Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 1, page 10
part #1 of Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Series
CHAPTER 13
Back home in my kitchen, eating a microwaved slab of lasagna I’d found in the freezer, I was alternately sorry and angry about my talk with Chief Gilroy. I’d been rude, no sense denying it, but he’d been condescending. Though condescension was practically a job requirement for police chiefs. Still, I’d challenged his authority and blurted out what I knew about Ventura, Newsome, and Hammond. Had I done that to warn him or to show him how sharp I was? A little of both. Monday morning I’d seek him out and clear the air.
I took my empty plate to the sink, going over George Foster’s death in my mind. Because on one point I wouldn’t give in to Gilroy: I would not put an end to my investigation. I wandered to my living room window and looked out over my garden. How lucky I’d been to find a house with an established garden full of roses and peonies—and in the early spring, grape hyacinths and pasqueflowers. The house itself, in a mild state of disrepair when I’d bought it, was a work in progress, but it was cozy enough, and I had all the time in the world to restore it. The plan had been to write a few hours and then work on the house a few hours, six days a week, making just enough money from my books to get by. Investigating real-life murders hadn’t been part of the plan, but I was hooked on the excitement of it.
Where had George Foster been for seven years? Why did he come back? And why did his return incite murder? It was no coincidence that Foster showed up in Juniper Grove three days after a court officially declared him dead, and no coincidence that Aiden Dillard showed up at the same time. Or that the plot to have Chief Gilroy removed from office went into high gear on both men’s return.
Looking out the window, pondering the few clear facts at my disposal, I saw a Juniper Grove Police SUV pull up to Julia’s house and Officer Hammond get out. As Holly had pointed out, Hammond moved at the speed of molasses. So what was so important he had to visit Julia on a Sunday?
I hurried back into the kitchen, grabbed the extra muffin I’d bought at the bakery, stuck it on a plate, and dashed out the front door. It was the perfect excuse—a muffin for her breakfast tomorrow. Okay, maybe not so perfect, but it was all I had, and I wanted to hear what the slippery Officer Hammond had to say. If what he had to say was about George, I needed to be there for Julia.
Julia was glad to see me, yanking me inside by the arm, telling me that Hammond had stopped by with the autopsy report on George.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Hammond’s face as he glanced down at the muffin. “Like I was saying, we got the autopsy back yesterday, but with the trouble at the festival, it got pushed to the back burner. Would you like to go someplace private?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
“No, I want Rachel to stay.” Julia took the plate from my hands, thanked me, and pivoted back to Hammond. “I’m sorry Officer Hammond, what were you saying?”
“Cause of death was what it first appeared to be—two blows to the head with the shovel blade. The medical examiner said he would have lost consciousness almost instantly on the first blow, and death would have followed in a matter of minutes. Your husband didn’t suffer.”
“I see.” Visibly relieved, Julia set the plate on a lamp table. “I did wonder how long he was there, maybe calling for help or in pain.”
“The ME is sure that didn’t happen,” Hammond said. “You don’t need to give it another thought.”
“Thank you for telling me, and for coming all the way out here.”
Hammond smiled. “It’s not that far, Mrs. Foster, and I thought you should know.”
By all appearances, Hammond was genuinely concerned for Julia and anxious to put her mind at ease. Was it possible to be wildly ambitious to the point you’d betray your boss but still have a softer side?
“Then the murderer was a man?” I said tentatively. If so, that would leave out Newsome, though killing a young, healthy man with a knitting needle also took a certain measure of strength. Or stealth. “Would a woman be able to kill with two blows like that?”
“In my experience, almost any adult could do it,” Hammond said. “Especially since he was hit by the edge of the blade, not the flat part.” His eyes shot to Julia’s. “Sorry, Mrs. Foster.”
“I’m just fine. Remember, I’m the one who found him,” Julia said.
I hurried to change the subject. “Any news on Aiden Dillard?”
“Won’t be until later this week, though I don’t think the cause of death is in doubt.”
Hammond seemed in a chattier mood than when I’d first arrived, so I prodded him for information. “Whose knitting needle was that?”
“Turns out it belonged to one of the ladies of the Juniper Grove Knitting Circle. They were selling knit stuff—scarves and things—and giving knitting demonstrations in one of the tents.”
“Someone outside the group must have taken it without them knowing.”
“Well, I can’t picture eighty-year-old Ida Rudman stabbing a man in the neck.”
“Are there any suspects?”
Hammond tilted his head to one side. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Everyone at the festival is a suspect, isn’t that right, Officer?” Julia said, sidestepping Hammond, scurrying for the door, and swinging it wide. “Thank you again for stopping by. It was so kind of you. Don’t let us keep you.”
Hammond hesitated. “If you have any questions—”
“Would you like the muffin?” Julia said.
“The what?”
Julia pointed. “The muffin on the plate over there. You’re welcome to it. It’s the least I can offer, and I can get a new one tomorrow.”
“Um . . .” Hammond moved for the door. “Um, no, you keep it, Mrs. Foster. I’m due home for dinner.”
Julia flashed a treacly smile. “Bye, now.” She shut the door and leaned against it, still smiling. “At my age you can get rid of anyone by acting a little ditzy. People so readily believe you are.”
I laughed. My friend was as far from a ditz as anyone I’d ever known, younger or older. “What are you up to?”
Julia whisked the muffin plate from the table and gestured for me to follow her into the kitchen. “I didn’t want to talk about autopsies anymore.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Sit down.”
I obediently sat, and I kept quiet as Julia ran a fork through the muffin and handed me half.
“You don’t mind sharing, do you?” she asked.
“That’s why I brought it.”
“You brought it to snoop on Officer Hammond.”
“What he said caused you to remember something, right?”
Julia dropped her fork to the plate. “That’s not fair. How do you know?”
“It’s obvious. You have something to tell me, but you didn’t call or come over. Hammond arrives, talks, and you suddenly need to get rid of him. You don’t want him to know what he said that struck a chord with you because he’s disloyal to Gilroy. So you’ll tell me and Holly first and then Gilroy.”
“Show-off.”
Crossing my arms on the table, I leaned forward. “But I have no idea what he said, and you do.”
Julia’s eyes were lit with excitement. “I saw something at the festival. When I got there, I started looking for you and Holly. I went first to the coffee tent, but you weren’t there. Then I thought, I know, I’ll try the other tents. And one of them was the knitting and crochet tent.”
“This is getting interesting.”
“And guess who was in there. Mayor McDermott and Jillian Newsome. Together, I mean, and talking in a corner of the tent as if they didn’t want anyone to overhear them.”
“Funny how everyone says they dislike Newsome but they always end up chatting with her.”
“They weren’t arguing, that’s for sure.”
“McDermott told me he hopes Newsome leaves Juniper Grove for a bigger market.”
“It didn’t look like he was hoping any such thing.”
“Then again, he’s the mayor. He can’t ignore people like Newsome if she wants to talk to him.”
Julia put a hand on my forearm, silencing me. “That’s not all. When the mayor left the tent, Jillian stayed behind, and she was staring—Rachel, I mean staring—at the knitting needles.” She flopped back in her chair, pleased with herself for having recalled the incident. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time because she’s such a strange woman, but when Officer Hammond said the needle that killed Aiden was from the knitting circle, I realized what I’d seen.”
“Did she touch any of the needles?”
Julia frowned and pursed her lips. “I left the tent right after that.”
“How long was this before Aiden was found?”
“Ten minutes at most.”
I thought hard, trying to remember precisely where everyone had been ten minutes before Aiden was killed.
“So?” Julia said impatiently. “That woman has no interest in knitting. Do you think she murdered Aiden?”
“I think it’s significant that she was staring at the needles, and you have to tell Gilroy.”
“Significant how?” Julia popped a bit of muffin in her mouth.
“It doesn’t mean she killed Aiden, but you have to ask why she was staring at the needles. I don’t believe in coincidences. Did she look at the needles and suddenly see an opportunity? Did she tell someone else and they carried out the murder? A lot of people in Juniper Grove are relieved that Aiden Dillard is out of the way, but I’m not sure Newsome is one of them. Then again, she thrives on bad news and wouldn’t mind another murder in town, and Aiden may have become a risky loose end. So if she knew someone wanted to kill Aiden—”
“She wouldn’t do anything to stop it.”
“She might even help.” I stood, my thoughts tumbling. I needed to be alone to think things through, to untangle what had become a spider’s web of clues.
“I’m going to the police station tomorrow to tell—”
Julia broke off midsentence as the kitchen phone rang. I was about to make my exit when she mouthed, “It’s Holly.” She listened intently, shaking her head now and then, and just before hanging up said, “I’ll tell her.”
“Is Holly still at the bakery?” I asked.
“Yes, and Officer Underhill paid her and Peter an unexpected visit.” Julia waved her hands about, unable to contain her excitement. “You’ll never guess. The police arrested someone for the vandalism.”
“You’re joking.”
“They found prints, and one of the other store owners said he saw this person lingering around the back entrance.” Julia paused, savoring the moment. “It was Jacob Ventura, Tom Ventura’s grandson.”
CHAPTER 14
Julia knocked on my front door the next morning, brandishing her special Monday edition of the Juniper Grove Post. A photo of Jacob Ventura—copied from the Juniper Grove High yearbook, by the looks of it—was on the front page. “Above the fold,” Julia pointed out as she breezed through the door and headed for the kitchen.
“I thought Newsome and Tom Ventura were allies,” I said, trailing after her. “Coffee?”
“Please.” She tossed the paper on the table and sat. “The article is very critical of Tom and his grandson.”
“Our town attorney must be steaming.” I started the coffee, joined Julia, and gave the article a quick read. Written by someone other than Newsome for once, it was every bit as cutting as Julia had said, though the writer had at least contacted Tom Ventura for a comment. On arrest, Jacob had immediately confessed to the vandalism. Why he’d broken into the bakery, he wouldn’t say. “Ventura is quoted as saying he’s very disappointed in his grandson.”
“As he should be.”
“But nowhere does it suggest why Jacob chose Holly’s Sweets as a target.”
“And you don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I do not. Why was he silly enough to leave prints?”
“He’s a teenager.”
I poured Julia and myself a cup of coffee, and while she drank and gazed out my back window, and talked about the warm days of summer coming to an end, I flipped through the paper, scanning it for other articles of interest. There were two lengthy articles on Aiden Dillard’s murder, a single article on the George Foster murder, and three letters to the editor calling Chief James Gilroy an amateur and a disgrace to Juniper Grove. Yet Gilroy was the one who had quickly found and arrested Jacob Ventura.
“I wonder if Newsome is soliciting these anti-Gilroy letters,” I said.
“She’s probably writing them herself,” Julia said, setting down her cup. “I’ve never heard of those letter writers. Made-up names, if you ask me.”
“At the same time, she’s going pretty hard on Tom Ventura’s grandson.”
“All she really cares about is shocking news and paper sales, so she got what she wanted.”
“And she’s helping Ventura and Hammond get what they want. Hammond as police chief and Ventura as mayor.” I sipped at my coffee, checking for the temperature, then gulped it down. “Though I wonder if his grandson getting arrested will put a crimp in his political plans.”
“Tom Ventura’s a good man, and he tried his best but couldn’t control his grandson,” Julia said sarcastically. “Can’t we all identify with that? The poor man. And Jacob—the misguided youth with a heart of gold. Trust me, Rachel, the next article about Jacob will be very sympathetic, especially toward his grandfather. In the end, this will only help Ventura become mayor.”
Jillian Newsome cleverly turning lemons into lemonade for her accomplice. I hadn’t considered that. “First stop this morning is the police station so you can tell Gilroy about Newsome and the knitting needles,” I said, collecting our cups and putting them in the sink.
Julia brightened.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the information,” I added with a smile. Unlike me, Julia rarely tried to disguise her feelings. There was a kind of freedom in that, I thought, watching her finger-comb her hair and tug at the hem of her green sweater.
“Ready?” she said, already moving for the back door.
Five minutes later I pulled into a parking space in front of the police station, right next to the chief’s SUV. That meant he hadn’t left the station yet, unless it was his turn to buy donuts at Holly’s Sweets.
Julia and I stepped to the curb, and as I clicked the remote on my key chain, I heard a gruff voice call out Julia’s name. I swung toward it. Tom Ventura was bulldozing his way down the sidewalk, the two of us in his sights. My first instinct was to run for the station door, but he looked and sounded so ludicrous that I was frozen in fascination. His glasses perched at the end of his nose, he was gesticulating and shouting, and as he came closer I saw a smear of red jam in the corner of his lips. The man was not happy. Or overly fastidious.
“It’s about time,” he said, coming to a halt a mere foot from Julia’s face.
Julia stood her ground. “Tom Ventura, what on earth are you yelling about? And back up or I’ll poke you.”
Ventura took half a step back. “You came down here on your own? I told Gilroy to pick you up. You don’t get special privileges, I don’t care how old you are. There will be no favoritism in my town. If my grandson can be hauled in, then so can you.” He stuck out his forefinger, aiming it like a weapon at her face. “No favoritism, do you hear?”
“Calm down,” I said. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ventura took another half step back, a quizzical expression forming on his face. “Gilroy told you to come in?”
“Unless he has ESP, he doesn’t know I’m here,” said Julia, now wearing an equally bewildered look. “Stop behaving like a thug and get out of our way.”
“Are you saying he didn’t tell you to come in?” Ventura’s confusion was rapidly turning to anger.
“Why would he?” I asked.
Ventura stared at me, an irate glint in his eye. “Because I told him to.”
Drawn by loud voices on the normally peaceful street, a small crowd was gathering on the sidewalk. Julia didn’t seem to notice, or care, but I wanted to slink away. “Wait a minute,” I began, having trouble believing what I was now thinking. “You asked Chief Gilroy to bring Julia in for questioning?”
He gave a short snort of a laugh. “Not questioning, an arrest.”
Julia’s hand went to her throat.
“For what?” I asked. “And what gives you the right?”
He thumped his chest. “I’m the town attorney.”
“You can’t order the police chief to arrest someone.” Truthfully, I had no idea what a town attorney could or couldn’t do, but I wasn’t about to let him bully Julia.
That did it. Ventura did a full pivot my way, like a gun turret on a destroyer. “I have the power to recommend it, and I did. This morning. Wise law enforcement officers listen to town officials. If Gilroy chooses to ignore my informed recommendation, so much the worse for him.”
“Tom Ventura, you, you . . . foolish . . .” Julia was puffing and sputtering. “You listen to me. Don’t you dare—don’t you dare—take out your grandson’s arrest on me. Your wife and I are friends and you’ve known me forever. You know I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Yes, he knows that, I realized, watching a smirk grow wide on his lips. Julia was his pawn. His quarry was Chief Gilroy. “Come on, Julia,” I said, pulling her to the station entrance. “Never mind him.”
“You had better mind me,” Ventura said before he stomped off.
A white mug in his hand, Gilroy was exiting his office and heading for the coffeemaker when he saw Julia and me enter the building. It probably didn’t escape his notice that Julia, nearly staggering toward him, was still clutching her throat in dismay.
“I’ve never been arrested in my life,” she said, looking up at him.
