Case of the Butter Cream Cookie Hanging Page 9

  Ms. Elwin indeed looked suspicious as she looked over her shoulder half a dozen times before making her way up a driveway a good five houses away from where she had parked. Even as she knocked on the door, she looked over her shoulder again.

  "I'm telling you," Stella said.

  Beatrice should never have doubted her friend. If there was one person who knew about affairs, it was the one sitting right behind her. And indeed, just as Stella said the words, the front door to the house opened and none other than Mr. McKay, the science teacher answered.

  If he had just answered and let her inside, then Beatrice still wouldn’t have been sure. As said, Ms. Elwin just didn't seem the type. But all doubt was blown away a second later when he planted a big, wet kiss on her lips, before leading her by the hand inside his house.

  The three ladies didn't speak for a while after that. Beatrice's mouth literally hung open. Stella looked rather pleased with herself while Sophie was distracted by a butterfly that had landed on the rearview mirror.

  So, it was the discovery of their affair that had led Ms. Elwin to poison Thomas. Beatrice knew that McKay was having an affair and now she knew who with. If there was any doubt at all about who the murderer was, it was all but gone.

  But alas, Beatrice knew that finding a motive was only step one. Now she had to prove it.

  17

  You aren't going to believe it!" Beatrice stormed into Detective Rogers' house. She was so full of energy all she could do was pace back and forth across the living room because she was about to literally explode then and there.

  "Hello to you too," Rogers said, closing the door behind her. He was currently wearing a pair of khaki short and a plain white t-shirt, indicating that he was off duty. Not that Beatrice cared, what she had right now was too hot to wait.

  "I tried calling you at the station!" She shouted by accident. She hadn't meant to, but she was just so pumped up.

  "Yeah, I have the next few days off and will you keep it down, please. I have neighbors," he chuckled, watching Beatrice with immense interest.

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just so... I know who did it. I know who murdered Thomas," she said, physically shaking while also unable to keep the smile off her face.

  "Well, that makes two of us. In fact, I think the whole station is in on the secret," Rogers joked. "Do you want a drink?" He walked across the living room and into the kitchen. "I've got coffee, or water or --"

  "No, I mean... Listen." Beatrice hurried in after him, grabbing him by the hands so that he could only look at her and nowhere else. "You've arrested the wrong person. It wasn't Simon. It was Ms. Elwin. Ms. Elwin poisoned Thomas."

  Beatrice didn't know what she had been expecting really. Deep down she had hoped that Rogers would instantly see the logic behind her conclusion. He would scream to the heavens about how right she was and how he was wrong. He would then jump in his car, take off down the road and arrest the horrible Ms. Elwin without a moment wasted.

  Even if that was a bit over the top, she at least expected him to hear her out, or ask why she thought that. Maybe give her the benefit of the doubt. But whatever it was that she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the hysterical laughter that was coming from him.

  "You've got to be joking," he hollered, holding onto his sides. "Ms. Elwin? The home economics teacher?" He roared, bent over the table now. "And I suppose the muffin man was in on it too," he chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  Beatrice watched him, hands on her hips, rueful expression on her face. When he finally calmed down, which took several moments, she continued. The excitement was gone; now she was all business. "And why not her?"

  "My god, you're serious aren't you?" he asked, wiping the last of the tears from his face.

  "Of course I am. It's her; I know it is."

  "I don't know Bea. She just doesn't seem the type, like at all. If there was a type, she is about as far away from it as possible." He was barely paying her attention now, rummaging around for a glass and pouring himself some water. He obviously didn't take her suggestion seriously.

  "That's why it's so perfect!" she exclaimed. "Listen, did you know that she was having an affair with Mr. McKay, the science teacher?"

  "OK," he shrugged. He really couldn't have looked more bored by the conversation. It was as if she had come over to discuss the color on her walls.

  "Thomas knew about it! And the cookies! The cookies that everyone loves so much. She baked him ones with a cross because he's diabetic and he loves sweets. They were poisoned, and she made them --"

  "Beatrice," Rogers took her by the hands, calming her down. She was starting to become a little frantic, and she realized that she probably wasn't making as much sense as she had hoped. "Look, you're a good detective. Better than most I work with. But a good detective knows one thing. Do you know what that is?"

  "No," she admitted even though she was pretty sure that she knew what he was going to say.

  "A detective knows that you need evidence. All you have right now is theories and hearsay, plus, you're emotionally involved – no, don't try and tell me you aren't. The point is that while poisoned cookies and affairs sound great on paper, they don't hold up in court."

  "So, what you're saying is that unless I can get them to confess..."

  "Then there isn't much I can do," he admitted, shrugging her shoulders again.

  "And you don't believe me, do you?" That hurt a little. She had been right so many times before where he was wrong. She wondered what it would take for Detective Rogers to start taking her seriously, at her word, just once.

  "Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. As I said, you have an uncanny ability in these types of situations. I'd be a fool to deny that. But that can only take you so far. Get me a confession or some sort of evidence, then I'll follow you to hell and back."

  Beatrice wanted to be mad, but she knew she couldn't. After all, he was just being honest with her. If he took her theory down to the station, then it would be everyone else laughing at him too.

  It didn't bother Beatrice. She knew she was right. She also knew that murder was the type of thing that weighed on people. She had met her fair share of murderers by now, and guilt could do terrible things to a person. So, if a confession was what Rogers wanted, then a confession was what Beatrice was going to get.

  It just so happened that Beatrice was a master interrogator.

  18

  The first thing that Beatrice did was bake a cake, well, actually the first thing she did was stop downtown and buy a voice recorder. The second she got home from that expedition, she hopped into the kitchen and whipped up a quick cream filled chocolate cake. She did this for two reasons. The first being that she loved to bake and didn't need an excuse. The second was that she had a plan, and the cake, and voice recorder, were all part of that plan.

  If Detective Rogers needed proof, then proof was what she would get.

  Although she was sure that the poisoning was done by Ms. Elwin, Beatrice also knew that poison wasn't the type of product that was available in the local store; located between the baking powder and dishwashing detergent. Someone would have had to make the poison, and the most likely person to do that was Mr. McKay, the science teacher.

  Mr. McKay, despite his size, also came off as a little weaker than Ms. Elwin; at least in personal resolve. Beatrice was certain that trying to get Ms. Elwin to confess would be a useless gesture, not to mention the fact that it would alert her to the fact that Beatrice was on to her. So, Mr. McKay, it was.

  "Knock, knock," Beatrice cooed from the doorway to Mr. McKay's classroom.

  It was getting late in the evening, and Beatrice had been scoping out the school grounds for some time, waiting for the last of the students to leave. As it was the last day of school before the holiday, she didn't have to wait too long, but there was always one goody-two-shoes who wanted to stay back and help out.

  To Beatrice's relief, however, once the last of the students left, the majority of the te
achers remained. Most had some last minute work to do; others wanted to get a head start on where they would begin after the break. As she knew Ms. Elwin to still be in her office, Beatrice could only wonder as to the real reason that Mr. McKay was remaining behind.

  But that wasn't her problem at the moment. He was alone in his classroom, so Beatrice to the advantage of it.

  "Oh, Ms. Fletcher was it?" Mr. McKay asked, looking up from his desk as Beatrice hovered in the doorway. He was obviously nothing but surprised by her sudden appearance. Which was good, as she would inevitably be able to use this to her advantage "Did you want to... come in?" he offered, albeit with some hesitation.

  Beatrice instantly noticed that he looked bigger than the last time that she saw him. Not in the shoulders or arms though, but the stomach and face. She wondered just how much he ate.

  "Oh, thank you so much," Beatrice said. As she made her way in, she turned and closed the door, ensuring that the two were alone. She did this with the kick of her right foot, as her hands were currently holding a large, Tupperware container.

  "What have you got there?" He asked, eyeing the container. There was hunger in his eyes, and Beatrice guessed that he could smell the sweet aromas of the cake. As it was getting a little after sunset too, she also predicted that the cravings were starting to set in.

  "This?" She asked as if she had forgotten what she held in her hands. "Oh, it's just a little something that I baked earlier. Here..." She began, popping open the container to the still warm cake.

  The effect was almost instantaneous too. The moment that Beatrice had pulled the cake from the oven she had plopped it in the container and sealed it off. Doing so ensured that all the flavors and smells were trapped in the container, and allowed to stew and build. That way, when she did pull the lid off, she could practically see them punch Mr. McKay in the face.

  Indeed as the steam wafted up and filled his nostrils, she could have sworn that his eyes rolled into the back of his head and saliva was practically dripping from his already moist lips.

  "Did you want some?" Beatrice offered. "Just a slice. It's filled with warm cream."

  "Warm cream?" He asked, licking his lips. "How warm?" His voice shook with anticipation.

  "Freshly baked," Beatrice confirmed, reaching for the knife that lay next to it. "How big a slice would you like?" This was the plan in action of course, and the cake was only the first step.

  The key to the whole operation lay in the voice recorder that currently sat hidden and nestled in Beatrice's chest. She was dressed extra grandmotherly today, in a sunflower yellow dress that buttoned all the way to the neck, completed by a gray scarf that she wrapped around her neck as well. Although it was a little warm for such an attire, the scarf held the recorder in place perfectly.

  She was going to catch him admitting to the affair and the poisoning. But first, he had to turn the cake down.

  "Ahhhh... no, no I think I'm good, thank you," he said, tearing his eyes away from the cake as if it were the hardest thing he had ever had to do. "I'm... I'm watching my weight." Beatrice wasn't sure, but she was certain that she could see beads of sweat forming on his brow as if the act of saying no to the cake was killing him.

  "You're sure?" Beatrice asked, acting surprised, even though she wasn't. Not one bit.

  Mr. McKay looked like he was about to pop before answering. "Yes... yes I'm sure. Thank you though."

  "Fair enough," Beatrice said, quickly closing the lid to the cake as she prepared herself for the next line of questioning. This was the real reason that she was here and it all came down to how she asked the question and how he reacted. "I suppose she wouldn't be very happy with you if you ate someone else's desserts, would she?"

  "Who?" he asked, acting confused. "My wife? She's not much of a baker I'm afraid," he finished, adding with a forced chuckle.

  "Oh no, not your wife silly. Ms. Elwin, of course."

  If a pin dropped in the room, it would have sounded like the beat of a drum; such was the extent of the silence that followed the statement. Mr. McKay's eyes had bulged from their sockets before he managed to rein them back in. As this happened, he sat up very quickly in his chair, looking around as if worried someone else might have heard.

  "What... what are you... why would that be... why would she care?" He barely managed, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

  "Because, as a baker, I know how loyal I am to certain dishes and customers. I know how mad I would be if my lover started dipping his hand into someone else's cookie jar... so to speak." She was perfectly calm in the way she spoke as if the two were discussing something as benign as the weather.

  If Beatrice was calm, Mr. McKay was the complete opposite as he stumbled and stuttered through his words. "Lover? What are you – not even – I work with... she's a colleague. Nothing more... and another thing..."

  "Please, if you're going to lie, at least do it convincingly," Beatrice said. "You two are lovers. That's a fact, despite how well you are doing right now at denying it. Another fact is that you and her poisoned and killed Thomas in an attempt to cover the infidelity."

  "What?!" He exploded. This time he did look genuinely shocked and even appalled.

  "I think you heard me just fine," Beatrice responded, staying calm still. She could tell that she was right in assessing Mr. McKay's mental strength. He was falling over faster than a deck of cards.

  "No! How dare you!" He yelled. "That is the most disgusting thing... that you would even... I think you need to leave."

  Beatrice bit the inside of her lip as he finished up his command. He had managed to regain control of himself, and worse than that, he seemed to be telling the truth. She had hoped that he would continue to fall apart, ending with him as a weeping mess on the floor, confessing everything, but he had a level of resolve that she was not expecting.

  "Are you denying the affair?" She asked, staying strong.

  "I'm denying the accusation of murder! In all my time, I have never once --"

  "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" The voice came from the doorway, and Beatrice's stomach lurched when she turned to see who it was. It was, of course, Ms. Elwin, lurking behind them, that over-the-top pleasant smile plastered across her face.

  "Oh... no, of course not," Mr. McKay said, calming down almost instantly. "Ms. Fletcher here was just..."

  "I was just stopping by and thought I'd pop in to say hello," Beatrice offered, returning the smile back to Ms. Elwin with full force.

  "How lovely," she responded. "Henry," she turned to address Mr. McKay, "Are you ready?"

  "Oh, yes. I've just got to pop into the bathroom." Mr. McKay leaped from his chair like his butt was on fire or more like he didn't want to disappoint and keep Ms. Elwin waiting. "Ms. Fletcher, it was nice seeing you again," he said before rushing from the room without so much as glancing at Beatrice.

  Now that they were alone, Beatrice could feel the tension in the room shift dramatically. Beatrice no longer felt like she was in control of the moment as if Ms. Elwin had some sort of insurmountable power over her and all those she came into contact with.

  Beatrice also wondered how much she had heard? She didn't even hear the door open. Had Ms. Elwin heard her accuse Mr. McKay of murder? Did she know? Beatrice knew she had to play this one cool and get out before she did or said something incriminating.

  "What is it you have there?" She asked, indicating the container now in Beatrice's lap.

  "Oh, nothing. Just a cake, a cream filled chocolate cake," Beatrice said dismissively.

  "Oh, how lovely!" Ms. Elwin beamed. "You're supposed to be an excellent little chef. I'm sure it's delicious."

  "I like to think so," Beatrice responded, getting a little annoyed by the condescending tone, but choosing to rise above it.

  "Yes," Ms. Elwin began as she stepped further into the room. "Quite the little baker I hear. I've also heard a lot of other things about you, Ms. Fletcher."

  "Oh?" Beatrice offered, not sure what she was g
etting at, but not liking the way that the home economics teacher was now lurking over her.

  "Just that you have a habit of... of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Nothing bad of course. Just a bit of a busy-body is what I've heard." The whole thing was said in a very pleasant, almost elated manner as if she were offering a compliment, rather than the obvious insult that it was.

  "Never where it doesn't belong," Beatrice said as she got to her feet. She was now standing face to face with the younger teacher. She held her stare, unblinking. "I just have a habit of catching people where they didn't want to be caught. With their pants down, so to speak."

  "That's quite the gift."

  "You have no idea."

  The two ladies remained standing, looking into each other's eyes as if daring the other to act. If it were two younger men, perhaps punches would have been thrown and the day would have ended with the two on the floor, wrestling each other to submission.

  But that wasn’t how Beatrice operates. Instead, she held the moment, letting the meaning of her words sink in until Mr. McKay suddenly reappeared, breaking the tension and all but dragging Ms. Elwin from the room.

  Driving home, Beatrice was now certain that Ms. Elwin knew she was on to her. Not only from the fact that Mr. McKay was sure to tell her, but just from the way she had spoken to her. Ms. Elwin without a doubt knew that Beatrice suspected her.

  Of course, the real problem with this was that it was going to make catching her that much harder as now she was certain to be extra careful. And as Mr. McKay had given nothing away, it left Beatrice in the same spot she was in earlier. She knew who the killer was, but had no way of proving it.

  19

  Maybe she has won?" Stella offered as she took another sip from what was at least her fourth glass of wine. "Some people just can't be beaten."

  "I refuse to believe that," Beatrice said, filling up her glass. "There has to be a way to catch her or get her to admit it. I just haven't thought of it yet."