The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3)

by R. Lanier Clemons

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “The dude’s out already? Remind me to contact you if I get in trouble with the law.”

  Pleased that the agent with the most experience had paid her a compliment, Jonelle continued on with her report with more confidence than she started with. “I’ve given the full name of the murdered woman to the detective assigned to the case. Thelonius Burton is his name.” Jonelle didn’t look at Marvin when she mentioned Burt. She knew her uncle probably had a grin on his face. In the past he’d ribbed her with his opinion that the detective was, as he put it, sweet on Mrs. Sweet.

  She cleared her throat. “Luther gave me some more information, but I want to verify that before I tell the police. Sometimes he tends to stretch the truth a bit.”

  “I’ll bet,” Omar said. “So how exactly are you going to help him?”

  “Try and make sure the cops don’t railroad him for something he didn’t do. He’s more comfortable with me than with strangers. I’m hoping that whatever I find out about his relationship with the murdered woman will exonerate him and prove he had nothing to do with her death.”

  “Good luck with that,” Omar murmured.

  “Sounds like he trusts you,” Marvin said. “That’s a good thing. But don’t forget to keep the police informed every step of the way.” He leaned forward. “We don’t need you withholding anything because you think you can handle it yourself. That won’t look good for the agency. Understand?”

  Even though her uncle’s comments referred to the agency’s reputation, she also knew his concern ran much deeper. Two years ago she was shot and wounded. Another attempt on her life was made last year. “I understand.”

  “Anyone have anything else?” Marvin asked, looking at each one of his employees. “Well, I do. Starting this month, I’m putting practicing at the shooting range on the honor system. Give Rainey the dates you go and she’ll note the calendar. But if you guys let me down and I’m forced to require proof, I’ll do that too.” He looked at each one in turn. His eyes lingered on Omar longer. Omar squirmed in his seat, unable to meet Marvin’s gaze.

  No one spoke. Everyone knew of Omar’s dislike of weapons.

  After a few moments when no one said a word, Marvin dismissed the group and they all filed out of the conference room. Ben grabbed two donuts on his way out. Jonelle stared open-mouthed. “What about the diet?”

  “Screw it,” Ben said, cramming his mouth full of raspberry-filled sugar and fat.

  Jonelle shook her head and followed Rainey to the reception area.

  “So, what’s the history with Omar and guns? Once you know how to handle them, they’re no big deal.”

  Rainey put her finger to her lips. “Shh. I don’t want anyone else to hear.” She motioned for Jonelle to come closer and peered down the hall. She waited until the other agents had entered their respective offices. “About six months before Marvin hired you, Omar got mugged and was pistol whipped with his own weapon. Witnesses said once he pulled it out of the holster, he just froze. Couldn’t move. From then on we knew that Omar would rather deal with white collar and computer crimes. Marvin’s been real good at throwing all those cases his way, but we haven’t been getting too many of them lately. It’s fortunate that the bank case came in when it did, or we’d have to give Omar a surveillance job.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Jonelle said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “If he doesn’t like something, Marvin accommodates him. Me? I just have to deal with the leftovers.” Jonelle’s words hung like thick molasses in the air.

  “Feel better now?” Rainey asked, sitting down at her desk.

  Jonelle looked at the notepad still gripped in her hand. She shifted from one foot to the other. “Actually, I feel like a toad. Sorry about the pity party.” Jonelle smiled at Rainey and turned to make her way back to her office.

  “Hold it a sec,” Rainey said. “Promise to keep to yourself what I’m about to tell you.”

  Jonelle nodded.

  The words came out of Rainey in a rush. “We’ve always gotten lots of employment applications and have had to turn down some really good people. You and Ben, because you’re both weapon savvy, are more valuable to the agency. Omar is becoming a little too specialized; we’re too small for that. Marvin hasn’t said much, but his insistence on everyone going to the shooting range is the first step. He wants all his investigators skilled enough to handle whatever projects come in. Or, he may have to make some hard choices.”

  For a moment Jonelle felt faint stirrings of hope that if Omar left it would move her up in the ranks. The fear shown on his face when Marvin told him to find his weapon had pleased her more than she wanted to admit. Now she felt uneasy for having those thoughts.

  “I’ll wait a couple weeks,” she said, with a sigh. “If Omar doesn’t mention going to the shooting range, I’ll invite him to come with me.”

  “Atta girl,” Rainey said, patting Jonelle on the arm.

  If she thought about her situation she’d get bummed again so she changed the subject. “Since we’re not getting paid for me handling Luther’s case, how often do you want me to provide updates?”

  “The format’s not as strict as that with our paying clients. Let me know what’s going on from time to time so I can add it to the report.”

  “Will do.”

  Jonelle ambled down the hall to her office. Once inside she noticed the message light blinking on the landline phone. She picked up the handset and punched in her code. One message was from Burt. He said he’d just learned more information about the victim. Before calling him back, Jonelle listened to the second message. It was from someone named Sophia Quinley Reyes. She wanted to find out as much as possible about her sister, Susanna.

  CHAPTER 8

  The sun streamed through the window in Jonelle’s office, the rays jumping off the silver-framed photos of her late husband that adorned the right side of her desk. After she’d gotten the call from the murdered woman’s sister, she tried doing paperwork but couldn’t concentrate. The glazed donut and coffee from that morning’s meeting rumbled inside her stomach. She reached inside her top desk drawer, removed two antacid tablets and popped them in her mouth. Was the stomach upset a result of the caffeine and sugar, or was she nervous about meeting the dead woman’s sister?

  “Most likely both,” Jonelle murmured to herself.

  She got up and walked over to the window. She gazed out at the buildings surrounded by the few trees the city had decided to leave in place, their leaves just starting to change colors. Excited Susanna’s sister was on her way to talk to her, Jonelle speculated about what the woman could possibly want. Deciding she was getting nowhere staring out the window, Jonelle left her office and went to the break room to make sure they had fresh coffee.

  On her way back, Jonelle heard voices coming from the reception area. She went to see who Rainey was talking to.

  “Oh, there she is,” Rainey said. “I was just getting ready to call you, Jonelle. This is Mrs. Reyes. Mrs. Reyes, this is Ms. Sweet.”

  Jonelle smiled and took the offered hand. The grip, soft and weak, belied the overall professional look of the woman standing before her. The tall woman with blond, wavy, chin-length hair was dressed in clothes that looked as if they would cost Jonelle a week’s salary.

  The pearl gray slacks and pale pink sweater screamed cashmere. The cultured pearls with a large oval diamond around the neck and the diamond stud earrings indicated the woman didn’t need to head for the sales racks. A few items detracted from Mrs. Reyes’ overall appearance. For all the obvious display of wealth, the hands held no rings. Unpolished fingernails were bitten down to the quick and a makeup line separated the edge of Mrs. Reyes’ jaw from her neck, resulting in a disconcerting two-tone appearance. Dirt, or something close to it, stained the pocket of her pants. A heavy hand with the perfume bottle encased the woman in a cloud of cloying scent.

  “My office is down here,” Jonelle said, her arm indicating the way. Mrs. Reyes stepped in front of her.
As they moved away from the receptionist’s desk, Jonelle glanced over at Rainey who cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow. She fanned the air with a sheet of paper before turning back to her computer.

  “Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Reyes?” Jonelle asked, as they walked down the hall. “We have coffee, soda and water.”

  “Nothing, thank you. And please call me Sophia.”

  The door to Jonelle’s office was already open. She motioned for Sophia to sit across from her desk. “And I’m Jonelle,” she said sitting down. “First, let me say, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Sophia nodded. Through thick, black mascara, the blue eyes were dry and clear. Jonelle’s nose itched. She stole a glance at her spider plant sitting on the edge of the desk, close to Mrs. Reyes, and hoped the woman’s fragrance wouldn’t cause it to wilt.

  Sophia’s eyes flitted around the office. Jonelle waited for her to finish taking in the surroundings.

  “I have to admit, Sophia, that I was surprised to hear you wanted to see me,” Jonelle said, after the woman’s eyes settled once again on her. “Any information you need about your sister’s death really should come from the police. Even though the investigation has just started, they know more than I do.”

  Sophia reached down and opened her bag. She took out a section of newspaper and placed it on the desk. “It says in here that some bum found Susanna. The police told me that you know who that bum is and you’re trying to help him.” She stabbed a ragged finger on the paper. “I want to know what that bum knows about my sister.”

  Jonelle touched her gold necklace. She took the paper and turned it around to face her. After a quick glance at the article, she looked up and spoke in a measured voice.

  “First off, Mrs. Reyes, I don’t see anywhere in this article where the word ‘bum’ is used. It does say homeless. It’s because of him that the police were able to identify your sister as quickly as they did. Also, Luther had nothing to do with Susanna living on the street in the first place. That was her choice.” Jonelle leaned back in her chair. “So, if the reason for your being here was to voice an opinion about people less fortunate than you, well, congratulations, you’ve done that.” Jonelle rose. “I’ll see you out.”

  Traffic noise from the street below filtered through the window. Somewhere down the hall someone laughed. Jonelle stood next to her desk and waited.

  Sophia put the paper back in her tote bag. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up at Jonelle. “Please,” she said. “I’d like to start over. I need your help in finding out about my sister.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Jonelle sat. “What kind of help are you talking about?” So far, Jonelle wasn’t sure she liked this woman but decided to at least hear what she wanted.

  Sophia glanced at a silver-framed picture on Jonelle’s desk. “Husband?”

  “Deceased,” Jonelle responded. She didn’t feel like telling this woman anything about herself and glanced pointedly at her watch.

  Sophia inhaled deeply. “I’d like to hire you to find out how Susanna ended up, uh, living on the street and everything that bum, uh, homeless person, knows about her the entire time she was down here.”

  Jonelle didn’t think she heard right. “Hire me? You sure you want to do that?”

  Sophia reached down for her bag and placed it on her lap. She searched inside and brought out a small, brown envelope which she slid across the desk. “There are a few pictures of Susanna inside. The last one was taken about two years ago. I also included the most recent piece of correspondence I got from her, which was a birthday card she sent this summer. I kept the envelope. There’s no return address, but it’s postmarked Baltimore, Maryland.”

  Jonelle opened the clasp and removed the items. The top picture showed two young girls together, possibly in their teen years, smiling broadly for the camera, their arms around each other’s waist. Jonelle looked from the picture to Sophia and back to the picture. “You’re twins?” she asked. Jonelle had never seen Susanna’s body.

  “Susanna was the oldest by eight minutes.”

  “Well, well,” Jonelle said. She thought it interesting that Burt didn’t mention Susanna was a twin when he left the voicemail. Wait until she saw him the next time. Jonelle studied the other pictures, trying to see if she could detect a difference between the sisters. “Mind if I keep these two?” Jonelle selected a recent one of the sisters together and another of Susanna standing under some cherry blossoms near the Lincoln Memorial. Cherry blossoms. That meant Susanna had visited the area before.

  “Was Susanna from this area?”

  “No,” Sophia replied. “Born and raised on the Upper Peninsula in Michigan.” She looked at the photos in Jonelle’s hand. “I’d like the pictures back when you’re finished with the investigation.”

  “Tell me, were there any differences in your appearance that would tip people off as to who was who?”

  Sophia looked up at the ceiling. “Hmm. I’m trying to remember how it was when we were growing up. It’s easier now because I wear my hair short and the last time I saw Suze her hair was down to her shoulders. She also dresses a bit, uh, flamboyantly. If you know what I mean.”

  “Not really,” Jonelle said. Never one for making a fashion statement, Jonelle needed more of an explanation. If Susanna dressed like Jonelle’s friend Adrienne, the woman would stick out like diamonds in a plastics factory.

  “She liked wearing loose-fitting, blousy-type clothes. You know, kind of ‘Annie Hall’. I know that’s old school, but you get my meaning,” Sophia said.

  Jonelle wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I’d call ‘flamboyant,’ but I understand you guys had different tastes in fashion.”

  “I suppose if you saw us side by side, I’d be a bit shorter and Suze would be a tad thinner.” Sophia’s face flushed. “That’s what would be visible anyway.”

  Jonelle honed in on that last remark. “What about what someone couldn’t see right off? Any scars, moles—anything that would distinguish the two of you?”

  The phone ringing on the desk startled them both. Jonelle glanced over at the caller ID display. It was Burt. He’d have to wait.

  “It can go to voicemail,” Jonelle said. “About those hidden from view identifiers. You were saying?”

  Sophia sighed and busied herself with putting the remaining pictures and envelope back in her purse.

  While she waited for a response, Jonelle studied the woman some more. Her smooth forehead, shining under the office lights, indicated a stress free life. However, a slight eyebrow twitch made Jonelle wonder.

  “This is embarrassing,” Sophia said, “but I guess they already found out when they did her autopsy.”

  “Found out what?”

  Sophia sighed. “For our eighteenth birthday we decided we were going to stop being good mid-western teenagers and live more dangerously.” She averted her eyes. “So, we got tattoos.”

  Jonelle laughed. “Is that all? Shoot, grandmas are getting tats nowadays. What did you guys get?”

  Sophia hugged her bag close to her chest. “I almost chickened out, but I finally agreed to a tiny, red rose. I have it on the back of my right shoulder. Susanna was always more daring than me. She decided to go all out and got a smiling red fox tattooed on her right hip.”

  Jonelle pursed her lips tight to hold in the laugher. She didn’t want to further embarrass the woman sitting before her and now glowing a bright red.

  “Okay, I’ll take your case. Just so we understand each other, if at any time the police tell me to back off, I’ll have no choice but to do so since it’s an open murder investigation.”

  Sophia sat back in her chair. “Thanks. Will you, uh, be talking to that homeless guy.”

  “Probably.” No need for her to know she’d already contacted Luther.

  After quoting the agency’s rates and required down payment, Jonelle turned to her computer and pulled up a client form. “Is Susanna Quinley her full name?”

  “Now i
t is. She was married before but it was so short and filled with grief for her that she went to court and got her name legally changed back to Quinley. Her rat-bastard of a husband’s name is Barrington Kelly. Barrington, can you believe it? Who names their kid, Barrington? We always called him plain old Barry. The prick.”

  Jonelle swiveled toward the woman, eyebrows raised. The voice and demeanor had changed. Up until this point Sophia had maintained such tight control. Curious. Jonelle turned back to the computer screen and continued typing.

  Sophia cleared her throat. “Sorry. It’s just that he was so mean to her.”

  “Mean in what way?”

  She hesitated briefly before continuing. “Suze didn’t go into a lot of detail. What I do know for sure is that the police were called to their home on several occasions.”

  Jonelle sat back in her chair and thought about that for a moment. It could explain Susanna’s leaving, but not how she ended up without means of taking care of herself. Jonelle typed a note on the form to check police reports for possible domestic violence.

  “Do you know where Barrington, uh, Barry, lives now?”

  “I don’t know exactly where he lives, but last I heard he was in private practice, working as a psychologist somewhere in DC.” She snorted. “Lord help his clients.”

  “Great. I’ll check with the American Psychological Association. See if they know where he practices. That’ll help me locate him.”

  “Do they give that information out? Phone numbers and such?”

  “Depends,” Jonelle said. “What’s his specialty? I’ll tell them I’m looking for a referral.”

  Sophia giggled.

  “Problem?”

  “Well, last I heard he dealt with men’s issues. You know, stuff like … uh … erectile dysfunction.”

  “Oh.” After two beats both women burst out laughing.

  “Thought they had pills for that,” Jonelle gasped, still trying to control her giggles.

  “Guess he gets his clients when the pills stop working,” Sophia said.