Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “I oversaw the contract once everything had been worked out by the owners of the resort,” the manager said. “The contract was sent to me, and Ms. Clement came in to sign it.”

  “You never saw her partner?”

  The manager shook his head. “I met Ms. Smith when she arrived Thursday. It was a very short hello. Ms. Smith seemed anxious to go somewhere.”

  “Where?” Bell asked.

  “Then I had no idea, but now I suspect she needed to wet her whistle.”

  Bell tilted his head to the side.

  The detective thought the Marsha Smith killed was the same one who co-owned Cropportunity. My stomach swirled. Good old guilt was revving itself up. How could I keep the truth from Bell? There was a mother worrying about what happened to her daughter. She deserved to know the truth. Soon.

  The manager rubbed his temples. “I had to find an employee who could escort her out of the bar and to her room. I’m sure Ms. Clement can help you figure out who that woman is. I don’t know why you believe the woman in the picture is Marsha Smith.”

  “Why would her mother lie?” Bell tapped the folder against his thigh. “She told me her daughter was an owner of Cropportunity.”

  I held my breath, afraid I’d let out a gasp. Why would Lydia pretend that this Marsha was the real Marsha? Unless she didn’t know either. Did Marsha, or Marcia, or whoever I talked to in the hotel room earlier, really have an ex-husband who was after her? Or was she so scared of him, she resorted to stealing people’s identities to escape the man? If the woman I knew as Marsha Smith was an identity thief, why didn’t she kill me when she had the chance? She knew I had taken proof of her other name. Unless she needed someone to take the fall for murdering Morgan and I was her gal.

  Or Marsha wasn’t a murderer. Just because she committed one type of crime, didn’t mean she’d commit another. Should I search for Marsha —the woman I knew as Marsha— or Lydia?

  I wish Bob was here, or I that still had the membership card. The truth was likely on that small, laminated card. I also desperately wanted a look at the photograph. I remembered thinking the woman in the photo resembled the business partners and also Violet. Though all I could see was general facial features because of the huge sunglasses.

  Like the woman in the picture didn’t want to be recognized. The only way to solve the two murders was to find out which Marsha Smith was Marsha Smith, and which was Marcia Smyth—if there actually was the latter.

  As Detective Bell planned on finding Lydia, I decided on looking for “Marsha” where I’d have less of a chance of running into him.

  I knew the first place to look, or at least inquire about her. The bar.

  EIGHTEEN

  I turned and squished myself into the small opening between the doors and the brochure rack. Detective Bell showed a few more guests the picture. All of them politely stated they didn’t know the woman. Once Bell headed toward the convention center, I hurried to the bar. I wanted to speak to Marsha before she spotted Bell and bolted.

  When I entered the bar, my gaze automatically went to the table I had shared with Garrison, Marsha and Morgan yesterday. Did Morgan say something yesterday that resulted in his murder? Who else had been in the bar? Unfortunately the threats had been toward me, and the rudeness directed at Garrison. More reasons to add onto the list of “why Bob would kill Morgan.”

  The female bartender looked at me with a quizzical expression on her face.

  I scanned the rest of the room. I turned to leave but then paused as a thought flitted into my mind. The manager said a female bartender was working Thursday night. When the guy working yesterday wouldn’t switch yesterday, the manager said he’d flip the two bartenders’ schedules for today.

  I hoisted myself onto one of the bar stools.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Diet Coke, please.”

  “We’re only serving lunch for another hour.” She slid a one-sided laminated menu toward me. The afternoon was inching by and early evening approached. The bartender’s name tag read Abby. She tapped a pencil against the ordering pad. “If you’re a vegetarian, we can put together a salad for you. Won’t be anything fancy.”

  Waiting for food gave me a good reason for engaging in chit chat. “Two hamburgers and fries. One of those orders to go, please.”

  She wrote it down then walked back into a small room. She returned in a few minutes. “The cook said it’ll be done in ten minutes.”

  “I want to apologize for a friend of mine.” I twisted the glass around. “I found out yesterday that she made a spectacle of herself in here on Thursday night. Blonde about this tall.” I held my hand out, showing the measurement in the air.

  Abby shook her head and placed her elbows on the counter. “A little is an understatement.”

  “I feel bad that I wasn’t able to come earlier. She’s been doing well with her recovery but putting together this retreat stressed her out. She’s been trying to switch vices.”

  Abby nodded knowingly. “That explains bringing in the grape soda to drink while she ordered the beers.”

  “She brought in her own? The resort doesn’t sell grape soda?”

  “No. We don’t have a big space back here so we carry the usual. I told her she couldn’t bring in her own beverage but she said grape soda is her new crutch. It keeps her from drinking her other vice. The manager was in here and okayed it.”

  “It might have been better if she didn’t order the beers and have them in front of her.”

  A sad smile crossed Abby’s face. “That’s what I told her. I didn’t want to bring her any but the boss said to bring her what she ordered. It was her money. Seemed a waste, but the customer is always right.”

  “Until they create a scene.”

  “Exactly.”

  I swigged the diet soda. “I was wondering if you noticed if she took sips of the beer or maybe something got into her drink.”

  “Are you accusing me of something?” Abby crossed her arms and glared at me.

  The woman had some impressive biceps. “No. I just promised her sponsor I’d report back if any slip-ups occurred. I’m worried she decided to pick up another habit, and there’s been some weird things going on around here.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “You’re talking about the murder?”

  I nodded.

  “So he was bugging her too. Doesn’t surprise me. The guy was a creep. He kept hitting on me even after I told him no numerous times.”

  “How did you get him to stop?” I studied Abby. Could she have killed him to stop the unwanted advances? Stop. Why in the world would she tell me about Morgan’s poor behavior if she killed the guy?

  “I told him he needed to get my boyfriend’s approval to take me out.” She showed me a picture of a well-muscled man in a leather brief and a crisscross halter over his chest. “The guy decided he didn’t like the bar.”

  “How long has your boyfriend been wrestling?”

  “Since middle school. He started on a semi-pro circuit a year ago. Says it gives him something creative to do and relieves stress when the tax season comes around and he’s working on clients’ tax returns.”

  A buzz filled the room.

  “Be right back with your order.”

  I wished we had him around this weekend. Morgan might have called off his blackmailing attempts right from the get-go.

  “Here you go.” Abby placed the hamburger and fries in front of me.

  “About…”

  A bell jingled as someone else entered.

  “Oh yeah, your question. I think she took a drink from all the beers. There were about ten at the table. Though, maybe when her friend went to the bathroom, she chugged down her friend’s beer.”

  “Friend?”

  “A friend joined her after a whi
le. Her name was…” Abby snapped her fingers a few times. “Lydia.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ted grabbed my arm, keeping me from slipping off the bar stool and escaping. Fury jumped in his green eyes. “This is where you’ve been? Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?”

  Steve! I told him ten minutes. I was so focused on gathering information I forgot the time and that Steve said he’d send a search party after me. “I was busy at the moment.”

  “Doing what?” Ted worked his jaw back and forth.

  “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Let’s move to a table where it’s better suited for conversation.” Ted pointed at the plastic basket container holding my food. “I’ll have the same.”

  “Are you okay with this?” Abby eyed Ted with suspicion.

  “It’s all good.” I followed Ted to a corner table in the far end of the room. I plopped into a seat and dismissed hedging around what I’d been doing, or wanted to know. I decided on going with the topic I hoped would put Ted in a better mood.

  “Has Bob been released yet?”

  Some of the anger slipped from Ted’s gaze. “Yes. Bob’s gun hadn’t been fired and there was no residue on Bob’s hand.”

  “No reason to hold him so Detective Bell had to let him go.”

  “Correct.” Ted leaned back in the chair.

  “It took that long to find all that out? Or has Bob been trying to confirm, on his own, the identity of the woman killed yesterday? Apparently, the woman’s mom has made an ID.”

  The anger returned. “And how do you know this?”

  “Because Detective Bell was showing a picture of her to the manager, and some bits of information I heard.”

  Ted rested his hand on my wrist. “Let Bell do his job.”

  “I’m not stopping him. I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t end his investigation by arresting Steve. There was some reason he wanted to speak to him. And no one will tell me.”

  “Steve. Now I forgot to call.” Ted rubbed his forehead and pulled out his phone. “I found her. She was in the bar getting food.” He paused. “We’ll be there in a few.”

  “I’m fine.” I leaned over and shouted toward the cell.

  Ted placed the phone on the table then covered both of my hands with his. “Sweetheart, I know you mean well but this is something best left to the professionals.”

  “Because I’m a woman and can’t take care of myself?”

  “No. It’s because you’re not trained. It’s that simple, Faith. No chauvinistic reasons. It’s not meant as an insult.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll get training.” I tipped my head back and stared down my nose at him.

  Ted’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You’ll what?”

  Actually, it was a brilliant idea. Probably the best I had all day. “I learned combat-training skills in the military. It’s been awhile, so I’ll take some self-defense classes and brush up on them. And, I’ll do some reading up on West Virginia law. Become more familiar with it.”

  I liked my plan the more I talked about it.

  Ted, on the other hand, looked a little green. He propped an elbow on the table and dropped his head into his hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it’s a smart thing to do.”

  “You are not going to continue to investigate crimes. That’s the police’s job.”

  “Is that what you told Bob when he became a private investigator?”

  “No.” Ted groaned and smacked himself in the forehead. “Please don’t. The town of Eden does not need a private investigator.”

  I hadn’t planned on a career change. Then again, I didn’t want my past dragged out whenever I had a case. It would complicate things too much. It was time I faced the fact that the truth would get out one day and it was better coming from me. I was so not looking forward to explaining this all to my grandmothers.

  “The way to solve this case is figuring out how many people are pretending to be someone else, why, and if Morgan was using it against them like he did me,” I said. “I have two people on my list: Marsha and Violet.”

  “You’re certain that you saw this Violet arguing with Morgan.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s her and then there’s the fact she had pictures of me, Steve, where we lived, and worked in her tote. I need to know why she had those pictures. Did she take those photos herself or did she swipe them from Morgan?”

  “Last night you never explained how you came across those.”

  “Probably because none of you would’ve wanted to know, or about the potential evidence that was contaminated in Marsha’s room.”

  Ted groaned and dropped his head onto the table. It hit with a resounding thunk. “Put me out of my misery and spill it.”

  So I did.

  NINETEEN

  “You go straight to Scrap This.” Ted jabbed a finger toward me.

  “But—”

  “Do not pass go. Do not collect the $200. Go to the store. Sell scrapbook supplies. Spend time with your man. If you do anything else, I’ll let you explain this situation to Bell.”

  Since I’d rather let Ted, I nodded.

  “I want more than a head shake.”

  “Fine. I promise I will go to Scrap This and wait there for instructions.”

  Ted charged out of the room. I waited a few minutes then stood to leave. If Ted ran into Bell, I wanted him to have time to find a private place to speak to the detective. Less chance I’d be dragged into it. Right now, I needed to tell Bob about my suspicions and take a look at the membership card. Abby stopped me before I walked out of the bar without Steve’s late lunch, and was kind enough to bring a to-go container for mine.

  Taking care not to come in eye contact of Ted or Detective Bell, I jogged through the hotel foyer and the hallway. I couldn’t hold back the shiver as I hurried through the dark, cavernous passageway. The walls seemed to shrink with each step. Yesterday, Morgan pushed me against the wall. Today, the man was in a morgue. I shuddered. I didn’t think one action led to the other, but the randomness of death spooked me. Here one day, gone the next.

  I walked faster. I wanted out of the hallway. I ran the last few paces and shoved open the door. Relief eased the tension in my muscles when I stepped into the conference area foyer. The doors to the cropping area were braced open.

  I slowed down and stepped into the crop area. I inventoried the room, noting Lydia or Marsha weren’t in the room. No surprise. My mind grabbed onto the thought and poked, prodded and marinated on it. Marsha and Lydia spent less time in the crop room than I had… and that was a major accomplishment.

  Why?

  I knew why Marsha played hide-and-seek during the weekend. She was sleeping off the effects of a nighttime cold remedy, or if I believed her story, running to the other Marsha’s house to feed a cat. With Lydia, I had no idea. Either she was hiding out from the manager because of the account issue I overhead, or something else. It was the something else I got hung up on.

  Marsha had started falling apart once the retreat started and had trouble managing the tasks given her. Did that raise alarms for Lydia?

  The scavenger game Marsha had announced was a bust as she hadn’t been around much to conduct it. And Lydia never tried. What if Lydia found out about the identity thief, and was trying to protect the attendees by not playing the game?

  If Marsha hadn’t needed help to move me from the stairwell, would something worse than a headache have happened to me? I shut the thought down quick. Keep with the facts. Stay focused on the goal—finding out if who I knew as Marsha Smith was a fake.

  Lydia knew Marsha had a drinking problem. It didn’t sound like a piece of information a person announced to a new business partner. Unless, Marsha lied about drinking and she herself
was taking the nighttime cold relief to duplicate the effects of drinking. Not so much to put herself out of commission, but give her the appearance of being drunk so she had an excuse for not being around—and an alibi.

  Amanda and her friends were scrapbooking away. Violet wasn’t there but I couldn’t see if her spot had been cleared. I headed toward the store, passing near but not right by Violet’s table just in case she had been leaning over. No Violet. Her totes and spinning carousel were still there. That was good, or maybe not.

  Either she didn’t know I was on to her lying about her name, or else she had one more item left to do before her job was complete now that Morgan was dead—like framing me for the murder.

  I paused. Over in Scrap This, Detective Bell and Steve were in an intense conversation. They must have felt eyes on them because the men turned and stared at me. Hard. Where was Ted? Had he spoken to Bell already and those angry stares were from my having potentially messed up the investigation?

  I detoured over to my cropping friends. I plopped down into the vacant seat, placing the food in front of me on the cropping table. “So what’s everyone working on today?”

  From the scraps scattered around Gussie’s work space, I’d guess she was working on my grandmothers’ friendship book. There were photo cast offs of our front yards, and a horrible picture of me at the age of four with chocolate cake smeared across my face.

  Darlene grinned at me. “Gussie had a better picture of that moment. That one’s a little blurry.”

  “Cheryl made that cake for you,” Gussie said. “It was the first thing she ever baked in her life and she was so excited at how much you loved it. You almost devoured it all by yourself.”

  Smiling, I placed the extra picture in my pocket. “I hope you don’t mind I’m taking the double.”

  “Makes my heart happy.” Gussie squeezed my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help with the album.”

  “You’ve been worried about Steve, and needed to help Bob find that woman.”