“I don’t know why you bother with the coffee. You basically have sugar water. Yes; I was out grocery shopping and came home to you singing away in the basement. That’s when I kicked you out.”
Bev smiled. “What was I singing? I write songs you know. Some of them are pretty good. I’m going to record them one of these days and make a killing.”
Belinda raised an eyebrow. “Dead guy in the cemetery; remember? You may have already made a killing.” She immediately scraped her dish and washed it and the pan and put them away. “You kept singing “Oh Suzanna” but, yes, you added your own weird lyrics. Something about “both men are cheating on their wife and me, that’s why they call it adultery!”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“What does? Let’s run through your life. Yesterday, you woke up beside a dead guy. You stuffed over three hundred thousand dollars in your clothes and a duffle bag and came to inflict your drama on me.”
Bev frowned and started to say something, but Belinda held up her hand.
“You inflicted your drama on me as evidenced by the huge guy who broke into my home last night. We have to figure out what you’ve done, five and dime, because I’ll need to save up the bus money to commute to the prison.”
“Oh, I’m not going to prison! With this color hair, orange is not going to work.”
“The police may have a different opinion about that; apparently while you were decent enough to kill a guy in a graveyard, thus eliminating the need to transfer said dead guy to a graveyard; they do frown on the murder aspect of it. We’ll start with that cesspool you call your car. Let’s go.”
***
Mr. Sean W. Johnson, Manager of the Shady Rest Motel, was enjoying homemade pakora for breakfast. Grandmother had used the exact right amount of coriander and it was most delicious.
Normally, he had instant oatmeal as he tabulated the receipts and reset the key cards, but today was a special day. Soon he would be in that motel room and do a final check for one hundred-dollar bills, but more importantly, he was going to investigate a murder!
He had written down the name of the murder victim that Jamal foolishly told him late last night. After that fine-looking FBI agent, Miss Hailey Peterson, had hung up the phone, he had run down to the motel room they were investigating and stood outside the door to listen. Cleverly, he had brought a broom and dustpan with him in case they came out and asked what he was doing. Why he would be sweeping the sidewalk at one o’clock in the morning was a mystery he didn’t think about.
He also repeated his eavesdropping manoeuvre just a few moments ago. Sean returned to the office and phoned his grandmother and reviewed the latest information with her.
“Marta, the FBI investigate things like mail fraud and kidnappings. I do not think Miss Beverly Nichols did such things, but she may be involved somehow.”
His Grandmother snorted. “She is far too drunk to do such things. You, my grandson, will continue to investigate. You will claim the reward from the FBI and buy me a computer so I can sell my food on-line.”
Sean could barely stand still. He kept thinking that maybe he should change his last name again. Perhaps Bond would give him luck? Sean licked his fingers as he finished his pakora. He had already phoned the newly appointed Manager-in-training and offered her the opportunity to run the motel for a week. Plus his cousin Baljinder would look in on Marta and make sure she was okay. All he needed to do was check the room for travelling money.
He already had a notebook. He phoned his cousin Parmella and negotiated a deal for a five percent share of the reward money. She would drop off her gun as soon as her babysitter arrived.
Chapter Seven
This did not turn out as she had planned.
Suzanne was handcuffed to a pipe in an abandoned warehouse.
“How cliché,” she said out loud. Normally at this time on a Friday she would be fielding calls and making appointments and running errands for her boss, Vincent Millar. And going for lunch.
It had all started two weeks ago with that little redhead. They met at the pub and decided to enter the karaoke contest. Suzanne didn’t need much encouragement; she loved singing. In fact, she had been trained in classical opera but because that wasn’t paying the rent, she re-trained as a personal assistant.
That paid the rent. She also slept her way to the top. That really helped turn a rent payment into a mortgage payment. Yet here she was, handcuffed to a pipe.
Suzanne looked at the time. Well, maybe she could just run home for a pizza and then back to the warehouse. This time she would change her underwear, because ugh. Of course she would check the news as usual. It’s funny that after two weeks, her kidnapping wasn’t being reported. After all, her boss, Vincent Millar was a very important man.
Damn that redhead. Suzanne had wanted to sing Carly Simon’s part, but Bev stuck her with James Taylor’s part. Mind you, maybe it was a good choice because after they finished their song the applause was deafening! And drinks kept arriving at their table.
Flush with praise, Suzanne had confided in Bev.
“Now, if I could only get one of the two men in my life to buy me a diamond ring! But they’re already married. You know what’s really funny?”
“That guy over there? He’s wearing bell bottoms. And a gold chain around his neck. I think I could vomit.”
“He sent us drinks.”
“Oh, we’re all good then.”
“So Bev….” Suzanne leaned forward. “Wait, can I call you Bev?” Bev nodded so Suzanne continued. “Serafino has conned my boss, Vincent, to take part in a charity scam and they’re making money hand over fist. We’re talking thousands upon thousands of dollars. And what do I get? Bupkes. Nada. Nothing.”
Bev leaned forward across the table. “Suzanne, can I call you Suzanne? This is completely unacceptable. Wait. What do you do again?”
Her singing partner leaned back and put her hands on her hips. “I sleep with both of them!”
“Riiiiight. Anything else?”
“I introduced them to each other. My old wrinkled boss to my handsome Italian. In fact, I was the one that suggested to Serafino that he make up a fake charity and he ran with it.” Suzanne suddenly got very sad. “I was also the one that told Serafino to launder the money through a franchise. He could even go legit, I said, with the love of his life.”
“Well that’s cool.”
“No its not!” sobbed Suzanne. “He’s was living with me and now he’s up in Seattle looking at franchises.” She put her head on the table and cried.
Bev patted her singing partner’s head for awhile then asked, “I think I missed something. Why do you hate Seattle? I live there. It’s wonderful I think.”
Suzanne stopped crying and looked up. “Serafino’s checking out franchises for him and his wife and kids.” She flopped down on the table again and started crying.
Bev waved at their fan club. “Nothing to see here folks, just a fabulous singer overwhelmed with joy at placing first. Back to your regularly imbibed libations!”
Suzanne stopped crying as a thought occurred to her. “So why did you come to Eureka? It’s a long way from Seattle.”
“Well there’s this cute guy Gary who’s being blackmailed by someone named Helen and I wanted to have a talk with her. A serious talk.” Bev attempted to punch her fist into her hand and drunkenly missed. Her follow through was commendable though and she fell off her chair. When she again was upright and seated, she said indignantly, “And Helen’s scamming the guy Gary works for!”
Suzanne was disgusted. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Everybody’s scamming everybody. Where are people’s morals today?”
Despite being three sheets to the wind, Bev immediately came up with a plan.
“Look Suzanna…”
“My name’s Suzanne.”
“What?”
“I don’t have an ‘A’.”
Bev shook her head incredulously. “Well that must make life interesting! Anyhow,
Suzanne, what you need to do is get kidnapped. Get Mr. Moneybags Senior to pay the ransom and then you can follow Mr. Moneybags Junior to Seattle if you want.”
The women hashed out the plan.
“I have a pair of handcuffs in my car,” Bev said as they stumbled outside. “We’ll stick you in an old abandoned warehouse and handcuff you to a pipe to make it legit. I’ll take a photograph of you looking scared and tragic and you can send it to your Boss.”
Suzanne was totally on board.
Bev went to her Tercel and found the handcuffs and keys.
“Now all we need is an abandoned warehouse.”
Suzanne pointed out a building that was all boarded up. “That looks abandoned. Let’s see if we can find a way in.”
The drunk women tugged at a sheet of plywood until it came loose. Both women failed to notice the warning sign advising the building was unstable due to a recent fire.
“Do you think you should smash my face in or something? Blood will sell the look I think.”
Bev handcuffed Suzanne to the pipe and gave her the keys.
“Wait, my Sister lives here. She’s really into make up. I’ll go get some from her and be right back and make you look gruesome. It will be rad. Then I’ll take your picture and it will freak your Boss out! He’ll pay up in a minute!
The drunk redhead turned so swiftly, that she nearly fell over. “See you in fifteen minutes!” she hollered.
Bev never returned or answered her phone. After she broke into Belinda’s place, she went downstairs, saw the glow in the dark set-up and promptly forgot to look for make-up. In fact, Bev forgot about Suzanne, so when Belinda kicked her out; Bev made one pitstop and then drove the entire way back to Seattle without a break. Surprisingly, instead of ten hours it only took her eight hours as Bev figured speed limits shouldn’t apply at night.
Suzanne too decided she should return home. She unlocked her handcuffs and raced back to her condo to charge her phone, and order in some food. She tried not to wash her face and hands, but really, she had to. It would be gross otherwise. When she went back to the warehouse, she would rub dirt all over herself again. She certainly wanted to look the part when she was ‘found’.
Suzanne followed this routine daily. She also checked the local news reports. It had been two weeks already since she had taken a selfie and sent it to Vincent. Did he pay the ransom? Did Bev pick it up? All of Suzanne’s calls to Bev had originally gone straight to voicemail but for some days, the mailbox was full. Should Suzanne just return and pretend she had escaped?
Was anybody looking for her?
***
Jamal loved this new assignment. He and Hailey had hit it off and were now doing real undercover work in more ways than one. Hailey was so easy going until this morning. Jamal was letting her get a lot of experience fingerprinting and reviewing reports and she seemed almost resentful.
She continued sullen through breakfast and as they packed up the SUV for the drive back to Eureka.
In a rare moment of self-reflection, he wondered if he had crossed the line somehow. Jamal knew he was devastatingly handsome and charming and used those facts often to get what he wanted. He also was slightly underhanded as Don Halverson could attest. But Jamal also had to admit that he sometimes missed the finer points of a conversation.
He looked over to the passenger seat of the SUV. Hailey was busy reading reports on her phone.
“How is this going to work when we get back to Eureka? You know, the rules against office romances and all that?”
Hailey was reading the coroner’s report and noted that Serafino Napoleone had rohypnol in his system. The Coroner had added a query; did the subject suffer from chronic insomnia or was he roofied?
“Romance?” she asked distractedly, “Who in the office has a romance?”
The SUV swerved and Hailey looked over at Jamal to see what the issue was. He looked like he was going to bust out crying.
“Us, Hailey, our office romance!”
Hailey cringed internally. “Yeah Jamal, about that…”
***
Mr. Sean W. Johnson was on the road in his rented corvette with a cooler full of pakora, a thermos full of hot tea and the gun from his cousin. He knew he was ahead of the FBI agents by at least two hours. Sean’s Manager-in-training, Margaret, had used the cell phone to inform Sean of the departure time of the agents and to agree that indeed Hailey Peterson was a fine-looking woman. Margaret also agreed that Sean should pursue a relationship with this Hailey once he reached Eureka.
Sean fully intended to.
***
The two women went out to Bev’s car.
“I’ve been broken into!” Bev said with horror.
“How can you tell?” asked Belinda. “Also, welcome to my world.”
“Look at my soup. It’s all over the pavement.” Bev started to pick up all the packages of noodle soup but then stopped. “Great. My taillight’s busted.” She popped the trunk.
“You keep your mail in the trunk of your car?”
“I had to, otherwise my bird would rip it to shreds.”
“Your bird? I hate to tell you this, Bev, but the birdcage is empty, and no bird is in my home. Trust me, I searched. What did you do with your bird?”
Bev stared sorrowfully at the bus stop sign across the road.
“It was tragic,” she said. “I woke up and poor little Angel was hoarse. She used to sing to me every morning and chat up a storm all day. But this particular morning, she croaked out, ‘how’s it hanging’ and then didn’t say a thing for the rest of the day.”
Bev clasped her hands and put them over her heart.
“I thought it was just a bad case of laryngitis, so I phoned the vet and he said to rush her in. Apparently, all the lovebirds in Seattle were being stricken with a virulent form of human flu and the first sign was the hoarseness. I gently put her in the car with me; but on the drive to the vet’s, she croaked out, ‘I love you’ and died. I buried her in a nearby park, with a beautiful view of the cottages at the local mental health place. I sang a little song for her and put her birdcage with her new flamingo toy on top of the grave. Then I decided to take the cage with me as a memento of my little feathered friend.”
Bev sniffed loudly and wiped a non-existent tear from her eye.
Belinda rolled her eyes. “You have no idea what happened to the bird, do you? Tell me again why you took the spare tire out of your car and replaced it with instant noodles?” Belinda asked her sister.
“At the time, it must have been a good idea. Perhaps I thought I’d bring my own food, just in case you didn’t have any?”
“And again, you really don’t know do you?” Belinda reached out a hand to steady her sister. “You’re looking a little shaky. Has this been the longest you’ve been without a drink? Do we have to check you in to the hospital to detox?”
“Been there, done that. No thanks. The next thing you know they take you to a ‘residential setting’ mental health facility to teach you life skills and important crap like that. The cottages were cute though.”
Belinda covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh Bev, you were committed? I didn’t know.”
Bev was flipping through her mail. “Oh I was committed alright. I was committed to getting out of there as fast as I could! I went to all the therapy sessions and learned tons about other people. The blackmail possibilities were endless. Do you know one woman was using her sister’s name instead of her own, so when she packed up in the middle of the night and left, they couldn’t track her?”
“You used my name?”
“Just parts of it. Heah, look at this. It’s a flyer and has the name Suzanne Turcotte written on it. You said I was singing ‘Oh Suzanna’; do you think this is important?”
“Let me see.” Belinda grabbed the flyer and turned it over. “Okay, this is your writing on the front, but someone else’s on the back. Let’s leave this crap for now and go back in the house and I’ll look up info on the computer and maybe
make another pot of coffee.”
“You wouldn’t have something a little stronger?”
Belinda ignored that question but looked back at her sister as they climbed the stairs. “If you fall and crack your head open, do not bleed on my stairs. It takes forever to wash blood off concrete.”
“How do you know?”
“None of your beeswax. Hand me some of those papers and then go and put the coffee on.” Belinda looked around her living room and the thousands of puzzle pieces that lay on the floor. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Could you put paintings up instead and just throw this in the trash?” Bev kicked a little mountain of cardboard. “I mean, these puzzles served a purpose at the time, but now, maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf?”
“Look at you! Using your remaining brain cells like the rest of us. Actually, that might be a good idea. I always wanted a Van Gogh, but I love his poppies more than his sunflowers.”
Bev didn’t notice the water overflowing the measuring cup for the coffee maker. “Vincent!” she said.
“I take it this is a memory? Did somebody named Vincent have something to do with the dead guy?” Belinda asked.
“Snake spit. I can’t remember a thing.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. I put your clothes in the spare bedroom, so you can fill these bags with my broken puzzles. Beverly, what are you doing to my coffee machine?”
Belinda took over making the coffee and gave Bev the empty garbage bags.
Bev began cleaning up in earnest but halfway through she took a small nap on the couch. When she awoke, she found her sister sitting beside her with the laptop open on the table.
“Find out anything?”
“You know the flyer with Suzanne Turcotte written on it? Well she’s the personal assistant to one Vincent Millar; so your memory, although spotty, came up with her bosses name.”
“Yah me,” said Bev queasily. The nap had done nothing to refresh her. “Where did you put my brandy chocolates?”
“No Bev. You said you wanted to sober up.”
“But think about it, Bell, I can’t remember a damn thing, but if I was drunk, I probably could.”
Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery Page 6
