A Mold For Murder Read online

  That surprised him. “Sure thing. I’ve got tons of candid shots, if you’d like to look through the negatives.” He looked down at his hands, then added, “I even took a bunch of shots today before the store opened, but I won’t get around to developing the negatives until later.”

  I shook my head. “No thanks. Rufus, why don’t you stick to birds from now on, okay?”

  “Spoilsport,” he said, then dismissing me, Rufus went back to his book.

  Bob and I drove back to Where There’s Soap, and to our displeasure, it appeared that my family had decided to cut the cake Mom had made for the signing without waiting for us.

  “We couldn’t let it just go to waste,” Mom said.

  “This is so good,” Jeff said, sticking an entire flower made of icing into his mouth.

  “Move over, Junior. I want a piece.”

  Cindy handed me a sliver of cake and said, “I cut one for you already.”

  I looked at it as if it were tainted. “You call that a slice? Let me have the knife.”

  Louisa laughed, and I asked her, “What’s so funny?”

  “I told her you wouldn’t go for it,” she said. “But she insisted.” Louisa patted my belly, which was a little larger than it needed to be, but not by that much. “She thinks you should start cutting back on your calories now that you’re getting older.”

  “I didn’t say that at all,” Cindy protested. Then she added sheepishly, “At least not that badly.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I do need to start cutting back.”

  Louisa’s smile died on her face, and then I added, “And I will, starting tomorrow. Or the next day. Thursday at the latest.”

  All my siblings started laughing as I cut an extremely generous slice to accompany the puny offering Cindy had given me.

  Bob smiled at me and said, “I’ll take one just like it.”

  Kate said, “You know Jessica isn’t going to like that.”

  Bob cut a big piece nonetheless. “What my wife doesn’t know won’t hurt me.” Just before taking the first bite, he added, “You’re not going to say anything to her, are you?”

  There was a battery of insincere denials, and Bob reluctantly put half his cake onto another plate. “I can’t believe my own family is so willing to tell on me,” he said.

  Jeff laughed as he snagged the extra piece. “I’ll take it, if you don’t want it.”

  After we’d all shared some cake and punch, Mom said, “Now let’s finish this up. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  We all worked together cleaning and rearranging the store, and the boutique section of our shop was soon neat and organized again. I gathered the posters we’d had made up of the contessa and started to carry them out through the production line in back toward the Dumpsters that were tucked behind a screen near the employee parking area. When the door wouldn’t budge, I remembered the police weren’t finished there and that they had locked us out. As I carried the posters outside along the side of the building where our customers normally parked, I was surprised to see someone getting out of her car in one of the patron parking spaces. I thought all of our customers had given up on us for the day.

  Then I saw that it wasn’t a shopper at all.

  FOUR

  AS soon as I saw her face, I could tell that Sharon had been crying; the last thing I wanted to do was intrude on her private grief. I tried going back the way I’d come, but she spotted me, and there was no way I could just ignore her.

  “Ben, do you have a second?” she asked as she dabbed at her cheeks.

  “Sure,” I said. Crying women had always made me uncomfortable. I never knew what to do, but I hated to just stand there, helpless.

  After Sharon approached me, she said, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know where else to go.”

  “Would you like to come inside the shop?”

  “Would we be alone in there?” she asked.

  “No, but it’s just my family. Maybe we could help.” If I got her within shouting distance of my mother and sisters, I wouldn’t have to worry about consoling Sharon myself. The female members of my family were adept at dealing with emotion, while my brothers and I, with varying degrees of ineptitude, were not.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure I could ever go back inside there,” she said.

  I could understand that reaction. “Would you like to sit in the garden and talk instead? There’s a bench that’s perfect for private conversations.”

  My family, like most folks who made custom soaps, had its own flower and herb garden. Not only was it a great deal less expensive growing some of our own supplies than buying them, but we were always sure of the quality. My father, a born romantic if ever there was one, had insisted that the garden be laid out with a bench in its center, and he and my mother had spent many pleasant evenings there together, holding hands and laughing on into the night. I missed my dad, but nobody missed him more than my mother did.

  She frowned as she stared at the bench. “It’s a little public, don’t you think? We could go for a walk instead, if you don’t mind. It might be easier to talk that way.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. As I led her down the block past a shuttered jewelry store, I asked, “I never had the chance to ask. Were you and Connie close?”

  “I guess I can drop the act of calling her the contessa, can’t I? It won’t be long before the whole world knows. I worked with her for three years,” Sharon admitted. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.” Sharon stopped abruptly and turned into my arms. “Ben, what am I going to do?”

  As she started sobbing again, I did my best to comfort her. Finally, the wracking tears subsided.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I’m such a girl. That’s two crying jags in one day. Normally I can go months without shedding a single tear.”

  “You’re allowed,” I said. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  We started walking again, and she dabbed at her cheeks as she said, “Breaking down right now isn’t going to do anyone any good, is it?” She sniffed a few times, then said, “There. I’m better now.”

  “Are you sure you feel like talking? I understand if you’d rather not. It’s a nice day. We could just walk around town and try to forget about what happened today.”

  “No, I need to say this out loud so I can accept it. I’ve been trying to think about who had reason to want Connie dead, and unfortunately, there’s a bigger list than I wanted to admit at first.”

  Our conversation was suddenly getting very interesting. “Did you say anything about your suspects to Molly?”

  “Who’s Molly again?”

  “The police officer you talked to earlier,” I explained. I wanted to hear what Sharon had to say, but I knew how Molly would react if I didn’t suggest the assistant speak with her first.

  “Oh, yes, I know who she is. I plan to talk to her the next time I see her,” Sharon said, “but I wanted to get my thoughts in order before I did. She’s intimidating, isn’t she?”

  “She can be,” I agreed. “We used to date.”

  “Oh, Ben,” she said, pausing to touch my arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Please, you’ll have to try a lot harder than that. There’s nobody in Harper’s Landing who knows just how scary she can be better than me. I’ll be happy to act as your listening board as you organize your thoughts, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  As we walked on, she said, “I guess the first place to start is with Barry Hill.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” I admitted. “Who is he?”

  “Barry is, I guess I should start getting used to saying was, Connie’s fiancé. It ended badly last month, and he refused to accept it. Lately he’s gotten kind of dark in his phone messages to her, and to be honest with you, he scares me.”

  “Is there any chance he’s in town right now?” The man certainly sounded like a viable suspect, and at the moment I was in dir
e need of one or two that weren’t my girlfriend.

  “Who knows where Barry is at any time of the day or night? He’s independently wealthy, so he comes and goes as he pleases. That’s one of the reasons Connie broke up with him.”

  “Because he was rich?” I’d heard a lot of excuses in my life, but never that a prospective spouse had too much money.

  “No, because he had no purpose in his life.” She stopped a second, then added, “You didn’t know Connie, and I’m willing to bet she made a horrid first impression on you.”

  “I thought she was a little self-aggrandizing,” I admitted. “That sounded harsh, didn’t it? I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead like that.”

  “She wouldn’t have minded, believe me. Connie was always a straight talker. I’m willing to bet that what you took for arrogance was probably just that she was always a nervous wreck whenever she had to speak in public. She hated it, to be honest with you.”

  “Then why did she agree to come here?” I’d heard Diana tell enough stories about authors with tremendous stage fright, but that always centered around folks who wrote fiction. This woman was a soapmaker who happened to write books, so giving demonstrations while she spoke should have been second nature to her.

  “She came to Harper’s Landing for a particular reason,” Sharon admitted. “And it wasn’t just your Soap Celebration. But I’m not ready to talk about that yet.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Ben,” she said as she stopped and stared at me, “there are some secrets I won’t divulge, not until I truly believe it is the last resort.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push you about it,” I said. “Who’s on your list besides Mr. Hill?”

  “There’s a woman named Betsy Blair I think the police should investigate. I happen to know she’s in town, and she certainly thought she had reason to hate Connie, though it was all in her head.”

  “Why did she hate her?” It amazed me that so many people had the energy to hate this woman so passionately, and yet Sharon kept defending her; I had to believe there had been at least some good in the soapmaker.

  “She claims Connie stole her latest book out from under her. There’s no merit in the accusation. This Blair woman sent Connie a manuscript, and somehow she managed to do it without going through me. I would have thrown it away in a heartbeat without replying, but Connie made the mistake of sending an encouraging letter back to her. She hated to snuff out a fellow soapmaker’s hopes.

  “Anyway, the woman filed suit. With Connie’s letter and the supposed similarities in the manuscripts, there’s enough to make it look legitimate, on first glance. Betsy was here last night, tagging along with the man who served us the papers.”

  “Is it possible there’s any merit to her claim?”

  Sharon shook her head. “There’s no way. Connie wouldn’t show me the manuscript, but she did hold on to it, just in case. She said it was full of rambling tangents and pitiful instructions. Betsy didn’t even use photos. There are drawings illustrating the process, and from the way Connie described them to me, they’re as bad as the writing.”

  “Surely a judge would see that as well.”

  Sharon shrugged. “That’s what Connie told her when they served the papers, and Betsy went ballistic. She started screaming that she’d get even, and the server had to drag her off himself. She made quite a scene. If you ask me, she’s not at all in her right mind.”

  We’d walked several blocks and were now standing in front of the Hound Dog Café. Ruby, the woman who ran it, was a self-proclaimed Elvis Presley nut, and the furnishings and music backed up the claim.

  “Could we stop in here and get some sweet tea?” Sharon asked. “All this talking has made me thirsty.”

  “Sure,” I said, eager to keep her chatting. The more Sharon said, the more reasons I had to give Molly that Diana hadn’t killed the soapmaker.

  Ruby greeted us with a nod, not saying a word as we walked to a booth in back. I wondered about the silent treatment, and then realized that she was a big fan of Diana’s, and it looked as though I might be stepping out on her in her direst time of need. I planned to tell Ruby that I would never do that when she came to take our order, but she resolutely ignored us.

  “Is service always this bad here?” Sharon asked. “We could go somewhere else.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I approached Ruby, who pretended to be cleaning the counter in front of her. She must have gone over the same spot a dozen times since we’d come in.

  “Ruby, when you get the chance, we need two sweet teas.”

  “How’s Diana?” she asked, ignoring my request.

  “She’s in trouble,” I admitted. “That’s why I’m trying to interview the assistant to the woman who was murdered. I can’t help Diana a bit by sitting around hoping Molly finds the killer on her own. Give me a hand here, will you? Sharon just lost a boss and a dear friend, Diana’s the number one suspect, and I’m trying to figure out who did it.” Maybe calling her boss “a dear friend” was stretching it, but I was going for sympathy.

  “I’ve got you now,” Ruby said as she nodded. “I’ll be right over as soon as I get the chance.”

  I walked back to the table, then explained, “We’re all set.”

  Twenty seconds later, Ruby approached with a tray holding more than just tea.

  “Do you like pie?” she asked Sharon.

  “I love it,” she said, clearly a little confused by the question.

  Ruby slid a piece of lemon meringue pie in front of her. “You should try this.”

  “Hey, I didn’t order any pie,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not getting any. This is for your guest.”

  And Ruby was gone before I could protest.

  Sharon shoved the plate toward me. “You can have it, Ben. I don’t feel much like eating.”

  I glanced over to see that Ruby was still watching us pretty closely. In a soft voice, I said, “If I eat that pie, she’ll never forgive me. You’d better take a bite before she throws us both out.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Sharon, turn around and see if I’m lying.”

  She did, and saw Ruby’s glance. “This town is odd, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Sharon put a small bite on her fork, then said, “Once I taste it, you can have the rest.” She ate the morsel of pie, smiled suddenly, then had another bite.

  “Hey, what happened to my portion?”

  Sharon took another bite, then said, “I’m sure she’s got more back there. I’m not sharing.” It was the first smile I’d seen on Sharon’s face all day, and I was thankful that Ruby had done exactly the right thing by bringing her pie.

  I winked at her when Sharon wasn’t looking, and soon enough I had my own piece of pie, this one apple crisp.

  “How is that?” Ruby asked Sharon as she slid the plate in front of me.

  “It’s the best pie I’ve ever had in my life,” Sharon said.

  I swear I nearly dropped my fork as Ruby actually blushed at the compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do,” Sharon said.

  Ruby faded away, and I took a bite from my own slice. As I chewed it, I noticed that Sharon was watching me.

  “That looks good,” she said.

  “It really is,” I said, savoring another bite.

  “Don’t I get a taste?”

  I looked at the remnants of lemon meringue on her plate. “I don’t know, you weren’t willing to share with me.” I smiled as I said it, cutting my piece down the middle and giving her half.

  “I suppose I could part with one bite,” she said as she started to section off what was left of her slice.

  “I was just teasing,” I said. “If I wanted any, I’d order a piece for myself.”

  Sharon dug into the apple, then said, “I’m taking some of these home with me when I go.”

&n
bsp; “How long are you going to stay?” I asked.

  Her smile suddenly vanished. “You know what? I don’t have any idea. As soon as I talk to the police about my list of suspects, I’ll move out of the bed-and-breakfast, though. It must be costing you a fortune, and I don’t need anything that nice.”

  “We don’t mind,” I said, realizing that I was going to have to talk long and hard to get my mother to agree to picking up the bill for an extended stay.

  “No, I couldn’t,” she said. “We saw a motel on the way into town. It’s called the Mountain Lake or Lake Mountain or something like that. I’d be just as happy out there. Happier, if you want to know the truth. I’ve never been a big fan of bed-and-breakfasts, though Connie always insisted we stay in them whenever we traveled. It feels too much like I’m someone’s houseguest. I’d rather be alone.”

  “I’ll help you move myself,” I said.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m used to packing often when we’re traveling.”

  The front door of the diner opened, and Molly walked in. She started to order a cup of coffee, then saw Sharon and me sitting in back.

  “I want that to go, Ruby,” she said as she approached us.

  “I was just looking for you,” she said.

  “I’ve been right here,” I replied.

  “I’m not talking to you.”

  I decided to ignore the frost in her voice and add a little of my own. “I don’t care, you’re talking to me now. Do you still have Diana locked up?”

  Molly looked at me and shook her head. “Do you ever get tired, jumping to conclusions like you do all the time? Diana was never under arrest, and you know it.”

  “You wanted to question her after her medical exam though, didn’t you?”

  “Ben, whether you like it or not, that’s part of my job. She and Kelly came by my office awhile ago, but neither one of them had much to say. Frankly, I wasn’t at all satisfied with her answers.”

  “Maybe she didn’t care for your questions,” I said.

  Sharon looked uncomfortable. “Should I excuse myself?”

  Before I could reply, Molly said, “No, Ben’s finished.” She stared at me, then added, “You know you’re not why I’m here.”