Desserts and Deception: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Read online

  “And the recent victim?”

  Gary sighed. “My guy thinks it was a warning, but unrelated.”

  The two men kept talking, but Margot lost track of the conversation.

  What would Tamera say to all of this? And George? His involvement had to be accidental, didn’t it? Or was he merely a scapegoat?

  But the fact remained. Jerold had ties to Victor Carow and he had keys to the shop. Distantly, Margot knew that Adam had hung up with Gary and was now on the phone to the chief. He was relaying all of the information and getting men on tracking Jerold down, but all she could think about was how convoluted it all was. If what Gary said was true, he’d done it to save his grandson, but that didn’t excuse his actions. He’d still murdered a good man, a man who could have sealed the fate of Victor Carow.

  She slumped back onto the barstool and dropped her head into her hands. How could this possibly end well?

  Chapter 14

  “I need to go.”

  Margot looked up, her eyes locking with Adam’s. “Aren’t you going to wait for backup?”

  His lips pressed into a thin line and he glanced to the side before answering. “I should have seen this connection earlier.”

  “How?” Margot placed her hand on Adam’s forearm, hoping he would listen to reason. “You couldn’t have known. You’re not a mind reader.”

  “Either way, I still need to go. I need to make sure that Jerold isn’t skipping town as we speak. Then again, he’s had ample time. I doubt he’s still even here.”

  Margot ran through the facts. If Jerold were certain that no one could tie him back to the murder, would he have left? Up until this point, the media had latched on to the idea that one of Victor Carow’s men had murdered Mark Jennings. It made sense, knowing the importance of the trial and the violence Carow was known for—though not convicted of.

  “He could still be here.”

  Adam paused at the sink where he was filling up a glass with water. “What makes you say that?”

  “Look at it this way. Jerold isn’t a spring chicken. He’s lived in this community for many years and, while I don’t know him well, I would assume he planned on living his days out here.”

  “He wouldn't wait around for us to find him, Margie.”

  “No, probably not, but he probably doesn’t think he’s even in the running as a suspect—and, up until a few hours ago, he would be right. It’s such a new development that he could still be here. Besides, didn’t you tell me that you thought the murder in the park was a Carow gang murder?”

  “It was. I spoke with the M.E. and he confirmed the gang’s mark on the body.”

  “See? That just fuels the idea that it was gang-related.”

  “There are a lot of holes in that theory,” Adam said, though not unsympathetically.

  “I know it, but to a seventy-five-year-old grandfather—or however old he is—it could be enough.”

  The first light of hope entered Adam’s eyes at this. “Then I really need to go.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Adam…” She stood up and faced him, hands on her hips. “Do we need to review the facts here? He’s not going to come after us with a gun. His weapon of choice was poison. Isn’t that what most women kill with.”

  Adam grimaced but didn’t reply.

  “Besides, what will I do here?”

  “Kiss Clint Eastwood?”

  Margot rolled her eyes but had a feeling that was his way of agreeing. She waited, holding her breath.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “But there are ground rules and I want you to hear that you are only coming with me to stay in the car and only because I really don’t think this grandfatherly Jerold Bascom—though a murderer—is going to come after us. Probably.”

  She smirked in triumph and handed him his keys.

  Gary had transmitted Jerold’s last known address to Adam’s phone and, after double-checking with someone at the records office at the station, they set off toward Jerold’s house.

  Margot felt her stomach twist in knots. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d decided to come, but she had a feeling it was something of the investigator in her. She needed to see this through. She needed to know that they had found the right man.

  When they turned down the street where Jerold’s house was located, she was glad to see that most of the neighbors didn’t seem to be home yet. Less prying eyes were a good thing in this nosy town. Really, she was thinking of the neighbors’ safety.

  Adam parked down the street a bit then looked toward her. “Backup is on its way, though they are stuck in some sort of traffic accident. Of all the days,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “You’re not going in there alone,” she said, incredulous.

  “Like you said, you don’t think he’s dangerous.”

  “No, but still…” Then the front door to a house next to Bascom’s opened and an elderly woman walked out, her tiny Pomeranian trotting beside her. She wore a pink tracksuit and looked to be around the age they assumed Bascom was.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Margot said and was out of the car before Adam could tell her not to leave.

  “Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the woman. Adam joined her, looking uncomfortable and scanning the area.

  “Hello,” the older woman said, her dog sniffing at Adam’s feet, no doubt smelling Clint.

  “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a Jerold Bascom?” Adam flinched when she said the name out loud but she persisted. “I wanted to buy a painting from him, but I haven’t been able to get in touch recently. I thought he lived along this street and I wanted to stop by.”

  “Oh yes,” the woman said, nodding rapidly. “Jerold is my neighbor. His paintings are very nice, aren’t they? Say, you look familiar?” She leaned toward Margot with pinched eyes.

  “I’ve just got one of those faces,” Margot said, laughing uncomfortably. “Have you seen him recently?”

  “Who?” the woman said.

  “Mr. Bascom.”

  “Oh,” the woman laughed and yanked her dog closer to her. “Haven’t seen him out in a few days. It’s not unusual, though. Some days, he’ll be in there for almost a week straight without leaving. Just gets his mail now and then. I’m sure he could use the company, dear.” She laughed again, the sound raspy.

  “So, you think he’s home?”

  “I’m sure of it. Saw him get the mail this morning. Hasn’t been out since, though. His car’s still there. Besides, I’d know if he left.”

  “Why is that?” Besides the fact that you’re nosy, Margot thought with good humor.

  “Because his car is in desperate need of a new muffler.” She winked and then tugged at the small dog again. “We’d better be off. Good luck with your painting.”

  Margot forced a smile then looked at Adam, wondering what he thought of her investigative techniques. His look was hard to read but he nodded. “Smoothly done, Watson.”

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Ah, nope. Nice try, but—”

  “Come on, Adam. You heard what she said. He’s practically a hermit. He’s not going to come at us with guns blazing or—”

  The distant sound of sirens caught their attention.

  “I told them no sirens.” Adam ground his teeth. “Come on.”

  Now Margot wanted to know what made him change his mind. She risked asking, “Really?”

  “Yeah, don’t want him escaping out the back.”

  Margot almost rolled her eyes, but she was getting what she wanted and wasn’t about to risk that.

  “But stay behind me. Got it?”

  She nodded and they approached the house.

  Chapter 15

  They bypassed the front door and walked down the driveway, ducking under the large bay window, even though the curtains were drawn, and coming to a stop at the corner of the house that led to where Margot assumed the back door was.

  Adam turned ba
ck to her. “I’m going to go around first; you follow but stay directly behind me. Okay?”

  Margot nodded.

  “Okay?” he repeated.

  “Okay,” Margot said, realizing he needed to hear her agree with him.

  Then he slipped around the corner, gun drawn. She still wasn’t sure if this situation warranted as much fear as she was giving it, but then again, Jerold had killed someone. It was just difficult for her to wrap her mind around the reality that he was a cold-blooded killer. The nice man who painted such serene landscapes.

  She almost walked into Adam when he stopped at the short row of three steps that led up to the back door. Only then did she notice that the door was open a few inches. Had Jerold escaped on foot? It seemed hardly likely knowing his age, but she supposed it could be possible.

  Adam reached out at the same moment someone came rocketing out the back door. Margot shrieked, unable to help herself, and Adam went down. The man who had tackled him was unfamiliar to Margot. He looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties, though she only saw the side of his face.

  Before she could do anything to help Adam, the man shoved up and off of him, somehow got to his feet, and he was off, racing around the other side of the house. Adam looked at her then at the man racing away.

  “Go!” she said.

  “Stay here,” he commanded, then ran off after the man.

  Margot’s heart was thudding in her chest, trying to make sense of the situation. Who was the man? Had they somehow stepped in on a robbery? Had the man been watching the house and taken advantage of what he assumed was someone on vacation? But no, that seemed like too much of a coincidence. Then who was he?

  Margot’s mind raced back over the details of the case. Jerold had killed Mark Jennings for his grandson Thomas.

  His grandson.

  It was the only logical possibility, barring some random person just happening to be in this residence. And with that thought, her attention snagged on the now open back door.

  She felt compelled to go inside, despite the fact that Adam had told her to stay. Hands trembling, she told herself that the police were already on their way and it couldn’t hurt to poke her head in, right?

  Taking a silent breath, she went up the steps and paused at the backdoor. It led into what appeared to be a mudroom type area; two coats hung on the pegs and one pair of rubber boots sat under them.

  She slipped past them and through an entryway that led into a galley type kitchen. It was relatively clean, but she noted two coffee mugs on the sink. Had Thomas been staying with his grandfather? That was one question she hadn’t thought to ask the nosy neighbor. Had the woman seen Thomas enter the house?

  Taking pains to make no sound, she walked to the end of the kitchen. The doorway opened to a hallway leading toward the front door with a living room along the right side. The TV reflected back a Food Network show, though the sound was on low. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped into the hallway. She took another step and was considering checking upstairs, before heading back out before the police arrived, when a hand clamped over her mouth.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her ears but she resisted the urge to scream this time.

  She felt like a fool. She should have stayed outside.

  “Don’t move,” the voice said, close to her ear. She immediately recognized Jerold’s voice, though he sounded even older than she remembered. She held up her hands to show him she meant him no harm.

  “I’m going to let you talk, but I’ve got a needle right here.” The tip of a needle pricked the skin on her neck and everything in her body stiffened. She had to wait for the right moment. Mentally, she assessed how he was holding her, the leathery quality of his hand covering her mouth belied his age, and she knew in an instant she could easily get out of his grasp.

  His hand slid down. “What do you want?”

  She found it odd that he would ask such a question, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Jerold, it’s me, Margot Durand.”

  She heard his quick intake of breath. “Wh-why are you here?”

  Swallowing, she chose her words carefully. “I’m here with the police, Jerold. I think you know why we’re here.”

  “Yeah? Well, where are they? Why’d they send you in? Last I heard, you were a baker.”

  He had her there. She affected a light laugh. “I’m working with them on this case,” she fibbed, though it wasn’t completely a lie. “But I wanted to come in to talk with you. To get your side of things. Why did you do it, Jerold?”

  He stiffened but she thought he withdrew the needle, though she couldn't be sure.

  “Do what?”

  “I think you know.”

  She waited. She remembered Julian telling her that sometimes an interrogator’s greatest weapon was silence.

  “I had to.”

  Margot was shocked by this. Not just his admission, but the complete and utter sadness that now infused his voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  The next instant, he’d shoved her away and was hovering near a chair opposite her, the needle held up to his own veins.

  “Wait—Jerold, stop!”

  Tears filled his eyes. “You don’t understand. I—I couldn’t stand to see my foolish grandson running with that Carow gang. His father made a mistake and I let him…but not with Thomas. He has such a promising future and he was throwing it away on drugs. I knew Victor’s grandfather—we grew up together—and I arranged a deal with him. I promised to help him if Victor would release Thomas from his hold. Archie promised—he promised.” Jerold sniffed, large tears falling down his face.

  Margot’s eyes stayed glued to the syringe, its tip pressing against the man’s sun-spotted sink.

  “Jerold, it’s okay. We can talk this out—”

  “It’s not okay!” he said, his voice raising. “But I knew it.” He was regaining his composure. “I knew I couldn’t trust Archie or Victor. I made sure I had insurance, but now…” He looked up at her, a moment of clarity showing in his eyes. “Now it’s of no use.”

  Then without another word or even a moment’s hesitation, he shoved the syringe into his arm and depressed the plunger.

  The next few hours flew by faster than Margot thought possible. Unknown to her, Adam had come back from chasing Thomas, who was then safely in police custody, and he’d sneaked into the house behind Margot. He’d heard everything, capturing it on his phone’s recording device, though he hadn’t caught Jerold in time to stop the injection. It had happened too quickly.

  Thankfully, the ambulance had already been called and they were briefed on the situation en route. With Adam’s quick thinking, they had bagged the syringe and any other paraphernalia in the house so the ER techs would have something to work with.

  Now, Margot sat in the hospital awaiting some sort of news. Adam was there as well, though he hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her in as many hours.

  “Detective Eastwood?” a doctor said, coming out of two double doors leading back to the ER.

  “Yes?” Adam said, standing.

  Margot did the same but didn’t speak. She was distinctly aware of Adam’s feelings and yet she was glad he’d allowed her to stay with him.

  “It looks like you’re in for a bit of good news, or at least I think it’s good news.”

  “What’s that, Doctor?” Adam said. He looked even more exhausted than that morning when Margot had first seen him at the park. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair messed, and the lines at the corners of his eyes looking deeper.

  “Turns out there was no digoxin in Mr. Bascom’s bloodstream. Instead, we found a massive dose of insulin. He’s a diabetic and I believe he was attempting to send himself into a diabetic coma. Fortunately, we were able to counteract that and he will make a full recovery. Though I am recommending a full suicide watch for at least the next few days, considering this information.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. We’ll head up the security and
watch for you. Thank you, Doctor.”

  The man nodded and left, and Adam went to speak with the officers who had stayed behind with him. He gave them instructions on what to do and then walked back to where Margot stood. The silence fell between them.

  Margot looked up at Adam and saw relief along with exhaustion wash over him. It was over—or at least, mostly over. There was still one thing left for her to do.

  “Adam,” she said tentatively.

  He looked down at her, but there was no anger there, merely exhaustion.

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into that house. It was foolish and—”

  “It was,” he said, turning to face her. Then he reached out and took her hands in his. “But I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  She felt his forgiveness like a flood of cool water pouring over parched earth.

  “I know you’re inquisitive and I love that about you, but we’ve got to work on your listening skills.”

  She offered him a half-smile. “But I did get you your confession.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Good job, Watson.”

  “I still think I’m Sherlock,” she said, winking at him.

  “That remains to be seen.” Then he stepped closer to her and she felt her pulse speed up. Thankfully, this time it had nothing to do with danger. Then again, was this danger of another kind?

  “Margot, when all of this is over, could I take you to dinner?”

  “Yes.” Her response was immediate, but she wasn’t afraid that she’d misspoken. In fact, she was certain she’d said exactly what she meant to. “I would like that, Detective Eastwood.”

  Chapter 16

  They walked hand in hand through the gardens at El Jardín, a Spanish-style hacienda that offered its guests a unique dining opportunity near the banks of the Potomac. Rather than sit at a table and be served, guests made reservations in advance and, upon arrival, were given their own personal picnic meal, a bottle of wine made on the premises, and a blanket, then directed to a path that would take them through the gardens and to their reserved picnicking spot.