Chapter 37

Add seasonal scents. In the fall and winter, simmer apple cider with cinnamon. In the spring and summer, add a vase of fragrant lilacs or roses.

There was no way I could avoid it. I needed to talk to Detective Spangler about Monica’s case. Even at the risk of being called a busybody twice in one week. But rather than going to his office, I decided I might have better luck meeting him away from his turf and on neutral territory. I knew from the past he frequently went to Hibbard’s Bakery in the morning, so early the next day I waited outside the bakery in my car, hoping he’d show up.

There were pros and cons to that plan. If I waited until he got inside, it might appear I was following him. If I waited inside, he might grab something and be out the door before I could catch him. Amateur sleuthing could be exasperating.

When my car got too hot without the air conditioner running, I broke down and decided to wait inside. The lure of coffee and freshly made donuts and pastries helped. The donuts wouldn’t be nutritious, but I needed a reward for my efforts.

Just as I reached the door, Detective Spangler came from the other direction. I couldn’t have planned it any better.

“Well, Ms. Bishop, we continue to collide in doorways.”

“Good morning, Detective Spangler. In need of coffee?”

“Always.”

He opened the door and allowed me to enter first, which meant I could be first at the counter to place my order. Good. That way I could sit down and it would be up to him to join me or not. I gave myself a good mental shake. This was beginning to feel like being back in high school and plotting to run into a crush.

I took a seat in a back booth, unwrapped my English scone with butterscotch chips, and took a bite. Heaven. I then took a sip of coffee and tried to look nonchalant—or as relaxed and unconcerned as I could, which wasn’t easy when facing a talk with Detective Spangler. We always seemed to be on opposite sides of a discussion.

“May I join you?”

I looked up to see Detective Spangler. “Please do.”

He sat down and unwrapped a giant bear claw pastry and took a big bite. That gave me a chance to speak while he had a mouth full.

“I’m glad I ran into you, Detective. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Monica Heller.”

I waited for him to finish chewing and swallow, which seemed to take forever. I seemed to be spending a lot of time recently watching people chew. What was with these men and their big bites? Didn’t they know you can choke on a bite that size?

He then slowly took a sip of coffee. “You’re going to say she’s a friend of yours and she could never have killed someone. Is that it?”

That was far from the truth. “Not really. My relationship with Monica has never been a friendly one and, given half a chance, she might stab me in the back. Figuratively, not literally. But I can’t believe she stabbed Damian.” Perhaps I should have said Sister Madeleine couldn’t believe that. I still had my doubts.

“Figuratively, okay. What did you want to say about her?” He finished the bear claw in about four bites.

This was going to sound just about as stupid, but I decided I might as well just jump right in. “You know we never saw Monica stab Damian. She swears she only removed the knife.”

“Yes, she’s stated that, but there’s nothing to prove it. No other suspect, no one seen running from the scene of the crime by you or anyone else. We see this all the time. We catch someone with a smoking gun. When we ask, ‘Is that your gun?’ we get a response. ‘Not my gun.’ As though it had just appeared out of thin air. Do you have anything concrete you can present to prove Ms. Heller didn’t stab Damian Reynolds?

“No, but that’s what I want to get to. I think you need to look more closely at a possible link between Damian’s murder and Ian Becker’s murder.”

He took a long swallow of coffee and eyed me over the rim of his cup. “Ms. Bishop, give us some credit. Don’t you think we’ve already done that? Other than both victims being stabbed, we found no other link. What possible link do you think there could’ve been?”

“Maybe art? Ian’s aunt was a member of the local art group.” It still sounded pretty weak.

His eyes narrowed and he slammed his coffee cup on the table. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been questioning people about these cases.”

“No, not really…well, maybe a little. When you are in business, you come into contact with people.”

“And someone told you because Ian’s aunt dabbled in art she might have had some connection to a world-famous artist?”

“My Aunt Kit suggested—”

He groaned, the equivalent of rolling his eyes. “Suggested what? That because they both had lifted a paintbrush there was enough reason to connect the murders?”

“Wait. There’s more.”

“Please tell me. I can’t wait to hear what other reasons you have. When you were younger, did you want to be a police officer?”

There was no warming up to this guy, regardless of how attractive he was, and single. “Did you know that Ian’s aunt, Doris Becker, named two local people in her will and that one of them was Ian’s illegitimate son?”

“But how does that link the two murders? In one of those mystery novels you read, that might’ve been a motive in Ian’s murder. But considering Doris Becker left little to any of them, that’s not enough to suspect them of killing Ian.”

“There’s always that possibility. Ian’s son Brandon was really angry at his father for deserting them when he went off to New Zealand.”

“Angry enough to want to kill him as soon as he arrived in town?” He paused. “We’ve already questioned Emily and Brandon Thompson. I didn’t learn that Brandon had tried to contact his father, so I’ll look at him again. Even if it were true and Brandon was responsible for Ian’s death, that doesn’t link him to Damian’s murder.”

“Did you know that Brandon took some classes from Damian at the college?

Detective Spangler pressed his lips into a thin line. “No, I didn’t know that. And you think what, that he could have taken revenge on Damian for giving him a less than desirable grade?

I gave him a withering look. “Don’t you see? He could be the link between Damian and Ian.”

“Okay. I’ll check it out.”

Maybe another tactic might work. “Did you know that Damian’s ex-wife blamed him for their daughter’s drowning? She lives only a couple hours’ drive from here. And he was unable to paint because of the trauma of the accident.”

“Yes, we know all that.”

“And that Damian and his agent argued? And his agent resented Monica.”

“Yes. Anything more?” He wadded up the paper wrapping from his bear claw, preparing to leave.

“Okay, here’s this: Did you know that Professor Albertson’s wife and Damian had a history and the professor resented him because of it? Professor Albertson is on the faculty at Fischer College

“You’ve got me there. I didn’t know that, but I’ll check it out.” He stood up, ready to leave. “Did you hear me? I’ll check it out.”

“Can you let me know what you learn?”

He groaned again. “Ms. Bishop…”

“Yes, detective?”

“Stay safe.” With that, he walked away.

Drat! I forgot to ask him about the knife used to stab Damian. If it had been one from his kitchen, whoever killed him could have become enraged and reached for it. If however, the knife wasn’t one of his, the killer must have brought one with him. That could prove the murder was premeditated. The same thing could’ve been said about Ian’s murder. What about that knife?

Monica said she went to Damian’s house to find out why he wanted to cancel the decorating orders. She probably wouldn’t have gone armed with a knife for that discussion. Would she?