Free Scam Chowder by Maya Corrigan Page A

The chief put the muffin plate between them on the bench and loosened the plastic wrap. “Blueberry muffins. My favorite. I’d have offered you some coffee, but sludge is the only flavor we have here. Join me in a muffin?”
    â€œI’ve already eaten more than I should have.” She pulled a small wad of napkins from her tote bag, gave one to him, and tucked the others under the plate of muffins. “How long before you get the autopsy results?”
    â€œHard to say. Even a rush request can take until the end of the week. We might get the results sooner if the lab in Baltimore doesn’t have a heavy load.” He bit into a muffin.
    She watched a robin tug a worm from the ground. She’d have to be just as persistent in tugging information from the chief. “The autopsy might show Scott Freaze wasn’t poisoned.”
    The chief said nothing until he finished chewing. “I expect the results to tell us what kind of poison he had in his system, not that he died from something else.”
    â€œCould he have poisoned himself?” A long shot, but worth asking.
    â€œYou’ve heard of spies carrying cyanide pills. It’s a rotten way to die, but you don’t suffer long. Scott Freaze was in agony for nearly twenty hours. Most suicides don’t pick such a painful way to go.” The chief’s second bite reduced the muffin to half its original size.
    â€œThere were rumors at the Village that he swindled seniors who invested with him. If he was murdered and the rumors about him are true, you won’t lack for suspects.” She told the chief what little she knew about Scott. “A swindler makes a lot of enemies. One of them could have poisoned Scott before Granddad’s dinner party.”
    â€œThe medical examiner may not be able to say when the man was poisoned or what he ate that contained poison. He died almost a full day after his last meal. The investigation will focus on what he did the day before he died, with emphasis on his food intake.”
    And special scrutiny of his final meal. “I’ll give you a rundown on the guests at the dinner.” She described them based on her own brief observations and what Granddad had said about them.
    The chief polished off his muffin while she was talking and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Doesn’t sound like you know any of them except Irene Pritchard.”
    â€œI know Lillian Hinker slightly. Granddad’s been spending time with her for the last month and a half, usually at Ambleside Village or in town. I met her for the first time when she came to our house two weeks ago.” And not because Granddad had planned for them to meet. Lillian had stopped by the house briefly.
    The chief pulled out a pipe and a tobacco pouch. “How come you didn’t go to the dinner party Saturday?”
    Much as Val wanted to hide her grandfather’s ruse, she wouldn’t lie to the police. “Granddad hoped to impress Lillian and take the credit for cooking the meal that I actually made. He wanted me to stay out of sight. But when I heard a commotion in the dining room, I crashed the party and acted like I’d just come home.”
    â€œYour granddaddy had nothing to do with the cooking?”
    â€œHe didn’t make anything the guests ate, not the appetizers, the salad, or the chowder.”
    The chief filled his pipe with tobacco. “Did he serve the food?”
    â€œHe ladled the chowder up. Lillian brought the bowls to the table.” Val told the chief her concern about the dwindling funds in Granddad’s checking account and her mother’s worry about Lillian as a gold digger. “I didn’t mention any of this to Granddad, of course.”
    The chief drew on his pipe. “I’ll try to get him talking about Lillian. If anything sounds fishy, I’ll warn him and make some inquiries.” The chief tamped down the tobacco in his pipe. “Is that what