Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

“Duly noted,” Del said. “Anyway, Charlene says she was afraid to cut through the park alone after dark, so she took the sidewalk straight south to her house. It made her nervous even to look toward the park, or so she said.”

“If I may interject,” said Mr. Willard, “are we to believe that a concerned brother such as Charlie would leave his sister to walk home alone in the middle of the night?”

“Good question.” Del slapped his file shut and leaned his forearms on his desk. “I wondered that myself, but when I confronted Charlie about it, he shrugged and muttered something about obeying his big sister. He didn’t sound resentful, simply embarrassed and a bit childlike. That detail does still bother me, though.”

Olivia thought back to her conversation with Struts Marinsky about the relationship between Charlene and her much younger brother. “I have a mixed reaction,” she said. “On the one hand, Charlene and Charlie must have formed a close bond because of their parents’ self-obsession. Charlene must have been both mother and father to Charlie, and he seems to adore her almost as a dependent child would. So I can see him obeying Charlene against his better judgment. But there’s another angle: Why would Charlene decide to send Charlie home first, despite her admitted fear of walking through the park? You know what I think? I think Jason is an innocent, besotted dupe, and his confession is hogwash. He’s afraid Charlene killed King because she was the last to leave. Maybe she did. Or maybe Charlie killed him to protect his sister, and she’s keeping quiet to protect him. Or they both did it.”

Del sat in silence for some time, frowning at the closed file in front of him. When he raised his eyes to Olivia’s face, he didn’t look happy. “Here’s what I think,” he said. “We have too many possible suspects and too many lies. This will take time to sort out. Meanwhile, I have a confession from your brother, Livie, whether I want it or not. If he can’t or won’t recant and offer some believable explanation for his behavior, along with an alibi, I’m afraid he’ll have to stay in jail.”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” Jason said when Del brought Olivia and Mr. Willard to the town’s one jail cell. A middle-aged man lay snoring on one of the two cots in the cell, apparently sleeping off a night of overimbib-ing. Jason’s lanky frame huddled on the second cot, his arms linked around his knees. He looked to Olivia the way he had as a child, the day their father went to the hospital for the last time. She wanted to put her arms around him, as she had then. However, that was then, and this was now. The defiance on Jason’s face did not invite sisterly comfort.

“You said you wouldn’t talk to your mother,” Del said. “You didn’t specify anyone else.” He unlocked the cell and allowed Olivia and Mr. Willard to enter before locking it again. Pointing to a bell attached to the wall outside the cell, and within reach from inside, Del said, “Give me a ring when you’ve finished.”

Once Del was out of earshot, Olivia sat on the end of the cot. Jason slid farther away and tightened his grip on his knees. “You’re acting like an idiot, you know. And a selfish one, too. If it were up to me, I’d leave you here, but Mom is beside herself with worry.” She felt her eyes tear up and turned her back on Jason. “I’ve hired Mr. Willard to protect your rights, and I don’t like wasting money, so if you refuse to talk to him, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She rose and walked to the bars before turning to face him.

Jason’s expression had softened, making him look younger still. He unfolded from the cot and said, “You’ll never give me another cookie as long as you live?”

Olivia spit out a laugh. She gave him a hug, then socked him in the arm with her fist.

“Ow! Geez, Livie, you hit like a guy.”

“When I’m mad enough. Now, listen to your big sister. If you think you’re being self-sacrificing for Charlene’s sake, give it up. You barely know her.”

“You’ve got her all wrong, Livie. Charlene is sensitive. She’s been through a lot; she told me all about Geoff King and what he did to her.”

“So she killed him and is letting you take the rap for it? How sensitive is that?”

“ No . It’s just . . .” Jason circled the jail cell like a newly captured tiger. When he bumped the occupied cot, the snoozing drunk stirred and muttered, “Drinks on the house.”

“If I may . . . ?” Mr. Willard tapped one bony finger on his lips. “Jason, your sister has engaged my services because she is fully aware of the dangerous situation in which you have landed yourself. I feel I need to warn you at once that if you persist in your murder confession, the police will interview you and ask for a statement. The police are overworked. They will stop looking for other suspects once you have given them a signed confession. At each step, it becomes more difficult for you to extricate yourself.”

Jason said nothing, but he seemed to be listening.

“I am not myself a defense attorney, but I will find one for you, if necessary. First, though, I need to ask you a question. Since I am currently acting as your attorney, I will not reveal your answer to the police. Do you have a strong reason to believe that Charlene Critch killed her ex-husband?”

“I . . . well . . .” Jason flung out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Olivia wanted to protect him and slap him.

Olivia realized that Mr. Willard was trying to find out, indirectly, if Jason really had stabbed Geoffrey King. When Jason sent a pleading look in her direction, Olivia asked, “Do you want me to leave so you can talk to Mr. Willard in private?”

Jason’s hands dropped back to his sides. “No, you can stay, Liv. The answer to your question, Mr. Willard, is no. I don’t really know if Charlene killed Geoff. I just assumed because . . . well, Charlie wouldn’t walk through the park to go home, so it couldn’t have been him.”

And it wasn’t you, either, you complete and utter nincompoop. Olivia kept this observation to herself.

Dropping down on his cot, Jason looked up at Olivia and said, “I really care about her, Liv. I know she can come across as . . . But underneath she’s still the same girl I knew in high school. You know, kind of shy and easy to talk to.”

Olivia didn’t know how much more of her tongue was left to bite. On the other hand, maybe Charlene had become herself again with Jason. And maybe she killed her abusive ex-husband and was allowing Jason to take the blame. “Jason,” she said, “tell me something. Did you take the Duesenberg cookie cutter from the store when you didn’t win it?”

“What? Of course not,” Jason said. “Why would I do that?”

Olivia said nothing.

“Look,” Jason said, “I know I’ve made a mess for everyone, and I’m really sorry you and Mom are so upset, but here’s the thing . . . I don’t have any evidence that Charlene didn’t . . . you know, but I’m positive she didn’t. I can’t let her . . .” Jason paused, frowning. “I couldn’t let Charlene get hurt anymore. So that’s why I killed Geoffrey King. I saw him in the park, and I knew what he was there for. I’m sorry, Livie, but that’s all there is to it.”

Olivia fixed him with a sisterly glare. “How did you kill him?”

His chin lifted in defiance, Jason turned his back on Olivia and said, “Thanks for your concern, Mr. Willard, but my mind is made up. I’d like you both to leave now.” He withdrew again to his cot, back pressed against the wall, arms around his knees.

Mr. Willard rang the bell, and Del came to unlock the door. Before leaving the cell, Olivia turned to face her brother. “Jason, you really are being an idiot. You know that, right?”