6 Death Takes The Blue Ribbon (2 page)

Chapter Three

It wasn’t long before three other officers showed up to talk to witnesses. Thankfully, I didn’t see T.J. Roosevelt there. I hadn’t seen him much since he told me he was resigning from the FBI and coming back to town. It was a complication I wasn’t ready to deal with.

“He won’t be back for another month or so,” Owen said as he came up behind me.

“Who?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Don’t play innocent with me.”

“I wasn’t looking for him. I was trying to get a head count so I could get some water over here.”

Owen looked like he didn’t believe me, but didn’t say anything else. “Hopefully, we won’t have to keep these folks here too long. Do you know how long those pies were sitting there before the contest started? I got here five minutes early, and they were already here.”

“Fifteen minutes at the most. The volunteers brought them from Delia’s bakery.”

“You said several people made the pies?”

I nodded. “Several of the ladies who entered the pie contest made a few extra for us.”

“Like who?”

“Gladys and Durlene, for starters.

“Who else?”

“Like I told you earlier, the list is on the clipboard I handed you. Iris Griswell, Andrea Martin, Delia, Ethel Danforth and Olga Johnstone.”

“And the pies were sitting unattended at the bakery?”

“That I don’t know. You’d have to ask Delia.”

“Ask me what?” Delia said as she walked up to us.

“I was wondering if the pies for the contest were left unattended at any time,” Owen said.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Could someone have tampered with them while they were at your bakery?”

“I suppose so, although I don’t know why anyone would. Why are you asking me?”

“Because Harold Norwell dropped dead into his pie,” I told her.

“He what? Oh my gosh, I wondered why there were so many police officers over here. I thought they were cheering you on, Owen.”

“Did you see anyone come into the bakery that didn’t belong there?”

“I’ve had customers in and out of there, Owen. To me, everyone belongs.”

“Good point. Where did you keep the pies for the contest?”

“On a table near the display case. I didn’t have room in the back for them.”

“So anyone could have come in while you were busy, sprinkled something on some of the pies, and you wouldn’t have noticed it?”

“Probably not,” she conceded. “I left the door unlocked this morning because I was busy setting up a booth for the fair. I didn’t want to have to wait around for them to come get the pies.”

“I don’t suppose you have any surveillance cameras inside, do you?”

Delia shook her head. “We’ve talked about it, but that’s all.”

Owen didn’t have any more questions for her, so Delia walked over and talked to Gladys for a minute. “Sure would be nice to know if anyone was hanging around the bakery that normally wouldn’t be in there.”

Alan joined us, wearing a pair of latex gloves and holding a pie pan. “Owen, this is the third pie that Harold ate before he collapsed.”

We looked at it. “Blueberry,” I said. There was only one person I knew had made a blueberry pie, but I didn’t want to throw her under the bus. “Is there a name on the pan?”

Alan held it above his head and looked at the bottom of the pan. “Yeah, Norwell.”

“Are you sure?” Owen replied.

“Look for yourself,” Alan said, holding the pan up so Owen could see the bottom.

“Damn,” he muttered. He looked at me. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because during the fight the other day, Durlene mentioned that she saw Gladys preparing blueberry pies in her kitchen.”

“She was spying on Gladys?” I nodded. “Why?”

“Because Durlene saw her buying frozen fruit instead of fresh at the store, and she wanted to catch Gladys cheating.”

“Is that why Gladys was disqualified?”

“Yes, because the rules state you have to use fresh fruit.”

“And Durlene?”

“She got kicked out because she spied on a fellow contestant. It’s against the rules.” Owen glanced over at Gladys. “You don’t think…oh, you can’t be serious, Owen. She loved that man. They were childhood sweethearts.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t do it,” he said. “I’ve heard stories about couples who have been married forty years that end up killing a spouse. They just snap.”

“If either one of them was going to snap, it would have been Harold,” I pointed out. “Gladys must have driven him nuts with all her antics.”

“Yeah, I always thought he’d smack her in the head with a frying pan or something,” Owen said, rubbing his chin.

“Do you really think you should be the one talking to her? After all, you’re a witness.”

“I’ll question her,” a familiar voice said behind me. I closed my eyes and shook my head. No way. I turned around and there he was.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be here for another month.”

T.J. Roosevelt smiled. “Owen and I thought it would be a good idea if I came down here for the fair. Mingle with people, get to know them again.”

I looked over at Owen. “Did he now?”

Owen shrugged. “If I told you he was coming, you would have found an excuse to leave town. You’re going to have to face him sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.”

“So, tell me exactly what’s going on, and who the woman is I need to talk to.”

“Harold Norwell just dropped dead, face first, into a pie, and you need to talk to Gladys,” I replied smugly. Oh, I was so going to enjoy this.

Owen filled him in, and Alan showed him the pie pan. T.J. took my clipboard from Owen, and went over to Gladys. “Man, I’m glad he’s talking to her and not me,” Alan said. “I’m going to put this in an evidence bag.”

We watched him walk off. “I’m going to see about that water,” I said. “It’s a bit warm in this tent with everyone still here. Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

I nodded, and started to walk away when I heard Gladys yell. Turning around, I saw her smack T.J. upside the head with her purse. “How dare you accuse me of killing my husband,” she screeched at him as she hit him again. Durlene was trying to grab the purse out of Gladys’ hand, but she got hit with it instead. She scrambled out of Gladys’ reach.

Owen and Alan rushed over, but T.J. held up a hand and stopped them. “Now, Gladys,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t you call me Gladys, you two-faced twit,” she snapped. “Who gave you the authority to come over here and question me while my husband is not twenty feet away dead?”

“I did, Gladys,” Owen told her. “Alan and I are both witnesses; we can’t be the ones to question you. T.J. is a member of the department, and he wasn’t in the tent when this happened.”

“Well, find somebody else. I don’t want to talk to
him
,” she replied.

“Fine,” Owen agreed. “I’ll call Sheriff Dansbury from Hill County. It will probably take him an hour to get here. Knowing him the way I do, he’ll probably request that we take you down to the station until he gets here. Since most of my officers are here, and the others are on patrol, we’ll have to put you in a cell.”

“You can’t do that to me,” Gladys sputtered.

“Sure, I can,” Owen said. “Your choice: you can either talk to T.J. or wait for Sheriff Dansbury in a cell at the station.”

She glared at him. “Fine, I’ll talk to him, but she’s got to sit here with me while I do,” she said, pointing at me.

My mouth dropped open in surprise. There was no way I was going to sit with the two people I hated the most in the world. I shook my head. “No way.”

Owen gently took my arm and pulled me aside. “I know what you’re thinking…”

“You have no idea.”

“…but I would really appreciate it if you would help me out here,” Owen continued. “I don’t think she did it, but I have to cover all the bases here. Just do this so we can move on and find the real killer.”

“Why don’t you just pull out all my teeth? That would be less painful.” He gave me the sad puppy dog look. “Oh please, you look like Babe when you do that. Alright, alright, I’ll do it, but that’s two you owe me.”

“What’s the first one?”

“For lying to me about T.J. coming back,” I said as I walked away.

Chapter Four

The three of us ended up at the Eat it or Starve Café, because Owen said that Delia’s Bakery was considered a potential crime scene. We sat down at one of the tables while Maddie brought out three glasses of ice water. “Just lock up when you’re done,” she said, handing me the key. “I’ll be at my booth.”

I locked the door behind her after she left, and returned to my seat. Gladys sat her purse down with a thump on the table, and took a big drink of water. Setting it down, she crossed her arms across her chest and glared at T.J., who sat across the table from her. I was seated on T.J.’s left, wishing I was at home with Babe, my bloodhound, and Mittens, my Maltese. Who was I kidding? I wanted to be anywhere but here.

“So Gladys, tell me about the pies,” T.J. said.

“You’ll call me Mrs. Norwell, or you won’t address me at all,” Gladys snapped at him.

I stifled a laugh as T.J. sighed. “Alright, Mrs. Norwell, the pies you baked for the contest.”

“They weren’t all intended for the contest,” she said. “One of them was for the pie tasting contest. At least it was until that…that
woman
stuck her nose into my business.”

“What woman?”

“Durlene Snodgrass, that’s who.”

T.J. looked over at me, and I shrugged. “I’m just here because she told me to be here. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. You want to know something, ask her.”

He glanced at Gladys. “So what exactly did Ms. Snodgrass do?”

“She spied on me through the windows of my own house while I made my pies. That is totally against the fair competition rules.”

“Did you tell someone about it?”

Gladys pointed at me. “Durlene ratted me out to Lizzie there because I used the wrong kind of fruit for my pie. Lizzie disqualified both of us from the competition.”

“What kind of pie did you make?”

“I made blueberry and blackberry.”

“And how many did you make?”

“Five,” Gladys replied. “One for the best pie contest, two for the Methodist church booth, and two for the pie eating contest.” Gladys unfolded her arms and put her hands in her lap. “Two of the pies were stolen, though.”

“What do you mean stolen?” T.J. asked. “By Durlene?”

“I’m not sure who stole them,” she admitted. “I had put them on the kitchen table to cool, and left the back door open. But I’m pretty sure the screen door was locked.”

“When did this happen?” I said.

“Two days ago, the day I baked them. The wire mesh was sliced near the door handle. I guess someone stuck their hand in the hole, unlocked the door and came in while I was doing laundry.”

“And you didn’t hear anyone come in?” T.J. said as he wrote something down on the clipboard. She shook her head no. “Did you file a police report?”

“Are you crazy?” Gladys exclaimed. “That would have made me the laughingstock all over town.” I bit my lip to keep from pointing out it was too late for that.

“Harold’s third pie pan had your name on it,” T.J. told her.

Gladys’ face went pale, and I was afraid she was going to faint. “You mean…he died after eating one of my pies?” Tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her face. “I killed my Harold?”

I pulled out some napkins from the dispenser on the table and handed them to her. “You know that’s not true, Gladys,” I said soothingly. T.J.’s eyes widened, and he started to say something, but I shook my head. She didn’t need to know right now that Owen suspected poison. I would have to remember to ask him about that later. Someone knocked on the locked front door. Well, speak of the devil…

T.J. got up and unlocked the door. I heard the two of them whispering, but couldn’t tell what they were saying. T.J. came back to the table. “I’ll stay with her. Owen wants to talk to you for a minute.”

“I’ll be right back, Gladys,” I said. “We’ll call Charlene and Iris to see if one of them can drive you home.” She nodded and blew her nose. I hurried over to Owen. “What’s up?”

He pulled me outside and closed the door. “We need to search the Norwell house.”

“What for? I thought you said you didn’t believe she did it.”

“And I still don’t. But Doc Endicott doesn’t think Harold died of natural causes, either.”

“But neither one of you know for sure, right?” Owen shook his head. “Do you have a search warrant for the house yet?”

“No,” he admitted. “The judge is somewhere at the fair, according to his clerk. We’re trying to find him right now.”

“You can’t keep her out of her own home, especially at a time like this.”

“And I can’t have her going in there to destroy evidence of a crime.”

“You’re a walking contradiction, Owen Greene.” But as much as I hated to admit it, I knew he was right. But no way did I believe that Gladys killed Harold, but letting them search the house would eliminate her as a suspect right away. “You have to let her get some of her things,” I told him. “She probably has some medication she takes daily.”

“I talked to Iris Griswell, and she said Gladys can stay with her. You and T.J. take her to her house, let her get what she needs for a couple of days. I’m not going to apply for the warrant until Doc finishes his preliminary autopsy.”

“It seems to me you’re jumping to conclusions, Owen. We’ve known Gladys all our lives. The Norwells may have fought with each other once in a while, but they loved each other very much.”

“I know that, but we still have to do everything by the book, regardless of any personal connection to the parties involved. T.J. is going to run the investigation. The other officers will assist him.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“It’s not up to her,” he snapped. “She doesn’t run this town.”

I held up my hands. “It was just a comment.”

“I know. Sorry,” Owen said, rubbing his chin. “This is a bit of a nightmare.”

“More so for her,” I replied, looking over my shoulder. She was twisting a napkin in her hands as T.J. talked to her. “She’s going to throw a fit when you tell her that she can’t stay in her house.”

“Actually, you and T.J. are going to tell her,” he said as his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen. “I gotta take this. Iris will meet you in front of the Norwell house. Good luck.” He answered his phone as he walked off.

That was three he owed me now, and boy, was he gonna pay big time.