Case of the Butter Cream Cookie Hanging Page 3

  It broke Beatrice's heart to see her balling her eyes out.

  "But... but... why didn't he tell me something was wrong?" She continued, shoving her face into Beatrice's chest. "I could have helped him!"

  "I don't know honey. Sometimes when adults are upset, they don't know how to deal with it. The important thing is that you know this wasn't your fault. In any way. OK?"

  It took a long time, but eventually, Lucy found it within herself to stand and allow for Beatrice to take her home. It had to have been one of the saddest things Beatrice had ever seen. How could an eleven-year-old ever comprehend something as complex as suicide? There was just no way.

  In fact, it left Beatrice feeling a little angry toward Thomas of all people, the man who committed such a selfish act. It would be weeks or even years until Lucy recovered fully – considering how traumatized she was at the moment, anything was possible. The only thing that Beatrice knew was that she was going to be there every step of the way. She had wanted a chance to get closer to her granddaughter, and although this wasn't ideal, she would take it.

  It was odd, but as she led Lucy from the closest, Beatrice spotted a dead rat lying next to the plate of now finished cookies; the same one that she had stolen from earlier. Seeing the rat gave her an odd sense of relief that at least one animal out there didn't like Ms. Elwin's baking as much as everyone else did.

  That thought lasted but a minute. Right now, there were bigger things to deal with than silly little rivalries. That being the health and well-being of Lucy and helping her to get over the suicide of Thomas.

  5

  Beatrice was furious when she got back to Lucy’s home to find that her son was still on the phone and by the sounds of it, to the same person he when she left him hours ago.

  After the suicide of Thomas, Beatrice had called Trevor and asked him to call Dave and warn him of what had happened. He was an average father, but she was sure that once he got wind of the traumatic event that had happened to his daughter, he would be nothing but caring and supportive.

  Of course, Trevor was unable to get through to Dave, and therefore, when they arrived back at Lucy's house, he was none the wiser.

  After putting Lucy to bed, Beatrice decided that it was best to tell her son in person what had happened. That way he could spend the night coming up with a plan to comfort Lucy in the morning. But of course, it wasn't going to be as simple as that.

  "No... no that won't – I can't do that – You've got to be..." Dave was snapping into the phone as Beatrice stepped out onto the balcony. "You can't expect me to – but Anderson already --"

  "Dave," Beatrice tried, walking up to her son. She made sure to keep her stance as non-threatening as possible, and of course to maintain her distance. "Dave."

  He glanced up at her, audibly sighed and turned his back on her. He then held his hand over his mouth as he continued to talk into the mouthpiece.

  Beatrice, flaring her nostrils, walked in closer, stepping no more than five feet away from him now. "Dave, we need to talk," she said a little louder and with a little more force.

  Again, he looked up at his mother, glared daggers at her, before turning around even more; blocking her completely from sight.

  For Beatrice, that was it. She may have raised an insolent son, and she may have even raised a rude son, but she hadn't raised one to disrespect her the way he currently was. Especially under the current circumstances.

  So, without another word, Beatrice stepped forward, grabbed the phone from her son’s hand and launched it over the porch, into the neighbor's backyard.

  "What are you doing?" Her son exploded as he watched his phone sail away.

  "Oh, so you do see me," Beatrice asked, arms crossed. She wasn't going to cower to her son's rage. He was in the wrong here, not her, and it was important that he knew that.

  "Do you have any idea who I was on the phone with?" He yelled, now standing up to his full height. He was a tall man, much taller than Beatrice, but compared to her hardened glare he may as well have been four feet.

  "Was it the same person you were talking to four hours ago? If so, I'm sure you can call them back," she said, glaring her son down. She had always had a way of making him seem like a child. She fully intended on using that power to its fullest. "Right now, I have something I need to talk to you about."

  Dave continued to stare at Beatrice as if he couldn't believe what she had done. He was visibly shaking with rage. "No, no you don't get to... I don't care what you have to say!" He belted. "That was totally... that was totally out of line."

  "It's about Lucy --"

  "Don't! Don't try and use my daughter to drive a wedge into my life. I let you come over tonight and take her because --"

  "Let me?" Beatrice exploded. She had come out here with every intention of keeping her rage in check. She and her son had yelled at each other enough in the past to cover all future arguments, but now she just couldn't hold back. "The only reason you let me was because you were too selfish to take her yourself. The only reason you let me is because you aren't half the father that your dad was."

  "Get out," he said. He didn't yell or scream. He said it with a voice that was hard as iron and as cold as steel. "Get out, now." Without waiting, Dave stormed past her, back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Beatrice cursed herself under her breath. That had not gone the way she had planned, not even close. The idea was to tell him about Thomas and warn him that Lucy might be a little fragile for the next few days. Instead, she had put him in a terrible mood and most likely risked that mood transferring to Lucy.

  Good luck with getting him to come to Thanksgiving dinner, she thought to herself as she left the house.

  6

  There were a few things that Beatrice did when she was in a mood like the one she currently found herself in. The first and most obvious choice was baking. Baking was a cure-all for nearly every occasion. Beatrice could even bake in her sleep if she were so inclined. In fact, there were a few times where she would swear that she had done just that, despite her late husband's insistence that she had dreamed it.

  When she woke up the morning after her confrontation with her son, she was in such a mood that she was prepared to bake all day and well into the night. It didn't matter what she made, only that it was sweet and delicious. This was the only way that she was going to be able to get her mind off of her selfish son, and the way he had behaved.

  She also needed to distract herself from thinking about Lucy and the pain she must be going through. It broke her heart every time she thought about it, and she just wished that there was something she could do, but there wasn't, and that was the worst part.

  So, after having woke up and gotten ready, she placed a call to her best friend Stella, knowing that she would need an ear to keep her mouth busy while she cooked.

  "Hello?" Stella answered on the third ring. She sounded particularly cheery, Beatrice thought, which could only be a good thing as it might go some ways towards redirecting her own mood.

  "Stella, come over as soon as you can. I need you in the kitchen. I had more than a night last night," Beatrice said hurriedly. Usually, that was all it took to get Stella across and in the kitchen. To say that Stella was a gossip would be an understatement. She was so attuned to the goings on of the local neighborhood that half the time she knew of something going down before it even happened.

  Knowing that Beatrice had something to divulge onto her should have been more than enough to get Stella across the street and into Beatrice's kitchen before the phone hung up. However, to Beatrice's surprise, she declined.

  "I don't think I can today darling."

  "What?" Beatrice blurted, shocked by her friend’s refusal.

  "I had quite the night last night too. It involved a bottle of tequila, a fireman, and a fire hose. I'll let you work out which one I mean. I was hoping to get a walk in instead. Clear my head and work off the calories."

  Beatrice sighed. She would have pr
eferred to have baked, but as it was, power walking was the other thing that Beatrice liked to do when she needed to take her mind off things. The kitchen would have to wait.

  "I'll be over in five minutes," she said, hanging up the phone.

  --

  "...so I ended up wearing the poor little dear out," Stella bragged as the two women powered across the park. "He had to go home early and rest up. But, he's already called me today, so I couldn't have hurt him too bad," she finished, trying not to smirk.

  "Have you considered a safe word?" Beatrice asked, puffing as she did. Although she hated to admit it, she wasn't in quite as good a shape as Stella. Although they were the same age, Stella worked out so she could keep living the life of decadence that she had chosen.

  "No, honey. Those are for perverts and priests," Stella said seriously.

  Beatrice couldn't help but laugh as she enjoyed the story of Stella's night with the fireman immensely. She was happy for the distraction to be honest.

  The two ladies had been doing circles around the open park for the better part of an hour now, and she had already told Stella everything about the night before, and although Stella agreed that there was nothing that she could do regarding Lucy, it was nice to have something else to talk about.

  But it wasn't just the death of Thomas that they covered either. Beatrice didn't realize how much had happened until she started spilling it all out. On top of Thomas, there was her son, Dave. That one had really gotten her fired up, and she was glad to have been walking and burning so much energy when she told Stella all about how he had acted the previous night.

  And finally, there was that annoying Ms. Elwin too. To Beatrice's delight, Stella displayed the appropriate amount of shock and annoyance over the way she had acted. That conversation ended by assuring Beatrice that everyone else who seemed to adore her was in the wrong, and this Ms. Elwin character was a real phony.

  "Trust me. She's nothing but a big old fake," Stella concluded at the end. "And one day it's going to come back and bite her right in the butt. I just hope you're there to see it."

  Despite all of this, Beatrice was still having a hard time pushing Lucy from her mind. That was the whole point of the walk in the first place, but by the time she returned home, she was in no better place. In fact, now that she had discussed and gotten everything else off her chest, she found that all she could think about was Lucy and the death of Thomas the Janitor.

  It wasn't just the effect of the death on Lucy that was bothering her either. There was something very odd about the whole suicide thing. It was that expression that Detective Rogers had used, 'cut and dry,' that tripped her up.

  Beatrice tried to tell herself that she was looking for things to disagree with, like his injured hand and the suicide note, or the insistence from Lucy that he wouldn't have done such a thing, and then there was that conversation that she had heard him having a mere moment before he had died. That alone should have been grounds for suspicion.

  Walking up to her house, Beatrice gave her head a good shake. She really needed to get off this. Maybe Stella was right all along? Maybe she was bored? But was she really so bored that she would invent a murder case just to give herself something to do? She liked to think not.

  "Grandma," Trevor called from the kitchen as she walked through the front door. "What's this I hear about Thomas killing himself last night?"

  He had grown a lot since he'd moved in with Beatrice. In the last six months, she could have sworn that he'd shot up a good five inches, standing well over six feet tall now. He was also bigger across the shoulders and had even started growing a beard. She liked to attribute it to her cooking and the wonders of what good baking could achieve.

  "How do you know about that?" Beatrice asked as she took a seat, the relief of being off her feet sweeping over her.

  "I've just been speaking with Lucy. You know how close the two of them were, don't you?"

  "I met him last night, just before it happened actually. Very sad," she said, sighing. This was just what she needed. Another reminder.

  "Well, Lucy is distraught. She didn't sleep at all last night and is now refusing to eat or even go to school."

  "What?" Beatrice exclaimed standing up, the pain in her feet and legs forgotten. "It's that bad?"

  "Yeah," he said seriously. "She's convinced that he was murdered and that no one is doing anything about it. I tried to tell her that it's impossible, but she won't believe me."

  This was what Beatrice was most afraid of. For Beatrice to be suspicious was one thing, but she didn't want Lucy to be the same. To not receive closure like that was enough to send a person crazy. But she knew that with a father like Lucy's, she wasn't going to be getting the comfort that she needed.

  The only solace that she could take if one could call it that, was in how similar Lucy was to her; a regular Nancy Drew. It almost made her smile.

  "I'll talk to her," Beatrice concluded, shuffling toward her bedroom now so that she could quickly slip into something a little less comfortable than her workout gear.

  Although she had every intention of seeking Lucy out and trying to comfort her the best she could, she had no idea what good it would do. As much as she may have believed that there was more to this case than met the eye, everyone else seemed content on letting it go.

  All she could do was try and convince Lucy that that was the best option. No, that that was the only option.

  --

  "You don't understand," Lucy wailed as Beatrice sat on the end of her bed, resting her hand on her granddaughter's lap. "He would never, ever have killed himself."

  "Lucy," Beatrice began for the fifth time now. "Sometimes when an adult is really upset, they don't see any other way out but to --"

  "But he wasn't upset!" she yelled, throwing a stuffed toy across the room and crossing her arms in a huff.

  Beatrice had rushed straight over to Lucy's house the first moment that she could. She was going to seek this out as soon as she possibly could. As thrilled as she was to be seeing her granddaughter again too, she only wished it was under better circumstances.

  When she arrived at the house, she quickly learned that Lucy had been in bed crying all day. In fact, she had only left the bed once, and that was to answer the door – Dave again being out. The moment she opened the door, she turned and ran back to her room, leaving Beatrice to follow her in.

  "And you're sure?" Beatrice asked. They had been going around in circles for the last twenty minutes. Every time they got to this point, Beatrice would try and tell Lucy that there was no way and Lucy would inevitably counter and argue. It was a stubbornness that rivaled Beatrice's in its tenacity.

  "Yes! He had just booked a vacation that he was going on in a few weeks. And he had a reunion booked after that to see his old navy friends. Oh, and he was even telling me how the principal was trying to get him to quit, but he refused because he loved the job too much!" She exclaimed. "So why would he kill himself after all that?"

  She was so smart and passionate. It made Beatrice gush just a little, especially as it reminded her so much of herself at that age. She knew, then and there, that even if she weren’t one hundred percent convinced, she would do all she could to quell Lucy's worries.

  "How about this," she began carefully. She didn't want to get Lucy's hopes up, but she did have an idea that might solve both their problems. "I have a friend on the force, a detective. I'll put in a call, and maybe he can double check the circumstances surrounding the death."

  "Really?" Lucy said, her eyes wide as she sat up in bed. "You can do that?"

  "Of course, I can," Beatrice said, trying not to smile at how in awe her granddaughter had suddenly become of her.

  "Thank you! Thank you!" Lucy screamed, throwing her arms around Beatrice and pulling her in tight.

  As Beatrice hugged her back, she wondered just how Detective Rogers was going to react when she called him to ask if he could reopen the investigation. She guessed that it wasn't going to be quite
as positive as Lucy's.

  --

  Beatrice wasn't going to wait to call Detective Rogers. This was something that she needed to get out of the way as soon as possible. The moment she climbed into her car and took off, she dialed his number, knowing that he would be at work.

  When they dispensed with the pleasantries and Beatrice got around to asking for the favor that she had called for in the first place, she half wished that she had waited because of his reaction.

  “You've got to be joking!" Rogers yelled into the phone the moment the question left her lips. His reaction was so visceral that it almost caused Beatrice to crash from the surprise.

  "If you know me, then you know that I'm anything but joking," she responded, calmly and reasonably, redirecting the car back to the center of the lane.

  "The man hung himself, Beatrice. In front of a crowd of over one hundred people. What? You think someone pushed him?" He asked. Beatrice could hear the amusement in his voice and tried her best to ignore it.

  "No, I just... I don't know what. I just think there might have been some foul play," she responded, trying to ignore the chuckles she could now hear in the background. She was sure that he had her on speakerphone in the office and a few of the other detectives were listening.

  "Or maybe it wasn't his body at all?" he mocked. "Maybe somebody swapped it out when no one was looking." Again, she could hear more laughter. This time they weren't even trying to hide it.

  "Or maybe this is like one of the other times that I was right when you were wrong. Like that time with Stella and --"

  "What do you want Bea?" she heard the indistinguishable sound of the phone being turned off speakerphone as Rogers, clearly not wanting the other detectives to hear what she had to say, spoke right into the mouthpiece this time.

  "All I want is an autopsy report. Do that, and I will never bother you again," she said, smirking to herself. She knew she had him.

  "Oh, I wouldn't say I want you to never bother me again," he quipped in his usual flirtatious manner. She had to hand it to him, no matter how many times he was knocked down, he always got right back up again.