Red Julie (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 2)

by J A Whiting

  “And I’m going home and going to bed,” Joe said, pushing himself up from the table.

  Olivia walked them to the front door, where she gave them both a long hug. She went into the kitchen and started cleaning the dishes and pans from dinner. She barely had enough energy to finish the task.

  ***

  The next morning she called the Portland State Police Department. Detective Brown was away on business, so Olivia made an appointment to see him at the end of the week.

  Chapter 19

  Olivia had arranged to speak with Rodney Hannigan at his law firm in Boston’s financial district. She decided to take the train into the city and avoid the possibility of being followed on the highway. After the episode at the Sullivan house the previous day, she didn’t think she could handle any more excitement.

  The brass plate on the polished wood door leading into Hannigan’s private office was engraved with “S. Rodney Hannigan.” Olivia didn’t believe that Rodney was the “S” on the cross necklace, but she wanted to observe his reaction to the questions she would pose to him to rule out any lingering trace of doubt that he could be involved in Martin’s death. Rodney ushered Olivia into his corner office, which was furnished with dark wood furniture and oriental carpets. High above the city, two walls of the office were glass, affording a spectacular view of Boston and the harbor beyond.

  “S. Rodney Hannigan?” Olivia asked. “What does the “S” stand for?”

  “Schroeder. My mother’s maiden name. You see why I go by Rodney.” Hannigan gestured to the sofa. “Please,” he said. He took a seat in a wing chair that was positioned next to the sofa.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Olivia said. “I just thought we should talk in person. Although, I’m not quite sure where to start. Or even what to ask.” She smiled weakly and looked down at her hands.

  “Olivia,” Hannigan said. “I need to thank you once more. I can’t imagine how terrible it was for you to come upon the accident. And again, I thank you for being with Martin when he passed. It comforts me to know that he wasn’t alone. I’ll be forever grateful that you were with him.” He took a deep breath.

  Olivia nodded and said, “You know that I believe that my aunt’s death is unexplained, even though the coroner said she had a heart attack. She was fit and strong. She was riding a bicycle at the time of her death…something she never did. And she had a gun in her possession…also something completely out of character.” Olivia paused. “I’m trying to connect some dots. My aunt died under unusual circumstances. Certainly Martin’s death has unusual circumstances surrounding it.” Olivia didn’t mention the tongue, but they both knew what she meant. “And Martin had my name in his wallet.” Olivia paused. “The two deaths must be linked. Have the police made any headway into the investigation?”

  “No, nothing, really. They call occasionally with an update that amounts to nothing at all. I feel that the case is being moved to the back burner. They have no leads. Martin’s death will remain an unsolved homicide, I’m afraid.”

  “Rodney, did you pick Martin up from the airport the night he returned from London?”

  “No, I was in New York City that week working on a case. We were in meetings until around 2am on the day that Martin died. I had only been in my hotel room about an hour when the Ogunquit Police phoned me to report the terrible news. I took a cab to LaGuardia immediately and flew to Boston. I rented a car at the airport and drove to Maine.” He shook his head. “I drove like a madman, but I don’t know why. I knew Martin was already dead.”

  Olivia nodded. She believed him. “What about what Martin said to me…‘red Julie’…have you thought any more of what it could mean?”

  Hannigan lifted his hands from the arms of the chair and turned the palms up in a gesture indicating that he had no idea. “Red Julie…I just…I don’t have a clue. I don’t think Martin knew anyone named Julie.”

  “More dead ends,” Olivia said. She wondered how she would ever figure any of this out.

  They were both quiet for a minute. “Did you find any emails from Martin to my aunt? Could they have known each other?”

  “There were no emails from an Aggie,” Hannigan said.

  “Her full name was Magdalene Miller Whitney… but everyone called her Aggie.”

  Hannigan shook his head. “Whitney? Did you tell me that? I assumed her last name was Miller…the same as yours. I wonder if I overlooked something in the emails.” He said, “Wait. Magdalene? She’s not that real estate agent?”

  Olivia smiled. “No, not her. They do share the same first name, though.”

  “That real estate agent contacted Martin every four months or so looking to list his house,” Hannigan said. “She’s an abrasive woman.”

  “Yes, she can be very abrasive.” Olivia thought for a minute. “Martin’s secretary, Paula Adams, said that Martin was a collector.”

  Hannigan looked surprised. “Yes. Yes, he was. Is that significant?”

  “My aunt owned the small antique shop on the corner of Shore Road leading down to the cove,” Olivia said.

  “The Olde Stuff Shoppe?” Hannigan asked, straightening up.

  Olivia brightened. “Yes. That was Aggie’s shop. Had you visited it?”

  “I didn’t, no. But Martin enjoyed collecting things and he stopped into the shop every now and then. He made quite a few purchases there. I didn’t know the owner’s name was Aggie.”

  Olivia leaned towards Hannigan, and stood up excitedly. “They knew each other. There’s a connection between them.” Her heart was pounding. At last, they had found a link.

  “Yes, it seems so,” Hannigan responded, his face looking lighter.

  “They knew each other,” Olivia said almost to herself as she started pacing the room. She stood in front of the windows looking over the city, before turning back to Hannigan. “They’re connected, Rodney. Through Martin’s purchases at the shop. That’s the link between them.”

  “Yes,” he nearly whispered. Hannigan’s eyes met Olivia’s. “But why are they both dead?”

  Olivia moved back to the sofa and sat. She suddenly felt weak. Her throat was tight and dry. Why are they both dead? She wished someone else would figure it out. But there wasn’t someone else. It was like a weight pressing her into the ground. She swallowed hard.

  “What could have happened…what did they know that caused them both to die within a month of each other?” Hannigan asked.

  Olivia tried to focus her thoughts. “What did Martin collect?” she asked.

  “He loved wooden figurines, Hummels, hand crafted antique music boxes, antique jewelry boxes. Objects from Bavaria, Austria, Switzerland.”

  “Paula Adams contacted a dealer in Munich who Martin had bought collectibles from when he was there on other trips. We wanted to know if Martin went to see him when he was overseas this time. The dealer hasn’t replied yet. Paula emailed me and said that she received an automated message saying the dealer was away and would be returning in a few days,” Olivia said.

  “That’s a good idea to contact the dealer,” Hannigan said. “If he saw Martin that week, maybe he can give us some additional information. Maybe he can shed some light on what Martin was doing.”

  “Did Martin collect any jewelry?” Olivia asked.

  “No. No jewelry. Only the things I mentioned.”

  Olivia pulled the gold cross necklace from her pocket. “This is the necklace that I told you Martin had. Is it familiar to you?” she asked. Olivia watched his face.

  Hannigan leaned closer and took the necklace in his hand. He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen this before. It is quite beautiful. Except for that skull in the middle.” He turned it over in his hand. “S,” he said, seeing the engraved letter on the back of the cross.

  “Martin put this in my pocket at the accident scene,” Olivia said.

  Hannigan’s eyes widened, questioning. “Did he? I’ve never seen it before. What was Martin doing with this? Why would he put it in your pocket?” Oli
via thought Hannigan seemed sincere in his denial.

  “Another question without an answer,” Olivia said.

  They sat in silence for several minutes.

  “Can you tell me more about Martin’s interactions with the owners of the Victorian and their attempts to purchase his house?” Olivia was clutching at anything she could think of that might help to add pieces to the puzzle.

  Hannigan stiffened. “As I told you, Siderov never spoke directly with Martin. However, he had a real estate representative who hounded Martin repeatedly. You see, the Ogunquit house was in Martin’s name only. He was the sole owner. The owners of the Victorian desperately wanted to purchase the Ogunquit home. Martin loved that house, wanted to retire there, and would not consider any offers. The offers became astronomical, completely out of line with what the house was worth. Martin felt that the owners were engaged in some kind of a power play: you know, wealthy powerful man is rebuffed and then wants, at any cost, what has been denied him.”

  Olivia nodded. “Yes, sounds like them.”

  “You know them?” Hannigan raised his eyebrows.

  “The son and I went out once. I didn’t care to continue the acquaintance. He didn’t care for that response. Neither did his father, who let me know how he felt when I went to the gala at their home. Which, by the way, I wouldn’t have attended if I wasn’t roped into going.”

  “Sounds like their tactics,” Hannigan said. “They want something. They don’t get it. They become aggressive in their attempt to take what they want. Very entitled. I don’t think they are refused often.” He paused. “I would be careful of them, Olivia.”

  Hannigan looked at the necklace in his hand. “This looks very valuable,” he said, and raised his eyes to Olivia’s as he passed the necklace back to her. “Martin had this?”

  Olivia nodded. “Why would he put it in my pocket? If he wanted to give it to me, why wouldn’t he have just handed it to me?” Olivia asked.

  Hannigan was quiet. He shook his head.

  “Unless he didn’t want anyone else to see it,” Olivia said.

  Hannigan’s face was serious.

  “Why do you think the Siderovs wanted Martin’s house so badly?” Olivia asked.

  “We assumed at first that he wanted to have it for guests or to expand his property. Then we thought he just became crazed over owning it because Martin wouldn’t sell,” Hannigan said.

  “When I was at the gala, Siderov’s son called the house a ‘monstrosity’. He became visibly angry and agitated when he talked about Martin’s house. I found it odd…an overreaction,” Olivia said.

  “A strange group of people,” Hannigan responded.

  “Are they still pursuing the purchase with you?” Olivia asked.

  “The representative contacted me shortly after Martin’s death to present another offer. I really don’t want the house, but I’ll be damned if I sell it to them. I told the representative never to contact me again or I would pursue a restraining order with the courts…against all of them.”

  “How did the representative take that?” Olivia asked.

  “Not well. He made a remark that I might come to regret holding onto the house. I blew it off, but in retrospect, and in light of this conversation, perhaps I should have taken it as a threat.”

  “Has there been any contact since?” Olivia asked.

  “None.”

  “I have an appointment with Detective Brown later this week. May I pass this information on to him?” Olivia asked.

  “Please do.”

  “Do you have the real estate representative’s name?”

  Hannigan rose and took a silver pen from his desktop. He wrote onto a pad of paper, pulled off the sheet, and handed it to Olivia. He had written: Michael Prentiss, Prentiss Property Management.

  “This isn’t local. I’ve never heard of them,” Olivia said.

  “I never kept a contact number as I wasn’t interested in speaking with them.”

  Olivia put the paper in her jacket pocket. “Is anyone staying at your house now?”

  “No, it’s empty. I have no intention of using it without Martin. And renting is a hassle I don’t need at the moment.”

  “When I was at the gala, I saw several decks on your house that overlooked the Siderov property.”

  Hannigan nodded.

  “Is there access to the decks from the outside of the house?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes,” Hannigan said. He thought for a moment. “Is there something you wish to see from the decks?”

  “Maybe. I was thinking it couldn’t hurt to watch the Siderov place. Although I really don’t know what I’m expecting to see.”

  “I can give you a key to the house,” Hannigan told her.

  “No, I just want to use the decks. Someone being in the house might arouse suspicion.”

  “Olivia…I’m not sure this is a good idea. What if these people are dangerous?”

  “If they are dangerous, I think we both have reasons to find out just how dangerous they are.”

  “Just tell the police. Let them investigate,” Hannigan suggested.

  “My aunt died of a ‘heart attack’. Martin died…well…” Olivia’s words trailed off. “The police don’t seem to be helping.”

  Hannigan nodded, his face a mix of sadness and anger.

  Olivia held out the necklace. “This was in Martin’s possession just before he died. I don’t know why he gave it to me. I don’t know what he wanted me to do with it.” She extended her hand. “It belongs to you now.”

  Hannigan shook his head vigorously. “No. I don’t want it.”

  “Sell it then,” she said. “It must be worth a good deal of money.” Olivia just wanted Hannigan to take it from her, to free her from the obligation of figuring things out.

  “I don’t want that necklace anywhere near me. It wasn’t anything Martin would own. I don’t know why he had it, but it wasn’t his. And if it had something to do with his death…” His voice trembled.

  Olivia’s hand dropped into her lap. Her energy was gone. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “Please don’t give up.” Hannigan’s face was serious. “It means something. We both know it. ”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Use the decks on the house,” Hannigan said. “See if you can discover anything about the Siderovs. But be careful, Olivia. Call me. Call me if you need anything,” he said. They shook hands and Hannigan walked Olivia out.

  She believed the depth of his emotions. He couldn’t be involved in Andersen’s death.

  Chapter 20

  A bell tinkled when Olivia opened the door of Streeter Real Estate and stepped inside. A stylish male receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. “Welcome to Streeter Real Estate. How may I help you?”

  “Hi. I was wondering if Magdalene was around. I don’t have an appointment but was hoping to catch her if she was in.”

  “I’m not sure if she’s available. She might be on the phone with a client. Let me pop into her office and see. Who can I tell her is inquiring?”

  “Olivia Miller.”

  The man stood but stopped in mid turn. He cocked his head slightly as if he was considering something. “Olivia Miller? Aggie Miller-Whitney’s daughter?”

  Olivia nodded, surprised. “She was my aunt. My legal guardian. You knew her?”

  “She did some legal work for me. She was a fine lady. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He went to check on Magdalene. He came out of her office almost immediately with Magdalene right on his heels. “Olivia!” she called cheerily as she bustled into the waiting area.

  Oh no, Olivia thought. She thinks I want to sell my house.

  “So nice to see you. How have you been doing?” Magdalene said, her voice soaked with saccharine. “You haven’t opened the shop yet.”

  “No. I’ve been busy getting things ready.”

  “Come into my office.” She took Olivia by the arm. “What would you like? Tea? Coffee? Ice water with lemo
n?”

  “Nothing, really,” Olivia said.

  “Now, now. It’s so hot outside. What about some nice cool water?” She called over her shoulder, “Andrew, would you bring Olivia some water with lemon and some mint tea for me, dear?” She moved her lips close to Olivia’s ear. “Isn’t he handsome? So stylish. And smart and efficient, too. Wouldn’t I love to have him barking up my tree?” She let out a heavy sigh. “But, alas, he doesn’t like women.” She shook her head. Olivia chuckled inwardly, as if Andrew being gay was the only thing keeping him from having a romantic interest in Magdalene.

  “Please, sit.” Magdalene gestured to the small sofa. Olivia sat down and Magdalene settled her considerable girth into a chair next to the sofa. The office was elegantly decorated with cherry wood furniture, cut glass lamps, original paintings by Ogunquit artists, and the sofa and chairs upholstered in shades of cranberry and forest green. It gave the impression of understated success, which surprised Olivia, since Magdalene’s manner and dress was anything but understated.

  Andrew came in with a tray and placed Olivia’s water and Magdalene’s tea on the coffee table alongside linen napkins. He put a glass plate with small butter cookies in the center of the table. “Can I bring you anything else?” Andrew asked.

  “No, Dear. Very nice. Thank you,” Magdalene told him with a bright smile. He left the room and she clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “All men should be like that.”

  Olivia chuckled.

  “What? You don’t think so? Just wait til you’re older.” She lifted her tea cup and sipped. “Now, Olivia. Have you been thinking about selling the house? Or the business, perhaps?”

  “No. I’m keeping them,” Olivia said firmly.

  Magdalene’s face hardened. “What brings you in then?”

  “I was speaking with Rodney Hannigan yesterday…” Olivia started but was cut off instantly.

  “Rodney Hannigan! I’ve been trying to meet with him for some time. Well, not specifically with him. With Martin Andersen. Until his passing, of course. But I have sent my condolences to Mr. Hannigan and offered my services should he ever wish to sell that magnificent home.”