Chapter 21

Dear Sophie,

My mom wrote to a person called Natasha, who said it was okay for us to eat CBD cookies. But I heard on the news that some places have been raided because of CBD. Mom is still really upset with our dad. What do you think?

Confused Kid in Hempfield Township, Pennsylvania

 

Dear Confused Kid,

You are not the only one who is confused. At the moment, some states, but not all, permit baking with CBD. What you might have heard about is that CBD has not yet been approved as a food additive by the federal government. Some companies are using CBD in ways that violate federal law. Suggest that mom bake other cookies and maybe they won’t argue about it.

Sophie

The idea of lovers sobered us up. “

There’s no way to know, but it would stand to reason that Tate brought the cheesecake,” I said. “He had easy access to it at home and at the restaurant.”

“Wait a minute,” said Mars. “I’m sure they didn’t plan to meet in someone else’s backyard. I can’t imagine saying, ‘I’ll bring the champagne. Let’s meet in the Eklunds’ backyard because they’re out of town.’ Who does that?”

“Someone who’s married and doesn’t want to be seen.” Nina slathered her toast with strawberry butter and bit into it.

“Aw, come on,” Mars protested. “Fifteen-year-olds think someone being out of town is an opportunity to get away with something, not mature adults. If they wanted privacy, there are dozens of Airbnb’s they could have rented for the night.”

“The tall woman he was with!” I gasped. “I don’t know why I assumed they went their separate ways after dinner.”

“What woman?” asked Mars.

I glanced at Bernie. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance.”

I started to fill in Mars about Auguste and his restaurant, but he interrupted me.

“I’ve been there with clients several times. Auguste seems like a decent fellow. Are you saying you think they had an amazing dinner and then they took a bottle of champagne and some cheesecake and had a tête-à-tête in the Eklunds’ backyard? I don’t think so. That doesn’t make any sense for adults.”

Nina choked on her coffee. “She was tall enough to conk him over the head with a bottle, that’s for sure.”

Mars was on a roll. “And then she moved Tate’s body to his restaurant? Why? Why not leave the body where it was? If they knew the Eklunds weren’t home, it would have been wiser to have left Tate in their backyard. It could have been a week or more before anyone noticed the body. Did she think she would fool the police into believing it was an accident in the basement of the restaurant?”

“That sounds more like Marsha,” Bernie said. “And she would have had a key to the restaurant.”

“If Tate had his keys on him, then anyone would have had access to the restaurant,” I pointed out.

Nina’s eyes grew large and round. “What if Marsha took a dinner break? What if someone at Auguste’s, or a friend who saw them go there, phoned her and told her Tate was having dinner with another woman? Marsha could have left the restaurant. Her office is upstairs, no one would have noticed she was gone. She waited for Tate and his girlfriend to leave Auguste’s. He and the girlfriend went in different directions. Marsha followed Tate, confronted him, and bashed him over the head with the champagne bottle.”

It wasn’t entirely out of the question. “There could very well be a gap of an hour or so that Marsha wasn’t missed,” I said.

Mars groaned. “And then she went to steal Bernie’s key and use his car?”

I grew cold as I considered the amount of planning that the murderer must have gone through. I shook my head. “This wasn’t a crime that happened in the heat of the moment. The killer had figured out where Bernie’s car was parked and where he kept his car keys. Someone bothered to plan this well in advance.”

“It could still have been Marsha,” Nina said. “One of the cops last night said that it looked like something had been dragged. I bet she hid the body in the Eklunds’ backyard, went back to work, and moved him with Bernie’s car after she had closed the restaurant.”

“That is entirely possible,” I said. “She would have known that the camera wasn’t working at the back door of the restaurant.”

“First of all,” said Mars, “she wouldn’t have been able to carry him into the restaurant or down the stairs. Unless she’s Wonder Woman, I can’t see her doing that. Tate wasn’t very tall, but he was a bit portly. If she dragged him from the car into the restaurant, there would be a trail of blood. Secondly, she would have been splattered with blood. There’s no way the person who killed Tate didn’t have blood all over his clothes.”

“She could have had help. An accomplice,” suggested Nina.

“Then why take Bernie’s car?” asked Mars.

“You’re beginning to make Marsha sound like a mob boss, ordering someone else to murder him while she looks on,” I said.

Bernie sat quietly. He stared out the bay window.

Nina snapped her fingers at him. “Earth to Bernie!”

When he turned his focus back to us, he smiled sadly. “I love you guys. Don’t know what I would do without you.” He checked his watch. “Better get going.”

Bernie took off, but Mars stayed behind to help with the dishes.

“I’m worried about him,” said Mars, while washing dishes. “He’s more troubled by this than he lets on. Both of us were raised when boys were supposed to buck up and have a stiff upper lip.”

Nina dried dishes while I put away leftovers. “Do you know how he really got that kink in his nose? Does . . . does he have a police record?”

Mars stopped washing. “He was just a kid. I can’t recall which husband it was, four or five, maybe. Apparently one of his mom’s worst choices. Bernie woke up one night and heard things crashing. He slipped out of his room and found his new stepfather beating up his mom. She was on the floor and the guy was throttling her. Bernie jumped on the man’s back, which gave his mom the opportunity to roll away, grab a phone, and call the police. That husband must have been a brute, because he shook off Bernie and punched him in the face, breaking his nose.”

I almost dropped the bowl I was holding. “I can’t believe he never told us that. How awful!”

“Poor Bernie,” said Nina. “He lived in castles and manor houses growing up. It all sounds so enchanting, like a fairy tale. But in reality, he had a rough childhood, didn’t he?”

Mars finished and dried his hands. “His mother is quite the character. He loves her dearly, but there was a great deal of upheaval in his life before he came here. Several doctors have told him they could probably fix his nose with plastic surgery, but he’s not interested. I keep joking with him about attracting more women with a straighter nose, but he just laughs at me. I think the kink in his nose is like a badge of courage to him. Not that he likes it, but he’s come to terms with it, like a war wound that is part of him and doesn’t let him forget.” Mars dried his hands and headed for the door. “I’m off to work, too. Hey, don’t let on that I told you the real story. Bernie would be very upset with me.”

Mars left and Nina soon followed.

After a shower, I dressed for the warm weather in a crisp sleeveless blouse and knee-length twill skirt. A cup of coffee in hand, I settled at the desk in my home office and worked for a few hours, scheduling events and sending out contracts.

Every time my computer dinged to let me know an email had arrived, I gave a start and glanced to see if it was from Worried in Old Town. So far, she had not responded.

But I had a text from Humphrey. Sorry to be the one to share bad tidings, Sophie. Per the office of the medical exam iner, the blood on Bernie’s car matches Tate’s. He added a frowny face.

I supposed that news wasn’t really unexpected, but it was still a blow. It seemed like a new bit of evidence arrived every day that chipped away at Bernie’s defense. Distracted from my work, I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. While the kettle heated, I stood in front of my kitchen sink and gazed out the window.

It was such an easy case to make now. Scientifically, Tate was linked to Bernie’s car. Did they check for other DNA or fingerprints on the car? Mine should have been there. What about Daisy’s fur? She surely left a hair or two in the back.

The kettle whistled, breaking me out of my thoughts. I poured the steaming liquid over a tea bag and watched the water turn color.

I mixed in sugar and milk. There was no point in fretting about what the police had or had not done. The person who had taken Bernie’s car had thought this through. He or she knew the car would be searched if someone saw it behind the restaurant or got the license plate or passed a camera in transit. We weren’t dealing with a goofball. The killer had planned everything very carefully. And it was all working out to his advantage. So far, anyway.

I reminded myself that there was no perfect crime. Something always went wrong. I just had to find it.

I sipped my tea. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. She was all we had. Everything kept coming back to her. We had figured out how she could have done it. She even had a reason. She wouldn’t be the first person to have murdered someone out of jealousy or promises of a life together that weren’t kept.

Daisy jumped up and ran to the door. A second later, I heard a gentle rap.

Francie waved at me.

I opened the door for her. She walked in with her golden retriever, Duke.

“I’m on my way to see Estelle Fogelbaum. I thought you might like to walk Daisy and come with me.”

“It’s not too hot for the dogs?” I was worried about the dogs, but even more worried about Francie.

“It’s lovely outdoors, not bad at all.”

I grabbed my purse and dressed Daisy in her halter. I locked the door behind us, and we were off. “I saw you pushing her wheelchair at Tate’s service.”

Francie nodded. “She can’t get around like she used to.”

“That must be hard on her.”

“She’s making the best of it. She always was a bit of a homebody anyway. Back when our husbands were alive, we used to go dancing together. Those were the days! Nobody took a phone with them everywhere. When you went somewhere, you were there, not thinking about other things. And the band music was so grand. Did you know that Estelle was an ornithologist?”

“I had no idea.” I knew Estelle, but not well. She had attended a number of wildlife and animal rescue events that I had arranged.

Francie stopped at a door with a woodpecker door knocker. But instead of knocking, she rang a regular doorbell three times in a row. “That’s my signal, so she’ll know it’s me.” A lock clicked and Francie pushed the door open.

The foyer wasn’t very big, but I soon realized why. Francie led me along a corridor, turned left, and opened a white door. We stepped into an elevator. Daisy and Duke went along, surprisingly calm about it.

We emerged on the third floor into one huge room. On the opposite end was a giant balcony visible through a glass wall that curved back until it met the ceiling.

Estelle rolled her wheelchair toward us. “Who is this with Duke?”

Daisy ran to her as though some instinct told her Estelle was a dog lover. Daisy’s tail swished and she laid her head on Estelle’s lap.

We walked past a yellow tabby with half an ear and a battle-scarred face. He opened one eye but didn’t run from the dogs.

“This is Daisy,” I said. I gazed outside. She had an amazing collection of bird feeders. I wondered how she kept it clean.

“I miss having a dog!” Estelle patted Daisy and Duke at the same time. “It’s just not practical for me anymore because they have to be taken out.”

“Cats are lovely, too,” I said.

“Hah! I always thought cats would scare away the birds, but old Tiger doesn’t care one whit about them. Nina Reid Norwood brought him to me. That rascal! She knew I couldn’t turn down a beat-up old alley cat.”

“He’s living in the lap of luxury today,” said Francie, smiling at him.

“He’s a delightful companion for me. Almost as immobile and grumpy as me. We understand each other.”

I wandered over to the window. “This is amazing. It’s like you’re in Paris with a view of the rooftops.”

“There isn’t a season when it’s not marvelous,” she said. As she rolled close, one of the doors automatically opened for her.

The three of us walked out onto the balcony, and with a start I realized that I was looking down at the alley where Tate had been killed.