Shop Til You Drop Dead (A Hollis Brannigan Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  “Send them to me.”

  I pulled my phone from my tote, accessed the photos and sent them.

  “Hopefully, one of these cars is registered to the woman who owned the vehicle that killed Allison,” I said.

  “You still have to tie it to Phil.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a long shot.”

  My next move had occurred to me on the drive over. With the names and addresses of the vehicle owners, I could do an internet search and find out which of them was female and elderly and, therefore, the one most likely to have a car she never drove, one she made available for friends and family to take at will. I could then stake out the car while it was parked at Vista Village, and catch Phil in the act of driving it.

  With the way things were shaping up at Fisher Joyce, I’d have plenty of time for a stake out.

  I didn’t want to share my plan with Dan. Not yet. He was being supportive and helpful but I didn’t know how long that would last or how far he was willing to go.

  “One step at a time,” I said.

  Dan’s expression darkened. “You’re sure you’ve got this figured out? You’re sure Phil is your guy?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He studied me for a few seconds then nodded slowly. “Okay, Kansas. If you’re sure.”

  “How soon can you get back to me on the license plates?”

  “Later today.”

  We got back into my car and headed down June Street. A van sat at the curb in front of Edith’s house that hadn’t been there when we arrived, and a crew was unloading chairs and carrying them around the side of the house toward the rear lawn. Barbara’s Mercedes was parked in the driveway. A little groan slipped through my lips.

  I hadn’t heard from her in a while demanding an update on my investigation; she’d probably been too busy preparing for the memorial service. I was content to let it ride, but I didn’t want her to look out the window and see me drive by but not stop, as if I were ignoring her and my responsibilities.

  “Mrs. Walker-Pierce is here. I have to talk to her,” I said, nodding toward the house. “You can wait here.”

  “I’ll go with you.” He grinned. “You look like you could use back-up.”

  I swung in at the curb. We got out of the car and wove our way through the workmen to the rear of the house. The lawn was spacious and bursting with blooming flowers and mature shrubs and trees. The landscaping had been arranged in such a way that views of neighboring houses had been completely blocked out.

  A line of French doors stood open offering a look at the interior of the house. Two men had their heads together, pointing while the crew positioned the chairs. Several gardeners were on their hands and knees clipping the grass along the planters. Barbara stood nearby yammering on to a young woman who was furiously tapping on her tablet.

  A moment passed and finally Barbara noticed us. The sour look on her face worsened. She dismissed the young woman. Dan and I walked over; Barbara had no intention of coming to us.

  Before I could say anything, Dan offered his hand to Barbara and introduced himself. His good looks and the smile he bestowed upon her seemed to sweeten her mood and make her forget that she’d specifically instructed me not to involve anyone else in the investigation.

  “Things are shaping up, I see,” I said and gestured to the grounds.

  “They will be perfect by the time I leave here today,” she replied. “I assume you’re here with good news?”

  Assuring her that the investigation was all but wrapped up wasn’t something I was ready to do, but I had to tell her something.

  “A suspect has been identified and should be apprehended shortly,” I said.

  Barbara looked more alarmed than pleased.

  “Who is it?” she asked, as if afraid to hear my answer. “A stranger? A random criminal?”

  She was thinking about her nephew Darren, the family embarrassment. Though she seemed to have little use for the guy, she didn’t want him involved in a murder investigation, likely more concerned about the scandal than his well-being.

  “It’s no one who’s directly connected to the family,” I said.

  She looked relieved. “Do keep me informed.”

  “Of course.”

  Barbara headed toward the young woman still tapping on her tablet.

  “Have there been any other attempted break-ins here since Edith’s death?” Dan asked, his gaze sweeping the rear of the house.

  “Barbara hired a private security firm to patrol the place.”

  “And the memorial service is coming up when? Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “I guess wealthy people with no jobs are okay attending a service during the afternoon on a week day.”

  “Here, on the lawn,” Dan said, mostly to himself.

  “Refreshments in the formal dining room afterwards.” I turned to him, concerned. “Why?”

  “Phil attempted to steal that money once. Now he’ll have another chance, during the memorial service when the house is open.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “Should I tell Barbara to cancel the service?”

  “The service has to go forward,” Dan said. “How else are we going to catch him in the act?”

  Chapter 25

  When I’d gone to Louise’s office this morning and explained that I had to attend a memorial service today, she hadn’t even glanced my way, only nodded. She’d made no mention of a shopping list from one of my off-listers; another sign that I was on the way out the door, permanently.

  Next I’d stopped by the wardrobe department where Moss was much friendlier. She apparently hadn’t heard the rumor that I was about to be fired because she immediately put together an appropriately conservative look for me to wear to Edith’s service. It was by a top designer, of course, and I felt comfortable in the navy blue suit and white blouse, paired with black low-heeled pumps, when I arrived at the June Street house.

  Valets were on duty assisting the mostly elderly guests from their vehicles, before pulling away to off-site parking. I lingered on the sidewalk for a moment. The street was unusually quiet today—no dog walkers or nannies or pedestrians—as if to show respect for the day meant to honor Edith’s life, her generosity, and accomplishments.

  A van from Vista Village pulled up. Phil and Lisa got out, both of them wearing dark scrubs. Lisa opened the side door and helped Sadie out. Sadie wore a black dress and clutched a handkerchief and a handbag. Phil went to the rear of the van and used the lift to get Drew, seated in a wheelchair, out and onto the sidewalk.

  I’d cautioned myself not to react to the sight of Phil, knowing how he’d killed Edith for no reason other than his own greed. If I’d had any doubts about his guilt they were gone now, seeing him again, his wide shoulders, his height, his upper body strength, the ease with which he maneuvered Drew’s wheelchair. Smothering Edith with a pillow, or simply covering her nose and mouth would have been easy for him. Perhaps the shock of waking and seeing a hulking stranger in her bedroom had stopped her heart. Whatever had happened, I hoped she hadn’t suffered, that the trauma had been momentary.

  Sadie paused outside the van and gazed up at the house. Surely she was remembering the many years she’d worked here, the holidays, the celebrations, the hours she’d spent with Edith helping to ready her for those occasions, or going about her daily routine.

  Lisa stood beside Sadie. She looked uncomfortable. I imagined it was difficult for her among the huge homes, the wealthy people, the expensive cars, while she was dressed in scrubs, here as a worker. She didn’t fit in. I knew how that felt. I’d struggled with those feelings myself since moving to Los Angeles.

  Lisa took Sadie’s arm to assist her, but Sadie pulled away. She spotted me. I hurried over.

  “Such a sad day,” she murmured, as we inched away from Lisa and the van. “A sad, sad day.”

  “Edith will be missed,” I said.

  Sadie threaded her arm through mine and we turned toge
ther and watched as Phil maneuvered Drew in his wheelchair onto the walkway that led to the rear lawn.

  “I’m not sure he knows what’s happening,” Sadie whispered. “His mind … it’s gotten so much worse lately.”

  We remained on the sidewalk. Sadie seemed to need some time to gather her strength before heading to the back of the house. More cars pulled up while we waited, several of them driven by chauffeurs, and well-dressed men and women joined the mourners that flowed around the side of the house.

  Lisa stood nearby, taking in everything and everyone. I suspected she’d been instructed to take care of Sadie, as Phil had likely been assigned to Drew. With Sadie clinging to me, Lisa had nothing to do but stand and wait, and take in the surroundings that she was unlikely to ever call her own.

  “I talked to my daughter this morning,” Sadie said quietly.

  I knew she meant Genevieve, who’d worked hard in Edith’s employ and even harder preparing for today’s service, and who now likely wouldn’t have a job.

  “She said everything is set up beautifully,” Sadie said. “Just the way Miss Edith would have wanted it.”

  “Everyone worked hard to make it perfect,” I commented.

  Another moment passed, then Sadie patted my arm, still entwined with hers.

  “I guess we should go on back,” she said.

  She leaned on me only slightly as we followed the walkway around the house.

  Fresh flowers abounded in white and muted shades of pink. Soft music was provided by a harpist. Barbara greeted arrivals and graciously accepted their murmured condolences.

  About two dozen people were already there, some seated, others standing in groups talking quietly. I recognized Darren, the family embarrassment, seated in a section that I assumed was reserved for family. Young children were there along with their parents, two generations of Edith’s nieces and nephews.

  Several of the kids were clustered around a woman who had a tiny black dog tucked inside her handbag. I thought of Gizmo spending her last day with Barney. Krystal had told me this morning when I’d dropped off Gizmo that she couldn’t doggie-sit her any more.

  Sadie released my arm and moved into Barbara’s embrace; Barbara acknowledged my presence with only a slight nod. They spoke for a few seconds. Sadie dabbed the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief, then the young girl I’d seen with Barbara last night frantically pecking on her tablet stepped forward and directed Sadie to a chair. I spotted Ike Meador seated nearby, dressed in the same black suit I’d seen him wear while working at the car service.

  I looked up at the balcony where Edith used to sit and write letters to her friends and make her journal entries as the years had gone by. She’d become a widow and grown old sitting there.

  Phil positioned Drew’s wheelchair at the edge of the gathering, near the steps leading up to the French doors where two other disabled guests were situated. Sadie had mentioned that she doubted Drew knew what was going on but he seemed alert to me. His gaze swept the grounds, the people, the interior of the house visible through the open doors.

  Had Drew come here to the house after Edith had married Conrad? Had he tried to see her? Edith probably spurned him. She was married, after all. Maybe she saw Drew as a reminder of the ordeal she’d endured, and wanted nothing to do with him. Still, I imagined him watching the house, wondering if Edith was home, wondering what she was doing inside. Or perhaps he’d pictured her dressed in one of her exquisite gowns on the arm of Conrad Bagley while they hobnobbed with their well-heeled friends.

  I wondered if, after their young love had died and the years had rolled past, Drew had driven by Edith’s home, as she’d driven past his? Had either, or both, of them considered stopping, perhaps rekindling their lost love for each other? I’d heard no evidence of it. It seemed they had simply given up.

  The image of Carlotta Cain flew into my thoughts. She was all alone. Who would stage so lovely a memorial service for her? Who would attend? And what would she wear, since I’d stormed out of her house with the gown she loved?

  The memory of Quinn followed almost instantly. For so long I’d thought my sister was dead. Had someone arranged a memorial service for her? Had whoever her friends were made any effort to contact her family, only to come up with no one?

  I’d probably never know what had happened to Quinn. Little hope remained that I’d get a transfer into the investigations department at Fisher Joyce so I could search for her. It seemed doubtful that I’d even get to keep my job as a personal shopper.

  I spotted Dan standing at the far corner of the lawn, unobtrusively positioned to observe the arrivals, the French doors, and the entire gathering. He had on a dark suit with a snowy white shirt, and a conservative necktie.

  My heart lurched. I hadn’t expected to see him here. But it was more than that. He was tall, strong, healthy, a welcome relief from the sadness that had settled over me.

  I walked over. Warmth and the scent of soap and shaving cream rolled off of him.

  “My contact at the DMV was unavailable,” he said. “I had to go another route. I’ll have the info on those plates any minute.”

  He hadn’t gotten back to me yesterday, as promised.

  “I figured you were busy killing somebody,” I said.

  The tiniest hint of a grin pulled at his lips as he gave me a quick look, then focused his attention on the gathering again.

  “Phil is here,” I said, and discreetly pointed him out standing behind Drew’s wheelchair.

  “Where’s the hidden cash?”

  I nodded toward the second floor balcony and described how to get there, and the exact location of the secret room.

  “Keep a close eye on Phil,” he said. “When he goes into the house, give him a head start to make sure that’s where he’s going. I’ll follow him.”

  After everything I’d been through with this case, I wasn’t going to step aside at its conclusion.

  “No, I’ll follow him,” I said.

  “And do what?”

  He had a point. Phil was a really big guy. I couldn’t possibly subdue him.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I’ll be right behind you.”

  Dan gave an eye roll but had the decency not to comment on how useless he thought I’d be in a physical altercation.

  When all the chairs were filled, the harpist concluded her song and Barbara stepped to the front of the mourners. She spoke of her aunt’s generous spirit, the wonderful years they’d spent together, and the joyful times they’d shared. Others came forward with anecdotes and personal stories of how Edith had touched their lives and the lives of many other people from all walks of life. Dan’s gaze continually swept the area, then darted to the side of the house. I spotted Detective Mitch Sullivan’s approach.

  A wave of panic hit me. What was Mitch doing here? Had something changed in his investigation, and he’d decided I was a suspect again?

  But how could that be possible? How would he know I was here?

  Mitch nodded to Dan as he stepped between us, and I knew then that Dan had told him. My wave of panic turned into annoyance.

  “Nothing on those plates,” he said quietly.

  So this was Dan’s backup plan for the license plate numbers I’d gotten at Vista Village. He’d turned it over to Mitch to check out.

  My annoyance flared, bordering on anger. I didn’t know why Dan had made that move, why he’d involved Mitch but hadn’t told me. Maybe he owed Mitch a favor, or wanted to give him a heads-up, or simply had wanted to generate some good will. I didn’t like it, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  “None of the cars were involved in the hit-and-run,” Mitch said. “It looks as if Phil isn’t a suspect. I couldn’t connect him to the suspect vehicle. He’s got no criminal record.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped. Phil wasn’t involved in Allison’s hit-and-run. He wasn’t involved in Edith’s murder. I’d been wrong. Wrong about everything.

  My anger morphed into embarrassment.
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  “Sorry,” Mitch said.

  I felt my cheeks burn, my whole body burn. I’d been so sure I was right. I’d shot off my mouth to Dan. I’d involved him, gotten his help. Then Mitch had taken time away from his actual investigation to check out my theory. And all along, I’d been wrong.

  “It was a good try, Kansas.”

  Mentally I retraced the steps I’d taken in my investigation, the connections I’d made, the reasons for knowing, absolutely knowing, that Phil had murdered Edith and Allison. What had I missed? What had I gotten wrong?

  “Something still might turn up,” Mitch offered.

  I nodded but couldn’t look at either of them. I wanted to leave, disappear, and never face them again.

  Maybe KCK really was where I belonged.

  The memorial service continued with more men and women coming forward to share stories about Edith. I kept my gaze on Phil, mentally willing him to go inside the house, to sneak up to the secret room, to be the murderer. Mitch could be wrong. It was possible. But Phil held his position behind Drew’s wheelchair never taking so much as a half step away.

  Barbara moved to the front of the guests again, thanked everyone for attending, and directed them through the French doors and into the house for refreshments. The mourners rose slowly from their chairs, some of them wiping away tears, most of them chatting with one another.

  All I cared about was putting some distance between Dan, Mitch, and me. They were being nice about it, but I’d caused a major screw-up that had impacted and inconvenienced their day. I would apologize, but first I needed a few minutes alone to get myself under control.

  Edith’s journal was inside my tote. I needed to return it before Barbara realized it was missing, and right now seemed like the perfect moment.

  I headed for the French doors. Dan called to me but I ignored him.

  The guests had congregated just inside the house, still chatting, and slowly making their way down the long hall to the formal dining room. I eased my way through them.

  As I passed the entrance to the dining room I spotted Genevieve near the door that led through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen, watching the servers and speaking with Sadie. She saw me at the same instant and her brows drew together. I was already moving in the direction of the front of the house. Stopping suddenly would likely arouse suspicion. I kept going, hoping Genevieve would be too busy overseeing the food service and talking to her mother to follow me.