Murder at the Moonshine Inn

by Maggie King

  “Thanks so much, Sandy.” The acronym TBR stood for any number of phrases, and in this context I took it to mean “to be read.”

  “And I’m Nichole St. Clair. Nichole’s with an ‘H.’”

  “Nichole’s our membership specialist,” Sandy explained.

  Nichole’s pale blonde hair, milky white complexion, pale blue eyes, and white top made her virtually disappear into the white wall behind her. I assessed her age as somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. The ethereal creatures of the world were blessed with a timeless quality. Her specifying that she spelled her name with an “H” seemed familiar. From her knowing look, I guessed that I seemed familiar to her as well. Perhaps we’d met somewhere along the line.

  “My mom’s a huge fan of yours as well.” Nichole herself was too young to be a fan, but if I lived long enough, she might become one.

  “Nina says you’re doing research for a book,” Sandy said. “Tell us about it. Oh, and help yourself to more coffee any time.”

  I glanced at Eileen. I already saw that she was going to get short shrift in the attention department, relegated to the echelon for servants. She was usually at the forefront of anything, but she gave me a smile and a shrug that signaled her acceptance of her temporary demotion.

  We wedged ourselves into chairs at the conference table. This office space seemed designed for the Munchkins of The Wizard of Oz—assuming any of them were office workers. Eileen set up her laptop in preparation for note-taking for my faux book—but, if I heard enough interesting material, it could end up in a future story.

  Sandy prompted, “So, Hazel, tell us about your story.”

  I gave a brief description of my book idea—middle-aged sex in the workplace.

  “Sex in the workplace?” Sandy and Nichole both laughed. Nichole covered her mouth with her hand. She could have been ten years old. I always found it interesting that we tittered about sex in junior high and we continued tittering as adults.

  Sandy went on. “I don’t know what we can tell you about sex in the workplace. There’s no sex going on here. Unless . . . there’s something I don’t know about.” She glanced at Nichole, eyes twinkling.

  I laughed and explained that I was researching workplaces, and the sex part I could make up. I wasn’t looking for testimonials.

  When we’d last talked on the phone, Nina said her plan was to leave the office on some pretext, figuring that Sandy and Nichole would speak more freely about Rox with her gone. So I wasn’t surprised when she finished her coffee, stood, and announced, “Well, I have some errands to run. I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so.”

  Once Nina left, Sandy said, “That Nina’s a nice woman.”

  Except to Eileen. Nina had ignored Eileen during her hasty goodbyes.

  Sandy turned to me and asked, “Did she tell you about her sister Roxanne?”

  “Yes, she did. Roxanne was the ED here, is that right? And she was murdered?”

  “Yes, she was.” Sandy’s voice took on a sober tone.

  “Really sad,” I said. “It must be maddening for Nina that the police never arrested anyone.”

  Sandy nodded. “She’s really torn up about it. It was a terrible business—Rox was stabbed to death in the parking lot of that awful bar.”

  “Rox could have told you a lot about sex in the workplace,” Nichole said.

  “Really?” I tried for a wide-eyed look, hoping to encourage a sharing of details.

  Nichole waved her hand and amended her statement. “I don’t mean here, I mean at that place where she used to work. The Alzheimer’s Association.”

  “No,” Sandy corrected. “It was the Alzheimer’s Research Society. And you’re right, Nichole. She toned down when she came to work here.”

  Nichole said, “This one woman, Tracy, worked at the ARS and Rox got her so mad she up and quit. Then she, meaning Tracy, came here and told us all sorts of wild tales about Rox, about how mean she was. Other stuff, too. When Tracy heard Rox was coming to work here, she beat it out of here, said she wouldn’t work for that woman for a minute.”

  “Fortunately, we didn’t find her that bad,” Sandy said. “Not great, mind you. Just not as bad as she’d been before.”

  “Yeah, she kind of ignored us most of the time, but she didn’t yell or anything.”

  “So where did Tracy go from here?” I asked.

  “I forget the name of the place,” Nichole said. “But then she died. Car accident.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Eileen murmured her agreement.

  “What were some of the wild tales she told about Rox?”

  “Oh,” Sandy laughed. “Like getting it on with that intern who was about a hundred years younger than she was.”

  I exclaimed in my best open-mouthed, incredulous manner, “Really!”

  Sandy looked uncertain. “You know, we really shouldn’t be talking about Rox like this. She’s dead.”

  Oh, no. I stifled a groan. Just when I was about to be thankful for their forthrightness, Sandy has to suddenly realize that she was supposed to say only nice things about the dead. I had enough problems with Patty and her refusal to dish dirt.

  Nichole rolled her eyes and groaned like a long-suffering teenager. “Oh, Sandy. We’ve come this far, we may as well finish. Besides, Hazel needs material for her book.” She shot me a look that made me think she doubted that I was there for research purposes. But why would she question my intentions? Had I done or said something to give myself away? “Besides,” she added, “Rox will still be dead whether or not we talk about her.”

  My sentiments exactly.

  Sandy made a go-on motion with her hand. “Okay, Nichole, you tell Hazel and Eileen about the intern.” I silently thanked Sandy for including Eileen.

  “Rox and one of her interns had a fling. Lots of closed-door meetings, sometimes after work, sometimes during work.”

  Sandy shook her feathered locks. “No discretion at all. And they fought openly at the office.”

  “I bet the other folks in the office weren’t too happy about that,” I said.

  “Tracy sure wasn’t,” Nichole said. “She was very professional.”

  “Sexual harassment at its finest,” Sandy said. “Maybe you remember reading about what Rox did at that movie theater? It was in the papers.”

  I knew exactly what she was talking about, but made a show of trying to remember and falling short. “I think I read about that, but ages ago. When did it happen, anyway?” They didn’t have to know that ages was three days. I wanted to encourage any conversation that could offer up unexpected tidbits of information. So I listened, all agog, as Sandy and Nichole took turns relating the theater story that had happened about five or six years before. Eileen took copious notes on her laptop, and Nichole jumped up periodically like a jack in the box to answer the phone.

  By the end of the story, I hadn’t learned anything that I hadn’t already read on my own, but I said, “Fascinating story. I’m already picking up lots of inspiration for my writing. But you said she didn’t bother with any of the men here? That’s curious.”

  Nichole smirked. “At least not in the office. As for the association members, I don’t know if she had any relationships with them. Harold Hamlin—he’s our board president—I can’t see him having sex. He’d have to take that stick out of his butt—”

  “Nichole!” Sandy admonished, but she laughed as she did so. “Really!”

  “But you’re laughing, Sandy, so you know just what I mean.”

  Sandy explained, “Harold’s very strait-laced.”

  “There was the lunatic who came charging in here one day,” Nichole said. “I know he didn’t work here, but I bet there was something sexual going on there.”

  I put on my now well-honed expectant look. “What did he do? Or she?”

  Nichole refilled our cups and launched into a tale that was indeed new to me.

  “This man charged in here one day, demanding to see Rox. The guy was so angry, clenched jaw, the
wildest eyes I ever saw. Our then-receptionist, Audrey was her name, asked if Rox was expecting him, and he just took off back to Rox’s office. Audrey called after him ‘Sir, Sir, you can’t go back there.’ But he kept on going, yelling out names, oh my, the names.” She put a hand over her heart. “His language would have curled your hair.

  “He was like a wild man, acted like a real nutcase. We didn’t know if he had a gun, if he’d start mowing us down. Rox slammed her office door and I guess she locked it. She yelled, ‘Call the police!’ Thankfully Sandy was here. When she showed up, this guy backed down. He continued to yell and swear, and assured us he’d be back, but he lost no time in beating it out of here.”

  I had no trouble believing that the imposing Sandy could make even a lunatic back down. “So you didn’t call the police?” I asked.

  “No. No need to.” Sandy said.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Oh, a year maybe.” Sandy added, “We never found out what it was all about. Rox never mentioned it, just acted like it never happened. I’m guessing they were lovers and she had dumped him.”

  “Or,” Nichole continued the speculation with a twinkle in her near colorless eyes, “They had makeup sex.”

  “Some makeup sex that would have been. Had he been here before?” I asked.

  “No. I’m just glad he wasn’t some wacko with a gun,” Sandy said.

  Yes, if you must be a wacko, be the type who supports gun control. Aloud, I asked, adding a cringe for effect, “So . . . do you think that guy did it—killed her?”

  Sandy threw up her hands. “Well, who knows? The police questioned all of us after Rox’s murder and we told them about him, but we didn’t know his name or anything—”

  “—And we didn’t think to see if he had a car,” Nichole interrupted. “But who knows where he parked? It’s hard to find a space downtown during the day.”

  I wondered if this incident had made the papers. Probably not, since Rox hadn’t pressed charges. There was nothing about it in Vince’s folder, but he hadn’t started in-depth research on Rox’s death, so he may not have everything that had been reported about her. Nina hadn’t said anything about this. Either she didn’t know about it or didn’t think it was relevant. Or maybe . . . she had another reason for holding back.

  Nichole seemed impish. “Maybe Evangeline killed her. Let’s tell Hazel about her.”

  Sandy looked dismayed and raised her hand in the stop position. “Nothing about that.”

  “Sorry,” Nichole said, but with little sincerity.

  With false cheeriness, Sandy said, “All this gossip isn’t helping these ladies learn about an association management firm.”

  I was all ears. What was that about? Who was Evangeline? I hoped that Sandy would relent and enlighten us, but she became all business and proceeded to brief us on the workings of her firm, complete with history, mission, etc. This was not as riveting as sex in the workplace, but apparently we’d heard all we were going to hear on that subject.

  I hoped the vigorous nodding of my head would keep me awake. Eileen continued to key away on her laptop—whether her notes concerned the firm’s business model or her shopping list, I wasn’t sure.

  How much more would we have learned if Evangeline’s name hadn’t come up and put the kibosh on further conversation? Aside from the nameless lunatic, I’d learned little about Rox, at least nothing new. I’d hoped to hear about her relationship with Brad. I bet Sandy and Nichole even harbored ideas about who might have killed her. Since Rox had worked at Hamlin for five or six years, they must have gleaned something about her life that could be helpful. There was always the ARS—maybe that would bear more fruit. Sarah was good at pumping people for information. She had a persistent quality that could be annoying, but would prove useful in this case.

  Even after Sandy ran out of steam, Eileen and I stayed for a while. We slapped labels on brochures and collated mailings for an upcoming retreat. When we finished, we looked for the two women to see if we could help further. Nichole had gone to the bank and post office. Sandy thanked us for our help but declined further services from us. Her manner was cordial but cool. I wondered if she’d keep my books on her TBR list.

  •••

  When we got in the car, Eileen and I looked at each other and laughed. “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Beats me. I hope Nina can tell me something about these murky people.” I concentrated on the task of backing out of the parking space without colliding with a person or object.

  Eileen said, “I’ll do some research and see what I can turn up on Evangeline and anything else about the Hamlin Group, including the lunatic.”

  Car maneuvers successfully completed, I said, “Thanks, Eileen. You know, I’m thinking that the folks who are on vacation could offer something useful. But I guess we won’t get to talk to them.”

  “Unless it’s offsite.”

  “The way these people zippered their lips about Evangeline means something.”

  What it meant was the real question.

  TEN

  “HI NINA, IT’S Hazel. We have to talk. At the Hamlin Group, they told me about this lunatic who stormed the place one day and got booted out by Sandy. And there’s someone named Evangeline. Her name stopped all conversation and I learned nothing further. The lunatic and Evangeline certainly sound like, as the police would say, ‘persons of interest.’ Call me.” I left my number.

  In less than five minutes, Nina called back. Dispensing with a greeting, she said, “It sounds like you got something useful.”

  “I did. Maybe. What’s this about a lunatic?”

  After I ran down the story as I’d heard it, Nina said, “I don’t know. When did you say this happened?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “Hmm. Well, Rox was living in Westover Hills then. I met some of her neighbors, in fact I think Rox drank with them. I could go over there and ask around. Someone might remember a lunatic. In fact, I would think a lunatic would be hard to forget.”

  “Speaking of drinking, Vince and I are going to the Moonshine Inn tonight.”

  “Oh, great, I’m glad you decided to do that. You should be able to pick up some information there.”

  “Okay, so what’s the deal with Evangeline? As soon as her name came up Sandy became all business.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Sorry.” Nina sighed. “Evangeline was our accountant. Rox had to fire her. Evangeline had all sorts of health problems that required taking meds. She started falling asleep a lot at her desk. When she was awake, she made a lot of mistakes. Rox warned her a number of times, and then had no choice but to let her go. I think Evangeline threatened her.”

  “Threatened? How?”

  “I’m not sure. It couldn’t have been with bodily harm. Probably just idle stuff. The woman weighs about three hundred pounds and she’s riddled with arthritis. She can barely move.”

  “Why didn’t you mention her before?”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant. The whole thing’s a touchy subject, as she’s now suing the association for wrongful termination. The board is trying to reach a settlement and they want to keep everything hush hush. So the lawyers have cautioned everyone not to mention it. I’m not surprised that Nichole brought it up. She likes to provoke things.”

  “Yes, I got that from her.”

  “So, anyway, that’s why Sandy stopped talking to you this morning.”

  “But Nina, Evangeline could be a suspect.”

  “Yes, she could. But, like I said, she can hardly move. She uses a cane and even then she doesn’t get around very well.”

  Unless she faked it, I thought. Scores of movies and books featured a physically handicapped person who turned out to be anything but. And Evangeline could have hired someone to carry out her revenge against Rox. “Where there’s a will there’s a way” served as more than an adage; many a person has overcome seemingly intractable obstacles to obtain a desired end. Was Rox’s death a
desired end for Evangeline? Time would tell.

  When Nina asked if I learned anything about Andy or Foster, I said, “Nothing about Andy. As for Foster, I learned pretty much the same stuff I already knew, like the movie incident.”

  After a pause, Nina said, “I’m just sure it’s one of those two.”

  Maybe, I thought. Or maybe Nina’s tossing red herrings around to distract me from her and Brad.

  “Nina, Rox had a couple of DUIs. Did she go to AA meetings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know which one?”

  “I don’t. Is there more than one?”

  “Well, yes. They’re all over the place.”

  “Huh. Well, I don’t know where.”

  “Oh, and one more thing, Nina—if you want me to find Rox’s killer, you have to be upfront with me. And nothing is irrelevant.”

  “But Brad—”

  “Brad’s the number one suspect. If you’re involved with him, you have to tell me. It is my business.”

  “We’re involved. Okay?”

  I didn’t know if it was okay or not, but there was little I could do about it. I kept my response to a simple “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Anyway—let me know how things go at the Moonshine. It should be interesting.”

  I didn’t doubt that for a minute.

  •••

  When Vince came back from the gym, I described my morning at the Hamlin Group and my conversation with Nina. When I told him about Evangeline he seemed to remember the police questioning an Evangeline.

  “It’s not a name you hear much.”

  “Oh, and Vince—” I paused, unsure how to phrase my next bit of news.

  He did the cop trick of remaining silent until I had to fill the void. “Brad thinks I’m investigating. And that I’ll expect money for it.” I described the exchange with Nina as I remembered it.