The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3)

by R. Lanier Clemons

  “And they did all this together?” Jonelle asked.

  “At first. See that’s another weird thing. In elementary school, they were thick as thieves, did everything together. Once they got to high school things changed. Instead of harassing everybody else, sometimes they directed their anger at each other.” Michelle shuddered. “I stopped hanging with them altogether by then. They were starting to creep me out. Big time.”

  Jonelle didn’t know what to think. She was getting an entirely different picture of the woman from the one Luther said he knew. “In what way?”

  “I remember the first school dance we went to. It was sophomore year and most of us went with friends since we didn’t have dates. Anyway, by that time Sophia and Susanna hung out with different people. Sophia ran around with a faster crowd, while Susanna was in the popular group. You know, cheerleaders, pep club, that clique.”

  Never a member of either group, nevertheless, Jonelle smiled in agreement.

  “Everybody was dancing, having a good time. All of a sudden, there’s all this yelling and things crashing and banging on the floor. We rush over and there they are, punching and pulling each other’s hair. Most of the kids were taunting them, egging the fight on. That kind of thing. The rest of us were stunned.”

  Jonelle felt pretty shocked as well. “What happened next?”

  “The chaperones broke it up. From that point on though, I kept hearing how much the sisters really didn’t like each other.” Michelle stood, pillow still hugged against her chest.

  “Do you know what they were fighting about?” Jonelle asked.

  Michelle avoided Jonelle’s eyes as she slowly shook her head.

  “You sure? I mean, I know how kids talk. What did you hear?”

  The look on her host’s face told Jonelle the woman was struggling with how much more to reveal. Michelle’s nails picked at the fabric of the pillow. “This is just rumor.”

  “I understand,” Jonelle said, hoping her tone would encourage the woman to keep talking.

  “See, Susanna, being a cheerleader, was dating a really cute guy on the JV basketball team.” Michelle giggled nervously. “God, I sound like I’m still in high school.” She paused and her eyes took on a dreamy look. “Several of the kids said Sophia went around telling everyone that she and Joshua had sex. Josh claimed he thought he was uh, being intimate with Susanna. Susanna confronted Sophia and well … that’s how it started.”

  Jonelle frowned. Something wasn’t right. “I thought you said they didn’t dress alike. Seems like people could tell who was who.”

  Michelle smiled slyly. “Except they were really good at mimicking each other’s mannerisms.”

  The tiredness Jonelle felt earlier had almost evaporated. She needed to hurry up to the room and her laptop to make notes. She didn’t want to forget anything Michelle had said, especially since she had every intention of confronting Sophia about the stories when she returned to Maryland.

  “Well, guess I better go,” Jonelle said, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. “The guy Josh. That’s your husband’s name, right? Coincidence?”

  Michelle blushed. “Same guy. He’s changed a lot since then.”

  Jonelle wondered about that. “Anything else you remember about that night?”

  “Not really. Except the one thing that has always bothered me about that fight at the dance was what Sophia said at the time.” Michelle picked up the tray. She smiled sadly at Jonelle. “The last thing I heard Sophia scream at Susanna that night was that she was tired of being a double and that no matter how long it took, people were gonna look at her and see only her.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Even after learning the disturbing information about the Quinley twins, Jonelle fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. She woke refreshed the next day, surprised she’d slept so well. Strange beds usually meant sleepless nights.

  After a quick shower, she walked downstairs and into the antique-laden dining room. While the initial effect of all that dark wood evoked warmth and coziness, Jonelle felt that if she stayed at the B and B more than a few days, she’d need more space to breathe. Michelle walked through the door from the kitchen and greeted Jonelle. If last night’s conversation bothered her, she gave no indication of it.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked with a smile.

  “Absolutely,” Jonelle responded. “The mattress was the right firmness and I was sound asleep as soon as I turned off the lights.” The sweet smell of maple syrup filled the air. “Boy does that smell good.”

  “Hope you enjoy it.” Michelle placed the covered dish and caddy with syrup close to Jonelle. A glass of orange juice and carafe of coffee were already on the table. Jonelle removed the plate’s silver dome. Underneath were a few triangles of French toast, two squares of Belgian waffles and three sausage links. With all that food staring at her, Jonelle wondered if her host had noted her size and cooked accordingly.

  “I like to make sure all my guests get a hearty meal each morning,” Michelle said, as if reading Jonelle’s mind.

  Michelle lingered at the table while Jonelle poured coffee and drizzled syrup on the toast and waffles. After taking a few sips of juice, she invited Michelle to sit down next to her.

  “I probably shouldn’t, but …”

  “Please. I like company when I eat.” Jonelle really didn’t care for conversation at breakfast, but if that produced more information about Susanna, she’d suck it up.

  Michelle’s fingers smoothed out non-existent creases in the tablecloth. Jonelle decided to help her hostess get started. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet your husband,” she said.

  The worry lines that crept across Michelle’s forehand disappeared. “Oh, that’s no problem. Poor guy’s keeping late hours this time of year with all the early tourists getting a head start on the fall colors and the hunters stocking up on equipment. We own a combination gun shop and hardware store on the edge of town,” she said in answer to Jonelle’s raised eyebrows.

  Jonelle swallowed a few bites of toast, drank more coffee and waited for Michelle to continue. When she didn’t, Jonelle gave a little push. “I don’t know if I mentioned this yesterday, but whatever you tell me in the course of my investigation is kept in the strictest confidence.”

  Michelle nodded.

  “When I see Norman Finkleberg this morning, I’ll ask him to tell me everything he knows about Susanna Quinley and what happened when she worked for him. I won’t tell him about our conversation, but I may ask him if he knows anything about Susanna and Sophia’s early days here.” Jonelle didn’t want to belabor the point. If Michelle was going to say anything else, she’d just have to wait the woman out.

  Michelle sighed. “I’m not a bad gossip. But you’re real easy to talk to and I guess, well, things just spilled out.” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time since Sophia left the area. As soon as she did, Susanna seemed to really get her life together. Went to Lake Superior State University, got a good job, married a local guy … well that didn’t end so good. They were barely married two years before they got divorced. Darn! There I go again.” Her face flushed a deep crimson.

  Jonelle waved her hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. Sophia told me a little about Susanna’s ex-husband. Apparently he’s a psychologist and lives somewhere in my area.” No need to tell Michelle about Susanna’s most recent lifestyle.

  Michelle sat upright in her chair. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Psychologist? Barry is a psychologist? How on earth did that sleazebag …” She stopped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. Slipped out.”

  “I haven’t met him yet,” Jonelle said. “When I get back to the office, the first item on my agenda is to try and track him down. Unless of course, you happen to know how to reach him?” Jonelle had a feeling that would be too easy and she wasn’t disappointed.

  “God, no,” Michelle said. “Good riddance is what I say. Very few people missed him when he left. A psychologist, huh? Well who’d
a thunk it!”

  Jonelle filed away the response to Susanna’s ex. She made a mental note to ask Finkleberg about the husband. “Tell me,” Jonelle said, “do you think Susanna’s leaving had anything to do with why Sophia moved away?”

  “No. In spite of her weird personality glitches, Sophia was really very smart. They both were. Sophia got a full scholarship to Michigan State and I heard she married some rich guy and became a troll.”

  “Huh? A what?” Jonelle sat back in her chair and stared at her host.

  Michelle smiled. “That’s what we Yoopers—those of us who live on the UP—call people who live below the Mackinac Bridge. Think I heard somewhere that she moved to Traverse City.”

  Yoopers and trolls. Jeeze. Jonelle wanted to hear more about those “personality glitches” but stopped when she heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by the Wickham’s appearance in the dining room. After absorbing their identical blue slacks, red, blue and green checked shirts and brown loafers, Jonelle finished her breakfast and bade everyone goodbye. “Sorry to rush off, but I have a meeting soon and I need to gather my stuff. Thanks for a wonderful breakfast, Michelle.” The two grinned at each other the way friends do when they share a secret.

  A quick trip off the main drag and two streets and twenty minutes later, Jonelle found herself in front of the county government office. Norman Finkleberg’s directions were spot on. It seemed as if everything in this town was either ten or twenty minutes away. Jonelle waited for a few moments to gather her thoughts as to what information she needed from him.

  As she stared out the window of the rental at the building’s plain gray façade, Jonelle imagined a minimum security prison, minus the razor wire. Coincidence? Maybe.

  Bright sunshine filtered through the gold and crimson leaves on the large oak trees standing on either side of the concrete walkway. She parked the car in the lot at the side of the building and walked up to the entrance. In between the two sets of doors, a suite directory highlighted names and room numbers. Even though he’d given her his location, Jonelle examined the list to make sure.

  Next to the entrance, a sign ordered, “Check In Here.” Only one person stood ahead of Jonelle at the information desk, an elderly woman paying for a dog license. “It expired. That’s why I had to come all this way,” she complained, answering a question Jonelle hadn’t asked.

  The young man behind the desk couldn’t have looked more bored than if he had been wearing a large sign with the word printed in big, bold letters.

  “Good morning. I have an appointment to see Norman Finkleberg.”

  “Name?” he asked barely looking at her.

  “I just told you,” Jonelle replied, trying hard not to smile.

  He stared open-mouthed at her.

  “Oh. You mean my name? That right?” She waited a bit to make sure the man’s mouth closed before she added, “My name is Jonelle Sweet and I have a ten o’clock meeting. Please tell Mr. Finkleberg I’m here”—she looked at the brown nameplate on the counter—“Herman.”

  Herman pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose, grabbed his phone and announced Jonelle’s name to whoever was on the other end. Hand still on the receiver, he cocked his head over at several rows of black plastic chairs. “He’ll be right out.”

  Fighting the impulse to congratulate Herman on saying a complete sentence, Jonelle wandered over to a chair opposite the desk. Ten minutes later a frazzled-looking, balding man rushed out from a door behind the clerk. “Where …,” he began. Herman pointed his pen at Jonelle and she stood, arm outstretched.

  “Mr. Finkleberg? I’m Jonelle Sweet.”

  His eyes opened in surprise as he looked her up and down. She could tell he was taking in her dark skin and height. He straightened his already straight tie and shook her hand. Gray eyes met her gaze, and then just as quickly looked away. “Yes. Of course. Please follow me.”

  Uh-oh, Jonelle thought. Guess I should’ve sent a picture.

  Jonelle expected to see a large open room with many desks and instead she found herself in a long hallway. She passed a door on the right with “Treasurer” stenciled on the opaque glass. That reminded her to ask if she could question Susanna’s replacement. A quick left turn and facing her was another glass and wooden door with, “County Commissioner” stenciled in black. They entered and walked through one more reception area where he opened another door that led to his inner office.

  “Please have a seat,” Finkleberg said, going around the large wooden desk and indicating a maroon leather chair across from him.

  A scent in the air caught her attention as she eased into the offered chair. She sniffed the sweet, smoky aroma and looked over at the commissioner. “Smells like the tobacco my gran smoked in her pipe.”

  He pushed his thick, black horned-rimmed glasses back on his nose. “Sorry if it bothers you,” he said, reaching in a desk drawer. He pulled out a can of air freshener. “Let me just spray a little bit of this around.”

  “No, please don’t,” Jonelle said, hand raised to indicate he shouldn’t press the button. “I rather like it. Brings back fond memories of snow cones and running barefoot in the grass.” She smiled at him.

  Finkleberg returned her smile. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned against the high backed chair that nearly swallowed his slight, almost gaunt frame. “I’m not supposed to indulge in here, but sometimes things get so frantic, I don’t have time to rush outside.”

  Jonelle waved his comment aside. “No need to explain. I can imagine things have been quite hectic for you, considering all that’s occurred the last several months. Which brings me to why I’m here.”

  Finkleberg pushed thin wisps of hair across his head. “Right. Before you ask your questions, I’d like to know how Susanna died. So far, the details of her death haven’t traveled up here yet.”

  Jonelle couldn’t tell him everything so she decided to give him information he could find in a newspaper. “She was found next to a Dumpster in an alley between a sandwich carry-out and a liquor store. Her throat was cut and she didn’t have any identification when she was found. We, that is, the police, initially discovered her name through an, uh, associate of hers. Media coverage produced her twin sister Sophia, who provided more details. As of right now, that’s really all I know. I’m friendly with the lead detective and he’s promised to keep me informed of any developments.”

  A frown creased Finkleberg’s face. “Does that mean you’re working with the police?”

  “Not really. Sophia contacted me and wants me to find out how her sister ended up so far from home. I’m here to learn all I can about Susanna’s life up here.”

  He shook his head. “Sophia. Never thought I’d hear that name again. What is it they say? A bad penny always turns up.” He shrugged. “Something like that, anyway.”

  Sophia again. Appearances were definitely deceiving. The questions for Sophia were piling up. Odd how people were more willing to talk about her rather than discuss Susanna.

  Jonelle needed to stay on point. “So, tell me about Susanna. How was she to work with?”

  His eyes stared off in the distance. “She was a good worker for quite a while and seemed to blossom as a person, especially after Sophia left town. Never late. Smart as a whip. I swear she absorbed information faster than an Asian kid soaking up words at a spelling bee. Sorry, don’t mean to offend.”

  Jonelle didn’t feel the need to speak up for all minority groups, so all she did was shrug.

  Finkleberg loosened his tie. “Susanna moved up the ladder quick and things were going great.” He paused, a slight smile on his face as if remembering good times.

  As she watched him, the grin melted. “Things changed a few years ago, when Susanna married Barry. Sophia came to the wedding as matron of honor with her new husband. Everyone held their breaths, wondering what would happen with the twins, but they got along great. Two years after the wedding, Susanna got a divorce. Sometime after that, she started missing work here and there.” He pa
used.

  Finkleberg’s eyes clouded over. “There’s not much I don’t know about in this town. I say this to point out that what I’m about to tell you isn’t rumor. Police were called to Susanna and Barry’s home several times. Domestic disputes,” he added in response to Jonelle’s unasked question. “Next thing you know, Barry left to go to Johns Hopkins for his doctorate and Susanna applied for and received an uncontested divorce.”

  “How did the divorce affect her?”

  “At first, she seemed happier. Things got better at work. What’s that old saying? ‘God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world’? Well that didn’t last long.” He sighed. “One day, about five months ago she and Rosemary didn’t show for work.”

  “Who’s Rosemary? Another sister?” Jonelle didn’t want to deal with yet another Quinley.

  He shook his head. “Rosemary was one of two secretaries in the treasurer’s office. After Susanna divorced Barry, the two of them started hanging out together.” Finkleberg took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “One day, neither showed up for work. We called each one’s home and got no answer. The next day when we still didn’t hear a word from either of them, I sent my assistant to Susanna’s house to check on her. When he didn’t get an answer to his knock, he called the police. Once inside they discovered she’d gone. A quick check of the premises revealed empty clothes closets.” He hesitated so long Jonelle thought his mind had wandered.

  “Were you able to find Rosemary?”

  He replaced his glasses and leaned forward, elbows on top of his desk, fingers tented under his chin. “No sign of Rosemary either and it looked as if she’d also left in a hurry.”

  “Do you have any idea why the two would leave like that?”

  Finkleberg reached for a manila folder that sat on the right side of his desk. He opened it, scanned the contents and closed it again. “We had an audit scheduled for the week they both went missing. As county treasurer, Susanna knew about it of course. After the auditors finished going through the records, they discovered over $350,000 missing from the town’s coffers.” Finkleberg tapped his fingers on the folder. “It seemed as if our treasurer and her secretary had stolen the money.”