A Mold For Murder (12 page)

Once we had our mixes, Kate said, “Now, let’s move on. Take your beeswax beads and put them in the microwavable glass bowls I handed out. Add the sunflower oil, then nuke the contents at high power for thirty seconds. Stir your mixture and keep going until the wax is melted. It should take about two minutes.”

“Why not go for two minutes straight then?” I asked.

“Stirring helps it all get incorporated,” Kate said. After we did as we were told, we pulled our bowls out. “Now add color and flavor if you’d like it. We’re not going to split these like we did the lotion, but you can mix and layer lip balms, too. Be careful, the mixture’s hot. When you’ve got what you want, pipe it into the tubes or canisters and let them cool. Oh, one thing. Give the tubes a few minutes, then add another few drops to make up for air bubbles and settling.”

We all worked together, chatting as we went. The mix was hot; I could attest to that when some accidentally sloshed out on me. After two minutes, Louisa tried to pipe more balm into the top of her tube. “It’s already set up.”

Kate nodded. “Just microwave it for another thirty seconds, then you’ll be ready to go again. Your pipette is going to be full, too, so just squeeze it out like you would a tube of toothpaste, and you’re ready to go again.”

I hadn’t been all that excited to learn how to make lip balm and hand lotion, and I hadn’t been afraid to admit it, but the results had turned out pretty cool, and if Diana was still speaking to me, I’d have a few thoughtful little gifts to help smooth things over between us.

I was feeling pretty good about my creations when my cell phone rang.

“Are we finished, Kate?” I asked.

“We are. Thank you all.”

I let the phone ring, then started applauding. My family soon followed, and our clapping filled the classroom. Sometime in the applause, the ringing had stopped.

Kate took it all in, then Mom said, “It’s time to open. Ben, after you take that call, help your sister clean up.”

“Which sister?” Louisa asked.

“I think Kate should do it, since it was her class,” Cindy added.

Mom was about to rule when Kate said, “I don’t mind, really. It was fun.”

“You’ve been reprieved,” Mom said to Louisa and Cindy. That’s when I noticed that my brothers were already gone. It appeared that they’d made their escape as soon as I’d drawn the assignment to help. I’d find a way to get them back. After all, what were big brothers for?

Kate and Mom started to clean up, and I checked my phone to see who had called. It was a number I didn’t recognize, so I dialed it and was surprised when a woman answered.

“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” she said.

It took me a second to realize who it was. “Is this Betsy Blair?”

“How many other women have you been hunting down like dogs? I don’t appreciate the effort, Mr. Perkins.”

I nearly asked her how she’d gotten my number when I realized that one of the hotel clerks I’d left it with must have passed it on to her after denying she was staying there. If I ever had a tryst, I’d do it there. I hadn’t had a clue one of them had lied to me.

“I don’t have all day,” she said. “I’m checking out in one hour, so if you want to talk to me, you’ll have to get out here by then.”

“I would, if I knew where you were staying,” I said.

Her laugh was like a hyena’s bark. “Good point. I’m at the Mountain Lake. Are you familiar with it?”

“I’ve been there a time or two,” I said, trying to decide if I was going to tell Molly about my rendezvous.

“I’ll just bet you have,” she said, then added another wicked laugh. “I’m in room thirteen. There’s just one thing, though. No cops, do you understand me? I’ll talk to you, but if anyone else shows up, I’m going to get a case of amnesia that will make your head fall off. Understand?”

I could always catch Molly up later if I learned anything. “I understand. I’ll be right there.”

I made my excuses, then tore out of the soap shop toward the motel. Maybe I was finally going to get some answers.

SEVEN

THε
door to room thirteen was standing wide open, and for a second I thought Betsy had left without waiting for me. Then I had an eerie premonition as I stepped inside. For the oddest reason, the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention, and I had an overwhelming feeling in my gut that she was dead.

“You must be Ben Perkins,” an overweight woman with brassy highlights said as she came out of the bathroom. So much for my second sight.

She had a makeup bag in her hands, but I was surprised there was any left after seeing the heavy application on her face. She must have bought it by the barrel, the way she’d so lavishly applied it.

“I am,” I admitted. “I’m curious about something, Betsy. Why did you agree to see me?”

She put the makeup bag in her suitcase. “You just named it yourself. Curiosity killed more than the cat, didn’t it? I thought to myself, now why in the world would a soapmaker by trade want to talk to me? Are you looking for tips, perhaps?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m a decent craftsman myself. No, I’m here to talk to you about your lawsuit.”

“How disappointing,” she said. “And I was hoping we could trade some secrets about our profession.”

“Are you a professional soapmaker, too?” I asked.

“I don’t have that pleasure, thanks to Connie Brown. I absolutely refuse to call her
the contessa
. She stole my book, and my best chance at ever being recognized as a talent in the industry.”

“It sounds like you really hated her,” I said as I leaned against the door frame.

She laughed, then said, “Don’t try your tricks on me, Ben. I won’t be goaded into a confession. Think about it. Why would I want her dead? Now that she’s out of the picture, it will be impossible to prove to the world that her last book—the one that everyone on earth says was her best book—was really mine. No, I’m afraid the hunt for my satisfaction died with her. I’m giving up.”

“There’s still her estate,” I said.

“I won’t sue a dead woman,” Betsy said fiercely, then quickly regained her composure. “I hope you find the killer. They deprived me of my dream, and I hope they pay for it.”

“I thought your dream was to be published?” I asked. Betsy Blair’s words were rational enough, but there was an undertone in her voice that made me wonder if the woman was quite mad.

“That would have been the icing, but the cake would have been to see the great contessa exposed as the thief she was. And now I’ve been robbed of even that.” She latched her suitcase, then hefted it. “How dreary of you to seek me out just to ask me such mundane questions. It’s too bad you didn’t want any tips from me. In all modesty, I’m very good.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She dug into her suitcase and came up with a bound manuscript. “Read it and see if I don’t know what I’m talking about. I had this made up for the trial, so feel free to keep it.”

I took it from her, then on a whim, I handed it back to her and asked, “Would you mind signing it for me?” I figured if I stroked her ego a little, maybe I’d get something useful out of her.

She looked startled by the very idea of it, and as she rummaged around in her purse for a pen, I could swear she was blushing. She signed the top page with a flowery scrawl, then handed it back to me. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” I said. “So, what’s next for you?”

“I’m going to write another book. This time, though, I’m not showing it to anyone but a reputable publisher. I did it once. I’m going to prove I can do it again.”

As she started to go, I asked, “By the way, where were you yesterday afternoon?”

Betsy waved a finger in the air toward me. “Don’t be tedious, Ben. Do you really want the last thing you say to me to be a request for an alibi?”

“You can’t blame me for being curious,” I said.

“No,” she said with a smile. “I suppose not.” She shut the door behind us, then put her bag in the back of a banged-up old Saturn. I thought she was going to just drive off, but before she did, she said, “I’m not the one you should be asking for an alibi.”

“Who else did you have in mind?”

“Someone who was about to be fired.”

“Are you talking about Sharon?”

“Ask her yourself,” Betsy said.

“Why don’t you come with me? After all, you’re the one who eavesdropped on their conversation.”

She didn’t deny it. “And what on earth could possibly be in it for me? That’s what makes the world wag its tail, Ben, never forget it.”

Before I could answer, she drove away. As I wrote her license plate number down on the palm of my hand, I could still hear her laughing.

I called Molly, who answered grumpily, “What?”

“I just talked to Betsy Blair, and she had an interesting take on Connie Brown’s murder you should hear.”

“Ben, don’t start with me. I’ve had a bad morning, and it just keeps getting worse.”

“Don’t you at least want to hear what she had to say?”

There was a short pause, then Molly said, “Go ahead, but make it dance.”

I think “Betsy eavesdropped on Connie’s room while she was staying in town, and she heard Connie fighting with Sharon. She claims the contessa fired her assistant just before she was murdered.”

I could hear Molly sigh loudly. “I can’t use any of that: it is nothing but hearsay, and if you weren’t such an amateur, you would know it, too.”

“At least talk to her,” I said.

“Don’t you think I have? Ben, stick to your soapmaking and leave the detecting to me.”

And then she hung up on me.

I was too angry to drive, so I sat there until I could calm myself down. Molly knew just how to tweak my pride, and I wish I could get over the jabs she took at me, but unfortunately, I hadn’t figured out a way to do that yet. On a whim, I picked up the manuscript Betsy had signed for me and leafed through it. It wasn’t half bad, actually. Her points were lucid and well thought out, and I found myself easily following her steps and procedures. From teaching classes myself, I knew that wasn’t as easy as it looked. Something caught my eye as I scanned the document, and I realized that one of the techniques she was suggesting was more than a little familiar. Where had I seen it, though? Then I realized that it had come from Connie’s new book, with little effort made to hide its source. But the real question was still which document had come first.

I hated to admit it, but I wasn’t getting anywhere in my investigation. I thought of a dozen things I could do, but what I ended up deciding on was going back to the shop. It seemed that every time I tried to help, I kept getting smacked in the nose for my trouble. If it weren’t for Diana’s involvement with the murder victim—and the fact that our back room was the murder scene—I’d turn my back on the whole thing without a single look over my shoulder.

I was involved in it, though, whether I liked it or not.

As I drove, I realized that I couldn’t let Molly brush me off like that. I had given her pertinent information—at least I thought it was important—and she was going to take it seriously.

I took a chance and went by her office, but she wasn’t there, and the man behind the desk wouldn’t tell me where she was. I had an idea, though. It was approaching lunchtime, and I knew she and my brother liked to eat together whenever they could. All I had to do was go back to Where There’s Soap and hope she showed up.

Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. At least that’s what I thought as I pulled into the back parking lot of Where There’s Soap and saw Molly’s squad car parked there. She was sitting in the driver’s seat talking on the radio as I approached her, and I could hear her say, “It’s okay, George, you did the right thing. No, it’s fine. He’s standing right here. I don’t need backup to handle him, trust me.”

She got out of the squad car. “You’ve got to stop showing up at my office. Half the force believes you’re stalking me, and the other half thinks you’re pining away for my long lost love.”

“You wish,” I said, without hesitation.

I’d been flip about it, but apparently she wasn’t in the mood. “No, actually, I’d hoped you’d get bored and find a new hobby. I’m tired of having you nipping at my heels all of the time.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. Sometimes I get there before you do,” I said, letting my voice’s intensity match hers.

“Ben, when are you going to get it through your head that I don’t need your help? I’m a good cop. Why can’t you believe that?”

“I do,” I said. “Molly, I’m not trying to make you look bad when I dig into these things. But I wish you’d at least acknowledge that sometimes I manage to come up with something you’ve missed.”

“Let’s see, you just insulted my work ethic, my professional competence, and my honor. How on earth could any of that make me mad?”

“I’m not trying to charm you,” I said. “I had some valuable information to share with you, but because of your stubborn pride, she’s probably long gone.”

Molly looked at me and frowned. “Are you still talking about Betsy Blair? I can’t listen to whatever she told you. It won’t stand up in court.”

“Then go talk to her yourself. She checked out of the Mountain Lake Motel, but I’ve got her license plate number. Find her and talk to her.”

“What’s the plate number?” she asked as she got back into her car and turned the radio up.

I held my palm up where I’d written it.

She stared at it a second, then asked, “Do you honestly expect me to do anything with this?”

I looked at my hand and saw that the number was smudged beyond recognition. “It started with a
J.
I’m pretty sure of that.”

“Sorry, but it’s not enough.” She turned her radio back off and got out.

“Aren’t you going to at least talk to her?” I asked.

“You told me she was gone, remember? What do you expect me to do about it?”