by JL Phillips
A Case of Deceit
JL Phillips
Text copyright © 2015 by JL Phillips
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art is copyright © by Aulikki Kuusela
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my friends Aulikki Kuusela and Linda Riordan, two of the best people on earth. Without their constant cheering me on this book would not have happened. Thank you, ladies.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Prologue
Chapter One
I'm sitting in my office with a cup of joe and my dog Tee. Both of us on the edge of boredom when my phone rings. It’s not unusual for my phone to ring, what is unusual is the caller's name that is showing up.
Angela Michaels. I haven't heard that name since my college days. We used to be roomies back in the day. Haven't heard from her since just after graduation. The only way to know what she wants is to answer the ringing phone.
“DeeDee Watson.”
“Dee? This is Angela Michaels.”
“Hey, Angela, been a while. How you doing?”
“I heard you are a Private Investigator now. Is that true?”
Ah yes, Angela always was one to skip the pleasantries. 'Cut to the chase Angela' we used to call her. She never was one for small talk. That's OK, as I'm not good at it either.
“Yeah, I'm a PI now.”
“I need your help, Dee. Can you come to Ashville?”
Ashville is about a five-hour drive north of here. Nice size town, known for its waterfront condominiums and upscale community. In other words, rich people live there.
“That's quite a drive Angela without me knowing why.”
“I own a real estate business here. My friend Tony is dead! They said it was suicide, but I know that's not true. Tony would never take his own life! I need you to find out who killed Tony!”
Angela is not her usual unshakable self. Unless she changed a lot since college, she really is upset about her friend Tony.
“Calm down Angela.”
I hear her take a deep, unsteady breath. “I'm sorry Dee, but this has really been a bad week for me. Can you come? I'll pay your expenses and put you up in one of the best hotels here.”
It takes me all of ten seconds to decide. What the hell. I always liked Angela. “I'll be there by five this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Dee! Go to the Hilton on Main Street. I'll reserve a room for you. Call me at 555-8833 when you arrive and I'll meet you there.”
“Got it. I'm on my way.”
I stick the phone number I had just written down in my pocket. Time for Tee and I to get moving on our next case.
Before I leave for Ashville, I need a few things from home. Tee and I make a quick trip to my house and I find my saddlebags for the Harley and start packing them. Tee is watching me expectantly. He's a smart dog and he knows when something is up.
I finish packing. Now it's time to hit the road. I have to admit I'm curious about Angela and the dead guy, Tony. I have a lot of questions as Angela didn’t give me many details on the phone. They are only going to be answered once I get to Ashville. I have the bike ready, I grab up the leather satchel I use to carry Tee in when I'm riding and call for my little buddy.
“Come on Tee, let’s ride.”
I pick him up, stick him in the bag, and put on his special goggles. He loves to stick his head out of the bag when we're riding so I had Mr. Frinklestein, the old watch repairman make up a pair of goggles for him. I get a lot of looks and laughs when Tee and I are out but they protect his eyes and for a dog, he's pretty laid back about it all. Personally, I think he likes the attention from the ladies when he wears them.
The leather bag with Tee, I place across my chest as I hop on the bike. The weather is beautiful and it should be a great day for a five-hour trip.
*****************************************************
Tee and I have an unadventurous trip to Ashville and arrive well before five o'clock. I find the Hilton and park the Harley. Looking around as I take off my helmet and grab the saddlebags, I smell the brininess of the ocean. I look up at the Hilton and wonder how Angela got into real estate. In college, she had big plans to become a teacher in her hometown somewhere in Hicksville.
Noticing all the fancy cars and SUV's, this is as far away from Hicksville as she could get. And into real estate? This certainly isn't the Angela I used to know.
I walk to the front counter to check in and some guy with a haughty attitude is watching me approach.
“May I help you, Miss?”
“I'm supposed to have a reservation. DeeDee Watson.”
“Just a minute, please.” He's checking the computer, discreetly tucked under the counter and I'm checking out the hotel.
It's cool, quiet, with lots of marble, and oak. Understated elegance I guess most would say. Me, I'm feeling the five-hour motorcycle ride and just want to get settled then give Angela a call.
The haughty guy finally looks up from the computer and a bellhop seems to appear out of nowhere. He grabs my saddlebags while Mr. Haughty smiles a tiny smile.
“Room 432 Miss Watson. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
“Yeah, thanks, I'm sure I will.”
I follow the bellhop to the bank of elevators. All this time Tee is tucked away in the bag. Once we get into the elevator, he pops his head out, still with the goggles on.
The young bellhop looks at Tee and bursts out with a laugh, which he quickly stifles. He gives me a look and apologizes.
“Sorry Miss Watson. Your dog took me by surprise.”
“Not to worry,” I tell him as I slip off Tee's goggles.
“I'm not going to have a problem with him here, am I?” I ask the young man. I see by his nametag that he's called William.
“Oh no, Miss Watson. Lots of guests bring their small pets here.”
“Just call me Dee, William. Calling me Miss Watson makes me nervous.”
“You can call me Billy then,” he says with a big grin.
The elevator doors open, I follow my new friend down the hall. He stops about midpoint and opens a door, then hands me my key card.
I step inside and set the bag down with Tee in it. Tee immediately steps out and goes exploring. I dig in my jeans pocket for a tip.
“Thanks, Billy. I can take things from here.” I hand him the generous tip.
“You need anything Dee; you call downstairs and ask for me. I've lived here all my life. I know all the out of the way places the tourists never see.” He gives me an impudent wink and closes the door on his way out.
I need to call Angela and let her know I'm here. I hear Tee snuffling around as I dig my phone out of the saddlebags.
I punch in the number she gave me this morning and hear her voice on the other end.
“It's me, Dee. I'm at the Hilton. Room 432, j
ust come up and we'll talk where it's private.”
“I'm on my way.”
Angela sounds relieved that I'm here. Did something else happen in the five hours between our phone conversations? Guess I'll find out in about twenty minutes.
Chapter Two
I'm looking over the Hilton's high-priced menu from their restaurant downstairs when a knock sounds on the door. Must be Angela.
As soon as I open the door, in she rushes. “Dee! Thank God, you're here! I do hope you're good at this private eye business. Of course you are. You're DeeDee Watson. You would be good at it.”
Before I can even get a hello injected into her fast-talking, nervous dialog, she starts again.
“Dee! You are good at it aren't you? I can't talk to the police, so I thought of you because someone told me that you are a private detective now and I didn't know what else to do. Someone killed Tony. Now they might be after me! I don't even know why!”
Whoa. This isn’t the Angela I knew in college. This was some caricature of her. Not a good one either. She was standing in the middle of the room, still talking in a fast, non-stop clip. I have to get her to calm down if I'm going to make any sense of what she is telling me.
For half a second, I think of slapping her, but I don't think she would appreciate my tactics. So I decide to use a different method. I grab her shoulders and give her a hard brief shake. She at least stops talking. Now she is staring up at me, her mouth wide open, with big tear-filled blue eyes. Not a good look on anyone.
“Sit down Angela and tell me what the hell is going on. Slowly.”
I push her gently into a chair and sit across from her. She takes a deep breath and lets it out again. She wipes her eyes with her fingers and hands me a note that I didn't notice she had gripped in her fist. I straighten it out and read it.
Crap.
The note is made up of cut out letters from magazines. Crooks actually still do that? Old school I'm thinking. Or they are into the dramatics.
‘Cops wont help. Quit asking questions. Accidents happen. Remember that.’
It was time for me to know about Tony and his alleged suicide.
“Who was this Tony to you?” I ask.
“He was my best friend. I could and did tell him everything and he would understand.” Angela is calmer, but her tears are still flowing.
I get up and check the small fridge in the room for some water. I grab two bottles and hand one to Angela. I open mine, find Tee something to drink out of and pour some for him. Then I sit down again and see Angela's tears have dried up. Good. I never was good with crying females as they make me nervous.
“Were you guys’ lovers or something?”
“Oh God no! It was never anything like that. I loved Tony, but as a best friend.” She actually looks a bit put out by my question.
“Tony and I met a couple of years ago when I walked into the club he was performing in. I was hell-bent on getting over my last breakup and the place looked like it would be fun.”
“So, he was a musician? Those were never your types in college Angela.”
I see her smile. Now, she looks more like the old Angela I knew. “Oh, he wasn't a musician, he was a stand-up comedian. His show was so funny; it made me forget my misery. After his show finished, he was having a drink at the bar and I went up and thanked him. We hit it off from the beginning and were best friends ever since.”
A stand-up comic? That was even less like the old Angela. In fact, there were bets placed back then that Angela didn't have a sense of humor. I guess college pranks aren't all that funny.
“So why would someone want a comedian dead?”
“I don't know why anyone would want to kill Tony!”
The waterworks look like they are going to start again, so I ask another question hoping to head them off.
“Did he have any enemies that you knew of?”
Angela looks a bit shaky, but no more tears at least. “He never told me of anyone that disliked him that much. I know he was having some problems with his daughter. Now she might have killed him. She's not a nice person.”
Daughter? How old was this Tony? Did he have a wife too? Maybe one that didn't like him having a pretty blond woman as a best friend? All these thoughts are swirling in my head. What the hell am I getting myself into here? A crime of jealousy?
“Daughter? Did he have a wife too?” I ask her.
Angela sits back in her chair as if exhausted. She closes her eyes and answers my question.
“His wife died several years before I met him. Cancer. His daughter used Tony like an ATM machine. She only ever contacted him when she wanted more money. Like I said, she's not nice.”
I grab my notebook from my bag and look around for a pen. Even the Hilton must have pens in their rooms. I find one, a nice silver one with the name Hilton discreetly etched on it. Classy. As long as it works.
“What's the daughter’s name? I want to talk to her.”
Angela opens her eyes and looks over at me. “Cynthia. Cynthia Bandoni. I have her number at my office. I'll get it for you later.”
I write the name down. “Thanks.”
“Is Bandoni, Tony's last name too?” I ask.
“Yes, Cynthia never found a man who can afford her, so she never married.”
Certainly, no love lost there. “Can you get me into Tony's place? Is that where he was supposed to have killed himself?”
I try to ask these questions as gently as I can. I don't want to set Angela off again. They are questions that have to be asked and there are going to be more too. I’ll try to be as tactful as I can, but it’s not something I’m known for. This case with Angela has my curiosity revved up. I have dozens of questions I want to ask, but I had better stifle myself for now or at least until Angela is more herself.
One more question and then I'll send Angela home to rest. It’s getting late and I’m hungry and tired, but my curiosity is piqued.
“Angela, how old was Tony?”
She smiles, her eyes on me. “Seventy-three. He was the youngest seventy-three-year-old man I ever knew. He would have liked you, Dee.”
Seventy-three? Whoa...crap.
I walk Angela down the hallway to the bank of elevators. Making her promise to call a cab and not try to drive in her exhausted condition, I watch her as she enters the elevator. Just as the doors are closing, she stops them and looks at me.
“Dee? Did I tell you what Tony's stage name was? It was a play on his real name. Tony Baloney. He was a funny guy.”
I laugh as Angela lets the doors close and walk back towards my room. Yeah, he sounded like a man that saw life as one big cosmic joke.
Chapter Three
The morning comes full of bright sunshine. Tee and I had a good night’s sleep and now he is dancing in front of the door.
“Hang on buddy. Let me grab a quick shower first.”
I take the shower and dress. I put Tee in his leather bag and head downstairs. My thoughts are on the new case as Tee makes a few visits to nearby bushes. We find a nice small park near the hotel, deserted this time of the morning. Tee is enjoying some freedom from the confines of the hotel room. So am I.
While Tee is sniffing every bush and tree in the park, my mind goes over what I know about this case so far. Which is damn little. I need to talk to Tony's daughter. I also need to have a look inside Tony's house. If the cops aren't looking at anything but suicide, there might be something of interest inside for me. I want to pay a visit to the club Tony was playing at too. Talk to a few people. See if they know of anyone that had it in for Tony Baloney nee Bandoni.
I pull out my phone and punch in Angela's number. I need the daughters address.
“Hey, Angela.”
“Dee. I'm waiting for the cab so I can pick up my car. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Bring the number for Cynthia when you come. I want to pay her a visit today.”
“Here's the cab. I have the number and her address for you. See yo
u soon.”
I hang up glad Angela sounds more like herself this morning. Efficient. I sit and watch the morning come to life for a while, then I whistle for Tee and we head back to the hotel.
I reach the hotel parking lot just as I see Angela get out of the cab. Tee and I are still on the other side of the parking lot when I spot a man walk up to Angela. Something didn't feel right to me, even from here. I trust my gut feelings. I speed up to a quick walk, almost a jog when I see the guy grab Angela's arm. I hear their raised voices, his angry, she sounds scared.
I see the jerk raise his hand and slap Angela, the sound loud in the early morning quiet. Just as I reach them I hear him say to her, “Leave things alone lady, or you'll get hurt.”
The two things I hate more than anything is, a person abusing an animal and the other is a bully. This man is a bully. You can see it in his lidded eyes and thin-lipped sneer.
“Hey, asshole! Get your hands off her!” I get his attention.
“Keep moving lady. This ain't none of your business.” He still has a large hand grasped tightly around Angela's arm.
I move right up on them which the man isn't expecting. I grab one finger of the hand that's on Angela and pull back, hard. Surprise, I was taught, is sometimes your biggest ally. The idiot yells as I pull that finger back until we hear a loud crack.
“You bitch! I'll kill ya!”
“Who are you working for?” I ask him because guys like this are never the brains. They are just dumb muscle.
“Back off!” He yells, spittle coming out of his mouth. Yeah, not very original.
“I would suggest that for yourself,” I tell him as I let his finger go and step back. I know he won't take his own advice.
He reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun with his still good hand.
“I hate guns,” I inform him as I kick him in the groin. I don't tell him I have a black belt in jujitsu. I didn't want to spoil the surprise. He grunts and bends forward. With one hand now having a broken finger and the other holding the gun, for a second, he does nothing. That's all I need, that second.
