“We’re talking somebody’s life here,” Oscar said.
His indirect response jarred me, but I continued. “You ran from Rebecca Zook’s cottage.”
“Do you think you were born with a monopoly on the truth?” he replied.
Again, his response struck me as odd. So did his speech pattern. It wasn’t jagged. It sounded almost rehearsed.
“Oscar . . .”
His gaze roved—to the right and left, up and down. When he did focus on my face, he blinked rapidly. Was he purposely making his eyes flutter? I clapped my hands inches in front of his face. He looked at me—directly at me. His pupils didn’t waver. Not a whit. I recalled a boy in seventh grade who would fake seizures if he hadn’t done his homework. Old Miss Magilicutty, our apple-faced teacher, would buy the con every time and cart the boy to the nurse’s office.
A cloud lifted from my brain. I said, “You’re acting, Oscar. Those responses you just gave me are from the play
Oscar said, “The burden of proof is on the prosecution.”
“I’m right.” I jabbed a finger at him. “You’re spouting Juror Number Eight’s lines. Why?”
Jordan deliberately cleared his throat.
Oscar cut a look in Jordan’s direction and shuddered. “Wh-wh-who are you?” He wasn’t asking Jordan’s identity. He had met him around town.
“Your worst nightmare, if you don’t start answering the lady’s questions.” Jordan grabbed Oscar by the elbow and hoisted him to his feet. “Are you going to talk? No more pretense.”
Oscar shivered in his shoes, but not because the temperature hovered in the upper thirties. I rose, too, my gaze trained on Jordan as the question Meredith had posed to me earlier in the day scudded through my mind. Who was Jordan really? He had such command over people. Was he merely a cheese farmer, or was there something in his mysterious past that should frighten me?
Oscar lowered his eyelids, as if he was considering his options, and then his eyes blinked open. “Yeah, okay.” He brushed off the front of his trench coat, all pretense gone. “I worked for Kaitlyn.”
I said, “You mean you worked for Ipo.”
“And Kaitlyn Clydesdale.”
Adrenaline ping-ponged through my veins. Now we were getting somewhere. “What precisely did you do for her?”
“About ten months ago, she hired me to check out neighboring properties.” Now that he was talking freely, he allowed a New Jersey accent to color his tone. “So’s I got a job at Quail Ridge Honeybee Farm to fit into the community.”
“Were you checking them out to rob them?” I asked.
“Nah. We were searching out a good buy.”
“Are you a detective?”
“Sorta.”
“A corporate spy?” Jordan said.
“That’s more like it.” Oscar steepled his hands. “See, I told Kaitlyn about the Burrell farm. They were having problems making payments. Based on my intel, Kaitlyn made a bid for the place.”
“Why was Kaitlyn looking to invest in Providence?” I asked.
“Why not? There’s a lot of growth here, what with all the tourism and people leaving the big cities for charming little towns. Kaitlyn is … was”—he gulped—“she was an opportunist.”
I frowned. Something wasn’t ringing true with Oscar’s story. “Why were you at Rebecca’s cottage? Did you kill Kaitlyn Clydesdale?”
“Me? No!” He gulped, peeked at Jordan, and returned my gaze. “Do you know Georgia Plachette? Kaitlyn’s gal. Real pretty with dark curly hair.”
She was Kaitlyn’s CFO, the young woman with the bad cold who had reminded me of a wet poodle.
Oscar’s cheeks flushed. “I like her, and, see, she wouldn’t go for no liar. So’s I decided to come clean with her about my so-called duties, but first I had to quit working for Clydesdale Enterprises and be who I really am.”
“And who is that?”
“An actor,” Jordan said.
Oscar tapped his nose and pointed at Jordan.
“Kaitlyn saw you in a play,” Jordan added.
“Man, you’re good.” Oscar looked at me. “See, she checked me out, found out I was in debt. Big debt. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He stubbed his toe into the ground. “I was going to tell Georgia everything, but first I had to quit. I saw Kaitlyn at the pub around six. She had these shopping bags, and—”
“Wait a second,” I cut in. “Sylvie said Kaitlyn left for Ipo’s house after she’d had a facial at Under Wraps.”
“Since when does Sylvie do facials?” Jordan asked.
“She doesn’t do them. She hired a woman.” I fluttered a hand. “That’s not the point.” I zeroed in on Oscar. “You’re lying. Kaitlyn didn’t go to Timothy O’Shea’s Irish Pub.”
“Yes, she did,” Oscar blurted. “I was at the bar. She was talking to Tim, himself. She said she wanted to meet with Ipo. Tim was the one who told her Ipo was on his way to Rebecca’s. Kaitlyn asked Tim for directions. I hung out for about fifteen minutes, then set out after her. When I got to the cottage, there were shadows moving about inside. I figured I’d talk to her when she came out, so’s I took a walk to that park for kids, the one with the climbing rocks and tunnels.”
Cherry Orchard Park, near my grandparents’ house, not far from Rebecca’s.
I said, “It was dark. Why did you go there?”
“I told you. I took a walk. To clear my head. I didn’t intend to play there. Sheesh.” Oscar folded his arms across his chest.
“Why should I believe you?”
“I heard giggles. Lots of giggles.”
My body began to vibrate with hope. I grasped Jordan’s hands. “He heard Rebecca and Ipo. He corroborated their alibis.” I did a victory dance. “I’ve got to tell Urso.” I stood on tiptoe, kissed Jordan’s cheek, and sprinted south.
CHAPTER
“You what?” Urso stood on the stoop of Rebecca’s cottage and glowered at me. His broad-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his face and made his eyes look especially ominous. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”
Rebecca and Ipo stood at the Dutch door, the top half open once again. Light haloed their heads as they strained to hear our conversation. The crowd had dispersed.
“You are going to be the death of me, Charlotte Bessette,” Urso said, sounding like an old coot. “What were you thinking, chasing after him?”
“Can’t you get past that?” I said. “He corroborated that Rebecca and Ipo were in the park.”
“They told me they were outside. I assumed the yard.”
Rebecca shouted, “Outside in the park. You never let me finish, Chief.”
Urso cut a steely look at her and then an even steelier one at me. “I’ll question Oscar Carson, and we’ll see what he says when he’s not under duress.”
“Oh, yeah, like I could influence him,” I said, knowing I had. I had held him in place with my toe. Having Jordan looming beside me hadn’t hurt, either.
Rebecca applauded.
“Hush, Miss Zook.” Urso eyed me. “Did you at least leave him in one piece?”
“He’s willing and able. No bruises.”
“Where will I find him?”
