by Lotta Smith
“He was tempted to tell her, but he opted out,” Eve replied.
“Oh, he didn’t? How bittersweet!” Jackie swooned.
“I know,” Eve agreed. “I was torn between keeping him and killing him off, but Shane is a super-stoic guy, and I had a hunch that killing him off would be better for the story. If he stayed too long, hanging around Andy and Mick, he could have turned into a total nuisance.”
“Oh, that’s true.”
While Jackie nodded, I interjected, “So, were the fans of Shane the ones complaining?”
“Yes. Frank said that one of the angry letters had a dead scorpion inside the envelope.” Eve shuddered. “Can you believe that? A scorpion! It turned out to be highly venomous, and if it was still alive, Frank’s life could have been in a total jeopardy.
“So, how many of Shane’s fans are we talking about?” Rick asked, scratching his head.
“If I recall it right, it was something between twenty thousand to thirty thousand people. Oh, I forgot to mention that some of the most passionate ones held a rally in front of the publishing house, demanding I bring him back to life.”
“Twenty thousand to thirty thousand?” Rick grimaced.
“Don’t forget to count me!” Jackie chimed in.
“Yes. They must hate me so badly, and that number is only for the readers of the magazine. There are some hundreds of thousands to a million readers who only read the series as separate books.”
“So, you have hundreds of thousands to a million people who potentially loathe you. Wow, that’s a lot of people,” Rick said half-heartedly. Apparently, he was getting tired of taking this case seriously, but Eve was sharp and so was Jackie.
“Excuse me, but Rick, did you just think that the entire case of my murder is a joke?” Eve asked tearfully, staring intensely at him.
“Come on, Rick! You’ve got to take every case seriously,” Jackie insisted. “Mandy, you need to tell him to get serious.”
“Rick, Eve isn’t joking, and you need to take her words seriously.” I nudged him with an elbow.
He gave me a look that said “Get real” and raised an eyebrow. “I was just imagining a fraction—say, 1 percent—of the said million haters gathering here to murder her. This pathway would have been totally packed with a mob of people, and we would be talking about a riot instead of a single homicide.”
I did a mental calculation. Assuming the number of haters as a million, then 1 percent of it would be ten thousand. “Hmm, you have a point. Also, the MO would be suffocation and crushing by the riot instead of stabbing. Look, crushing injuries are nasty. Even if you’re saved from the scene, the myoglobin flowing out of the crushed muscles will mangle your kidneys, leading to this condition called myoglobinuria, which results in multiple organ failure and death. Indeed, myoglobinuria is one of the causes of death I’d kill to avoid, using every possible measure.”
“You mean, along with snake bites, scorpion bite-induced pancreatitis, pancreatic cancer, and getting skewered?” Rick cocked his head to the side.
“Them, too.” I nodded. “Believe me, myoglobinuria is evil.”
“Should I be thankful that I wasn’t crushed and I didn’t die from myoglobinuria?” Eve sobbed. “Of course, being hated is almost like the destiny for creators with a big following, and the only people I could trust were just my family. Talk about a miserable life!”
“No way, Eve! Your story and your art have been the source of energy, joy, and delight for every girl in love all over the world. Come on, please don’t cry. Would you like to wipe your tears?” Cooing, Jackie offered her a box of tissue paper.
“Thank you so much.” Sniffing, Eve blew her nose.
During this melodramatic conversation, Rick was a few yards away, making a phone call. When he was finished and came back to us, I relayed the summary of their interaction. He cleared his throat. “Okay, so the suspects are Kathryn Anderson, your editors, assistants, millions of your fans, and Brian. Am I correct?”
“Yes.” Eve nodded between sobs.
“So, what do we do now?” I looked up at Rick.
“How about listing millions of Eve Wellington fans?” he said casually, prompting my jaw to drop.
“Are you serious?”
“No. I was kidding.” He chuckled. “Actually, NYPD detectives are already heading for Kathryn Anderson’s home not too far from here. The captain in charge of this case was really surprised to have her and Brian on the list, as these two were totally unmarked. He also informed me that Holly had already given the police the list of the editors and assistants.”
“Still, I don’t think Brian would be the killer,” I whispered after making sure Eve was still busy being a drama queen with Jackie, who herself happened to come with that trait. Indeed, having not just one but two drama queens should come with a warning sign that said “Do not mix” in all capitals.
“Still, we’ve got to summon him,” he said nonchalantly. “After all, he’s one of the prime suspects, not to mention it’s a rare occasion to call him free of charge. And of course, it’ll be fun to interrogate him for a change.”
I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time as he made another call.
“Yo, Brian, where are you?” He started the conversation in a lighthearted tone, but soon a frown appeared between his eyes. “Okay then.” After disconnecting, he turned to me. “He’s already scheduled to come to the victim’s home. The publisher is gonna release a tribute book for Eve. Brian’s deeply involved with the project, and he’ll be joining a meeting held at her house thirty minutes from now.”
“Really?” I glanced at my phone to check the time. “Isn’t it a bit late to start a meeting?”
“Come on, graphic novel artists and their editors are known as night owls,” Jackie chimed in.
“So we’ll have to wait till the meeting ends,” I said.
“No we won’t.” Rick crossed his arms. “We’ll join the party. As they say, the more the merrier. Oh, and don’t forget about the perks of having most of the prime suspects at one place.”
“Except for a million fans of Shane,” I commented.
“Right.” He nodded. “Let’s go.” He took my hand.
“Wait a minute.” I raised my other hand and turned to Jackie. “Hey, can she move from here?” I said, glancing at Eve, who was sitting in the middle of the road, pounding the pavement and continuing her allegedly very sad story about being a popular graphic novelist who wrote and drew about love, when in fact she’d never had a decent relationship herself.
“Oh my God… I should have had a serious relationship at least once!” she wailed. “How could you kill me before I got to have sex at least once in my life?”
“I don’t think so,” Jackie replied. “So far, she hasn’t mentioned anything about moving from here. So I guess she’s still stuck here.”
“She doesn’t look fit to visit her home and meet everyone anyone.” I nodded.
“How’s Eve doing?” Rick raised an eyebrow.
“She’s having a moment of… well, desperation,” I said, thinking that was the understatement of the year so far.
“Hmm, I can imagine that. Where’s Jackie?” he asked me. When I indicated toward my guardian ghost, he said, “Hey, can you stay with her for a while just in case she recalls something about the moments of her murder?”
“Sure.” Jackie gave us a thumbs-up. “I’ll fly over to you if she does. So, are we cool?”
“Yes, we are. Thanks. Let’s meet up later,” I said.
Waving at her, we headed for Eve’s home.
CHAPTER 6
Just a few more minutes of walking took us to a really posh residential neighborhood where midsize houses to large mansions lined the streets. There were beautiful houses in Georgian and Victorian styles, with occasional box-shaped concrete and glass architecture that would be suitable to function as museums. Some houses had fences, but unlike the fortress-like buildings in Upper East, most of them were low ones that didn’t look as m
enacing.
Eve’s residence was by far the cutest. The house was one of the largest five-story buildings on the block, and with the white Greek Revival architecture with large columns and an orange roof, it reminded me of the Tara Plantation from Gone with the Wind. Indeed, it could appear in any romantic movie situated in the great South.
“Wow, is that a cat door?” I said, pointing at a little door set up on the bottom part of the huge entrance door. “We’ve never had cats or dogs because we’re allergic to them, but I always fancied having one of these doors.”
“They’re cute unless they breach security,” he commented. For the first time, he sounded like a security company executive. “This property could score something between eight to ten million.”
“And Eve was just twenty-six. Wow, she’s a true celebrity!” My eyes widened. What a shame she was killed so prematurely.
“Brace yourself for Kathryn Anderson’s, then.” Rick winked. “Hers is closer to Central Park, and it’s a five-story brownstone with touches of craftsmanship style. Kathryn’s house comes with a spacious rooftop balcony overlooking the park, and it’s really something.”
“You sound as if you’ve been there.”
“I have.” He raised a corner of his lips. “She’s one of our clients. All right, then. Let’s announce our arrival.” He reached for the buzzer.
The door lock clicked open as he introduced us via the intercom, and a young woman came out. She introduced herself as Holly Wellington, Eve’s older sister. She was beautiful. Her chestnut-colored hair was styled in a bob swirled around her delicate, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were red and brimming, and her pale complexion suggested her distress. She was dressed in a black skirt and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire was nothing flashy, but she was definitely beautiful.
“Thank you for all the help with my sister’s case.” She thanked us as she led us inside. I could already picture her managing her younger sister’s work and her allegedly nonexistent social life.
“Mr. Powers will be joining us soon,” she went on, offering a weak smile. “Please come inside.”
The entrance hall and foyer were full of flowers, lilies here, chrysanthemums there. There were so many kinds of orchids, as if we had wandered into a botanical park, and there were roses—lots of roses.
“Take care. Don’t trip over the flowerpots, okay?” Rick took my hand and started walking between the plants.
“I will.” I nodded, following after him.
“Sorry for the clutter,” Holly apologized as we inched our way along.
According to her, the flowers were condolences gifts sent from all over the nation. Actually, most of the flowers had been sent to the editorial office, but having no more room to keep them, she had the publisher transfer the floral gifts to the beloved artist’s residence.
We were led into a spacious salon with an oversized sofa and a huge coffee table that was made from blue marble stone. Unlike the entrance, the only flowers in this room were half a dozen tulips held in a small glass vase set up on the display shelf close to the sliding glass door. After having seen so many flowers, sitting in this room was refreshing.
Instead of the flowers, this place was focused on artistic furniture. The sofa was Cassini, and though I didn’t recognize who designed the table, apparently it was one of a kind. Inside the glass display shelf were small dolls made of crystals.
“They’re specially made mascots based on Eve’s characters,” she said as I was looking at them. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’d appreciate a coffee. No sugar, and no milk. Thank you,” Rick said. “How about you?” He turned to me.
“A cup of tea would be nice. Thank you,” I said. “With a little sugar.”
“Fine.” Holly offered a smile. “So, a black coffee for Rick and tea with sugar for Mandy.”
Then she left the salon. Unlike her funky little sister, every bit of Holly screamed professional.
As the sound of her footsteps retreated, I asked Rick, “Is she going to inherit this house?”
“Well, Eve was single with no kids, but her parents are still alive. So, unless otherwise instructed in her will, her parents are going to have larger chunks of her assets. Did she mention having a will?”
“No, she didn’t.” I shook my head. “I don’t think she left one. She didn’t seem like such a calculating person. Also, I have a hunch she’d never imagined getting herself murdered.”
“Right. I agree with you.” He nodded, crossing his long legs while sitting on the comfy sofa. “As for her parents, their alibi checked out.”
According to him, while Eve was stabbed, transported to the hospital, and was pronounced dead, her parents were fast asleep at their home in Wisconsin. As soon as Holly confirmed the body was Eve, she called her parents’ landline to deliver the bad news. They talked over the phone at four o’clock in the morning. There was no way they could kill Eve past 12:28 a.m. in New York and make it back to Wisconsin for the phone call at four o’clock.
“Just to be sure, the police have checked private jets and choppers, but no records of either parent flying between New York and Wisconsin was found.” Stretching his arms, he went on. “Also, the Wellington family home is a four-hour drive from the nearest airport.”
“Okay, the parents aren’t involved with the murder.” I nodded. “That’s a relief, isn’t it? Having been brutally murdered is bad enough, but having her own family as the culprit would be a total disaster. Seriously, I don’t have the heart to deliver such tragic news to Eve.” I shuddered, recalling the storm the ghost had previously created. Depending on the whodunit part, she could wreak havoc.
“I know.” Rick shrugged. “As for Holly, NYPD’s background check turned out to be spotless. She has no criminal record. And just like her sister, she’s single and has no particular significant other. Also, her finances are clean and healthy. Nothing regarded as potential motives for murdering her sister. Besides that, domestic homicides often take place at home instead of the street, open for the public.”
“Aha. It’s easier to arrange body disposal if the victim is killed at home.” I tilted my head to the side. “So, is this a murder by grudge?”
“That’s possible. Still, having hundreds of thousands, or worse, millions of suspects wouldn’t be fun.” He grimaced.
“So true,” I agreed. “If we’re to have millions of suspects, the interviewing process alone could practically take forever.”
“Hopefully Kathy will forget about things like how she worshipped Eve in the first place while we interview millions of disgruntled fans.” He snorted, and then he looked up at the ceiling.
From above, the voices of people—perhaps young women—talking were heard. “You hear that?” I asked him, prompting him to nod.
“Yeah. It sounds like a heated conversation,” he said.
“Eve’s assistants, perhaps?”
As we speculated, Holly came back with our beverages.
“Are Eve’s assistants upstairs?” Rick asked her.
“Yes, they’re working in the studio.” Holly nodded. “Following my sister’s death, the publisher decided to make an emergent release of book ten of the series. Under normal circumstances, the book was scheduled to go out this summer or autumn, but they decided to make it an early release before the public has forgotten about the murder.”
According to her, in order to make it to the deadline, the three regular assistants were making finishing touches to the manuscript. Thanks to working with Eve for years, they were capable of making it perfect without the creator herself supervising.
“We need to meet them and ask a few questions. Can I speak with them for a few minutes?” Rick said, taking a sip of coffee.
“Of course. I’ll bring them here,” Holly offered, but Rick shook his head.
“Thanks but no thanks. I’d hate to interrupt their work.” He stood up. “We’ll visit them and talk.”
“Oh, but….” Holly fidgeted with her
words, but Rick was already walking toward the door. Holly and I followed after him.
We took a flight of stairs to the next floor. Just like the entrance hall, both sides of the stairs were lined with colorful flowers. I wondered how Eve would react if she could come here with us and see them.
The work studio was on the second floor of the five-story building. On that floor, there were just two doors, one for the studio and the other the toilet for the assistants. According to Holly, the guest room and the full bath for the assistants were on the third floor.
From the work studio, the voices were louder than while in the salon, but still not clear enough to make out the words.
“Hello.” Rick knocked on the door and opened it.
As he went inside, the three women fell silent—as in total silence. As if on cue, they stopped moving their hands and working on their projects. It was almost like time itself had stopped moving.
I entered after him, but obviously the women didn’t acknowledge me. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t offended. These kinds of things often happened, and I was getting used to it. He had that effect on most women—and men who preferred male company over females.
The work studio was slightly smaller than the salon, but it was spacious enough for the three women. There were four desks, three of which were occupied by the assistants, but the largest one—presumably the one where Eve used to sit—was empty. Despite having a lot of extra space, all four desks were placed in the center of the room, forming an island with Eve’s desk as some kind of a symbol to strengthen their ties.
Unlike the salon, the work studio was no-frills without any significant décor. The desks were the kind suitable for administrative tasks, each with a large trace table on it.
Two corners of the room had built-in bookshelves covering the entire wall and would have driven book lovers to drool with envy. Inside the bookshelves were the comic books by Eve and a smorgasbord of what appeared to be references. In the corner of the room were not just one but two copy machines and another shelf that held art materials.
