Murdered by Success

by Dianne Harman

  “Well,” she told herself. “In this case a killer attitude is going to have to suffice.”

  She took the elevator up to the building’s lobby and entered through the revolving doors. She noticed a number of people looking at her, because, as she was well aware, she was woefully underdressed. One very attractive woman, with an immaculate hairdo that looked like she’d just come from the salon, looked her up and down with a look of disgust on her face.

  Liz held her head even higher, pulled her shoulders back, and walked over to the reception desk. “I’m here to see Opal Bowers,” she said confidently.

  “Okay, ma’am,” the receptionist said, trying to hide her own double-take. “Do you have an appointment with Ms. Bowers?”

  Liz knew she’d have to be honest. “No, but she will definitely want to see me.”

  “And you are?”

  Liz told her, and the receptionist called Opal’s office. She grimaced and said, “Unfortunately, ma’am, Ms. Bowers does not accept unsolicited visitors.”

  “Tell her I have insider information on the Hamilton Hotel deal,” Liz said, without even thinking.

  The receptionist called Opal’s office again and relayed the information. This time she said, “Her office is on the top floor. The elevators are over there.”

  Liz couldn’t believe she’d gotten away with it. “Thank you,” she said.

  She was whisked up to the top of the building in the spacious elevator, and stepped out into a large reception room where there was a man sitting in one of the reception area chairs, who looked just as out of place as she did, perhaps even more so.

  He was a young man, about Connor’s age, maybe even a little younger. He had dirty blond hair and was wearing a scruffy looking sweat suit. He fiddled with his dirty fingernails and looked at his sneakers, which were falling apart at the seams.

  Liz briefly wondered who he was. She approached the reception desk at the front of the room and said, “I’m Liz Lucas, and…”

  “One moment, please.” The receptionist pressed a button on her phone, which made a buzzing sound in a room behind the reception area.

  Moments later, a woman came out of one of the doors behind the desk. She was a beautiful woman with perfectly coiffed black hair and was wearing a very expensive looking suit. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, fingers, and neck. Although her eyes had a calculating sharp energy, when she spoke, she sounded kind and gentle.

  “Liz, is it?” she asked, extending her hand. Her handshake was very gentle, even somewhat weak. “I’m Opal. Opal Bowers.” Her eyes flickered across the waiting room to the young man Liz had noticed. She frowned. “You’re waiting for someone?” she asked.

  “Uh…”

  “Jacqueline, would you please help this young man get to the right floor. He’s clearly in the wrong place. Liz, please come into my office. Would you like some coffee, tea, or water? I insist you have something. I can’t have anyone say I’m a bad hostess, can I?” She said, laughing in a tinkling sort of way.

  “Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” Liz said.

  “Jacqueline, please bring Liz a cup of coffee.”

  They went into Opal Bowers’ office, which was large, very sleek, white, and decorated in a minimalist style.

  “So,” Opal said with a large smile, “what brings you to my office? I heard you have some insider information on the Hamilton Hotel deal.”

  Liz’s mouth went dry. “I… Connor Moynahan.”

  Opal’s eyes shone with interest. “What about him?”

  “Are you aware that he’s dead?”

  “Yes, I saw it on the news. A terrible tragedy.” Although she looked genuinely sad, Liz wondered if she was just a very good actress?

  “The smear blog trying to prevent him getting the Hamilton deal was traced back here to your office,” Liz said. “Evidently you have someone in your organization who is doing some very questionable things, Ms. Bowers.” Of course, Liz was well aware Opal could be the one behind it, but she didn’t want to lose Opal’s confidence by insinuating that.

  “What? Really? Are you serious? I’ve read that blog and couldn’t imagine who could have been responsible for writing such filth. Are you sure it was traced to my company? And, without being rude, just who are you to say something like that? You’re not with the police, are you?”

  “No, I’m conducting an independent investigation.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re a private investigator.”

  “Of sorts.”

  “Okay, Liz, thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’m going to start my own investigation right now and get to the bottom of this. When I find out who it is, I’ll fire them. No, not just fire them. Sue them. I’d love to talk to you further, but this is so urgent it needs to be dealt with immediately. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Sorry about the coffee,” she said. “Jacqueline can be slow at times.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Opal got up and opened the door for her. “Goodbye, Liz.”

  “Goodbye, Opal. Nice meeting you.”

  When Liz walked back into the reception area, she noticed that both Jacqueline and the young man were gone. She rode down in the elevator, feeling a little frustrated. It would be a four-hour round trip, and she had nothing to show for it other than a brief conversation that had lasted not much longer than a minute.

  The young man she’d seen in the reception area was lingering near the front of the building. Liz gave him a friendly nod and small smile, and he jogged up to her. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  He looked down, unable to make eye contact. “I was in there… well, looking for a job. You don’t know of any, do you?”

  “I’m not from around here, sorry.” He looked so forlorn she didn’t feel she could just walk away. “And if you’re looking for jobs, you might have to wear something a little more business-like.”

  “I know, but I don’t have anything else. I just got out of juvenile hall a couple of weeks ago, and this is all I’ve got. I could go back to my old gang and they’d get me some new clothes, but I don’t want to. I wanna’ straighten out my life.”

  Liz looked at him. It seemed he had no one to help him. The young man could so easily have been like Connor years earlier, but without Connor’s insane amount of drive. “I wish I could help you, but like I said, I’m not from here, and I don’t know anything about the job market here.”

  “Okay. Thanks anyway, ma’am.” He started to return to where he’d been standing, looking pathetic and forlorn.

  “Tell you what, I’ll take your phone number in case I hear of anything,” Liz said. What’s your name?”

  “Ash.”

  “Okay. My name’s Liz Lucas, and I own the Red Cedar Lodge and Spa in Red Cedar,” she said.

  CHAPTER 14

  When Liz got back to the lodge, it was almost time for dinner. The arrangement had been that Gina would cook the dinners at her home, and Liz would go pick them up. But Gina had called Liz when she was driving back, and said she was getting over her fears and would be glad to drive to the lodge and bring dinner. She wouldn’t be staying, though.

  So, to her relief, Liz came home to a fully prepared hot dinner. After all that driving, she felt like she’d earned it.

  Even though she had gardeners for the lodge, Roger enjoyed gardening when he had a little time. He was in front of the lodge clipping as she pulled into the lot.

  “Hi there,” she said wearily, getting out of the car.

  “Liz, you look tired.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Julita told me you were at the office of the person who may have written the smear blog about Connor. Did you find out anything?”

  “Yes, I was at Opal Bowers’ office. And no, I didn’t have any luck. She claimed she didn’t know anything about it, and said she’d fire whoever had done it, but who knows, it could all be lies.”

  He stopped trimming the hedge as she got close
r and pulled her to him. She rested her head on his neck. “Do you know what’s for dinner, Roger? I’m ravenous,” she mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  “Tagliatelle with Bolognese sauce along with garlic ciabatta,” he said. “And a nice bottle of red wine.”

  Liz sighed with happiness. “That sounds like just the sort of comfort food I need.”

  Roger continued to hold her. “I know if I tell you to take it easy on the investigation, it won’t make any difference. So I’ll just say one thing, take a break for tonight.”

  “I don’t think I have much choice,” Liz said. “I’m brain dead at the moment.”

  He smiled down at her. “Charlotte had a little anxiety attack a couple of hours ago, so she’s not in the best of shape, either. Patsy arrived, and thankfully she seems to be quite a strong woman, so she and Julita are holding together pretty well and taking care of Charlotte.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing,” Liz said as she straightened up, feeling a little more energetic. “I have to gear myself up to welcome Patsy, so I’ll try and look like I still have a lot of energy. Coffee always gives me energy, but I don’t want to have any at this hour, because I’ll never get to sleep, and I desperately need some.”

  “Let’s go downstairs to our apartment and we can shower and change,” Roger suggested. “That might help you get some pep back.” He looked down at his dirty gardening clothes. “I definitely need to change clothes, since I don’t look very presentable for dinner.”

  Liz nodded. “Sounds good.”

  They walked up to the porch and saw Brandy Boy. Liz bent down and ruffled his neck. “Brandy Boy,” she said affectionately as she roused the big dog from sleep. “I was gone quite a long time, wasn’t I, but then again I doubt you even noticed.”

  He looked up at her with a slightly reproachful look, and went right back to sleep. Winston walked over to Liz and gave a small bark, asking for a pat as well, then followed them downstairs.

  “I think Winston is saying, ‘But I noticed and don’t let it happen again. And you’re right, Brandy Boy didn’t even notice,” Roger said with a chuckle.

  Liz smiled, feeling warm inside. Whatever was going on in the outside world, Roger’s warmth and caring never failed to make her feel like everything was going to be just fine in the end.

  They showered and changed clothes, both of them feeling much better. Since it was a warm summer evening, Liz wore a beige linen suit with her rose quartz necklace and bracelet set. She even put on some white espadrille wedges and twisted her hair back into a chignon.

  Normally she wouldn’t have gone to that much of an effort for a casual dinner with just a few guests, but she felt it might help her get over her tiredness. Especially having to walk in those espadrilles – they were higher than the shoes she normally wore, and she had to concentrate with each step she took.

  Before long they were eating the Italian-style feast Gina had prepared. Charlotte had made an effort for dinner, too, wearing a turquoise sundress that reached her ankles and had beautiful beading around the neckline. But she was sweating so much that her hair was sticking to her forehead and wet beads were dripping down her décolletage.

  Her bump was enormous, and she looked very uncomfortable, but even so, Liz couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was, in spite of everything that had happened.

  Julita and Patsy sat on either side of Charlotte, as if they were protecting her. Patsy was a sturdily-built woman with dyed dark brown hair that she’d cropped just above chin length. She wore a loose leopard print t-shirt and black leggings with black jewelry to match. In her own way, she was quite attractive.

  “Have you picked out any names for the baby?” Liz asked Charlotte.

  Charlotte shook her head. “We were going to call her Catherine. But I’m thinking now that I want something to honor Connor. I was thinking of the name Honor, since it rhymes with his name.”

  “That’s nice,” Julita said. “You could also consider Connie, or Constance.”

  “I like that,” said Charlotte. “Not Constance. That seems a little old-fashioned for me, but Connie is nice.” She looked up at everyone with a brave smile. “Anyone got any other ideas? Maybe names beginning with Con?”

  “Consuela?” Roger suggested.

  “Hey, let me look it up,” said the ever-efficient Julita. “Girls’ names beginning with Con,” she said as she typed on her cell phone. “Okay. We’ve got, well, I don’t know how to pronounce this one.”

  “Let me see,” Charlotte said, leaning over to see the phone screen. “Con-see-sao? I’m not sure. It looks like it’s Portuguese.”

  “Well, there’s Concepcion,” Julita continued, using a Spanish accent. “And Concetta.”

  “Ooh, I like that one,” Patsy said. “That’d be so sweet.”

  “Concha, Conchita, Condoria – that sounds quite aristocratic, Connery, Conni without an e, Connie with an e, Connolly, Constanca, Constance, Constancia, Constantina…”

  “That’s a lot of Constance variations,” Roger said.

  “Wait. I’m not through. There’s more,” Julita said. “Constanza and Constanze. Then your suggestion, Consuela, Roger. Then Consuelo. And finally, Contessa.”

  “Oh, that one’s lovely, too,” said Patsy. “I can never be bothered with all those common names, you know, Anna, Emily, Ashley, all of that. The weirder the better, I say. My daughter came from a very violent biological family, so the social workers told me I had to change her identity for her safety. She was only five, but I pretty much gave her free reign on making a short list of names.”

  “You did?” Charlotte said, taking a piece of ciabatta and laughing. “I dread to think what she came up with.”

  Patsy laughed. “I can’t lie, there were a few wild ones on her list. She had Tinkerbell and Glitter Girl and Rainbow on it, which were a little far out, even for me. I also went through the baby name book myself, made a list, and gave it to her. And she chose it herself. I think the last runner up was Bluebell. Her name’s Storm, but I call her Stormie a lot.”

  “Wow, that is unusual,” Liz said. “I love it.”

  Patsy beamed. “Thank you.”

  “I like it, too,” Charlotte said. “But my dad would have a heart attack if I called my child Stormie. He’s very traditional. You can tell by my name and the names of my brother and sister. Charlotte, James, and Victoria. I don’t think you can get more traditional names than those.”

  “They sound like royal names,” Liz said. “I think they’re beautiful.”

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Thank you, Liz, but can’t say I agree. I’d like something a little fresher.”

  Despite everything that had happened, they were all starting to feel better. Charlotte drank iced tea, but the rest of them drank wine. The food was rich and hearty, and the light conversation took their minds off of the reason they were there.

  Liz’s phone buzzed just as Roger was clearing the plates away.

  “I’ll be back in just a moment. I better take this call,” she said as she left the room to answer it. Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered during dinner, but with everything that had happened, it could be important, maybe even Opal Bowers, Bob Salazar, or Joe Treadwell.

  But it wasn’t any of those people. “This is Liz Lucas.”

  “Hi, Liz, it’s Paul from Manchester Security, just outside,” the man said breezily.

  “Oh, hi, Paul.” The men with the security firm had almost become a fixture outside the lodge gates. In fact, she barely thought of them.

  “There’s a man here by the name of Joe Treadwell. He says he’s got some information for you, and he’d like to see you.”

  “Oh, okay,” Liz said. “Let him in, please. I’ll meet him in the parking lot.” She went back into the dining room to let everyone know what was going on, and made them promise to save her a piece of the tiramisu.

  The parking lot was just outside the lodge and she was there several minutes before she saw Joe. The entranc
e gate was quite some distance down the lane from the lodge. She wondered where Winston and Brandy Boy were. She knew he’d probably love to see them.

  No, she scolded herself, this isn’t about dogs. This is about a man being murdered.

  She wondered what his information was. Maybe he’d found something out about Opal Bowers.

  Moments later, she realized that the man who was walking up to her was most definitely not Joe Treadwell.

  “Hi, I’m Joe Treadwell,” he said, advancing toward her rapidly, his eyes shining dangerously. This man was extremely threatening. The glint in his eye. His huge stature. The smirk curling his lips. And more than anything, the horrible feeling Liz got inside when she looked at him. She just wanted to shudder.

  She stood her ground and swallowed. She broadened her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. The sick playfulness, like a predator playing a game with its prey, in the shiny blue of his eyes seemed to taunt her.

  “Who are you?” she asked again.

  He chuckled. “All right, I’m not Joe Treadwell.” He put out his hand to shake hers, but she left it by her side. An internal alarm was going off inside her, but she managed to keep a cool demeanor.

  Her mind raced, thinking how she should handle this. Should she take him into the lodge, where Roger was? He’d protect her, and Julita and Patsy were strong, robust women. They’d outnumber whoever this man was. But what about Charlotte? She was so vulnerable.

  Maybe she should walk him back to the gate. She wondered if she could get her phone out of her pocket to call the security detail. Where were they when she needed them?

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m Connor Moynahan’s attorney,” he said. “Connor had asked me to come to town in connection with the deal he was doing. I found out that he was murdered, and I just discovered his assistant and his pregnant wife are here.”

  “Oh,” Liz said. She looked at him again, and calmed down. She’d probably just been making herself paranoid. The glint seemed to have left his eyes. “Okay.”