Murder by Mushroom (15 page)

“Mrs. Farmer?” Richard shrugged and placed the picture on the edge of his desk. “Not particularly. She was a sour woman, always finding fault with people. I didn’t dislike her, either. Certainly not enough to murder her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dennis detected nothing in Richard’s manner to make him doubt the truth of the man’s statement. He did not flinch, nor did he flush. He held his gaze steady, and that wasn’t easy to do while being examined by the best detective in the state.

“Do you have a computer at home, Mr. Watson?”

An abrupt switch to a new topic. Dennis recognized this tactic, used to throw the subject off balance. Richard’s expression did not change.

“No, I don’t.” He nodded toward the one on his credenza. “I use this one for business, and the occasional personal e-mail. It’s a notebook, so I can take it home if I need to.”

“Would you mind if we take a look?”

Richard shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have access to confidential bank records. I can’t let you use my computer without a search warrant.”

“We’ll get one if we need it. Of course that means we’ll return with a sheriff to serve it.” Conner smiled. “Sheriff’s deputies aren’t exactly quiet when it comes to delivering warrants, you know.”

For the first time Richard’s expression changed. An angry red flooded his cheeks. “What do you want to see on my computer?”

Conner’s shoulders twitched upward. “Just your Internet history.”

“If you’re looking for porn sites, I’m not into that. Anyway, we have a filter here that prevents us from accessing sites like that.”

“Does it block you from Web sites on poisonous mushrooms?”

His lips a tight line, Richard glared across the desk. “Fine. Check it right now, with me watching.”

At Conner’s nod, Dennis set down his notebook and rounded the desk. Richard swiveled his chair around to watch as Dennis opened Internet Explorer and displayed the history list. The guy obviously didn’t do a lot of surfing. The list only showed about two dozen sites, mostly financial Web sites and news, like
USA Today
. Nothing that looked like a site on mushrooms. Dennis clicked over to the Options window, then turned to look at the detective.

“It’s set to keep history for seven days.”

Conner gave a humorless smile. “Inconclusive, then.”

Richard’s face remained impassive. Dennis closed the window and returned to his seat as Conner resumed his questioning.

“Do you mind telling me where you were from noon on May sixth until five-thirty in the afternoon on May seventh?”

If the detective hoped to rattle Richard’s composure by bouncing from topic to topic, it didn’t seem to be working. “As you well know, that was the day of the church picnic. We left there around, oh, I’d say one or one-thirty. I took my wife home, changed clothes and came to the office.”

Conner’s eyebrows rose. “On Sunday?”

“I am a vice president,” Richard reminded him. “I don’t always have the privilege of keeping banker’s hours. I had an extremely important investor’s meeting the next day and needed to prepare for it. I didn’t leave here until after ten o’clock Sunday night.”

“Was anyone else here with you?”

Richard shook his head. “But if you need proof, I’m sure the bank’s security cameras recorded my arrival and departure. In fact, when I got home, Laura had already turned on our home alarm for the night. You can probably get the records from our security service and see when I turned the alarm off to get in the door, and then back on just a few minutes later from the bedroom. I didn’t turn it off until I left for work the next morning.”

Dennis didn’t need Conner’s glance to tell him to write down that piece of information in his notebook.

“Who is your security service, sir?” Dennis asked.

“Sugarcreek. I’ll call and tell them to give you whatever you need.” He looked at the detective again. “I came straight to work, and arrived here around eight-thirty, as I always do. Any number of people saw me. I worked until well after five-thirty that night.” He leaned forward. “All I ask is that you be discreet as you verify my statement. I’m an officer in this bank, and any hint of a scandal will be picked up by the media. I don’t want my wife upset by this ridiculous accusation.”

“Of course,” Conner assured him, and then rose.

Dennis got to his feet, as well, pocketing his notebook and pen.

Richard stood but remained behind the desk. “I have an early committee meeting with the Kentucky Bankers Association in Paducah tomorrow, and I planned to drive down this evening to spend the night. Leaving town is acceptable, I assume?”

Tight lines around the edges of his lips were the only signs of the man’s anger at having to ask permission to leave town.

Conner shrugged and then gave a single nod. “We’ll be in touch,” he said as he opened the door.

Even to Dennis, it sounded like a threat.

J
ackie woke to the tickle of a deeply contented purr vibrating her left ear. Without opening her eyes, she reached up to stroke Linus’s soft fur.

“Good morning, fur ball,” she mumbled.

The purr increased, and Jackie let a sleepy smile steal across her face. If a more pleasant way to wake up in the morning existed, she didn’t know about it.

Then she opened an eye and glanced at the clock. Five forty-seven.

“Ugh!”

She snatched up the extra pillow and pulled it over her face, which sent Linus scurrying away. No fair. Saturdays were supposed to be for sleeping in! Her last morning to sleep late before returning to work on Monday, and that pest had woken her up before six o’clock in the morning?

For a moment she thought she might drift back to sleep, but then she remembered yesterday. Kathy’s sobs. Margaret’s injured stare. With a sigh she sat up.

“Might as well get moving. Thanks, you rat.”

She tossed the pillow at Linus, who leaped out of its way and gave her a reproachful look before sashaying out of the room, his tail held high.

Jackie stumbled into the kitchen to turn the coffeepot on before heading for the bathroom. By the time she emerged from her shower, feeling much more alert, the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the apartment. She slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then poured a mugful and took it into the living room, her hair still wrapped in a towel. Sinking onto a corner of the couch, she turned on the television.

“…where a late-night accident has left a teenager in critical condition. Mike?”

The picture switched to a shot of a television reporter standing in front of Central Baptist Hospital in Lexington, a microphone clutched in his hand.

“That’s right, Carl. Late last night, a Versailles teenager was struck by a hit-and-run driver a little past midnight. Fifteen-year-old Samantha Leigh Carlson was airlifted—”

“What?” Jackie sat straight up, slopping coffee into her lap. She barely noticed the hot liquid. A growing horror spread through her as the reporter continued.

“—intensive care with multiple internal injuries. A spokesman for the Woodford County Sheriff’s Department said a few moments ago that the driver of the car that struck the teenager has not yet been apprehended. Samantha’s condition remains critical. We’ll keep you informed as updates are given, Carl.”

The television picture returned to the newsroom. Her fingers nearly numb with shock, Jackie pressed the mute button. Samantha Carlson in critical condition? Her mother must be frantic. Jackie shook her head to dispel the memory of Sharon’s face peeking at her over the cubicle wall. And what about Samantha’s grandfather, the choir director?

Jackie scrambled off the couch and dashed to the phone. The clock read a little before six-thirty, but so what? Pastor Palmer and Margaret needed to know what was going on.

There was no answer. Jackie hung up without leaving a message. They were probably at the hospital already. And Jackie wanted to go, too. Maybe she could help with…well, something.

Midway down the hallway to finish dressing, she stopped. Sharon would probably not appreciate her showing up at the hospital.

Seized by indecision, she returned to the living room and dropped onto the couch. What should she do? She still owed Sharon an apology, but now probably wouldn’t be the best time to deliver it. Plus, the Carlsons were high on the police list of murder suspects, according to Dennis.

But would this development change that? Could this be related to the murder case?

A knock at the door interrupted her troubled thoughts. For a moment, Jackie sat frozen on the couch. No one would show up at her apartment so early in the morning, unless…

She dashed across the room to the peephole. Sure enough, Detective Conner’s smug smile filled the lens.

This could not be good. What in the world did that nasty man want this time? Was it something to do with Samantha’s accident?

With a deep breath to clear her mind, Jackie opened the door. Two uniformed police officers stood in the breezeway behind Detective Conner. One, a stranger, wore a brown uniform. His badge labeled him as L. Byers. The other hung back, avoiding her eyes. Dennis.

“Good morning, Miss Hoffner,” the detective said. “May we come in?”

Suddenly conscious of her towel-wrapped hair, Jackie hesitated.

“That depends. What are you doing here at six-thirty in the morning?”

The detective’s smile deepened. “We have some questions related to an accident that occurred last night.”

She gripped the edge of the door. “I saw it on television. Do you know what happened? Is Samantha going to be all right?”

Byers stepped forward. “May we come in, ma’am? I need to ask you some questions.”

Detective Conner’s face went blank, giving Jackie the impression he wasn’t happy to have someone else speak in his presence. A quick inspection of Byers’s uniform told her he was with the Woodford County Sheriff’s Department. Not the state police, then, like Dennis and Conner.

Jackie stepped back and gestured for the men to enter her apartment. Without being invited, Conner led his entourage to the dinette table and stood behind the same chair he’d occupied his last time here. Dennis and Byers also selected chairs, but did not sit until she closed the front door and gestured for them to be seated.

Dennis busied himself with his little notebook. Was he avoiding her eyes? Of course, she probably looked awful in her grubby T-shirt and no makeup. Margaret would be horrified. Should she excuse herself to at least take the towel off her head? A look at the serious expression on the men’s faces gave her the answer. She sat in the fourth chair, towel and all. At least she had put on clothes instead of a bathrobe.

Byers spoke first, his eyes holding Jackie’s across the table. “Miss Hoffner, where were you last night?”

Conner’s lips tightened. Clearly, he was unaccustomed to someone else asking the questions. But why were they questioning her? Jackie glanced at Dennis, whose eyes remained on his notebook, his expression grim.

“I was here,” she answered. “All night.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Conner asked.

Jackie cast an irritated glance his way. “Just my cat. I live alone, Detective.”

Byers spoke up. “Neighbors? Friends? Did you talk to anyone on the phone?”

She did not look at Dennis. “Around noon, but not after that. I did walk down to the park at two o’clock, but I was back by three. I doubt if any of my neighbors saw me, though. Most of them work during the day.”

“You didn’t take your car?”

“No.” Jackie turned her head to look at Detective Conner. “What’s this about? You don’t think I had anything to do with Samantha’s accident, do you?”

“Miss Hoffner.” Byers forced her to look back at him. “We believe we have found the car that struck Miss Carlson sometime after midnight last night. It is a gray Toyota, and it is registered to you.”

Jackie reeled. “But…but…that’s impossible!”

She leaped from the table and ran across the living room to jerk the curtains away from the sliding-glass patio doors. Her numbered space in the parking lot was right outside her balcony.

The Toyota was not there. Instead, it was parked two slots away. And it was surrounded by police officers.

“Someone moved it,” she said, whirling back to face the men. “Honest. That’s not my parking place.”

Jackie would have given anything to see a smile from any of the three. Even Conner’s fake friendly smile would be welcome. But no one smiled.

“When did you last see your car in your parking space, Miss Hoffner?” Conner asked.

“Uh, let me think.”

Fog clouded her mind. She couldn’t remember. Had it been there when she returned from her walk? Yes. She was almost certain of it.

“It was there around three o’clock. Maybe one of my neighbors saw it when they came home from work last night. I don’t know the guy who parks in the one it’s in now, but he lives in twenty-three D. He or someone else would certainly notice, because we each have our own space.”

Conner nodded. “We’ll ask them.”

“In the meantime,” Byers said, standing, “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station.”

The blood left Jackie’s face. She felt faint. “The station?”

She cast a desperate look at Dennis. She detected a hint of compassion in his expression, but he remained mute. At least he had the grace to look awkward.

Instead, comfort came from an unexpected source. Conner stood and crossed the room to stand in front of her. He did not smile, but his eyes held a measure of reassurance as he looked down into hers.

“You are not being charged with a crime, Miss Hoffner. We simply need your statement. You’ll be there an hour or two at the most.”

Fighting to breathe past a sudden painful lump in her throat, she nodded. “Can I comb my hair and get some shoes on?”

“Of course. Take as long as you like. We’ll wait.”

Jackie managed to contain her tears until she closed the bedroom door behind her.

Dennis felt like a heel. The look on Jackie’s face when Byers opened the door to put her in the rear seat of his cruiser would haunt him for days. Like she was being led to the gas chamber. He could see the back of her damp head through the rear window now as he rolled to a stop behind Byers at a traffic light.

He’d felt the oddest sensation in her apartment, as if he should come to her rescue or something. But what could he do? He wasn’t there as her friend. As a state trooper assigned to an investigation, his job was to take notes, period, no matter what he thought personally about the suspect.

And he held a definite opinion about Jackie as a suspect. No way had she run that girl down last night. He would stake his career on that. But facts couldn’t be denied. A witness had seen a gray Toyota speeding away from the scene. Byers had notified the state police when he discovered the teenager was a member of the same church as their murder victim, and Conner tipped him that Jackie drove a car matching that description. Sure enough, blood had been found on the bumper of her car. The girl’s blood, presumably.

No, Jackie was not a murderer. But she was somehow entangled in whatever was going on with the members of that church. First the murderer had used her casserole to administer poisonous mushrooms, and then he or she used her car to run down a teenager.

He looked at Conner in the passenger seat. The detective would be furious when he discovered where some of his tips came from. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and not a big deal to just listen to information Jackie so obviously wanted to pass along. But now he wasn’t so sure.

Better to confess than have Conner discover it from someone else.

“I need to tell you something.” Conner turned his head. “That tip about Richard Watson having an affair? It came from Miss Hoffner. And the stuff I told you yesterday, about Mrs. Farmer suspecting him of embezzlement—that came from her, too.”

The detective closed his eyes. “I was afraid of that. Not smart, Walsh. Not smart at all.”

Dennis flinched. “But Mrs. Dorsey verified the second part when we talked to her last night. So that turned out to be true at least.”

Conner opened his eyes. “Have you given Hoffner any information in return?”

The traffic light changed, and Dennis accelerated, glad for an excuse to look away from the detective’s piercing glance.

“I told her about the toxicology report. But,” he added defensively, “that’s a matter of public record. And you have to admit, she’s provided a couple of important leads, with the victim’s letter-writing habit and the embezzlement suspicion. A good detective should cultivate all kinds of sources, shouldn’t he?”

Conner remained silent for the rest of the trip, leaving Dennis to wonder if he would be removed from the case.

They followed Byers’s cruiser into the parking lot outside the sheriff’s office. When Dennis put the car in Park and turned off the engine, Conner made no move to open the door. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

Finally, the detective turned in his seat. “Yeah, a detective needs sources. But this girl is smack dab in the middle of a dangerous situation. I mean, she’s marinating in it.”

“I don’t think she’s guilty of anything,” Dennis argued, but Conner held up a hand.

“I’m inclined to agree with you. But either someone has it out for her, or she is the most convenient dupe I’ve ever run into. Either way, it is entirely inappropriate for you to talk to her about the case.”

“But she’s a source. If she can give us—”

“You don’t understand my point. It’s not only inappropriate, Walsh, it could be dangerous for her. Have you thought of that? This killer is obviously someone she knows. When he decides he hasn’t been successful in framing her, he might come after her. The less she knows, the less danger she poses.”

Alarm shot through Dennis. He’d been so focused on trying to solve the case, and, actually, on enjoying Jackie’s gung-ho enthusiasm in trying to weasel information from a bunch of old church ladies, he’d never considered that she might really be in danger. But this latest development—someone taking her car to run down a kid…That put a whole new spotlight on Jackie’s position in this case.

She lived alone in that apartment with a cat and nobody to protect her. What if…

He rounded in his seat. “Should we assign her a twenty-four-hour guard? I can do that, sir. I’ll be happy to protect her.”

Conner’s eyes narrowed, the shadow of a smile playing around his mouth. “I don’t think we need to go that far, but we do need to keep an eye on her. And we need to make sure she stays out of this investigation.” He caught Dennis with a meaningful glance. “You seem to be in a pretty good position to do that.”

Was Conner saying his relationship with Jackie had crossed the line from professional to personal? She sure was on his mind a lot lately. But even if he admitted to himself that he found her attractive, he could still keep things at a professional distance.

He met the detective’s eye and nodded. “I’ll try, sir.”