by Kathi Daley
“So, do you think she’s done this before?” I asked.
“I think she may have done this before if that’s even what she’s doing. I found that in addition to the snow globes, she purchased four cases of Santa figurines from Baylor Enterprises. The timing of that fits better with the timeline relating to Holly’s death.”
“Did she claim to have returned them as well?”
“No. She said they weren’t as cute as expected, so she sold them for cost to a curio shop in Seattle. She had an invoice that makes it appear that is what occurred, but…”
“But it does sound like there are a lot of cash neutral transactions going on. Do you have a plan to prove this one way or another?”
“Not really. If Valdez is acting as the middleman for illegal property, I doubt that she’ll continue to run the items through the store in the Santa House now that she knows I’m snooping around. I made a call to a guy I know who works for Interpol. I figure that if merchandise is being moved from one country to another by illegal means, he might want to know about it. If Valdez killed Holly to cover up her side business, I will prove that, but it isn’t really my job to get wrapped up in illegal trade.”
“Yeah. I get that. So, it sounds like your suspect list in terms of Holly’s murder is Rowen Morton since Holly was suing him and Jessica Valdez if you’re correct and she’s running illegal goods through the Santa House and Holly found out about it.”
“At this point, that’s about it. I still need to track down Owen and Steve, which I think I’ll go and do now.”
Chapter 10
While Woody was busy tracking down suspects, I decided to try to get some additional photos for my project. I headed over to the ice rink where carols were blaring, and happy skaters slid gracefully, or not, around the rink. The laughter and smiles were plentiful, so I suspected that I’d end up with some keepers from all the shots I’d taken. I was swaying to the music and considering the idea of heading home for my own skates when I noticed the same dark-haired woman I’d been noticing the past few days sitting on a bench on the far side of the rink watching the skaters as I was. She wasn’t doing anything suspicious, so I had no reason to find her presence suspicious, but there was just something about her that I found unsettling.
I snapped another photo of her. My fourth. Perhaps I was the stalker in this situation.
On a whim, I attached the photo I’d taken to a text and sent it to Donovan. I casually mentioned that I kept running into the woman and was beginning to think I was being followed. I shared that she looked familiar and asked if he recognized her. He said he didn’t, but he was glad I’d texted since he needed to talk to me. He asked if I was free to talk, and when I said I was, he called me.
“Do you have more news?” I asked.
“I received another text an hour ago on the phone that belongs to you. The text is a photo of you. Nothing else. Just the photo. The background is blurry and nondescript, but I hoped you would be able to tell me when and where it was taken.”
“Yeah. I might be able to do that. I’ll put you on speaker. Text it to me, and I’ll take a look.”
He did as I asked. I heard a ding and popped over to my texting app. “Oh, my,” I said in a shaky tone of voice.
“What is it?” Donovan asked.
“The photo was taken yesterday. I’m standing in front of one of the seasonal buildings down by the wharf. Trevor and I went to dinner there last night. I’m alone, so this must have been shot when he went inside to check on our table.”
I stopped talking and expected Donovan to reply, but my explanation about the photo was met with silence.
“Donovan? Did I lose you?”
“No. I’m here. The text was sent to the phone registered to you from the same burner number the threating texts have been sent from. The fact that this person took this photo yesterday means that he or she knows you’re in Oregon and not New York, and it means that he or she is there in Oregon with you.”
“Do you think I am in danger?”
“I think you might be. Maybe you should go home and stay there until I can get this sorted out.”
“No. If this person wanted me dead, I’d already be dead. I’ll keep my eyes open, but I am not going to run and hide. If you get any new information, call me. In the meantime, can we leave Mom out of this? You know how she worries.”
“I think she has the right to know what’s going on.”
“Maybe, but I’d rather wait and talk to her when I have something tangible to share.”
“Okay, I won’t say anything for now. I’m going to follow up on some things, and I’ll call you later in the day.”
After I hung up with Donovan, I headed toward Pirates Pizza. I had a lot of thoughts running through my mind, and I felt like I needed to talk things through with someone who already knew what was going on. Trevor was working in the kitchen today, so I pulled up a stool and chatted while he made pizzas.
“Woody is following up with everyone who had access to the code that opened the door to the Santa House,” I informed him. “There weren’t a lot of people with the code, but it did sound like the person who accessed the Santa House had the code, so it makes sense it was one of the people on the list. He has a suspicion relating to the Santa House supervisor, a woman named Jessica Valdez.” I then shared the information Woody had provided me about the deposits into her account and the strange inventory.
“Wow. It sounds like Woody might really have stumbled onto something,” Trevor said.
“I agree, although if she killed Holly, I don’t know how the drugging fits into the whole thing.”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” Trevor spread sauce on the dough he’d just shaped into a round. “We still don’t know for certain that the person who drugged her is the one who killed her.”
“It would be too absurd if there were two different people involved.” I paused to think through the scenario. “Still, unless we have the timing wrong, the timeline does seem to suggest that.”
Trevor pulled a bowl with dough out of the refrigerator and began making rounds. “It sounds like she began feeling funny while she was still at the bar, indicating that she was most likely drugged at the bar. We have intel that suggests that the bar owner gave her a ride to the Santa House, although he is not admitting that. Still, if he did give her a ride, why not just kill her then? It makes no sense that he would drop her off and leave and then come back later and kill her.”
“That’s true.”
“And for the rest to have happened, for Holly to have fallen asleep and then been awoken by someone trying to get in, she would have had to have been left there. If she did hear the voices and hide, and one of the voices belonged to Valdez, who was probably there with a helper or her buyer, then it really does fit they might have killed her if they found her and realized she had overheard everything that they’d been talking about.”
“And not wanting her death to be linked to the Santa House, they moved the body to the woods. That actually makes perfect sense. Except for the drugging. Who drugged her, and why?”
“I don’t know. That part does seem odd. I wonder if…” I was interrupted when my phone rang. “I need to get this.” I clicked the answer button on my phone. “That was fast,” I said to Donovan.
“I found out who your stalker is.”
“The woman in the photo I sent you?”
“Yes. I’m afraid the woman you keep seeing is none other than Maria Bonatello.”
Okay, I was not expecting that. I felt like I should respond in some way, but I had no idea what to say. I glanced up and noticed Trevor watching me, so I forced myself to pull myself together. “The reception in here is pretty dicey. I’m going to take this outside,” I said to Donovan. I then glanced at Trevor. “I’ll be right back.”
I could feel his gaze on me as I left the building and headed out onto the sidewalk. I supposed I was going to have to come up with some sort of explanation when I went back inside.
�
��And how exactly is Maria related to the family?” I asked once I found a spot to have the conversation where I wouldn’t be overheard.
“She’s Vito’s sister,” Donovan answered.
“So, she’s probably the one sending the texts.”
“I think so. She isn’t a family member who has been on the radar. She was just twelve when her grandfather killed her father. She attended a private boarding school and seemed to have grown up outside of the immediate influence of the family. After her brother got out of prison, he reached out to her. I’m not sure why, after all this time, she decided that you were responsible for her father’s death, but I suspect she may not have had access to the details relating to his death until she reconnected with Vito.”
“So, what do I do now?”
“I called and spoke to Woody.” Donovan had met Woody when he was here at Thanksgiving. “I sent him the photo, and he is going to try to locate her and bring her in for questioning. I also called and spoke to Vito. He swears he had no idea that his sister was even in Oregon, and to be honest, he seemed pretty peeved about the whole thing. He’s trying to establish his role in the family, and he told me that he doesn’t have time for distractions. He assured me he would handle things and that I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“Handle things? What does that mean? Is he going to hurt her?”
“I didn’t get the feeling he meant her harm. If I had to guess, he will simply call her and demand that she return to New York.”
“Do you think she will?”
“I think she will. Maria is only twenty-two. Her father and grandfather are both dead, which puts Vito, as her older brother and a top member of the family, in a position of authority over her. I know that sounds antiquated, but the hierarchy that exists within the family is generally respected.”
“So, that’s it? I don’t need to worry about the texts or the possibility there is someone out there gunning for me?”
“I think the texts were probably a prank, and while I would caution you not to let your guard down, I don’t think you are in any imminent danger. I do plan to follow up on things to ensure that Maria does actually return to New York, but I think you can stop looking over your shoulder.”
“Good to know.”
After I hung up with Donovan, I headed back in to face the questions I knew Trevor would have. I hadn’t wanted to worry him, so I hadn’t mentioned that my stalker was here in Cutter’s Cove, but now that Donovan seemed to have handled things, I supposed I should tell him.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “The call kept cutting in and out, but the reception outside was much better.”
“Is something up?” he asked.
I decided to answer honestly. “Donovan found out that the texts I’ve been receiving are from Vito’s younger sister, Maria. She is also the woman with the dark hair I’ve been seeing around town the past couple of days.”
“She’s here?” he demanded.
“She is, but not to worry. Donovan has things handled. He called and spoke to Vito, who claims he didn’t even know she was here. He assured Donovan that he wished me no ill will, and would handle things with his sister.”
“Handle things? How?”
“Donovan seems to think Maria will do whatever Vito tells her to do. He also called Woody as a precaution, and Woody is going to try to track her down.”
He began placing pepperoni on a pizza. “Are you sure her being here doesn’t put you in danger?”
“I guess one can never be sure of something like that,” I answered honestly. “But if she really wanted me dead, she’s had plenty of opportunities to make that happen. I think she’s just angry and upset about what happened to her father and wanted to scare me.”
He placed the pie in the oven. “Why now?”
“Donovan thinks it’s possible that she didn’t even know about my involvement in her father’s death until after Vito got out of prison. Not that I was actually responsible for his death, but I suppose I can see how she might come to that conclusion.” I slipped onto the stool I’d been sitting on before. “Anyway, it sounds like things are being handled, so I’m not going to worry about it. I have a photo contest to get ready for, which is exactly how I plan to spend my afternoon.”
“How are the photos coming along?”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’m still trying to find the one thing that will make my collage stand out, but I think I’m beginning to get some perspective. I have quite a few photos that I think will work, but I’m going to head over to the lot where the carnival is being set up, and then I am going to head over to the park for some additional shots. What time do you think you’ll be off?”
“Around four. Will you be home by then?”
“Probably, but text me just in case.” I slid off the stool. “Mom is out this evening, so maybe we can grab some food and settle in and watch a movie.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll call you.”
After I left the restaurant, I headed toward the lot where the carnival folks were setting up the rides and game booths. The carnival was a popular attraction in the area that brought tourists from as far away as Portland. The weather had been dicey lately, but it sounded like the forecast for the weekend was dry and sunny, which I supposed was better for those wanting to partake of the rides and games than the snow we’d been enjoying for the past week or so.
After I took several shots of the crew setting up the rides, I headed toward the community center where I knew Mom and the other volunteers were making candy. The candy they made would be sold over the weekend, and the proceeds would be used for community projects.
“Something smells wonderful,” I said after joining the crew in the kitchen.
“We’re making the peanut butter fudge,” one of the women answered. “The chocolate fudge is cooling if you’d like to try a piece.”
“Thanks. I’d love a piece.”
I nibbled on the candy while the women chatted about the latest gossip. If there was one thing you could say about the women of Cutter’s Cove, it was that if there was something to know, you could pretty well bet that the women who manned the gossip hotline were going to know it.
“So, I understand you are the one who found Holly Quinn’s body up on the mountain near Dooley’s Farm,” a woman I only knew as Edna said.
“Yes. I was up there taking photos for a contest when I stumbled upon her.”
“Such a darn shame. I can’t imagine why that girl would have been out walking around in a storm with barely a stitch on.”
“Young women these days seem to think it’s more important to look good than to wear clothing appropriate for the conditions,” one of the other women said.
“I heard she’d been at The Rusty Nail earlier in the evening,” Edna said.
“I suppose that might explain her clothes, but I don’t know why she would be hanging out in a place like that, especially since she was involved in a lawsuit with the owner of the bar,” a woman named Rosa huffed, with a tone that made it clear she didn’t consider The Rusty Nail to be an appropriate place for a proper young woman.
“I heard that the new owner of the bar sank all his money into the remodel, and would have to close the place down if he lost the lawsuit he was involved in,” a woman who had been introduced as Rayleen informed the group. “I heard that a man who’s interested in the property wants to tear the place down. No one wants to see The Rusty Nail shut down. It’s practically a Cutter’s Cove landmark.”
I wasn’t sure, but this sounded like information Woody might be interested in. “I need to get going,” I said to the group. “It’s been fun chatting with you, but I have a lot to get done today. Have fun with your candy making, and thanks for the sample; it was really good.”
After I left, I called Woody. He didn’t answer his phone, so I left a message. I then headed over to The Rusty Nail. It might be early in the day for a drink, but not all that early for someone like me who actually had sleuthing on her mind. I sat down at the
bar and ordered a glass of white wine, and then introduced myself to the bartender whose name I already knew was Dave. I opened a dialogue that would get him chatting before I eventually brought things around to my real reason for being there.
“Have you worked here long?” I asked as the man began to wipe down the bar, which I suspected was a nervous habit since the bar had been spotless when I sat down. It was a nice touch, and it did seem to create a homey feel, so maybe the motion was designed to put the customer at ease. There was something about the slow circular motion as he worked his way in one direction and then the other. His hands were rough looking, with visible calluses, which seemed to indicate he must enjoy some sort of physical activity when he wasn’t working at the bar. He might chop wood for extra income, perhaps he liked to tinker with old cars, or maybe he was into woodworking.
“I’ve been here at this bar goin’ on thirty years,” he answered.
“Thirty years? I thought Rowen Morton just bought this place a few years ago.”
He paused and held the rag still. The large ring covered in tiny diamonds on his finger provided an interesting contrast to his work-worn hands. “He did. I used to work for a man named Bill Fitzgerald, but when he retired and sold the bar, I stayed on in spite of the ownership change. Folks come in to see ol’ Dave, who always has an open ear and a bit of advice to dole out. Couldn’t let them down now, could I?”
“No, I guess not. It sounds like this bar means a lot to you.”
“It does. In a way, the bar is like my family. I wanted to buy it myself when Bill sold it, but I couldn’t put together the funding. I was happy when Rowen bought it and wanted to keep me on. I’m not sure what I’d do if I didn’t have this place to come to each day.”
“I guess if you come in every day like you said, you might have been here on Friday.”
“I always work the late shift on Friday and Saturday,” Dave confirmed. “Those are our busiest times.”
“I guess you remember Holly Quinn being here.”
“Yeah. I remember seeing her. Nice girl.”
