Price of Innocence
Page 7
“She wasn’t going to do that anymore, was she?”
“You mean the management company? Like I said before, she got that so she could spend more time representing the foundation. That’s what came first with her always. Whatever she could do, however she could do it.
“It’s like what people talk about back when Princess Diana died and everybody was mourning and seeing all the good she did. Now people are realizing how wonderful and special Jamie was. They’re seeing what she was working for.”
“And you’re working for?”
“Sure. But not like Jamie. No one was like Jamie.”
“What kind of place is this to work?”
“The best. We’re doing important things here. Changing lives. I know first-hand what it means. My family was one the Sunshine Foundation helped. I remember when Jamie and Celeste came to talk to my family. And then the day we moved into the new place.” He looked around. “Got me my first computer that day.”
And changed his life. Words unspoken, but clear in the room.
* * * *
The Sunshine Foundation’s office manager, Celeste Renfro, was the woman who’d greeted them when they arrived. The one who would not let herself cry. She still sat at the desk. No one else was in sight.
Belichek realized the sense of familiarity was because she reminded him of his grandmother.
They were both women to be reckoned with and blessed with formidable bosoms, as Gran used to say.
He flashed back to watching an old movie with his grandparents. Something with Cary Grant — his grandmother’s favorite. In a Paris nightclub, Grant tried to maneuver an orange over a matron’s front without using his hands. Grant looked uncomfortable. The matron looked pained.
“He should be enjoying himself,” Grandpa protested.
“Rutherford, behave yourself,” his wife scolded. Her tone changed when she added, “Though she certainly should be enjoying herself with Cary Grant.”
“Talk about behaving yourself,” Grandpa scolded back.
Then they looked at each other and laughed.
He was old enough to pick up at least some of the subtext and be mortified that they could possibly think — much less do — such things.
Law enforcement certainly broadened your horizons on what people could think and do.
Now, he hoped his grandparents had enjoyed themselves to the max.
Before Landis could ask her anything, Celeste Renfro called out, “Denise, please come sit at the desk. I need to talk to these detectives.”
She stood and led them back down the hall to the door past Hendrickson York’s.
“Wait. This is Jamison Chancellor’s office. Please take us to your office.”
“I don’t have one. We can stay at the desk in the middle of everything or go in what we laughingly call the conference room with those two big-eared volunteers. I thought you’d want to see Jamie’s office.”
She’d unlocked the door by that point.
“This has been locked since she left before Labor Day?”
“No. Told you. We don’t have the room to spare to leave an office closed up. It’s been used most days since she left, as it was used most days for something or other beyond her individual work when she was here. She would go in the supply closet if she needed to. By herself. It wouldn’t hold the three of us.”
They’d need to search the office, but forensics, with people in and out over the past three weeks? Small hope.
She swung the door open.
The room had the same window as York’s. A smaller and older desk with packed bookshelves behind it. More visitors’ chairs. Photographs, drawings, and charts all over the walls.
“I locked the door when I came in this morning.”
“Why?” Belichek asked her.
She paused several beats. “Barn door after the horse is gone, I suppose. Especially with all of us in and out these past weeks, still…”
“Had someone been in here to your knowledge — since you heard of Jamison’s murder, I mean,” Landis said.
Another pause. “Hendrickson was in here when I arrived this morning. To my knowledge he had not touched a thing. He was standing by the desk. Just standing.” A tinge of shared grief came through. As if she heard it, she briskly added, “Might as well sit down. Don’t use the green chair. It’s going to break the next time someone sits in it.”
She also took a visitor’s chair, so they sat in a triangle.
“How long have you worked for the foundation?”
“More than twelve years. As Jamie got her degree and took it full-time.”
“You must have seen a lot of changes.”
“No and yes. The cause didn’t change. Jamie didn’t change, not who she was. But the Sunshine Foundation certainly grew. Especially once she started writing the books. The first one did fine, but that second one lit a fuse and the foundation exploded. Donors coming in from far and wide instead of the tight little circle who supported us from the start. And they all wanted access to Jamie. That meant she hardly had time to breathe, much less think about the follow-up book. She needed to get away, to be by herself—”
She broke off and swallowed hard.
Was she thinking that Jamison Chancellor had been by herself when she died? Except for her killer.
If so, it didn’t color her voice as she continued. “That’s why the transition to professional management was so important. It would free Jamie up to be Jamie, to let go of so much of the day-to-day running of the foundation and, instead, take being its public face to another level.”
“That’s sort of what Hendrickson York said in explaining why he led Jamie to the decision to bring in that outside management company.”
She snorted. “You don’t believe that for a second.”
She was good. Belichek thought Landis had done a great job of delivering that statement.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Or, if you do believe it,” Celeste Renfro continued, “you’re a lot stupider than you look and I don’t believe that. Hendrickson loves the idea of Jamie backing off, but hates the idea of the nonprofit management coming in. He wants to be in charge. He’s always wanted to be in charge. The fool. Lying about it now when everybody here knows how he felt. That man couldn’t conspire over a surprise birthday party.”
Landis chuckled lightly. Celeste appeared to take it as genuine without being overtly relieved.
“Then give us,” he said, “the real rundown about how the Sunshine Foundation operates and the decision to bring in this management company.”
She went into the operations.
Not with enough detail to be blatant she welcomed that topic, but plenty to put off talking about the management company.
Landis caught her taking a breath and said, “Did you feel the management company would fill in Jamison Chancellor’s weaknesses?”
“No.” A near-snap. “She didn’t need any weaknesses filled in. She did fine running the Sunshine Foundation. More than fine and better than anybody else could have done. She’s — she was — the heart and soul of this place. On top of that, she could do every aspect of it better than any of the rest of us. Problem is, she couldn’t do all aspects all the time. Had to make choices. So, she worked with Hendrickson on donors, with me on most of the rest, and a bit with Adam on the tech stuff. Suppose she gave him his head the most of any of us because of what he did. But to do all that she did, she was working all the time. Working and working and working. Can’t go on like that without getting burned out.”
“You sound worried about her.”
“I was worried about her.”
“Others here at the foundation, too?”
“I did not chatter with them about her.”
“But you could have drawn an impression of whether they were concerned about her. Adam Delattre?”
“Not that I ever noticed.”
“Bethany Usher?”
“No.”
“Any of the volunteers?”
“What about Hendrickson York?”
“I have no idea.”
“Would you be surprised to know he called her at home Saturday morning?”
“I would not be surprised to hear that he called her at home that Saturday or anywhere else any other day. He fussed at her constantly. Calling her every day like she was a schoolgirl who needed to check in with him.”
“Including while she was on her writing retreats?”
“No. Not then. Probably why she made them so remote — no signal.”
“When did she plan to leave?”
“Sunday.” No equivocating from Celeste.
“Do you know how she intended to get to the cabin this time?”
Her eyes sharpened. “Why? Is something wrong with her car?”
“Do you have reason to think there was?”
“Okay, I see. You’re not going to answer my questions. This is a one-way street. Fine. I assumed she’d drive herself. That’s what she’d done the other times.”
“If she weren’t going to drive, how would you think she might get there?”
She looked at each of them for a long moment. “She might ask someone else to drive her. When she’s done these retreats to finish books before, she gets all her provisions in ahead of time and never leaves the cabin. That’s part of her routine, part of focusing only on the book. So maybe she decided she didn’t need a car while she was up there. Especially if she felt there was a reason to leave her car here.”
“What kind of reason?”
“Someone else needed it,” she said immediately.
“Do you have reason to think that happened?”
“Beyond logic? No.”
“If she let someone borrow her car, who might that be?”
Celeste breathed out shortly through her nose. “Anybody. Everybody. A neighbor, the girl who cuts her hair, one of the waiters down in the restaurant, anybody. But, no, I have no reason to think a specific person wanted to borrow her car.”
“So, leaving her car here, who might she ask for a ride to the mountains?”
“Not me. I can drive, but prefer not to. Adam doesn’t have a license. Or a car. Perhaps Hendrickson. Or one of the volunteers. A neighbor, maybe. There’s a woman who lives behind her she likes a lot. She was close to a couple next door, but they moved last year and she hasn’t connected with the new people.”
“One of her cousins?” Belichek asked.
Her gaze slid to him. “No.” No elaboration on that.
Landis said, “You didn’t mention the other foundation employee. We need to talk to her, too. Bethany Usher.”
“She’s not here. Don’t know where she is. She hasn’t returned from vacation.”
Landis let surprise show. “Why?”
“I have no idea.”
And then Celeste didn’t say more. Forcing Landis to push with another question. “Have you heard from her?”
“No.”
He went super polite, which few people recognized as his most dangerous mode. “Ms. Renfro, please explain, in detail.”
“Bethany Usher was given leave to take off the rest of the week after Labor Day. She was scheduled to return to work the next Monday, a week after Labor Day. She did not.”
“Neither Hendrickson York or Adam Delattre mentioned this.”
“Don’t imagine either of them cared. They don’t like her. I cared because it’s meant about twenty percent more work for me.” In other words, Bethany had done some, but not much work.
“Do you like her?” Belichek asked.
Celeste Renfro turned her head to him. For half a second he expected his grandmother’s voice to come out. “No.”
“You haven’t heard from her?”
“No. We tried calling, leaving messages, texts, Adam checked out her social media, and said she has not been active.”
Landis took in a lot of air. “It didn’t occur to any of you to report this, a woman overdue to return to work for more than two weeks?”
She clicked her tongue. “When? The day she didn’t return to work? Is that a job for the police? A week later, when she’s most likely extended her time at the beach because the weather’s good or she met a guy? Or this morning, in the eight minutes between stopping the wailing of shock when those two volunteers found out about Jamie and your arrival? Okay, you think it’s suspicious she didn’t come back on time. But we don’t. She never came to work on time, never came back from a break on time, and never worked until quitting time. The woman is a flake. Do you know how many days she didn’t show up without calling in? Six — six — in three and a half months. And Jamie knew what she was getting when she hired her. Bethany Usher’s work history is like Morse code — dashes and dots. Nothing longer. Only thing surprising about her disappearing act is it took this long. I told Jamie that I didn’t expect her to last more than a month or two.”
“Was there anyone here she’s spent time with?”
“No. You don’t think I asked around in the past couple weeks?”
“But you didn’t report her missing to the police.”
Celeste half growled at Landis. “If every employer she’s stiffed reported Bethany Usher missing you’d need a separate department for her.”
“We’ll need a copy of all the information you have on her. We’re also going to ask your cooperation in locking the door to Jamison Chancellor’s office and giving us any keys to it.”
“Search warrant?”
“We’ll get one if necessary, but you can help our investigation into this matter by not making that necessary.”
“Fine.” She started to rise.
“We’re not done yet, Celeste. What did you do over the Labor Day weekend?”
“I painted my living room.”
“Anything else?”
“Have you ever tried to cover up dark red? Primer and two coats.”
“Did you have any communication with Jamison Chancellor after leaving here the Friday before Labor Day weekend?”
“No, I did not.”
“Did you know, specifically, where she was going?”
“No, I did not.”
“What about Carl Arbendroth?”
“What about him?”
“What was his relationship with Jamison Chancellor?”
“Over was what it was.”
“He never came here after it ended?”
“He tried. Didn’t get past me.”
Landis stared at her a moment, then cast a wide net. “Do you know or suspect anything that might benefit our investigation?”
“No.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Didn’t take long with the two volunteers to realize Denise Gutierrez knew more and talked less than Kimby Curtis.
But without sending one into Jamie’s now-locked office, they were stuck with both in a conference room barely bigger than the oval table with eight chairs around it.
After easing in with the basics of names, home addressees, how long they’d volunteered here and what they did for the Sunshine Foundation, Landis asked when they’d last seen Jamison Chancellor.
“It must have been the Wednesday before—” Kimby hiccupped a sob. “Oh, God, poor Jamie. Poor, poor Jamie.”
“What were you doing that day?”
“Helping Celeste update the profiles of prospective families. They’d piled up because Celeste has so many other duties and that was the whole reason for hiring Bethany, but she honestly doesn’t help much, and with her not coming back from vacation — after Jamie was super generous in giving her any, considering what a short time she’d worked here and not reliable. We’ve had to go back over everything she did and— Well. I tried not to complain to Jamie about Bethany’s work — so-called work — but I’m afraid some of it came out the Wednesday before Labor Day. And I
feel so bad about it, bothering her about that when she only had a few days to live and her last days should not have been bothered by such things and she already looked so worn down. Not to mention I’m sure it was a text from that guy who would not leave her alone she got while we were talking that made her look so strained. I mean, truly, not like herself at all. The only other time I’d seen her look like that was when that guy — Carl something — broke into the restaurant. I mean, literally broke in and grabbed her, yanking her out of her chair and dragging her after him and we were all frozen. Absolutely frozen until it was almost too late, then Adam jumped up and pushed the Carl guy at the same time Jamie hit him in the face with her purse — Carl she hit in the face, not Adam. But who would have predicted little Adam Delattre would be the hero, making that Carl scuttle right out of there? But that didn’t stop him from bothering her and bothering her.”
“Did he ever come here to see her?” Belichek asked.
“He tried. Celeste rousted him,” Kimby said with satisfaction.
“And you, Denise?” Landis slid in when Kimby took a deep breath.
Turning toward the other volunteer, Belichek noticed a particular photo among the montage on the wall — a duplicate of the one from Jamie’s house.
“The Friday before Labor Day. We all wrapped up about the same time and left together. I had been working on the profiles, in between training a new volunteer on sending donation thank yous.”
“She’s a wonderful trainer. Absolutely wonderful,” Kimby inserted. “She trained me three — no, four years ago. It will be four years in November.”
“How new a volunteer?” Landis asked Denise.
“It was her first day.”
That dropped the new volunteer down the priority list.
“Were you here other days that week, Denise?”
“Yes. Thursday.”
“What were you doing?”
“Working on family profiles, putting them in order, filling in blanks.”
“Left by Bethany,” Kimby inserted.