“Arch’s friend Todd Druckman. We took him home. A lot of folks must have seen me, in the parking lot, or buying candy from the vending machines.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “You know, getting back to the assault. Cecelia Brisbane knew about it soon after it happened. She confronted me at the bake sale.”
Brewster nodded knowingly. “Don’t get paranoid, but she may have rigged up a way to listen in on your phone conversations. It might be good not to talk about this case on the phone, just until I can get your lines checked by our security guy.”
“Oh, great. What if Marla calls me with all the latest gossip?”
“Tell her you’ll call her right back. Then use a pay phone. Just tonight.” Brewster gave me his patented grin. “Goldy, this is a big case. The cops are going to put a lot of people on it, and so will the papers, especially since you’ve been involved with homicide investigations already. It’s important that you watch your step.”
“Okay.” I took a calming breath. “Anything else?”
Brewster shook his head. Another gust of wind rained dust on the interstate. The big SUVs in the neighboring lanes rocked precipitously, but Brewster and his Benz were unfazed. When we zoomed down the exit for Aspen Meadow Parkway, he asked me where exactly my van, and John Richard’s house, were located.
“Stoneberry, number 4402, I’ll direct you once we get past the entrance to the country-club area.”
“When we get there,” Brewster advised, “the cops will be everywhere on the property. Somebody should tell you it’s all right to take your vehicle. Or they won’t, and I’ll take you home. Just don’t get into a conversation and don’t linger. Once you get the okay, hop into your vehicle and take off. Got it?”
“Yes, fine, sure.” I felt unbelievably weary. Every part of my body ached, and the swollen bruises throbbed. My legs tingled, as they always did in the aftermath of a demanding event. Even my brain felt as if it was closing down from overuse. I wanted to be home. Tears bit the back of my eyes. I couldn’t hold them in, but at least I didn’t sob. I bent over to my purse, fished around for a tissue, and carefully wiped my face. Brewster pretended not to notice.
At John Richard’s house, the wind was blowing dust everywhere: into the driveway, onto the crime-scene tape, onto all the cops and investigators moving to and fro. In a couple of places, the tape had broken free of its moorings and fluttered in the breeze like bright party ribbons. I was about to leap from Brewster’s Benz when he turned to me.
“Our security guy will check your phones, then I’ll call you if there are any developments. You have to promise me you’ll phone me if you hear anything.”
I did. I also thanked him. A cop called out that they were done with my van and I could take it. Within moments I was back in the driver’s seat, revving the engine and chugging away from John Richard’s house. I didn’t look back.
Tom’s Chrysler, covered with grit, sat in the driveway. That was a relief. On the street, there was another vehicle I recognized, but couldn’t quite place. It sported a bumper sticker that read: “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.” Somebody was here from St. Luke’s. For this, too, I was thankful.
When I came through the door, Tom was right there. He folded me into a long, comforting hug.
“Where’s Arch?” I asked, my voice muffled.
“Upstairs with Father Pete. I called the church from Eileen’s. He was here when we arrived.” I burrowed into Tom’s shoulder, unable to think. “What do you want to do now?” Tom murmured. “Are you hungry? I barbecued some steaks for Arch and Father Pete. I made one for you, too, and saved it. It’s good cold.”
“Did Arch eat anything?”
“Not much. A few bites. And you’ve already got women phoning from the church. I’m sure you’re not in any mood to return calls.”
“You’ve got that right.” I pulled away from him. “You know what I really want to do? Cook. More than anything, that’ll soothe my nerves.”
“No way.” Tom assessed my bruised arms and legs. “You’ve got to be in pain.”
“I promise to move slowly.”
I washed my hands and put on an apron. I didn’t have the apples to make tarte tatin, so I just took out unsalted butter, eggs, and slivered almonds. I placed them on the counter and stared at them. I felt a stab of worry for Arch. I grabbed the counter to steady myself, then tiptoed out of the kitchen and glanced up the stairs. With Arch’s door closed, I could barely hear Father Pete’s deep voice. I couldn’t make out Arch’s voice at all.
Back in the kitchen, I washed my hands again and told Tom to relax. He settled at our oak kitchen table and kept a watchful, dubious eye on me. Moving slowly, I gathered up flour, sugar, vanilla, and other ingredients I thought would make a delicate, crunchy cookie. As I toasted the almonds, I gave Tom a report of all that had taken place at the department and with my new lawyer. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. His only comment was that, as he’d suspected, they’d taken him off the case. Formally, he was out of the loop. Sergeant Boyd, an old friend of his, had promised to keep him informed of anything he could pick up.
I smiled as I measured flour. I could just imagine Sergeant Boyd, his dark hair clipped in an unfashionable crew cut, his barrel-shaped body, his short, carrotlike fingers. Like Tom, he was no-nonsense when it came to police work. If there was anyone who could bully information out of someone on the investigative team, it was Boyd.
I went back to stirring the warming almonds until they gave off an intoxicating, nutty scent, then I dumped them out to cool on paper towels. As I sifted the flour, checked the softening butter, and measured a judicious amount of sparkling sugar, I wondered what I would call this creation. How about Goldy’s Nuthouse Cookies? I beat the butter until it was creamy, then blended in the sugar until the melange looked like spun gold. After stirring in the other ingredients, I rolled the mixture into logs and set them in the freezer.
I couldn’t stand it any longer: I had to see how Arch was. I crept up the stairs and listened outside the door of his bedroom, the room he had shared with Julian before Julian left for college. Arch’s strained, occasionally sobbing voice alternated with Father Pete’s low rumble. Probably not the best moment to interrupt, I decided, and tiptoed back down the stairs.
Tom and I cleaned the kitchen. Then I asked Tom to sit down with me. He took a moment to retrieve my new quilt. Then he wrapped me up in it and scooted his chair beside mine. He put his arms around me and pulled me close.
He murmured, “Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk.”
“I have to.” My voice caught. In spite of the quilt, I was shaking violently. Then the words rushed out of me. “Tell me. Tell me who you think killed John Richard.”
Tom sighed. “Goldy, don’t.”
“Please. They suspect me. And I’m very worried about how Arch will react to that.” To my embarrassment, my stomach growled with hunger. My early-morning latte and toast was a distant memory.
Tom let go of me and walked over to the refrigerator. “I want the guys to look closely at that assault on you. I also want them to investigate the folks attending that funeral lunch. Somebody didn’t want the event to be a success, and might even have been setting you up…although how or why isn’t clear.” He pulled out a covered plate, unwrapped it, and sliced off a corner of grilled steak. He stabbed this with a fork and held it up to my mouth. He said, “You need to eat.”
I obeyed. The grill-flavored meat was succulent and tender. “Thanks.” I finished my morsel and crossed my arms. “Why look at people from the lunch? Because somebody whacked me and sabotaged my food? Because my gun was stolen there?”
“Yes and yes. I wish you wouldn’t start probing this just yet. You’re not only in pain, you’re exhausted.” I shrugged. Tom went on, “Then again, maybe someone was waiting here at the house for you. At some point, our perp searched your van for
I swallowed. “Why not?”
“John Richard had to be just coming in or just going out, right? And the killer trapped him in his garage.” I gave Tom a confused look. “It’s a matter of trying to figure out a chronology. The department will know more when
