When Sleuthing Spells Trouble, page 15
“Yeah, well, at one time I wanted to open my own cycle shop. Instead I work here,” he said, pulling a face.
“Running your own business is very ambitious and a lot of hard work,” I said. “Believe me, I ought to know.”
“Yeah, well, that dream died. I tried to raise enough capital, but I just couldn’t. I had a rather wild, shall we say, youth. It went against me when I applied for a loan.” He scrubbed his hand across his chin. “They said they’d consider it with a cosigner, but there’s just me and my mom, and she would never have qualified. She doesn’t have much money at all.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “There was no one else you could have asked?”
He shook his head. “Nope. My mom did hint around to her employer, but that was a definite dead end.” He hesitated and then said, “I had what you’d call a wild youth. Got in some scrapes. I straightened out, but Blackthorne didn’t approve. The guy hated me.”
“Hated? He doesn’t anymore?”
“Not exactly.” He ran his hand through his hair, mussing up the sides. “He’s dead,” Jerry said flatly. “The guy was murdered a few years ago.”
“Murdered!” I let my eyes widen and my jaw slack slightly. “Oh my goodness! That’s terrible.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Jerry said, his tone musing. “But the world’s a better place without him in it, trust me. Christian Blackthorne was an evil, mean-spirited man.”
I twisted my lips into a little O of surprise. “Christian Blackthorne? Oh, I remember hearing about that case. They said the wife did it.”
Jerry frowned. “She went to prison for it. She couldn’t remember what happened. It was never proven that she was the one.” He made a little grunt of frustration. “The guy was loaded, and he didn’t leave my mother one red cent in his will, not after all the years of service or all the crap she took from him. I always told her he took advantage of her and guess what? I was right.”
“You mentioned that it was never proven the wife did it,” I said. “It sounds to me as if you think she might be innocent.”
He was silent for a few moments and then said in a low tone, “Mrs. Blackthorne is one very classy woman. I can’t picture her killing the doc, but then again, people sometimes get pushed beyond their limits. How she ever married a heel like Blackthorne is a mystery to me.”
It sounded to me as if Jerry might also have had a bit of a crush on Mariah. Aloud I said, “But the case seemed so open and shut. There were no other suspects, right?”
“Oh, there were plenty of suspects. They just never bothered to look,” said Jerry. He hesitated and then said, “They questioned me though.”
I widened my eyes. “They did? Why?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Blackthorne and I had a big argument right before he was killed. He accused me of stealing some figurines from his home.”
“Why would he do that?”
Jerry looked down at the toe of his shoe. “It all goes back to that wild youth I mentioned. I have a sort of . . . history of doing things like that. But that’s all behind me. Like I said, I turned over a new leaf, that’s why I was trying to start up the shop. Fresh start and all that. But Blackthorne never really trusted me. He thought I spent too much time hanging around here, when I should have been out looking for a job. He didn’t consider this work.” He raised his gaze to meet mine. “I wouldn’t have stolen anything from him, on account of my mother. He’d have held it against her forever, made her work even harder. As it is, he cut her off with nothing. Anyway, I had an alibi for the time of death. I was out mountain biking with my friend Rhoda. As if I’d waste my time killing the likes of him. It wouldn’t be worth going to prison for, although I do think whoever did do it deserves a medal.”
I leaned my elbow on the counter. “So, if you had to take a guess, who do you think might have killed him?”
He cocked his head, pursed his lips, considering. Finally he said, “If you ask me, I think the police should have tried harder to find that woman. I saw her at the house a few times.”
“Woman? Do you mean Elle Gardner?”
He barked out a laugh. “I almost forgot about her. She’s another piece of work. She and the doc were tight, but that’s not who I’m thinking of. It’s another woman. I saw her hanging around the house a few times when I was there, and once, not long before the murder, I saw her and the doc arguing in the driveway. At least it looked like they were arguing. I was too far away to hear anything. They were flapping their arms at each other, and then she hopped in this beat-up old Ford and drove off, and not a moment too soon. Mrs. Blackthorne came home not ten minutes later.”
My heart was beating so loudly I was certain he had to hear it. “Did you tell all this to the police?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they didn’t seem too interested. Like I said, they had their perfect suspect. They didn’t want to look elsewhere.”
“Could you describe this woman?”
His lips scrunched up for a moment and then he said, “To be honest, I didn’t pay all that much attention to her. She had light brown hair—I think. I only saw her from a distance, but there was nothing outstanding that stuck in my mind.” He shrugged. “She looked like hundreds of other women, you know, the ones who just sort of blend into the background. What’s that word? Non-something?”
“Nondescript?”
“That’s the one. She was nondescript.” He flashed me a smile and rubbed his hands in front of him. “But enough about the past. We’ve got other, better things to talk about.” He gestured toward a bright pink bicycle. “How do you like this baby?”
• • •
It was a few minutes past five when I let myself in the back door of my shop. As I pushed through into the kitchen, Nick rose from his position by the refrigerator to amble over and wind himself around my ankles. I bent down and gave him a scratch behind one ear. “Miss me?” I asked.
He looked up at me, blinked. “Yow-rrr.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I went over to the table and flopped into a chair. “It was a very interesting interview,” I said. “And I almost became the proud owner of a shiny pink bike. Fortunately two teenage girls came in just as Jerry was getting ready to write up a sales slip. I managed to get away by telling him I had to get back here and I’d definitely think about the bike.”
Nick blinked, then opened his mouth in a large yawn.
“Yes, I know you’re not interested in that. You want to know what I think of Jerry Cutter.” I leaned back in the chair. “He’s bitter, to be sure, but he also seems honestly devoted to his mother. He definitely thought Blackthorne took advantage of her. He denied taking those figurines, but he didn’t try to hide the fact he has a past. I have to admit, I think I agree with Jennifer’s opinion of him. I don’t think he stole those figurines, and I don’t think he killed Blackthorne either. I would like to know more about that mystery woman he mentioned, though. I’ve got a feeling that she could be this mysterious mistress, and who knows? Maybe Blackthorne’s killer too.”
Nick waved one paw in the air. It looked as if he were pointing toward the storeroom. “What’s up, Nick?” I asked the cat. “Do you think I should look through your former owner’s journals for more pearls of wisdom?”
The cat looked at me, then blinked. His head swiveled again toward the storeroom. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a look. Can’t do any harm.”
We entered the storeroom, and just as I started for the file cabinet Nick let out a soft meow. A second later there was a loud knock on the back door. I frowned. “Now who could this be? Chantal’s working at Poppies tonight, and Samms is at that debriefing—unless Lacey forgot her key again.”
I got up and walked over to the door, parted the curtain, and peered out. I let out a gasp and flung the door wide. “You,” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Sixteen
The tall man standing on my back stoop shot me a mischievous grin. “Is this how you greet all your visitors?” he asked. “Or just the ones you’ve known for a hundred years?”
I flung my arms around him. “Hank Prince, you are a sight for sore eyes. What are you doing here? I thought you were working a big case in Chicago?”
“I got lucky and wrapped it up early. I told my boss I was taking a week vacation and coming down here. I drove pretty much all day and night.” He hugged me back and then said, “So, are you going to invite me in, or are we just going to give your neighbors a show all night?”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Hank is a tall man, six-three easily, with a stocky build. He has reddish brown hair that he wears a bit longish on the sides and the nape of the neck, deep blue eyes that peer out from behind massive tortoiseshell glasses, and a killer smile. No one ever takes him for a private investigator, which is partly the reason he’s so successful. And I lost count of the number of cases he helped me with when I worked in Chicago. He was a master at ferreting out information, the more elusive the better. There’s nothing Hank likes better than a good challenge.
Which might well account for the attraction between him and Mariah, I thought.
Hank pulled out a chair and eased his large frame into it. He thrust his long legs out in front of him. Nick came forward, sat next to Hank’s chair, and looked up at him. He cocked his head to one side and regarded the detective with wide golden eyes.
Hank leaned forward. “And this, I take it, is the famous Nick Charles? Your partner in crime solving?” He extended his hand toward the cat. “I’m pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Charles. I’ve heard a lot about you. All good, no worries.”
Nick took a step closer, sniffed at Hank’s fingers. His pink tongue snaked out, gave them a lick. “Merow,” he said. Then he turned around, walked back to the refrigerator, and lay down.
I grinned. “Looks as if you’ve passed muster. Believe me, if he didn’t like you, you’d know it. He’s tortured more of my part-time applicants than I care to think about. Fortunately, he approved of the most recent applicant. She starts here tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “I don’t doubt that he was fussy. He seems to be a very discerning fellow.” Hank whipped his gaze to me. “So, how are things progressing with Mariah?”
“Slow but steady. She seems like a very nice person and definitely not the type to murder her husband. I do think, though, that she’s still haunted by the experience.” I quickly filled Hank in on the recent happenings. “I’m not entirely certain that returning to her house was a wise move,” I finished. “Although I’m pretty sure she’s doing it in the hopes that it will jog her memory about what happened that night.”
Hank’s lips had compressed into a straight line when I was telling my story. Now he leaned forward. In a voice tinged with concern he asked, “I was afraid that her coming back here could make her a target. You’re certain that there was no one in the house?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “No, I’m not certain. As I said, I did find that pink thread. Jennifer Hinkle had a scarf that matched the color exactly, but there were no pulls or loose threads on it. I forgot to get a better look at Elle Gardner’s vest, though. It was the same color pink.”
“You mentioned Elle was staying there, though,” said Hank. “I’m sure Mariah would have given her a key, so why would she sneak into the house, or for that matter, invade Mariah’s bedroom?”
“A good question. I guess I didn’t really think that through,” I admitted. “I suppose that since I took a dislike to the woman, I’m too eager to think the worst.”
“Well, if it’ll make you feel better, I share your opinion about Elle. I’ve always thought that she cozied up to Mariah so she could get closer to Blackthorne. Proving that, though, is a different matter.”
“Louis said that he doubted Elle would have cheated on her husband. According to him, Morris Gardner’s money makes Blackthorne’s look like chickenfeed, and Elle wouldn’t take a chance on losing it.”
“That’s probably very true,” Hank agreed. “But love can make people do some very strange things.”
“Love or lust,” I said reflectively. “According to Nick Atkins, that’s a prime motive for murder. Did you manage to find out Elle’s alibi for the time of Blackthorne’s murder?”
“Yep.” Hank pulled a notebook out of his pocket, flipped some pages. “She said that she was at her spa the entire afternoon. Records show that she did check into the spa around noon, but no one can actually remember seeing her there during the day. She supposedly checked out after six that evening and went directly home. Her maid corroborated the fact that she arrived at six thirty, went and dressed for a dinner she was attending that evening at the country club with her husband.”
“And how about Lassiter’s alibi? Did that high-stakes poker game check out?”
Hank rubbed absently at his forehead. “Those doctors corroborated it, but I’m not entirely sure I buy it. After all, they’re fraternity brothers. It wouldn’t surprise me if they all lied to give Lassiter his alibi. However, it would be pretty tough to prove.” He was silent for a moment and then added, “Blackthorne’s death was very convenient for Lassiter. I understand that Blackthorne threatened calling in an accountant to go over the business financials, but that halted upon his death.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “Lassiter told me that he suspected Blackthorne of skimming off the top. And if Blackthorne were guilty of that, no doubt he’d have called in an accountant who would have been prejudiced toward his side.”
“Ah, so it’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, eh? Maybe both of them were dipping into the till. At any rate, I believe Lassiter’s testimony against Mariah was colored by her rejection of his advances. There were some instances that Mariah told me about that she didn’t even tell her lawyer. The guy was an absolute heel.”
I saw how upset Hank was so I didn’t press for details. Instead I just said, “I went to the hair salon and spoke with Adam Porter. I have to say, I believed him, even though his alibi is a lot like Elle’s. No one could actually verify seeing him at that fashion show.”
“I believed him too, and I know he made a good impression on the DA. Then again, the DA was fixated on Mariah and didn’t really want to look elsewhere. That’s why that phone call was so important.” Hank sighed and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I still think her lawyer made a mistake not letting the case go to trial. She might have gotten off entirely.”
“Maybe not. It seems that public opinion is pretty high against her, even today.” I told Hank about Carm. “Her dislike for Mariah does seem a bit over the top, but what if that opinion is shared by other merchants in Cruz? If it’s this bad today, it must have been worse six years ago.”
“It was,” admitted Hank. “There were lots of people jealous of Mariah. She was a beautiful ex-actress who married a rich guy who many thought was way out of her league. The unfavorable public sentiment against her came mostly from females. And there were seven women on that jury. If you want my opinion, I think this Carmela’s feelings toward Mariah are probably justifiable, at least in her mind.” He paused. “You said she has a son?”
“Yes. Gillian said he was around six years old—oh!” My eyes widened and I looked at Hank. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That if Carm had Blackthorne’s baby, he or she would be about that age. Yep.” He made a notation in his book. “I’ll have the dates checked out.”
I pursed my lips. Carm the mysterious pregnant mistress? If that were true, it would definitely account for her attitude toward Mariah. I turned to Hank and said, “I interviewed another suspect today, Jerry Cutter. I was a bit leery, but now I have to admit I can see why Jennifer said he was no killer. He didn’t give that vibe off at all. I don’t think I’d trust him around any valuables, but commit murder? I doubt it. Especially not Blackthorne. He was too concerned about the fallout it would have on his mother.”
Hank shook his head. “So Cutter’s a mama’s boy, eh?”
“I don’t think I’d go that far, but he did seem devoted to her. And Louis said pretty much the same thing.”
“It could be an act.”
“He didn’t strike me as being that good an actor.” I paused and then added, “He mentioned seeing a woman arguing with Blackthorne. He couldn’t offer much in the way of a description, though, other than she struck him as plain-featured with mousy hair.”
“Interesting. That description could fit thousands of women around here.” He paused and then asked, “What about this Carmela? Would that description fit her?”
My brow wrinkled as I digested that, and then I slowly shook my head. “There’s nothing about Carmela that’s nondescript, so offhand I’d have to say no. Of course, I have no idea what she might have looked like six years ago.”
Hank made another notation. “Something else to check out. Did Cutter mention this woman to the police at the time?”
“Yes, but he said they didn’t seem too interested in her. They were already fixating on Mariah.” I jumped up. “Where are my manners? You must be hungry if you drove straight here from Chicago. Can I make you something?”
He patted his stomach. “I stopped at a few fast-food drive-in stops and loaded up on burgers and fries, so I’m good for now. What I’d like to do is see Mariah.” He pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket. “I tried several times to reach her, but each time my call went straight to voicemail.”
“If she went to take a nap it’s possible she might have shut her phone off. Why not try her again?”
While Hank made his call, I decided to check my own phone, which I’d put on silent while I was in the bike shop. To my surprise, I had two missed calls, both from Jennifer Hinkle. I noted she’d left two voicemails. I played the first: “Nora, it’s Jennifer Hinkle. Please call me as soon as you get this.” The second one was a bit longer. “Nora, as much as it pains me to ask you, I could use your input. I’d like to talk to you about that woman in the perfume shop, Skin and Scents. You seem to have a knack for figuring out things. Call me as soon as you get this.”
