by Cassie Page
Olivia was insistent. “Xavier, you must tell Matt. He needs to know this. Would you recognize the man?”
“Oh, jes.”
He’d worked on his accent over the years, yet there was still a hint of the odd J here and there. Jes. “I’ve seen him going into the hardware store down the street and in the drug store. Plus, I have his picture.”
Olivia slipped her cup onto the counter and leaned forward. “You do? How did that happen?”
He shrugged again. “Simple. I take a picture of every item I sell to a client or that they bring in for repairs. I had a terrible experience once when I still had the San Francisco location. A customer brought a ring in with a loose stone to be tightened. The center diamond was a carat. It was in a nice setting but badly cut with many flaws. Not too valuable. When she came back to pick it up she claimed I had substituted an inferior diamond and that her ring had a stone worth three times as much. We went to court and I lost. Since then I photograph everything.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows, wishing she had thought of that when a client claimed after a job was finished that Olivia had broken an expensive vase. With no way of proving the piece had been intact when she returned the keys, she’d replaced it just to make the incident go away.
Xavier was still talking. “So, I took my movie picture of the watch, front and back and still had my phone in my hand when I returned to the showroom. They didn’t think anything of it because when I noticed I still had the Record button on, I pretended I was checking on a text. They didn’t see me turn the camera off. So I have a few seconds of them kissing and then looking directly at the camera looking surprised to see me.”
“And you still have the video?”
“Of course.”
He pulled out his phone and searched. “Aha. Here it is.”
Olivia leaned over his shoulder to study a video of a watch in Xavier’s hand. He turned it this way and that, then the room flashed by quickly as he turned for the door to the showroom, the door opened and there was a panorama of one side of his store. The video settled on Jocelyn in a deep kiss with a rugged, handsome guy in work overalls.
Olivia sputtered a laugh. She instantly recognized Jocelyn’s lush blond locks and huge doe eyes. The man was a double for Lorenzo Lamas twenty years earlier. Or maybe Fabio in his heyday, the male model. Jocelyn had her hand on his chest. His shirt was open and her red, claw-like fingernails rested against his gleaming, tanned chest.
“Oh no, Xavier. This is too much. They look like the cover of a romance novel.”
Xavier looked distressed. “I should have deleted the video. I would never do anything to embarrass my customers. And I know how human nature is. I’m from Argentina. We look at life and love differently in my native country. But what could I do? The watch was on the video as well. And, well, business is business.”
Olivia took the phone from his hand and ran the video again, studying the incriminating scene up close. “The police need to know about this.”
Xavier took the phone back, shut it down and slipped it into his pocket. Olivia doubted he would follow her advice. “You know Olivia, there’s one other thing that bothers me. It is the most insulting thing.”
“What is that?”
Xavier glowered up at the ceiling. “She drank a bottle of my champagne. The police found the bottle upstairs.” He pointed to the second floor. “That is so petty.”
“That is really shocking. She had a party here? By herself?”
Xavier muttered, “Chica extraña.”
“I beg your pardon? I don’t speak much Spanish.”
Xavier thought for a moment. “How you say? Bizarro.”
“Bizarro. Yes, bizarre girl. By the way, have the police finished upstairs? I’d like to take a look and see how much damage was done. It’s horrible to think about right now, but at some point we’re going to have to make repairs and continue with the remodel.”
Xavier rinsed out their cups, speaking over his shoulder. “Yes, I think they are finished. They didn’t tell me not to go upstairs, only to stay away from the area where she fell.”
Olivia frowned. “I can’t believe they’re done with the upstairs so quickly. Whatever. Do you want to come with me?”
“No, I can barely stand to stay in the shop, but the police and my insurance company want me to do an inventory of all my pieces to see if anything else is missing. The police took everything they found on her to examine for clues. It looks like she was just trying things on. I’m going to close up as soon as I finish. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see all this again without going out of my mind. Olivia, what am I going to do about the grand opening? Who is wanting to go to a party at a crime site?”
She hugged him and he held onto her for a moment before releasing her.
Olivia smiled kindly at him, her brain worrying Mrs. Harmon’s accusation like it was a loose thread. Yet, there was nothing in their embrace that the entire town could not have seen. What was Mrs. Harmon thinking? She had all but accused him of assaulting her.
“Xavier, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One thing at a time. Let me have a look upstairs. I won’t be long.”
Olivia climbed up to the unfinished second floor. It looked like every small-scale construction site, tarps on the floor, ladders, saw horses, plaster, lath and lumber everywhere. There were no toolboxes. Workers supplied their own and took them home each night to prevent thefts. It was a typical remodel scene except for the opening through which Jocelyn fell. And the crime tape draped over everything.
Olivia had learned to take construction mishaps in stride. Every worksite had a disaster or two before it was finished. After the workers made the repairs to the hole, the spiral staircase would be a showpiece of beautiful wrought iron and etched glass with Carrara marble steps.
Xavier was turning the space into, among other things, a ring boutique, where couples could sit in booths for privacy as they examined stones and settings, or Xavier’s custom drawings. The staircase was placed towards the rear of the store so that customers would have to walk by the counters downstairs that displayed elegant earrings and necklaces the bride might wish to add to her trousseau.
Olivia did a brief inspection of her carpenters’ work. She made a few quick notes on her phone for the guys to replace a cracked tile and check that the wainscoting was level. These were just items that had caught her eye. The official walk through would come later. She just needed to see the scene. This site had been desecrated, defiled. As she looked over the disarray she tried to imagine what she could do to remove the bad energy. She’d ask Xavier if he wanted to do some sort of ritual. Perhaps burn sage or have a meditation group come and cleanse the shop with positive imagery.
Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary for a work in progress. She slung her purse over her shoulder, headed for the stairs, then stopped. A glint of something caught her eye over in the corner, something winking at her. She saw a pair of coveralls tossed casually aside, but as she walked closer, peeking out from behind them was the shine of crystal. The corner was dark, but she saw the Wedgewood flutes clearly. She stopped herself from reaching for them. The forensics team had not noticed them in their sweep earlier. She needed to call Matt immediately. They might contain fingerprints. Jocelyn had not been alone last night.
Chapter Eight: Film At Eleven
Olivia’s phone vibrated as she came back down to tell Xavier of her find. Not now, she muttered when she saw Marguerite Fredericks’s name light up the screen. No doubt she had a new impossible demand for Charles Bacon’s party. The woman couldn’t help herself. She was born with a need to throw a monkey wrench into things.
Nevertheless, a client is a client. She answered brightly, “Hi, Marguerite. What can I do for you?”
“Olivia, we must talk about this dreadful situation.” Uh oh. There was the voice, the curt, don’t waste my valuable time voice.
“What do you mean,” Olivia said, sitting down on the stairs. Marguerite could be longwinded.
Probably Franny wanted to invite some more environmentalist types to the engagement party, shortening the number of powerful people on Marguerite’s list. With great effort, Olivia had finally convinced Marguerite to let Franny ask anyone she wanted. “She is the honoree, Marguerite.”
But very quickly Olivia realized this was not about the guest list. “The tragedy of it Olivia. The tragedy. Well, we can’t go forward with the party now. What will people say?”
Olivia was clueless. “What will who say? About what?”
“Why you, of course. And poor Jocelyn. It’s all over the Internet that you’re involved. Have you been questioned yet? Do you have a good lawyer?”
The knots in Olivia’s stomach kept tightening as Marguerite spoke. “Please, Marguerite, you have to start from the beginning. Why would I need a lawyer?”
“Olivia. Get it together. Because you’ve been charged with Jocelyn’s murder, of course.”
“I’ve been what?” Olivia stood up. “Actually charged? Where did you hear that?”
“Why Dan Arlo broke the story, of course. How could you not know this?”
Olivia had to sit down again as Marguerite continued. “As usual, he’s on top of everything. Before you know it, the cable channels will be all over it. You’ve got to get yourself a good criminal attorney. We can help you with that.”
Tell me this isn’t happening, Olivia prayed. “Dan Arlo? Marguerite, surely you don’t believe what he writes. I may have been in Xavier’s shop when Jocelyn’s body was discovered, but you can’t think I had anything to do with her death. And for the record, it hasn’t actually been declared a homicide. The police don’t know what killed her.”
The coroner would make that determination, probably by the end of the day. Whether it was accidental or homicide. Then a thought zipped across her brain. Could Jocelyn have killed herself? Did she somehow sneak in to breathe her last among her favorite baubles?
But then she thought, Really, Olivia? Like, motive? She has an adoring, rich husband. And what about the two champagne glasses? But maybe they were red herrings. Xavier could have left them there days ago while sharing a glass with a friend he was showing around. Or? Or had Jocelyn been expecting someone who never showed up? Maybe she became distraught and did herself in. Perhaps she keeled over from pills and that bottle of champagne and fell on the plywood. Eventually, it just gave way. The toxicology report would confirm that.
But if it were suicide, two essential questions remained: How did Jocelyn get in to the shop; and how did she open the safe? That airhead breaking into anything? Forgive me, Jocelyn, but let’s face it, you could barely figure out how to open a peanut butter jar, much less breach a high tech security system.
Since her ruminations were leading nowhere, she forced her attention back to Marguerite, now giving Olivia the sweetly condescending tone she fed to all of her underlings.
“Oh, Olivia. I understand. You’re in a state of shock about this, but really, dear, as your friend I can tell you that denial will never get you anywhere. You must be forthcoming and rely on solid legal representation to get you through this. Perhaps you had a moment of temporary insanity, was that it? Oh, it’s none of my business. But naturally with you involved in this dreadful thing, we can’t have it tainting dear Charles and Franny’s celebration.”
With one ear concentrating on Marguerite’s complaint, Olivia cocked the other to pick up a conversation downstairs. Xavier had gone to the back door. He seemed to be telling someone to come back later. The woman didn’t like that. Wait, was that . . .?
Then Marguerite said, “ . . . cancel the party.”
Cancel?
“No, no, no.” Olivia had to stop this avalanche of bad news. “Marguerite, you want to cancel the party because of this? Seriously? Have you discussed this with Charles? He and Franny have family coming in from the east coast. They won’t agree to move the date. Half the guest list has already made plane reservations. You know how expensive it is to change flights after they’ve been ticketed.”
Olivia checked herself. Of course Marguerite didn’t know about plane tickets. She and her husband owned their own Gulfstream.
Marguerite said in her do I have to spell everything out for you tone, “Yes, of course I’ve talked to Charles and Franny. And they agree completely. Listen, dear. I have to go. I hear Brooks at the door. We’ll talk,” and then she was gone.
As soon as Olivia got her jaw and limbs working again, temporarily paralyzed by the news that Brooks was in town, she called Charles, shoving Brooks Baker and his shenanigans to steal her client to some dumpster in the back of her mind. The car collector came on the line and she blasted in his ear, “Charles, how could you do this to me?”
“Do what?”
“Do what? Oh, come on, Charles. You know what I mean.”
She heard kitchen noises in the background. Dishes clattering and running water. Franny must be there, the only reason for Charles to get near food preparation. That was Marie’s domain, his treasured cook and housekeeper.
On sleepovers, his do-it-yourselfer fiancée shooed Marie out of the kitchen. Charles never left Franny’s side if he could help it. Ergo, if he was in the kitchen, Franny was probably fixing mac and cheese for their lunch. Out of a box. My specialty she had once boasted in all seriousness. My secret? I add some extra Parmesan cheese. She meant the powdery stuff that came out of a round, green box, the kind Olivia would not allow in her grocery cart.
“Are you seriously going to cancel your party because of me?”
Never had she taken such a sharp tone with Charles.
“Jeez, Olivia. Marguerite said it was the thing to do. With the fundraising drive for the museum and all, she said I couldn’t afford to associate with you. After you doin’ Jocelyn Payne and all.”
There was Charles, showing his New Jersey roots. “Doing her? You think I killed her?”
He sounded wounded. She could tell this wasn’t easy for him. Accusing his best friend in Darling Valley.
“Olivia,” he said in a softer tone. “C’mon. You can talk to me. I don’t care what kind of mess you’re in. I’m your guy. I’ll stand by you no matter what. Even if you go to prison for this.”
Olivia lowered her voice. She didn’t want Xavier to overhear. “Charles, what are you talking about? Why would you think I killed her? Surely you don’t believe that awful Arlo?”
Charles hesitated before saying, “But Olivia. Seriously? I saw the texts.”
Olivia’s heart stopped. “What texts?”
“The ones on your phone threatening to kill that woman. They’re on CNN.”
Chapter Nine: The Interrogation
Olivia ran down the stairs into Xavier’s office and clicked on the TV. The jeweler stood at the open vault with his back to her while Wolf Blitzer analyzed the president’s recent budget speech. Olivia stared at the crawl at the bottom of the picture screaming in capital letters and primary colors, “Darling Valley antiques dealer suspected of killing rival in jealous rage. See transcript of texts on CNN.com. Victim was the wife of well known venture capitalist, Arthur Payne.”
Olivia clicked off the TV and left the office, closing the door behind her. Xavier was engrossed in his inventory and hadn’t seen the story.
She returned to her perch on the stairs and called Matt.
Her voice trembled and she was starting to hyperventilate. “Matt, what’s going on? I feel as though I’m in a madhouse.”
“Olivia, I was going to ask you the same thing. How could you have sent those texts? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”
She dropped her head into her hand. “What texts? Charles told me there was something on CNN about me and texts. But I never texted Jocelyn about anything except closet dimensions. What’s this all about?”
She listened to Matt’s voice, pained and full of shock. She knew him so well. He didn’t want to be saying these things to her any more than she wanted to hear them.
“Olivia, they’re on he
r phone. We found them when we were checking to see who she’d been in touch with before she died. Two texts from you threatening to kill her and her reply warning you she’d report you if you didn’t stop harassing her. We’re looking to see if there are any more. But I don’t know how CNN got them.”
Olivia’s head was spinning. “Matt, how could that be? I never sent them. I don’t know what this is all about, but please tell me you don’t think I killed her.”
Matt spoke slowly. “Olivia, we need to talk.”
“You bet we do. I’m at Xavier’s. I’ll be home in ten. In the meantime, did you see the two champagne glasses upstairs in the corner?”
“I’ll check with the team, but I don’t recall anyone mentioning champagne.”
“Xavier told me that Jocelyn drank his champagne while she was upstairs. Forensics took the bottle. Haven’t you looked for fingerprints? I went upstairs just to check on things. It’s still my work site. I found two champagne flutes hidden under a pair of coveralls. I haven’t touched them. You have to send somebody over here to pick them up. I bet they will have the killer’s fingerprints on them.”
Olivia’s speech was rushed, frantic. Matt’s was measured, picking his words carefully. “Olivia, we are in the beginning of our investigation. We don’t have all the facts yet. We need to talk to Xavier again. He’s coming in later. But I don’t know what good the glasses will do us.”
“How can you say that?”
“You’ve walked through an active crime scene and compromised it. Someone could have put them there after we left. My team is very thorough. If they had been there this morning, they would have found them.”
Olivia’s breath was coming in angry gasps. “Are you saying I’m lying? That I put them there?”
“No, of course not. But you left the shop. Someone could have come in or Xavier might have put them there quite innocently. Or . . . ”
He paused. She knew what he was about to say, that maybe Xavier hadn’t put them there innocently, but he couldn’t bring himself to damn his friend. Mrs. Harmon’s accusation about the jeweler flashed on the screen of her mind. What exactly was he capable of? But she quickly turned that picture off.
