Fern flared her nostrils and didn’t answer, so I quickly changed the subject. “Speaking of the hotel, I found something there the other night that made me think of you.” I dug into my purse for the broken buckle. “Did you happen to drop this?”
Fern looked sharply at the piece in my hand, then shook her head. “I do sell my handiwork, you know. It’s nice to know someone was wearing it. Too bad they dropped it. Looks like it was stepped on. It wouldn’t have broken on its own that easily.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Farrah. “Do you have more like it that I can see today?”
Fern gave Farrah an appraising look, then apparently decided she was being sincere. Fern went to a cabinet and withdrew a tray of bracelets and necklaces. While Farrah tried on jewelry, I tried to steer the conversation back to Edgar’s death.
“Fern, I think you raised a good point before, about how unlikely it is for a person like Edgar to simply fall off a balcony. But, isn’t the alternative just as unlikely? I mean, wouldn’t it be awful tough for someone to get away with murder out in the open like that? In a hotel full of people?”
Fern appeared thoughtful. “I haven’t been there in years, not since my employment was terminated. Edgar took out a restraining order against me.” She rolled her eyes. “From what I recall, it wouldn’t be that difficult. Since the hallways curve around the atrium, you could be three feet from a person and not see them. Plus, there are those wide posts every couple yards. What time did the murder take place?”
“Well, we don’t know for sure that it was murder,” I said. “But it must have happened sometime between one and one-thirty a.m.”
“Between shifts, then,” said Fern. “It would have been pretty dead around there at that time. Pardon the pun.”
“What were you doing Saturday night?” asked Farrah. She said it so innocently that Fern didn’t bat an eye.
“At one a.m. I was in a chat room discussing wind energy projects with my sisters in Denmark. It was eight a.m. Central European time.”
“You have sisters in Denmark?” I asked.
“Friends,” said Fern. “ ‘Sisters’ is just a figure of speech.”
“Do you use wind energy on your farm?” asked Farrah.
“Not yet. We have geothermal and solar. I’m planning on installing a wind turbine as soon as I can get the necessary approvals.”
“That’s so cool,” I said. “So, you’re completely self-sufficient out here?”
“Pretty much,” said Fern proudly. “We grow all our food and raise cows, sheep, and chickens. We also have beehives. I have honey for sale, if you’re interested.”
“Not right now, but I’ll take these bangles,” said Farrah.
As Farrah paid for the jewelry and Fern wrapped it up, I glanced at the protest signs again. “So, will you be voting for Tucker Brinkley next spring? He seems to be pro-environment.”
Fern snorted. “He’s pro-himself. They all are.”
Farrah frowned and I raised my eyebrows.
Fern shook her head. “Keep your eyes open, missy. You’ll see. They’re all in bed together, the corporate fat cats and the politicians. You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 14
After leaving Fern’s countryside compound, Farrah and I talked the whole way back to town. Farrah was mostly amused by Fern’s manner. She called the older woman “a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a hemp leaf.” I laughed, but I couldn’t help thinking Fern might be onto something. There was definitely something up with Edgar’s dealings. Nevertheless, I didn’t share Fern’s distrust of the police. As soon as I dropped Farrah off at home, I drove straight to the Edindale police station.
I planned to see the one police officer I knew personally. He was a friend of Farrah’s ex-boyfriend, and we had all hung out in the past. But when I approached the counter, I thought better of it. Instead, I asked for Detective Adrian Rhinehardt. He was the cop I’d met the last time I had found a dead body. I shuddered. And may this one truly be the last.
After a short wait, the detective came out and escorted me to his office. Dressed in plain clothes rather than a uniform, he was a burly man of few words. From what I recalled, he was usually hard to read, but he seemed smart and was polite enough.
“How have you been, Ms. Milanni?” he asked, gesturing toward a chair next to his desk.
“Fine, thanks. And please call me Keli. How have you been?”
“Fine,” he said, with the tiniest hint of amusement. “What can I do for you?”
I cleared my throat. “I wanted to talk to you about Edgar Harrison. I’m the one who found him at the hotel the other night.”
“I know. I read your statement. Did you want to add to it or amend it?”
“Not exactly. I’ve learned a couple things since that night. And . . . I have reason to believe Edgar was planning to meet someone on the fourth floor of the hotel. Or, perhaps, he had already met with someone.”
“So?”
“So, perhaps he wasn’t alone when he fell.”
Detective Rhinehardt gave me that inscrutable look I remembered so well. “Do you have information to suggest he wasn’t?”
I handed him the note signed by “E.” “I found this on the floor in the hotel reading room yesterday evening,” I said, omitting the part about crawling under the caution tape. “I realize it might not have been written by Edgar, and I don’t know when it was dropped. But it’s awfully suggestive. Maybe you can compare the handwriting to Edgar’s?”
Rhinehardt studied the note, scratching his chin. “This also doesn’t tell us who the note was meant for.”
“Right. But there is someone who might know. Edgar’s driver, Bob Franklin.”
“Mr. Franklin said he didn’t bring Edgar back to the hotel Saturday night.”
“You might want to ask him again,” I said.
“Hmm.” Rhinehardt grunted noncommittally. “Is there anything else?”
“No. Except . . .” I trailed off. Was now the time to mention the blackmail scheme? If I did, I’d be going against Beverly’s wishes, not to mention treading on thin ice when it came to protecting our client’s confidentiality. I sighed. If the police would just open up an investigation, maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything after all.
“Except what?” prompted the detective.
“Well, I understand Edgar had a few enemies.” I cringed when I said the word. I was starting to sound like Fern Lopez. Rhinehardt just stared at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“Doesn’t his family want you to investigate his death?” I asked.
“I’m not sure there is anything to investigate,” he said. “The autopsy showed he had a high blood alcohol level. From all appearances at the scene, he fell over by accident.”
“There was an autopsy?”
Rhinehardt tilted his head ever so slightly and gave me the barest flicker of a smile. “Trust me, Ms. Milanni. I know how to do my job.”
“Of course. So . . . you’ll talk to the driver again?”
“I’ll talk to the driver.”
* * *
I left the police station satisfied that the cops would take another look at the so-called accident at the Harrison Hotel. Now I needed to get back to the office and clock some billable hours. I had definitely fallen behind over the past few days. Another thing I was falling behind in was my workout schedule. In order to get in at least a little bit of cardio exertion, I decided to leave my car near the police station and walk briskly to the office.
I was only a block down the sidewalk when it happened again. I had the overwhelming sensation that I was being watched. I slowed my steps and looked around. Nothing unusual stood out. There was a moderate amount of traffic on Main Street. A few other pedestrians scurried to and from the courthouse or the shops across the street. Still, I was unnerved by the feeling. Maybe it was because of being run off the road after leaving Beverly’s house the night before. Work could wait for a few more minutes. I decided to pop into Moonstone Trea
sures and see Mila.
When I entered the shop, it wasn’t Mila behind the counter. It was her employee, Catrina. Catrina was an interesting young woman. I often thought she was like a tough cookie with a soft candy heart center. The hard impression she gave, with her spiked black hair, dog collar choker, and several piercings, was softened by the smile that lit up her face when she saw me.
“Hey, Keli! Happy Yule! You should have come to our celebration yesterday. We had a blast.”
“Thanks, Catrina. Maybe next time.”
“What’s that?” said Mila, coming in through the curtains from her back room. “Did I just hear Keli say she might join us at our next sabbat celebration?”
I had to laugh. “We’ll see. I did have an interesting night of my own, though.” I shared a little bit of my vision, and also told them about the excitement with Mrs. St. John and the close call later that night.
“Have you pissed someone off?” asked Catrina. “This reminds me of those creeps that were harassing Mila earlier this year.”
“Oh, it’s not nearly that bad. I’m probably just being paranoid.” I snickered lightly. “I even thought someone might be following me outside a minute ago, but there was no one there. I’ve just got the jitters.”
Mila looked at me with concern. “I would say there’s definitely more to your vision than the obvious symbolism. You should let me give you a reading.”
“Thanks, but I really don’t have time now.”
“What about tomorrow morning when I stop at your house to pick up Drishti? Catrina will be watching the shop. How is Drishti, by the way? Is she behaving herself?”
“She’s the perfect houseguest: quiet, clean, and independent. I’m going to miss having her around. But, as for the reading, I don’t think tomorrow will work either. I have to put in another day’s work before I take off for Nebraska on the twenty-fourth. How about if I call you when I get back?”
Catrina put her hands on her hips. “Delving into the astral plane is all well and good, but you need protection now. You should carry an amulet.”
“Catrina’s right,” said Mila. “You should also cast a shielding spell.”
“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”
While Mila and Catrina bustled about gathering supplies and ingredients, I browsed the greeting cards and calendars. Flipping through the pages of a glossy wall calendar, I paused when one of the pictures jumped out at me. It featured a beautiful witch with long flowing silver hair. She was a mature woman, at the “crone” stage of life, but she appeared radiant. She stood in a grassy meadow at sunset, surrounded by fireflies that glowed like fairy lights. Standing next to her was a magnificent white horse.
“What is it?” asked Mila, coming up behind me. “You look moonstruck.”
“This picture,” I said, feeling somewhat dazed. “It features some images from my Solstice vision. And the woman . . . she looks exactly how I imagine my aunt Josephine would look.”
Mila looked at the picture, then touched my arm. “Everything is connected, dear. Perhaps this is a reminder.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. I didn’t know why or how, but I had a strong sense of Josephine’s presence. Even stranger, I had a feeling that she was connected to the other things going on in my life—including the mystery of Edgar Harrison.
* * *
After lunch, I concentrated on work, finishing up several client matters. As my last task of the day, I called an opposing counsel to iron out the terms of a settlement agreement. Once we reached a tentative agreement, I had to wait around for him to get his client’s approval and call me back. I knew my client was anxious, so I didn’t want to leave until I had confirmed the deal was final. At last, the attorney called me back, and we made arrangements to sign the final document after the holidays. I sent a quick message to my client, happy that I was able to negotiate favorable terms for her. On the downside, all of my colleagues had already left for Edgar’s visitation.
I gathered my things and headed over to Willison Funeral Home by myself. Wes would have come with me, but he had to see about his car. On top of that, Jimi had called begging Wes to help him out at the Loose. His regular bartender had come down with the flu, so Wes agreed to fill in.
By the time I arrived at the funeral home, the receiving line was already so long it snaked through three rooms of the Victorian mansion. I made my way through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and murmuring quiet hellos, until I spotted Pammy and Crenshaw.
“Hi, guys,” I said softly. “Have you seen—”
“The line begins over there, near the kitchen,” said Crenshaw.
“Oh. Okay. I wasn’t going to cut.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Pammy gave me an apologetic smile and rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Crenshaw. He’s always cranky when he’s hungry.”
Crenshaw looked affronted. “I’m never cranky. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. “I’ll see you later.”
I continued through the mansion and took my place at the tail end of the line behind an elderly woman with a cane. With a rueful smile, she nodded at me and sighed. “I guess I should have gotten here earlier,” she said. “These old knees of mine don’t appreciate standing for long stretches. I’m not sure if I can make it.”
“Why don’t you go sit on one of the couches?” I suggested, pointing toward the viewing room. “I’ll hold your place and call you up when we get close.”
“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful.”
When the woman left, I moved ahead one step and found myself standing behind Lonnie Treat. He bounced on his heels, surveying the crowd as if he was looking for someone.
“Quite a turnout,” I said.
He looked at me in some surprise. “Yes. Such a tragic loss. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Were you very close?” I asked.
He nodded. “Quite. We were business partners.” He puffed up his chest in an oddly smug manner, until a lanky man walked up and punched Lonnie on the shoulder.
“Well, if it isn’t Lonnie Treat! How’s the mattress business these days, old buddy? Do people really buy new mattresses that often? I’ve probably had mine for twenty years.”
“Then it’s time for you to replace it,” said Lonnie, with a tight smile. He handed the man a business card. “Come and see me tomorrow. I’ll give you a good deal.”
The man clapped him on the arm and headed for the exit. The line inched forward, and I decided to try to make another attempt at conversation. “So, you’re in both mattress sales and real estate?”
“What?” Lonnie looked at me as if I’d sprouted wings.
“You said you were Edgar’s business partner, so I just assumed . . .”
“Oh, right,” he said. “I’ve got many irons in the fire. A real estate project was one of them.” The line moved ahead into the next room, and Lonnie scanned the clusters of people milling about. “There he is,” he said, almost under his breath.
I followed his gaze and spied Tucker Brinkley speaking with Allison. Tucker struck a handsome figure in his black suit and gray shirt. It amazed me how tan he still was for the end of December. He sure must spend a lot of time outside. Once again, I had a hard time picturing him behind a desk.
Lonnie must have read my mind. “There’s our next mayor,” he said.
“You think so?” I said. “The election is still a few months off.”
“He’s the clear frontrunner, now that Edgar’s gone.”
At that moment, Tucker turned and looked directly at Lonnie. Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition, maybe? Then someone passed between us, and when I looked again, Tucker was gone.
A few minutes later, the line picked up the pace and we finally had a view of the flower-shrouded casket. I turned to beckon to the woman with the cane, but she was already on her way up. She took her place between Lonnie and me, and I turned my attention to Edgar’s family.
There was G
retta in her wheelchair, dressed in black and appearing tired but composed. By her side was her elder daughter Diana, the surgeon, standing next to her husband and children. On Gretta’s other side was her younger daughter, Annabelle. I felt a pang of sympathy for them all. When it was my turn to express my condolences, I shook their hands, told them how I was acquainted with Edgar, and offered my deepest sympathies. If they realized I was the one who had found his body under the hotel Christmas tree, they didn’t let on.
From the viewing area, I wandered among the other guests looking for any sign of my colleagues. I wondered if Beverly had made it out as she said she would. In the front parlor, I stood in the doorway and scanned the crowd. On the other side of the room I caught sight of someone else who was also people watching: Tucker Brinkley. He seemed to be studying each face. Eventually, his gaze fell upon me, and his expression brightened. I gave him a pleasant nod and was rewarded with his languid cowboy grin. He ambled toward me, and I met him halfway.
“Miss Keli, if I remember right?”
“Hello, Mr. Brinkley. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know Edgar was a friend of yours.”
He took my hand between his large palms and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He was a friend to many, as evidenced by all the folks who turned out today. But, yes. Ed ’n I, we went way back. I knew him before he became the bigwig he turned out to be.” He chuckled softly.
“Did you go to school together?”
“We did. Edindale High, class of... well, I best not say. You might start looking at me like I’m your granddad or somethin’.”
I smiled. “I doubt that.”
“So, where’s your girlfriend this evening?” he asked, looking around.
“Farrah? She had a sales call upstate this afternoon. She’s probably on her way back to town now.”
“She’s a real sweet girl. You tell her I said that.” Tucker’s eyes twinkled like the charmer he was.
“I will, Mr. Brinkley,” I promised.
“Say,” he said, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “I s’pose I’m obliged to you for helping me become reacquainted with Miss Farrah. She told me you received tickets to Edgar’s ball just last Friday. I believe you were doing legal work in the real estate office?”
Yuletide Homicide Page 12
