Hope Hadley Eight Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  I reached into my purse, grabbed a small piece paper, and scribbled down my phone number on it.

  “Well, if you do think of anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call,” I said.

  After finishing up with Beatrice, I headed back to Paul’s place. Unfortunately, the police had cordoned off most of the property. I would have been breaking the law if I crossed the yellow police tape. And, with the detective already not on friendly terms with me, I didn’t want to provoke him any further. Besides, Detective Wright had told me that everything they’d found at the scene of the crime pointed to Sophie being the killer.

  Considering that, I reluctantly decided to leave the scene to question the next suspect on my list.

  Chapter Nine

  Jack Sprague was the next suspect that was in my sights. Like so many aspiring actors, the thirty-eight-year-old was tall, muscular and handsome. The problem was, he knew how handsome he was and had let it get to his head.

  I caught up with him at his workplace, Bistro 310, a hip café on Beverly Boulevard. I requested to have the hostess seat me in his section, then waited for him to take my order. For a man who waited tables for a living, he sure walked around like he owned the place. He approached my table, drenched in arrogance.

  “Welcome to Bistro 310. My name is Jack, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with a drink?” Jack asked.

  I pulled the honorary deputy badge out of my purse and flashed it at him quickly. “Actually, I’d like to start by asking you a few questions.”

  Jack scrunched his nose at me. “About what?”

  “The murder of Paul Franklin.”

  “I didn’t know he was murdered,” Jack said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I find that hard to believe.”

  He was dismissive of me. “Believe what you want, I didn’t know he was dead.”

  “I will believe what I want. And I believe you shouldn’t be so dismissive of me. You had a motive to want Paul dead.”

  Jack tried to shrug me off. “That’s what you say.”

  I laid out the facts for him. “Paul was dating your ex-girlfriend—a woman you haven’t exactly gotten over. Revenge is a very strong motive—”

  He interrupted me. “You’re really reaching here.”

  “Am I? I know you hated the fact that she left you for him. Sophie told me as much.”

  He didn’t deny that. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  I pressed on. “Sophie told me you wanted her back. With Paul in the picture, that wasn’t going to happen. But, if Paul was gone, maybe you could win your way back into Sophie’s heart.”

  “Those are your words, not mine.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t want to blindly take the word of a murder suspect.”

  He wasn’t so dismissive of me now. Instead, he became very defensive. “For the last time, I’m not a suspect.”

  “Who are you trying to kid? You had all these reasons to want Paul out of the picture, yet you’re still insisting that you’re not a suspect.”

  “Of course I’m not a suspect. I have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  Wait a minute. Stop the presses. Where did that come from?

  “An alibi? But you just told me you didn’t even know Paul had been murdered. Why would you be so quick to tell me you have an alibi for a crime you supposedly didn’t know had been committed?”

  Jack changed his tune. “All right. I did know Paul had been murdered, but I didn’t do it.”

  “What you mean to say is that you’ve been lying to me?”

  “Only about knowing that Paul had been killed. I really do have an alibi.”

  “After finding out that you’ve already lied to me once, it’s hard to believe that you’re telling the truth now.”

  “Call my friend Brent. He’ll tell you I was at his place all night rehearsing for this audition I have.”

  “All night?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I went over there after I got off work at five. I was there until midnight. Go ahead, call him.”

  I had never questioned someone who was so eager to throw an alibi at me. I took Jack up on his offer and called his friend Brent. Not surprisingly, Brent corroborated Jack’s story. Normally, that would have put an end to my questioning. In this case, I couldn’t help but think that Jack knew a detective would be coming to question him at some point and that he had pre-arranged an ironclad alibi to put himself in the clear.

  The problem was, I had no evidence that Brent was just lying to cover for his friend. Unless I could uncover some hard evidence to poke a hole in Jack’s story, all I had was a nagging suspicion. Granted, that suspicion was very strong, but that wasn’t going to exonerate Sophie.

  With Jack’s alibi having been confirmed by his friend, he had no interest in answering any more of my questions. And, since I didn’t have the authority to force him to talk, I reluctantly left the café.

  Chapter Ten

  With two disappointing suspect interviews behind me, I was hoping that the next one would bring better results. For this one, I had to make a few changes to my appearance. As Henry Mankiewicz worked at a production company in the film industry, he would most likely recognize me from my television days.

  I had a taxi bring me to a costume shop where I bought a big floppy hat, a scarf, a rubber Halloween costume witch nose, and a pair of large-framed sunglasses. Between the four items, I managed to make myself look just different enough that he probably wouldn’t recognize me.

  After finishing at the costume shop, I headed over to Paul Franklin Productions, the production company where Sophie had worked. Once there, I talked to the receptionist, who led me to Henry Mankiewicz’s office. The place was lined with movie posters from the various films the company had produced over the year. When I entered the doorway to his office, Henry was sitting behind his desk reading a screenplay.

  The nebbish, balding fifty-three-year-old had the look of a man who enjoyed pouring over actuarial tables in his spare time. While that wasn’t true, his thick glasses didn’t do him any favors. It was almost as if he’d lost his primary pair of glasses and had been forced to wear his backup pair to work today.

  “Mr. Mankiewicz,” I said.

  He was annoyed as he looked up from the screenplay on his desk as if I had interrupted him during a particularly entertaining portion of the script.

  “Yes?” he replied.

  “I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time.”

  He did not warm up to me in the least. “That depends. What is this regarding?”

  “I wanted to ask you some questions about Paul Franklin.”

  Henry’s lips curled into a snarl at the mere mention of Paul’s name.

  “Who are you again?” he asked.

  I pulled my honorary deputy badge out of my purse and held it up briefly. In addition to my disguise, I didn’t want to give him my real name. Instead, I made up a new one.

  “My name is Jane Coolidge.”

  So far, so good. Henry seemed to buy the whole act, and most importantly, the police badge.

  “What questions do you have about Paul?” Henry replied.

  “There are some lingering questions surrounding his death,” I said.

  He looked at me critically. “Is there? I heard you have Sophie Paulson in custody. Shouldn’t she be able to answer all your questions?”

  Henry had far more knowledge about this case than the other suspects had. He was really going to make me work hard to get any useful information.

  “I’m afraid that’s not the case,” I said.

  He questioned me again. “How so?”

  “I’ll get to that. But first, how did you and Paul get along?”

  I already knew the answer to that question, but wanted to hear it from him. I was glad I did.

  “Just fine. Why do you ask?”

  Talk about a bald-faced lie. Sophie had told me that things had really soured between Paul and Henry af
ter he had gotten passed up for a promotion recently. Henry was trying to distort the truth. The question was, why?

  I called him out. “That’s not what I heard. I have it on good authority that you and Paul were not on the best of terms and that you believed Sophie’s promotion was because of favoritism, not merit.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “So, you’re telling me I heard that wrong.”

  He deflected. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  I couldn’t believe he was going to make me spell it out. “You were angry at Paul for not promoting you. Even more, you felt that Sophie hadn’t earned the promotion that she’d gotten. Perhaps your resentment turned deadly.”

  Henry glared at me. “Are you accusing me of murder?”

  “I’m just saying, this case may not be as cut and dry as it first appeared.”

  “But Sophie was at the scene of the crime. What do you think happened, that I killed Paul, then called the police to frame Sophie?”

  A slew of questions entered my head. I went through them one by one.

  “Wait a minute. How did you know that Sophie was at the scene?”

  “They mentioned it on the news.”

  I hadn’t watched the news at all so I couldn’t confirm that. One thing that was undeniable was how strong of a suspicion I had when I looked at Henry. His confrontational attitude rubbed me the wrong way.

  The time for speculation was over. I wanted to get down to the most important question of all.

  “Where were you last night between nine and nine-thirty?” I asked.

  “The same place I always am,” Henry said.

  “Which is?”

  “The Backlot Bar.”

  The Backlot Bar was a local haunt for all the entertainment employees in the area. It was located two buildings over from where I was currently standing. That made it a perfect nightcap location for the entertainment employees of this building who wanted to take an edge off after work.

  “Is there anyone who can verify your story?” I asked.

  “Of course. The bar was packed last night.”

  “I meant, anyone who can personally verify your story?”

  “Talk to Chase, the bartender. He was the one who served me.”

  “I will.”

  I stared Henry down, wondering if he’d waver on his story. He didn’t. The man was completely calm. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was telling the truth, or because he just was a good liar.

  There was one way to know for sure. I headed over to the bar and talked to Chase. Just as Henry had told me, Chase verified that Henry was at the bar last night. I couldn’t believe it. For a man who acted as suspicious as Henry did, he had a rock solid alibi.

  If I wasn’t frustrated enough already, that really set me off. There were so few suspects to begin with, and now, I had to cross Henry off of my list. Even more, having questioned all the other suspects, I had now run out of fresh leads.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a full day of investigating, stretching the suspect list to the limit, I not only felt completely exhausted, but I had nothing to show for it. It was so frustrating. On top of that, two of the suspects seemed to have solid alibis. The one who didn’t hadn’t exactly given me much to work with. With this case, at every turn, I had come up short.

  To me, that was the most deflating part of this all. I had no problem running around town if it produced results. But to return to my hotel empty-handed was just soul crushing. I had started the investigation staring down a big question mark. That’s just where I found myself again. Even worse, I was running out of ideas.

  The problem was, I didn’t know what else I could do. My body seemed to have an answer. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over me. I had run myself ragged and was in serious need of some rest. Perhaps, that would be good for my mind as well. Sometimes answers came to me after I had gotten some sleep. I was hoping that would be the case this time as well.

  The next day, morning came quicker than I wanted it to. The previous day had left me more emotionally drained than I had initially thought. So, when I woke up, I hoped to grab a few extra hours of sleep. With the sound of a police siren coming from the street outside my window, that was an impossibility.

  That was the one thing about being back in Los Angeles. There always seemed to be a siren going off somewhere in town. Now that I was awake, it proved too difficult to fall back to sleep. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of bed and went to the window of the hotel room. As I opened the blinds, an unexpected sight greeted me.

  It was an overcast day. Storm clouds loomed in the air. The threat of rain was strong. For a place like L.A., where it was sunny more days than not, that made for an odd sight. It was almost as if Mother Nature had taken cues from my mood.

  At the same time, the weather conditions outside just acted a backdrop. I cared more about the conditions inside my head. Unfortunately, my thoughts were as murky as ever.

  I had been wrong. The rest had left my thoughts just as jumbled as ever. What a time for my mind to fail me. I ordered some room service, in hopes that maybe having a full stomach would spark inspiration.

  It did not. Two hours had passed, and I was no wiser. I was in a serious rut, completely blocked as to where to go from here and what to do next. Yesterday, when I needed emotional support, I had called my boyfriend.

  Since this mental block pertained to investigating the case, I decided to give my brother a try. I gave Joe a call. Unfortunately, he did not give me his typical warm greeting. I wondered if he was working on a case back home.

  “Hi Joe,” I said.

  “Hi,” he replied seemingly looking to conserve his words.

  There was a beat down tone to his voice.

  I had a feeling I’d caught him at an inopportune moment. “Bad time?”

  I was right.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s the best time,” he replied.

  That was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. Just when I needed the comfort of his words the most, I wouldn’t be able to get them. But, I understood the cycles of life just as he did. I would have to find a way to tough it out.

  “Do you want to call me back later when things are better?” I asked.

  Apparently, there had been a bit of confusion. Joe tried to clear it up. “I meant, it’s not an issue of bad timing. It’s more that I’ve had a tough morning.”

  We seemed to be experiencing the same thing. “I know the feeling.”

  The concern in my voice got to him. He addressed it. “I’d ask how things are going for you, but it seems pretty obvious.”

  Unlike me, Joe seemed determined not to talk about his problems. While I wanted to get to my difficulties, I wasn’t just going to gloss over his.

  “It’s not the best of times for me either,” I said. “But enough about me. What about you? Tell me. What’s the matter?”

  Joe played down his troubles. “You already have enough on your mind. You don’t need to hear my problems on top of that.”

  We were doing a dance that was bordering on the ridiculous. Instead of just deferring to each other, one of us had to step up. I wanted to hear about his dilemma first.

  “Joe, you’re my brother. You can talk to me. Now, let’s hear it.”

  Joe exhaled loudly. “All right. Suit yourself.”

  “So, what’s the deal?” I asked.

  “It looks like I’m going to have to stage an intervention.”

  “With Hank?”

  Hank was one of Joe’s oldest friends. They had known each other since childhood. Through good times and bad, they were there for each other. This was a particularly bad time for Hank. His wife had recently filed for divorce. Apparently, she’d fallen for another guy.

  Hank was heartbroken. Through adulthood, Hank hadn’t been a stranger to alcohol, but ever since Doris left him, he had really been hitting the bottle hard. His behavior had not gone unnoticed by my brother.

  Joe replied with disappoi
ntment in his voice. “Yeah. I’ve been putting up with his excuses for too long. He keeps pretending his drinking problem isn’t as big as it is. But, he was fall over drunk at the bar again last night. So much that he ended up throwing up all over himself. The man just seems like he lives to drink these days. Like the idea of spending a moment sober is too much for him.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty horrible. But, in another way, last night was kind of a good thing.”

  I was confused.

  “How do you figure?” I asked.

  “The smaller the warning signs were, the easier they were to ignore. After a guy throws up all over himself, there’s no way for him to ignore how out of control things have gotten. He became the drunk eight hundred pound gorilla in the bar. Even Hank won’t be able to deny that he needs help now.”

  “I’m so sorry it’s come to this, but if he can sober up and clean up his act, this intervention will be worth it,” I said.

  “That is a big if,” Joe replied.

  “Good luck. You know I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “It sounds like you already have your hands full.”

  “I do. But hopefully this will be resolved soon,” I said.

  “Same here. I just hope it’s not too late,” Joe replied.

  “Don’t give up hope. It’s the only thing we have sometimes.”

  “Intellectually, I know that, but part of me is kicking myself for not getting involved sooner.”

  I tried to keep my brother from getting too down on himself. “You didn’t know.”

  “It’s a nice thing to say. Unfortunately, it’s not the truth. The fact is, the signs have all been right in front of me all along. The truth has been staring me in the face. I just didn’t want to admit it,” Joe said.

  That last point really resonated with me. My brother had been talking about his friend’s drinking problem, but the sentiment related to my situation as well. The more I thought about it, the more I began to question myself. Had I fallen into the same trap as Joe had? Had I been deluding myself all this time? Had the truth been staring me in the face all along?