Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  "I'll make sure we go by HR on our tour."

  Edward Killjoy wasn't a talker, who waffled endlessly, but he was friendly and knowledgeable, and he knew every employee by name, even the busboys. He took me on a tour of the employee areas before leading me around the front of house, showing me all the guest spaces from the lobby to the restaurant and bars. By the time we got to the conference center, I figured I would need to put names and faces on flash cards and practice.

  "Wow," I said, as we paused in the gallery overlooking the convention below.

  "It's really something else, isn't it?"

  "You can say that again."

  The conference center was two thousand square feet of chaos. Stall after stall showcased colorful toys, books, posters, art work, vintage items, collectibles and, disturbingly, costumes for the more discerning customer. I lost count of the number of otherwise normal-looking men sporting t-shirts featuring ponies, rainbows and flowers.

  "I don't get it myself," said Edward as he passed me a brochure for the event from the stand by the door. I opened it, not entirely sure what to expect. Despite the rainbow background, it was planned like any other convention. Listed were speeches on pony metaphors, ponies and meditation, along with seminars on the resurgence of ponies in the modern world, how to write fan fiction, featuring your favorite Super Pony and workshops on “Illustration for Beginners” from a master pony animator. The whole thing was mind-boggling.

  "I'm with you."

  "I don't get accountant conferences either," he continued, smiling, "but who's judging?"

  "Not me." In my head, I was doing some serious judging. It was hard not to.

  "Be careful if one of them asks you which is your favorite pony. It's like asking if you’re a Democrat or Republican. Things can get pretty heated."

  "Gotcha."

  "Let's head back around to HR to get you those details."

  I followed Killjoy as he swiped his all-access card to push through an “Employees Only” door, leading off the lobby. "No unauthorized persons can come back here," he told me, dropping his voice, "To get in, you need to have a pass, so I've ruled out guests and visitors. It’s got to be someone on staff, or someone connected to someone here."

  The employees’ areas were nice, but stripped of the little extras that made the guest areas special. No fresh flowers, no artwork on the walls, and the carpet had a durable quality to it, while the baseboards had a lower quality. Killjoy navigated our way quickly, while I scanned the walls for direction, coming to a halt abruptly at an open doorway.

  "HR," he told me, pointing first to the rectangular placard on the door, then ahead. "We've already been in my office down the hall, and your office is the room in between. This hotel was built long before open plan was popular. Anyway, HR is a bit of misnomer because it’s comprised of Louisa Moore and only Louisa Moore." Edward motioned me through as he greeted the woman typing at her computer, introducing us both.

  "You must be Lexi, Edward's new assistant. So glad you could join us at short notice." Louisa was around my height, though she had more than ten years on me, making her similar in age to Edward. Her dark blonde hair was cut in a feathered style and she wore a knee-length skirt, paired with a cardigan. She was neat, but not chic, though her smile was warm.

  "Glad to be here," I replied, shaking her outstretched hand. "It was lucky that I just finished a contract and happened to be available."

  "Very lucky,” Louisa agreed. “Don't let Edward work you too hard. He's a stickler, but a good boss."

  Edward chuckled. "Louisa will show you the files you need. Lou? Can you show Lexi her office, please? I have to go over some paperwork with the head office."

  "No problem at all. Tell me what you need, Lexi."

  With a nod, Edward left us, his heavy footsteps retreating quickly on the carpeted corridor as I reeled off my list of files. "Edward's got you reading up on all the employees?" she asked, her voice laced with sympathy, rather than curiosity.

  "Says I've got to know everyone," I replied.

  Louisa ran her finger down the list she made. "Well, some of them don't work with us anymore."

  "Mr. Killjoy asked me to write a short report on the leavers.”

  "Oh, I normally do that." Louisa shrugged, then waved a hand at the stack of papers on her desk. "Guess Edward finally paid attention to how busy I am."

  "Lots to do?"

  "Always." Louisa smiled. "There's always something to keep me busy." She pulled the files I asked for from her wall of cabinets, placing them in a shallow card box, which she handed to me. "There's quite a few, I'm afraid."

  "No worries. I'll get stuck right in."

  "I'll show you to your office. I don't know what you're used to, but it's nothing spectacular."

  "I'm adaptable," I assured her.

  Office was a misnomer. The room was barely larger than a janitor closet, and I suspected that was what it had once been. Squashed inside was a desk, chair and desktop computer, with an older, beige monitor. A small window overlooked the staff parking lot and a potted succulent struggled to survive on the windowsill. The desk had been cleaned recently and there was a cardboard box, taped shut, in the corner, by the door.

  "The last assistant's personal things," Louisa explained. "I've told her agency that she has until the end of the week to collect it or I have to bin the lot. I hope you're tidy."

  "Very," I said, placing the files on the desk. "You won't even know I'm here."

  "Good to hear. I'll be next door, if you need anything. I'll find you a lunch card too. Edward gave you your pass and key card already?"

  "Yes, thanks."

  "Great. You're all set. Welcome, again to The Montgomery Hotel. Let’s hope you have a pleasant stay!" Louisa shut the door behind her, leaving me alone in the closet.

  First off, I placed a phone call to Lucas back at the office, and got his answering service, an automated voice thanking me for calling the Solomon Agency. I left him a message, asking him to get into the hotel's computer system and look for any unusual log-ins, especially with regard to key card activations, staff rotas and bookings. I hoped Lucas might find an external IP address, or some other activity that he would be able to back trace. I knew that if someone were smart enough to hack the system, they would probably also know how to cover their tracks, but it would be interesting to know if the cyber attack was internal or external.

  Just as I finished reading through the theft reports, and the subsequent insurance claims, Edward returned, knocking on my door. I was glad I wasn't painting my nails as he entered without waiting. He thrust a piece of lined notepaper towards me. "These are the only people I can think of who were mad at me."

  "Mad enough to go criminal?" I asked, accepting it.

  "Hard to say. You think people are normal, then you find out they purchase pony tails that they anchor in their butts to live their fantasies."

  I shuddered as I rethought visiting the convention for a second look. "Is there a photocopier?" I asked.

  "I can do one better. We have a fancy machine that scans and emails. You don't even need hard copies of files, just press the email button, put in your email address, and it sends digital copies straight to your inbox."

  "Sounds great." That would make it easier to collect the files without it being obvious that I was taking a bunch of them out the building. Now, I could do it virtually. Technology was a beautiful thing. It made online shopping opportunities endless, amongst other useful stuff, like emails, and funny cat photos.

  "It's down the hall, opposite Louisa's office. Do you need anything else?"

  "No, I'm good to go, thanks. I want to meet some of the staff today; then I'm going to finish reading up and put together a plan of where to start."

  "Good luck."

  I thanked him. I had a feeling that I would need it, but it wouldn’t reassure him to let him know that. I wondered if Solomon told him how green I was. To cheer myself up after that thought, I tried to imagine Fletcher squashed
into the office, smiling prettily.

  One of the best things about being a PI is everyone thinks it’s cool—not least of all, me—but the paperwork is as mind-numbingly dull as any other temping job that I ever had. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to find a saboteur, despite spending the day trawling through half the files.

  Solomon wanted me to look for patterns, especially with the thefts, but I couldn't see anything. The incident report told me all kinds of things had been stolen from guest rooms. Jewelry ranging from rings to necklaces and brooches; laptops of different brands and specifications; digital music players from old models to the latest iPod; cash of all denominations, digital cameras, and the list went on. It seemed our thief took anything and everything. Instead of objects, I looked at the times for any pattern, thinking it might tie to a shift assignment. Sometimes things went missing in clusters; sometimes there was a week or two between incidents. I made a note of dates. Perhaps I could at least eliminate some of the employees by crosschecking the dates against vacation records? There were no times of theft attached to the reports, only times of discovery, which could be hours after the fact. The dates could be guesswork on the part of the owners too, but it was the best thing I could find to go on.

  I stuck my head around Louisa's door and coughed politely. She looked up from her paperwork. "Hello, again. What can I do for you? Did you get lunch okay?"

  "Yes, thanks. I need the vacation records for the past six months."

  "Who for?"

  I pretended to check my notes. "Everyone," I said.

  "That's odd. Why would Edward need to know that?"

  "He said something about head office."

  "Right. They're watching him. You know what's happening, right?" Louisa waited for me to nod. "I'm glad he explained. It's so embarrassing. They're probably checking that he's not slipping the staff any extra vacation days in lieu."

  "Right," I agreed. "That's probably it."

  I waited while Louisa called up a file on her computer and sent it to the printer.

  "There you are. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything else," she said brightly, tapping her watch. "And don't forget to clock out at five thirty. I won't hear of you staying late on your first day."

  "Thanks."

  I took the warm sheets of paper from the printer and retreated to my closet. I cross-referenced the dates, but it seemed no one was on vacation during the theft days; except for a couple of waitresses who'd been away for a week each, on separate times, when a spate of thefts were reported. I crossed them off the employee master list, did a time check, and locked everything away in the desk drawer, pocketing the key.

  As soon as I got in my car and locked the doors, just in case, I called my pro bono client, Elisabeth Fong, and changed the address of our meeting.

  The day had been long and mentally taxing, with plenty to absorb. The staff I'd spoken to seemed genuinely upset and worried that someone was messing with the hotel, and, in turn, their livelihoods. They didn't gush about Edward Killjoy, but neither did they slate him. When his name came up, I got the impression they thought he was doing a decent job, under difficult circumstances. Clearly, he didn't fraternize socially with the foot soldiers, but there seemed to be a mutual respect.

  Day one: Saboteur—one; me—zero.

  The drive to Frederickstown was much like my mood: sluggish. I pulled into a space on the street, opposite Marissa Widmore's apartment and looked around for Elisabeth, guessing that I must have arrived first. That gave me a few moments to look over my notes on Marissa, which were recorded on the “notes” function of my cell phone. With its pass code protection, and since I could carry it with me at all times, it made more sense than carrying her file. I still had a few questions for Elisabeth before I started to talk to Marissa's other friends. Plus, tonight I wanted to get a look at Marissa's apartment. So far, her car had turned up nothing. Maybe her apartment would tell a different story.

  I spotted Elisabeth approaching the apartment before she saw me, so I got out, beeped my car shut and walked across the street, waving when Elisabeth looked over. She seemed relieved to see me; then her face took on that pinched, worried expression she had when she came to see me at the office.

  "I hope you don't mind meeting me here," I said as we ducked under the porch, out of the drizzling rain.

  "No, it's no problem. I figured you'd want to look at Marissa's place. We keep each other's spare keys." I followed Elisabeth as she unlocked the front door upstairs. "I've been over since she..." Elisabeth's face crumpled and she swallowed hard. "Since she disappeared. She wouldn't want her plants to suffer even if she...."

  "She didn't ask her neighbors?" I interjected.

  Elisabeth shook her head. "She didn't know them all that well. Besides, we're best friends. It wasn't a big deal. She cat-sat for me when I was visiting some college friends last year."

  "Tell me about the residents of this block." I didn't want to make Elisabeth feel awkward by taking notes; so instead, I concentrated on listening to what she told me.

  “I know all the apartments are occupied. I think there's a couple across the hall from Marissa. Downstairs is an elderly woman. I don't know about the other downstairs apartment. Upstairs are a couple of single guys. Marissa said one of them was cute. He helped her move in and they had coffee once, but nothing happened." Elisabeth used a second key to unlock the door to Marissa's apartment and we stepped in.

  I could imagine Marissa moving into a new place and being pleased to find a cute, single guy. I could imagine Elisabeth and her sitting on the small blue IKEA sofa, gossiping and giggling about him. The scenario was a pastiche of Lily and me, except we rarely saw our upstairs neighbor and I had no idea if he were cute. Or even a he.

  "I'm going to take a look around," I told Elisabeth. "Do you want to water the plants while we're here?"

  The apartment was small, and it could easily be classified as a starter apartment, or a retirement place, both typical of the area. It comprised one large living room that held the sofa and an armchair, and a couple of stools that were pushed under the lip of the breakfast bar that divided the room from the tiny kitchen. There were framed pictures on the wall, several of which were postcards that looked like they came from a museum gift shop or a fancy stationery shop, plus a picture of Elisabeth and Marissa, smiling and waving to the camera. In the background, boats sailed past on the lake.

  "That was taken at my parents' place at Lake Pearce a couple of years ago," said Elisabeth, coming to stand next to me, a pink plastic jug of water in her hand. "It was a gorgeous day. We went sailing. That one is a montage of the homes Marissa lived in when she was in foster care."

  I peered closer to look at the frame Elisabeth pointed out. The montage was neatly divided into twelve squares, each showing a different front door, or a porch, or the whole house from a distance. Some places were nicer than the others, some larger, some smaller. "Does she keep in touch with any of the foster families?" I asked. I could understand one picture, maybe even of a family, but the montage seemed a little odd.

  "No, she was never close to any of them. She just liked that picture. I think it was a photography project in high school. Marissa said it reminded her of how far she'd come." Elisabeth indicated the jug. "I better water."

  Marissa had a lot of plants. I counted six in the living room, one a five-foot-tall tree in a large woven basket. It gave the impression that we were in a greenhouse. I ducked my head into the kitchen and counted several small tubs of greenery lining the small windowsill. Each had a little white stick bearing the name of an herb poking out of the soil.

  It made sense to start my investigation in the kitchen, seeing as it was small and would take the least amount of time. I poked through the cabinets, careful not to be too loud, but I didn't find anything interesting. Matching plates and bowls. Four mugs and four wine glasses, the cheap kind, which were suitable for red or white. I knew that because I had them too. Clearly, Marissa didn't expect a lot of company. Th
ere wasn't room for a dishwasher or a washing machine, but there was a small microwave that I opened and closed because you never knew where people hid stuff.

  "What kind of electronics does Marissa have?" I asked, as Elisabeth passed by me for a refill from the faucet.

  "Um... TV, DVD player," Elisabeth replied, her eyes flitting around the room. "No phone, because she has her cell. Oh, a laptop. It's pink."

  "Girly."

  "She just liked, likes, colorful. Color makes her happy." The small apartment was certainly colorful, but tastefully so. The pillows atop the blue sofa were a mix of striped and floral prints, and a chevron-printed rug defined the space that made up the TV-viewing area. The blinds at the windows were plain wood, and Marissa had hung fairy lights around the window frames. A white bookcase held a bunch of books and a variety of trinkets. I poked through that too, then opened the drawers of the TV cabinet. No laptop.

  Moving into the bedroom, I took in a double bed, neatly made up with a modern floral bedspread. I looked under her bed, and rifled through her closet to check for loose floorboards.

  "Can you tell me if any clothes are missing?" I asked, sticking my head out into the living room.

  Elisabeth and I stood side-by-side staring into Marissa's closet. "I don't know. Maybe. Her leather jacket isn't there," said Elisabeth after a few quiet minutes. "But I'm not sure about the rest. She never wore the jacket to work because it was kinda casual. That reminds me!"

  "Of?"

  "I told you she wasn't working, but I was wrong. Marissa got hired by a temp agency. She wasn't thrilled about it, but at least, she could make her rent and they were pretty okay with her going to interviews. They told her they could even help her find something permanent."

  "Do you know where they placed her?"

  "Sorry, I don't remember; but I do know where the agency is. It's Berwick's on Jefferson."

  "I know the one." I shut the closet doors and moved into the bathroom. There was a shallow bathtub with a shower mounted on the wall. The plastic curtain was a riot of colors. I checked the medicine cabinet and the sink. Toothbrush, check.