's boy. Well, she didn't use those words, but that was the gist of it.” The clerk giggled and covered her mouth. “He was kind of old for a mama's boy, but I guess some guys don't grow out of it.”

“I'd like to see the ring my friend liked.” And its price tag. “She has really good taste in jewelry. Maybe I can talk the guy I'm going to marry into buying it for me.”

“It's gone now. Those two left the shop together. He came back without her, just as we were ready to close, and bought the ring. I told him he could return it within a month if it didn't work out, and it's not back yet. They might be engaged by now.”

Val hated to spoil the happy ending, but the helpful clerk deserved the truth. “He got sick that night and died the next day.”

The clerk's eyes popped out. “Oh no. That's terrible.”

Val showed her Junie May's photo again. “You didn't recognize her when she came into the shop last week?”

“Should I have?”

“She was a TV news reporter in Salisbury.”

The clerk clapped her hand over her mouth. “The one who was murdered. My mom told me about that. I don't watch the news myself. But the two of them, dying like that, it's like Romeo and Juliet. So sad.”

Romeo and Juliet minus suicides and feuding families, but plus a murderer.

 

 

An hour after leaving the vintage jewelry shop, Val carried her groceries to the car. Carloads of teenagers and families headed from the parking lot toward Giovanni's restaurant, two doors down from the supermarket. Giovanni made the closest thing to New York pizza that Val had found near Bayport. She would have stopped for a slice, but didn't want to keep Granddad waiting. He was probably back from the Village by now and impatient for her to make dinner for him.

The rain had let up, a lull between storms from the looks of the sky. She stowed the cold items in the cooler she kept in the car during the warmer months.

Her phone chimed as she nosed out from her parking space. She reversed back into the space and clicked the phone on.

“Val, it's Ned. Where are you?”

“At the Midway Shopping Plaza.”

“Good, you're closer than me. I'm in Treadwell. Drive straight to the Village. You have to get your grandfather out of Thomasina's cottage.” Ned sounded frantic, as if he expected a bomb to blow up the cottage.

His fear infected her over the phone. She pressed the speaker button and pulled out of the parking space. “Okay, I'm on my way.”

“Move fast or Thomasina will beat you there.”

Granddad was in the cottage and Thomasina wasn't? “You mean she doesn't know he's there? Where is she?”

“She went to the trivia night at a bar in Treadwell. I was supposed to let him know when she left for home. But I arrived late, and by then, the trivia game had been called off and she'd already gone.”

“How did he get into her cottage?”

“Um, well, before I bought the hardware store, I was a locksmith. He talked me into letting him in when he found out Thomasina was gone for the evening.”

Val felt dizzy. “Why did he want to get inside?”

“To search her place for evidence. Didn't you tell him he needed evidence to prove his innocence?”

“I didn't mean for him to get the evidence himself by breaking and entering.” If Thomasina caught Granddad, she'd hand him over to the police. “Did you try his cell phone?”

“He's not answering. That's why I called you. I'm racing back to the Village, hoping to catch up with her. If I do, I'll stall her.”

But Thomasina might have already discovered Granddad in her cottage. “Don't race, Ned. The roads are slick. I'll be there in a few minutes. Thanks.” Val tucked the phone in the pocket of her rain jacket and hit the accelerator.

Five minutes later, she pulled into a guest parking spot half a block away from Thomasina's cottage. No sign of Granddad's Buick. Maybe he'd already left. She put up the hood of her jacket, left her handbag in the car, and jogged toward the cottage.

She walked around the garage attached to the house, hoping for a window that would let her see if a car was parked inside. Nothing but solid walls. She mounted the steps to the front porch and peered into the double window. The drapes in Thomasina's living room blocked her view. She was about to ring the bell when she noticed the door wasn't shut tight.

She pushed against it with her shoulder. “Yoo-hoo!”

Val's heart hammered so loud she could hear it. Suppose Granddad's heart had raced after he broke in? Maybe he hadn't answered his cell phone because he'd had a heart attack. She had to make sure he was all right. A quick check to make sure he wasn't there, and then a quick exit.

She crept into the hall, switched on her keychain flashlight, and swept it around the adjacent room. No one there. She crossed to the hall and passed by the bathroom she'd used when she and Granddad had visited Thomasina. The door to the next room was ajar. Her flashlight lit up a large bedroom. To her relief, Granddad wasn't lying on the floor between the bed and the closet. She tiptoed toward the far side of the bed.

A stealthy sound came from behind her. A rustle from inside the closet. She resisted the urge to run. Had to be him in there. Thomasina wouldn't hide in her own closet.

“Granddad?” she whispered.

He came out of the closet. “You about scared me to death,” he hissed. “I thought you were one of Thomasina's friends.”

“You have to leave now.” She kept her voice low too. Trespassing made you want to whisper. “She's on her way. Ned called me.”

“Doggone it. Did you shut the front door behind you?”

“No, but who cares? We have to leave now, before—” A noise came from the living room. A jingle of keys. Val's throat closed with fear.

“Climb out the window,” Granddad whispered. “I'll handle this.”

Before she could protest, he left the room.

“Thomasina!” he said with a booming voice. “Glad you're back.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman sounded outraged.

“I came by to visit and found the door cracked open. I called your name. When you didn't answer, I went in to make sure you were okay.”

Granddad didn't usually talk so loud. He might be trying to cover up any noise the window might make when Val opened it. She tiptoed toward the double-sash window.

“I'm sure I closed that door,” Thomasina said.

Even her low voice carried through the cottage's cheap interior walls. Val positioned her hands on the window, ready to raise it when Granddad bellowed again.

“The door lock didn't catch behind me either,” he said. “The lock probably needs adjusting.”

Val pulled up on the window. It didn't budge.

“They must have a maintenance crew here, Thomasina. If they can't take care of it, call the locksmith in town.”

While Granddad belabored the obvious, Val kept tugging at the window . . . in vain.

“The door is locking just fine now,” Thomasina said.

Val felt around the frame, looking for a latch or bar that kept the window from opening. Her fingers touched a small piece of metal with a keyhole in it.
Oh no.
The window wouldn't open without a key.