Football is Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries) (4 page)

She had to admit that the case intrigued her. The victims in the other cases she had worked on had antagonized at least one if not more Springdale residents. They had seemed clear-cut—before they’d pulled her down the rabbit hole and, in some cases, put her life in danger. She didn’t know anybody in Rockfield. And the chief was saying Johnny Cooper had no known enemies. Nobody had a motive to kill him.

She couldn’t explain why, but it made Jessie itch to get to the bottom of the puzzle.

“Yes, I’m in, Chief.”

He patted her shoulder. “We’ll have to get you set up with your investigator’s license soon.”

She shook her head. A couple months ago, the thought of that would have made her laugh. Now? She had to admit there was a certain appeal to it.

“Let’s take things on a case-by-case basis for now, huh?”

He nodded. “Sure. It’ll be good to have another Springdale detective on board.”

“The Rockfield PD won’t mind me assisting you?”

Chief Daly shook his head. “Of course not, Jessie. They know all about how much of a help you were around here recently. They’re even more eager than I am to get this solved before there’s a national scandal.”

“So what have we got?” she asked, rubbing her hands together.

The chief shook his head. “We’ve got a body in a nightclub pool.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Chapter 5

“Jessie Henderson, reporting for duty,” Jessie said, playfully saluting the chief.

He shook his head, laughing. “Look, whatever gets you into this cruiser and over to Rockfield. Just play it down in front of the media, alright? They’ll jump on us if there’s even the slightest hint that we’re not taking this seriously.”

Jessie bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Chief. I didn’t mean to—”

“Jessie, it’s fine,” he said, holding up a huge hand. “I know you weren’t being disrespectful of Johnny. But the media is a different animal. They’ll take a hold of the slightest thing and twist it so that you look like the worst person in the world.”

She climbed into the front seat and fastened her seatbelt, nodding. Jessie knew all too well the power of the media—she had seen it first hand when Ken Dobbs, the Springdale Chronicle editor, had waged a campaign against her friend Maddie Sweet. The funny thing was, after such a strange start Jessie and Ken were on friendly terms now. She didn’t see him often, but when she did he’d always invite her back to his office to try his latest home distilling effort. She hadn’t worked up the courage to try one yet.

“I have to say, Chief,” she said with a sigh as they left Springdale and drove in the direction of Rockfield. “I was reluctant to get involved in another investigation, but it’s nice that it’s not in Springdale. I don’t know how you do it—investigating people you live around and know well.”

He shook his head and signaled to turn. “It’s different when you’re a cop, Jessie. I’ve been on the force for so long now that I’ve come across all kinds of criminals. That’s just life.”

“Doesn’t that make you cynical?”

“Nah,” he sighed. “The important thing is the presumption of innocence. I take people as they are, but if they commit a crime, you can be sure I’m gonna do my job and arrest them.”

Jessie stared out the window. It was true—Chief Daly seemed truly objective. And when he couldn’t be—as she knew from experience—he stepped back and asked somebody else to investigate a crime he felt he couldn’t handle objectively. She shivered as her mind went further and she remembered a case not long ago where she’d found herself as the prime suspect.

“That Detective Jansen,” she said with a shudder. “He’s not going to be working this case, is he?”

Chief Daly glanced at her before focusing his attention back on the road in front of them. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t think so, though. Chief Carston didn’t mention bringing in Glenvale PD.”

“Okay, Chief,” she said, cheered by that knowledge.

Chief Daly patted her shoulder. “Look, we’re not going to the Rockfield police department today anyway.”

“We’re not?” she asked, as they reached the outskirts of Rockfield.

“No. Today we’re going to go see Mrs. Cooper.”

“The widow,” Jessie whispered.

“Uh-huh.” Chief Daly nodded and rolled down his window. “That’s how these things usually play. We work backward, meeting the closest people first. So today we’ll meet his wife. His siblings. Then after that, we’ll focus on his other associates.”

“Oh,” Jessie said. She didn’t want to bring up her neighbor—not after what the chief had said about innocent until proven guilty. She hoped the concept of justice would help her sleep that night, but she doubted it. She still freaked out every time Toby stirred in the night, even though there hadn’t been a repeat of the nighttime driving incident.

“Here we are,” Chief Daly said quietly, turning into a long tree-lined driveway.

“Wow,” Jessie said, looking around. “This place looks…”

“Incredibly expensive? Beyond any of our price ranges?”

She nodded, too busy looking around to form a reply. It really was spectacular. Tall trees that must have been a hundred years old lined the road. Every now and again there was a gap in the trees, and she caught fleeting glimpses of sleek horses.

“Wow,” she said again. “I didn’t know places like this existed around here. It’s like something out of a British period drama.”

Chief Daly clicked his tongue. “I don’t think they count as period houses if they were built in the nineties.”

Jessie squinted ahead at the grand old house. Then she looked at the chief, wondering why he was keeping a straight face when this place was obviously much older than either of them. Then it clicked.

“Ah. The 1890s? That makes sense.”

He shook his head. “No. The 1990s. You’re probably too young to remember, but I remember this place. There used to be nothing out here. We came past it often. This place was an empty lot for years until it was bought by one of the original tech entrepreneurs. Bought this place in New England and had it shipped here and rebuilt brick-by-brick. His firm folded a couple years back—I remember reading about it in the papers. That must have been when Johnny Cooper bought it.”

“Wait a minute—you didn’t know he lived here?”

Chief Daly shrugged. “No. You know me. I’m more of a baseball fan.”

Jessie shrugged as he pulled up beside an expensive-looking sports car and threw the car into park. She had no interest in sports of any kind. Still, she couldn’t help but marvel. These guys obviously got paid handsomely if they could afford homes like this.

She said as much to the chief.

He shrugged. “You know, Jessie, you might think I’m lying, but I’d rather be a cop. You know why?”

She shook her head. She didn’t think he was lying, but she didn’t see where he was coming from all the same. “You’re telling me you’d pass up the opportunity to earn in a year what most folk earn in a lifetime?”

He grinned. “When you put it like that… No, well—it’s not like I’ll ever get the opportunity to do that. Not unless the baseball league becomes incredibly desperate. No, it’s the wealth. It does funny things to people. Often you read about these guys and they’ve got nothing left after they’ve frittered the cash away. Then you’ve got the hangers on. How do you know who’s real and who’s just out for your money?”

She closed the door behind her and stared up at the imposing façade of the house. He had a point. She shivered. Sometimes in the past, all she could think about was winning the lottery and escaping to a desert island somewhere.

“No, Jessie,” the chief murmured as they walked up the steep steps to the front door. “You heard it from me. I’m willing to bet that the main motive here is money.”

She shivered again, even though the day was warm and dry. She’d seen firsthand that people could do desperate things. But for money? It was almost too cold to contemplate.

* * *

A thin woman in her late twenties opened the door and mutely stood aside for them to enter. Jessie tried not to be obvious about her fascination with the huge dwelling, but it was difficult. Every inch of wall space was lined with extravagantly-colored artworks. Plinths at intervals along the long entrance hallway displayed greenish bronze statuettes and intricate wood carvings.

She may have abandoned her sculpture ambitions lately, but that hadn’t dimmed her memory of the technique books she had read. She knew nothing about the paintings, but she could tell that the techniques used for the bronze work were ones that hadn’t been practiced for centuries. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch one of them, an impression of a girl with a puppy. She pulled her hand back just before her fingers came into contact with the metal.

“You can touch it if you like,” said a low reedy voice in front of her.

Mrs. Cooper had turned around. There was a slight smile playing at her lips.

“I… I didn’t…” Jessie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It’s beautiful.”

The other woman smiled widely this time. “I know. That’s why I said you should touch it. You’ve obviously got an eye for these things. Most people are more fascinated by those awful abstract paintings, even though they’re little more than trash that Johnny picked up. This,” she said, turning back around and staring at the little carving. “This is an original Kurtz. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call to say one of my dealer friends had found it in a little backstreet place in Paris.”

Jessie looked from the woman to the sculpture and back again. The change in her had been immense. Her eyes had shone when she looked at the sculpture. Chief Daly stood a little way along the hallway, waiting for them. Jessie glanced at him, feeling awkward. All she wanted to do was stare at the little bronze, but they weren’t there to appreciate the artwork. They were there to investigate the murder of this woman’s husband.

As if she read Jessie’s mind, Mrs. Cooper turned around to face her. The light was gone from her eyes now, replaced with redness and brimming tears.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It’s the only thing that keeps my mind off this… business.”

Chief Daly nodded with his trademark understanding. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Cooper. People react in different ways. We’re not here to judge you. We’re here to find out what happened to your husband.”

The other woman bristled as she led them into a vast formal sitting room. “Please,” she hissed. “It’s Ms. Rivers. Or Pamela. I’ve told your people that several times on the now.”

* * *

Jessie stood at the back of the room as Chief Daly quietly spoke to the woman. She had sat beside them initially, but then she had begun to feel awkward, especially after Pamela pointedly asked her about her role in Rockfield PD. Chief Daly had patiently explained that she was assisting him, but that didn’t make the feeling go away. The other woman had just lost her husband—Jessie didn’t want to make the situation more awkward or distressing for her than it already was.

So she tried to focus her attention on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf behind her, but her eyes kept being pulled around the room. Like the hallway, this room was lined with paintings. It was truly spectacular.

“That’s a Willows,” Pamela said proudly.

Jessie tried not to grimace. She was doing the best she could to blend into the background, but the other woman seemed to sense whenever her eyes landed on a thing of beauty. And there were so many of
those
in the room that it was impossible to ignore them.

Pamela laughed, a tinkling carefree sound that seemed to echo around the room. “Oh, you don’t have to be like that. Honestly. I used to work in a gallery before I shacked up with Johnny. You know how many of his player friends had an eye for a beautiful piece?”

Jessie stared. The woman appeared to be waiting for her to answer. Jessie shrugged.

“Oh come on,” Pamela went on. “Guess. If you said one you’d be over-estimating.” She sat back in her immaculately restored Bergere chair and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a pleasure to spend time with somebody who appreciates my little collection.”

Chief Daly cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ladies. But I’m sure you’ll understand the urgency of this. How about you discuss your figurines after we’re done?”

Jessie sent him a silent plea with her eyes. She didn’t know what she could do to avoid drawing the other woman’s attention—short of standing in the corner with her eyes closed. And that would no doubt pique her curiosity even more. The chief patted Pamela’s shoulder. The other woman wrung her hands, face screwed up with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “You must think I’m so cold-hearted. It’s just…” she fell silent and shook her head. “Johnny. He was my life.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

Chief Daly murmured something to her that Jessie couldn’t hear. She paced across the room to the mantelpiece, hoping Pamela wouldn’t react again. Rather than artwork, the marble ledge was crowded with framed photographs.

Jessie glanced around. In almost all of the images, she recognized tall, blond Johnny. The only picture Ms. Rivers appeared in was the wedding photo in the center. Jessie bit her lip and checked the pictures again. It was just as she had first thought—Pamela didn’t appear in any of them. She was running out of photographs to stare at when the one on the far right caught her eye.

She gasped and leaned forward to get a better look. It was an old picture. Hazy. And yet the resemblance was unmistakable.

“Is this…” she started and then stopped. Wasn’t she trying not to draw attention to herself? But this was different to some exclusive piece of art that had nothing to do with the case.

“Isn’t this Chad Denver?” she asked, louder this time.

She turned just in time to see the look that flashed across the chief’s face. She eyed him significantly.

Pamela nodded. “Yes. It is.”

Jessie turned back to the picture. “I thought they were teammates at the Ravens,” she said, staring at the image of the two boys dressed in football uniforms and cleats. “They look so young here.”

Pamela nodded. “Yeah. Not a lot of people know that. They go way back. Went to high school together.”