Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (23 page)

Gordon pondered that. “When I told Cassidy that Marianna was dead, his reaction was genuine. Total shock. Went so pale I thought he might pass out. At the time, I dismissed him as having anything to do with Marianna’s death, but what if I got it wrong? What if he hadn’t meant to kill her? Finding out he’d screwed up, either because Yolanda was his target, or because he’d only meant to make Marianna sick, could have triggered the same reaction.”

“That doesn’t fit with finding the vial in Marianna’s purse, though. Makes more sense the other way. Marianna’s the target, Yolanda’s the victimized bystander,” Solomon said. “Especially since Marianna got the lethal dose.”

“We still ought to consider he wasn’t trying to kill her,” Gordon said.

He stood in front of the board, trying to see beyond the words they’d written. Cassidy protecting his career worked as a motive, but there were a lot of holes. “Can we connect Cassidy to the break-in?” Gordon turned the board around.

Solomon took a couple of steps back. “I can see—although it’s a stretch—that he pulverized some pills and got them into Marianna’s coffee canister at any time, and she brews a drugged pot. If he’d been watching her, he’d know she liked to add sweetener, which could mask the altered taste. But he was leaf-peeping with the other principals the morning she died so he couldn’t have been the one who broke into her RV.”

“You saying we have two unrelated crimes? Now
that
seems like a stretch,” Gordon said.

“But if they’re related, Cassidy can’t be our guy.”

“Unless he paid an accomplice to break into the trailer while he established his alibi. He was with three other actors and the studio’s driver. And Flo Richardson confirmed they all left together.”

“The simplest solution is usually right,” Solomon said. “The two events are connected via Marianna Spellman, which would make them two pieces of the same puzzle.”

“But there are probably a dozen more pieces we need to find to connect them.” Gordon checked the time. “They should be close to a wrap for this afternoon.”

“You
are
picking up the lingo. But if you have a minute, I want to go over my new discovery.”

Before Solomon could get into it, Gordon raised a finger, then went down to Dispatch. “Connie, can you check in with an officer or deputy to find out where the shooting stands, please. Are they close to wrapping it up, or taking a break?”

He waited while she checked in. “Twenty minutes until a dinner break,” came over the radio.

Feeling guilty for denying Solomon his chance to explain his latest pet theory, Gordon headed for the war room, but stopped at the men’s room first, where Solomon was washing his hands.

“It’s the timing,” Solomon said. “There’s a pattern. I’ve got it set up at my desk. Catch you when you’re done.”

Gordon finished, then went to Solomon’s workspace, where the officer was opening files on his computer. “Okay hotshot detective, what do you have? You’ve got less than twenty minutes.”

Solomon pulled up a spreadsheet. “Here we have all the homicides that could be considered unsolved Deadbeat Dads. Cause of death, dates and locations.” The dates and locations were highlighted in an array of colors. He opened another window alongside that one. “And here are the blogs from
Paula’s Places
that review corresponding locations.” He paused, as if waiting for Gordon to understand the connection.

Nothing jumped out at him, and he was too impatient to stand there and mull it over. Besides, Solomon would love to be the one to claim the glory. “What should I be seeing?” Gordon asked. “Other than you were trying to use every crayon in the 64 size box.”

“I figured you’d say that.” Solomon minimized both windows and pulled up a calendar with dates shaded in another rainbow of colors. “See it now?”

Gordon looked again. “Assuming there’s a method in your color choices, I’d say you’re plotting when things happened using the colors as reference.”

“C’mon, Chief. You can do it.”

Gordon snorted. “Unlike yourself, I haven’t been living and breathing this case since last winter. While I appreciate you wanting to make me see this myself, I’m afraid you’ll have to cut to the chase before we have to interview Cassidy Clarke.”

Solomon scrolled through the calendar, tapping the like-colored squares. “Homicide.” Tap “Matching blog post.” Tap. “Homicide.” Tap. “Matching blog post.” Tap. “Homicide.”

“I get it,” Gordon said. “Each set is three weeks apart, give or take a day or two.”

“Bingo.”

“But the homicides are first,” Gordon said. “I’d expect it to be the other way around.”

“Ah, and that’s why I’m a genius,” Solomon said. “I approached it from the opposite end. We’ve already agreed Paula doesn’t post her blogs in order of visiting the sites. And, if you read the individual posts, she never says when she was at any given location. They’re all vague, things like ‘on a recent visit.’ And the images that go with the posts don’t necessarily match the dates. She can be posting in June and showing winter activity photos.”

“Your theory being Paula is your hit man—person—and she goes to a site researching her blog post, and while she’s there, she offs a deadbeat dad, then posts her blog three weeks later?”

“Hey, I never said Paula did the killings, although if she’s visiting these sites, that gives her the opportunity. She could be the brains behind the operation and hire out killers, which would explain the variety of MOs.”

“Have you been able to place Paula at any locations other than the Yardumians’ Bed and Breakfast last February?”

“You mean, like did I call the lodgings she mentioned and ask if she’d stayed there during the time in question? Not yet. But it’s on my list.” He closed the calendar program. “After we figure out whether Cassidy Clarke is our guy for Marianna Spellman’s killing, of course.”

“Speaking of which, you want to escort our leading man here for his interview?”

“On my way.”

“Don’t spook him,” Gordon said. “If he lawyers up, we’re stuck.”

While Solomon was gone, Gordon studied the whiteboard. Would Cassidy have had someone else do his dirty work by breaking into Marianna Spellman’s RV? Had he been looking for something incriminating in her paperwork? Did he have her laptop? The way the room was tossed, it appeared to be the work of someone with a temper, and aside from that brief moment of anger when Cassidy had first shown up at Daily Bread, he’d seemed like a mellow enough guy.
Mellow because he was medicated?

His phone chirped an incoming text. Angie inviting him to have dinner. Damn, he needed to grab the champagne and chocolate. He texted her a
yes
but added he didn’t know what time he’d be free.

Gordon flipped through the binder, reading Solomon’s printouts. When Solomon alerted him he and Cassidy Clarke were on the way to the station, Gordon took the book to his office and set it in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. He thought of the other two murder books secured in the evidence lockup. Two of them, and both since he’d become Chief of Police. Did that say anything about him, or was it the rising level of violence all over the planet?

Historically, there hadn’t been many homicides in Mapleton, and he didn’t count this one as a Mapleton crime. True, it had happened in Mapleton, which of course
made
it a Mapleton crime, but he figured if the film company had been shooting anywhere else, the crime still would have happened. He had a hunch that’s how the mayor was thinking about it. The mayor would probably prefer Gordon turn everything over to the county, which would remove it one more step from his beloved city.

Thinking about politics twisted Gordon’s gut. However, it did remind him to check in with Colfax. He shoved the drawer closed and locked the cabinet, then sat at his desk and picked up the phone, filling the detective in on the new Cassidy Clarke connection.

“You need me?” Colfax asked. “Seems like a simple enough case at the moment.”

Gordon tried not to take that as a put-down. “We’ll be interviewing Cassidy shortly. If we get in over our heads, we know who to call.”

“Didn't mean to sound snotty,” Colfax said. “If you’d like to trade cases, I have an excellent example of pure ugly here. It’s got my head throbbing like a Smashing Pumpkins drum solo. I might even go buy a pumpkin so I can smash it.”

“Let me know if you need any help from a mere small-town cop,” Gordon said.

“Bite me.” Colfax disconnected.

Laurie buzzed in, asking if Gordon wanted her to stay late, or if he needed anything extra because of the movie people. He told her everything seemed well under control. He
almost
asked her to pick up a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates, but that was a line he was never going to cross. The closest thing to a personal errand he’d ever asked of her was to pick up his uniform from the cleaners once when he’d forgotten to do it before a town council meeting.

“Thanks again for having Cassidy Clarke and Lily Beckett come by,” she said. “One of the few times my daughter has thought her mom was cool recently.”

He didn’t want to shatter her image by telling her the actor would be arriving shortly, but as a person of interest, not a movie star. “Have a good weekend.”

When Solomon returned with Cassidy, Gordon grabbed the printouts of the transcription of the recording of Cassidy’s earlier questioning and shoved them into a folder. He made sure he had his recorder, and met the two men on their way to the interview room. “Mr. Clarke. Thank you for coming.”

“Chief Hepler. Your officer said you had more questions. I already told you everything I know.”

“Making sure we have everything in order. This shouldn’t take too long. Have a seat.” Gordon chinned toward one of the chairs. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? We might have herbal tea, but it’s probably not the kind you prefer.”

“Water is fine.” Cassidy sat, seeming more curious than wary.

Noticing the man still wore his movie makeup reminded Gordon that Cassidy Clarke was an actor, used to playing a role. Gordon nodded to Solomon, who headed toward the breakroom.

Gordon set the folder on the small table and leafed through his notebook, pretending to search for something. Instead of sitting, he leaned against the wall. “You said you didn’t have any problems with Marianna Spellman other than the initial confusion about drug testing. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Cassidy said.

Solomon returned with a bottle of water and set it in front of Cassidy, who moved it aside.

Without preamble, Solomon said, “Why did we find your mother’s prescription bottle in Marianna Spellman’s purse?”

Cassidy’s eyes popped wide. “What? No way! How? When?”

Solomon pulled out the second chair, reversed it, and leaned across the table into Cassidy’s personal space. “That’s what I asked you. Because what it looks like, is Marianna found your pills and threatened to tell the big muckety-mucks you were using again, which would be a major setback in your movie career. Might even be the end of it. So, to keep her quiet, you give her a big dose of your own medicine.”

Cassidy thrust his palms onto the table as if he were going to leap to his feet.

Solomon glared at him. “Stay seated, Mr. Clarke.”

Time for a little good cop. Gordon stepped in, kept his tone even. “Take it easy. We need answers. I don’t think you killed her intentionally. Maybe something went wrong and you didn’t realize you’d given her that large a dose. Why don’t you tell us what happened.”

Cassidy reached for his water, unscrewed the cap, and took a deep swig. He recapped it, then twirled it on the table. He lowered his head, apparently collecting his thoughts.

Or preparing his script.

However, Gordon didn’t interrupt. Solomon followed his lead and leaned away, folding his arms across his chest.

“Am I under arrest?” Cassidy asked. His eyes glistened, brimming with tears, and he did some rapid-fire blinking.

“Not at this time,” Gordon said. “If you answer our questions, you’ll be free to go.”

Which, of course, Cassidy already was, since they hadn’t arrested him. But no need to point that out. Every now and then, the way television got it wrong actually helped.

Cassidy sighed out a shaky breath. “My mom. She was hooked on anti-depressants and they killed her. That’s why I’m doing this movie for free.”

“You said the drugs killed her?” Gordon said. “How?”

“She kept taking more and more. Technically, it was a suicide, but I think her doctors were to blame. She’d complain, they’d up her dose and keep refilling the prescription instead of working with her on better management.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d moved away for my career, didn’t get home enough, didn’t call enough, didn’t pay attention enough. Didn’t listen hard enough when she’d asked me to come visit. I’d say I was busy, she’d say my career was important, not to worry about it. I was too self-centered to hear the cries for help.” He stopped, swiped his hand across his eyes. Opened the water bottle and drained it.

“Take your time,” Gordon said.

After another long exhale, Cassidy continued. “She died. I fell apart. I’m sure you already know that.” He glanced around, then tossed the empty bottle into the wastebasket. “Her last refill was in her personal effects. I was going through them after I got out of rehab. I’ve carried that vial ever since, as a reminder. I swear, I have no idea who took it, or how it got into Marianna’s purse.”

“When did you notice it missing?” Solomon asked.

Cassidy shook his head. “I keep it in my Dopp kit when I travel. It’s not like I prayed to it or anything. No daily rituals. It was just
there
. Every now and then, I’d take it out and think of my mom. You know, reaffirming I wasn’t ever going to lose control again. I remember packing it, so I had it when I arrived, but the kit’s been sitting on the bathroom counter at the Bed and Breakfast.”

“You’re saying you didn’t keep the pills in your RV here?” Solomon said.

Cassidy glowered at Solomon. “Shall I repeat it for you? In my Dopp kit. On the counter. In my bathroom. At the Bed and Breakfast.”

“Who else had access to your room?” Gordon asked.

“The Richardsons, I suppose, since they cleaned it. I didn’t lock it when I went down to breakfast, so anyone who was staying there could have gone into my room. I locked my wallet into the room safe, and didn’t have much else of value with me. The place feels more like a home than a hotel, so I’m probably guilty of leaving my door unlocked from time to time. I didn’t lock it to go downstairs for a few minutes. Then, once the Village was off limits, there wasn’t much in the way of storage for personal belongings, so I left the key with Flo or Lyla. There’s no decent place to store things here, and the key was a metal one on a big holder, not a key card like at hotels. Too clunky for a pocket.”

Cassidy narrowed his eyes. “The women seemed honorable enough, but who knows? Hell, if Marianna Spellman showed up saying she needed something from my room, something having to do with the shoot, I’ll bet they’d have let her in. Or maybe an overzealous fan wanted to get into my room. Take a souvenir from a movie star. There are people like that, you know.”

“All the more reason to keep your room locked,” Solomon said.

“You’re probably right. But this place doesn’t have that star-struck feel. I was sloppy. I admit it.” Cassidy threaded his fingers through his hair. “Maybe they convinced Flo or Lyla to let them do it. Or maybe they walked behind the counter and found the key.” He shifted his gaze to Gordon. “Isn’t that
your
job to figure out?”

“It is,” Gordon said. “Which is why we need as much information from you as possible. Did you ever have anyone in your room?”

“Well, yeah. The four of us hung out a few times.”

“The four being—?” Solomon said.

“Me, Lily, Damien, and Julie. Had a little wine, shot the breeze, talked shop.”

“And while they were there, did any of them use your bathroom?” Gordon asked.

Cassidy paused, stared into space. “Maybe. I can’t remember offhand. It’s not like I keep track of other people’s bodily functions.” He pursed his lips. “Probably. That’s where there were extra glasses. So even if they weren’t using the facilities, any one of them could have been in and out. Grab a glass for the wine, or rinse it out. I didn’t realize I’d have to account for their actions.”

Gordon and Solomon exchanged a
more people to question
look.

“I don’t suppose I could get the pills back?” Cassidy’s tone said he knew what the answer would be.

“They’re in evidence now. Maybe when this is straightened out,” Gordon said.

If it turns out you’re not the guilty party.

He pretended to consult his notes. “How did Marianna take her coffee?”

“Huh? How the hell should I know?” His response was immediate, no pause to think about it, or why the question might be significant.

“Just asking,” Gordon said.

“One last question,” Solomon said. “Do you remember how many pills were in the vial?”

“Damn right I do.” Fire burned in Cassidy’s eyes. “The prescription was for sixty, and there were twenty-two left.”

Who took the other eighteen?