Liza sagged in relief. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“One last thing,” James said as he collected his notebook and rose. “What can you tell us about Samuel?”
Liza’s face paled and her jaw sagged. “What do you mean?”
“Samuel,” James repeated, sitting again. “One of the young men who works at the emporium. You were overheard arguing with him in the days after the murder.”
“I didn’t…I don’t know what you are talking about. I killed Billy. What difference does it make about anyone else at the emporium?”
James put his notebook aside and leaned close to Liza. His voice dropped to a soft, almost kindly tone. “It matters, Liza, because I don’t believe you killed Billy at all. You don’t even know how he died. Do you?”
“I told you. My mind went blank. I don’t remember.”
“But you do remember it was a crime of passion, right?”
She nodded, leaning close to James. “Yes. Passion. An accident.”
“Except that it wasn’t.” James shook his head. “Billy’s death was premeditated.”
“Please.” Liza grabbed James’s arms. Griffin stood but didn’t otherwise move. “Please. Take my confession. Just leave Samuel alone. He’s young. I…I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm. It had to have been an accident.”
“No, Liza, it wasn’t.” James disentangled himself from her hold and urged her to sit back in her seat. Like a rag doll, she complied. “Now tell me about Samuel.”
Tears streamed down Liza’s face. “I, it isn’t, I just,” her words came out garbled, frantic. She raised her face to James, sniffing loudly. Swallowed. Gulped in a breath. “Samuel,” she said, “is my son.”
“Seems you helped us out after all,” Griffin admitted to Bree when they reconvened after leaving Liza in the room with a cup of coffee and a few cookies. “Not that I pin my investigations on eavesdropping,” he added, “but you do what works for you.”
“What happens to Liza now?”
“She waits.” James ran a hand over his face. “We’ll bring in Samuel and put him in another room. See what his side of the story is.”
“Do you really believe he could be the killer?”
“We don’t go on gut feelings,” Griffin interjected. “The police department relies on facts.”
“Such as the fact that Liza didn’t know how Billy was killed?”
“So, maybe the son knows. We’ll find out.” Griffin heaved a sigh. “I suppose you have to be part of that discussion as well?”
James checked his watch. “Actually, she should head over to the emporium and report for her shift. She’ll do us more good there.” He took Bree’s arm and walked with her to the entrance of the police department. “Anything you think I should know about Samuel that you haven’t already told me?” he asked quietly.
“We covered it all last night.”
“Good. Then I’m ready. We’ll probably also bring in Graham to see if he knows more than he’s already said.”
“Perfect. I’ll call or text if I discover anything you need to know right away.” Bree looked quickly around, noting that they were alone. She pulled James into a spot below the external surveillance camera and gave him a quick kiss. “Have a good day.”
“I will. And tonight?” James gave her a wink. “Prepare for your next self-defense lesson.”
Margie grumbled at Liza’s unplanned absence, her mood getting more sour as the day dragged on. Bree chalked it up to nicotine withdrawal since her smoke breaks were limited to the times when Bree was available to take over the retail area.
Mid-afternoon after Bree had restocked the Halloween displays for the umpteenth time, she entered the showroom and stepped into the middle of a brewing storm.
“I told you, the Mustang is unavailable,” Margie shouted to the young couple in front of her. She shoved a laminated sheet across the counter. “Pick another vehicle.”
A line of other customers shifted uncomfortably, turning toward the door. Bree stepped over to the young couple. “We’ve had an unfortunate incident with that particular car,” she explained as she drew them away from the counter, making room for the other customers. “I could take you to the garage and show you what we have available.”
She watched their faces, cataloging their reactions, trying to judge if they wanted the car for legitimate—or other—reasons.
“We were renting it to do a photo-shoot,” the man said as he followed Bree to the garage. “Ella needs some action shots for her portfolio. That car was the perfect prop.”
The woman—presumably Ella—gave him a radiant smile. “Maybe we’ll find something even better.”
When Bree entered the car showroom with its row of ready-to-rent cars, Gordon popped out of his office. His brow wrinkled, showing displeasure. “What can I do for you, folks?”
“They were here to rent the Mustang, but since it isn’t available, I thought I’d show them other options.”
Gordon frowned at her but gestured to the line of cars, extolling the virtues of each as he showed them to the couple.
A loud clang of metal against cement followed by raised voices in the repair garage drew Bree’s attention. She crept to the connecting door, easing it open.
“Don’t you ever,” Bill shouted, “ever, talk about my father or me like that again.” His fingers curled around a heavy wrench and he threw it across the room. Juan dodged the missile leaving it headed to Magnus. The giant simply pivoted, and the wrench hit the far wall before dropping harmlessly to the cement floor.
Juan made himself scarce, but Magnus strode forward, intercepting Bill before he could reach another tool. He grabbed the smaller man’s arms and lifted him to his toes. “Stop.”
Bill Jr. ceased his frantic motion, but fury still blazed from his eyes. “Take a step. Or several,” Magnus continued, his voice dropping into a more soothing tone. “We’ve already had one tragedy this week. Don’t risk adding an assault charge to the mix.”
“My dad was a saint,” Bill hissed the moment his feet returned to the ground. “A saint.”
“Your dad was…complicated,” Magnus said, not agreeing, but clearly trying to defuse the situation. He released Bill Jr. “He didn’t deserve to die the way he did, but it doesn’t change his life either. It doesn’t change the truth. Take a walk. A dozen steps or so. You can do this.”
Bill paced between his desk and Magnus, facing the other man when he returned. “I didn’t…” Bill paused and swallowed, as if struggling to force out the words. “I didn’t know he—”
“Miss Holmes.” Bree jumped at the sound of Gordon’s voice. She shut the door as she turned to face him. “What are you doing back there? And why are you bringing renters to the garage? We take the cars around to the main showroom. That’s the rule. You’ve worked here long enough to understand that, at least.” Bree lost track of his harangue while long minutes slipped by.
“Sorry. I—”
“It doesn’t matter, miss. You just go back to the retail counter. I handled things with that couple, but they should never have come here. Don’t bring customers to the garage again.”
Bree nodded and hustled out into the employee-only corridor. Instead of going to the showroom, she went to the repair garage, but when she opened the door, Juan, Magnus, and Bill Jr. were nowhere to be found.
Chapter 23
By the time Bree returned to the retail area, she was still puzzling over what Bill Jr. claimed not to have known and kicking herself for not installing cameras in the garage bays. Not that James would have been able to use the information, but still…
“Cat, I heard you did a good job of smoothing over a potentially bad situation.” Graham nodded to her from his place behind the counter. “Good call on taking the customers to the car staging area.”
“That’s not what Gordon said,” she mumbled.
Graham waved her concern away. “You did the right thing. Jack believes if you take care of the
customers first, the rest will follow.”
“I guess.” She found a seat on a stool next to him. “You’re not usually in this part of the buildings.”
“Margie needed a break. Besides, Michael had to cut out early for an extra credit class activity and Samuel—” He stopped, sending quick glance her way before resuming. “Samuel had to leave early today. Which means, unless I can borrow Magnus and Juan, the heavy loading will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“What heavy loading?”
“The wedding supplies.”
“Parties galore and so much more!” Scarlett’s declaration drew their attention away.
“Scarlett, my girl,” Graham said, gathering a stack of colored index cards and opening a plastic container of treats, “let’s practice. Show Cat what you can do.”
He held up an orange card and a treat. “Happy…”
“Happy Halloween,” said Scarlett, preening as he praised her efforts.
Next Graham held up a red card and a treat. Without prompting Scarlett declared, “Merry Christmas.”
“That was one of the first phrases she learned when Jack’s father started teaching her. I came up with the idea of adding the colored cards as prompts much later. She’s getting good at it.”
“Merry Christmas. Happy Halloween.”
“I didn’t know birds could see in color.”
Graham nodded. “They can. More colors that we can see, according to what I’ve read.”
“Grape?” asked Scarlett.
“Here you go, girl.” Graham stroked her breast feathers and fed her a grape. “Let’s show Cat some more.” He held out a blue card.
“Happy Hannukah.” The difference between Hannukah and Halloween was slight, but the bird seemed to understand, even if her articulation required human interpretation.
A yellow card prompted “Happy New Year.”
Graham fanned all of the cards together and held them up. “This one is new,” he said, winking to Bree. “Let’s see if she remembers it.”
“Happy—” he prompted.
“Happy holidays,” replied Scarlett. “Happy holidays. Happy holidays.”
“Good girl.” Graham fed her another tidbit.
“That is amazing. How long did it take to teach her?”
Graham shrugged. “With Scarlett, I swear it depends on her mood. I worked with her for several months to teach her this series of greetings. On the other hand, she’ll pick up things out of the blue with no prompting. Like mimicking the microwave when it dings.”
Bree remembered the parrot mimicking Billy, singing an off-key ditty in his voice. She doubted Billy had spent time, effort, or treats to teach Scarlett those words.
Graham tore a piece of plastic wrap from a roll and wound it tightly around the container before fitting on the lid. Scarlett followed his movements. “Green money,” she declared.
“Where she picked that up, I’ll never know,” Graham said, shaking his head. “Listen, now that you’re here, I’m going to round up Magnus and Juan to help me load the delivery truck. Those tables and tents are at least a two-person job.
"You be sure to take your own break as soon as Margie gets back. You’ve been running yourself ragged since this morning. Don’t think that I didn’t notice you skipped your breaks and your lunch time.”
“It’s okay, Graham, I don’t need—”
“You deserve your break time. And you do need it. With Mrs. T and Jack gone for the day, I’m the senior member of the staff and I say you need to take your breaks.”
“Yes, sir,” Bree said with a mock salute.
“If you run into anything you can’t handle, here’s my cell number.” He removed Scarlett from her perch and guided her back into her cage then left.
Bree pocketed Graham’s number, thinking about what she’d learned of him in the past days. His natural leadership inspired confidence. No wonder he’d taken Samuel—and probably countless others—under his wing.
His patience with the bird spoke of one who took a long view of things. Long enough to plot the perfect murder? The question nagged at her, but the very circumstances surrounding Billy’s murder seemed at odds with the type of meticulous planning a man like Graham would employ. If Graham murdered someone, Bree doubted the body would be easily or quickly found.
“Grape?” Scarlett’s query pulled Bree out of her musings.
“No more,” she said, picking up the cards Graham had left. She held one, then another, listening to Scarlett’s replies. She put the cards down and picked up a bit of stray plastic wrap to throw away.
“Clean money?” asked Scarlett.
Bree froze. She turned to the bird and waved the plastic wrap at her. “Clean money, clean money,” repeated Scarlett.
Clean money. Not green money, as they’d all thought. In her mind’s eye, Bree pictured Billy sitting in the kitchen, Scarlett nearby for company as he wrapped stacks of money in the plastic wrap that seemed to be everywhere at the emporium.
“Clean money,” he chanted in her imagination. “Clean money.” Whether it fell under the legal definition of money laundering or not, Billy had clearly known he was involved in something illegal.
Questions nagged her. How exactly had Billy gotten into helping the terrorist cell gather and move money from hand to hand? Had his involvement included more than cash? According to Jack Trayder, the vehicle rental business had opened about eighteen months ago. Bree did a swift mental calculation.
The rental busines and money laundering started sometime—likely six to twelve months—after Matthew’s original cover had been blown. If the North Sea oil platform explosion had rattled the cell, it might well have decided to revise its methods of moving money. How many other small companies had been ensnared in the process?
“Hey, girl, don’t look so distressed.” Margie burst into the room. Her good humor temporarily restored. She gave Bree a thumbs up then headed to Scarlett’s cage. The bird immediately mimed coughing.
“Yeah, yeah,” Margie complained. “I smoke. Get over it.” She turned back to Bree. “Parrots are sensitive to scents. I tried vaping for a while to see if I could get my high another way, but…” She shrugged. “That didn’t work for me. Liquid smoke is a vile chemical concoction. Give me the real thing any day. Listen, girl, you take a late lunch and take the bird with you. I’ll air myself out before you both get back.”
Bree placed Scarlett’s cage on a table in the empty lunchroom and sat next to her. “Scarlett, my friend, I’d love to talk to you, but you might say enough to burn me.”
“Smoke,” said Scarlett as she mimicked a cough again.
“You definitely know more than you should.” Bree laughed and focused on her lunch, occasionally prompting Scarlett to say her outrageous phrases associated with the Trader Jack’s commercials.
“You’ve reached a new social low if you’re relying on that bird for company.” Magnus entered the kitchen, filled his coffee cup, and sat at the table with Bree and Scarlett. “Late lunch?”
“It’s been busy today.” Bree resisted the urge to scoot her chair back as Magnus invaded her space.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he glanced at Scarlett. “About what you saw in the garage earlier.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“I’m not blind, girl.” He smiled and she relaxed a bit. “Bill and his dad had—as you probably noticed—a contentious relationship. Mostly he deals with it. But Billy’s death… Let’s just say Bill isn’t his normal self, right now.”
Bree chewed her lip, affecting the wide-eyed look of someone not used to dealing with death. “I’d be worse if my mom died. And we argue all the time.”
“Exactly.”
“But I, um… I don’t throw stuff,” she added, covertly observing Magnus’s reaction to her statement.
He scratched at the soul patch on his chin and leaned back in the chair. “Bill’s story is
n’t mine to tell,” he said at last. “The only thing I can say is that people express anger in different ways. Swearing, throwing things, crying—they’re all coping mechanisms. When Bill’s angry, sometimes you have to snap him out of it before he’ll listen to sense. That’s all you saw me do. I wasn’t threatening him. He wasn’t—intentionally anyway—threatening anyone else. Understand?”
She searched his face, trying to determine what he wasn’t sharing with her.
Magnus sighed, the sound coming from deep within. “What I’m saying is that you don’t have to be afraid of me. I get it. I’m a big guy with a loud voice. And I know you saw me pick Bill up off his feet. But I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I wouldn’t do that.”
“You mean you wouldn’t kill him? Or his dad?”
Magnus went ashen beneath his sun weathered skin and his eyes widened in surprise. “Cat,” he said softly, “I didn’t murder anyone. I’m so sorry if you thought that I—”
Bree laid a hand on his arm as he started to back away from her. “It isn’t that, Magnus. I’m not afraid of you. The cops… I mean, they must think someone…” She raised her eyebrows and waited.
He nodded. “Yes. They think someone had it in for Billy. But I was at my dojo teaching a self-defense class the night he died.” He gave her a long, assessing look. “It's the kind of thing a young woman like you should know. You’re welcome to join the classes. I’ll waive the fees.”
What was it about the men in her life assuming she couldn’t take care of herself? “First, Juan teaching me to care for my car and now you offering to teach me self-defense, I must look like a baby to you both.”
“You look like a young woman who’s smart enough to know she doesn’t know everything. And also smart enough to learn the skills to be safe and successful.” He rose and fished a card from his pocket. “Here. You’re always welcome.”
When he left the room, Bree checked out his card. Magnus A. Swenson, Sensei. Information on the dojo and the class schedule appeared on the back side. She’d confirm with James that his alibi held when she met up with him in the evening.
Studying Scarlett the Grey Page 17
