Armoires and Arsenic (10 page)

Carrie shook her head. “No, no, no. Olivia, you don’t want to go there. Ugh. Nobody talks about that.”

But Olivia insisted. “Carrie, something terrible has happened to me. Well, it’s worse for Mr. Blackman, of course, and his wife. I can’t stop thinking about what she’s going through. But it’s coming down on my head, too. Please. Tell me.”

Carrie put her hands on the table to be able to lean over and speak low. “It seems like whenever somebody new comes to Darling Valley, somebody else gets killed.”

Olivia and Tuesday looked at each other, too shocked to respond.

Carrie continued. “Everybody tries to keep it quiet. I mean nothing has ever been proved. It’s just, like. Okay, so the first one was this girl who moved to Darling Valley, actually over by what we call meth park now. By the back entrance to the yacht harbor where you yousta could live cheap. But probably not any more. The town is trying to get rid of meth park and build,” she drew air quotes around “expensive houses.” Olivia hid her impatience with information she already knew by taking a bite of her pink macaroon.

“Yeah. I knew DV was trying to stamp out the beginning of a drug trade, but what does that have to do with murders?”

Carrie settled into her tale. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but this girl came from someplace back east. Nobody knew much about her and she never came into the shops here. Probably too pricey for her. Anyway, she’d go to the clubs.” She looked at Tuesday to educate her as well.

  “We got a lot of rich kids who need to play. We have three clubs and get good bands coming through. So she’d show up and the guys would buy her drinks. She was a guy magnet, let me tell you. I couldn’t see it myself, but,” and Carrie nodded to Olivia, “ask Cody. He’ll tell you. The guys were all over her. Anyway, before long she made a connection and got a job at Mrs. Gotshalk’s as a housekeeper or something.”

That name brought Mr. Bacon to mind and while Carrie described the girl’s fate, Olivia surreptitiously opened her purse and took a peek at her phone to see if he had texted or left a voicemail. A news alert from the Marin IJ profiled the widow, calling her a competitive sailor, but nothing from the garage guy. She looked up at Carrie with a smile of recognition. “Mrs. Gotshalk! Yes, I know her. She’s been in my shop.”

Olivia remembered Cody’s story about driving to her house. “She has peacocks.”

“That’s the one. Well, after a few months a story went around that something was going on between Mr. Gotshalk and the hot housekeeper and one day there was an accident. She somehow fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Well, you can imagine, lots of talk, but the police said it was an accident and that was that.”

Olivia said, “You mean there were suspicions that Mrs. Gotshalk pushed her? Killed her?”

“She’s a customer here, Olivia. I’m not saying anything more. The police said accident, so accident it was.”

“And that’s it? I mean that’s terrible, but it hardly sounds like curse material.”

Carrie made a show of wiping the table to avoid suspicions of fraternizing with the customers. “Oh that’s not all. There were two more.”

Olivia shook her head like she hadn’t heard. “Two more murders?”

“Judge for yourself.” Carrie rearranged the friends’ silverware while she spoke. “A couple moved in to a shop down the street. Great location, fancy up your pants. They were from England and they made tailored shirts for men. Charged $1,200 a shirt. Can you imagine?”

Olivia and Tuesday looked at each other and nodded their heads. “We’re from LA, Carrie. We can imagine. So what happened?”

“Well, they were making a delivery to Mr. Gotshalk. If you don’t know him . . . ”

“Yes,” said Olivia. And to Tuesday, “My client’s husband. Not a billionaire but close.”

Carrie’s nodded. “Yeah, well, they never arrived.”

Tuesday said, “The shirts?”

Carrie said, “Not the shirts. Not the couple. Their car was found by the lake with the grass all trampled like there had been a scuffle. Nobody could find them. They had a son in college who reported them missing, so they dragged the lake and sure enough, they popped up. I mean literally. Like dead fish. Pardon me. But not even where the police were looking.”

Tuesday leaned in. “What happened to them?”

Carrie shrugged. “Nobody knows. Couldn’t find any cause of death. Maybe they had a fight and pushed each other into the lake. The son said they couldn’t swim. Maybe they made somebody mad. Who knows? But how do two people end up in a lake? It was all over the Internet. Being Darling Valley and all. Eventually it was chalked up to drug violence. They were either innocent victims or making a buy.”

Tuesday said, “Are you counting them as two deaths or is there a third?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Harmon.”

“Wait a minute,” Olivia said. “She’s not dead. She’s living in my house. I saw her yesterday.”

“No, her husband. Mr. Harmon. But Mrs. Harmon has never let anyone forget about him.”

Olivia was puzzled. “But I thought he died of a heart attack. That’s what the previous owners of my house told me.”

“The Cooks. Yeah. They were friends with him. Except he was young and healthy. Well, younger than his wife by maybe ten years. You’d see him jogging all over town. He’d go for his runs late at night after work, sometimes. He was supposed to be retired, but he was one of those men who could never stop working. Anyway, he was found in the park one night, dead. They did an autopsy but it didn’t show anything. No heart attack or stroke or anything. No marks of violence, though that would be odd because we don’t have any violent types.”

“Ask Mr. Blackman about that,” Tuesday said.

“I mean we don’t have police out on calls, you know. I happen to know the guy who picks up the trash at the funeral home and he told me that he knew someone at the coroner’s office who said they called it a heart attack because they couldn’t find a COD.” She gave a little laugh at showing off her crime show savvy. “You know, cause of death. It was a cover up. But you didn’t hear it from me. So people started talking about a curse. Somebody new comes to town, goes to work or starts a business and bingo. They end up dead. Now you, Olivia.”

Olivia quickly corrected her. “I’m still very much alive, Carrie.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Blackman isn’t. And he ended up on your doorstep, so to speak. And he hasn’t been here that long.”

A light bulb went on for Olivia. “So that’s the reason everybody in Darling Valley keeps their distance from me? They think I’ll end up dead? Or someone close to me will?”

Carrie kept looking over her shoulder and sped up her story. “Well, Mrs. Harmon lives in your house. And the Harmons were associated with the Blackmans.”

“How were they associated? Mrs. Harmon doesn’t have anything good to say about Mr. Blackman.” Olivia looked at Tuesday. “I told you what she said about him.”

Carrie got ready to leave. “Well, she wouldn’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Mr. Blackman and Mr. Harmon were in business together once. There was some funny business. You know, double dealing.”

“Oh whose part?”

“Not sure. I hear a lot in here. This is one of the most popular spots in town. You know the drill. Because I wait on them I don’t have ears. So people say anything. But mostly I just hear snatches and have to put two and two together. And my boss? She’s terrified of losing a customer and won’t hear of any gossip by the employees about the customers. And outside nobody’s talking. So I told you all I know. But I’ll tell you one thing. Your Mr. Blackman is the only death that is a clear cut murder.”

Olivia interrupted. “But he’s not MY Mr. Blackman.”

Carrie stretched her back. “Whatever. No mystery about this one. Course we don’t know how he died, but somebody stuffed him in that chest of yours, Olivia, and it wasn’t no accident, if you get my drift.”

Olivia laughed. “Yeah, I think the police have figured that out.

“That’s a surprise. I don’t think they can figure out how to put cream in their coffee without help. Talk to me when they finger his partner.”

Olivia cocked her head as though she hadn’t heard correctly. “You mean Sabrina Chase?”

“That’s the one. She’s one cold cookie. She worked here we wouldn’t need a freezer.”

“Carrie, what do you know? Tell me. I’m in trouble here.”

Carrie looked over her shoulder and then hunkered down on her knees. “It didn’t come from me, you swear?”

Olivia held up her pinkie. “Pinkie swear.”

Carrie looked at her like she was kidding. “Um, this isn’t high school. Pardon my saying.”

“Carrie, whatever. It stays between us.”

Carrie looked at Tuesday. Olivia said, “If you can tell me, you can tell Tuesday. And she’d know anyway. She’s a fortune teller.”

Carrie looked at Tuesday with new respect. “No kidding. Well, then, she should know, right? If she can read my mind and all?”

Tuesday said, “Crime isn’t my specialty.”

Carrie seemed to forget about the urgency of getting back to work. “Psychics specialize? I never heard of that.”

Tuesday adjusted her bracelets. “Everybody specializes, honey. I do the heart. Breakups, trouble with the kids, is he the right guy for you? That kind of thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you do something for me?” She gave a little dismissive        laugh to mask her interest.

Tuesday closed her eyes and held her temples. “Let’s see. I’m getting a shape. Tall. Would fill a barn door. Brownish hair. No, more sandy. No strawberry blond. Green eyes. Sound like anybody you know?”

“Yeah, but could be a few guys.”

“Let’s see if I can get a name. He’s a sweetie. Matt. No. Mark, that’s it. Mark. Umm, no, here it is. Cody. That’s it Cody. I never get last names, only initials.”

“Yeah, yeah . . . I know a Cody W.” Carrie’s eyes lit up. “You do too, Olivia. What do you see?”

Tuesday closed her eyes and sank her forehead into her hands in a pose of concentration. “Well, he’s in some kind of trouble. I don’t see his aura around you. I see somebody else. Not yet, but he’s coming.”

Carrie said, “Really? Somebody new? Boy I could use a dose of that.”

Olivia broke up the charade. “Okay, Carrie, so what about Sabrina Chase.”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me. She’s having financial troubles and she blames Mr. Blackman for it. She was in here last week with a friend blabbing about it. Wants him to buy out her share of the business because she needs the cash and he wouldn’t do it. That’s all I heard. But if I were you, I’d keep my eye on her.”

Olivia looked disbelieving. “Really?”

“You’ll see. Well, the shop is filling up. Gotta go. Can I get you girls something else? Heat up your coffee. Here let me get the pot.”

But Olivia stopped her. “We have to go, Carrie. Thanks for all this . . . information.”

Carrie hustled off, thanking Tuesday profusely. “You’ve saved my life.”

Olivia scowled at Tuesday as she drained her coffee cup. “That was mean to give Carrie all that gobbledygook about Cody. You just told her what I told you.”

Tuesday gathered up her purse and adjusted her various scarves, necklaces, belts and, this morning, pink hair extensions. “Yeah, and you don’t have be a psychic to know how it’s going to turn out with Cody or that someone else will come into her life. Eventually. Because that is what always happens. To everybody.” She said the last quite pointedly to Olivia.

Olivia put up her hand. “Don’t bring up Brooks. Puleeze.”

Tuesday sent her a longsuffering sigh. “At least Carrie’ll stop looking in the wrong drawer.”

Olivia looked at her watch and shook her head, more teasing than disapproving. “Whatever. We have some time before I have to open the shop. I’m going to stop by the police department and file a complaint about my missing netsuke.”

On the walk to the police station, Tuesday brought up Carrie’s information. “So it looks like that business partner has more at stake here than we figured. Wouldn’t you love to know what their business deal was?”

That gave Olivia an idea.

Like a bee swarm, the reporters that had buzzed off from Olivia’s house had resettled along the front of the police station. Several recognized Olivia and poked their microphones at her as she passed. When she replied no comment, they turned to Tuesday to ask about her role in the case. Olivia pulled Tuesday inside before she could say more than her name and reply that she was Miss Granville’s tasseomancer. The reporters asked her to spell that as the door closed on them.

Safely inside, Olivia scolded her friend. “Tuesday!!!!!  That’s all I need to have the word out that I have my own tea leaf reader when this town barely listens to weather predictions.”

“Listen, Miss Worry Wart, by the time they look up tasseomancer on Google, this case will be solved.”

Not convinced, Olivia dragged Tuesday across the pine floorboards to find the same officer sitting at the desk in her same ill-fitting uniform. Olivia knew it was the same uniform because the same coffee spot covered the same middle button of her shirt. This time, though, the officer was chewing gum.

“I want to file a complaint . . .” Olivia remembered her name. “Officer Ridley.”

Detective Richards must have heard her, because, before Ridley could respond, he opened door the door to his office wearing the same woodsman plaid flannel jacket and jeans he wore the day of the murder. Didn’t he have a middle ground? He was either dressed inappropriately down or inappropriately up. “Miss Blackman,” he said. “What can we do for you?”

“It’s Miss Granville. You can return my netsuke.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. Miss Granville. But I don’t understand your problem. Did you leave something here yesterday? A jet ski?”

Olivia busily hiked her purse up over her shoulder to avoid looking into his eyes. She enunciated, “NET-SKI. No, I didn’t leave anything, but I believe one of your men may have walked out of my shop with something. These little ivory trinkets. Japanese. Very valuable.” Well, she told herself, maybe not to me but to a police officer $1,500 would be a downright windfall.

Then, as if he had just noticed Tuesday, he gave her a brief handshake. “I’m detective Richards. And you are Miss. . .?”

“Tuesday,” she said.

He looked puzzled. “Miss Tuesday?”

Tuesday smiled coquettishly. “No, just Tuesday.”

“Okay. Why don’t you come into my office and explain the problem to me.”

They each found a chair in the cramped space. Olivia explained that she believed someone had stolen the small ivory charms the day before while they were busy investigating the murder.

“The shop was closed for business yesterday.” She added archly, “As you know,” as if it were Richards’ fault. “The only people who entered the shop were you, Detective Johnson and the police officers. No one else could have taken them.” She crossed her fingers under her purse. She was not going to bring Mr. Bacon into this.

Richards leaned forward on his desk and gave her a friendly scowl. “I assure you, Miss Granville. No one took your netskies or anything from your shop without giving you a signed receipt. You received one, I believe, for the chest containing the victim. I don’t recall that we took anything else.”

“You’re forgetting my Jimmy Choos. When am I going to see them again?”

“Ah, yes, your shoes. As soon as we have finished our investigation we’ll release them.”

Hmm. He said release them, not return them. Before Olivia could respond, Tuesday leaned forward, creating a cacophony of jangling jewelry and rustling skirts and shawls.

“Detective, you’re a nine. Has that been a problem for you? I should think it would be in your line of work.” She crossed her legs and planted her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist.

Richards actually reared back a bit. “I beg your pardon Miss Tuesday?”

She winked at him. “Just Tuesday. I did a quick reading of your name. A secret numerology system I learned in Tibet. You have a high curiosity quotient so I get the sleuthing bit, but you need more space. You should be traveling. It would help your chakras breathe. Just saying.”

  Olivia couldn’t help herself. “Tuesday! Can it or your chakras will need some breathing room.”

Tuesday laughed. “You’re a witness, Detective. That was a threat. If I end up in the emergency room with suffocating chakras, you know who’s responsible.” And to Olivia, “I can’t help what I see. He should get out more.”

Olivia whispered under her breath, “When were you in Tibet,” then stared at Richards, apologizing with her eyes. He smiled a little. “I think my chakras are in good shape, but thank you for your concern, Miss Tuesday.” To Olivia he said, “Suppose you tell me what I can do for you.”

Tuesday stage whispered, “It’s just Tuesday.”

Olivia acted as though she hadn’t heard her. “Well, I want to report a theft. Someone came into my shop and stole my netsuke. Three of them.”

“Well, I don’t know what netsukes
are, but that is your right. Officer Ridley outside will help you with that.”

“It’s netsuke whether it’s one or a hundred and one.”

Richards said, “Netsuke. Whatever. Just fill out the form.”

Olivia didn’t expect to be dismissed so quickly. She hemmed and hawed and finally said, “As long as I’m here, can you tell me how this case is proceeding? Do you have any leads? You certainly kept my assistant a long time. I’m sure you’re satisfied that he had nothing to do with it.”

Richards stared up at the ceiling before answering. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Olivia pressed him. “Well, has Mrs. Blackman given you any information? Surely she would know if someone had a grudge against her husband.”

“Miss Granville, I just told you . . . “

Olivia thumped her hand on the edge of his desk. “Detective Richards, my business, my livelihood is at stake here. If this case doesn’t get solved like yesterday, I’m liable to lose everything I’ve got. People are suspicious of me, they are too freaked out by all this to come into my shop. There are . . . and . . . and . . . and nothing is being done. Have you been questioning Sabrina Chase? From what I’ve heard, she certainly has a motive. Mr. Blackman seems to have made more enemies than friends. Surely, you can put two and two . . . “

“What do you mean Sabrina Chase has a motive?”

“You mean you haven’t heard? She and Mr. Blackman had some dicey financial deal that has put her in jeopardy. Sounds like a motive to me.”

Olivia couldn’t believe what came out of her mouth next. “And what about Mrs. Harmon and the other suspicious deaths in Darling Valley? What are you doing to solve those crimes? I’m being shunned, it turns out, because of all these homicides that I had nothing to do with.”

Richards spoke to her as he would indulging a child. “Miss Granville, I think I know the cases you are referring to and I assure you, we have done everything possible to explain those deaths. There is no credible evidence to prove that, with the exception of Mr. Blackman, there have not been any homicides in Darling Valley.”

“It seems to me you are having an epidemic of murder, Detective Richards, and people are looking at me as though I’m Typhoid Mary.”

Tuesday burst out laughing, then covered her mouth, faking a cough.

“We have investigated those incidents and I assure you we have found no evidence of foul play.”

Just then, the front door opened and all three turned to watch a man and woman, both in their forties, enter the waiting area. The drably but expensively dressed woman
leaned into the man for support and he led her to a chair. Olivia recognized her floor length Missoni cardigan that hung on her like tent.  He helped her remove a bulky knit shawl and placed her purse on the chair next to her. She immediately retrieved a tissue she had tucked under the sleeve of her sweater and dabbed at her eyes. The man made his way to Officer Ridley’s desk.

Olivia froze as she watched the scene, growing a little pale. “Oh, dear. This is awkward. That’s Mrs. Blackman.” She turned to Tuesday to explain. “The widow. What do I do? Apologize for her husband showing up dead on my doorstep? Offer my condolences?”

Richards said, “I’ll take care of this. She’s here to pick up Mr. Blackman’s effects and sign some papers. Stay here.” He walked out and closed the door behind him, but not before Mrs. Blackman looked up and saw Olivia

The widow began screaming. “There she is. Murderer!  Are you arresting her? And that, that boy she was conniving with.” She broke down sobbing into her tissue that began to shred under the pressure of too many tears, and too much folding and refolding. Her companion turned from Officer Ridley’s desk and ran to her side. The widow collapsed into his shoulder, weeping into his sport coat.

“Murderer! Murderer! Get her out of my sight. She’s so heartless she’s out buying oysters and champagne to celebrate.”