Devil's Food Cake (7 page)

“So who said it?” Pete asked.

Sadie didn’t want to cast the police officer in a bad light, but didn’t see how it could be avoided if she were determined to tell the truth. “The officer who nearly knocked me down,” she said. “I asked if there was another murder—you know, because the photographer had said there were two—and the officer seemed to think it meant we had a serial killer. I’m assuming there haven’t been any other bodies found?” If there had, she didn’t think they’d have let her sit here for so long before they questioned her.

“Two murders,” Pete repeated. He tapped his pen on his notes. “We’ve searched the hotel, if there were other bodies here we’d have found them.”

“That’s good,” Sadie said, trying to sound optimistic.

“Tell me how you found the book.”

We’re back to that?
Sadie wondered. The trace amounts of censure in his voice prickled Sadie’s defenses. It was getting harder and harder to give Pete the benefit of the doubt. Still, she
was
trying.

“I saw something on the chair and thought it might belong to Thom. I opened the book thinking he might have put notes inside it. He wasn’t holding anything when he left the ballroom. Has anyone found him yet, by the way?”

Pete shook his head. “You assume the book belonged to Thom.” It wasn’t a question.

Sadie considered that. “He’s the author,” she said with a shrug. It seemed pretty obvious to her. Someone sent Thom a cryptic message written inside his own book—very pointed. But it was still confusing. Who, exactly, was sorry? And for what? Killing his manager? Or was it supposed to have been Thom behind the podium? If that were the case, who was being apologized to?

“Hmm,” Pete said. Sadie could hear the caution in his tone. However, she also sensed he was trying to use her as a sounding board. She liked that a lot. After all, she
was
part of organizing the evening and in attendance for the entire dinner, not to mention being a witness to the murder, Thom’s suspicious exit, and the photographer’s hasty retreat and cryptic words. Sadie wasn’t prone to self-adulation, but she couldn’t help but wonder what they would do without her. She liked to think that despite Pete’s reserved approach with her right now,
he
believed and respected what she had to say, which was why they were still talking.

Sadie spoke up again. “This wasn’t Mr. Ogreski’s former hometown but whoever arranged this killing went to great pains to make certain it was witnessed by the key members of this community. Maybe someone in Garrison isn’t as sympathetic toward Thom as it seems. What about the family of the girl Thom’s son killed? Sterling isn’t too far away, and Damon left wounds I’m sure have never healed for the family. Could someone have been out for revenge?” Wow, sometimes she impressed even herself with the way she could put information together. But why an apology written inside the book? Wouldn’t a killer motivated by revenge feel triumphant, not apologetic?

Pete was taking notes again, and Sadie wriggled forward on her chair a little. She touched his knee lightly, causing him to look up at her. She was instantly taken aback by the flash of
fear
in his eyes. She looked at her fingertips on his knee and pulled them back, thinking that perhaps he was uncomfortable with her touching him when he was on the job. “You said you worked Damon’s case,” she said.

Pete nodded, his professional mask back in place.

“I’m just curious,” she said. “Didn’t Damon also use a sawed-off shotgun?” Her recollection of the details were fuzzy, but Pete would know.

Pete pulled back, frowning as he contemplated her question. “I can’t tell you that, Sadie.”

Sadie felt her eyes narrow slightly but quickly corrected the expression. If the gun Damon had used
hadn’t
been a sawed-off shotgun, Pete would have no trouble telling her so. Assured she had her answer, Sadie moved on.

“Two murders,” Sadie repeated, leaning toward him, but not touching him this time. “Two of the people closest to Thom are dead. What if Damon’s death wasn’t a suicide? What if that’s what the photographer meant?”

Sandra’s C
h
ocolicious Frosting

1⁄2 cup butter

2 tablespoons shortening

1 cup baking cocoa

8 ounces cream cheese

3 cups powdered sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

Melt butter and shortening. Whisk in cocoa and stir until smooth. Let cool until it is cool enough to touch. Add cream cheese and mix thoroughly. Add powdered sugar and vanilla. Mix well.

Will cover two 9-inch layers or a 9x13 cake.

Chapter 8

It
was
suicide,” Pete said, shaking his head and sounding a little offended. “I helped investigate Damon’s case, and I don’t think her family would come back ten years later for this kind of revenge. They were a good Christian family. They were heartbroken, but not vindictive. They moved to Iowa or someplace after the murder to get a fresh start. And they hadn’t been in Sterling long enough to put down roots anyway. We’ll talk to them, of course, but Damon killed himself. There’s no doubt about that.”

“No doubt?” Sadie repeated, watching him closely. “Are you sure?”

“Months before that night, Damon had talked to a school counselor about the suicidal thoughts he’d been having. The counselor called Thom and they met with a psychologist from the district who had a few sessions with Damon. In the end, the psychologist concluded that Damon was simply trying to get attention. He recommended Damon get involved in sports and make more friends.”

Sadie remembered that now. The psychologist had resigned from his position after the shooting.

“A sawed-off shotgun is an extreme weapon,” Sadie said. “Do you really think it’s a coincidence that Mr. Ogreski was shot with the same type of gun Damon used?”

Pete held her eyes for a moment. “I can’t tell you anything more, Sadie,” he said, his voice nearly pleading.

Sadie didn’t want to make things harder for him and was placated by the fact that he’d trusted her with a little bit of information.

Pete cleared his throat, and when he spoke his tone was formal again. “I’m going to need all this in writing,” he said, going back to his notes. “Not the supposition, just everything you actually saw and heard—the facts.” There was a coldness to his words, and it suddenly felt like a very long time ago that he’d called Sadie his girlfriend. It was disconcerting for her to see him switch moods so quickly. Confiding in her one moment and then talking down to her the next. Maybe it was her own fault. Was she creating an impossible situation for him?

“Do you need it right now?” Sadie asked, following his lead of trying for emotional distance. She looked at the clock on the ballroom wall: 8:18.

“Is that a problem?” Pete asked.

“Well, Gayle is still in the kitchen and I haven’t spoken to Shawn yet. He’s waiting for me at the house.”

Pete let out a breath. “I’m sorry, but we need it before you leave. It will only take a few minutes. I’ll have Malloy bring you the form.” He stood up and walked away, not saying thank you or good-bye or anything.

Sadie started tapping her foot again, but not with the anxiety of waiting this time. What was she supposed to make of Pete and his convoluted behavior? And people said women were complicated. They’d obviously never dated a widowed police detective. As Pete walked away, Sadie realized that if she wanted a future with him, she was going to have to get used to not knowing everything. It was like sand between her toes to face that fact head-on.

Red, hot sand that burned her poor piggies.

Malloy brought the statement form, and Sadie listened politely while he explained how to fill it out, even though she was old hat at these things. She wondered if she should keep her own supply of statement forms on hand, since she seemed to be some kind of murder magnet lately. It might leave a bad impression on people, however, if she whipped out her own forms, especially with the police already deeming her a busybody. No, what she needed to do was play very, very nice so that they could find nothing in her behavior to censure this time around. As Malloy spoke, she slipped her feet out of her shoes that were becoming unbearable. Maybe the stress was making her feet swell.

After Malloy finished his instructions, she borrowed his pen and then agonized over how to give all the details without being too wordy. It was a very difficult balance and in the end she feared she failed since she’d covered the entire lined side, as well as most of the back of the paper. She knew the police didn’t like that, but what else could she do? Leaving out details wasn’t smiled upon either. She was careful not to add her “suppositions” and stuck to the facts. When she finished, she slipped her feet back into her pinchy heels, stood up, smoothed her skirt, and headed toward Malloy, who was in a discussion with another officer, both of them facing away from Sadie.

“That’s what she said. She was supposed to meet with that Ogreski guy after the event,” the other officer was saying.

Sadie stopped about three feet behind the two men. It would only take one of them turning his head to see her. She thought small, invisible thoughts in hopes they wouldn’t notice her.

Malloy shook his head. “That’s all we need—a reporter with an automatic in. It’s awfully convenient that the only person who can confirm the meeting is now bleeding all over the stage.”

Sadie scowled at the flippant comment.

The other officer snorted. “No kidding,” he said with a nod as he crossed his arms. “But she did come up from Denver. She couldn’t have made it here so soon if she hadn’t already been on her way.”

Sadie lifted her eyebrows.
Denver?
She immediately recalled the 303 area code from the unknown caller on her cell phone.

The officer continued. “Then we’d better get ready for an onslaught.
Ms.
Jane won’t be the last reporter looking for some meat to hook her claws into.”

Ms. Jane!

That
was who’d left the message! Sadie was relieved to have assigned the voice to an actual person, but she had to wonder why Jane would be calling her in the first place.

Jane Seeley, best known as Ms. Jane due to an advice column she wrote for the
Denver Post,
had contacted Sadie last October for help in fleshing out her articles about Anne’s murder and the subsequent trial. It had been the first story the paper had given Jane outside of the advice column and she turned out to be a very thorough reporter. On the phone she came across as nice, but a little intense. Sadie wondered what she’d be like in person. What questions did she have for Sadie now? And how did she get Sadie’s cell number? Sadie didn’t think she’d given it to Jane when they’d spoken before. And Jane was supposed to meet with Mr. Ogreski tonight?

Malloy spoke again, recapturing Sadie’s attention. “Piranhas, the whole lot of ’em,” he muttered, turning his head to look at the other officer. When he saw Sadie standing behind him, he clamped his mouth shut, which prompted her to take a quick step forward in hopes that it would look like she was just now approaching.

“I finished my statement,” Sadie said, smiling in a reassuring manner and using her sweet-and-innocent tone of voice. No busybodies here, no sirree! She held out the paper and pen to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” Malloy said, but he was looking at her suspiciously. Then again, he looked at her suspiciously most of the time. “You’re free to leave.”

“Okay,” she replied brightly, nodding a friendly hello to the officer standing at Malloy’s left. “Good luck.”

After pushing through the doors of the ballroom, she scanned the hotel lobby where clusters of people were still scattered about, some people were talking to the police while others were filling out statements. She wanted to call Jane back, but her phone was still in the car. Malloy and the other officer made it sound as though Jane were already here. Outside?

Sadie’s stomach churned with the desire to go out front and try to find Jane, but the commitments she’d made quickly squashed that idea. Gayle needed to get out of here, Shawn was waiting, and Sadie had been told more than once to go home. Oh, how it burned! But there wasn’t anything she could do—or should do—about it. People she loved needed her and that trumped her curiosity over Jane Seeley.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie saw Marline Hansen making her way through the crowd. The woman was wonderful, but she could talk the ear off a rabbit. If Sadie stayed in the lobby, she’d soon be inundated with friends again. She wasn’t up to it. Pretending she didn’t see Marline, and promising herself she’d take over a plate of Turtle cookies—Marline’s favorites—to make up for her rudeness, Sadie turned toward the kitchen and increased her steps.