Murder in the Milk Case (8 page)

“I was going to suggest that perhaps we need to have another talk.”

My heart pounded. “Why?”

“Just to see if you remember anything else.” He shifted. The gold circle–enclosed star glittered on his belt in the early morning sun, then I noticed a serious-looking black gun nestled in a brown leather holster at his side.

I glanced up and met his gaze. “Do I have to?”

He leaned his upper arm on the hood of my SUV and stared down at me. “Might be a good thing.”

I felt claustrophobic with him hovering over me like that. “Well—”

“How about this afternoon? Say around two?”

“I have to find someone to watch Sammie.” I mentally went through a list in my head. Then I looked up at him. “If I come in to talk to you, will you do me a favor?”

He straightened and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t work like that.”

“Please. It’s nothing bad.” I glanced at the store where Gail had her face pressed against the glass. Her mouth was moving rapidly. I could only imagine what she was saying. “Could you tell my mother that you and I aren’t working together? Maybe she’ll believe you.”

He glanced from me to the store and back to me. Then he laughed. “I come here almost every morning, and I have for years. I know your mother well enough to say with confidence that no one can deter her from anything she thinks.”

There we had it from a police detective—what I’d known my whole life.

After watching the three aforementioned women watch Detective Scott and Corporal Fletcher enter the store, I slumped in my seat. Another interview. And I hadn’t had time to find out what I needed to know. If I could just come up with an idea before I met with the detective, then maybe I could distract him. What had Gail said? Something about the murder scene? Now that my stomach had gone back to normal, I could picture everything in my mind without throwing up. What was it that bugged me? There was Jim Bob on a cart and a nasty-looking knife in his chest and. . .no blood. That’s what was wrong. How could Jim Bob have been stabbed to death without blood going all over? Perhaps I missed it all. A trick of my mind to protect me. Still, I wasn’t sure, and that bothered me.

George and I were sitting in my office after the meeting, eating doughnuts while Max ran a few errands. Years ago, when I worked for George as his office manager, we got doughnuts once a week and sat together just like this. In fact, it was over doughnuts that he’d first introduced me to Max, who had been inquiring about George’s contracting business.

I swallowed a bite of my bear claw. “Did you know Jim Bob Jenkins?”

He frowned and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Enough to know he was a. . . Well, I don’t want to use that kind of language in front of you, Trish.”

“Can’t you tell me without cussing?” I took another bite.

He shook his head. “Not sure I can, and I hate to speak ill of the dead.”

“No one else hesitates,” I said through crumbs on my lips.

He smiled. “I’m sure they don’t. He didn’t exactly inspire good feelings in folks.”

I waited.

George eyed me. “You got a reason for asking?”

“Curiosity. I found the body.”

“Yes, well, that was too bad. No woman should see something like that. Max is worried about you. Says the whole thing might have given you an ulcer.”

“Max worries too much.” I sniffed and wiped my fingers.

George grinned at me. “For good reason, besides which he’s nuts over you. Was from the first time he saw you.”

I grinned back, happy with the thought that Max was nuts for me. Then I remembered that maybe the only reason I had Max was because my brother killed Lindsey. Maybe.

George misinterpreted my change of expression. “Okay, I’ll tell you. You don’t need to get upset.” The chair squeaked under his weight as he crossed his legs. “Jim Bob was always trying to find people’s weak spots. He’d make like he was so nice. Then idiots would confide stuff, or somebody would tell him something about somebody else, and he’d use it to get things from them. He tried it with me. I told him to. . .er, stop it.”

That sounded suspiciously like what Jim Bob had done to me. “You mean blackmail?”

“You could call it that,” George said.

“Doesn’t sound like he was a nice guy at all.” I frowned at him. “If he was blackmailing people, why didn’t someone tell the police?”

George shook his head. “Lack of proof, for one thing. And the other reason was that people probably didn’t want their dirty little secrets to get out.”

I stared at the napkin in my lap. Dirty little secrets. That added a real dimension to motivation for Jim Bob’s death. Apparently I was only one of many who had motivation to kill him. I wondered if Steffie knew about her husband’s activities. I looked up at George. “What do you think of Stefanie?”

“Her?” His guttural tone made the pronoun sound like a bad word. “All’s I can say is they deserved each other.”

“So you don’t think she’s attractive?” I couldn’t help it. I had to know.

He snorted. “Please, Trish. I’m too old to have my head turned by a pretty face. Yeah, she’s got some obvious, er, attributes, but there’s different kinds of pretty, and the best kind goes more than skin deep. You got what’ll last. You’re not only fine-looking, you’re a nice, interesting young woman.”

Max sauntered into the office with his arms behind his back. “Are you flirting with my wife, George?”

He laughed. “I’m too old, buddy. Couldn’t keep up with her if I had to. That kind of spunk needs someone who can handle it. Like you.”

I blushed.

Max regarded me with a smoky glance that made my blood warm. Then he took his hands from behind his back. He held a bouquet of flowers. Roses.

“For you, baby,” he said, and smiled. “Having George around is bringing back lots of good memories.”

George grinned. “See? He’s nuts about you.”

I stood and took the flowers from Max, blinking back tears. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. “George is right.”

“Thank you, honey.” I buried my face in the blooms so he wouldn’t see just how upset I was. I didn’t deserve flowers. Not at all.

Max slipped into a chair, stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Honey, you remember that self-storage convention in Chicago?”

I nodded, glad for the change of topic. After I put the flowers on my desk, I took a deep breath and sat down. The family had gone to the conference a few years ago when Max and his dad first started planning their self-storage empire.

“It’s coming up in couple of days,” he said. I nodded again.

He watched me. “Getting the kids taken care of, like their car pools and things, is hard with short notice.”

“That’s true,” I murmured. Still, the thought of time away from here was wonderful. We’d have time alone together. We could really talk, and then, far away from the familiar, I could tell Max everything. I began making a mental list of phone calls I would make if we went.

“You should go,” George said. “You gotta get things settled. With plans in the works for the new facility, you gotta get some good programs. Nothin’ chases the renters away like not being able to get into their units or keeping their stuff in a facility that isn’t secured.”

Our gate program still wasn’t working right, and we had to leave the gate open round the clock—something that we had to take care of soon.

I glanced at my watch. Time had gotten away from me. I jumped to my feet. “I have to go. I have to find someone to watch Sammie. I, ah, have to go see Detective Scott this afternoon.”

“Again?” Max frowned. “This is the third time. Why?”

I shrugged. “He has a few more questions. It’s just standard procedure.”

“I wouldn’t think so. . .unless you’re a suspect.” He frowned. “Are you? Eric didn’t say anything last night, but you were at the store, and you did find the body.” He paused. “Honey, is there something you’re not telling me?”

I tried not to choke.

George cleared his throat and stood. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Max was distracted for a moment, saying good-bye to George. That meant I had just a second’s reprieve. My husband might be dense to certain subtleties of mood, but once he latched onto something, his mind was like lightning—and he didn’t let go until he had answers. I needed to figure things out quickly. Perhaps Max would pick up Sammie, and I’d have time for a quick visit to Abbie’s.

I turned to my desk and picked up my flowers as the guys said their good-byes. Maybe I could distract him.

“Trish?”

I stuck my nose in the flowers. “Where did you get these? They’re lovely.”

“Glad you like them.” I felt his eyes boring into the back of my head.

I reached for my purse. “Would you pick up Sammie for me, honey? I might like to visit Abbie before I go to the sheriff’s office.”

“No problem,” he said softly.

I made sure my phone was in my purse. “I’ll pick up something from the deli for dinner, okay? How about subs? And a movie? We can watch a movie tonight.”

He cleared his throat.

I slowly turned around. Max had his arms crossed.

“I should go now,” I said.

“I think you should tell me what’s going on first.” The only part of him that moved was his mouth. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and he looked a bit like a panther ready to pounce. I rarely saw Max’s aggressive side. A hard-nosed businessman who had learned at the feet of his harder-nosed father. I didn’t like it.

I clasped the handle of my purse until my knuckles turned white. “Detective Scott says that by talking to me over and over again, things I’ve seen but don’t remember might come back to me.” As much as the detective had annoyed me, I couldn’t believe I was defending him.

Max studied me very much like the cops had. Then he took a deep breath and glanced at his watch. “Something’s not right here, but I need to go pick up Sammie. This is the last time I’ll allow you to go to the sheriff’s office without a lawyer. I want you to tell Eric that, okay?”

Great. All I needed was a lawyer friend of the Cunninghams picking my brain. He’d be like all of Max’s family—Harvard educated and smart as a whip. That would be worse than talking to Detective Scott. And despite lawyer/client privilege, I’d wonder what the lawyer was telling the family.

“Okay.” I didn’t meet Max’s eyes, just studied his very firm chin. He had a nice chin, with a tiny little cleft right in the middle.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” he asked.

My gaze snapped up to his. “Like did I murder him? Is that what you mean?”

He closed his eyes for a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then he crossed the room in three steps and pulled me into his arms. “No, honey. I know you didn’t kill him. I just love you so much. The thought of something happening to you makes me crazy. I’m sorry.”

Well, I’d succeeded in distracting him, but now I felt worse. With his words, he heaped red coals of shame upon my head. How much more could I take? I had to find my answers and fast.

Chapter Nine

With my arms full of yearbooks, a bag from the drugstore, and my purse, I brushed past a surprised Abbie at her front door. I was out of breath from running up the stairs. She lived above an antique shop in the middle of town, and I didn’t know how she could stand walking up and down those stairs everyday.

I dumped everything on her taupe leather sofa, whirled around, and faced her. “I have another interview with Detective Scott today.” I glanced at my watch. “In exactly ninety minutes. I need you to help me prepare. I hope you have some time. If you’d answer your phone or get a cell phone, I’d be able to get in touch with you.”

She shut her front door and faced me. “I was in the shower, so I didn’t hear the answering machine. And I hate cell phones.”

“I brought bribes.” I pointed at the stuff I’d dropped. “I also brought a notebook to make notes in. And I have all of Russ’s yearbooks. I need to make a list of things to distract the police so I have more time to check into Russ’s past and see who was blabbing to Jim Bob.”

“Have you talked to Max yet?” she asked.

“No.” I met her gaze. “I tried. Then Karen walked in and started talking about her mother. I couldn’t do it after that.”

She studied my face a moment more, then she glided to the couch and fished through the plastic bag, pulling out two plain stenographer’s pads and six Cadbury eggs. She grinned and bounced an egg on her palm. “My very favorite. You’re serious about bribery, I see. Are they all for me?”

I nodded.

She waved a pad in the air. “Couldn’t you have gotten notebooks that were a little more decorative?”

I took it from her. “This is serious business. I didn’t want to show up at Detective Scott’s office with something that had pink and purple fairies on the cover.”

She continued to bounce the egg in her hand. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ll help you if you promise to talk to Max within the next week.”

“I want to. I’m trying.” I crossed my arms. “Why are you so insistent about this?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you guys. Remember my short marriage? My ex was keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, but his secret was two women on the side. He betrayed you.”

“Don’t you think Max will feel betrayed by something like this?”

I raked my fingers through my hair. “Yes. Yes, he will. I know that. That’s what makes this hard. But if Russ is guilty, then my stepkids are going to hate me. And. . .I don’t know how Max will feel. I mean. . .” My throat closed up, and tears filled my eyes.

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry.” Abbie hugged me. “I don’t think you’re giving everyone enough credit, but I don’t know for sure.”

I sniffled into her shoulder for a minute until I got hold of myself.

“Let’s get to work.” She motioned to the dining room table. “I can try to help you, but I have my doubts that you’ll be able to distract Eric.”

Once again, I sensed the edge in her voice when she mentioned his name. Abbie’s ex-husband had been a police officer. As we sat down, a thought occurred to me. I glanced at her. “Is the reason you don’t like Detective Scott because he reminds you of your ex-husband?”

Abbie raised her chin, and her eyes like flint. “Eric went to the academy with him. They were friends. He has a lot of nerve judging me when he and his wife split up, too.” She huffed. “I don’t want to discuss it, okay?”

“Okay.” That was answer enough, and I knew better than to ask anything else. She’d tell me in her own good time.

I opened a notebook and pulled a pen from my purse. “I think Jim Bob was a blackmailer. He was trying to blackmail me. And he tried to pull something on George.”

“Well, most everyone agrees he wasn’t a nice guy.” The corner of Abbie’s mouth twitched. “Which could explain why Stefanie did what she did.”

I eyed Abbie. “What did she do?”

“Well, at the hairdresser yesterday, I heard whispers about her and Daryl.”

I remembered Shirl’s comment about sneaky men. “You’re not saying that Daryl and Stefanie. . .”

Abbie raised an eyebrow. “The Bible calls it adultery.”

“That’s hard to believe.” I shuddered. “I mean, we’re talking about Daryl.”

She shrugged. “If you didn’t know him like you do, you’d think he was quite good-looking.”

The Dweeb? Good-looking? I couldn’t get past the gross little boy I’d known in grade school.

“Right there are some mighty good motivations.” Abbie crossed her legs. “You’ve got lust and anger and greed.”

“I get the lust and anger part, but greed?”

“Sure. Maybe Stefanie thought Daryl could get a piece of his wife’s fortune.”

If I’d been a cartoon character, there would be a lightbulb over my head. “Of course. She was looking for her next well-to-do guy. Or at least one with the potential.” There weren’t many in our area, really. Daryl, Max, although his family didn’t have as much as Daryl’s wife’s. . .oh. . .Max. I clenched my fists. “She’s been flirting with Max, trying to get into Jim Bob’s storage unit. Do you suppose she wants more than that?”

“From what I’ve heard, I’d say that if Max succumbed she’d jump in with both feet.”

I couldn’t speak.

Abbie looked at me with a tiny grin. “Trish, close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

I snapped my jaw shut and said nothing. Though some of my suspicions about Steffie were vindicated, Abbie’s words triggered my latent insecurity. I, Trish Cunningham, redneck and the daughter of a struggling farmer, had married Maxwell Cunningham the Third, third child and only son of a wealthy family. No one could have predicted such a match. He was way out of my league. Something his mother had hinted at on more than one occasion, making it difficult for me to forget. Now, if my brother had been responsible for Max’s first wife’s death. . .well, I would never live that down.

I forced my mind from the Cunninghams and back to the problem at hand. “Okay, so Daryl and the not-so-grieving widow could have been in cahoots. I know she wasn’t at the store that morning—at least not as far as I know—but Daryl was. And Gail says that Daryl was at the doctor’s that afternoon. He needed stitches.”

Abbie nodded. “Make a note of that. And what about Frank?”

“You heard about the embezzling?” I asked.

“Yes, but he hasn’t been charged yet.”

“He’s still a tattletale like he was in school. He told Detective Scott about me and Jim Bob. I also wonder if he’s the one who said something to Jim Bob about Russ.”

She scooted next to me. “Let’s check out Russ’s friends.”

We opened the yearbook for his senior year. The front flap had a dedication to Daryl’s little brother Tim, who had drowned the summer before.

“That was so sad,” I said. “Russ and Tim were good friends, you know. Tim was a bad influence. He always got away with stuff because his folks and Daryl doted on him.”

She glanced at me. “Then put his name on your list.”

I did. Then feeling a little like a voyeur, I glanced at all the inscriptions that Russ’s friends had written. I tapped a finger on one. “I had forgotten this. Russ dated Peggy Nichols.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He broke her heart.”

“We’ll ask her some questions on Saturday, then.” Abbie flipped through more pages. “I had forgotten that Lee Ann’s husband, Norm, hung out with Russ.”

“Me, too.”

Abbie glanced at her watch. “You need to go. Cops don’t like to be kept waiting.” She grinned ever so slightly. “However, they do like to keep you waiting. Be prepared to sit in the lobby. It’s a tactic to keep you off guard.”

Abbie’s warning served me well. I arrived fifteen minutes early. Fifteen minutes after my scheduled appointment, Corporal Fletcher walked through the door into the lobby.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. C.”

I narrowed my eyes. How many people called me Mrs. C.? Shirley? The people who worked for me and Max?

“Come on in.” He held open the door to the inner sanctum of the sheriff’s office as though inviting me into his home. “You want something to drink? A Coke? Some water?”

“No, thank you, Corporal Fletcher,” I said through stiff lips.

He had the nerve to smile at me as he directed me toward some stairs and motioned for me to go up ahead of him. “Detective Scott is waiting for you.”

“Is he now?” My irritation level rivaled my nervousness.

The corporal said nothing else, just directed me to the same interview room where I’d been questioned before. Detective Scott was already there and stood as I entered. I noticed several files on the table, as well as a notepad and a pen.

“Hello, Mrs. Cunningham. Please have a seat. Did Corporal Fletcher offer you something to drink?”

“Yes. I don’t want anything, thank you.”

He nodded at the corporal, who shut the door, leaving me alone with the detective. He motioned for me to sit in a chair.

As he sat opposite me, I pulled my notebook from my bag. “I have some thoughts for you.” I flipped to the first page and ran my finger down my list. “I’ve been investigating.”

“What?” he demanded.

I glanced up at him, meeting his frowning gaze. “I said I’ve been investigating. I’ve gathered some information for you.”

His silence told me a lot. I’d startled him. That was good. I wanted to keep him off balance for a change.

“Well, I’ve jotted down some things that I’ve heard. Like, did you know that Jim Bob Jenkins was a blackmailer? He tried to blackmail George.” I put the steno pad on the table and tapped it with my index finger. “And Daryl Boyd was supposedly sleeping with Stefanie. She was out for money, you know. At least that’s the theory.”

Detective Scott leaned toward me. “Mrs. Cunningham, you can’t investigate this—”

I waved a hand in the air. “Call me Trish, please. And I’m only collecting information to give to you. You’re the detective.”

His lips narrowed. “This is a murder investigation.”

“Yes. I know. I’m the one who found Jim Bob, which makes me a suspect, too. I don’t want to be a suspect, so I’m collecting information.”

“No one is accusing you of anything,” he pronounced. Again.

I snorted. “This is the third time I’ve been here, Detective. Max is worried. He wants to get me a lawyer.” I picked up my pad of paper and brandished it like a fan. “As I see it, there aren’t too many people who could be the killers.” I frowned. “Except if a perfect stranger came in through the side door. Do you think that Jim Bob and Daryl left the side door open?”

I glanced at Detective Scott out of the corner of my eyes.

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on the table slowly. It sounded like a second hand on a clock. “Trish, when did you last speak to Jim Bob Jenkins?”

I dropped the notebook on the table. “Well, I talked to him at the Shopper’s Super Saver. And you know what? As far as I can tell, there are three main suspects. Besides me, of course—”

“Was that the last time you spoke to him?” Detective Scott’s voice was low and insistent.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of his pen was worse than water torture. A suspect would talk just to get him to stop doing that.

I flipped the paper in my notebook. “Well, I told you that I saw him in the parking lot at the grocery store and—”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Trish, where did you last speak to Jim Bob Jenkins?”

Abbie was right. Detective Scott was not distractible. I finally met his gaze. He knew. The fact that Corporal Fletcher called me Mrs. C. was my first clue. He’d probably done it on purpose to let me know they’d been to Four Oaks Self-Storage to investigate. We had cameras that recorded the office and grounds twenty-four hours a day. Not sound, just pictures. The police could have easily viewed those. If I lied, things would be much worse for me than they already were.

I bowed my head and felt tears prickling in my eyes. “Last Friday,” I whispered.

I heard his breath escape in a tiny sigh as though he’d been holding it, waiting for me to tell him the truth. He put the pen down. “Can you tell me about that?”

His voice was gentle, and that was worse than anything else. Tears spilled over my lower eyelids. I swiped hard at them. I hate crying. I’d rather fight.

“Do I have to?” I sniveled and fought for control.

“It would be best if you did,” he said.