Murdered by Success

by Dianne Harman

  He paused, then his voice softened. “Yes. I find it to be relaxing. I have a German Shepherd. Nova. I’m walking her as we speak.”

  “Dogs sure can bring us a lot of comfort, can’t they?”

  “Yes. They can.”

  His voice had warmed, and the conversation was going much better.

  Liz laughed. “Sometimes I think they’re better than people.”

  He chuckled. “I know they’re better than people.” He sighed. “You sound like a very nice woman. I was worried you were some prying journalist type, trying to get the inside scoop.”

  “Good grief, no.”

  “Okay, then in that case, I’ll meet with you,” he said. “I’m staying just outside Red Cedar, but I’m at the Red Cedar Park at the moment. I don’t expect you’re available now, but…”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Liz said, not about to miss her chance. “I’ll bring my boxer, Winston, and come over right away. Where are you in the park?”

  “I’ll meet you by the entrance.”

  “Great. See you in fifteen minutes.”

  Liz walked into Bertha’s office and told her she was leaving the lodge in her capable hands for a little while. She hurried to the spa to let Julita know she was leaving to meet with Joe Treadwell. Unfortunately, she had to interrupt Julita’s aromatherapy massage, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Julita sat up with a jolt when she heard where Liz was going. “Joe Treadwell’s in Red Cedar?”

  “Yes,” Liz said. “I guess he was checking up on what Connor was doing.”

  “I think that makes him a suspect,” said Julita. “What business does he have here? He probably came here to kill Connor.”

  “Maybe,” Liz said. “But if he did, why would he so readily disclose his location? Particularly to me, someone who told him that Connor was staying in one of my cottages?”

  “He was probably just covering himself.” Julita screwed her nose up. “From what Connor told me, Joe Treadwell always thinks he’s the smartest guy around, but Connor managed to outsmart him.”

  “I’m not sure,” Liz said. “I don’t know anything about it, or him, but I’m going to do my best to find out.”

  “Be careful,” Julita warned. “If he did kill Connor and he knows you’re onto him, wouldn’t a remote part of the park be the best place to put an end to you?”

  Liz smiled. “Not with Winston by my side. Besides, you and Bertha both know where I am, and I’ll make sure he’s aware that other people know I’m meeting him. That way he won’t be tempted to try anything.”

  “Okay, it sounds like you’ve thought this through,” Julita said, but she still looked wary.

  “I’ll let you know what I find out. I better go now.” Liz went and rounded up Winston, who was lazing on the porch next to Brandy Boy. “Let’s go Winston. I need you to protect me.”

  He looked up at her, and she was sure he understood exactly what she was saying and was prepared to do whatever he had to do to protect her. Brandy Boy, on the other hand, merely opened one eye and then quickly closed it, as he resumed his nap.

  It was a short drive to the park, five minutes at the most, but it was just enough time for Liz to start feeling nervous. She didn’t know if Joe Treadwell was the killer, but he certainly had a motive. Perhaps he was the one behind the blog, too, and he was in Red Cedar, which didn’t look good.

  Plus, he had a German Shepherd. If anything happened, Winston would put up a good fight, but she wasn’t sure it would be enough against a German Shepherd. She was glad she hadn’t brought Brandy Boy. She expected he’d simply run away if faced with confrontation.

  Some St. Bernard dogs would put up a good fight when it came to protecting their owners, but Liz knew that Brandy Boy was not one of them. Taking a wee bit of brandy to the guests who rang the bell next to their cottages at night was about as good as it got for Brandy Boy.

  He’d earned his keep, since one of the guests at the lodge had been a newspaper writer, and Brandy Boy’s nightly activity of delivering brandy to guests at the lodge had been worth a column in the San Francisco Chronicle a couple of years earlier. People were still coming to the lodge because they’d read about him.

  When Liz pulled into the parking lot at the park, she made certain her phone was unlocked and that she had easy access to it, just in case. She was sure she was overreacting, but with Roger, Bob Salazar, and Julita all worrying about her, it was beginning to get to her.

  She got Winston out of the car, and was about to call Joe, when she caught sight of an older man wearing a polo shirt and sweatpants, and holding a leash attached to a large black and tan German Shepherd dog.

  “Mr. Treadwell?” she called out.

  He waved back, and she locked her car and went over to him with Winston on his leash. Given how friendly he looked, nearly all of her nervousness melted away.

  “I can’t remember your name, sorry,” he said, shaking her hand. He had blue eyes with so many wrinkles by the sides of them, she thought he must have laughed and smiled a lot during his lifetime.

  “It’s Liz Lucas,” she said.

  “I do apologize, Liz.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Don’t worry. And this is Winston.” He was warily watching Nova.

  Nova sat very still at Joe’s feet and just looked back at them.

  “Nova seems very calm,” Liz said.

  “Yes, she has an excellent disposition,” he said. “Looks like your dog does too, thankfully. Otherwise we might be having a major dogfight on our hands.”

  “I’m glad that’s something we don’t need to worry about,” Liz said. “Would you like to take a walk?”

  “Yes, let’s do.”

  Red Cedar Park was beautiful, and Liz wondered why she didn’t visit it more often. It was vast, sprawling for hundreds of acres, and full of beautiful trees, including a lot of red cedars.

  They strolled along companionably, and anyone who saw them would never have guessed they were talking about a murder.

  “Connor murdered,” Joe Treadwell finally said, shaking his head. “It’s shocking.”

  “Yes. And I’m sure you’re aware that you’ll probably come under suspicion due to your history with Connor.”

  “I know,” he said with a sigh. “But I’d never go as far as to murder someone. Especially not him, no matter how mad he made me.”

  “What happened between the two of you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He jumped ship with a bunch of my money wrapped up in properties he was managing. Then he never gave it back, and never answered my calls, or the letters from my attorney. So I was, with a heavy heart I might add, gearing up to take him to court over the holdings.”

  “I see.”

  “I have no idea what will happen to my money now,” he said. “Anyway, I’m sure it will all be worked out.” He sounded tired. “At least I hope so.”

  “For your sake, I do too.”

  They continued down a wooded pathway.

  “You said you’re investigating his case?” he said. “Have you found anything out?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on things. I know there was a smear campaign going on against him in the form of a blog. Do you have any idea who was behind that?”

  “No,” he said. “I heard there were rumors saying it was me, but it wasn’t. That sort of thing has never been my style.”

  “The blog was apparently done to stop him from getting the Hamilton Hotel deal,” Liz said. “Do you know who his competitors were on that?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” he said. “There were a number of people vying for it, because it was being sold so cheap. The word is that the owner’s in financial trouble and wants to use the capital from it for another deal before it all falls apart.”

  “I see.”

  He paused for a moment. “But his death might not have anything to do with real estate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wel
l, I don’t want to accuse anyone. It’s just a thought I’ve had.”

  Liz stayed silent for a moment, hoping he’d say more.

  And he did. “His father might be the murderer. His father killed his mother, then was able to hoodwink some judge with a bunch of money and some important connections he made. Then, when Connor was in his care, he beat him so badly on a number of occasions that Connor was forced to run away.

  “He was living at the YMCA when he went to high school, and that’s where he was staying when he contacted me. I have to admit I had a fatherly feeling for him.” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine someone’s father being such a monster. My father was very supportive. He’s the one who founded Treadwell Holdings, and he passed it on to me.”

  “From what I’ve heard, his father really does sound like a monster.”

  “Yes. My hunch is that his psycho father caught up with him. I admit that I was extremely angry with Connor, but I’d never have wished for this to happen to him. I don’t know why, but Connor had tried to keep the lines of communication open with his father. Maybe out of some sort of sense of duty.

  “Or maybe it was the Stockholm Syndrome. You know, that’s when hostages develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity. Technically, he wasn’t a hostage, but I don’t think it’s too far off. In any case, Simon Moynahan told him that if he married Charlotte, he’d kill Connor because she’s African American. That simply confirmed in my mind that Simon’s a disgusting bigot.”

  “And Connor went ahead and married her.”

  “Yes.” Joe Treadwell shook his head. “That’s a motive right there, with a previous threat attached. A terribly sad story, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning after a breakfast which was prepared by Liz, since Gina was still uncomfortable about coming in to work at the lodge, a heavily pregnant Charlotte Moynahan arrived.

  Her bump was an enormous thing to see as she waddled into the lodge. The cab driver carried her suitcases in behind her.

  “Charlotte!” Julita said, rushing toward her. They had a big hug, as well as they could manage with Charlotte’s bump.

  Liz quickly helped her to a chair at the breakfast table. Despite her loose sundress, Charlotte was sweating, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “Just a moment,” Liz said, as she rushed into the kitchen. She came back with a damp napkin and handed it to Charlotte, who dabbed at her face gratefully.

  “Ugh,” Charlotte said.

  “Charlotte, this is Liz Lucas, the owner of the Red Cedar Lodge and Spa. Liz, this is Charlotte Moynahan.”

  “Hello,” Charlotte said, looking stressed.

  “Hi,” Liz said quietly, not knowing what to say about Connor.

  “How are you holding up?” Julita asked Charlotte. “I know that’s a stupid question.”

  “I’ve cried so much, I don’t think I have any more tears left,” Charlotte said, and then promptly burst into tears.

  Julita sat very still, as a single tear trickled down her cheek and dropped onto the tablecloth. “I know. Try not to cry too much, honey. It’s not good for the baby.”

  “How am I going to raise this baby alone, Julita? Without a father. I never wanted that for my baby. I have such a strong father, and he was always there for me. He still is.”

  “Do you think you could you go back and live with your parents?”

  “Yes, and I probably will, but I wanted to come here first. I want to see that justice is done for Connor.”

  “How many weeks along are you?” Julita asked.

  “Thirty-seven. I have five weeks ‘til my due date.”

  “Okay,” Julita said. “Hopefully everything will be wrapped up by then, and this won’t be hanging over your head. Liz here has experience with investigating murder cases, and she’s going to be helping us.”

  “Along with the police department, of course,” Liz added quickly, seeing Charlotte’s look of confusion.

  “We’re looking into Joe Treadwell,” said Julita. “And Liz has told me Mr. Treadwell also mentioned Connor’s father, which I hadn’t really thought of, being so focused on the real estate deal. Do you have any thoughts, Charlotte?”

  “You should look at his evil monstrosity of a father under a microscope,” Charlotte spat. “He’s a murderous piece of trash, and I’d bet he’s behind it. He should have been locked up in jail forever when he killed Sarah-Jane, but he flashed his money around and in this parody of a legal system not only was he let free, he was granted custody of Connor.

  “He beat him within an inch of his life, and was determined to make him into a mini version of himself, a cheating, racist conman with the morals of a snake. Of course, Connor wasn’t having any of that. So maybe that disgusting man finally snapped and killed him.”

  Liz paused. “He sure seems to have a motive for doing it. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “I’ve spoken to him only once, to tell him to leave us alone. It was shortly after we were married, so it’s been a few years now. I don’t know when Connor last spoke with him. He said that was the last time for him, too, but, well…” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  Julita finished the sentence for her, in a kind, soft voice. “You never know with Connor.”

  “Yeah, that was basically it,” Charlotte said, sounding defeated.

  “I’m taking it you don’t have any of his father’s contact details?” Liz asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I’d rather talk to the devil himself than to that excuse for a miserable human being.”

  After a few more minutes of casual conversation, Julita and Liz took Charlotte to her cottage to get settled. Julita stayed with her, helping Charlotte unpack her things.

  Liz went back to the lodge. She petted Brandy Boy and Winston on the way in, then opened her laptop on a wooden table in the great room, logged on, and went onto a search engine. She typed in “Simon Moynahan.”

  The results she got back were for an Irish soccer player who was on the Ireland national team and an actor who had appeared in a minor TV series. There was a vicar based in the UK with the same name and a couple of business profiles of other Simon Moynahans. There was also a census result from 1940.

  She knew he wasn’t a soccer player, because the man was far too young. She guessed he wasn’t an actor or someone would have mentioned it by now. He couldn’t have possibly been a preacher, unless somehow Hell had frozen over, and he wouldn’t have been born in 1940. She supposed the business profiles could have been him, but she seemed to remember someone had mentioned he was a horse breeder, so perhaps not.

  Simon Moynahan horse breeder yielded only one result. Someone on a horse breeding forum had complained about having been fleeced by him, back in 2003. Liz considered getting in contact with the person, but there was no way to do so.

  She sat back on her chair and sighed. How was she going to get in contact with him? Just then, her cell phone rang. It was the Red Cedar Police Department number.

  “Liz Lucas,” she said, answering it.

  “Seth Williams,” Seth said at the other end of the line, clearly mocking the way she’d answered the call. He didn’t sound in the best of moods. “Hello, Chief Lucas.”

  “Cute, Seth,” Liz said.

  “A certain Mr. Salazar has ordered me to call ya’ and tell ya’ some classified information. Can ya’ imagine? This can’t be legal!”

  “What information?”

  “I’m statin’ fer the record that if there’s a cons’quence fer this, it won’t be on my head. It’s between you and Salazar, the two ‘a ya’.”

  “Okay,” Liz said evenly.

  “He’s ordered me to investigate this. Something ‘bout computer business and ESP and ITV and whatever else. Like we’re some kinda’ cyber-crime unit here.”

  “Oh, yes, the blog.”

  “I dunno’. He said the… I’m getting the paper. Wait a min
ute.” She heard the sound of papers rustling. “The website was traced back to the offices of Opal Bowers. And he said don’t whisper that to God himself, a’rite? Likes of ya’ not s’posed to know things like that.”

  “Are you going to investigate it?”

  “Who are ya’, my supervisor? Get off my darn line,” he shouted as he slammed his phone down and ended the call.

  Liz was too excited to feel annoyed. Opal Bowers. The offices of Opal Bowers. Back on the search engine, a quick search brought up Bowers, Inc, a ‘real estate group with over half a billion dollars’ assets under its control.’ The address came up. It was about a two-hour drive away.

  Liz leaned back and bit her lip. Honestly? She wanted to go over there immediately, before the Red Cedar Police Department had a chance to go there and tip Opal off they were onto her. Liz was sure their blunt, and clueless, if Seth had anything to do with it, approach would mess everything up. Opal Bowers would close up like a clam, and Liz wouldn’t be able to get anything out of her.

  But Patsy was due to arrive at the lodge at any moment. Liz went to broach the subject with Julita, and Julita told her, “Go. I’ll take care of Patsy.”

  “Okay,” Liz said, feeling a little inhospitable. “And Bertha’s here, so she can help if you need anything.”

  “Not really,” Julita said, shaking her head. “She’s going to be looking after Charlotte and giving her a pregnancy massage. I’ll welcome Patsy. Don’t worry about it. Just go.”

  Liz punched the address into her GPS and set off on the two-hour drive to San Jose where Bowers, Inc. had their offices.

  The drive and the traffic were interminable, even with the talk show she listened to on the radio, but eventually she was parked in the underground lot of a huge shiny skyscraper. Her hands were shaking as she removed the key from the ignition, and she was furious at herself for being so intimidated. But she’d read the blog written by someone in Opal Bowers’ organization, or perhaps even Opal herself, and she knew that something rotten and evil existed inside the shiny skyscraper. And maybe whoever had written the blog was the murderer.

  Liz noticed a number of smartly dressed business people hurrying around with purposeful looks on their faces, and wished she wasn’t dressed so casually. As it was, she knew she looked pretty country, sort of like a fish out of water. She hadn’t even put on any makeup or jewelry.