Of Merlot & Murder (A Tangled Vines Mystery) (21 page)

“El, I thought Mom told you to stay out of Jackson’s investigation,”
Madison whined when she got her on the phone. “What am I going to tell Gram when she comes down here to relieve me? You know she’ll ask where I’m going.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Maddy. Don’t be such a baby.” Elise paced back and forth in agitation. “Tell her we’re going to lunch in town. That will satisfy her.”

“I just don’t see why you want to get into that room in the first place. I mean, keeping our eyes and ears open for clues was one thing—we were trying to keep Gram off the suspect list, but asking questions, poking around at the crime scene, that’s another story. I don’t understand why you would even want to go out there. I don’t like it, and I
know
Jackson wouldn’t like it.”

“Maddy, come on,” Elise begged. “C.C.’s going to meet me there, but she’s buried in work right now after taking so much time off to help us with the festival, and she said she might be late. I promise we won’t stay long. I just want someone else with me.
Please
.”

After a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, Madison finally gave in. “All right, fine! But just so you know, if we get into trouble for this, I will have no qualms about tossing you right under the bus. And I’m driving, too. I refuse to be held hostage when you find something else you want to stick your nose into.”

Elise laughed out loud. “Thanks, sis. See you after awhile.”

Hanging up the phone, she thought about what Madison had said. She didn’t really know
why
she wanted to go out to the murder scene. It certainly wasn’t something she was looking forward to, and she didn’t expect to find anything new. It was just an intangible feeling she’d had since visiting with Toby yesterday morning. There was something nagging at her, something she had seen or heard that she couldn’t quite put her finger on but felt might be important.

Hopefully, their trip out to Lost Pines would satisfy her curiosity and put these vague feelings to rest.

twenty-one

By mid-morning, Jackson was
certain he’d already guzzled enough coffee to power a small city and decided it was time to switch to bottled water. He’d asked both Garrett Larson and Toby Raymond to come into the station to have another chat, and being hopped up on caffeine wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

He and Jim had blown the lion’s share of their Monday on the Toussaint family circus, only to find out that, crazy as they may be, they each had a solid alibi for the time of both murders.

Why the hell hadn’t they just said so in the first place?

It was a complete mystery to him. Telling him the truth up front
would have been so much easier than dragging them down to the station and having to pry it out of them one by one. The whole thing
had been exasperating and a major waste of time.

And Jim was still holding a mean grudge, wanting to charge the
three of them with obstruction or
something
. But in the end, as much
as it pained them both, Jackson had cut them loose. The sooner they left his county and headed back to their own version of crazy town, the better.

But this was a brand-new day, Jackson reminded himself. With new challenges and new hurdles. To prepare for the next round of interviews, he’d gone over both Larson’s and Raymond’s previous statements with a fine-toothed comb.

Garrett Larson was first up at eleven. Jackson knew now that what the older man had told him the night of his wife’s death was bogus. He’d signed up for a conference in Austin that he hadn’t attended, but where the man had actually gone and what he’d done were questions Jackson wanted answered.

Toby Raymond’s interview was scheduled for twelve-thirty. The man had met Jackson’s group for dinner that night but had arrived late, just moments before Miss Abby’s call about his mother’s death. He’d never really been able to come up with a satisfactory answer for Jackson about where he’d been before arriving at the restaurant. It was conceivable that he could’ve gone to his mother’s room, killed her, and then met up with the rest of them at Toucan’s On Main in an effort to garner an alibi for himself.

And he didn’t even want to think about Miss Abby’s alibi, or lack thereof. He knew in his heart she had nothing to do with Divia Larson’s murder, but she had to stay on the list until he could figure out just what had happened in that motel room the night of the woman’s murder.

The pisser was that he was rapidly running out of suspects. If he didn’t get a break in either case soon, he’d have to go back to square one on both. And he was well aware that the more time that passed, the less likely it was that he’d find the killer
…
or
killers
.

As these disturbing thoughts swirled around in his head, a knock from the doorway snagged his attention. He looked up just as Jim Stockton sauntered into the office and plopped down in the visitor’s chair.

“Garrett Larson is here for his interview, right on time, I might add. I put him in Interview One when you’re ready for him.” Jim tilted his head and gave Jackson a questioning look. “I know that frown, son. Something’s got you worried. Spit it out.”

Jackson nodded toward the board he’d put together for the homicides of both Divia Larson and Grace Vanderhouse. Of the six clear suspects he’d had in the Larson case as recently as yesterday, only three names remained on the board.

“I was just pondering the fact that we’re running out of suspects for Divia Larson’s murder at the speed of light.” He shook his head. “We’re down by fifty percent in just twenty-four hours. And the same goes for Grace Vanderhouse.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Jim glanced at the board and pursed
his lips. “We both know that Abigail DeVries didn’t kill the Larson woman, no matter what the circumstantial evidence says.”

“I agree. And Divia Larson didn’t go to her death without a struggle
. She fought mightily with someone before succumbing to the poison she’d ingested, and that struggle would’ve left signs. Hell, she grabbed someone or something so hard it snapped off several of her fake nails right to the quick. And the bruising around her wrists, the scratches around her neck?” Jackson shook his head. “Miss Abby was neat as a pin when we got there. And her fingerprints weren’t found anywhere else in the room with the exception of the wine bottle and the door knob.”

“Yep, and the wine bottle had no trace of the poison,” Jim commented with a thoughtful nod. “Of course, she could’ve cleaned up after herself, washed the other glass, and then carefully set Mrs. Larson’s tainted glass on the dresser next to the bottle. But why bother with all of that only to leave fingerprints on the bottle itself?”

“That was my thought exactly. If you’re going to clean up, be thorough. And Miss Abby is nothing if not thorough.” Jackson chuckled. “If she’d killed Divia and wanted to get away with it, we wouldn’t have found one single trace to link her to the crime—she’d have made sure of that. Plus, she was at River Bend at the time of the Vanderhouse murder.”

“You and I are both of the mind that the two murders are connected.” Jim shrugged. “So, that leaves Toby Raymond or Garrett Larson.”

“Yeah. Or someone we haven’t considered yet—or even know about.” Jackson squinted at the board. “And that’s what’s got me worried. I have this gut feeling that we’re missing something. Some piece of the puzzle that we haven’t stumbled across yet.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have that same feeling.” Jim got up and stepped closer to study the board. After a moment, he tapped Grace’s photograph with a fingertip. “Here’s another thing I don’t get. I can see either Raymond or Larson committing the first murder, but Vanderhouse? Supposedly, until Friday, Raymond hadn’t even seen her since he was a boy. And as far as we know, Larson didn’t even know her nor did he have any idea of her history with his new wife and stepson. So even with opportunity, where’s the motive?”

“That’s a great question.” Jackson got up and gathered his files. “How about we go get some answers, starting with Garrett Larson?”

Down the hall in Interview One, Larson looked up from the small notebook in his hand as Jackson and Jim entered the room.

“Thanks for coming in on short notice, Mr. Larson,” Jackson said. Pulling out a chair, he sat down opposite the man and laid his files on the table between them.

Jim took the chair to Jackson’s left and turned on the recorder, stating the date, time of interview, and those in the room.

“Sir, do you understand why we’ve asked you to come in today?” Jackson asked, opening one of the files and making a show of looking through the pages before training a serious gaze on the man.

Larson nodded and looked Jackson directly in the eye. “I’m assuming it’s because you’ve checked out the statement I gave you on Friday night
and now realize I was less than truthful with you.”

“That’s exactly right. Would you like to amend your statement now for the record? Because we both know you didn’t attend that
conference in Austin like you said you did. I’m going to need to know
where you actually were on Friday between seven and seven-thirty when your wife was murdered.”

The man closed the little notebook and fumbled around with his pen as if he was uncertain where to begin. But when he finally launched into his story—a tale of infidelity and illegitimate children—Jackson was taken by surprise. This was definitely not what he’d been expecting, an affair perhaps, but not a long-lost daughter from an indiscretion years before.

“So, to clarify for the record,” Jim said. “You were with your daughter and her family all day Friday until arriving at the Lost Pines Motel at just after eleven p.m. Is that correct?”

Larson sighed and ran a hand through his gray hair. “Yes, Deputy, that is correct.”

Jim nodded. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to need your daughter’s contact information to substantiate this new statement.”

“Understood,” the man said and gave Jim his daughter’s name and number. “I called Carrie-Ann on Sunday and explained everything. She’s awaiting your call.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me this on Friday night, Mr. Larson?” Jackson asked. “You could have simply mentioned that you were with your daughter and her family and wouldn’t have had to drag out all the rest. I understand that your wife didn’t know, but at that point it didn’t really matter anymore, did it? Why give me an alibi that you knew I’d check out and disprove?”

Larson put up a hand, a hang-dog look on his face. “I know, I know, it was stupid. But in my defense, I was in shock. You’d just told me that my wife had not only died but that she’d been murdered. It was naïve to think you wouldn’t corroborate my statement, and that it wouldn’t lead straight to my daughter and her family, anyway. I’m truly sorry if I caused you any extra work or muddled the situation in any way.”

“One other question,” Jim said. “Where were you on Sunday between three and four o’clock in the afternoon? Were you out at the festival at all that day?”

Larson shook his head. “No. In the morning I went for breakfast in town, but when I got back I didn’t leave the motel again all day. Actually, I think I was talking to my daughter on my cell in the breezeway about that time. I saw Mrs. Wilson with her laundry cart and waved. She could probably tell you what time that was for sure.”

“Thanks for clearing that up as well,” Jackson said. “The medical examiner is ready to release your wife’s remains. As soon as we’ve verified your revised statement, you can make arrangements
for committal services.” He made a couple notes of his own and then closed the folder in front of him. Pulling out a business card, he
handed it across the table. “If you think of anything that might have a bearing on your wife’s death or may help in any way, no matter how trivial it seems, please give me a call. I promise you, we’ll do everything we can to bring the person responsible for her death to justice.”

The older man’s eyes watered up and he cleared his throat, obviously working to get his emotions under control. “Thank you, Deputy Landry. I appreciate all your hard work on Divia’s behalf, and I know you’ll do your best.”

“This concludes the interview with Garrett Larson,” Jim stated for the record at Jackson’s nod, and then turned off the recorder.

“And then there was one,” Jackson said the minute Larson had left the room. “At this rate, Toby Raymond is going to have to walk in here and confess, or we’re out of suspects and totally screwed.”

Jim moved to the other side of the table and sat in the chair vacated by Larson. “Now don’t panic, boss. It could happen,” he said with a grin. “He might be so wracked with guilt that he comes in here and confesses to both homicides. Case closed
…
or
cases
closed.”

Jackson shot the other deputy a wry smile. “You’re so funny. You’re killing me here.” He rubbed his eyes and then stretched trying to work out a kink. “Seriously, though. If Raymond has a solid alibi, too, I don’t know where we go from here.”

Jim shook his head. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it.” He looked at his watch. “Twelve-thirty on the nose. Raymond should be here any minute.”

As if conjuring him up by words alone, Deputy Yancy stepped in at that moment to tell them that Toby Raymond had arrived.

“Well, let’s go see what he has to say,” Jim said. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed about the confessing deal.”

Jackson gathered his files, and they moved down the hall to Interview Two where Yancy had left Raymond to wait. As they entered the room and got a good look at the man, Jackson thought that perhaps Jim’s tongue-in-cheek comments about the confession might not be too far off the mark.

Raymond looked terrible. Disheveled and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, he looked as if he’d been up all night or perhaps recovering from a binge. And the man was nervous. You could almost feel the tension in the air around him.

“Hey, Toby,” Jackson said as he sat down across from him at the table. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Raymond scrubbed his hands over his face and then turned his red-rimmed eyes on Jackson. “I’ve been better. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Well, hopefully, this won’t take long.” Jim repeated the process with the recorder stating date, time, and participants, signifying the commencement of the interview.

“Is that really necessary?” Toby asked, eyeing the recorder.

“Yes. I’m afraid so, Toby. We need you to clear some things up for us,” Jackson responded, “for the record.”

Toby frowned and looked as though he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. “Things?” he repeated. “What things?”

“For starters, where you were Friday night,” Jim asked him.

The man looked from Jackson to Jim and back to Jackson again. “I was with you at the restaurant on Friday when Ms. DeVries called about my mother. Remember?”

Jackson nodded, but gave Toby a narrowed look. “Yeah, but, Toby, you arrived late. You never clarified where you were beforehand when I asked you earlier. Now we need to know.”

Raymond’s anxiety seemed to jump a notch, and he hemmed and hawed. “I-I went back to the room to change my clothes and then drove straight to the restaurant.”

“And what would you say if I told you that someone had seen you coming out of your mother’s room right around the time of her death?” Jackson asked.

It was yet another ruse, but bluffing had worked pretty well for him through the last few interviews. And it looked like it was going to work for him again.

Raymond’s shoulders slumped, and he leaned on the table with his face in his hands. After a moment, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, I should have told you straight out the minute you asked, but I was distraught, and I knew how it would look.”

“Should have told me what, Toby? Were you in your mom’s room at that time?”