“Wow. A bug? That does sound extreme.”
Wes, who had been following our exchange in silence, finally spoke up. “Fern Lopez is an artist, isn’t she? I’ve seen her at arts festivals selling crafts and jewelry.”
Beverly nodded. “I believe so.”
Jewelry. Fern designed handmade beaded jewelry. I had seen some of her work when I had visited her last spring. She used lots of natural materials, such as hemp, shells, and turquoise—just like the pieces I had found in the hotel cloakroom and in the conference room at Edgar’s office. No wonder they had seemed familiar.
Maybe it was time I pay Fern Lopez another visit.
* * *
By the time we finally left Beverly’s place, clouds had rolled in again, blotting out the moon and stars. Wes took the back way out of Lerner Hill, following a two-lane highway around the outskirts of Edindale. Houses were fewer and farther between out there, making the road seem long, dark, and mysterious—kind of like this Solstice night was turning out to be.
I was glad Beverly had perked up before we left. She had even made coffee and brought out a tray of snacks. At one point, she noticed I was still in my coat and invited me to take it off. I assured her I was comfortable and changed the subject. I might have seen my boss in her bathrobe, but there was no way I was going to let her see me in my ceremonial garb.
Yet, as relieved as I was that Beverly had returned to her old, aggressive self, I was more confused than ever about what had been going on with Edgar. We seemed to have come up with a lot more questions than answers. As I thought about it, I realized any number of people might have had it out for Edgar. Perhaps someone held an old grudge, such as Fern Lopez or anyone who was disappointed in the failed Cornerstone project. Or perhaps someone didn’t want him to become mayor, such as his political opponents or people who disagreed with his policy positions—again, like Fern Lopez. At least Tucker had an alibi, since he was with Farrah at the time of the death.
Of course, there could also be people with personal motives, such as Allison, who seemed to be upset with Edgar, or Zeke, who had behaved strangely ever since I met him. And if Edgar was secretly meeting a woman at the hotel, I might as well add jealousy and revenge to the mix of possible motives.
For some reason, Beverly’s rather intense state of bereavement popped into my mind. Was it possible she and Edgar had been more than friends? I dismissed the thought. If I lost a close friend, I knew I’d be a mess, too.
I looked over at Wes and took in his strong, beautiful profile. Smiling in the dark, I felt immensely lucky to have him by my side. What other boyfriend would have so generously given up a date night to spend the evening with his girlfriend’s depressed boss?
I was about to reach over and squeeze Wes’s hand when I became aware of headlights coming up behind us at a worrisome clip.
“Jeez!” said Wes, as he tilted his rearview mirror. “Don’t people know they’re supposed to turn off their brights when they approach another car?”
The vehicle sped around us so fast I couldn’t get a good look at it. I was still seeing spots from the bright lights.
“That was scary,” I said. “What could possibly—wait. Where’d he go?” We were on a straight stretch of road, yet the crazy driver’s taillights had disappeared. I strained to see down the highway.
“That’s weird,” said Wes. “He was just there. It’s almost like he just turned his lights off. But that doesn’t—”
“Oh, my God! Watch out!”
Wes swerved, and I screamed. Before I knew what was happening, we veered off the road, bounced through the ditch, and landed with a thud in a bank of snow. Wes’s car lights illuminated a white barren field.
“Are you okay?” Wes asked breathlessly. His eyes, filled with concern, roved over my body, top to bottom.
I swallowed the bile in my throat. “Yeah. I think so.”
“I can’t believe the airbags didn’t deploy,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. “How about you? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. Just thoroughly pissed. What in the hell was that guy thinking? He almost got us all killed.”
“It’s a miracle we didn’t slam into him.” I reached over and touched Wes’s face. “Good thing you have quick reflexes. You saved us.”
Wes inhaled raggedly and then blew out air with a huff. “Let’s get out of the car, okay? Then I’ll call for a tow.”
Wes opened his car door, while I searched for my purse on the floor. Good thing it was zipped up, I thought, as I put my hand on the bag. Otherwise the contents would be scattered all over Wes’s car.
I glanced back toward the road and caught my breath. Someone was standing at the top of the ditch.
Chapter 13
“Where did he come from?” I asked, eyeing the shadowy figure at the top of the ditch. Actually, I couldn’t be sure it was a man. The person wore a puffer coat with the hood pulled up.
“There’s a truck up there,” said Wes. He got back into the car and shut his door. “I’m not sure, but that might be the psycho who ran us off the road.”
Chills coursed through my blood as I stared at the person looking down at us. I had a very bad feeling about the whole situation. Just what kind of game was this crazy driver playing? What did he want with us?
Suddenly the stranger turned to look up the road. Then he—or she—took off running, jumped into the truck, and peeled out.
Just then another car pulled up, its high beams lighting up the entire area. A few seconds later, two men appeared, side by side, and peered down at us. This time, my instincts told me we were safe. Wes and I pushed our doors open at the same time and clambered out. We waved at the two men.
“Are you okay?” they shouted.
“We are now,” I said. Thank Goddess.
* * *
It was quite a struggle to get out of bed the next morning. The long night had gotten even longer when we had to wait for a tow truck and then try to file a police report with absolutely no information to give the police. Luckily, our rescuers, a nice couple on their way home from a holiday party, stuck around and gave us a ride back to town. Wes stayed the night with me, partly since his car was in the shop—but mostly because we both felt a little too freaked out to be alone.
Once we had settled down in front of my fireplace with mugs of cocoa and a midnight snack, Wes found the perfect way to take my mind off the evening’s troubling events. He pulled a small foil-wrapped box from his coat pocket.
“What’s this?” I asked, my eyes growing wide.
“Just a little Yuletide gift. I figured I should bring you your present today, since this is the holiday you really celebrate. Right?”
“That’s right. You remembered.” I touched the tiny satin bow, so moved at his thoughtfulness that it almost didn’t matter what the box contained.
Wes nudged my knee. “The gift is actually inside the box.”
Smiling, I opened the package. Inside was a delicate crescent moon necklace made of yellow gold with a tiny diamond accent. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “I love it.”
“It reminded me of you,” he said.
I put the necklace on, then surprised Wes by bringing out the present I had bought for him: a glossy photography book I knew he had been eyeing. Of course, then he wanted to look through the whole thing. I didn’t mind. I snuggled up next to him and fell asleep in the crook of his arm.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast together, I dropped Wes off at the newspaper office on my way in to work. I was a little sore from being jostled around when we careened off the road, but my anxiety had all but evaporated. The more Wes and I had gone over the events of the night before, the less scary they had seemed. We realized we had no proof the strange person had meant us harm. There were lots of possible reasons to explain the person’s behavior: he or she could have been sick, drunk, stoned, or mentally ill. The driver probably stopped to see if we were okay, and then fled out of fear. M
aybe they didn’t have car insurance.
As soon as I arrived at my office, my thoughts turned to Beverly. I went straight to her office—only to find out she hadn’t come in to work. Again. She had promised me she would make it to Edgar’s memorial service the next evening. I hoped she would remain true to her word.
After checking messages and reviewing some files, I told Julie I would be out the rest of the morning. I had an appointment with a homebound client who wanted to update her will, and I wasn’t sure how long it would take. As it happened, the update was simple and I was finished by 10:00 a.m. Perfect, I thought. Now I would have time to stop by the police station to discuss Edgar Harrison. I was about to start up my car, when my cell phone rang. It was Farrah.
“Hey, you,” she said. “Any chance you can meet me for an early lunch? I spoke with Tucker, and I have some info for you.”
“You saw him already?”
“After you left me at the Loose last night, I may have had a few more drinks. I got a little bold and called him.”
“Oh, geez. Tell me you didn’t—”
“Relax, girlfriend. We had a little chat, that’s all.”
“So, what did he say?”
Farrah hesitated. “I’d rather tell you in person. Can you get away from the office?”
Now I was thoroughly intrigued. “Where are you now? Want to go for a drive with me?”
“I’m at home. Swing by now, if you want.”
A few minutes later, I pulled up in front of Farrah’s apartment complex. She was waiting outside, bundled up in a fleece-lined coat and rainbow-striped pom-pom hat. She hopped into the front seat, and I drove off, heading for the edge of town. I was going to make the most of my free time this morning.
“Where we goin’, Jeeves?” she asked.
“You first,” I said.
She sighed. “You might not like it.”
“What? Just tell me.”
“Okay. So, I told Tucker I had heard a rumor that Edgar was having an affair.”
“Good thinking. Keep your sources vague.”
“Exactly. Well, he didn’t even act surprised.”
“So we were right?” I asked. “Edgar was seeing someone on the side?”
“It would seem so.”
“Did you ask Tucker if he knew anything about it?”
“I did. And he wasn’t positive, but he suspected who Edgar might have been seeing.”
“And?”
“And . . . he said he believed Edgar could have been romantically involved with his lawyer. Beverly.”
“No.” I shook my head. “They were just friends.” Beverly would never be someone’s mistress. Would she?
“I knew you wouldn’t want to hear this,” said Farrah.
I waved away her concern. “I’m fine. I guess it’s not a farfetched idea. Still, he didn’t know for sure, right?”
“Right. It was just a guess.”
I drove in silence, taking River Road out of town and following the winding country roads for several miles. I considered what Farrah had said. Was it naïve of me to dismiss the idea of Beverly having an affair with Edgar? The problem was, assuming for the sake of argument that it was true, something was still off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the whole idea of Beverly and Edgar just didn’t make sense.
“Hey, dreamy,” said Farrah. “Do you have a destination in mind, or are you just burning fuel for no reason?”
“Oh, God no. I have a destination. There’s someone I want to see.” I told Farrah what I had learned about Fern’s grudge against Edgar and about the beads I had found. “I’ve been meaning to visit her again anyway,” I said. “I was hoping she might tell me more about my aunt Josephine.”
“Sounds good to me. Maybe I’ll buy some jewelry from her.”
After a couple wrong turns, I finally found the lane leading to Fern’s homestead. It was well off the main road and partially hidden by overgrown shrubs and trees. Somehow I had the impression this was not by chance. When we reached a gate blocking the lane, it was even more apparent that Fern didn’t welcome guests to her property.
I pulled my car to the side of the road and parked.
“What now?” asked Farrah.
“Now we walk.”
The barrier gate was a single bar to prevent vehicle traffic from entering the property, but it was easy enough to circumvent on foot. A sign on the gate said NO HUNTING—PRIVATE PROPERTY.
“You sure about this?” asked Farrah. “She doesn’t seem to be open for business. Or visitors.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “We’re not here to hunt. And this is where I met her before.”
Of course, last time she had been expecting me. On the plus side, at least the lane had been plowed. We trudged along until we finally came to a circular driveway leading up to the main house and several outbuildings. The house was a low-slung prairie-style ranch, which reminded me of a modest Frank Lloyd Wright design. As with the first time I had seen it, I couldn’t help thinking half the house must be hidden underground. The blinds were all drawn, and there were no cars in sight.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” said Farrah.
“Let’s not give up just yet,” I said, ringing the doorbell. As we waited, I noticed a small camera wedged discreetly under the eaves. I rang the bell again and this time put on a friendly smile and called out, “Hello! Anyone home?”
An intercom crackled, causing Farrah to jump. “Come to the workshop around back,” said a harsh female voice.
Farrah and I looked at each other and shrugged. We made our way to the back of the house where we found a two-car garage painted teal, with pink trim. The navy blue door opened and Fern Lopez stepped out.
“What can I do for you?” she asked. With her long dark, gray-tinged hair and her baggy pants and turtleneck, Fern looked very much the part of the aging boho artist. Her demeanor was reserved, but at least she didn’t kick us out.
“Hello, Fern,” I said. “I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Keli Milanni. We met several months ago when—”
“I remember,” she said. “You’re Josie’s niece.”
“That’s right. This is my friend Farrah Anderson. I was just telling her about your jewelry, and we wondered if you have any shows coming up. I also thought of another question about Josephine.”
Fern narrowed her eyes, as if she didn’t quite believe me. But she let us in anyway.
“I don’t get a lot of visitors out this way,” she said. She picked up a glue gun and returned to the project she had been working on. “Thought the gate was down.”
“How do you get mail?” asked Farrah.
“Post office box in town,” Fern answered.
“Ah.”
Farrah and I stood in the middle of the workshop and looked around. The side walls were adorned with macramé hangings and abstract metal sculptures. On the back wall a pegboard held loops of string, wire, and various tools. A large worktable occupied the center of the room, while cabinets and smaller tables took up much of the rest of the space. There was no place to sit down.
“So,” I began. “I think I told you that my aunt sends postcards to some of our family on a sporadic basis. I was wondering if you’ve received any, or if you’ve heard from her lately.”
Fern didn’t answer right away. She regarded me closely, then looked back down at her work. “No. Sorry.”
“Oh. I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember what was going on at the commune when she left? I mean, did anyone else leave with her?”
“Happy Hills broke up right around the time she left. We lost our land, so everyone had to find another place to live. Some people left for greener pastures. Others, like me, found new land in the area.”
“What’s this?” asked Farrah. She pointed under one of the tables at a stack of picket signs. I tilted my head to read them. The two on top said: SAY NO TO FAT CAT EDDIE and SLOW GROWTH NOT FAST EDDIE. They each featured a caricature of Edgar Harrison in a circle with a diag
onal line.
“I was planning a rally,” said Fern. “Obviously, there’s no need now.”
“A rally already?” said Farrah. “He just announced his candidacy a few days ago.”
“It doesn’t take long to mobilize,” said Fern. “Especially for an important cause.”
I eyed the number of signs. “Was it going to be a big rally?”
“If you want to know how many others were with me, it was a lot. Plenty. I’m not alone in my opposition to Fast Eddie and all that he stands for.” She pursed her lips. “Stood for.”
“Really?” I asked. “I thought he was generally well regarded.”
“Well feared is more like it. He had a number of enemies, I’m certain of it. And I’ll bet ya his death was no accident, either.”
Farrah’s eyes got big, while I tried to keep a poker face. Here I had wanted to speak to Fern about Edgar’s death, and she was the first to bring it up.
“You know,” I said carefully. “I had wondered about that myself. What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”
“Men like Edgar Harrison don’t just fall off balconies. No. That’s just a cover-up. Mark my words.”
“A cover-up?” asked Farrah. “By whom? Who do you think was responsible?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
“If you know,” I said, “shouldn’t you go to the police?”
Fern appeared stricken. “You can’t trust the police! Some are all right, but some are in on it. I can’t take any chances.”
In on it? I was beginning to notice Fern’s tendency to speak in the language of conspiracy theories. Still, I wanted to hear more.
“So, who were his enemies?” I asked.
“Who were his enemies?” she echoed. “How about the people he defrauded? The people he stole from?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Do you have proof of this?” asked Farrah in a skeptical tone.
Fern scowled. “He was shifty. Hard to pin down. Fast Eddie. That’s who he was.”
“Is that what you were doing when you worked at the Harrison Hotel?” asked Farrah. “Looking for proof?”
Yuletide Homicide Page 11
