Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Alexandru
Ipause in the doorway of the kitchen while Ms. Renfield tears into a bright red and yellow bag of her “Bugle” treats like a starving peasant.
She has changed into her so-called yoga pants and T-shirt, utterly inappropriate for the way the fabric showcases the line of her thigh.
Strangely fetching. The thighs of one who is stubborn.
Tenacious. One imagines a lover such as her would give as good as she gets, that she would make demands with those soft thighs of hers that conceal so much strength.
I snap my attention to Gregor, who is hovering with a bowl. “For your Bugles, milady.”
“Thank you, but I’m good with the bag,” Ms. Renfield pops a Bugle into her mouth and crunches loudly.
“A bowl is more festive, milady.”
“Seriously, I’m good.”
He opens his mouth to protest further. I catch his eye and he scuttles away with the bowl clutched to his chest.
“I just can’t believe Jerome would kill for a couple of stolen stories. It’s so not him. Also, don’t forget Dooley was there in the vicinity. Hiding in the bushes.”
“So now that your friend has cause to kill both of the victims, you are more willing to entertain the idea of Dooley committing the murders?”
“I’m willing to entertain the idea of the murderer committing the murders,” Ms. Renfield says, eyes glued to her electronic ledger.
“Perhaps Jerome is killing his enemies and ensuring that Dooley Brogan takes the blame for it.”
This gives Ms. Renfield some pause. She studies a Bugle and then bites off the tip, crunching thoughtfully with her little front teeth. “I guess that makes some sense, but not if you know Jerome. He’s not that kind of guy.” She pops the rest into her mouth and chews.
“Perhaps Jerome is killing two birds with one stone. Putting a murderer back behind bars while taking care of his enemies.”
I can feel the contours of Ms. Renfield’s interest sharpen. My theory makes a good deal of sense to her, much as she dislikes it.
“So you think he killed Milo down at the park and then doubled back up to his apartment in time to answer the door?”
“He did have the salt of exertion on him,” I say.
Ms. Renfield looks skeptical. “What we need to do is get a sense of Jerome’s whereabouts during both murders.” She takes two Bugles now and stuffs them both in her mouth. “I’m telling you, though. He’s not a killer.”
She’s so sentimental about their high-school attachment. I say, “Let us pay a visit to Jerome right now.”
“It’s eleven at night! He could be sleeping.”
“It is a simple matter to rouse him. I find that a person startled fresh from sleep easier to read, and altogether more pliable.”
“If only we knew the exact time of Milo’s death. It’s possible he was killed while we were talking to Jerome.”
“The time of Milo’s death?” I close my eyes, remembering the scent of the body as they carried it past. The blood had begun to thicken. None of the sweetness of fresh blood. The body itself—it held some warmth, but not much. “Ninety minutes before we arrived there.”
“Excuse me?”
“When did we arrive at the scene?”
She looks at her phone. “Around 3:55.”
“The time of death would be 2:35.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
I shrug. “The same way you might know whether milk has gone sour.”
“Wow.” She looks surprised and impressed. “That is a massively helpful skill.”
An odd warmth spreads through my chest, not that her opinion matters. It is only right she recognize my superiority.
Berky’s Patisserie is bright and bustling the next morning, full of pastry smells and cheerful music and daylight streaming through the windows.
Hellish, in other words.
I adjust my hat and gloves to ensure full skin coverage.
The female behind the counter gives us a wave. “Bonjour!”
Ms. Renfield gives her a big, bright smile. “Bonjour, Monique!”
Monique continues helping another customer who is taking an unseemly amount of time deciding on the type of cookie they wish to consume.
In a low voice, I say, “I do not see why treats are necessary. Jerome will not welcome us either way. The pastries are simply gilding the gallows.”
“Dude, we are nowhere near the gallows part. We’re still at the friends part, and I want him to understand that.”
“Your friend is hiding things. Guilt and fear churn inside him. He had motive and opportunity for both murders, but yes. Perhaps it is all quite innocent.”
Ms. Renfield forms her pretty lips into a frown, eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
I raise a brow.
She huffs around and examines the pastries. It is eventually our turn, and she orders a selection of croissants.
We are just about to get out of there when none other than Ms. Renfield’s mother, Lorna, comes in the door. “Look who the cat dragged out,” she says.
“Hey, Mom!” Ms. Renfield hugs her mother.
“Lorna,” I say, tipping my head.
“Again with the three-piece suit. Are you expecting to be painted in oils, or is this just how you dress for a trip to the bakery?”
“This is indeed how I dress for every occasion,” I say. “And I would be extremely surprised if there were any decent portraiture artists in this town.”
Lorna smiles. “Touché. Oh, and thank you again for sending that crew over for the back stairs. And Gregor as well. You really didn’t have to.”
“Of course I had to. I can’t have my underling distracted by accidents and mishaps at the store. We have much work to do.”
Lorna gets a strange look on her face. “That’s some bullcrap reasoning, but the stairs are solid, so I’ll take it.” She nods at the bag. “Are those for Gregor?”
“No,” Ms. Renfield says. “Gregor is not a big foodie. He is the opposite of a foodie.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Lorna says. “What’s up with you Karsovians and your strange diets?”
Ever the efficient underling, Ms. Renfield changes the subject to the murder of Milo Cirillo, asking if her mother has heard anything through the retail grapevine.
“I hear they’re holding Dooley down at the station, and as far as I can tell, it sounds like it was him,” Lorna says.
“Maybe,” Ms. Renfield says.
“Skulking around in the bushes feels pretty high on the ‘I’m guilty’ spectrum of behaviors,” Lorna says.
Ms. Renfield sighs. “I wish we could ask him a few questions.”
“I’m sure ol’ Maverick would be thrilled to hear that,” Lorna says, and then she brings up some matter of the store.
I ignore them, my attention suddenly snagged on the world beyond the bakery window.
The street looks the same as it always does. And yet something out there makes me still. A presence I haven’t felt in decades. It’s gone before I can place it. I turn back to Ms. Renfield.
“We must go.”
Jerome does not answer when we buzz.
“Is he there?” she asks.
“Oh yes. He is very much there.” I focus my senses on his windows on the second floor. “His heart rate is extraordinarily high. He knows that we are here and I have no doubt that he wishes us to leave. But when he finds we have pastries, I’m sure all that will change.”
“Very funny.” Ms. Renfield taps on her phone and speaks into it.
“Jerome, I’m down at the door. I really, really need to talk to you.
It’s absolutely critical.” When no response comes forth, she speaks into the phone once again.
“I know you’re there. Please, just a minute of your time. We have pastries!”
After some long silence, a voice comes out of the box. “Harriet? Sorry, I had my headphones on. What’s so urgent? This really isn’t a good time.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s kind of bothersome to just show up, but it’s important.” She turns to me, cringing prettily.
“You can’t just say what this is about?”
“It’s important.”
“Can you come back later? I’m on a deadline.”
Ms. Renfield sighs. “What time?”
“This afternoon? Just text me.”
Much to my shock, she turns and heads back to the car.
“You would consent to such a delay? You are too nice.”
“He wasn’t going to invite us in and we’re not busting his door down.”
“Jerome is a ball of intense and fearful curiosity. So many secrets. Guilt.”
Instead of getting into her car, she leans back against it, gazing out into the distance. “Is it weird just to feel all that?” She turns to me. “I mean, do you feel something from everybody in that building?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Wow.” She pulls a croissant from the bag and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Isn’t it bothersome?”
“You can see the river in front of you and the rooftops of downtown Ashwood and farmland beyond. So many trees. The boats, the little people, the sky. Is it bothersome to you?”
“So you’re able to focus when you need to.”
“Unless they are quite close and intense, like at that bridal expo last month. That was something of a kaleidoscope. The many musical instruments the other day, that was very bothersome.”
“Is it less today?”
“Very much so.”
“Do you think he’s watching us?”
I gaze up at his window. “Yes.”
“Well…don’t look!”
“Our interest in him is no secret.”
“I get that he’s hiding things, but he’s not like this criminal mastermind type.”
“Most criminal masterminds do not seem to be the type. It is part of the mastermind skillset to project innocence.”
Her phone makes a sound just then and she takes a look. “It’s Mom! They let Dooley out of jail.”
This is interesting news, indeed. “The twenty-four hours isn’t even up,” I observe.
“Granabelle’s gossip grapevine for the win!”