I nodded.
“Good. Then you already know your way around. That’ll help.”
“Help what?” I asked cautiously.
“Someone has to find Mr. Brody and let him know that Puppy Fest has already started. And I’m in charge so I can’t go.”
Wonderful, I thought. This quest had all the makings of another snipe hunt.
“I’ll bet Mr. Brody has a cell phone.” Never let it be said that I don’t learn from my mistakes. “Why don’t you give him a call?”
Claire’s glare was withering. “Do I look like the kind of person who would have Leo Brody’s private number?”
There was that.
An image of Claire in the elf costume popped into my head. I closed my eyes briefly and gathered my strength. “Where should I look first?” I asked. “Where would you expect Mr. Brody to be if he’s not here?”
“Try his office. I get the impression that Mr. Brody lives for his work. I don’t think he ever puts it entirely aside. I’ll bet he got sidetracked by a phone call or an email.”
“Office,” I said. “I’m on my way. Where is it?”
“The other side of the house. East wing on the ground floor. I met with him there when I interviewed for this job. The room has an outside entrance, but I’m sure you can get there from inside the house too.”
East wing, I thought. My head swiveled to the left. Claire sighed. She grasped my shoulders and repositioned me so I was facing the other way.
My sense of direction was notoriously bad. I could get turned around in the produce section of the supermarket.
“East wing,” she said again.
“Right. I heard you the first time. That’s where I’m going.”
Spurred by Claire’s worried expression, I left the room at a jog.
This wouldn’t be like looking for Caroline, I told myself. I was in Mr. Brody’s house, attending his event. If he wasn’t in his office, surely there would be someone around who knew where he was. And the upside? Having been five minutes behind Leo Brody all day, I was finally going to have the opportunity to meet the man.
Now that I had my bearings, it was easy to follow the back hallway until it deposited me outside the kitchen. Lunch was now set out on a wide countertop, and a dozen people were milling around the room. Some were already eating; others were just beginning to fill their plates. My gaze sped over the assembled group. The catering crew was there, along with a bunch of workmen and even a guard or two. But Mr. Brody wasn’t among them.
I crossed the kitchen and cut through the dining room to the foyer. This time, I went in the opposite direction from the one I’d taken earlier. My footsteps muffled by a thick Persian rug, I followed another wide hallway past an array of opulent rooms. The sheer size of the house seemed staggering to me. I had no idea what one man—even one with a big family—would do with so much space.
The corridor angled to the right as I left the central portion of the house and entered the east wing. Several rooms opened off this extended hallway. The door to the first was slightly ajar.
I’d almost reached it when I heard a loud gasp. Almost immediately, it was followed by a shriek of alarm. Startled, I hesitated. My breath jammed in my throat.
“Noooo!” a woman cried out. The plea ended on a strangled sob.
For a shaky moment, it felt as though my heart had stopped beating. I was half-tempted to turn and run. Instead, I rounded the corner and looked inside the room.
Chapter 6
At first glance, the room appeared empty.
But after my gaze had rocketed around the interior, sliding over paneled walls, museum-quality paintings, and an enormous mahogany desk, it finally dropped to the floor. There I found what I’d been looking for.
A man was lying on the rug beside the desk. His body was on its side, facing away from me. One arm was extended outward, fingers stretched as if he’d been reaching for something when he fell. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but even so, I knew who he was. Judging by the grey cast to his skin and the utter stillness of his body, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be meeting Leo Brody today after all.
Above him, crouched over the body, was an attractive middle-aged woman. Blond curls fell forward over her face, not quite obscuring features whose skin was too tight to be entirely natural. There was a slash of bright red lipstick on the woman’s mouth, and her voluptuous figure was encased in a formfitting leather suit. Leather. In summer, no less.
“What happened?” I asked.
The woman’s head snapped up. “Who the hell are you?” Her shrill voice and combative stance stopped me in my tracks.
“Melanie Travis. I’m here working on Puppy Fest. I was sent to find Mr. Brody. What happened?” I asked again. This time, the question was edged with steel.
“I don’t know,” the woman wailed. “I just found him like this.”
“When?” I hadn’t seen her in the hallway as I’d approached. I wondered how long she’d been in the room.
“Not even a minute ago,” she said quickly. Too quickly for my taste. “No more than that.”
“Is he . . . dead?”
The woman bit her lip, staining her teeth with blood-red lipstick. She stood up and backed away. “I think so.”
I stepped forward and knelt down gingerly beside the body. Mr. Brody’s skin was cool to the touch as I slid my fingers along the back of his neck to the artery beneath his jaw. As I’d suspected, no pulse beat beneath my fingertips.
There was no point in running for immediate help. Instead, I reached in my pocket and pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?” the woman demanded.
I rocked back on my feet and stood up. “Calling nine-one-one.”
“No! Put the phone away! You can’t do that.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Yes. No.” She turned and stared out the window behind her. “Wait a minute. Let me think.”
“Think about what?” The phone was still cradled in my palm. Unless she came up with a good answer, I was using it.
“You have no idea. . . .”
“You’re right,” I said, when her voice trailed away. “I don’t. For starters, who are you?”
“Becca Montague. Leo and I are . . . we were . . . friends.”
Her telling pause and the emphasis she placed on the last word told me everything I needed to know about their relationship. As did the smug look on her face and the defiant set of her shoulders that dared me to contradict her.
“A friend would want the authorities here as soon as possible,” I said. My finger began to press buttons.
“No!” Becca came flying across the room and tried to grab the phone away from me. “Leo would hate this kind of publicity.”
One hand held her at arm’s length. The other finished dialing. “Leo won’t know,” I told her. I glanced downward, then immediately regretted that decision and lifted my eyes again. “And he won’t care.”
“You’ll be sorry you did that,” Becca snapped. She shoved past me and strode out of the room.
Quickly I completed the call. Then I backed deliberately out of the office, being careful not to touch anything.
If I kept my gaze averted from the body on the floor, the room looked blessedly normal. A book lay open, spine up, on a reading chair near the window. Several file folders were neatly stacked on Mr. Brody’s desk. A pair of reading glasses was perched on top of them. Sitting on a nearby credenza was a plate of cookies and a half-empty glass of milk.
Nothing appeared to be out of place. Nor did anything I saw in the office point to a probable cause of death. Mr. Brody was an older man—maybe he’d had a heart attack. Perhaps one minute he’d been sitting at his desk, finishing up some work before heading over to watch his beloved Puppy Fest, and the next he’d simply been gone.
As I reached the doorway, I realized that I’d been holding my breath. Suddenly it felt great to exhale. I looked up and down the corridor outside the office. It was empty.
Becca Montague had disappeared.
I wondered if it was too much to hope that she had run away to summon assistance. One of the security guards would have been best, but right that moment, I would have been happy to see anyone at all.
“Hello?” I called out.
No one replied.
My second attempt was louder. Much louder. “Help!” I screamed. Then I added, for good measure, “I need help here!”
This time my plea had the desired effect. Almost immediately, I heard the sound of footsteps hurrying in my direction.
“I’m coming, miss,” a male voice answered. “Where are you?”
“Outside Leo Brody’s office. Please hurry!”
A man with buzz-cut hair, wearing a plain dark suit and shiny shoes, came flying around the corner. Judging by the combative expression on his face, he was fully prepared to confront whatever kind of problem might lie ahead. Then he saw me standing by myself in the hallway and slid to a stop. Warily, he looked around.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Silently I gestured into the room.
Sizing up the situation in a glance, the guard thrust out an arm and motioned me back. “Stay out here.”
“I’ve already been inside the office,” I told him. “Leo Brody is dead.”
The guard swiftly confirmed my conclusion for himself. Then he looked back at me. “What happened?”
“I have no idea. He was like that when I got here two minutes ago. A woman was in the room with him.”
“Who?” The word snapped out like a gunshot.
“Becca Montague. She said that she and Mr. Brody were friends.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. She left when I said I was going to call nine-one-one.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. The dispatcher said she would send help right away.”
The guard had taken out his phone. Now he slid it back in his pocket and stood up.
“What’s your connection here? How did you happen to find the body?”
“I came today to work on Puppy Fest—”
He stared at me suspiciously. “That’s taking place in the west wing. In fact it’s going on right now. What are you doing all the way over here?”
“I was sent to find Mr. Brody and let him know that the game was in progress so that he could come and watch.”
“Sent by whom?”
I’ve been interrogated by the police before. It’s not a comfortable position in which to find yourself. This inquiry by the security guard felt much the same. On the other hand, I understood his reaction. Though I suspected he’d been hired to watch over the valuables in the house rather than its occupants, the fact remained that Leo Brody had died on his watch.
“Claire Travis. She’s the woman in charge of Puppy Fest.”
The man nodded sharply.
At least he recognized Claire’s name. That was something.
“Why did she send you?”
“Claire asked me to come today and help out. We’re friends. Actually, she’s family. . . .”
His brow lifted, requesting clarification.
“Claire is married to my ex-husband.”
“And you’re friends,” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t sound as though he believed me.
Frankly, I didn’t care. I had bigger things to worry about.
“Look,” I said. “I’m a little busy right now. I’m supposed to be helping with Puppy Fest. Since you have everything under control here, I’m going back to the ballroom.”
“It would be better if you stayed until the authorities arrive.”
“The game will be over by then.” I started to walk away. “If you need me, I’ll be in the west wing.”
“What’s your name?” the guard called after me.
I stopped again. “Melanie Travis.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“Not on me. I needed to have my hands free today for the puppies. I locked my purse in my car.”
“Then you’d better—”
“No,” I said, sounding every bit as exasperated as I felt. “I just found a dead body, okay? And even before that, I wasn’t having a great day. There’s somewhere else I really need to be right now. So I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about it. Do you know Claire Travis?”
“I know who she is.”
“Claire will vouch for me. If you can’t find me, look for Claire.”
“Wait.” The man held out his hand, fingers beckoning. “Let me see your phone.”
I took it out and handed it over. He scrolled through the list of contacts until he found the number listed under “Home.” He wrote it down on a piece of paper, then handed the phone back. “Okay, you can go now.”
“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t add, It’s about damn time.
I ran all the way back to the other side of the house. I wasn’t sure whether I was running toward my obligations or away from what I’d just seen. Either way, it was a huge relief to be able to leave the whole horrible business in the security guard’s capable hands. He would know all the proper steps to take, and I could get back to what I was supposed to be doing.
As I flew around the last corner into the west wing, I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d left the ballroom. By now, the first half of the game would be nearly finished. Claire would probably be livid about my prolonged disappearance.
Claire. Realization suddenly stopped me in my tracks. I was going to have to break the news to her about Leo Brody’s death. Damn.
She must have been waiting anxiously for my return because as soon as I stepped into the ballroom, Claire came hurrying over.
“Where’s Mr. Brody?” She peered around behind me as if hoping that he would magically materialize.
“Claire,” I said in a low voice. “We have to talk.”
“Is he on his way?”
“No, he’s not.”
Her face fell. “What do you mean? He has to be here. This is his day. This is his event! Do you know how many hours I’ve spent working on Puppy Fest so that everything would be perfect?”
I shook my head. There was no point in answering. “And now Mr. Brody doesn’t even bother to show up?”
“Claire, there’s a reason—”
“I don’t care what the reason is.” Claire growled under her breath. “Step out of the way, Melanie. I feel like punching something, and I would hate for it to be you.”
We both heard the sound of approaching sirens at the same time. The ballroom was toward the rear of the house so their keening wails were muffled. Even so, it was clear that the emergency vehicles were closing in on our location.
“What’s that?” Claire’s anger was gone in an instant. “What’s going on? Oh my God, is that why Mr. Brody isn’t here? Is he hurt?”
I reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He isn’t hurt, Claire—”
She shook me away. “Don’t tell me he’s being arrested,” she whispered in a horrified tone.
“Claire, stop, okay? Mr. Brody isn’t being arrested.” I paused before continuing with the dire news.
“Then what?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Mr. Brody is dead.”
“No. No, he’s not.” Claire stared at me in disbelief. “You must be wrong. I just saw him an hour ago.”
“I found him in his office,” I said quietly. “One of the security guards is there with him now.”
“Which guard?”
I doubted that Claire cared who it was. Her brain was just casting around for any other piece of information so it wouldn’t have to process the bombshell I’d just dropped on her.
“Beefy,” I said. “Buzz cut. Shiny shoes.”
“That’s Clark. He seems to be a good guy.”
When he isn’t asking questions, I thought.
“I only met the security detail in passing. Mr. Brody took care of that part. There’s a firm h
e uses. . . .” Claire sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure Mr. Brody is dead?”
“Yes.”
“And Clark thinks so too?”
Another time I might have protested the implication that my own word wasn’t enough. Now I just told her what she needed to hear. “We both checked. I’m sorry.”
“What happened? Mr. Brody looked great for his age, but I know he was in his seventies. Did he have a stroke? A heart attack?”
“I don’t know,” I told her honestly. “As soon as I found him, I called for help. The dispatcher said she’d send the police and an ambulance. That must be who we just heard. They’ll figure out what went wrong.”
We both glanced toward the other end of the room. Nobody else appeared to have been disturbed by the sirens. If indeed they’d noticed them at all.
The game’s first period was nearing its end. A large time clock, positioned above the playing field, ticked steadily downward. During the half-time break, a pre-recorded promo about the good work the Puppy Posse Foundation was doing would be broadcast to the viewing audience. Volunteers were already busy manning the phone lines, accepting donations and steering potential adopters to the Puppy Posse website. Despite what had happened on the other side of the house, inside the ballroom everything was proceeding smoothly.
“So now what?” I said.
Claire looked surprised by the question. “We keep going. We have no choice. It’s a live broadcast. It has to go on to the finish.”
“Aren’t people going to wonder where Mr. Brody is?”
“Hopefully no one will notice,” Claire said with a frown.
I don’t think either one of us believed that.
“What are you going to do if the police show up?”
“I’ll worry about that when it happens. In the meantime, I have a game to run.”
Claire strode back to the other end of the ballroom. I followed more slowly behind her. When she veered off toward the phone bank, I slipped back through the connecting door that led to the salon.
Will and Lucy were out on the terrace. Jane was alone inside the room. I watched as she gently placed two tired puppies back inside a crate. She latched the door shut, then glanced up and saw me.
Murder at the Puppy Fest Page 6
