A Killer Read (8 page)

“Not about the case,” she admitted. “Why? Has something else come up?”

“Well, I had a call from Stephanie, poor child, as if she doesn’t have enough to worry about. Seems that new officer questioned her again. And Bob’s all in a huff because she questioned him, too. I’ll bet she didn’t know he’s the former chief, but I’m sure he set her straight in no time sharp.” She chuckled, then sobered quickly. “It’s like they suspect one of us and are hoping the others will give something away.”

Lizzie put a hand over Molly’s. “I think you’ve been reading too many mysteries. Don’t take this personally, Molly. We were all there; they have to check and double-check our stories. I doubt they seriously think any one of us is the murderer, though.” She tried to sound reassuring, although her true thoughts were far from calm. “I’m sure I’ll be on that list, too.”

“Well, you come and see me after they question you and we’ll compare notes.” Molly sounded a bit put out.

This would not do. Lizzie tried to mollify her. “I don’t
mean to take your concerns lightly, Molly. And I am worried about this, too. But we know we’re all innocent, so I can’t imagine how they’ll come up with any damaging evidence that says otherwise.”

Molly sighed. “I guess you’re right, Lizzie. It’s just a worry, that’s all. It’s kind of like a Christie plot: the murder takes place offstage, the victim is someone we don’t sympathize with, mainly because we don’t know him and he did so rudely wander into my house, and although Christie didn’t often use a gun as the weapon, it did happen. Problem is, Agatha Christie often had a second murder take place and that was often someone likeable. Someone who knew too much. But I guess that lets all of us off the hook ’cause to hear tell it, we know nothing.”

“I wish the police would believe that.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Also, well, I hate to mention it…”

“What is it, Molly?”

“Well, I seem to be missing a few small items, nothing that breaks the bank, but they were special to me.”

“Like what?” Lizzie leaned forward.

“Well, a small cloisonné egg that Claydon gave me many years ago. And a ceramic thimble. Things like that. Nothing large. They were all in a small glass display cabinet I have in Claydon’s study.” Molly sighed and took a sip of her wine.

“Do you think that Frank Telford may have taken something after all?”

“I’m wondering. However, I’m also misplacing things these days. But I’m pretty certain I hadn’t taken them out to dust or anything recently.” Same as with the gun, Lizzie thought, and wondered fleetingly if Molly in fact might be getting more forgetful these days.

Their food arrived, and they didn’t talk again until after the server left.

“That might give credence to the theory that Telford was casing your place and maybe pocketed some small items for
himself, including the gun. Then he has a falling out with his partner when they met outside. And he ended up dead.”

Molly nodded. “That would make sense. Maybe you could mention the items to the chief, see if he can locate them stuffed in the car or something. It might sound more convincing coming from you. They might think I’m coming up with this because it was Claydon’s gun that was used.”

Lizzie paused, fork in midair. “Or maybe the accomplice took them. Yes. He got mad that Telford tried that on his own, shot him and grabbed the evidence.”

Molly smiled. “You’ve been reading a lot of mysteries yourself, honey.”

She had. And maybe she should be proactive here. Not wait to be hauled in for more questioning but go to see Mark tomorrow, first thing. No, busy morning. She’d go right after school.

Molly seemed to relax a little and between bites of her bass shared her latest plans with Lizzie. “December 17 would have been Claydon’s and my sixtieth wedding anniversary. I’m planning to celebrate with a wonderfully large Christmas party. Maybe an open house. Or a sit-down dinner. I haven’t done one of those in so many years, and we used to love hosting them. I do believe the planning must begin now or I won’t be able to stage it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Molly.”
And a good way to get your mind off murder
, Lizzie thought. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Oh, there will be, honey. Thanks so much. I knew I could count on you. Now let’s just hope this murder mess is all cleared up by then.”

L
izzie drove home by rote, deep in thought about Frank Telford. She didn’t like what was happening to her friends. Despite what she’d told Molly, she realized that none of them were really off the hook until the killer was in jail. The police’s persistence in questioning the book club members was evidence of that.

She wondered what had really brought Telford to Molly’s house. Was it merely a matter of coincidence? Maybe the Internet held some answers as to why Frank Telford from Stoney Mills would be at Molly Mathews’s house one Thursday night. At the very least, she might learn more about the man.

She felt a jolt of excitement when she turned onto Sidcup Street and saw the police car parked in front of her house. She had to admit, Mark hadn’t been too far from her thoughts since their hike the morning before. She pulled into the driveway and took a quick, discreet look in the rearview mirror. She’d meant to check her hair but instead
focused on the female police officer walking up behind her car. She quickly exited the car and turned to face her.

“Are you Elizabeth Turner?” the officer asked.

“Yes, I am. And you are?”

“Officer Amber Craig. I’d like to talk to you. It shouldn’t take long. We can go inside or to the station.” Her voice remained neutral, as if she were reciting this from memory and it was of no consequence to her.

Lizzie didn’t like the “to the station” bit but tried to sound pleasant when she answered. “Inside is fine.” She led the way and pointed the officer to the living room. She draped her jacket over the staircase newel post and followed. “Would you like some iced tea?”

“This isn’t a social call, Miss Turner. I have some questions for you about the murder of Frank Telford.”

No surprise there
, thought Lizzie. “Fine. What would you like to know?”

The officer removed her hat, giving Lizzie a clearer view of her face. She looked to be in her midtwenties, long blonde hair pulled back in a bun, clear skin, angular features and icy blue eyes. In other words, someone who could make a certain police chief’s mouth water. Lizzie sighed.

“Is this a big bother for you?” asked Officer Craig, her lips drawn into a stern line.

“No, not at all. I’m happy to help the police. I’m just not sure what I can help you with.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Miss Turner. You were one of the last people to see the deceased?”

“Yes. As I said in my statement, in the hall at Molly Mathews’s house.”

“Now, that’s not entirely correct, is it? Your statement says that when he left, you were in the library. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is. I first saw him in the hall.”

“I’d like you to go over your entire statement again, right from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out just because it’s already in your statement. Or assumed.”

Snippy little thing
, Lizzie thought before beginning another recitation of the events of Thursday night.

“You didn’t mention, this time, that you were the one to persuade him to wait in the library where the book club was meeting?” Officer Craig looked up from her notebook.

“Didn’t I? I thought I did.”

“You said, ‘We asked him in.’ In your statement you said”—she paused to read from her notebook— “‘I asked him in.’ Which is it?”

Lizzie thought a moment. “It was me. I asked him in.”

Officer Craig nodded. “Why did you do that?”

“Why? Because I wanted Bob Miller to get a look at him.”

“Why do that? Did you suspect Mr. Telford of something? Did you have prior knowledge of what he was doing there?”

“No. Of course not. I’d not met the man before. I just thought it odd he was so bold.”

“So, it wasn’t anything specific?”

“No. Just a feeling, a hunch maybe.”

Officer Craig paused in her writing and sat quietly, looking at Lizzie.

She’s trying to rattle me. I don’t have anything to hide. I wish she’d stop that.

“And you still claim you didn’t know the deceased and hadn’t seen him before?”

Lizzie stiffened. She really didn’t like Officer Craig’s tone. “It’s not a claim. It’s a fact. Has the chief found out yet how Telford got hold off Molly Mathews’s gun?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss anything about the case, especially what the chief may or may not be doing.”

She stood up abruptly and tucked her notebook into her pocket.

Lizzie felt desperate for some information. “Are you any closer to finding the killer?”

“Miss Turner, what do you not understand about what I
just said? That’s all for now. I will be getting back to you at some future point, though.” She nodded, placed her hat back on, taking care not to disturb her bun, and left.

Lizzie now knew exactly how Molly had felt. She wished she hadn’t been so dismissive when talking to her at lunch. If all the book club members were going through the same thing, she needed to talk to them. Maybe one of them could deduce something from the various interviews and questions. Or, maybe someone had actually been told a piece of information that might help.

She soon found out that late Sunday afternoon was not a good time for catching people in. So, the calls could wait till later. Maybe she just needed to chill out for a while, put Officer Craig and Chief Dreyfus totally out of her mind. She found a jar of almond butter tucked in back of the condiments shelf in her kitchen, where she thought she might use it less and therefore cut down on the added calories and cost. But not today. She’d just dipped her spoon in for a second mouthful when the phone rang. Caller ID announced Sally-Jo.

“I see you called but didn’t leave a message,” Sally-Jo said without preamble. She often left out the salutations and good-byes. Her own form of shorthand.

“I did call but rather than leave a message, thought I’d call back later. You just get in?”

“Yes. Jacob just dropped me off. We drove out to the Wilkins Farmstead for tea. Just thought I’d throw that all in before you asked.”

“Ah. A nice time, I’d imagine?”

“Very. And yes, I did call him yesterday and he went to the cop shop with me, then I treated him to a drink and we had dinner together. Dutch. Period. Stop. Nothing else happened last night.” Lizzie could hear Sally-Jo pouring herself a drink of something.

“But it was a nice time, too— I’m just guessing now,” Lizzie couldn’t help but add.

“And you’d be right. So enough of my platonic dating life. What’s on your mind?” Sally-Jo asked.

“First of all, tell me about your police interview. Who spoke to you?”

“You mean who interrogated me. It was Officer Amber Craig. And she really gave me the third degree. Everything except the rubber hoses.”

“Why? What can she possibly imagine you’d know about the murder?”

“Search me. But she’s suspicious since I’m a relative newcomer to town, as is Jacob. His appointment is tomorrow, and I’ll bet he gets it even worse, being an attorney.”

“Ah, but being an attorney, he knows how to stick up for himself. I’ll bet she’ll regret interviewing him.”
What a pleasant thought.
Lizzie managed to pour a glass of water and chugged it to dislodge the remaining almond butter coating her teeth. “I had the privilege this afternoon. And I got to thinking, maybe we should reconvene the book club just to find out what’s going on with everyone. Who knows, maybe the police let something slip that might give us an idea of where we’re heading.”

“Are you into the almond butter?”

“Yes.” She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear while hastily screwing the top back on the jar.

“Humph. Wasn’t I supposed to ask you that from time to time and you were to say something like, ‘Oh, dear, I forgot. I’ll put it right away’? Whatever, a meeting might be a good idea. Actually, I thought she’d go easier on you, given your history with the chief.”

“What history? We just went to the same high school.” Lizzie felt her cheeks warming. Good thing she was alone.

“Hmm. That was then. I mean after yesterday’s hike. Word does get around in Ashton Corners, you know.”

“Oh, good grief. We need to talk about the murder, not my supposed love life. I’ll check with Molly if maybe we can meet Thursday night and get back to you.” She paused.
“If I time your call right, it may save me making another one— to Jacob. Two birds with one stone and all that,” she teased.

Sally-Jo laughed. “I’m not rushing this one, Lizzie. So better keep your dialing finger in order.