Pumpkins are Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 8) Page 5

  Tony shook his head. “Nope. I only had to go back once and that was unexpected. I just had to take my cash box with me and hope that nobody would touch the stock at the stall. They didn’t as it happened. That’s Springdale for you, of course. Good people.”

  Chief Daly nodded, seemingly agreeing with that statement. “And did you see Albie Parker at any point?”

  Tony appeared to flush. Jessie wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not. She sat forward and scrutinized him, but he turned his face before she could tell for sure.

  “No,” Tony said quickly, despite having paused for several moments.

  “You’re certain? Because you were one of the last people to call him.”

  “He was my banker. We spoke often. But I didn’t see him that day.”

  Jessie sighed as the chief closed his office door behind them.

  “I don’t understand it. Nobody has seen our black-clad mystery man. And we’re not just talking two people who might have been in the area. These are two people who had stalls there and were in the vicinity.”

  “I happen to think,” the chief said. “That at least one of the people we just interviewed is lying. Tony Young told us that he went to get more supplies around the time that college band passed. Now, we know that was some distance ahead of you. So that happened what, ten minutes before you passed the area? You saw the man in black further along Spring Street. That tells us that Mr. Young was in his store for some time.”

  “That’s what I don’t get,” Jessie said. “He said himself that he didn’t sell as much as he expected to. If this timeline is correct then he went back to his store for a long time. Why would he do that? Surely the whole purpose of the stand was to make money. It doesn’t make sense that he left during the height of the parade. No wonder he didn’t sell much. And did you see his reaction when you asked if he had seen Albie?”

  The chief nodded. “It took him by surprise; stressed him out.”

  “What do you think, Chief?”

  “I think I’ll keep a very close eye on Mr. Young. We’re making real progress.”

  Jessie listened in awe as he ran through the list of possible suspects they had created from looking through Albie’s emails. Of those with grievances, most had been ruled out because of alibis. Many hadn’t even been in the vicinity of Springdale and had solid proof to back that up. The CEO of the bank had been in London. Daryl, Julia’s employee, had been at a restaurant in Springdale. Parker’s assistant had been at a bar on Spring Street with a large group of girlfriends.

  “So you see, Jessie, we’ve really narrowed down that list.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. But I still don’t see what the man in black had to do with it. Do you think he was working with Tony Young?”

  “The man in black,” Chief Daly murmured. “I don’t know, Jessie. We’ve found nothing further on him.”

  “But I saw him! And Stacey told me about him too. Her brother saw him wandering around through the crowd.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Jessie. You’ve told me what I saw.” He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I’m beginning to think we jumped to conclusions. Suppose that man is black wasn’t our suspect at all, but a man who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Jessie shrugged. “I suppose the only way of knowing is to find him and interview him to rule him out. Have you been able to find him on the CCTV footage from the stores on Spring Street?”

  “No,” the chief said. “That’s the funny thing. Nobody matching his description appears to have passed through the town that day, according to the CCTV trail at least.” He sat up suddenly. “Now, before you read too much into that, bear in mind that most stores aren’t so much concerned with capturing street activity as they are with keeping a close record of who has been in their stores. With that in mind, it’s quite possible that he wasn’t picked up by the cameras because he kept to the edge of the sidewalk.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense. Ah, I have to admit I’m disappointed. I thought we were on to something.”

  “We are,” Chief Daly said, and she couldn’t help but notice the twinkle was back in his eyes. “Something doesn’t add up about Tony Young. It’s like we discussed. Why would he complain about having a slow sales day and then disappear at the busiest part of the day? Does that make sense to you? And I’ll ask you another question: were you satisfied with his answer?”

  Jessie shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I thought there was more left unanswered after his interview than there was before it.”

  “Exactly.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Does that mean you’re going to arrest him? If that’s the case, why did you let him leave?”

  Chief Daly laughed. “I’m afraid we’re getting ahead of ourselves. He has no motive that I can see. I’ve seen emails from him to Parker. It all appeared civil. It could be that he got nervous when I asked if he’d seen the man on the day he was murdered.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  He smiled kindly. “We don’t do anything. Jessie, go home. Get some rest. I’ll do a little digging on Tony Young and see what we come up with. I’ll also try Mr. Morton again. I’ve very anxious to speak to him before we move forward. He had a very public argument with our victim and he still hasn’t returned my calls. I don’t like that.”

  “But I can help. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Jessie, go home. If I find anything, I’ll call you. You have my word on that.”

  13

  Despite her exhaustion, it took Jessie what felt like forever to drift off to sleep. Her mind worked ceaselessly to try and make sense of the case.

  As it stood now, it was wide open. They had the man in black, Tony Young and Jeff Morton, who had badmouthed the man in the café.

  None of it made sense, of course. She couldn’t imagine any of them carrying around a pumpkin to use as a murder weapon. It was all just too crazy; like something out of a movie.

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, yawning.

  She lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling and trying to force herself to count sheep or do something dull enough to entice her to sleep. It wasn’t like she didn’t need the rest.

  Finally, she managed to gain some control over her frantic mind by focusing on her breathing. As soon as she became aware that it had worked, though, her brain started obsessing over the case again.

  She sat up in frustration and reached for her cellphone. She selected an album she had always found relaxing: plenty of acoustic guitar and breathy vocals.

  She lay back and closed her eyes, telling herself now was not the time to play around. After all, there would be plenty of time the next day to think about the case?

  The soothing, rhythmic sounds of the guitar soon started to work in the way she had intended.

  Jessie finally felt herself start to drift off. Her thoughts were no longer lucid, they were strange and elastic, leaping from one improbably reality to the next.

  She didn’t even know it, but soon she had drifted off into a deep dream-filled sleep.

  At first she thought it was morning. It was only when she sat up in bed and looked around that she noticed the darkness was the inky nighttime kind and not the bluish light of predawn. She had taken to sleeping with the blinds open because she had read somewhere a long time ago that it was supposed to help your body find its rhythm.

  Toby, her pug, barked from somewhere in the darkness. Probably his basket beside the door, she figured. He was long past being a puppy by now, but she couldn’t help but think of him as her crazy little guy. The changes in him were obvious to everybody but Jessie. He had calmed down a lot since she first found him, no longer leaping on her the moment she showed him an ounce of attention.

  “What time is it, boy?” she whispered.

  She might have wondered if it was another sign of madness but for the fact that she had always talked to Toby when she woke.

  He barked in respons
e.

  She reached for her cellphone and groaned when she saw it was only two thirty in the morning. Her body seemed to think it was six because it was wide awake and raring to go.

  “Come on. Go back to sleep.”

  She was reluctant to get up at this time and start her renovation work. It was much too early to be wandering around an empty building alone, though she supposed she should have felt somewhat reassured by the sledgehammer that went everywhere with her on the site.

  It was too early to go to the Bakehouse too: she’d only make a nuisance of herself since Bee had arranged a schedule with Martin and she wasn’t exactly sure who was supposed to be baking what.

  Jessie groaned and lay back down, even though it felt wrong to do so when her mind was so full of ideas.

  “Why can’t it be night time?” she groaned.

  Toby didn’t respond.

  Probably because I’m lying here feeling sorry for myself, she thought. I need to get on my big girl panties and stop acting like a child.

  Her little pep talk changed her mood immediately. She grabbed her cellphone again and dialed her mother’s number, reasoning that it was sometime in the morning in France, where her mother was now traveling, and that she would surely be up.

  Her mother didn’t answer.

  By now her legs were buzzing with that restless feeling that comes from being cooped up all day at a desk—she hadn’t felt that feeling for a very long time.

  “Okay, then,” she said, leaping out of bed and quickly tidying the covers. “I guess I gotta listen to my body. If it’s telling me I’ve had enough rest then who am I to argue?”

  Toby trailed alongside her as she walked briskly out of the bedroom, along the hallway and into the kitchen. She planned to make herself a cup of chamomile tea and wait to see if it calmed her down. If it didn’t, well there was plenty of work for her to do in the house. As if to reinforce that point, she happened to glance up at the corner where the walls met the ceiling and notice a large cobweb she hadn’t seen before.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “This place could definitely do with a clean.”

  She bustled around the kitchen, slowly becoming aware of a something gnawing away at her consciousness. At first she thought it was just the unkempt state of her house. After all, Aunt Bee would have had plenty to say if she had seen that giant cobweb.

  Jessie told herself that everything was fine; that she’d have the place clean in no time.

  The nagging feeling remained as she made her tea and wandered over to the couch, now almost too agitated to even wait for it to cool so she could drink it.

  What was it? It was clear to her now that she wasn’t worried about what Bee would think of her. Her aunt knew she’d barely been spending any time at home except to sleep; she would surely understand. Jessie didn’t blame herself either—she would have nuked that thing if she had seen it before.

  So it wasn’t that. What was it? She tried to think of everything that had happened recently. It was a blur of helping to run the Bakehouse; of the mammoth task of restoring Lindemann’s. She rolled her eyes. Of that ridiculous parade. And now a murder investigation.

  And then it struck her. It hit her so suddenly that she gasped and knocked her cup over so it fell all over the couch, leaving the room smelling of fragrant tea.

  She saw it so clearly now, but it had been jumbled up in the mayhem of the past several days. Now it stood out from everything else, taking on great significance.

  Cassie Baker’s stall. Jessie had seen it from her float. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but in the context of the investigation…

  No, that wasn’t right. It still didn’t mean anything simply because there had been a murder. What made Cassie’s absence interesting was the fact that she had sworn not to have seen a man in black. She had also told them repeatedly that she hadn’t left her stall at all that day.

  Jessie shook her head. What had made the woman lie?

  14

  “You’re sure, Jessie?” Chief Daly asked, frowning at her.

  The reason he was looking at her so strangely was down to how she had chosen to fill the time before going to the station. She hadn’t wanted to call since it seemed like too important a thing to try and describe over the phone. She had gone to Lindemann’s and taken out all of her frustrations on the walls there.

  Which was why she now looked like a ghost from an amateur play. Her hair was so full of dust that she could have been an English lord from the 1700s if it wasn’t for the fact that her clothes and face were covered too.

  “I’m sure, Chief. And I’m sorry. I can’t believe I only thought of it last night. It wasn’t strange at the time, you see.”

  “I understand, Jessie. So you’re telling me that she wasn’t at the stall when she said she was?”

  Jessie nodded. “And the worst thing is it fits with the timeline. If she was just taking a bathroom break why wouldn’t she have just told us that?”

  “Maybe she forgot?”

  “No. If it was anybody else I might believe that. But you remember how detailed her account was. She practically told us every thought that went through her mind as she sat at the stall. Remember? She even told us about her sneezing fit for goodness sake!”

  “That’s true.” He stood and started to pace the room. Jessie turned to watch him, immediately releasing a cloud of construction dust into the air.

  “Oh, Jessie. Come on. My assistant’s away until next week and I have no idea how to get in touch with the cleaning company she uses.”

  “Sorry, Chief,” she said sheepishly. “So what do you think?”

  “I think,” he said solemnly. “That this case is getting stranger with every passing day. Last night we had one plausible suspect. Today we have three.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes.” He sat back down and started up his computer. They waited in silence: Jessie was too curious to make small talk and the chief looked too tired to do so. Finally, he clicked his mouse a few times and spoke again. “Here it is. I got an email late last night apologizing for the delay. The business card that was found in Albie’s pocket was for Morton Homeopathic Medicine.”

  Jessie gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth. “But that’s Jeff’s business. That looks so bad considering his argument with Albie in the café.”

  Chief Daly nodded. “It strikes me as incredibly suspicious.”

  “I’m not surprised. I saw their argument for myself. Jeff was mad. Did he have an alibi for the time of the murder?”

  “That’s the thing,” Chief Daly said. “I’ve left voice messages for him to call me but I haven’t yet heard back. We had so many people to talk to that I haven’t exactly had a chance to follow up on him.” His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward over the desk. “But things have changed. This news changes everything.”

  Jessie shook her head, remembering something she had seen the last time she visited Jeff Morton’s house. “I know anybody could have gone to the store and bought a pumpkin. But if it helps, Jeff has a pumpkin patch at his home.”

  “Now that’s very interesting, Jessie. Let’s get Jeff in as soon as we can. I’d very much like to speak to him. Especially since I’ve just received an email from the lab. The pumpkin has come back with no trace of a second person’s DNA. If we’re going to solve this case, we’re going to have to tease out the facts because the science isn’t pointing us anywhere in particular.”

  Jessie stared at him. “Wait a second. So the lab confirms the pumpkin is our murder weapon?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “I don’t get it, Chief. How?! I thought we were working on the assumption that it was a prop and that something else was used to murder Albie Parker.”

  He shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Here.” He spun his screen around so that she could see it and tapped the middle of the lengthy email with his finger. “Look at this. Their examination of the flesh of the pumpkin showed that it had been frozen. In its froz
en state, it would have caused injuries consistent with those suffered by Mr. Parker, and it wouldn’t necessarily have disintegrated on impact.”

  “My goodness,” she gasped, shaking her head. “Who would do such a thing? I don’t know of anybody who freezes pumpkins whole. You cut them up first—that’s the way I learned and that’s what Bee does.”

  “I don’t know, Jessie, and that’s the truth. If it was frozen purely for this purpose then we’re not looking at a spur-of-the-moment act after all.”

  “What about Cassie Baker?” Jessie asked, changing the subject when she found herself baffled by the thought of somebody using a frozen pumpkin as a murder weapon. “In light of the development with Jeff, it seems less relevant that she lied to us about being at the stall the entire time.”

  Chief Daly frowned. “Yes I suppose it does seem like that, doesn’t it. Except there’s something about this that doesn’t sit right with me. I can’t tell you what it is… actually, I can.” He rummaged in the pile of papers on his desk. “Here.”

  Jessie stared at the printout. It looked like some sort of report from a very antiquated computer system. She stared at the headings, not seeing anything of relevance. “It’s just a list of names and dates. I see Cassie’s name. And Tony Young.” She shook her head. “What is this?”

  “It’s a report from town hall. What you’re looking at is a list of people who applied to run stalls at the parade.”

  She nodded. “So? We already know Cassie and Tony ran stalls. I saw them and they admitted as much under questioning. It’s not a crime to run a stall.”

  He smiled. “Look at the dates. It might help you if I tell you that that’s the date on which they applied to run their stall.”

  Jessie skimmed the list. Most of the dates were back in July or August, with some in September and a couple in October. The one that really stood out was Cassie’s. She had applied just two days before the parade.

  “Oh wow,” she whispered.

  The chief nodded. “I know. I noticed it immediately when I saw the report. It took me a while to get to it because it was bunched up with a lot of other documents that were of little use.”