There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) (2 page)

I looked across the table at Darlene. “Anything you want to add?”

A crease between her dark brows deepened. “That woman did this. I have no doubt. Marty might have had his faults, but he was a kind and loving father, and deserved a helluva lot better than what he got last night.”

Or it was just his very bad luck to have a massive coronary on his birthday.

I pushed back my chair. “I think I have everything I need for now. If you think of anything else you’d like to add to your statement, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

Darlene frowned up at me, her arms folded across her ample chest. “What happens next?”

I planned to interview the other witnesses, type up a report for Frankie, and then wait up to two months for the crime lab’s toxicology results to come back. Since I figured both these women wouldn’t be happy with any response that didn’t include a mention of Victoria McCutcheon’s imminent arrest, I decided that it was in my best interest to end this conversation on a vague note.

“I’ll get the statement of everyone who was at dinner last night and then…”
Don’t make it sound like this is an official investigation.
“…I’ll turn over that information to the Coroner.”

Perfect. Short and sweet with no promise of anything I couldn’t deliver.

Still frowning, Darlene blinked. “Will she keep us informed of any developments during the investigation?”

I couldn’t leave letting her think she’d be hearing from Frankie sometime next week. “These things can take some time.”

“When do you think we’ll hear something?”

In six to eight weeks.
“I can’t speak for the Coroner, so I really don’t know.”

Darlene heaved a sigh.

In the silence that followed I stepped toward the door. “Thank you again for your time.” I met Nicole’s gaze. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

I was three feet from making my getaway when Darlene called out my name.

Turning, I planted a pleasant smile on my face.

“I have your grandmother’s yarn order ready so we might as well save her a trip,” she said as she led me down the stairs. “It’s in the yurt.”

“The what?”

“My fiber store.”

I followed Darlene to the round tent looming like a giant marshmallow on the north side of the house. Opening the flap she disappeared. “Where the heck did I put it? Sorry, give me a minute.”

Catching a whiff of something floral, I followed my nose to the back of the yurt and saw purple clematis and iris dwarfing a plant that had only a couple of purplish-blue blooms. At least it fit into the purple theme Darlene had going.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, coming into view with two small plastic sacks.

“I was just admiring your flowers.”

“They seem to do well back here. Must be all the light that the yurt reflects.” She patted it like a proud mother. “Marty made fun of me when I first bought it, but it comes in very handy.”

Whatever.

Darlene handed me one of the sacks. “Five skeins along with the invoice. Tell your granny she can write me a check or pay me in a couple of weeks, when I get my next shipment from the mill.” She dangled the other plastic bag in front of me. “And if you wouldn’t mind dropping this one off, this is for Estelle Makepeace. The woman has to be at least eighty-five—one of my best customers, but the last time she was out here she backed into my fence. I don’t need the aggravation, especially this week, and I doubt I’m going to be getting to town anytime soon.”

I didn’t need to add yarn delivery girl to my job description, but since Mrs. Makepeace, one of Gram’s mahjong buddies, lived a couple blocks from the courthouse, I couldn’t say no without coming off like a bitch.

“I’d be happy to.” I took a step toward my car, the bags swinging from my hand. “Again, if you think of anything else you’d like to add to your statement, be sure to let me know.”

“I do have one thing, but it’s more of a question.”

Based on the intensity of her stare I had the distinct feeling that I wasn’t going to like hearing it. “Okay.”

“You haven’t said anything about Marty having an autopsy.”

No, and I didn’t intend to. “I believe the Coroner has all the physical evidence she needs to proceed with…”
Don’t refer to this as an investigation.

Darlene stepped closer. “The investigation?”

Crap!
“I wouldn’t call this—”

“That’s what it is, right?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as they searched mine.

“In a very preliminary way.” I swallowed the curse I wanted to utter because no matter how I guarded my words, I was still making it sound like Marty McCutcheon had been murdered instead of being a casualty of the heart ailment that would eventually be recorded as his cause of death.

Darlene blew out a deep breath. “Well, at least she’s launched an investigation. You’ll keep me posted?”

I nodded.

Crap. Crap. Crap!

After a bumpy thirteen-minute drive on the county road to Clatska, I headed north on Gibson Lake Drive and took the first right. Halfway down the narrow lane bordered by fir trees, I came to a clearing where Marty McCutcheon and his wife, Victoria, had been living in a well-maintained two-story home in the center of a wooded acre.

Lace curtains fluttered at the bay window as I climbed the steps to the front porch. The door swung open before I had the opportunity to knock.

I smiled at one of the most beautiful faces I’d ever seen. With her creamy complexion, delicate nose, high cheekbones, and gleaming, shoulder-length raven hair, Victoria McCutcheon reminded me of the porcelain Chinese doll my mother had brought back with her after filming a movie in Hong Kong. Only the dark almond eyes of the woman in front of me detracted from her physical attributes. Not just because they were smudged with what I guessed was yesterday’s mascara, but because they looked like that doll’s eyes—lifeless.

Since this long-legged, exotic beauty looked even younger than the woman I had expected to see, I thought I’d better make sure I was speaking with the right person. “Mrs. McCutcheon?”

She nodded. “Yes?”

“I’m Charmaine Digby from the County Coroner’s office. I’m sorry to intrude at a difficult time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened last night.”

“Of course.” She stepped back to let me in. “I just made some tea. Would you like some?”

I wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but since I’d given away my coffee at Darlene’s house, my caffeine addiction was in no mood to be denied. “That would be great.”

I followed her into a spacious kitchen with walls painted in a warm winter wheat, stainless steel appliances, and a terracotta floor, all bathed in sunlight streaming in from an arched window that stretched the length of the room.

Victoria waved a slender hand at the round white table in front of a set of French doors that afforded an excellent view of the manicured back yard. “Please, have a seat.”

A minute later she joined me with two steaming mugs. “Do you take anything in your tea?”

Thinking about what Nicole and Darlene had told me about Victoria’s
special
blend, I knew what I didn’t want in my tea.

I held the mug she’d offered under my nose and sniffed it. Other than steam nothing registered. “What kind of tea is it?”

“A green tea. Sorry, I don’t remember which one. I know I bought it at the Chinese herbal store in Port Townsend.”

Good enough for me. I took a sip. “It’s fine just as it is. Thank you.”

She sat ramrod straight, staring across the table at me. “You said you had questions.”

I pulled out my notebook. “Yes, I understand you had a small birthday party here for your husband last night.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch at what should have been a painful memory. “Yes.”

From what little I’d gleaned in mystery novels, black widows typically poisoned their victims, and a dinner party with some spicy food might provide the perfect opportunity to eliminate a rich husband.

“Who prepared the food?” If she really were the black widow type that Darlene and Nicole tried to make her out to be, Victoria would probably want to cast some suspicion on as many people as possible.

“I did.”

So much for casting a wide net of suspicion. “All of it?”

The corner of Victoria’s mouth tugged into a hint of a smile. “Every bit of it.”

I didn’t know what to make of the smile. It seemed incongruous with her otherwise solemn demeanor, but I didn’t get the sense that she was telling me anything that wasn’t true. “Can you describe everything that you think your husband ingested?”

She listed the casserole and green chili salsa that Nicole had mentioned along with chips and dip, and jalapeno poppers. She also confirmed that Marty had poured himself a scotch.

“Any other liquid? Coffee? Tea?” I asked, watching carefully for a reaction.

I saw no emotional response.

“He only drank tea in the morning,” she calmly stated.

“What kind of tea? Green tea like this?”

“No. A special therapeutic tea to ease his joint pain.”

“Was this also from the Chinese herbal store?”

“Actually, my father practices herbal medicine in Santa Barbara and prescribed this treatment for Marty’s arthritis.”

“Anything in it that might be considered dangerous?” Or lethal?

Her brow crinkled, but her gaze was unwavering. “I think I understand what you’re asking. I wasn’t trying to slowly kill him contrary to what he used to say. He just didn’t like the taste of it.”

That statement led me to believe that either Victoria McCutcheon was one of the most skillful liars I’d ever met or Nicole’s suspicions about this tea were totally without merit.

I wrote
tea?
in my notebook. “Did your husband consume anything that you didn’t see anyone else eat or drink?”

“Other than the scotch that someone might have helped themselves to while I was in the kitchen, maybe the salsa. Marty poured that over the enchilada casserole. Don’t know what that said about my cooking other than the fact that my husband liked a lot of spice in his life.”

I assumed that included her since she was twenty years his junior.

She reached for her tea. “He was in the middle of eating it when he said he didn’t feel well.”

“Then what happened?”

“He rushed to the bathroom and became violently ill.”

“Did anyone suggest calling for an ambulance?”

“No, because I told Marty I was going to take him to the hospital, but he refused to get into the car. Said it would pass.” She shook her head. “It was his stubborn male pride talking, and I was a fool to listen for as long as I did. When I saw how much worse he was getting I called nine-one-one, but it took almost an hour to get him to the hospital. Minutes later his heart stopped, and he was gone.”

She didn’t seem too broken up about it, but everything she’d said rang true. “That must have been a tremendous shock.”

She blinked as if she were processing my words. “It still is.”

“Had your husband mentioned anything about not feeling well prior to sitting down for dinner?”

“No, he seemed fine. I think he ate something that made him sick. Possibly the salsa.”

“Do you still have the bottle?” Not that I knew exactly what Frankie might do with it, but on the offhand chance that some toxin actually showed up in Marty McCutcheon’s blood and urine, I’d be stupid not to take it as evidence.

“Of course.”

“What about the enchilada casserole?”

Victoria McCutcheon set down her mug with a steady hand. “I have everything just as it was when we left for the hospital last night.”

Because she couldn’t bear to deal with it just yet? Doubtful. So far she’d impressed me as someone who had no difficulty compartmentalizing her emotions. “Could I take a look?”

With a nod she rose from her chair. Grabbing my cell phone, I followed her into the dining room where, if I hadn’t known better, it appeared that a dinner for six had just been interrupted.

She placed her hand on the back of the chair facing the window. “Marty sat here.”

From the unappetizing greenish-yellow mound on his plate, it looked like he had been working on the salsa-covered casserole when he started feeling discomfort, supporting what both Nicole and Victoria had told me.

Using my cell phone camera I took a close-up of Marty’s plate and then stepped toward the doorway behind me to get a longer view of the entire table. “Where did you sit?”

“In front of you, to Marty’s right. Across from me, Marty’s daughter, Nicole, and her husband. At the end of the table, Marty’s son, Jeremy. Then Cameron sat next to me.”

All I knew about Cameron was what I had read in Frankie’s notes—that he worked at Marty’s store. Seemed a little unusual that he’d been invited to the birthday party since everyone else was family.

“Who’s Cameron?” I asked.

“Marty’s son from a relationship he had when he was still married to Darlene.”

Another son? I met Victoria’s gaze. “I spoke with Nicole earlier. She gave me the impression that she only had the one brother.”

“She doesn’t know. Marty only found out two weeks ago and had been waiting for the right time to tell her about her half-brother.” Victoria took in a shaky breath, the first chink I had seen in the emotional armor she’d been wearing since I’d arrived. “Jeremy, too.”

Wow. Keeping that kind of secret from his family had to have been a weighty burden to carry around. It made me wonder if it had added to his stress level last night. “Did Marty seem nervous, or did he say anything about breaking the news during dinner?”

“No, he wanted to talk to his kids privately—tomorrow or the next day, so last night seemed like any other dinner party we’d had here.”

“Even with Cameron here? That didn’t seem odd to Nicole or Jeremy?”

Victoria shook her head. “Everyone who worked at the store was invited.”

And yet only Cameron—the son Marty hadn’t known existed until two weeks ago—had taken his father up on the invitation. Something about this dinner party didn’t pass my sniff test.

“It’s a tight-knit group of three employees besides Jeremy. Cameron was just the only one who said yes,” she explained as if anticipating my next question. “Phyllis wouldn’t come to our wedding either, so I’m not surprised she declined the invitation.”

Phyllis was the former girlfriend who had given Marty the salsa. I wasn’t surprised to hear that she didn’t want to sit ringside and bear witness to Marty’s wonderful life with Victoria. At least what had appeared to have been a wonderful life.

A tiny frown line etched its way between Victoria’s perfectly arched brows a second before she broke eye contact. “And I can’t tell you why Bob didn’t come,” she said with a lip press that suggested that she couldn’t tell me because she didn’t want to.

“Bob?”

“Bob Hallahan, the assistant manager at the store and one of Marty’s best friends.”

I knew Bob a little from having waited on him a few times at Duke’s.

“He gave Marty the bottle of scotch when they went out for lunch yesterday. It’s…” She hesitated, seemingly censoring herself. “…not typical for Bob to turn down an invitation to dinner.”

It would be if something were to happen that he didn’t want to see.

Criminy!
Darlene and Nicole’s claims that Marty McCutcheon was poisoned were rubbing off on me.

I needed to rein in my imagination and focus on doing the task at hand: getting statements from everyone who attended the birthday party, which meant retrieving my notebook to capture the information Victoria had just provided. “I’ll be right back,” I said on my way to the kitchen table, chiding myself for acting like a rookie.

Death investigations weren’t an everyday occurrence in rural Chimacam County. I’d only participated in one, and today was just my third time to venture out of the courthouse on official coroner business. Still, I needed to get it together and not wear my inexperience on my sleeve.

Seconds later, I met Victoria mid-stride in the center of her kitchen.

She offered me a box of plastic wrap. “Would you like to wrap this around Marty’s plate so that you can take it with you?”

Clearly she wanted me to. Again, not what I’d expect to hear from Darlene’s black widow.

I’d seen and heard nothing to give any credence to the former Mrs. McCutcheon’s accusations, but Victoria’s action struck me as being a little too helpful—as if she’d known that someone from my office would stop by today and she had mentally prepared herself for that knock on her door.

Tucking my notebook under my arm I took the box of plastic wrap from her. “Yes, thanks. Out of curiosity, did anyone from the coroner’s office call you this morning?”

“No. You’re the only person I’ve talked to today. Well, aside from Jeremy. He called to make sure I was okay.” She drew in a deep breath. “And to let me know that his mother might make some trouble. I assume you’ve already talked to her?”

I nodded. “She has some concerns.” To put it mildly.

Victoria McCutcheon met my gaze, her dark eyes hard like flint. “So do I. That’s why I called the Sheriff the moment I got home last night.”

That tidbit of information wasn’t in the file Frankie had given me.

“A deputy arrived about an hour later. He took my statement much like you did, snapped a few pictures, and then very politely reminded me that they did everything that they could at the ER, but until the sheriff’s department is told otherwise, my husband died because he had a bad heart.”

Despite the fact that I was willing to take some bottles and leftovers back to the office with me, I knew that I was accomplishing little more than that sheriff’s deputy.

“So please, take whatever you need and find out what killed my husband,” Victoria said with an icy intensity that made my skin prickle with gooseflesh.

∗ ∗ ∗