Fools and Madmen Read online

  Fools and Madmen

  Verona’s Vineyard Cozy Mysteries, Book 6

  CJ Love

  Chapter 1

  We that are young, Shall never see so much, Nor live so long

  “It’s the third death in three weeks,” Bogart Katz said. He sat on the loveseat in Delia Leary’s attic apartment and looked squished behind the broad coffee table. He was tall and gangly at twenty-one, and had brown eyes and a mischievous smile. “I’m sensing a theme.”

  Delia sat on the coffee table because there were no other seats in the tiny living room. And, she was not about to sit on the floor. Delia was twenty pounds overweight and didn’t want to let her friends see her struggle to get to her feet. What if they had to help her, both of them lugging Delia by her arms…?

  The table was fine. Hard, but fine.

  Becca Langston occupied the overstuffed chair across from the loveseat. She’d flopped into it as soon as she came into the apartment, and without removing her red wool coat. The young woman had straight brown hair and a heart-shaped face that was appealing and likeable. Her cheeks and upturned nose were still pink from the chilly air outside.

  It was cold in the apartment, too. There was a draft coming in from somewhere even though Delia had laid rolled towels beneath the doors and on the windowsills. Bogart kept warm by drinking from a thermos he’d brought along. He reached for the bag of pretzels on the table and then dunked one in the plastic cup full of ginger beer and rum.

  Becca turned to Delia. “What happened? We were all on the phone together, you shrieked in my ear—”

  Delia rubbed her arms over her beige sweater. She wore royal blue tights and camel-colored suede boots because, even though her life might be in danger, there was no reason to appear conflicted.

  She gazed back and forth between the other two members of the murder club — who were also her employees at the King Lears Cupcake Queen Bakery. Delia waved at them, circling her hand to include herself. “I’d just climbed the stairs to the second floor with Clawdius in his carrier…”

  “How is your cat?” Becca interrupted, glancing over her shoulder at the pet carrier near the door.

  “Stitched and medicated. He couldn’t hide beneath the bed because he’s wearing a cone. The last time I saw him, he was in a corner of the closet.”

  “I used to do that,” Bogart said, tossing a beer-soaked pretzel into his mouth. After chewing for a moment, he shouted, “Come out of the closet, Clawd. We will love you no matter what. I woke up gay again this morning, too.”

  “Anyway,” Delia emphasized, impatient at the interruption. Did they want to hear about the murder or not? “I heard Thomi shouting, and I flew to her apartment, shoved open the door, and saw her dad, Louie, out of his wheelchair and on the floor.” Staring out the window behind the loveseat, she pictured it in her mind again. “I thought he’d fallen … Thomi knelt next to him. She had … she had a bed pillow in her hand and kept screaming, ‘He’s dead! He’s dead!’”

  Delia’s eyes came back into focus and she stared at Bogart. He had his tongue between his teeth and bottom lip as though he’d frozen while listening to her. Suddenly, he snapped out of it and waved his fingers in the air. “Thomi killed her father.”

  Delia slumped forward. “No, she didn’t.”

  “You need to stop sticking up for her, Delia,” Becca said. “You’re so biased about Thomi because she’s your best friend, blah, blah, blah.”

  Bogart pointed his cup toward Becca and nodded at Delia. “What she said.”

  Becca had her hands on the arms of the chair and she pulled herself forward. “Thomi is not your friend and she proved it the other day when she accused you of trying to steal her boyfriend and then calling you a pathetic nobody.”

  “What she said.”

  Delia winced. “That’s not entirely accurate…”

  “Close enough,” Becca said.

  “What she sa—”

  “None of that matters right now,” Delia interrupted. “Thomi’s lost her father. She didn’t kill him.”

  Bogart was letting his auburn hair grow out. His new look was to part it on the side and let it sweep over one eye. He jerked his head to the side to get it out of his face. “Let me guess. Eddie did it.”

  “Well … probably.”

  Becca leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. The shoulders of the coat pushed her brunette bob upward, making it look as though she had two big curls on her jawline. “This is all so bizarre. It’s like we’re watching Big Little Lies unfold right in front of our eyes.”

  “Oh, I love Adam Scott,” Bogart said, staring off for a moment.

  “You know he’s not gay, right?”

  “He should try to be.”

  Becca turned to Delia again. “It was only a couple of days ago that Sanya killed herself. Bad things keep happening in the building. The vibes are really off here.”

  “Maybe we need a shaman,” Bogart suggested, gazing around the room. “We’ll blow the evil right out of here.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I know this guy who does psychic readings. I wonder what he charges?”

  “Never mind that now,” Delia told him. “I haven’t had a chance to fill you in on what happened with Sanya.”

  “Fine, I’ll have him séance me the information.”

  Becca said, “We already know she attacked you.”

  “But I didn’t tell you that Sanya said someone sent her to kill me.” She leaned back and let that sink in. Lifting her leg, she held onto it with laced fingers.

  Becca tilted her head. “Who would do that?”

  “Eddie, of course,” Bogart said. “Keep up, Becca.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sold on the idea that Eddie is the bad guy. You said he killed Jeanette, but he didn’t. You thought he killed someone named Reg, but he didn’t. I’m more inclined to believe Thomi is the bad person here.”

  Delia dropped her booted foot to the floor. It made a loud thunk. “The only thing I believe Thomi did was to tell Eddie that I’ve been following him around and that I sent pictures of him to Detective Montague.”

  Becca’s mouth parted and she turned, wide-eyed, to Bogart.

  Bogart lifted his brows and shrugged.

  “Both of you listen to me,” Delia said, waving her hand. “Thomi told him innocently, in a can you believe she did that sort of way. She had no idea that Eddie would put a hit on me.”

  “You see, right there is the reason I’ve considered dropping you as a friend,” Bogart told her, dunking a new pretzel into his beer mixture. “I don’t usually posse around with people who have hits on them.”

  Becca shook her head. “Why would Eddie tell Sanya to kill you? Why not do it himself if he’s the murdering type?”

  “Think it through with me for a minute,” she told them, placing her palm on the table and leaning hard. “Sanya tried very hard to convince Eddie that she was innocent. She implicated King Lears, blamed Jeanette’s husband, and so on. But Eddie never seemed to believe her. It was obvious in the way he spoke to her and the way he shot daggered looks at her.”

  “So why not kill Sanya?” Becca asked.

  “He sent someone to kill her. Don’t you remember that someone broke into her apartment and tried to strangle her?”

  The girl nodded. “Well, yes, that’s true. But was it Eddie who did the strangling?”

  “No. I saw the guy. He was built like Isaac Kent.”

  Bogart popped the pretzel into his mouth. “Who’s Isaac Kent again?”

  “It’s a long story, but he and his wife, Courtney, are mixed up with Eddie, too. They moved out of here about the same time someone attacked Sanya. No one’s seen them since.”

  “I still don’t understand why Eddie would tell Sany
a to kill you,” Becca said. “If he was murderous toward her, why use her like that?”

  “I think he told her he’d forgive her if she did this one little thing for him.”

  “And when Sanya couldn’t kill you, she killed herself because Eddie wouldn’t forgive her?” Bogart asked. “That makes Sanya one of the most romantic lunatics in the world.”

  “But there’s more,” Delia told them, leaning forward again. “Sanya was weirdly sane for a moment and said, ‘By the way, you ought to know something about Thomi. No one loves her. This is just a big game, and she’s going to lose everything.’”

  “Did you tell that to Detective Montague?” Becca wanted to know.

  “I haven’t had a chance. He showed up after all the chaos, and the paramedics were bandaging my arm. Plus, I was worried about Clawdius.”

  “I think you’d better tell him.”

  “Ah, the delicious Detective Montague,” Bogart cooed. “You should ask him out while you’re at it.”

  “What? No. I can’t do that!”

  “Why not?” he asked, rolling up the pretzel bag and setting it aside. “It’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Women ask guys for dates all the time.”

  “Yes, they do,” Delia agreed. “Confident women do… brave women, sure.”

  “You’re braver than you believe,” Becca told her.

  Bogart closed his eyes. “Wait, a minute, let’s get back to the dead guy for a sec. I have a question.”

  “Louie,” Delia reminded him. She’d known Louie since she was a little girl, and although they weren’t exactly close, it did pull at her heart that he’d died.

  “Who’s to say Louie didn’t have a heart attack and fall out of his wheelchair?”

  Becca nodded. “Right? And who’s to say he didn’t commit suicide? After all, it was Louie who stood in front of a truck last week hoping it would run him over.”

  “Oh wow, is that the same guy?” Bogart asked, apparently just making the connection.

  Delia shook her head. “I think he was smothered—by evidence of the pillow at the scene—and I don’t think it’s possible to smother yourself.”

  “I don’t think so either,” Becca said. “He’d pass out maybe, but would drop the pillow and start breathing again.”

  Bogart said, “Well, since Louie’s dead and not around to clear up the confusion, I say we wait to hear how the guy died before we crank out a murder club agenda.” He got to his feet and picked up the thermos off the table. He screwed the cap back on and looked at Becca.

  The girl stood too. “I agree, but you’d better be careful, Delia. I don’t know if Eddie wants you dead or not. Sanya was pretty crazy at the end and was probably talking nonsense, but you never know.”

  “Move to the bakery,” Bogart suggested. “Live in one of the rooms upstairs.”

  Delia stood and brushed at her leggings, making them smooth again. “How will I know what’s going on here if I move to the bakery?”

  “Maybe stay out of it…?” Becca said in a small voice.

  Bogart spun around. “You’re a disgrace to the murder club, Langston. I’m tempted to take away your t-shirt.”

  “Oh,” she said, squaring off on him. “Are you going to move in here to keep Delia safe, you big talker?”

  Bogart’s eyes brightened. “I think Detective Montague should move in with her.”

  * * *

  Up earlier than the usual four o’clock to get ready for work, Delia showered quickly and dressed. She was the manager of King Lears Cupcake Queen Bakery, and she wore the same uniform as all the employees: black jeans and a black and white gingham shirt. It was the fall and winter look. Maybe she’d order pink gingham for the spring.

  Bogart would like that.

  Pulling her blond hair into a ponytail, Delia left the bedroom and closed the door. She shut the bathroom door, too, leaving only the living area open in which to deal with giving Clawdius his antibiotic pill.

  Obviously, tensions were high.

  The orange tabby still wore a plastic cone and couldn’t hide behind the loveseat.

  Delia pretended to ignore the cat and poured a bowl of Reese’s cereal, which she had no intention of eating.

  Though it does seem a waste.

  She took a bite, and another, and okay, she finished the bowl except for one puff.

  Delia opened the prescription bottle.

  Clawdius’ head snapped in her direction.

  Courage, Delia. Don’t let him see the fear in your eyes.

  She turned toward the cat.

  Clawdius went into a crouch.

  “You don’t know anything,” she told him, keeping her voice friendly; sing-songy. “I just want to pet you and love you.”

  Clawdius dove under the coffee table.

  “Let me love you!” she screeched and ran at him. She caught him by the back legs and belly and dragged him toward her. “Come on, Clawdius. Be a good boy.” She got her hand inside the cone and pried his mouth open.

  It caused a stir.

  Delia peeled Clawdius from the back of the chair, after stepping over the corn plant that he’d knocked over. Now there was a small mound of dirt on the wood floor — and Clawdius would use it as a litter box.

  So, she cleaned up the soil first and then hunted Clawdius again. Once Delia had him in a headlock, she thought to remove the cone for just a moment so that she could better pry his mouth open. “I’ll just take this…”

  Why was there cat hair in the air? It’s cold inside and out. Clawdius should be plumping, not shedding.

  I’m about to shed myself.

  With the gauze undone, Delia slipped the cone from Clawdius’ neck.

  The mistake was immediately apparent. Clawdius was loose again and fled behind the couch.

  If only I had ice cream… hey, why didn’t I think of this earlier!

  Returning the pill to the bottle, Delia told him, “Until tonight, Clawdius.” She picked up the cone from the coffee table and pulled the loveseat from the wall.

  It caused a stir.

  Locking the door, Delia took the steps down to the third floor. There was Eddie’s apartment at the end of the hallway.

  Plotting more murders in there, Mr. Chester?

  She’d used the surname loosely because Delia knew Chester was Eddie’s alias. She had found out a couple of months ago that his real name was Edmund Gloucester.

  Who changes their name willy-nilly?

  You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you, Eddie?

  She took the next set of stairs to the second floor and glanced toward Thomi’s apartment. Was she home? It was four-twenty in the morning, so it was likely she was—unless the police had asked her to vacate the apartment so that a forensics team could get inside. Perhaps they’d concluded that Louie died of a heart attack.

  No, there’d been too many police officers in the apartment last night for them to believe Louie had a heart attack. One policeman would’ve handled a medical emergency. Delia had counted five men and women on the scene, and they’d asked pointed questions such as: When was the last you saw him alive? Tell me exactly what happened when you entered the apartment.

  Therefore, forensics technicians would comb the place, and Thomi was probably staying somewhere else.

  Eddie’s?

  No, no way. The guy had a one-bedroom apartment and a strict no-hanky-panky rule.

  Which is a tub of lies!

  A week ago, Thomi claimed Eddie wouldn’t kiss her, that it was his conviction to remain pure until marriage. Yet, he’d tried to kiss Delia a couple of days ago, and she’d seen him lock lips with his cousin on a few occasions.

  Delia descended the rest of the steps to the ground floor and then went out the front door and breathed in the cold air. It was late October now, and in upstate New York, that meant low forties in the morning and high fifties in the afternoon.

  The stars were still out when she climbed into her black Chevy Tahoe. Delia had named the old thing Sweaty Freddy for t
he taco and weed smell that lingered inside of it.

  It was only a five-minute drive to Bloomfield Hatch. Turning left at the first exit, she entered the suburb of Owlswich and drove past Spotted Duck Woods. Just to the left was the place where Louie had tried to kill himself a week ago.

  Now you’ve got your wish, dear Louie, and it was probably your daughter’s boyfriend who granted it.

  Also, Eddie wants me dead.

  Delia could be doing anything, washing dishes, taking a shower, driving down a dark highway, and suddenly her brain would say, “Remember when Sanya said someone suggested she kill you?”

  Yeah, I do. What the @#$%?

  Spooked now, Delia parked in the customer area of Bloomfield Hatch. There were no other cars in the lot, but there were plenty of street lamps. She didn’t want to walk from the employee parking lot in the back of the shopping village to the bakery in the front. Sure, the Hatch was well lit and storybook-like, but there were spots for a killer to hide, too. Between each shop were alleyways with more shops that led to more alleys.

  It’s straight out of Dungeons and Dragons.

  Delia crossed the wide road in front of King Lears, stuck her key into the Dutch door, hurried through it, and then locked it fast. She was in the customer area of the bakery, where all the cases of desserts stood. Before her were café tables and chairs, and to the left was a brick wall with wire baskets partially filled with loaves of bread and biscuits of every sort.

  Next was a pair of arched windows that overlooked the courtyard where a giant oak tree stood. There was a good view of the Stove and Keg Pub, too. It resembled a British pub with its red-tiled A-line roof and hand-painted flowers around the many-paned windows. She’d met the owner, Daniel Curran, a couple of times and maybe he was a great guy.

  But, I just… I just think he’s heinous.

  Daniel was somehow connected to Eddie Chester. Delia hadn’t figured it out yet, but given time, she’d prove it.

  Something caught her eye, and she turned quickly. Something had moved in the giant oak. A squirrel? An owl…?