The man introduced himself and explained he was an executive with the ferry company as he led us into an office. Emily was looking more and more shaky as he invited us to sit. The detective told Emily the coast guard was continuing their search even as we talked. Then she asked Emily what Bradley had been wearing the last time she saw him. The wallet and cell phone were sitting on the desk. I saw Emily’s eye go to them and then look away as her breath caught. The two items might be her last connection to her husband.
The man said they had tapes of people getting on and disembarking the ferry that the items had been found on. The resolution wasn’t great and the picture was in black and white, but I heard Emily suck in her breath as she pointed to a figure in a light jacket walking onto the boat.
“That’s him,” she squealed as the figure disappeared from the tape frame.
The ferry executive stopped the video and began to play the one with passengers getting off in Catalina. She leaned forward, scrutinizing the people as they walked down the ramp off the boat. She pointed at a figure and said something. The man replayed the tape, froze it and enlarged the figure. But Emily slumped. False alarm—it wasn’t Bradley. When the last person went down the ramp, the man shut off the tape.
He asked her if she was sure she hadn’t seen anyone that might have been Bradley. She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry,” he said. No one said it, but I think we all knew there was only one other way Bradley could have left the boat.
“What about his car?” I asked.
“I was just going to bring that up,” Detective Brower said. There was just a hint of annoyance that I had beat her to the punch. The ferry executive offered to take us through the parking structure in a golf cart so Emily could check for Bradley’s Suburban.
We found it on the second level. The doors were unlocked and the keys under the seat. Emily prepared to climb in, insisting she was fine to drive it home.
“You’ll need the parking ticket to get out of the lot,” the man said. Emily checked the dash, around the seats and even the glove box, but there was no ticket. “Not to worry,” the man said. “I’ll follow you to the cashier and tell her to waive the fee and let you out.”
At that point I headed for the greenmobile. I needed to get back to Tarzana.
Before I went into the bookstore, I stopped by Dinah’s. She and the kids were folding laundry. E. Conner and Ashley-Angela looked like they were having fun.
“Aunt Dinah, where does this go?” Ashley-Angela said, holding up a towel that was coming unfolded. Dinah pointed toward the hall closet she’d converted into a linen closet.
She leaned close and whispered that it didn’t matter how perfect their job was; for now it was teaching them to take part in the chores of the house.
Dinah had just made coffee and gave me a cup that I sorely needed after the Long Beach trip. She told the kids to take a break and she and I sat down together, while they went off to the den to work on puzzles.
Dinah wanted to hear everything about everything and I started by telling her about my company the night before. “It’s about time those men waited on you,” she said when I mentioned waking up on the couch. I reminded her that Mason was always doing stuff for me.
“I knew one of them needed to do something for you,” she said in a remark pointed at Barry. I was never one of these people who insisted chores be divided down the middle. I knew that Barry was often so exhausted he could barely stand up. I was hardly going to ask him to load the dishwasher when he was in that condition. Besides I preferred the help to come like this, unsolicited.
When I told her about Bradley, she was shocked.
“He jumped off the Catalina ferry?” she said in surprise. “Not my first choice of suicide routes, but who can figure?” I filled her in on all the details, including how the coast guard was searching the whole area between Long Beach and Avalon Harbor on Catalina.
Finally I got to the part about finding Bradley’s Suburban in the parking structure. “Something about it doesn’t seem right,” I said.
Dinah misunderstood and thought I was concerned that no one had noticed it was parked for so long, and she tried to explain. “People probably leave cars there for several days all the time when they stay over on Catalina.”
“That’s not it,” I said. “It’s about the parking ticket. It wasn’t in the car.”
Dinah shrugged. “He probably took it with him.”
“That seems really odd,” I said. “If you were going to get on a ferry and jump off somewhere, and you went to the trouble to leave your SUV unlocked and the keys under the seat, why would you take your parking ticket with you?”
Dinah started to speak and then realized she didn’t have a pat answer. “Yeah, why would you?”
CHAPTER 8
“MOLLY,” MRS. SHEDD SAID, GRABBING ME AS I rushed into the bookstore. “What happened to you yesterday? You were supposed to bring in the crocheted snowflakes. When I left for the day, there was no you and no snowflakes.”
“I did come back to the bookstore. I’m afraid I’d forgotten all about the snowflakes, but when you hear what happened, I’m sure you’ll understand.” I walked farther into the store and she seemed very agitated as she walked with me.
She gestured toward the entrance area. “I thought you were going to put up a sign for the holiday event and a countdown sheet for the book launch. We want to generate as much excitement as possible. It would be terrible if the trucks rolled in with the books and there was no one waiting for them.”
I broke the news that I didn’t have the snowflakes with me this time, either. Mrs. Shedd sighed in frustration, but before she had a chance to chastise me, I stepped close to her.
“It’s about Bradley Perkins,” I said and she let out a little yelp. Mr. Royal was watering the Christmas tree and looked up at the sound. She covered her mouth and seemed even more agitated.
“Tell me it’s good news,” she said. “I’ve been trying to call his office and all I get is his voice mail or a woman who offers to take a message.”
I didn’t know quite how to tell her what happened, so I went the direct route and told her about the suicide note and my trip to Long Beach. The color drained from her face and I pulled up a chair and had her sit.
“Oh, dear,” she said, putting her face in her hands. She took a few deep breaths and sat upright. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Joshua was against it, but Logan Belmont kept raving what a miracle man Bradley was with money. Other people had lots of good things to say about Bradley, too. It wasn’t as if I was dealing with a stranger. Bradley lived in the area and everyone knew him. I kept hearing that he coached a kids’ sports team, was active in the local school and chamber of commerce. I was sure Joshua was wrong. I just gave Bradley a little of my savings at first, but when I saw the kind of return I was getting on it, I turned over more money to him.” She swallowed hard before she continued. “I used the store’s credit line and borrowed one hundred thousand dollars to give to him. Then a few weeks ago, I heard someone say they were having trouble taking their money out of Bradley’s fund. It made me nervous, so I called him last week and told him I wanted to pull all my money out. Bradley tried to talk me into waiting for a couple of months, but when I persisted, he said he’d need a little time. Something about his special method of investing made it impossible for him to pull out money at a moment’s notice. It didn’t seem right to me, but what could I do?”
I asked her who she’d overheard, but she didn’t remember.
The store was getting crowded. Mr. Royal had left fiddling with the tree and was helping a customer. Mrs. Shedd stood up and said we needed to take care of the bookstore’s business. Just before we parted she said, “Molly, you’ve done detective stuff before. Please find out what’s going on. You understand that if I can’t get at least the hundred thousand dollars back to pay off the bank, the bookstore might go under.” There was something desperate about her farewell squeeze of my arm before she put on a brav
e smile and went to help a couple standing near the local history books.
“THAT SOUNDS BAD. WHAT DOES SHE EXPECT YOU to do?” Dinah asked me later as I sat down at the table at the bookstore café. Mrs. Shedd had asked me to keep everything she’d told me to myself, but telling Dinah didn’t count. My friend had called about meeting and for once I actually noticed that my cell was ringing. Dinah said she needed my help with something.
But before I took a break, I made up the sign for the holiday event. We put it on every year to coincide with Santa Lucia Day.
The celebration was a carryover from Mrs. Shedd’s childhood. She was Swedish and every December thirteenth, as the eldest daughter, she donned the traditional long white dress, red sash and crown of candles and served coffee and buns to her family. There were various interpretations to the origin of the holiday, but to Mrs. Shedd it kicked off the holiday season.
I made up the countdown sheets and attached them to the cardboard cutout of Anthony. Mrs. Shedd was right about it being a good idea. They attracted immediate attention. I waited on customers and, when there was a lull, went back to the yarn department and attached the completed swatches on the bins.
Bob was baking something with cinnamon and the air smelled delicious. He said he’d bring over our order when it was ready.
“Mrs. Shedd didn’t say exactly, but I think what she really wants me to do is to get her money back. I can’t see where Emily will be much help. She kept telling me that she didn’t know about Bradley’s business,” I said with a sigh. I smiled at Ashley-Angela and E. Conner, who were sitting at the bistro table with Dinah. They were sharing a box of crayons and drawing. It was amazing to see how they’d calmed down compared to their first visit, thanks to the Dinah effect. She’d worked the same wonders on the kids that she did with her students.
“But I came here to help you out,” I said. “What’s the problem?”
“Molly, Dinah, hi,” a chirpy voice said before Dinah could answer. Our fellow Hooker, Elise Belmont, passed by, carrying a shopping bag from Nicholas’s store. She walked over to a corner table, where I noticed that her husband Logan had set up his portable office. He had his papers, his cell phone and minicomputer set out on the table. Logan was the go-to guy for real estate in Tarzana and Woodland Hills. The bookstore café and Le Grande Fromage were favorite spots to hang out among the Tarzanians who worked out of their houses.
Bob brought over Dinah’s order. He handed me a red-eye and a container of fruit and cheese the café had just started carrying. Dinah had a café au lait and a bagel and cream cheese, which she cut up for the kids. Bob gave them each a mug of steamed milk and honey. I mouthed a thank-you to Dinah. As usual she’d ordered right. But I was more interested in Logan than the food.
“Mrs. Shedd kept mentioning Logan and how he was the one who’d turned her on to investing with Bradley.” I watched the action at the corner table for a moment. Logan appeared upbeat as his wife pulled out a chair and I had a feeling he didn’t know about Bradley. “I’m going to go talk to them,” I said, getting up.
“Go for it, Molly,” Dinah said.
I greeted Elise and Logan when I reached their table. I thought I’d begin with a little small talk, but Elise took care of that.
“I think I figured out who A. J. Kowalski is,” she said with her eyes so bright they practically sparkled. “I know you said you won’t tell, but if I guess right, you could blink twice. That wouldn’t be telling.”
I was beginning to realize it was useless to keep repeating that I didn’t know who the vampire author was, so I just listened and let her think whatever she wanted based on what she thought my eyes did.
“It’s Adele’s boyfriend, isn’t it? All that stuff she said was just a cover. Pretty smart of me, huh?” She turned toward her husband as he worked on his computer. “Logan said William took a lease with an option to buy on a nice little house over in College Acres.”
Elise was staring at my eyes, trying to count blinks, while I restrained a laugh. Koo Koo as the vampire author? Right. He reminded me of a glass of warm milk. I couldn’t picture him writing the smoldering undercurrent that surrounded the Anthony character. Even the way Anthony stroked a crochet hook as he drew it through a loop was sensual.
Logan nodded in agreement. “Bearley’s writing career must be going well. His big concern was finding a house that had a room for a writing studio that he could keep separate from the rest of the house.”
Since Logan seemed to be in the know about William/ Koo Koo, I asked if he knew what his day job was.
“He teaches English at a private school and does a lot of tutoring. He dropped a few hints that he might be making some changes in his life soon.”
“Sounds like he might be getting married,” Elise said, and I suddenly had an image of Adele as a bride. No question, with her sense of style she wouldn’t be wearing a white dress. More likely purple or magenta.
Logan shrugged. “I listen, but I don’t ask.”
“You didn’t blink twice, did you?” Elise said, her voice heavy with disappointment, for a second, anyway. Her mind started working again and her eyes brightened. “What about Nicholas?” She focused on my face, trying to keep track of my blinks again, while I tried to change the subject. I noticed something black and white was overflowing from her project bag on the chair next to her.
“What are you making?” I asked, touching it.
She pulled it out and displayed it on the table. “It’s a vampire scarf.” When I didn’t get it, she explained. The white stripes were pale and chalky like a vampire’s complexion, the black ones were for their color of choice for clothes. Anthony was big on black turtlenecks and black fine wool slacks. Even the half double crochet stitches looked like tiny fangs, she said, indicating the pointy edges of the stitches. She was going to add pointy edging with a fanglike shape at the ends of the scarf and the final touch—a red tassel. She didn’t have to tell me why anything scarlet reminded her of vampires.
“And think of it,” she said, “what is the most vampire-centric part of the body? The neck,” she said, stroking hers in an exaggerated manner.
I’d gotten sidetracked from my real purpose. I’d already thought it out and decided to ask questions first, because once I told Logan about Bradley’s suicide, I didn’t think he’d be interested in answering.
Logan was on the short side, with an aura of cheerful-ness, which worked well for being in real estate. He had a weird hairline that made it look like he was wearing a cap. It was a little touchy figuring out how to mention Bradley without bringing up the suicide, but at the same time not making it sound like he was alive. I finally just said, “You know Bradley Perkins, don’t you?” Then instead of continuing, I let it hang in the air.
“Know him?” Logan said with a laugh. “You could say so. He’s the best thing that happened to us.” He smiled at his wife and she nodded in agreement. “You joined his fund, didn’t you?” When I said I hadn’t, he seemed surprised. “If you want, I can help you get in. The investment club has become so popular Bradley had to limit who he would let join.”
I mumbled something about having to think about it. Logan took my comment to mean I didn’t know enough about the fund to want to put my money in and he began what seemed like a sales pitch.
“I met Bradley and Emily when I sold them their house,” Logan said. He detailed how he and Bradley had gotten talking and Bradley had mentioned making a lot of money on stocks. “The guy has a knack for buying and selling securities. It’s amazing. He has some secret system. He calls it Strike and Split.” Logan let the comment sink in before continuing on. “I don’t remember exactly how it came up, but I asked him if he’d be interested in letting me put some money in with his.” Logan said Bradley had been hesitant at first, but then thought it was a good idea. “I just threw in a little money and in a few months he gave me a check that covered just the profit on my money. It was a nice hunk of change,” Logan said. He turned to his wife. “That’s
what we used to remodel the kitchen, remember?”
“Like I would forget. It’s not every day you get your dream kitchen. Thank you, Bradley,” she said before taking a bite of Logan’s cheese plate.
“So, then I gave him more of our money and I’d told some other people about Bradley and they wanted in, too. He started calling it a club and it seemed like everybody wanted in. Finally, he made up some rules about whose money he would take. I’m always hearing from somebody around here, asking me to put in a good word for them.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” I said when he finished. Who would have guessed, looking at the Perkins’ house? It was nice and all, but hardly fitting someone who was that successful. Logan said that was part of Bradley’s appeal.
“Bradley charges a small fee for handling the fund—just enough to cover his expenses. He doesn’t go in for fancy offices and an extravagant lifestyle. He’s one of us.”
Now I’d come to the hard part. It was obvious Logan was done giving out information and I had to break the news about Bradley. “When was the last time you talked to Bradley?” I asked.
Logan thought a moment. “I don’t know, maybe a week ago.”
“Did you know that he went missing a few days ago?”
Logan made a dismissive shrug. “Elise mentioned something. She heard he and Emily had some kind of argument and he’d taken off for a few days. I was going to call him, but I decided it was best to stay out of it. I was kind of surprised, though. They are such a perfect couple. I can’t imagine them having that big a fight.”
I swallowed hard. “So, if something were to happen to Bradley, who would take over this fund you were talking about?”
“Interesting question,” Logan said. “Well, Bradley is the club, so no one could take his place. I suppose all the stocks in the fund would be sold and the money divided up to the members. I’m glad you brought that up. I’m going to talk to Bradley about it. He’s a young guy in good health, but it’s a good idea to have all bases covered.”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 130
