Pies and Prejudice (15 page)

“I didn’t do it,” she told Hardy in a panicked voice as he opened the car door and waited for her to get inside the police cruiser.

“You’ll have plenty of time to convince me of that,” he responded blandly and shut the door.

Ella Mae lifted her eyes to the steeple, which rose from the roof like a finger pointing at the cloudless summer sky. Sending forth a second prayer, more urgent than the one asking that her broken heart be healed, she stared skyward until the car pulled away from the curb and the steeple slid out of view.

On this trip to the police station, Ella Mae was not shown to the relatively comfortable conference room with its oil painting of Lake Havenwood, but to a cold, stark interview room. As Hardy directed her to sit in a metal chair, she wondered who’d previously occupied the stiff seat. The worst criminals in the town of Havenwood were vandals and petty thieves. Occasionally, domestic disturbances erupted during the hottest midsummer nights, and every now and then, an alcohol-induced fistfight broke out in a local pub, but there hadn’t been a murder within town limits in over one hundred years.

“That man waiting in the lobby. Is he a reporter?” Ella Mae asked Officer Hardy nervously.

Hardy moved to the wall closest to the door and then crossed his arms and spread his legs, adopting the authoritative stance of a drill sergeant. “He sure is. I’d stay clear of him if I were you. He’s already taken way too many liberties describing this case.”

Ella Mae swallowed. “Does the fact that he’s waiting
to get a quote from me mean that I’m now officially a suspect?”

Before Hardy could answer, a second officer entered the room, introduced himself as Officer Jed Wells, and placed a recorder on the steel table in front of Ella Mae.

The sight of the recording device filled her with trepidation. “Am I under arrest?”

Wells settled down in the chair across from her and took a leisurely sip from an Atlanta Falcons coffee cup. “Should you be?” His tone was conversational, almost gentle in its inflection. “Did you kill Bradford Knox?”

“No,” she replied immediately and then folded her hands on her lap, trying not to let fear cloud her judgment. “Since I wasn’t read my rights, I am assuming that I’m not under arrest and I’d like my lawyer to be here if you’re going to question me. Aren’t I allowed one phone call?”

“We’ll call Mr. Templeton for you.” Wells nodded at Hardy, who promptly left the room. Ella Mae relaxed a little. Just knowing August would be by her side gave her hope. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to swap her black dress for an orange jumpsuit after all.

At least I’d be warmer,
she thought and pressed her cold hands together.

A wall clock, the room’s only adornment, ticked steadily in the silence, which grew more uncomfortable as the minutes stretched out like a late-afternoon shadow. Ella Mae kept her eyes fixed on the clock’s red second hand in order to avoid the casual scrutiny of Officer Wells. She rubbed her arms to keep the keep the gooseflesh from rising, but to no avail.

Hardy returned, carrying a plastic evidence bag containing a marble rolling pin. Without a word, he set it down on the table and then resumed his military posture near the door.

“Do you recognize this, Ms. LeFaye?” Wells inquired casually.

Ella Mae clamped her lips together and said nothing.

When August arrived moments later, he set down his briefcase, straightened his polka-dot bow tie, and proceeded to softly berate the policemen for trying to bully his client. Wells hung his head like a schoolboy caught pulling his classmate’s pigtails.

“Ms. LeFaye will only answer questions because she wishes to cooperate. If, at any point, I believe her rights are being violated, I will terminate the interview.” August glanced around the room and frowned. “This is a very unpleasant space. The conference room is drab enough, but this meat locker is right out of
Silence of the Lambs
. It’s absolutely glacial in here. Are you trying to torture this poor lady into making a confession?”

Hardy made a noise that might have been a laugh or a grunt, but Wells recovered his decorum and placed a hand on the evidence bag. “This is why we wanted to talk to you today, Ms. LeFaye. What can you tell us about it?”

Ella Mae explained her theory that the rolling pin from her mother’s house had been taken. “I put the replacement in a bag,” she explained. “Maybe you can get the killer’s prints off that one.”

Wells looked dubious. “We’ll send someone over to pick it up. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell us exactly why you came back to Havenwood?”

The last thing Ella Mae wanted to do was air her dirty laundry in front of the two policemen, but she had no choice. She told them about Sloan’s infidelity and her plans to open a pie shop on Swallowtail Avenue. Wells then asked her to describe her relationship to Loralyn Gaynor and to enlighten him about her reasons for behaving with such hostility toward Loralyn and her fiancé at Peachtree Bank.

Ella Mae told him everything, calmly responding to question after question until she felt like screaming. She could barely feel her fingertips, and her toes had gone numb in her strappy black pumps.

“I believe my client has told you all she knows,” August said when Wells asked Ella Mae to describe her activities on the night Bradford Knox was murdered. “Now charge her with a crime or let her go so she can thaw while there’s still some daylight left.”

Wells was about to argue when there was a knock on the door. A female officer with an attractive heart-shaped face peered into the room and, seeing Hardy, gestured for him to step into the hall. Thirty seconds later, he ducked back inside and handed Wells a slip of paper.

The two officers exchanged unreadable glances.

“Gentlemen?” August held out his hands, palms up. “Are we excused?”

Wells nodded. “Apparently two witnesses have come forward claiming that Ms. LeFaye didn’t leave her house after returning from her supper party at Le Bleu. They had a view of her place from eleven
P.M
. until dawn and said there was plenty of moonlight to see by. This pair swears they would have heard a twig snap, the night was so quiet.” He frowned. “In my book, your alibi is still weak, but these folks have given you a reprieve for the time being.”

Ella Mae’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Who are they?”

August touched her lightly on the arm. “We’ll leave the questions to the fine officers of the law, Ella Mae. I’d say that the account provided by these helpful witnesses should put you in the clear. Why don’t you accompany me to my office? I have an update regarding a certain gentleman from New York.”

What now?
Ella Mae wondered in silent misery but followed August out of the interview room without protest. In the hall, she came face-to-face with a young couple holding hands and looking scared and yet fiercely determined.

Seeing Ella Mae, the young woman, who could barely be out of her teens, smiled and said, “You’re the spitting image of your mama.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Ella Mae said.

The girl released her boyfriend’s hand and offered it to Ella Mae. “I’m Kelly and this is Noel. We got engaged in your mama’s rose garden the night that poor man was killed. That’s why we’re here. As soon as we heard that the police had brought you in, we knew we had to say something.”

Ella Mae pressed Kelly’s hand warmly. “I’m certainly grateful, but a little confused too. Were you and your fiancé in the garden the whole night?”

Pink roses bloomed over Kelly’s cheeks and she glanced shyly at the floor. Noel put a protective arm around her narrow waist and nodded without a trace of embarrassment. “We’d asked your mama if it was all right for us to be there. See, it was a full moon and all the stars were out. I wanted to propose to Kelly on that old bench in the middle of the garden. I know it sounds weird, but I wanted to ask her at midnight, because that would be exactly a year after we had our first kiss.”

“But I didn’t get picked up by Officer Hardy until early morning,” Ella Mae whispered.

Noel squeezed Kelly and grinned happily. “I know. After the most beautiful girl in the world agreed to be my wife, we sat on that bench and talked about everything. About what kind of wedding we wanted, the places we wanted to travel to, how many kids we’d have, what we’d name them. You know, the stuff that makes up a life.”

Kelly’s face glowed. “And we made promises to each other too. Never to go to bed angry, never to be afraid to speak the truth, and never to keep secrets from each other. Unless it was a good secret like a surprise party or something.”

Faith in a bright and harmonious future shone out of the couple’s eyes like starlight. Ella Mae realized with a jolt of sorrow that she had never looked like Kelly and Noel did now. Even when she’d stood before the full-length mirror in Sloan’s Manhattan apartment to admire the silhouette she cut in her couture wedding gown, she hadn’t been
illuminated by a corona of love like this couple was. Perhaps the absence of family had reduced her radiance, or maybe, just maybe, she had never believed, as Kelly and Noel believed, that Sloan was her soul mate. She had loved him, but he had never been the other half to her whole. She saw that clearly now. Saw it and accepted it. Still, she did not want the rush of sadness she felt over this realization to show.

“It sounds like a perfect night,” she told the young couple sincerely. “I remember the moon. It was magical.”

Noel and Kelly exchanged a knowing glance and then Noel gave Ella Mae an exaggerated wink. “Yes, ma’am. Pure magic.”

Ella Mae shook hands with the newly engaged couple again, thanked them for coming forward, and asked for their contact information. “I’d like to make you something to celebrate your engagement,” she explained.

Just as Kelly was unzipping her purse to retrieve a slip of paper and a pen, Wells and Hardy appeared from inside the interview room. They looked displeased to find their witnesses in conversation with the woman they’d obviously begun to view as a likely suspect.

“We’ll be sending an officer to your home to collect the other rolling pin,” Wells reminded Ella Mae.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, August promised to deliver his client to Partridge Hill as soon as they were done attending to an important legal matter. Giving Noel and Kelly one last smile of gratitude, Ella Mae followed August outside.

As August and Ella Mae slogged through the thick summer air, August assured her that the testimony of the young couple would do much to encourage the police to search elsewhere for Bradford Knox’s killer.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ella Mae responded. “I’m thrilled that they had a clear view of the guest cottage that night, but why did they choose my mother’s garden? How would
they even know what it looked like? You can’t see the rear garden from the driveway and she never allows people back there during garden tours. She’s always been strangely private about that part of the yard.”

August held the door to his brick office building open. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, my dear. Fate has intervened on your behalf. Seems like it’s about time too.” He led her to the cozy seating area in his inner sanctum. “Speaking of gifts, your husband has sent you one.” Handing her an envelope addressed to August Templeton, Esq. at 12 Red Admiral Street, Havenwood, Georgia, August told her to consider the contents carefully while he rustled up two glasses of sweet tea.

Perplexed, Ella Mae pulled a sheaf of paper free from its envelope, the latter having been slit open with the neat precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. As she unfolded the letter, a check fluttered loose and fell onto her lap.

“Sweet Lord!” she exclaimed. The check, made out to her, was for the staggering amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Sloan’s signature boldly declared itself from the bottom right-hand corner. The memo line was blank.

The check had been drawn from Sloan’s personal account, an account he’d kept to himself. Ella Mae had no idea how much money was in there or how Sloan had accumulated this small fortune.

Staring at the neat line of zeroes her husband had penned inside the rectangular number box, Ella Mae shook her head. “What are you up to, Sloan?”

Without moving the check from her lap, she turned her attention to the letter. It had been typed on Sloan’s corporate letterhead, and as Ella Mae glanced at the formal manner in which the date had been listed before her name, she couldn’t help but wonder if Sloan’s secretary had typed it or if he had actually composed it on his own computer. It read: