Scam Chowder (11 page)

Val wondered how far Irene would go to keep her husband from making another bad investment.

Killing a scammer after he'd swindled money made as much sense as closing the stable door after the horses had bolted. On the other hand, putting a swindler out of commission to keep your husband from squandering the family nest egg made good sense. But was it a motive for murder? And how did Junie May know so much about Irene's family finances?

Val picked up her wineglass. “You sound like you know Irene well.”

Junie May took a swig of her drink, apparently thirsty after eating every last almond and cashew. “She phones me regularly, wanting me to investigate wrongdoing of some sort. Most of it's in her head. Last month, she wanted me to investigate you.”

No surprise there. “Because she thought I was hiding evidence in a murder?”

“Exactly. And your relationship with the local police was entirely too cozy and inappropriate. It turned out, though, you weren't hiding evidence. You were going out on a limb to catch a murderer.” Junie May looked at Val over the rim of her glass. “Gonna do it again?”

“I'd rather skip the limb this time.” Val reached across the table for a pita chip, loaded it with warm crab dip, and popped it in her mouth. She wasn't about to tell a reporter, who was also a suspect, that she was trying to uncover evidence before Deputy Holtzman got too far into the case.

“But you'd like to prove your grandfather blameless. Are you willing to share what you find out? The police clam up with anyone from the media, but you have a direct line to the chief, and your grandfather has friends at the Village. Between your sources and mine, we might figure out who killed Scott.”

Join forces with a woman who vowed on TV to uncover the truth about Scott's death? “Doesn't that put both of us out on a limb?”

Junie May took a sip of her drink. “
I'm
out on that limb. You just have to support it.”

“And stand under it when it comes crashing down. I can't protect myself unless you tell me what you know.”

“Fair enough.” Junie May banged her nearly empty glass on the table like a judge with a gavel. “I think I know how Scott was killed.”

Chapter 12

Val leaned across the heavy wood table toward Junie May. “You have a theory about how Scott was killed?”

“I've been researching poisons. Arsenic is perfect to slip into food. It's colorless with a slight metallic taste, soluble in a hot liquid, and easy to disguise in chowder.”

Or even in a cappuccino. Val had expected to hear how someone managed to poison Scott in front of other people, not what kind of poison was used. “The police haven't mentioned arsenic. What gave you that idea?”

“I'll answer that if you swear not to tell anyone about the arsenic.” At Val's nod, she continued. “My sources at the hospital said Scott had neurological and other symptoms that suggested arsenic poisoning to one of the doctors. Something like that spreads fast in a small hospital.”

“It could just be gossip.”

“Of course. The autopsy should provide conclusive evidence about what killed him. I assume the police took the leftover chowder for testing.”

Val's turn to provide information. “All the chowder went down the disposal before Scott died. Where do you even get arsenic? I would think it's banned or at least heavily controlled.”

“It's banned now in rat poison and weed killers, but people keep that stuff for years. About six months ago, I did an investigative report about bottles of poison turning up in old houses. The bottles are sold at antique shops and flea markets around here.” Junie May unwrapped a chocolate truffle. “At an online auction site, I've seen rat poison with arsenic for sale and even a bottle containing strychnine.”

“I hope you didn't broadcast that in your report. It might give people with homicidal intentions ideas.”

“You can buy arsenic from chemical supply houses too. It's used in glassmaking and leather tanning.”

Val grabbed the last chocolate truffle before it disappeared. “Even glassmakers and leather tanners don't walk around with arsenic in their pockets. If arsenic killed Scott, the murder was premeditated, but we still don't know that he was the intended victim or exactly what contained the poison.”

“True. I was just passing on my conclusions and hoping you would reciprocate. You and I have a lot in common. We both gave up city life and came to the Eastern Shore to help a grandparent. My mother died when I was young. When her mother was in an accident a few years ago, I was the only family member who could help her, but I didn't stay here long enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I set her up with a caregiver and went back to my job in St. Louis. The caregiver told sob stories about her family needing money. My grandmother
lent her money.
” Junie May put air quotes around the three words. “The woman emptied my grandmother's accounts, talked her into mortgaging her house to pay bogus bills, and then disappeared. My grandmother had no one to turn to except me. So I quit my job and came back here.”

“Were you able to track down the caregiver?”

“I had leads, but the police and a lawyer told me I had no chance of getting the money back. My grandmother's memory was shot. She couldn't give a coherent statement. She died a year later, destitute and depressed. She left me a house with a mortgage that was way more than the house is worth now.”

“That's rough. Can you sell the house?”

“I'll do better by holding on to it until the market improves rather than sell in a depressed market. I want a job at a station that pays better. I could rent a small place near the station and hang on to the house here for a few years. A big story would give me a shot at that kind of job.”

Junie May claimed Scott was a source for a story she'd planned to write. Now his murder might give her an even bigger story to cover. Maybe Scott wasn't just a source to Junie May. Irene had seen them gazing into each other's eyes before the dinner. Lillian had noticed him fixating on Junie May during the dinner.

Val sipped her wine. “My sources suggested that you and Scott had more than a professional relationship.”

“God, I miss the city where nobody pays any attention to what other people are doing. Even without living in Bayport, I'm the subject of small-town gossip.” Junie May swirled the remaining liquor in her glass. “Scott said he loved me and asked me to marry him. I told him I'd think about it. I liked him well enough, a sweet, dependable guy, but too tied to his mother. Given time, I'd have probably accepted him. Now it's too late.”

Val saw no sign of grief, just wistfulness about a lost opportunity. She bit into the chocolate truffle. “How did you two meet?”

“I was doing interviews in May at Ambleside Village for a report on the first anniversary of its opening. I saw a sign for Scott's lecture, went to it, and talked to him afterward.”

Easy to understand why an unmarried man pushing fifty would fall for an attractive woman a decade younger. And he might not want to tell anyone about it until he was sure she reciprocated those feelings. Yet another reason to act like strangers at Granddad's dinner, especially with his mother present. “How well do you know Thomasina?”

“Scott introduced me to her after the lecture the day I met him. From then on, he and I got together in other places. I don't think she even recognized me when your grandfather did the introductions Saturday night. She must not watch local news.” Junie May's fingers drummed on the table.

Val interpreted the tapping fingernails as a sign of impatience. She might as well tell Junie May what she knew and get reactions from her. “My grandfather and I talked to Thomasina today. She told us she'd been pushed down the stairs at the last retirement place where she lived. Did Scott say anything about that?”

Junie May shook her head. “What an odd thing for her to say. How did it come up?”

“In connection with her theory about the murder. Old friends, or maybe enemies, of her husband went after her and Scott.” Val recapped the few details Thomasina had given. “It didn't make a lot of sense.”

“Hit men on the Eastern Shore. Now that would make a great story.” Junie May nibbled on a chunk of dried apple. “Maybe Thomasina blames everything bad that happens on Scott's rotten father. She's struggling to figure out why anyone would kill her son. So she concocts a motive for murder that makes sense to her.”

“Leaving motive aside, Junie May, how could anyone have poisoned Scott at the chowder dinner?”

“The only way to guarantee Scott would die, and not some random person or persons, was to poison the bowl in front of him. Omar had the chance when he leaned over Scott's bowl to pour the wine. All he had to do was check to make sure no one was looking.”

“My grandfather thought Omar made Scott nervous. Did you get the same impression?”

“Scott wasn't himself at the dinner. I doubt it had anything to do with Omar. It was weird how that guy went around pouring wine like it was a fancy restaurant. I know Omar brought the wine, but still the host usually pours, not the guest. It was one of the best wines I've ever tasted, a French white, perfectly chilled.” The waiter appeared and asked if they wanted drink refills. Junie May declined a second drink and waved him away. “Lillian could have done it too. She was sitting at the end of the table next to Scott. Just as your grandfather sat down, a dog began barking right outside the dining-room window and wouldn't stop.”

Oops.
Granddad must have butt-dialed RoboFido.

Junie May scooped up the last of the crab dip. “Scott and Irene turned around to look out the windows behind them when the barking started, and the rest of us looked there too. Lillian could have reached over and poisoned Scott's chowder while everyone's attention was diverted.”

Val suppressed a smile. That scenario made RoboFido an unwitting accessory to murder. “So Lillian brought arsenic with her in case a barking dog or some other diversion gave her the chance to poison Scott? You can't be serious.” But if Junie May knew that Granddad could make a dog bark as a diversion, she might view him as a
witting
accessory.

“Okay, then Omar must have done it. Do you know his last name?”

“I asked Lillian, and she wouldn't tell me. She invited him to the dinner. If Omar poisoned Scott, she must have told him Scott would be there. Or else Omar carries arsenic with him in case he runs into someone he wants to poison.”

“They worked it together.”

Val figured Junie May had chosen the wrong career. She should have been a TV scriptwriter, not a reporter. “Why would Lillian and Omar want Scott dead? You can't possibly think they're hired killers.”

“There's a motive. We just don't know what it is yet.”

Val almost suggested retaliation against the swindler, but that motive wouldn't fly with Junie May, who believed, or said she believed, Scott to be honest. “We need to find out more about Lillian and Omar. Lillian hasn't been forthcoming with me. I'll tackle her again, but I can only go so far with her because she's my grandfather's girlfriend. You should work on this too, because you have research skills and contacts I don't have, and you don't have to go easy on her.”

“I'll try to fit in the research tomorrow.” Junie May pointed to the huge watch on her wrist. “Time for me to go. Still have to write something for the eleven o'clock news.”

“One more question. How did you happen to bring Irene Pritchard to my grandfather's dinner?”

“When I told her I was going to dinner at the Codger Cook's house, she invited herself along. She expected me to prove your grandfather can't cook. I never intended to do that.”

“Because you didn't believe it?”

“Because I didn't care. According to Irene, your grandfather used
influence
to win the contest for recipe columnist, and you actually write the column. I investigated the influence allegation. Nothing in it. He clearly writes the column. It sounds like him, not you. Maybe he started with your recipes, but it doesn't matter as long as they're good.”

Val steered the conversation away from her recipes. “What about the cooking demo you want him to do on camera? That's asking a lot of a man in his seventies.”

“Irene pushed for that too, but she doesn't know how it works. My cameraman and the video editor can make anyone look like a gourmet chef. Throw a party when the Codger Cook demo airs and invite Irene. I'd love to see her face when your grandfather cooks like a pro on TV.”

Nice try at blunting Val's opposition to the cooking demo, but it wouldn't work. The reporter and her team could do what they wanted once they had Granddad in front of the camera, including make him look ridiculous. “It's too stressful for him.”

Junie May swept her hand across her bangs. “Relax, Val. The Codger Cook is a feel-good story. Pricking holes in it won't get me a better job. I need a more important story than that.” She jotted on the back of a business card. “Let's compare notes tomorrow evening. Come to my house around six-thirty. Here's my address.”

Val glanced at the card. “Where is this?”

“It's my grandmother's house in the woods, on a lane not far from the highway to Salisbury. See you tomorrow, and thanks for the happy hour.” Junie May stood up.

Clad in red, she began a trip to her grandmother's house in the woods. A familiar story, lacking only a big, bad wolf.

Val finished her wine and paid the bill. She'd come to the tavern expecting the reporter to stonewall her. Instead, Junie May had disarmed her by sharing information, answering her questions, and recruiting her as an ally. But had Junie May told the truth? Maybe she'd made up the romance between her and Scott as a smoke screen for her partnership with a scammer. She could have a vested interest in convincing the world that Scott wasn't a swindler so that no one would go after the money the two of them had raked in.

Gunnar was the one person Val knew with the background to research someone in the financial field. He could ignore her phone calls, but not her presence. Instead of walking home, she detoured to the River Edge B & B. As she rounded the corner from Osprey Street onto River Avenue, she spotted a red sports car stopping in front of the B & B half a block away. Gunnar. Perfect. She could
bump into him
.

Gunnar's ex climbed out of the car on the driver's side, crossed the guest parking area, and walked past another red sports car—Gunnar's Miata. Val looked again at the car parked at the curb. Shinier than the Miata, probably newer.

How cute. They had his-and-hers red cars.

Val turned back toward Osprey Street, dejected. Her phone chimed. She fumbled for it in her fabric shoulder bag. Her cell phone often ended up buried in the expandable bag. She answered the phone seconds before her voice mail would have kicked in.

“Hi, Val.It's Gunnar. Sorry I didn't return your call. I've been busy. What's going on?”

She perked up.
So what if his ex was waiting for him in the B & B's reception area or climbing up to his attic room? He wasn't calling his ex.
“I was hoping we could get together. Maybe tomorrow night we could—”

“Why don't we try for tennis again? Does four o'clock tomorrow work?”

“That sounds good.... Oh, wait. I have a ladder match starting at three-thirty. It could go on for ninety minutes or even two hours. I guess we could play later. How about six-thirty?” That would give her time to shower and change.

“That's cutting it too close for me.”

For evening plans that included the blonde? Val could suggest an alternate date. Thursday afternoon she'd offered to run the Brain Game session at the Village, but Bethany had agreed to work a few hours at the café that day. “Can you play on Thursday around noon? I have someone to cover the café.”