No Scone Unturned (6 page)

“
T
hose photos could be photoshopped
,” Ruth said later that day as they sat around Nans' dining room table.

“I know photos can be photoshopped, but do you really think
those
were?” Nans picked a brownie off the crystal platter in the center of the table. “Rupert doesn’t seem savvy enough.”

“How would he even do that?” Helen asked. “They looked like genuine pictures of France, and there was the newspaper…oh, but if he was in on it with the sister, maybe she took the picture and photoshopped Olive into it.”

“But the sister isn’t in Europe, because she put that letter in her mailbox,” Ida pointed out.

“Hmm…” Nans pressed her lips together then snapped her fingers. “Wait! Today is Monday. Susan could have put that letter in on Saturday. The mailman doesn’t come on weekends anymore.”

“Plenty of time for her to take an overnight flight to Europe and be in Paris in time to get the paper,” Lexy said.

“Right.” Nans turned to Ruth. “Ruth, you know the most about this sort of thing. Did it look altered to you?”

“I didn’t get close enough to say for sure, unfortunately.” Ruth picked a lemon square off the tray. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was altered.”

“It had to have been. Olive couldn’t possibly be in France. We saw her die,” Lexy said.

Ida picked up a sugar cube with the bird-claw tongs, hovered over her coffee, and then dropped it in with a splash. “Maybe that wasn’t Olive.”

Lexy glanced at the whiteboard. “But you have all that evidence. It all points to Olive being killed.”

“Only because that was the original assumption. We made the evidence to prove that Rupert would want to kill Olive, but maybe we were wrong all along,” Nans said.

“No. No.” Ruth shook her head. “That picture is all part of Rupert’s plan. He wants the world to think Olive is still alive, and what better way than to have an actual picture of her? And her being in France would explain why she doesn’t show up for the book signing scheduled next week for her new book.”

“Good point. That
would
be a clever plan,” Lexy said.

“At any rate, someone is still dead, and my bet is that Rupert killed them.” Nans stood in front of the whiteboard. “Let’s discuss our new clues.”

“Something really bothers me. Those cash deposits—they might indicate a different motive for the murder,” Ruth said.

“You mean blackmail?” Ida asked.

“Yes. What if Olive was blackmailing someone, and
that’s
why she was killed?” Ruth suggested.

“But Rupert killed Olive. She wouldn’t be blackmailing him, would she?” Helen asked.

Ruth shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But how do we know for sure that Rupert is the killer?”

Lexy leaned back in her chair. Ruth had a point. They’d
assumed
Rupert was the killer because Rupert and Olive lived in the house. Could the killer be someone else?

“If it’s not Rupert, then why would he photoshop the pictures to pretend Olive was alive?” Ida asked.

Ruth pressed her lips together and nodded at Ida. “Good point. Maybe they aren’t photoshopped.”

Helen threw her hands up in the air. “So, where does that leave us then?”

“A big fat nowhere,” Nans said. “The only thing we’re sure of is that someone died and someone else is hiding the body.”

Ruth got up and paced the room. “Okay, let’s see what we have so far. Someone was killed by someone else inside the Pendleton home. So that means the killer is either one of the Pendletons or someone who has access to the house.”

“The sister had access to the house,” Ida said.

“And the assistant. Kingsley said he saw her there quite often,” Lexy said.

“He said he saw another woman. He thought it might be her assistant or a maid,” Ruth said.

“It makes sense an assistant would be there. Probably went there every day or on most days. Connie Davis. Google her, Ruth, and see what you can find,” Nans said.

“I’m on it,” Ruth replied.

“Now the other things we have.” Nans took over for Ruth, pacing the room. “Those mysterious cashier’s checks. That could indicate blackmail. Or perhaps they were buying property or making a big purchase.”

Ruth looked up from her iPad. “I didn’t find any record of them buying property.”

“It’s too bad there’s no way for us to tap into their bank accounts and see how they are moving money around.” Nans glanced at Ruth out of the corner of her eye. “Is there, Ruth?”

“Not legally…”

“Illegally?”

“I might know someone,” Ruth said. “But I think we should track down the other clues first before we stoop to that.”

“Right. Jack might not like that.” Nans shot Lexy a look, and she nodded.

“Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure the sister must be mixed up in it,” Helen said. “Because either she is in on photoshopping the pictures, or she’s in Europe with Olive. And we know Olive was home the day of the murder because Rupert said she was at the house napping. He didn’t say she was in Europe. Unless, of course, he was lying then, too.”

“Well, at least this part is the truth.” Ruth tapped the screen of her iPad. “There really was an article about Olive in the Paris paper yesterday. But I can’t find any record of her flying out there. My friend Janet gave me travel agent access, and I didn’t see her in the database.”

“Could she be flying under another name?” Nans asked. “I know celebrities sometimes use a different name in the public database to keep the paparazzi at bay. Their real name is listed officially, of course, but that’s only on the internal records. Some of them even have people stand in for them at minor social events.”

“I hardly think Olive Pendleton rates as a celebrity,” Helen said.

“You’d be surprised.” Nans shrugged. “Novelists can be very popular.”

“If Olive wasn’t the one on that plane, then that only supports my theory of the pictures being photoshopped,” Ruth said.

“Which means the sister
is
in on it,” Helen added.

“Which supports my theory of an affair,” Ida said.

“Looks like we only know one thing for sure. Someone was murdered. It could be love or money. An affair or blackmail,” Nans said. “Either way, it looks like Rupert Pendleton is hiding something.”

T
he next morning
, Lexy was glad to take a break from investigating and focus on affairs at her bakery. Her assistant and best friend since high school, Cassie, was helping her finalize the menu for the Kingsley brunch the next day. They didn’t have a lot of customer action, so they hung out in the kitchen, mixing and baking their usual cookies, cupcakes, bars, and pies while discussing the Kingsleys’ menu and taking turns running out front to service the customers that came in.

“I already have several different quiches planned,” Lexy said as she poured a tablespoon of vanilla extract into the batch of sugar cookies she was mixing. “But I think we should make up some finger sandwiches, too. I have a great cranberry chicken salad recipe.”

“That sounds delish.” Cassie was bent over at the waist, her eyes level with the table, her pink-tipped, spiked blonde hair bobbing up and down like a bird’s crest as she applied turquoise fondant hearts to the side of a cake. Lexy had hired Cassie when she’d first opened the bakery because she knew she could trust her. Since then, Cassie had become quite adept at cake decorating and was proving to be an excellent baker herself.

“So, what is going on with the Pendleton case?” Cassie asked. Lexy had told Cassie all about the murder they’d witnessed with Ida’s drone and had been keeping her up to date with the subsequent events. In return, Cassie, who was married to Jack’s partner John Darling, promised to pass along anything she heard from John.

“Oh! Did I forget to tell you? Yesterday, Rupert showed us pictures on his iPhone of Olive in France!”

Cassie’s head jerked up from her task. “You mean she’s not dead?”

“No, we still think she’s dead. Ruth said that he could have photoshopped them to make it look like she is alive and in Europe.”

“That’s true. My brother does a lot with Photoshop, and he makes all kinds of crazy memes and other weird photos.” Cassie bent back down to her task. “So you think the husband did that to perpetuate this plan of pretending she’s still alive. What do you think he’s done with the body, though? John said it’s pretty hard to hide a body for any length of time.”

“That’s what Jack said, too. We’re not sure, but we think maybe she’s in the pond.”

“But what do you think his plan is? I mean, he can’t pretend she’s in Europe forever. Doesn’t she have a book signing next week?” Cassie straightened back up and tapped her finger on her lips. “And I think I read something about an author conference too.”

“We think he might be planning to pretend that she disappears.” Lexy plopped the dough out onto a floured marble slab, grabbed her rolling pin, and started rolling it out. “You know, like what happened with Agatha Christie back in the forties.”

“That’s right. Her car was found mysteriously abandoned. I bet that would generate a lot of interest for Olive’s books. Probably more interest than if she just died.” Cassie opened the oven, grabbed some oven mitts, and pulled out a tray of brownies, allowing the smell of chocolate to perfume the room. “But why pretend she’s in Europe? That doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

Lexy rolled the dough to the perfect thickness. “Not much of what he’s doing is making sense. Maybe he wants to pretend she disappeared over in Europe because then the police here won’t get involved?” Lexy picked up a heart-shaped cookie cutter and started cutting out the cookies, pressing down into the dough and then prying up the shapes and transferring them to a silicone baking sheet.

“Good point. Maybe he’s not so stupid after all,” Cassie said.

The bells on the front door jangled, indicating a customer.

“My turn.” Lexy peeled off her food-service gloves, tossed them in the trash, and headed out front, where four gray-haired ladies stood in front of the pastry case with their heads bent together.

There was something familiar about the ladies, and Lexy figured it was that they reminded her of Nans, Ruth, Ida, and Helen, who often came into the bakery to relieve her of the brownie ends and broken cookies.

“I think we should get cookies this time, Florence.” A lady in a navy-blue shirt tapped the glass case in front of Lexy’s display of frosted cookies. Since it was summertime, she’d done a variety of different flowers in all colors.

“They look spectacular if you present them in a basket,” Lexy said.

“I don’t know,” a woman in yellow said. “We had cookies last time. I think we should go for bars and brownies this time.”

“You could do both,” Lexy suggested.

“True.” Navy-Blue Shirt looked up at Lexy. “Do you have a discount for the ladies’ auxiliary?”

“Ladies’ auxiliary?”

“Yes, we put on functions every month.” Yellow Shirt narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t know?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry. I’ve heard about your functions from my grandmother,” Lexy lied. Best to butter up the customers and make them feel important.

“We’re trying to get Olive Pendleton to speak at our next one. She’s coming out with a new book, you know,” Navy-Blue Shirt said.

A third woman, this one in a red shirt, huffed, “Except she hasn’t replied to us.”

“I’m sure she’s very busy,” Yellow Shirt said.

“I heard she was in France,” Lexy said.

The ladies frowned at her in unison, their faces folding into dozens of wrinkles. “France? We doubt that.”

“Why?” Lexy asked.

“We are her official Brook Ridge Falls fan club. And we know all of her comings and goings. We weren’t alerted to any trip to France,” Red Shirt said.

“And furthermore, I don’t think she’s left her house,” Navy Shirt added.

“How would you know that?” Lexy asked.

The ladies exchanged guilty looks. “Well…we sort of keep an eye on her.”

Now Lexy remembered why they looked familiar. These were the people she’d seen driving by in the car in the Pendletons’ neighborhood. If they kept an eye on the house, they might have seen something. She needed to butter them up, loosen their tongues, and keep them talking.

“We’re not stalkers,” Red Shirt added.

“Of course not! This is your first time buying cookies in here, isn’t it?” Lexy asked.

The ladies nodded in unison.

“Well then, this order is on me. Pick out whatever you want, and I’ll fill up a box for you. In fact, why don’t you try some samples.” Lexy pulled out the tray of bite-sized samples she kept and handed it over the case. The ladies passed them around, carefully choosing their little pieces and making num-num noises as they sampled.

Lexy took the opportunity to interrogate them. “I’m catering a brunch right near the Pendletons’. Olive sure is eccentric.”

“I’ll say,” Navy-Blue Shirt said. “Why, do you know she sometimes has her assistant go to author conferences in her stead?”

“You don’t say,” Lexy said. “Do they look alike?”

Yellow Shirt shrugged and swallowed a big chunk of frosted brownie. “They’re the same height, same hair, which I think is done on purpose, and if the assistant doesn’t talk to anyone that personally knows Olive, then all the papers see is someone that looks like Olive doing things Olive should be doing.”

“But why does she do that?” Lexy asked. “I would think she would want to go to those places herself.”

“No. In fact, if you go to our official fan page on Facebook, you’ll see that she is somewhat reclusive.”

“Then you think she wouldn’t want to travel off to France.” Lexy accepted the tray back from the ladies, put it in the case, and started constructing the white bakery box. “Pick out whatever you want, and I’ll fill the box for you.”

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t think she’s in France.” Navy Shirt tapped her fingers over some coconut-covered brownies then moved to some macaroons. Lexy dutifully put two of each in the box.

“Because she likes to stay home?” Lexy asked.

“Well, that and the fact that she hasn’t left her house all week.” Yellow Shirt bent and squinted into the case. “Can we have some of these chocolate scones?”

“Sure.” Lexy picked up chocolate scones and nestled them in bakery paper then laid them in the box. “But how do you know she hasn’t left her house all week?”

“Like we said, we’re on watch. We monitor her comings and goings. Sometimes we even get a photograph for the page. There’s a few others who take shifts for us. Between us, we’ve been there quite a bit this week, and the only activity we’ve seen has been the sister coming and going in her little white Fiat. In fact, seems she’s still there. Oh! And the husband took his truck out last Saturday and came back with a load of stuff for that gazebo they’re building. He was gone an awfully long time. But Olive hasn’t left that house all week.”

As the ladies picked out pastries, Lexy put them into the box on autopilot, her mind whirling with new information. Was it possible they had been watching the house the entire week? Surely they wouldn’t be able to watch it all day and night, but if Olive had left to fly to Europe, wouldn’t they have seen her? And why was the sister still there when she lived just on the other side of town?

Too bad they hadn’t been there when Olive fell off the balcony. They’d have witnessed it and called the cops. But in order to have seen Olive fall, they would have to have been in the backyard or in the Kingsleys’ backyard. The patio wasn’t visible from anywhere else.

“Couldn’t Olive have taken the Fiat? Borrowed it or something?”

“Oh no, she only
ever
drives the red Cadillac.”

The ladies left, thanking Lexy profusely, with their overstuffed box. Lexy couldn’t wait to tell Nans and the ladies this latest discovery, because everything the four women had said further reinforced the theory that Olive was dead and Rupert and the sister had had something to do with it.