Stiff Competition

by Annelise Ryan

  “Kirsten herself might be worth another chat at some point,” I add, “if for no other reason than just to see if she has a cat.” We then fill Richmond in on the cat hair evidence and spend a few minutes discussing the evidentiary worth—or lack thereof—of the find.

  We then place a call to Jonas and ask him if he has anything more for us. As we listen on speakerphone, he tells us that he ran the plates of the other vehicles that were parked out along the road by Cooper’s Woods, and he gives us the names of the registered owners. “I also ran the calls on the cell phone we found in Sanderson’s pocket,” Jonas says. “He had several calls yesterday, the last one around nine o’clock last night from a Harry Olsen. But no calls in or out today. The other calls were all initiated by Sanderson and appear to be work related. One was to the mayor yesterday morning, another was to a guy named Chuck Obermeyer. He’s a local contractor. The other two calls were to lumber supply companies. I’ll send you up a report on the calls in a bit. I’m getting ready to take a closer look at Sanderson’s car and I’ve got some guys going through those files we retrieved from Sanderson’s offices. If anything else comes up I’ll let you know.”

  Hurley tells Jonas to call Richmond with the updates for now, thanks him, and disconnects the call. Then he points to one of the names he has written in his notebook. “Lars was supposed to meet this Chuck Obermeyer for dinner at six tonight at Pesto Change-o,” he tells Richmond. “Here’s his contact info. You should probably talk to him if for no other reason than to rule him out.” Richmond nods and dutifully copies down the info. “I appreciate you helping out with this,” Hurley says when Richmond is done and hands him back his notebook. “I have to go, but keep me posted.”

  “Will do. And good luck.”

  After Hurley assures me he’ll call me later to let me know what’s going on, he heads out.

  Richmond looks at me and says, “He seems pretty worked up about Emily this time. What’s different?”

  Richmond is a shrewd judge of character and he’s got a real talent for reading people. He doesn’t miss much. “It’s his gut. He says Emily always contacts him in some way shortly after one of her disappearing acts, but this time she hasn’t. He has a feeling something is wrong.”

  “If Hurley has a gut feeling, he’s usually right. Hope the kid is okay.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “So it looks like we need to track down Lars’s girlfriends and talk to them.” He glances at his watch. “It’s going on five already. How late can you work today?”

  “I have an appointment to get my hair done at seven tonight. Dom is staying with Matthew for the evening, so I’m good to go until six forty-five or so.”

  “Okay, then, let’s start with . . .” Richmond consults the names he copied out of Hurley’s notebook. “Why don’t we call them first and see where they are?” he says. “It’s that time of day when some people might be getting off work, especially with Thanksgiving right around the corner. Plus, with Christmas coming, people are going to be sneaking out of work early so they can go shopping. Let me see who’s available for us to talk to.”

  Christmas. Normally it’s a holiday I dread. I hate shopping. I hate trying to come up with gift ideas for people who don’t want or need anything. I’m not into all that decorating stuff, either, though I usually cave enough to buy a tree and string a few lights on it, typically getting one of those ugly Charlie Brown trees that no one else will want.

  But this year is different. Now I have Matthew. Granted, he’s too young to understand or comprehend much, but his presence has imbued me with a new interest in the holiday. Unfortunately, his presence has also left me with much less free time for things like shopping, tree hunting, and decorating. But once again Amazon has come to the rescue. Not only have I been able to whittle down my gift list already, I also bought a Christmas tree and all the trimmings to go with it. My sister, Desi, is hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year and all I’m supposed to bring is dessert. I’ve arranged to have a cheesecake and a pumpkin pie made for me by one of our local restaurants, Dairy Airs. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find that I can order an entire Thanksgiving meal from Amazon and have it delivered right to my door. Online shopping has definitely lessened my holiday pressures.

  Speaking of pressure, I need to go and pump, so I leave Richmond to make the calls and head over to my office to do the deed. I poke my head into Izzy’s office before I head back out and update him on what we’ve done and learned so far, and what we’re doing next. Then I tell him about Emily.

  “Hurley is really worried about her, much more so than I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Let’s hope he’s wrong,” Izzy says. He frowns and shakes his head. “It’s situations like this one that make me think the idea of having kids isn’t a good one.”

  “No one ever said raising kids is kicks and giggles all the time, though I do think the pluses outweigh the minuses. And keep in mind, this situation with Emily is a unique one. That poor kid has been through a lot lately. Hell, I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t acting out.”

  “I’m guessing it isn’t helping your situation with Hurley much.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Not that I can think of, but thanks for asking.” I start to leave, but then turn back. “By the way, did Dom tell you he’s keeping Matthew for me until around nine o’clock tonight so I can go and get my hair done?”

  “He did.”

  “Is that okay?”

  Izzy smiles. “It is, and may I also say it’s for a very worthy cause.”

  “Yeah, I’m really overdue,” I say, grimacing and running a hand over the still-stiff strands of hair. “Thanks, and I’ll see you later.”

  By the time I return to the police station, Richmond has our agenda laid out. We’re going now to chat with one of Lars’s girlfriends, a woman named Cynthia Parker. The other one, Bridget Rutherford, is going to come into the station in the morning.

  “By the time we’re done talking to Cynthia Parker we can head to Pesto Change-o,” Richmond says. “You want to ride with me?”

  “Normally I’d say yes, but given what’s going on with Emily, would you mind if I took my own car? I’d like to be able to leave if I need to.”

  “I don’t mind, but you might want to park it out of sight for our first stop. Cynthia Parker works at that new Serenity Spa that just opened up over on the east side of town. I’m thinking they might frown on the idea of having a hearse parked in their lot.”

  I nod my understanding. My midnight blue, slightly used hearse was the only vehicle I could afford when I bought it and I was desperate for some wheels. I thought it would be temporary, but I’ve grown to love the thing. It’s roomy, it drives like a dream, my dog, Hoover, loves all the smells in it, and when I was being stalked by a crazed killer a few months back, Hurley had the thing pimped out like the Popemobile with bulletproof glass and reinforced body panels. It’s my safe house. But I understand Richmond’s reservations. A hearse might imply a bit more serenity than most spa clients are looking for.

  Richmond says, “I left a message for this Chuck Obermeyer. If he doesn’t call back by five forty-five, we can head to Pesto Change-o and catch him there.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going to Pesto either way,” I say, rubbing my tummy. “I’m getting hungry and Italian is my favorite food group.”

  “Mine, too,” Richmond says with a dreamy smile. He and I are both foodies at heart. “Though I’ll probably have to do two extra circuits at the gym to make up for whatever I eat there.”

  “I have to say, Richmond, I really respect how dedicated you are to your new healthy lifestyle. All your hard work is really paying off. You look fantastic.”

  “I feel fantastic,” he says. “Frankly, that’s more motivation for me than how I look.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, giving him a sly smile. “The rumor mill has it that you’re getting hot and heavy with
a certain divorcee we both know.”

  Richmond blushes. The divorcee in question is one Rose Carpenter, someone we met during an investigation we conducted last September. “We’re taking it slow,” he says. “Or at least I am. She keeps pushing and I keep putting on the brakes.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  “It’s not fear, it’s more . . . I don’t know . . . reluctance I suppose. I’ve never really had a serious, long-term relationship with a woman, and while there are certain perks to being half of a couple, I’ve been on my own for so long that I don’t know if I want to change that.”

  “And Rose is pushing for the change?”

  He nods and rolls his eyes.

  “Have you slept with her yet?”

  Richmond’s blush deepens and he looks away. “Not yet,” he says. “Though it’s not due to a lack of effort on her part.”

  “What’s holding you back?”

  He looks at his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not . . . I haven’t . . . I don’t have a lot of experience.” Richmond is so red now, his face could work as a police light on his car. “It’s been twenty years,” he says.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh,” he says with a snort of derision. “And I wasn’t exactly a lothario prior to that, if you get my drift.”

  “I do. And let me tell you, these days that’s a very attractive trait in a man.” Richmond looks at me like he thinks I’m crazy. “I’m serious, Bob. Rose is an experienced woman who knows what she wants. And I’m betting she, like most women out there, would jump at the chance to train a man the way she wants it done. If you confide in her what you just told me, and ask her to help you learn how to make her happy, you will make her very, very happy.”

  Richmond doesn’t look convinced.

  “Trust me on this one,” I say. “And in the meantime, let’s get a move on. I want to get these interviews done and hit up Pesto Change-o. My stomach is growling, and time is a wasting.” I can practically taste the garlic already.

  Richmond gives me the address for the Serenity Spa, and after telling me he’ll meet me there, I walk back to my office to fetch my car and head out. It’s not a long drive—nothing in Sorenson is much more than ten minutes away—and during the trip I think about Emily, Hurley, Matthew, and me, and my stupid shattered dream of living happily ever after. I plotted out all sorts of imaginary courses for my life when I was younger, but none of them came close to the harsh reality that is my life at the moment. While I couldn’t be happier about having Matthew, or the fact that Hurley is his father, our current living situation is beyond frustrating.

  I wonder if Amazon sells happily ever afters.

  Chapter 14

  Cynthia Parker is a receptionist at the Serenity Spa. She’s what some might call a handsome woman. She has jet black hair cut very short with curls that snake around her ears and the nape of her neck. Her eyes are huge, pale green in color with flecks of brown, and trimmed with thick, dark lashes. She is built tall and lean, her shoulders broad and straight, her legs and hips narrow and slender. The reason the word handsome comes to mind is because of her features, which are strongly masculine. Her nose is patrician and a bit too large for her face, her forehead is broad, her jaw square, and her lips are narrow and straight, lacking much of a Cupid’s bow. Still, the overall package is an attractive one, just not what anyone would call beautiful.

  Richmond makes quick work of the introductions since Cynthia is expecting us, and then asks if there is somewhere more private where we can talk.

  “Of course,” she says in a mellow, cultured voice. “Just let me get someone to relieve me.” She makes a phone call and asks someone on the other end to watch the front desk for her. Seconds after she hangs up, a young girl of about twenty comes out of a room down the hallway off to our left. “Thanks, Darla,” Cynthia says. Then with a gentle arch of her otherwise straight eyebrows, she says, “Follow me, please,” and heads down the same hallway Darla came from. We pass several closed doors along the way, and from beyond those doors I can hear the sounds of soft music playing. It’s a mixture of types, ranging from Native American wind flutes in one room to New Age synthesizer in another, with some Oriental-sounding music in between. The hallway is filled with an exotic mix of smells, too, each one suggestive of a different environment. Flowery . . . herbal . . . spicy. Cynthia leads us to the last door on the right, opens it, and gestures us inside. It’s a small kitchenette that I guess serves as a break room for the spa staff. The primary aromatherapy in here is coffee.

  “Can I get you a water?” Cynthia asks, heading for a glass-door refrigerator filled with every brand of bottled water one can imagine. “Water and hydration are so essential to your health and well-being.”

  Richmond passes while I accept the offer, and after fetching me a bottle, we settle down at one of two small bistro tables in the room.

  “What can I help you with, Detective?” Cynthia asks. “Is this about those burglaries in my neighborhood last week?”

  Apparently the gossip mill has been slow to turn today.

  Richmond says, “I understand you’re dating Mr. Lars Sanderson.”

  Cynthia again arches her brows ever so slightly. “Yes, I do see Lars from time to time. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “When is the last time you saw him?”

  Cynthia looks away for a few seconds, narrowing her eyes in thought. “Let’s see. It would have been last Friday night. We went out for dinner and then back to my place for aperitifs. Lars left around midnight. Normally he would have stayed the night, but I had to get up early Saturday morning to head for Milwaukee to visit my mother.” She gives Richmond a quizzical look. “You don’t think Lars has anything to do with those burglaries, do you?”

  “I’m not here about the burglaries,” Richmond says. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Sanderson was found dead this morning.”

  This time there is no subtlety in her reaction. Her eyebrows shoot up as her eyes open wide. “Lars is dead?” she says, clasping a hand to her chest. She looks off to the side and swallows hard. Tears loom in her eyes. “Oh, God,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. After a few seconds she opens them and looks back at Richmond. “What happened? Did he have a heart attack? Or was he in an accident of some sort?”

  “Mr. Sanderson was murdered,” Richmond says softly.

  “Murdered?” Cynthia whispers, looking frightened. “How? Where?” She closes her eyes, moans, and lets her head fall back. “Who did he piss off now?” she says to the ceiling.

  “Did Mr. Sanderson piss off a lot of people?” Richmond asks.

  When Cynthia brings her head forward again, tears roll down her cheeks. She gets up and walks over to a roll of paper towels, rips off a square, and pats it against her face. “He was always making people mad,” she says from behind the towel. She resumes her seat and scrunches the towel in her hand. “Couth, subtlety, and manners were traits Lars didn’t have, at least when it came to business. He was sweet as could be with me, but when it came to working a deal, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

  I’m beginning to wonder if Lars and Lucien might have been separated at birth.

  Richmond asks, “Is there anyone in particular you can recall who had a heated disagreement with Lars recently?”

  “Well, there’s that Olsen fellow who runs the Historic Society. The two of them got to yelling at one another over the phone on Friday night when Lars was at my house. And I know Reece Morton isn’t a fan.” She squeezes out a few more tears and dabs at her face again. “Can you tell me how it happened?”

  I look over at Richmond, wanting to let him handle this one. “Mr. Sanderson was found dead in Cooper’s Woods,” he says. “At first we thought it might have been a hunting accident, but upon closer inspection it appears someone deliberately killed him.”

  “He was shot?” Cynthia says. The tears start flowing again. “Please tell me it was quick and merciful.”
>
  Richmond doesn’t. Instead he hits her with, “Did you know that Lars was dating other women?”

  Cynthia scowls at him and she blinks several times. “I knew he went out on social occasions with other women at times, but he always told me I was the only one he was serious about. He said the others were just for business, or for show. He wasn’t sleeping with them.”

  Despite the conviction of this last statement, her expression is doubtful, and a little challenging, as if she’s daring us to say she’s wrong. It makes me suspect she knew Lars wasn’t being faithful. Motive perhaps?

  This time it’s Richmond who arches his eyebrows. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.

  “Oh, dear,” Cynthia says. “I guess that’s why he always skirted around the question of marriage whenever I brought it up.” She falls back against her chair and shakes her head. “I guess I look quite the fool, don’t I?”

  The woman’s pain is obvious, and very uncomfortable. I give Richmond a pleading look and he nods. “I’m sorry to have to deliver such bad news,” he says to Cynthia. He takes out a business card and slides it across the table to her. “Call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful to our investigation.”

  We get up from the table to leave, but before we do, I look back at Cynthia. “Just one more question, Ms. Parker. Do you own a cat?”

  “Heavens, no,” she says. “I’m allergic to them.”

  With that we exit the room, leaving a destroyed Cynthia Parker in our wake. When we reach the front door, Darla bestows us with a huge smile and says, “Have a blissful, serene day.”

  Too late for that.

  Chapter 15

  Outside the Serenity Spa, Richmond glances at his watch. “Let’s head over to Pesto Change-o.”

  I nod and head for my hearse, which I discreetly parked down the street from the spa. Five minutes later we are pulling into the lot of Pesto Change-o. The heavenly smells of oregano, basil, and garlic fill the air, and as I head inside, it’s all I can do not to drool. Richmond is waiting for me just inside the door.