Tasting loves delight, p.22
Tasting Love's Delight, page 22
Collette was happy to finally reach the sheriff’s station and go inside. She was offered the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. It was not a comfortable chair. The wood was hard, and it was made to fit a very different body to Collette’s. She found that only the tips of her boots touched the ground if she sat back on it. She moved forward and placed her feet on the ground.
Across the cluttered desk, the sheriff took his seat, a clearly more comfortable one with padding, and for a while he sat staring at her.
She returned his stare without flinching. After all, she had nothing at all to hide. She had never done anything that warranted her being in his office.
When the silence became too much, she licked her now dry lips and asked, “What is this about Sheriff? I have to get back to work.”
He smiled as though he had won some kind of battle and shook his head. “Oh, no Miss La Rue, I think you’ll find that your days of baking cookies and cakes are behind you.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. This man was insufferable. What could he possibly think she had done now? Robbed a sweet shop? Spoken ill of someone’s mother?
“I’m talking about murder, Miss. Murder, and you did it!”
Collette gasped. The sheriff had clearly lost his mind.
Chapter 21
“What do you mean the sheriff thinks she murdered someone?” Henry asked.
Alistair shrugged and broke a piece off the mini jam tart that had just come out of the oven and was cooling in a rack in front of him. Henry glared at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Alistair said. “I’ll just pay for the whole thing.”
“It’s fine, just don’t touch anymore of them,” he said. “Now explain what you meant by the sheriff thinks Collette killed someone.”
Alistair popped the broken piece of crust into his mouth. “This is really good,” he said and picked up the tartlet he had broken and bit into it.
“Alistair!” Henry cried out. “Please!”
“Okay,” Alistair said, finishing the tart and dusting off his hands. “Sorry, but that was so good, and I missed lunch.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Henry asked. “I’ll get you something better than a tart. Now tell me what’s going on with Collette.”
Alistair sighed. “It’s not good.”
“Tell me something I didn’t figure out on my own,” Henry said. There was focaccia left over from his lunch with Collette which felt like a million years ago now. He put it on a plate and handed it to Alistair.
“Thanks. Now, our dear sheriff thinks that Collette murdered that man those boys found in the creek,” Alistair said, taking the slice and beginning to eat it in bits he broke off and popped into his mouth. “After going through the man’s suit pockets, he worked out that he is Jerry Cavell and he came here from Seattle. He was the man who was thinking of buying up the property that Nugent and Weis ended up buying when he disappeared.”
“Of course, so the sheriff would never think it was one of them who killed him,” Henry said, sourly.
“No, they’re upstanding gentlemen who play cards with our dear sheriff,” Alistair said. “Remember that is the sign of a truly good person, their ability to lose to the sheriff at poker.” He sighed. “Anyway, he needs to blame someone and since rumors have been flying around about Collette, he has latched on to the idea that she did it.”
“But how?” Henry asked, beginning to pace back and forth in the kitchen, his agitation making stillness an impossibility. “She’s not strong. A man could have overpowered her if she had tried to attack him. This makes no sense.”
“I agree,” Alistair said. “Turns out the man was shot in the chest. That even a woman of Collette’s size could do.”
“And the gun?” Henry asked. “She doesn’t own one.”
“The sheriff is filing for a search warrant now for the apartment upstairs,” Alistair said, finishing the last bit of the slice. “Is there more?”
Henry gave him the rest of the focaccia and Alistair dug into it hungrily.
“So, what do we do?” Henry asked.
“We wait,” Alistair said. “We see what they find and then we go from there. I think that even if they do find something in her apartment, which I doubt they will, we will be able to fight this.”
“How can you be so sure?” Henry asked.
Alistair smiled around his mouthful of bread. Chewing hastily, he swallowed before speaking. “Because I know Judge Harvey and he doesn’t jump to conclusions. He weighs up the facts.”
“And we believe the facts will support Collette’s innocence?” Henry asked. “Even with the sheriff and whoever really killed this Mr. Cavell pinning it on her?”
Alistair shrugged. “We can try, and we can fight and see how it turns out. But there is something you must do for all of us.”
“What’s that?” Henry asked.
“If you believe she is innocent, as you clearly do, then don’t give up on that. Don’t lose hope no matter what the sheriff finds,” Alistair said. “Because things are rarely as cut and dry as they seem on the surface. There is no proof at all that Collette knew this man. There is no evidence so far that she ever met him or hated him enough to shoot him. Moreover, she has never given an indication that she was hiding anything from you. Did she?”
“No,” Henry said, shaking his head. “She has been open and honest with me about everything in her life since we met. Even her correspondence with her family back home. She told me all about how her sister treated her and why she was looking to come out west and everything.”
Alistair smiled and placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Then don’t lose sight of that. Remember who she is and don’t get wrapped up in the so-called evidence that the sheriff will no doubt find. Keep focused on who she is and what she means to you.”
“Why do you think I won’t? “Henry asked. “Surely, you can’t think my love for her runs that shallowly?”
There was a moment’s silence and Alistair’s expression grew grave. “I don’t think that of you. However, I have seen what this kind of thing does to people. Families and people who love each other begin to have doubts and those drive them apart. Soon no one knows what to believe and happy couples—happy homes—are torn apart whether the accused was guilty or not. Let’s not have that happen to you and Collette.”
Henry nodded. He could do this. He could stand by Collette no matter what nonsense the sheriff came up with.
The warrant didn’t come that afternoon, nor at any time during the evening and so Henry went to bed with his mind in turmoil. He had stopped by the station on the way home and asked to see Collette. Sheriff Thomas wasn’t in and his deputy, a silly man who couldn’t think for himself under the best of circumstances, refused to let Henry in.
So, now he lay in bed, worrying, unable to sleep and wondering how, when things had been going so right, they could take such a downturn.
***
Sleep must have come to him sneakily during the night because the thing Henry knew, it was morning, and his mother was knocking on his door.
“Henry! Henry the sheriff is here with a piece of paper he says he will only give to you.”
“I’ll be right there!” Henry called.
He dressed very quickly, knowing it was the warrant to search the apartment. As he thought of the place, he realized that poor little Brioche had been there all alone all night, and he hadn’t thought to go up and see if she needed food or water.
Henry came downstairs quickly, his hair still damp from where he had run a wet comb through it to try to tame the waves it made.
“Good morning,” Sheriff Curly Thomas said, smiling in his most oily manner.
“Morning,” Henry said. “What is this about?”
“It’s about that apartment that Miss La Rue has been staying in. We have a warrant to search it.”
Henry accepted the paper and nodded. “All right. I will accompany you there. My lawyer will join us.”
Alistair had coached him the previous afternoon on what to say and Henry did so almost word for word.
The sheriff didn’t like that. His self-satisfied smile soured. He hadn’t expected Henry to know that he could be present while the search was conducted and that his lawyer could be there too. It was not how things were usually done, no doubt.
“Well. Come on,” Henry said, leading the sheriff and his deputy out of the house. “The sooner you look, the sooner you can leave.”
They went down to Alistair’s office first, then to the bakery and finally around the back to the stairs that led up to the apartment. Henry went up the stairs first, followed by Alistair. When he reached the door, he found something odd.
The lock looked scratched and damaged as though someone had tried to force the lock. Perhaps they had tried to pick it because when he inserted the key into the hole it was grinding in a most unusual way. At the last bit, it stuck, and Henry had to force it to open.
“Alistair,” he said softly. “I think someone has been tampering with the door.”
“You think so?” Alistair asked keeping his expression neutral. “Well, that would be the kind of thing our dear sheriff does. Let’s see what awaits us inside.”
Henry opened the door and stepped inside. The sheriff and his deputy were up the steps and in the door in a flash. They set about searching the place. Henry and Alistair kept a close eye on them. After all, there was nothing to stop the lawmen from stealing things if no one was watching. And considering how dreadful the sheriff was at his job, Henry wouldn’t put it past him or his deputy to be criminals themselves.
The search went on for ages it seemed, and the sheriff was very thorough. Henry began to think that perhaps there was nothing for them to find. That perhaps, Collette would be let out before long, and things could go back to normal.
“Over here!” the deputy, whose name Henry had never bothered to find out, called. He was in Collette’s bedroom with Alistair looking over his shoulder.
Henry and the sheriff rushed into the room to find the deputy holding a shoe box in his hands. Inside it were a few letters, two or three at the most. It seemed quite odd to keep so few in such a large box. Henry caught sight of the label and saw that the box was for a pair of men’s shoes. Why would Collette have a box for men’s shoes under her bed?
But that proved to be the least interesting part of this discovery because the letters seemed to come from Mr. Cavell.
Henry stared at the return address. Then he stared at the name on the envelopes.
It wasn’t Collette La Rue but rather to a woman named, Millie van den Berg.
“Who is Millie van den Berg?” Alistair asked.
“We don’t know, but it is fishy that they were found here,” Sheriff Thomas said. “That proves she knew the victim.”
“All it proves is that there you found a rather suspicious box under Collette’s bed,” Alistair said. “I think, we can agree that this is not very strong evidence of anything.”
“That will remain to be seen,” the sheriff said.
“Oh please,” Henry said. “There is no proof that that box belongs to Collette.”
“Has anyone else been in here?” the sheriff asked.
“The lock felt odd, like it had been damaged by someone picking it,” Henry said.
The sheriff laughed. “You’ll say anything won’t you, to save your lady love. I suspect you have been duped just like our poor Mr. Cavell.”
Henry’s temper flared. He had not been duped. He was not some sap who could be won over with a pretty smile and an act. Collette was who she said she was. She had references and a resume that spoke of years of working in Philadelphia.
All her family’s correspondence had that city as its address. She was who she said she was and that was it. This was a nasty fabrication. He opened his mouth to tell the sheriff precisely that but shut it again when the deputy drew their attention to something else.
He was holding a piece of cloth that he had pulled from the bureau that had Collette’s clothing. Unfolding it, the deputy displayed a pistol.
“Well, well, what have we here?” the sheriff asked, his tone one of delighted discovery. He was clearly enjoying himself. “A gun. I’ll bet you didn’t know she had one of those, did you?”
“There is no law against someone owning a gun,” Alistair said.
“So, you’re admitting it belongs to Miss La Rue?” the sheriff asked.
“We are doing no such thing,” Alistair said. “I merely drew your attention to the law as it stands.” He smiled but Henry could see the strain in his expression. This didn’t look good. The Sheriff was clearly planning to use this to make it seem that Collette was guilty of something so horrible no one who knew her would ever believe her capable.
But that was the problem. Collette wasn’t a long-time resident of Constance. Only a handful of folks knew her. She didn’t have enough character witnesses here to tip the scale.
Henry’s gut gave a churn. This could all go pear shaped with very little effort on the sheriff’s part. One person saying they thought she was a little odd, or perhaps that she had a temper, and the rumors would fly. They would be told over and over until the fabrications were suddenly fact.
He hoped Alistair had a plan because his mind was coming up blank.
“So, now what?” Henry asked as the sheriff and his annoyingly thorough deputy left the apartment with their finds in hand.
“Now, I go and do some detective work,” Alistair said. “Don’t worry, I have already set the ball in motion. I have a guy I use for this; he is quite phenomenal. I’ll send him a telegram.”
“Where is he?” Henry asked.
“Best you don’t know too much about this,” Alistair said.
“And what do I do now?” Henry asked feeling defeated.
“You go to work,” Alistair said. “I’ll be by later with any news I have.”
Henry nodded.
“Keep faith,” Alistair said. “Collette is no doubt being framed. From what I have gathered about her so far, she is exactly who she says she is. So, chin up.” And he left.
Henry stayed awhile. He couldn’t get himself to leave the place that Collette had made her home. A soft mewing came from the doorway. Turning he saw little Brioche standing there. She looked as unhappy as Henry felt.
Walking over to the cat he bent and picked her up. “It’s all right. Collette will be back,” Henry said. “Come let’s find you something to eat. He turned and walked to the kitchen to see if Collette had any more canned fish.
“Oh, that is sweet,” a voice snarled. Brendan Nugent stepped into the room. “I saw all the commotion and thought I would come and see what was going on.”
“You know what happened,” Henry said, with utter certainty. He strode to the door. “Now, get out! I won’t have you in here! It’s bad enough you orchestrated this whole fiasco!”
“What are you talking about?” Brendan protested. Raising his hands, he tried to ward off Henry, but Henry pushed him to the door.
Brendan caught the doorframe and steadied himself.
“Get out!” Henry roared, pushing harder, but Brendan seemed determined to stay.
“No! I won’t. I want to talk to you,” Brendan insisted.
It was futile. The man wouldn’t budge. Henry got some modicum of control over his emotions and stepped back a little wanting space between them. “Fine. What is it you want to say? Perhaps, to confess? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the one who killed that poor man they’re accusing Collette of killing.”
