Murder Actually (9 page)

“Yes, asking him to meet you.”

He shook his head. “No, I just followed him. Or I thought I'd followed him. He wasn't there.”

“You followed him up the stairs and he wasn't there?”
“He might've been there but I didn't see him. I called for him but he didn't answer, so I went back downstairs. I was only up there a few minutes.”

“What did you want to talk to him about?”
“None of your business.”

“Ware Realty?”

Alex's expression turned ugly. “Ware Realty is my concern.”

“There's a rumor that Ware Realty has been losing a lot of money.”

Alex grasped me by the arm and steered me under the refreshment tent. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

“I don't remember. Is it true?”

“Absolutely not, and it's none of your business.”

“What time did you leave the reading?”

Alex looked bored, but as he glanced down at his watch I noticed his hand was shaking. “I don't really remember, but I guess it was around a quarter to ten. Coco was helping Rose Elliott and she got some blood on my cuffs. I didn't want them stained.”

“And you went straight home?”

“No, first, I stopped and strangled Violet Ambler and then I went straight home.”

“You didn't see Nora Ware while you were doing all that?”

He took a step towards me and I took a step back. His voice was low and menacing as he continued. “Here's some friendly advice, Elspeth. Stick to romance books and stay out of detecting. You and Julia are going to get hurt.”

I watched Alex storm away and felt strangely shaken. Had I just had an encounter with a murderer? The expression on his face had been frightening. I'd decided to take a break from my investigation when Grant suddenly materialized at my side.

“What's all this about being a detective, Betts, can't make a living on love anymore?”

I regarded him coldly. “I'll have you know that Julia and I have natural talent for deduction.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Right, I'll remember that the next time I lose a sock in the dryer.”

“Good-bye, Grant.”

He opened his mouth to protest but I'd already walked away.

I had a date with some pie.

 

* * * * *

 

Judging a pie contest is harder than it sounds. There are a lot of important factors that go into adjudication: overall appearance, texture, filling, creativity and finally, the overall memorableness of the pie experience. Okay, I just made the last part up, but there's a lot going on with pie.

I have to confess, I've never been a big fan of lemon meringue.

That was then, this is now.

Number 27: I Likey-Like Lemon Meringue.

I looked it over critically and could find no fault in the fluffy mountain of perfectly browned meringue or the smooth, creamy layer of lemon underneath. The crust looked so good it was almost a shame to break it. I slid my fork down into the silky goodness and lifted it to my mouth, and as I sank my teeth in a gentle hum started low in my body and started to build.

My bosom heaved.

It was the best pie I'd ever had.

It was transcendent. It was exquisite. It was tart and tangy and bracing and sweet and sexy. It was the best thing I'd had in my mouth since Sergeant Jack kissed me.

I impatiently got through the rest of the pies and then returned for a second taste. It was as good as I remembered, and I let myself give one intense shudder of delight.

Oh, Number 27, how I've longed for a pie like you.

I slowly finished filling out my scorecards as I polished off the second piece. The moderator took my cards and went to the table to choose the top three pies. There was a moment of tense silence and then cheers erupted as the crowd saw the winners

Mayor Applebaum stepped forward and cleared his throat importantly.

“In third place, number 12, Chocolate Silk Dream pie, submitted by Dolly Norton.”

We all applauded politely as Dolly got her ribbon and stood next to her pie.

“In second place, number 44, Grandma Verna's Dutch Apple pie, submitted by Jessica Chesling.”

Jessica looked disgruntled and I couldn't blame her. She'd been runner-up two years in a row. She grumpily took her place on the dais as Mayor Applebaum continued.

“And in first place, the winner of the All Hallows Annual Pie Contest is Number 27, I Likey-Like Lemon Meringue pie, submitted by Coco Ware.”

I was surprised. The cool and crisp Coco didn't look as though she'd ever picked up a rolling pin, let alone concocted a dessert so delicious it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I watched as she took her little trophy and held it up so Crispin Wickford could take her picture. She looked flushed and happy, and as the crowd began to disperse I went to congratulate her.

“That was the best pie I've ever eaten, Coco. Can I have your recipe to put in my next book?”

She flushed and shook her head. “I'm afraid it's a family secret.”

There were a lot of those floating around. “Speaking of family,” I said smoothly. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Were you and Jasper close?”

Something flashed across her features, but it was so fleeting it was gone before I could analyze it. Fear, maybe? Or guilt?

“He was my brother-in-law for ten years. I assume I got along with him as well as anyone else.”

Considering everything I knew about Jasper, this wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement. “You never had any problems with him?”
“Nothing of substance. We really didn't talk much.” The way she said it made me stop and look at her more closely, but her tight smile gave nothing away.

I took a gamble on a new tack. “Alex was just telling me that he and Jasper were business partners at Ware Realty.”

She nodded. “Yes, Jasper bought a controlling interest last year.”

“Controlling interest? So they weren't equal partners?”

“Not in the legal sense, but Jasper let Alex do things his way.”

“Until recently?”

“What do you mean?”

“The argument they had at the book reading. I heard Jasper tell Alex he was going to meet with him and go over the account books.”

Coco laughed but I noticed the look in her eyes didn't change; she was wary and cautious. “Jasper always said things like that. He liked to throw his weight around, but in the end Alex was running the business.” She looked down at her watch and gave a little exclamation.

“I had no idea it was getting so late! Will you excuse me, Elspeth? I'm helping with the rummage sale for St. Anne's.”

“Of course, thanks again for the pie.”

I watched as she hurried over to a table overflowing with a motley collection of Christmas ornaments, chipped plastic jewelry and picture frames.

Julia approached and gave my arm a squeeze. “What's up, Betts? You look surprisingly perturbed for someone who just got to sample thirty pies.”

I shook my head. “I'm not sure, but I think there might've been something going on between Jasper and Coco.”

“Pictures, Elspeth!”

The excited voice of Crispin Wickford cut through my thoughts and he steered me enthusiastically back into the blazing sun. “I need you back up on the dais with Mayor Applebaum.”

“Please, Crispin,” I groaned. “It's too hot for pictures and you always get me when I'm scowling. How about you answer some questions instead?”

He busied himself with his camera. “Sure, Elspeth. I heard you've been playing detective.”

“Did Jasper Ware lend you money to keep the
Gazette
afloat?”

Crispin observed me guardedly. “Careful, Elspeth,” he cautioned. “Those are the kinds of questions that can get people in trouble.”

“People? Or me?”

He ignored me and I tried a different tack. “Have you ever been to Jasper's studio?”

“Yes. I did an interview with him last year for my
Out and About
column.”

“Did you notice any work at the studio?”

Crispin snorted. “Jasper never worked. The man was a hack.”

“That's an interesting choice of words.”

Crispin hands slowed on the camera, and then he resumed his expression of mild-mannered congeniality. “I use the term in the sense that Jasper's writing was sordid, soulless drivel. What are you getting at, Elspeth? Do you think I killed Jasper? And Violet?” He laughed. “You're barking up the wrong tree. I didn't go upstairs during the book reading and I certainly never went near Jasper's place that night.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I have my suspicions.”

I saw him jerk his head towards the refreshment tent where Sabrina Elliott was standing.

I shook my head. “It can't be her, she has an alibi. She and Rose were together at the front of the store both before and after the lights went out.”

Crispin looked thoughtful. “Well then, I guess she's learned how to be in two places at once.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw her at the back door just before the lights went out.”

I stopped and stared at him. “But why would Sabrina kill Jasper? I mean, just because they hated each other wasn't reason for her to…”

My voice broke off as he laughed again.

“Hated each other, huh? As one investigator to another, you might want to check your facts. I overheard Sabrina and Jasper arguing the night of the book reading, and it was a very passionate argument. There's a lot more goes on in All Hallows then you think.”

Crispin walked away and I looked after him in surprise. What had he meant by that?

I glanced around the gardens and knew there was only one way to get more information. “Bootsie!” I called out. “Wait a minute! I have to talk to you.”

She came running up and grabbed at my arm. “Elspeth! I've just had the Best. Idea. Ever! Instead of just calling your agent, why don't you and I go to the city together? That way we can do lunch, go shopping, get makeovers, visit your agent…”

I impatiently broke off Bootsie's agenda. “Sounds great, but I have a few questions I want to ask you about the night of the book reading.”

She giggled. “I heard you and Julia had turned into sexy super-sleuths! How exciting! Can I join you? We could be just like
Charlie's Angels
; only one of us will have to dye her hair red. Can we wear disguises?”

“Bootsie! Focus. I need you to ask you about the night of the book reading.”

Bootsie's little forehead wrinkled in concentration. “It was hot. I remembered thinking I needed some fresh air.

“Did you notice Sabrina Elliott that night?”

“Yes, but I didn't speak to her. Professor Sabrina and I don't get along. She had the nerve to tell me my writing was an insult to the feminine consciousness! I wanted to tell her that her clothing was an insult to the feminine consciousness. Did you see her? She was a hot mess! First, the champagne spill, and then she had all that blood on her from Rose's cut. If she had any sense of decency she might've gone home and changed. I know if it'd been me…”

Bootsie stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. She let out a low gasp. “Elspeth! I know what you're thinking!” The proposition seemed doubtful as Bootsie continued. “You're thinking that it wasn't Rose's blood at all! You're thinking that Sabrina killed Jasper and that's why she had blood on her shirt.”

“I guess it's possible.”

“Of course! It's the perfect cover. And then later Sabrina got rid of her clothes to destroy any evidence!”

I had to admit, Bootsie's idea had literary merit if nothing else. “Do you know if there was anything going on between Sabrina and Jasper Ware?”

She giggled. “Not anymore. You should've heard Sabrina talk about him; you would've thought he was a cross between Hitler and a political candidate.”

“Did you see her talking to Jasper that night?”

“No. I didn't really see them
talking
,” Bootsie's face screwed itself into a look of fierce concentration. “But I did see something.”

“What?”

“Sabrina did something that I thought was a little strange.”

In Bootsie's world, this could mean anything.

“Yes, what was it?”

“Sabrina was walking by Jasper and she dropped a little piece of paper. Jasper picked it up and read it and then put it in his pocket. Of course, as a writer, I have a knack for details. My mom used to say,
Bootsie, you see everything
! I guess she was right. I bet Sabrina was telling Jasper to meet her upstairs so she could kill him! Don't worry, Elspeth, I'll give some of the credit to you and Julia when I tell Chief Liddell I've cracked the case.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly and opened my handbag. “Bootsie, I have a list of book titles I'd like for you to look at.”

I handed her a copy of the book titles found by Jasper's body. “Do they mean anything to you?”

She shook her head. “I've never read any of them. I could never get into Dickens, he's too wordy, and I think I might've stayed at that Hotel du Lac once, isn't it in Poughkeepsie? I read the
Case of the Mondays
. Self-help books are so interesting, aren't they? I love finding out more about myself.”

“Yeah, they're great, but these titles don't suggest anything to you?”

“No, sorry.” She shook her head and handed it back. “Maybe you should ask Sabrina.”

“Sabrina Elliott?”

“Yeah, she had that hotel book at her house. I saw it on the coffee table.”

“When?”

“Let's see, it must've been a week or so before the book reading. I was there to talk to Rose about the Bracebridge Festival and I noticed the book on the table.”