Christmas Sweets

by Joanne Fluke

  “He was a gentleman, Mom. We kissed but that was all.” Elizabeth’s face softened at the memory.

  “So if you put everything else aside and just trusted your reaction to him, do you think he is a thief?” Lucy asked.

  “Take your time,” Miss Tilley urged. “Give it some thought.”

  “I don’t have to,” Elizabeth said. “My gut reaction was that he’s a good guy. I thought he was a really, truly good person—but I’m beginning to think I can’t trust my instincts. I thought Toni was my friend, for example, and she ratted me out to the police. I’ve been way too trusting but I’m learning that people are not always who they seem to be, or what they want you to think they are.”

  “And where is this young man now?” Miss Tilley asked.

  “That’s the problem,” Elizabeth answered glumly. “He hasn’t returned my call. I don’t know where he is.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Let’s stick to the facts,” Lucy said in a brisk tone. “I’ve been a reporter for a long time, I’ve interviewed all sorts of people, and I have to say it’s almost impossible to tell what people are really like underneath that social veneer. You have to see what they do and how they treat other people, get to know them over a period of time so you can see how they act and not just what they say.”

  “I agree,” Miss Tilley said. “I suppose there’s no question that the jewels are really missing. That’s the first fact we have to verify.”

  “You mean, the whole thing could have been staged?” Lucy was definitely intrigued by the possibility. “To defraud an insurance company, for example?”

  “I can’t imagine why Jonah Gruber, or Noelle, would do that. They’re rolling in money. He’s the second richest man in the world, something like that. He’s got billions,” Elizabeth said.

  “How do we know that?” Miss Tilley asked. “He has a reputation for being rich, but maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s strapped for cash.”

  “Forbes magazine thinks he’s rich. They put him right at the top of their list,” Elizabeth said. “And he paid forty-seven million dollars for the Imperial Parure. I’m pretty sure Christie’s didn’t let those jewels go until they got their money.”

  “That’s something we could check,” Miss Tilley said. “We could find out their payment policy.”

  “I’ll make a list of questions,” Lucy offered, extracting a notebook from her handbag. “First off, we want to know if Jonah Gruber is really as rich as everybody thinks he is, right? And we want to know if Chris Kennedy is really who he says he is.”

  “Have you actually seen the jewels, Elizabeth?” Miss Tilley asked. “And if you did, do you think they were real?”

  “Oh, I saw them. I touched them.” Elizabeth remembered laying the bracelet across her arm, how it had felt warm and heavy. “They sure looked real to me, but how would I know? I can’t tell real pearls from fakes, or cubic zirconia from a diamond.”

  “Real pearls feel warm to the skin,” Miss Tilley said, “and you can scratch glass with a genuine diamond.”

  “I didn’t really have a chance to do that,” Elizabeth said defensively. “I was too busy chasing after Noelle and that photographer.”

  Her sarcastic tone got her a sharp look from her mother, but Miss Tilley ignored it. “And you say Noelle was quite careless with the jewels?”

  “She acted as if it was all a big chore, all except the last photos they set up. She seemed to enjoy that.”

  “Because it was the end of the session?” Lucy asked.

  Elizabeth remembered Noelle’s casual attitude as she arranged herself on the white fur coat, entirely naked except for the jewels. “Because she’s an exhibitionist,” Elizabeth said. “She stripped completely naked for the last photos. At first I didn’t know where to look but Layla told me that Noelle was in porn films and loves to show off her body.”

  “A week or two in Tinker’s Cove would fix that,” Lucy said primly. “What was the temperature when we left?”

  “Not bad,” Miss Tilley said. “It was at least ten degrees, but that doesn’t take the wind chill into account. It’s the north-east wind off the water that really cools things off.”

  “That’s true,” Lucy said with a little shiver. “So after the photo session, what happened?”

  “Well, Noelle tossed the jewels on the bed and she drifted off to the bathroom with Layla, carrying a terry cloth robe—one of the robes the hotel provides. There were a lot of costume changes and Layla was wearing it between photos. I gathered up the jewels and put them in the case. Layla came out of the bathroom, wearing the robe, and I told her that the jewels were in the case so she could lock it. She couldn’t find the key right away. I sort of lost track of things when I joined in the search, but the key was eventually found—she had it all along—and the case was locked and I carried it down to the manager’s office so he could put it in the safe.”

  “He didn’t ask to see the jewels, to check that they were all there?” Lucy wondered.

  “He couldn’t. The case was locked.”

  “Did Layla still have the key?” Miss Tilley asked.

  “No. She gave it to Noelle after she locked the case.”

  “And what did Noelle do with the key?”

  Elizabeth furrowed her brow, trying to remember. “I’m pretty sure she put it in the pocket of her robe.”

  “And probably forgot it,” Lucy said, thinking of all the times she’d searched high and low for her reading glasses only to find them in her bathrobe pocket. “Anyone could have taken it. One of the maids, for instance.”

  “But the case was locked away, in the safe.”

  “Ah, the safe,” Miss Tilley said, sounding like Sherlock Holmes finding an important clue. “Who has the combination to the safe? Do you?”

  “Only the manager and the head concierge have the combination,” said Elizabeth. “The official hotel policy is quite strict. The safe is only to be opened by Mr. Dimitri or Mr. Kronenberg.”

  “But what if a guest needs something from the safe when they’re not available?” Lucy asked, making eye contact with her daughter. “If I ever heard of a rule that was made to be broken . . .”

  Miss Tilley’s eyebrows rose to a startling elevation.

  “You said it,” Elizabeth admitted. “It was the first thing Mr. Kronenberg showed me when I was promoted to assistant concierge. He made me promise to keep it secret, then showed me where he kept the combination.”

  “So you could get into the safe?”

  “I could,” Elizabeth admitted, wondering if she’d been set up by the head concierge, or the hotel manager, or both. Wouldn’t that be rich? The two most senior employees conspiring to rob a guest!

  Miss Tilley broke into her thoughts. “And what if the key to the case was missing for a short while? Would Noelle have noticed?”

  “I doubt it,” Lucy said. “I suspect she forgot all about the key until she needed it to open the jewel case just before the ball.”

  Elizabeth suddenly felt very cold, even though it was at least eighty degrees on her sunny, plant-filled deck. Looked at this way, it wasn’t at all surprising that she was suspected of being involved with the theft. After all, she was one of the few employees entrusted with the combination to the hotel safe, and she knew how careless Noelle was with the key to the jewel case. “I didn’t do it,” she said, feeling the need to proclaim her innocence, even to herself.

  “Of course not,” Lucy said, giving her a hug. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Miss Tilley grasped the edge of Elizabeth’s wobbly plastic table with her knobby hands and began to raise herself, prompting Lucy to jump up and assist her at the same time Elizabeth steadied the table.

  “Really!” Miss Tilley exclaimed. “I’m perfectly able, you know.”

  “Of course you are.” Lucy released her grip on the old woman’s arm.

  Miss Tilley turned to Elizabeth. “Where is your computer? I presume you have one?”

  Lucy tidied up the lunch dis
hes while Elizabeth settled Miss Tilley at her little café table and showed her how to use her laptop. Then Lucy went off to her storage unit to dig out her small collection of Christmas decorations. When she returned, Miss Tilley had a plan.

  “First thing tomorrow I think you should take a look at this Chris Kennedy’s apartment and see what you can find out,” she said, peering at them over the laptop.

  “You mean break in?” Lucy asked, opening the box and examining the contents. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s probably been sealed by the police.”

  “No way,” Elizabeth protested. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “I think you have to,” Miss Tilley said. “I fear the police may be right about him after all.”

  Elizabeth felt sick; she’d been a fool. “What have you found?”

  “He lied to you about his job. I’ve done a computer search checking every environmental organization in Florida and he is not employed by any of them as a lawyer or in any other capacity. He’s not registered with the Florida bar either.”

  “So Toni was right about him,” Elizabeth said. “But what good will searching his apartment do?”

  Miss Tilley scowled and glared at them through her wire-rimmed glasses. “You can find out a lot about a person when you see his home. Take Audrey Wilson, for example. She ran for selectman last spring promising to straighten out town government, but everybody knew she lived in absolute squalor. Even her yard was filled with junk. So nobody believed her and she lost the election.”

  “That’s true,” Lucy said thoughtfully, holding up a twig and berry wreath Elizabeth had hung on her dorm room door when she was in college. “I suppose we could at least take a look at the place.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Do you know where it is?”

  “He pointed it out when we went by,” Elizabeth admitted, her curiosity piqued. “But I haven’t been inside.”

  “It’s a start,” Lucy coaxed. “Have you got any thumbtacks? I want to hang this on the door.”

  “Right here.” Elizabeth opened a kitchen drawer and extracted a plastic box of tacks. “Of course, I don’t know if he was telling the truth or not. He might not really live there at all.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Miss Tilley said.

  Lucy hung the wreath, smiling at the effect, then closed the door. “It’s better than sitting around here with Miss Marple.”

  “I’m not deaf, you know,” Miss Tilley said, clicking away on the keyboard.

  Lucy busied herself unpacking and took a long bath while Elizabeth put fresh sheets on the bed. She only had two sets of sheets, and a few towels, so the arrival of her guests meant she needed to do the laundry if they were going to have fresh linen. When she got back from the apartment complex’s laundry room, she found the bedroom door was closed and only one lamp was burning, indicating her mother and Miss Tilley had retired for the night. It was only a little past nine but in Tinker’s Cove people went to bed early and got up early.

  She put the fresh towels in the bathroom and made up the futon for herself, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. She set up the coffeepot for the morning, then settled down with a book. Her eyes followed the printed words and she turned the pages but she couldn’t have said what the story was about, as her mind was too busy working on her problems. Her last thought, before she finally turned out the light, was the realization that she had nothing in the house for breakfast.

  * * *

  When she woke next morning she smelled coffee and the unmistakable scent of bacon.

  “I popped out and bought some things,” Lucy said, waving the fork she was using to turn the bacon. She was washed and dressed, as was Miss Tilley, who was sitting at the table on the deck with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. “Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”

  When Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, she found a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast waiting for her.

  “The best thing about Florida is the orange juice,” Lucy said, pouring herself a second glass. “So fresh.”

  “I certainly don’t think much of the newspapers here.” Miss Tilley folded the big sheets of paper with a snap. “There isn’t a word about the jewel theft.”

  “Be grateful for small mercies,” Lucy said. “Imagine if they’d named Elizabeth.”

  The thought took away Elizabeth’s appetite; she put down her fork and picked up her coffee mug.

  “The sooner we start investigating, the better,” Lucy said. “Besides, they say rain is on the way.”

  Miss Tilley popped the last bit of toast into her mouth. “And while you’re out and about you could pick up a bottle of sherry. Tio Pepe, if you can find it.”

  “We better go, before she thinks of something else,” Lucy said, grabbing her handbag.

  Elizabeth gave her mother a tour of the neighborhood, making a stop at a liquor store to buy Miss Tilley’s favorite dry sherry. Chris Kennedy’s alleged apartment complex was just around the corner, and was similar in layout to Elizabeth’s, with a scattering of buildings set in landscaped grounds. A recreation area included a pool, tennis courts, and a fitness center.

  “Which is his apartment?” Lucy asked as Elizabeth pulled into a guest parking spot.

  “I don’t know. We’ll just have to check the mailboxes,” Elizabeth replied, with a nod toward the gray metal cluster unit where a white postal service truck was parked. They waited and after a few minutes the truck moved off. The two women strolled over and studied the names affixed to each mailbox; Chris Kennedy’s name was on the box marked C-4.

  “He was telling the truth after all,” Lucy said.

  Elizabeth scowled, unimpressed. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

  A glance at the neat white brick buildings revealed that each was identified with a large letter. Building C was only a short distance away. When they approached it, they had no problem identifying apartment 4.

  It was the one with yellow police tape over the door.

  “I expected as much,” Lucy said, turning to go.

  “Not so fast.” Elizabeth found she was suddenly determined to discover as much as she could about the mysterious Chris Kennedy. “This is a ground floor apartment. I bet there’s a patio door around back.”

  They followed the paved path that ran around the building, noting the Christmas decorations that some people had put in their windows. One twinkling snowman winked at them and waved his arm. “I hope he’s the only one who sees us,” Elizabeth said.

  Chris’s patio was the only one completely devoid of plants or furniture. “A typical bachelor,” Lucy remarked, cupping her hands and peering through the uncurtained sliding door.

  Elizabeth studied the patio area, trying to think where Chris might have hidden an extra key. There was no furniture, so that was out. The trim around the door and windows was narrow—no place to tuck a key there—and there was no doormat. Checking out the plantings, she noticed a scattering of conch shells, and when she examined them she discovered one had a key taped inside.

  “Good work!” Lucy exclaimed as Elizabeth unlocked the door. “Are you sure you haven’t been here before?”

  “Never,” Elizabeth declared, stepping inside the largely empty living-dining room where a bicycle suspended on large orange hooks screwed into the ceiling provided the only decoration. A saggy old sofa, clearly secondhand, faced a large flat-screen TV that perched on a plank stretched between two concrete blocks. A row of books, mostly paperbacks, was lined up on the floor against a wall.

  “Definitely needs a woman’s touch,” Lucy observed, heading straight for the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “Very interesting,” she said, pointing out a package of fish that was dated the day of the robbery.

  “Very smelly,” Elizabeth added.

  “And from that I deduce that Chris Kennedy was not planning to leave town. Look, there’s even a bag of salad in the crisper. You wouldn’t buy fish and salad if you were planning to abscond with stole
n jewels.”

  “That’s an interesting point,” Elizabeth said, peeking into the single bedroom. The comforter on the double bed had been smoothed and there were clothes in the closet as well as a carry-on size suitcase. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said, when Lucy joined her. “It all looks like he just left to go out for a loaf of bread or something.”

  “If he isn’t a lawyer, like he said, I wonder what he does do,” Lucy mused.

  “Whatever he does, he doesn’t keep regular hours.” Elizabeth was thoughtful. “Maybe he’s unemployed. Or maybe he’s a jewel thief.”

  “There’s no computer,” Lucy said.

  “I guess he took it with him—it could have been in the bag he was carrying in the video.”

  “There’s also no phone,” Lucy observed.

  “He has a cell phone. Nobody bothers with landlines anymore.”

  “Right,” Lucy said, feeling like a dinosaur, unable to keep up with a changing world. “Check the bathroom. See if his toothbrush is there.”

  “Good idea. Nobody travels without their toothbrush.”

  “Unless they forget it,” said Lucy.

  Elizabeth stepped into the small, utilitarian bathroom that could be a clone of her own. The tiny vanity sink was clean, a neatly folded towel hung on the rail, and a University of Florida mug contained a half-used tube of whitening toothpaste and a very worn toothbrush. “I guess he either forgot it, or he left town suddenly.”

  “Like somebody on the run,” said Lucy.

  Elizabeth nodded, wishing she hadn’t come. Until now she had believed that Chris was just avoiding her, wary of entanglement and commitment. That was what guys did. The women’s magazines were full of advice on how to turn casual love affairs into meaningful relationships. But now it seemed the police were right about him. Why would he leave town so suddenly—unless he had stolen the jewels?

  Observing her daughter’s crestfallen expression, Lucy tried to offer a positive slant. “Maybe he had to leave in a hurry because his mother was in an accident,” she suggested. “Something like that. When people go home, they don’t have to take stuff with them. He’s probably got plenty of clothes and stuff at his parents’ house.”