Miz Scarlet and the Acrimonious Attorney

by Sara M. Barton

  “You’re on a task force?” I was surprised by the news. She usually tells me things like that. “What kind of task force?”

  “It’s one of those ‘none of your damn business’ task forces. Now march yourself back to the scene of the crime,” she instructed me, giving me a poke in the back. “Come on, Homs. We’ve got a dead body waiting for us.”

  As we headed down the ramp towards the Cadillac Esplanade, accompanied by the Hartford detective called Homs, he hit me with a question I wasn’t expecting. It was the nail on my coffin, figuratively speaking.

  “Any chance you and the decedent were acquainted?”

  “He’s my...he was my lawyer.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, he wasn’t actually wasn’t officially my lawyer. I went to consult with him about a nuisance lawsuit that was filed against my inn.”

  “You’re being sued?” Larry was surprised. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I recoiled. “Mimi Kitanen claimed she slipped and fell in the shower of the White Oak Room.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I’ve stayed in that room. There’s nothing dangerous about that shower.”

  “I know! Mimi claims that she tore her rotator cuff during her stay. She never mentioned it when she and her husband checked out. How can you not seek medical attention right away for that kind of injury? The pain alone would drive any normal person bananas! What if you need surgery to fix it?”

  “Good points.” Larry agreed. “So, you hired yourself a lawyer and decided to fight the allegations.”

  “That was what I planned to do,” I admitted, hedging the truth. “I made an appointment with C. Philip Grimshaw.”

  “But things didn’t go as planned?” She asked me, a note of concern in her voice. She has a knack for getting down to the nitty-gritty.

  “No.”

  I could feel her eyes upon me. “Why do I think you’re holding out on me, Miz Scarlet?”

  Before I could respond, the Hartford detective queried me. “How well did you know him?”

  “Not well at all. It was the first time I had met the man. You see, we decided to countersue....”

  “We?”

  “I talked it over with my family and we came to a consensus that we weren’t going to give in to blackmail.”

  “How were you planning to fight this?” he wanted to know.

  “Well, we have an experienced private investigator looking into the background of the couple making the claim,” I told him.

  “Kenny’s on the case?” she asked me. Bing! Larry pulled her cell phone out, momentarily distracted by an incoming text on her phone. I remained silent while she read it. Pocketing her phone, she glanced over at me. “Well?”

  “Yes, he’s tracking down any previous insurance claims that were paid to the Kitanens by hotels, motels, and inns. He’s also looking for prior fraud convictions.”

  “Good. That’s smart.”

  “We thought so too, but C. Philip Grimshaw didn’t care. He told me to forget about going to court and just pay the settlement.”

  “Did he explain his rationale behind the opinion?”

  “He said it was an unwinnable case. But he didn’t even try to come up with a strategy to counter the suit, Larry. I told him that was unacceptable.”

  When we came around the corner, a couple of Hartford Police investigators were busy securing the scene. Fifty feet from C. Philip Grimshaw’s body, Detective Homs put a hand out to stop me. “That’s close enough.”

  “How did he take your response?” Larry inquired.

  “He made it clear that he thought I was an idiot. I made it clear that I felt the same way about him.”

  “You didn’t like each other?”

  “There’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” I replied, shaking my head as my frustration resurfaced. “The man was impossible. He acted as if I was some giddy school girl who didn’t know diddly!”

  “In other words, the guy was a stuffed shirt.”

  “No, he was a pompous, narrow-minded know-it-all.”

  “He got under your skin.”

  I didn’t like the way the Hartford detective said those words or the way he studied my reactions to his questions. Was I really Suspect Number One in Grimacing Grimshaw’s murder? While my attention was focused on Homs, Larry tossed a question my way. It caught me off-guard.

  “What would have happened if he hadn’t died?”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “What would you have done about the lawsuit?”

  “Ah, the lawsuit,” I sighed, pausing for a moment as I considered the possibilities. “I guess I would have gone home and shared the information with my family. We would have discussed it.”

  “Would you have eventually taken Grimshaw’s legal advice?” she pressed on.

  “No, I would have wanted to talk to another lawyer.”

  “How did you come to pick Mr. Grimshaw?” The Hartford detective wanted to know.

  “I didn’t. One of my brother’s friends knew him as a member of his investment club.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. Bur is always eager to make a recommendation. Lord knows he has a lot of contacts in business. This One knows That One, who knows The Other One, who once met So-and-So. But this time, he really bombed out. I wasn’t about to let him off the hook any time soon.

  Larry met my gaze and didn’t look away. I could see the concern in those dark eyes of hers. “Did Mr. Grimshaw mention contributory or comparative negligence, Scarlet? Or assumption of risk?”

  “No, Larry, he did not. He just said that there was no point in mounting any kind of a defense because we would not win.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she replied, her brow furled. “Your lawyer should always be able to come up with a defense for you. You should hear some of the ridiculous things that get said in criminal court.”

  “Hoo-boy!” Detective Homs snorted. “It’s a wonder some defense lawyers aren’t jailed for contempt with some of the whoppers that come out of their mouths.”

  “He tried to tell me that because Mimi Kitanen asked for such a small amount of money, it would be more cost-effective to settle than it would be to countersue.”

  “Mr. Grimshaw clearly didn’t know you like I do, Miz Scarlet,” Larry shook her head. As a former high school teacher, I’ve never been easily intimidated by snarky or surly behavior. Many students learned that lesson the hard way.

  “That’s the kind of game a scam artist plays,” said the Hartford detective. “He threatens you with a world of pain and then offers to go away if you grease his palm.”

  “Vinnie’s right, Scarlet. It sounds like it was a shakedown, plain and simple.”

  “That was my feeling,” I replied, “but Grimshaw refused to consider the possibility.”

  “Walk us through what happened after you left Mr. Grimshaw’s office,” Detective Homs instructed me. “Did you go straight to your car?”

  “No, I came out of the meeting and walked up to the Hartford Stage box office. The Googins girls want to see Feeding the Dragon. I promised to pick up their tickets.”

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “Well, I figured that since I had already gone into the next hour at the parking garage, I might as well stop for a cappuccino.”

  “And after your coffee, what then?”

  “I went back to the garage to collect my car.”

  “Which elevator did you take?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and pointed. “It was that one over there.”

  “Where were you when you first noticed the body?” he continued. “Show us.”

  “Sure.”

  I went to the elevator, did an about-face, and strode back towards the murder scene.

  “I think it was right about here,” I told Larry and Vinnie. “But there was a car in that spot.”

  “You’re sure there was another car parked right here, next to the body?” I could hear the excitement in her vo
ice.

  “Yes.”

  Detective Homs pressed me for details. “Do you remember what kind of car it was?”

  “It was a small, boxy thing, like a Toyota Matrix or a Honda Fit. Hey, wait a minute. When did that car leave? It was here after I found the body!”

  “That’s odd.” Larry’s eyes narrowed as she ruminated on the information. “Don’t you think so, Vinnie?”

  “I do,” he agreed. He turned his attention to the vehicles in the immediate vicinity. “What color was the car?”

  “Silver.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Rivera?”

  “I sure am. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t find the gentleman in the blue ski jacket,” Larry told him. “Shall we, Homs?”

  “Yup.” Each of them withdrew their weapons from their holsters and moved swiftly away from me.

  “Oh, geez! Do you two think he’s still in the garage?” I started to follow them, but the experienced homicide investigator put the kibosh on that plan with a wave of her hand.

  “Must I remind you, Miz Scarlet, that you are a civilian? You are not licensed to carry a gun. You have no badge. You are not a trained....”

  “Okay, okay!” I snapped, frustrated by her insistence on professional protocols. “Just go!”

  “Bona, talk to our witness. Get her statement,” the senior Hartford detective called out to one of his underlings as he trotted away.

  “Will do, boss.” Detective Bona, notebook in hand, trotted over to where I stood. “Why don’t we start with your name?”

  “Scarlet Wilson. It’s spelled S-c-a-r-l-e-t.”

  “There’s only one t, not two?” The way he asked the question, it almost sounded like he was trying to convince me I was spelling my own name incorrectly.

  “Yes. I’m named after the Scarlet Oak.”

  I watched Larry and Vinnie move through the parking garage, row by row, peering through the windows of every vehicle as they searched for the killer. Still in shock from confronting a killer, loaded with an overabundance of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I was itching to join the search. Maybe it was because that man terrified me so much. I just wanted him to be caught quickly, so I wouldn’t have him showing up in my next nightmare.

  “What was the first thing you did when you saw the body?” Detective Bona prodded me to return to reality with a tap on my shoulder. I had questions to answer.

  “I stopped in my tracks. I was stunned.”

  “Did you realize the man was already dead or did you think you could render assistance?”

  “No, I knew right away. I saw that knife handle sticking out of his chest. And his skin was an odd color.” I shivered, suddenly feeling the winter’s chill penetrating my bones as I stood there in the parking garage.

  “Okay. Did you touch the knife, Ms. Wilson?”

  “No, I didn’t touch anything. I pulled out my phone and called 911.”

  “Did you try to alert the security guard?”

  “Security guard? It didn’t occur to me. I mean, I would have if I’d seen him, but....”

  “Did you see anyone at all?”

  “No, not until that guy in the blue ski jacket popped up. I thought he was going to attack me, but he stole Mr. Grimshaw’s wallet from his pants pocket, along with some other items, and then grabbed the briefcase before he ran off.”

  “You know the victim?”

  “Kind of.”

  “In what capacity?”

  The moment I opened my mouth to answer him, all hell broke loose.

  “Backup! Officers need assistance!” Vinnie hollered into his radio. “Teague, Smitty, he’s headed your way!”

  Less than half a minute later, a blue streak went flying by us, followed by Larry, Vinnie, two uniformed officers, and another plainclothes detective. I was amazed at how easily the killer evaded his pursuers.

  “That guy’s good,” I remarked.

  “Excuse me?” Detective Bona shook his head. “Are you cheering for the bad guy?”

  “No, no. I’m just pointing out that he’s a trained runner. I’ll bet he does marathons. See his stride?”

  We watched the man cover a good two hundred yards at a brisk pace without breaking a sweat. He was definitely getting away.

  “You might be right about that, Ms. Wilson. The man is fast.”

  Upon their return from their unexpected fun run a few minutes later, Larry and Vinnie worked hard to catch their breath while Detective Bona shared some of our observations about the killer. That was a mistake on his part. It opened us up to ridicule.

  “Ms. Wilson shared her thoughts with you, Bona? Do tell!” Larry snorted. The young detective was actually was naive enough to think she was encouraging him. When he mentioned that the suspect might be an experienced marathoner, I thought she was going to split a gut. “Miz Scarlet, give ESPN a call to see if they want to hire you as an expert sports commentator. We’re busy investigating a murder here.”

  Chapter Three

  Before I could open my mouth to respond to her snide quip, the shift commander showed up in his police SUV. He was prepared to mount an organized search of the area and quickly assembled his crew, assigning each of his two-person teams their own quadrants. I cooled my heels leaning against the patrol car, waiting for the detectives to get back to business. It didn’t take long.

  “Would you mind taking a look at the deceased, Rivera? I know it’s not your case, but I’d appreciate your insight into the murder,” Vinnie told her as they walked away, on their way to the crime scene. “It looks like a run-of-the-mill stabbing, but I could be wrong.”

  “Sure.”

  I stood there for fifteen seconds, just long enough to give them a head start, and then I followed. By the time I caught up with them, Homs had pulled a pair of Tyvek booties out of a box in the trunk of his car and handed them to Larry. She slipped the shoe covers over her heels, shuffled over to the Cadillac, and bent over C. Philip Grimshaw’s very dead body.

  “This is interesting, Homs,” she decided, her nose just inches from the handle that protruded from C. Philip Grimshaw’s chest.

  “Why?” He put a pair of booties over his own shoes and joined her.

  “It’s a hunting knife.”

  “And that matters because?”

  Grateful that the detective had left his trunk open, I helped myself to my own set of shoe covers. Heaven forbid I should be accused of contaminating the crime scene. Of course, since I was the one who discovered the body, it was probably a moot point, but why should I take the chance that could allow a killer to go unpunished?

  Inching my way past the yellow tape that marked off the area, I played a quick game of “Red Light” with the detectives, taking a giant step here and a baby step there when their backs were turned to me, until I was close enough to lean over and examine the late Grimacing Grimshaw. Now that I was no longer in danger, my powers of observation improved considerably. I noticed that his mouth was open, as if he had tried to call out for help. He must have seen that knife coming his way and felt the blade as it was plunged into his chest. His eyes bore witness to the horror of the crime.

  The knife was a big one, given the size of the handle, and probably expensive. It was definitely not one you would find in a kitchen. That’s when it struck me.

  “The killer is an outdoorsman,” I announced, my confidence rising again. “It goes with the trail shoes and the L. L. Bean clothing, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you mind?” Larry stood up and shot me a look that usually scared the pants off the suspects she interrogated, but I know her well. She’s got a lot of bark, but she doesn’t usually bite unless you break the law. If you do that, she’ll chomp on your fanny with teeth that don’t release until your derriere is parked in a jail cell. “This is a real crime scene, not some Hollywood set for fake forensic investigators, so take your CSI-wannabe self back over there!”

  I ignored her cranky response and posed another question. “Doesn’t a knife like that nor
mally come with a sheath?”

  “So what if it does?” she retorted, lifting the lapel Grimacing Grimshaw’s pinstripe jacket with her gloved hand, to check the contents of his inside pocket.

  “It points toward pre-meditation, Larry.”

  “Say what?”

  “Well, you can’t just carry a knife like that in your pants pocket. You might cut a vital body part, especially if you’re a man.”

  “So? The guy kept it in a sheath. What does that have to do with the price of coffee beans?”

  “If the handle is that big, doesn’t that suggest the blade is also big?”

  She pointed towards the patrol car. “Why don’t you go wait for us?”

  “Finish the thought,” Vinnie encouraged me, overruling Larry.

  “If you’re just out to rob some stranger, why not bring a folding knife that’s easy to conceal? You keep the element of surprise as you sneak up on your target. But a knife that big...I don’t think you can really hide something like that. The killer didn’t make a mistake by choosing that weapon. He intended to do bodily harm to C. Philip Grimshaw.”

  “You think he planned to kill the vic?” The Hartford detective jotted something down on his iPad with his stylus.

  “I do.”

  Larry shrugged, conceding the possibility grudgingly. “Maybe.”

  “Okay, but here’s the thing. When he heard the sirens, he popped out from behind the car and came at me. At least that’s what I thought he was doing. I was terrified that he was going to attack me.”

  “He probably felt like it,” Larry muttered. “Lord knows I’ve been tempted once or twice.”

  “But he had no reason to do that. I’m no threat, even though I found the body. He wore a mask, so there was no way I could identify him. No, he specifically came back for the wallet and the briefcase.”

  “He was probably a junkie, looking for money or valuables to finance his next fix,” Vinnie decided.

  “But he didn’t rob me, did he?”

  “Do you still have your purse?”