Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  I told her, and she looked him up. “That was easy,” she said. “He’s all over social media. Looks pretty normal, actually. Not bad-looking, either.”

  “Well, that settles it,” I said. “If you’re cute, you can’t be bad.”

  “Ha-ha,” said Farrah. “I’m calling the hotel.”

  I went back to my cookie-making, while Farrah made the phone call. Unfortunately, her charm didn’t work this time. The manager insisted it was against hotel policy to give out guest information. He wouldn’t even confirm whether or not Mick had checked out.

  Farrah joined me in the kitchen and washed her hands. “The hotel is probably being more discreet than usual because of the accident. They must be getting a lot of questions.”

  “No doubt,” I said.

  “Have you tried calling him again?”

  I set down my mixing spoon and found my cell phone. I pulled up Mick’s number and made the call. Again, there was no answer.

  “You could send him a message online,” Farrah suggested.

  “Yeah, I don’t really want to do that,” I said, taking up my spoon again. “I have no interest in maintaining any connections with Mick MacIntyre, virtual or otherwise.”

  * * *

  Lying in bed later that night, I tossed, turned, kicked off my covers, and then pulled them back on. I couldn’t relax. It wasn’t that I felt unsafe. I knew my doors and windows were secured, and Farrah was in the guest room. Plus, I had cast a protection spell around the whole house. Still, I couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

  I knew what it was. It was all the unanswered questions nagging at me like so much unfinished business. Why had someone broken into my house and not taken anything? For that matter, they hadn’t left anything, either—no warning notes, no clues. No turquoise beads like I’d come across in other places. What was the point of breaking in?

  I thought about the things that had been disturbed and the things that hadn’t. Statues, lamps, and other items out in the open had been left alone, while anything with contents had been turned upside down. Drawers had been pulled out, boxes emptied, baskets overturned. Even my gym bag and spare purses had been rifled through. It was as if the person had been looking for something.

  I sat up in bed as it hit me. The burglar thought I had something. Something small enough to fit into a purse. Or inside a book. Like something made of paper.

  Perhaps something of Edgar’s? It was no secret I had found Edgar’s body. And several people knew about the paperwork audit I was doing at Edgar’s office. Well, that Crenshaw and I were doing.

  Crenshaw. I needed to warn him. If someone thought we’d found something during our audit, they’d want to search his place as well.

  I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand and found Crenshaw’s number in my list of contacts. He picked up on the first ring.

  “You’re working late, too, Milanni?”

  I squinted at my alarm clock. It was after midnight. If Crenshaw was still on the clock at this late hour, there was no way I was making partner before him.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I need to tell you something. Someone broke into my house tonight.”

  “Good Lord. Were you home? Are you all right?”

  “I wasn’t home. I think it happened while we were at Gigi’s, after the visitation. My neighbors happened to be out at the same time.”

  “So, what was stolen? Did you have any client files at home?”

  “That’s just it. Nothing was stolen. I think the burglar was looking for something.” I explained my theory and cautioned him to be alert.

  “While I appreciate your concern for me,” he said, “I’m not sure I agree with your conclusion.”

  “But it makes perfect sense.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, “I think it’s quite a leap. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but you do tend to have an active imagination.”

  Active imagination? He probably didn’t mean it as an insult, but I couldn’t help taking it that way.

  “Very well,” I said stiffly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chapter 17

  I arrived at the firm extra early on Thursday morning. Farrah had agreed to stick around at my house until Mila came by to pick up Drishti. I wanted to get in a couple hours of work before the office closed early for our annual holiday potluck.

  I managed to make a few phone calls and draft a handful of letters, but then my mind wandered back to Edgar. Was his death related to the blackmail threat? My gut told me it was, but I had no way to prove it. If only I could figure out who Edgar had planned to meet in the hotel reading room.

  Beverly wanted me to let the whole thing go. Crenshaw wanted me to let it go. At this point, even Wes wanted me to drop it—especially after I’d called him this morning and told him about the break-in at my place. But I couldn’t help wondering: Did someone else want me to give it up, too?

  I fingered my new crescent moon necklace, which took a place of prominence above my hidden pentagram, and silently asked the Goddess for guidance. Should I let it go? What more can I even do?

  At that moment, I heard music coming from the lobby. I went out to investigate and found Julie hooking up speakers to her computer.

  “Starting the party early?” I asked.

  “I’m just creating a playlist,” she said. “And I wanted to try out these speakers. I figured most people will be in either Beverly’s lounge or the conference room, since that’s where the food will be. I want to make sure we can hear the music everywhere.”

  “Ah. Good thinking.” I turned to go back to my office, when the music started up again. It was Mariah Carey singing “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” I’d always thought the song had a faintly sad undertone. It made me think of broken hearts and love lost. Of course, that was probably my own slanted interpretation based on how I was feeling at the time. That was worlds away from how I felt now.

  For some reason, Edgar popped into my mind again. If he had really gone to see a lover the night he died, I could only imagine how that woman must be feeling now. I didn’t condone cheating, but I felt sorry for her. She couldn’t exactly be open about the depth of her grief.

  Back in my office, I gazed out the window as another thought rose to the surface. Who was the most likely candidate for the role of “other woman”? The obvious choice was someone Edgar worked with. When Farrah and I were speculating at the Loose, she had immediately thought of Allison. It did make a lot of sense, now that I thought about it. Edgar and Allison certainly worked close together. And all the other women from Edgar’s office had left the ball with Tucker and Farrah. But not Allison. Then there was my impression that she had been upset with Edgar.

  That’s it, I decided. I would just have to go see Allison. I wanted to talk to her and find out what I could learn.

  I grabbed my coat and purse and headed out the door. Then I stopped in my tracks. I needed a pretext for returning to Harrison Properties. I no longer had any involvement in the records audit. And I’d already conveyed my condolences and asked for Bob’s phone number. What other reason could I possibly have for going to see Allison?

  Then I had another idea. I didn’t have to go there specifically to see Allison. I could go to see Zeke. He had been so friendly—he and I were practically best friends. I’d pop in and say hello to him. Maybe I’d even share some of the cookies I’d made for my own office holiday party.

  With my excuse at the ready, I hurried down the block. A short time later, I stood before the front desk at Harrison Properties. I smiled at the receptionist and asked for Zeke.

  “Sorry, Ms. Milanni, but he doesn’t work here anymore.”

  My mouth fell open and I promptly shut it. I guessed he wasn’t kidding about moving on. I just hadn’t expected him to quit right before the holidays. So much for us being buddy-buddy.

  “Is Allison available?” I asked.

  “I’ll check.”

  While the receptionist called Allison, I looked at the pain
tings in the lobby. I couldn’t look at any painting now without thinking of the safe hidden in Edgar’s private office. I had never seen a safe behind a painting in real life.

  Allison entered the lobby. “What can I do for you, Keli?” No hello? No invitation to come in and have coffee?

  Thinking fast, I circled back to my original excuse. “I was wondering if I could speak to you for a minute about Zeke.”

  Two tiny lines formed on Allison’s smooth forehead. “What about him?”

  “Um . . . could I take just a minute of your time? It’s somewhat delicate.”

  Allison checked her watch. “I have five minutes,” she said. Which really meant I could have five minutes.

  I followed her to her office and took a seat in a comfortable wingback chair across from her large, mahogany desk. Who knew executive assistants made out so well? Or could the plush surroundings be indications of Edgar’s fondness for her?

  “Zeke quit yesterday,” said Allison. “He said he didn’t want to work here without Edgar. He felt there would be too much uncertainty. I can’t say that I blame him—though, he had better not count on me to give him any glowing recommendations. It’s unprofessional to quit without providing at least two weeks’ notice.”

  “True,” I said. “That wasn’t very smart of him. Anyway, the thing I wanted to tell you . . . is that Edgar had some concerns about Zeke.”

  “Oh?”

  I chose my words carefully. I wanted to be honest without divulging more than I should. As I well knew, the attorney-client privilege didn’t die with the client. “When Edgar hired us for the audit, he expressed some qualms about going digital—as you mentioned the other day. He seemed to be afraid his records wouldn’t be secure. And he thought that Zeke might have the ability to access information he wasn’t authorized to access.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. So, with Edgar gone, I thought you should be aware. That is, I assumed you would be in charge of the company now?”

  Allison nodded. “That’s correct. At least for now. Gretta will inherit the business. Once the estate is settled, she can decide whether to keep it or sell it. And, if she does keep it, whether to make any changes. As for Zeke, I appreciate you telling me this. This might explain one of the last things Edgar said to me.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Edgar’s last words?

  Allison looked away. “It was at the ball, in the lounge. He was having yet another drink, and I tried to slow him down. He told me to relax, said he was celebrating. And I said, ‘You haven’t won yet. The campaign has barely begun.’ He grinned at me and said that wasn’t it. He said, ‘I’ve figured something out. I figured out who’s been messing with me, and now I can put an end to it.’” Allison looked at me again. “He must have meant Zeke.”

  It took me a moment to find my voice. “Could be,” I said.

  Allison stood up. “Well, thank you for informing me about Zeke. Edgar might or might not have been right to be suspicious. Now that Zeke is gone, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve already changed all the passwords he knew.”

  It was obvious Allison was trying to end our meeting, but I remained seated. “How is the new attorney working out?” I asked. “The other day you mentioned something about things not being in order for much longer.”

  “I just meant the records are in a state of disarray because of the transition from paper to digital. Sometimes you have to make a bigger mess in the process of cleaning one up.”

  I slowly stood up. “If you need any help cleaning out Edgar’s office, or—”

  “That’s kind of you to offer,” said Allison, as she opened the door wide. “But I have it under control. Edgar may have had an old-fashioned filing system, but I was well acquainted with his methods.”

  With that, she guided me out of the office much like she had given Lonnie the heave-ho the week before. I would have been miffed, but I knew I had no right. My time was up.

  * * *

  Back at the office, the mood was festive. Julie had put on her music and my colleagues milled about, evidently done working for the day. I brought out my cookies and arranged them on pretty plates in the private lounge outside Beverly’s office. The lounge was more like a formal sitting room than anything else, complete with a fireplace, sofas, and an elegant wooden liquor cabinet. It was a nice space for small meetings and informal gatherings.

  I was happy to see Beverly back in the office and in good spirits. She poured champagne, then called us all over for a toast.

  “I have good news, everyone,” she said. “Kris, Randall, and I had our year-end partner meeting this morning. I’m pleased to report that we turned another tidy profit. Everyone will receive a nice bonus in their next paycheck.”

  “Here here!” said Pammy. “I already know what I’m going to spend it on.”

  Everyone laughed, applauded, and raised their glasses. Then the noise level rose, as people chatted over the music and loosened up with a few drinks. At one point, Crenshaw decided to sing along with the Christmas carols. When “White Christmas” came on, I swear he thought he was channeling Bing Crosby. He hit every note just right with his rich baritone. I almost wished I could hear him by himself, to get the full effect.

  Just then, the music cut off. Did I do that with my mind? Crenshaw sang another bar on his own before he realized the room had fallen silent and all eyes were on the door.

  Julie stood in the doorway. A police officer stood close behind her. And next to the officer was Detective Rhinehardt.

  “Uh, Beverly?” said Julie.

  “Yes,” said Beverly, stepping forward.

  “These men would like to see you.”

  “What’s this all about?” Beverly demanded.

  Julie moved aside to let the men in. The police officer removed his hat and Detective Rhinehardt flashed his badge. “Sorry to interrupt your party, ma’am. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Questions about the death of Edgar Harrison.”

  Chapter 18

  The color drained from Beverly’s face as she confronted the officer and the detective. Still, she stood tall and kept her voice steady. “Now?” she hissed. “Does it have to be now?”

  “Now would be best,” said Rhinehardt, in his quiet, polite manner. “We could do it here, if you’d like. Or you can come down to the station with us.”

  Randall rushed to Beverly’s side. “She doesn’t have to go with you,” he said.

  Beverly put her hand on Randall’s arm. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t want to break up the party. I’ll be back later.”

  “Beverly, that’s not—”

  “It’s fine,” said Beverly, raising her voice. “Really. I’ll just get my coat and purse.”

  We all watched in stunned disbelief as Beverly retrieved her things from her inner office, then followed the cops out of the lounge. On her way out, I heard her say, “Julie, turn the music back on.” A few seconds later, “White Christmas” resumed where it had left off.

  At first, we all just looked at one another. Then everyone started talking at once. I jumped when someone grabbed my arm.

  “May I have a word?” said Crenshaw sternly.

  I followed him to his office. He closed the door behind us, then turned on me. “Well?” he said.

  “Well, what?”

  “You know what,” he said. “Tell me. Why did the police take Beverly in for questioning? Why would they think she might have any information related to Edgar’s death?”

  “I have no idea. I mean, I did go see the police yesterday. All I said was that they should talk to Edgar’s chauffeur, because he might know who Edgar had planned to meet that night.”

  Ohh. The lightbulb flashed in my mind. I dropped into Crenshaw’s desk chair.

  Tucker was right. Edgar and Beverly were having an affair. That had to be it. I suddenly recalled how rumpled she had looked when I saw her in the hotel lobby after the accident. And
with no coat. Of course. She didn’t come in from outside. She had come down from one of the hotel rooms upstairs. Bob must have known she was the one Edgar had planned to meet up with. That’s why the police wanted to talk with her.

  And it was all my fault.

  I looked up at Crenshaw and winced. Should I tell him?

  No. I had done enough blabbing lately. This was Beverly’s secret. It was not mine to tell.

  I stood up and brushed past Crenshaw.

  “Keli?”

  “Sorry, Crenshaw. There’s something I have to do.”

  Back in my own office, I shut the door and took a deep breath. I did have to do something. The problem was, I didn’t know what to do. I was certain Beverly didn’t have anything to do with Edgar’s death. She might have been in a hotel room waiting for him, but there was no way she had been with him when he fell. I had seen how shocked and heartbroken she was that night when she found out he was dead. If anything, she was a victim here, not a criminal.

  Still, she had withheld information from the police. And if they were to determine that Edgar’s death was not an accident after all, as I kept insisting . . . well, that didn’t exactly bode very well for Beverly.

  I wiped my hands over my face, then paced to the window. Gazing outside, I was almost surprised to see it was dark out. The rising moon’s bright round form hung in the inky sky like a promise of things to come.

  “What should I do?” I whispered to the sky.

  I turned and looked around my small office. I took in my computer and desk, the small round conference table, the locked door. I know what I need. I need guidance from the Goddess. I needed her to speak to me. And the surest way of hearing the voice of the Goddess was to draw her down and let her speak through me.

  But, here? I argued with myself. I had never performed a ritual in my office before. All my colleagues were just yards away, eating and drinking, singing and laughing. And Crenshaw? Who knew where he was now? But he had seen me enter my office. What if he knocked on my door to try to get me to talk to him again?

  That was a chance I would just have to take.