by Kieran York
Driving to the center of West Palm, I parked, and walked a couple blocks to the small bookstore called Pages. I glanced at my reflection in a window pane. My partners were correct. Clarissa Lamb was chic, lovely, and well-educated. She didn’t roll around on the ground or floor to take down criminals. She didn’t go into places like Sheeran’s Club.
Most of my education was legal, criminal, and street. The Latin I learned was to make it through law school. The Spanish I knew was mostly a step above alley talk. I knew from her pronunciation of a French dish in Darlin’ Lucy Kitchen that she knew the book pronunciation.
Pages was a classy, yet cozy mix of books for those searching intelligence, knowledge, and books that would entertain. I felt woefully inept as I walked down the aisle between display tables of books. I loved the scent of books. I loved reading them, but my life rarely included time.
“I’m glad you made it,” Clarissa’s voice was soft and well-modulated. “Welcome to Pages Book Shop.”
I could feel my smile going to dimples. But then, her smile was making me want to do backflips. Or jump through rings. Clarissa showed me around the shop. She also introduced me to the two students that worked there, and a couple that had been together, and worked at Pages since its grand opening. As an aside, she joked, “The youngsters claim this bookstore won’t sell some of the sludge that illiterate readers slurp down. I attempt to make them less critical and judgmental. They insist Pages Book Shop is a pundit’s paradise.”
“I really love bookstores,” I bumbled.
Then she pointed toward a flight of stars. “I live upstairs,” she informed me. “When I bought the place, the upstairs was the office. I replaced a small stock room downstairs with the office, and have a very nice loft, slash, bedroom area.”
I followed her up. It was small. But the loft was like a tiny, but adequate living room. The adjoining two rooms were a mini-kitchen, and a bedroom with a bathroom. All miniature and all very homey. It was as if everything she needed was right there. Her decorations were minimal, and stylish.
“I know it’s small, but I love it. It’s just right for me.”
“Clarissa, I live on a yacht, and so space is a premium. I think your living space is lovely.”
“My ex and I sold our home. We split the money, and she went her way. I stayed in Florida. I couldn’t afford both a house and a business. I spend so much time here that this made much more sense. Home is something that you feel.”
“I think it’s wonderful. I suppose that’s what I did, too. My partners and I live and work aboard the yacht.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Mandy all about you. And then I read some of the papers about what your agency has done.” She extended her arm for me to sit on the small sofa. Then she sat. “Aren’t you frightened of being killed?”
“Sometimes.” I then teased, “But usually when I’m in the predicament of needing to worry about it, I don’t have time. I need to act decisively.” Grinning, I then realized she was concerned. “Mostly, I think it’s safe. There are four of us.”
Jokingly, but not, she uttered, “Most firearms have more than four rounds.”
I chuckled. “We try to be careful.”
“Beryl, I have tickets to Harriet Himmel Theater, if you’d like to go?”
“I would love to, but I’m never sure of my schedule.”
“Mandy said that you’re as busy as I am. If you’re available, you’re invited.”
“My social life has been nonexistent for a while.” I paused. “I’m sorry. I’d like to see you again. Maybe we can plan dinner. With my life the way it is – one-hundred percent conducive to work, well, it isn’t always easy.”
“Beryl, I’m aware of that. But I do want to see you.”
“Can I call you?”
“If I say yes, will you think I’m easy?”
We laughed. I looked at my watch. “You’re amazing.” And I figured any woman not running when being told I’m too busy, is a good woman. “Before I forget,” I said as I reached in my jacket pocket. “I need these books for Rachel Rosen.”
We went downstairs. Clarissa took the list, and then grabbed a shopping basket. I followed her as she collected the half dozen books Rachel wanted. After paying, I watching as Clarissa tenderly placed them into a bag, I wondered if she was as tender with women as she was with books.
By the time I reached my car, Mandy had called. I leaned against the door of my Mercedes. She was inviting me over, so that Boyd could raid any tools I might have in the trunk of my car. Mandy claimed she didn’t even have a screwdriver in her apartment. And Boyd had searched his car and been unable to find the wrench he needed to fix one of Mandy’s doors.
I arrived within half an hour. I hoped she would offer me an early afternoon sip of one of her fancy-dancy drinks.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed me a drink. “There’s lunch, too. I had it delivered. A family size, so there’s enough for you.”
“I just came from Pages, and I hear you’ve given Clarissa all my vital information. Hey, Boyd,” I greeted him with a hug. “And you’re doing some fix-ups?”
“Mandy has been keeping me busy.”
Mandy shrugged. “I think you’re terrific, Boyd.”
I handed Boyd the keys to my car. “My pride and joy, so if you’re smart, you’ll open the doors and trunk carefully. I’m not sure what I’ve got in the way of tools,” I laughed, “I never look. But take care not to scratch it, or I’ll have to acquaint you with my martial arts.”
He grinned. “That’s right, you’re tough. But just remember I’ve been swimming with sharks as long as you’ve been a shark in the courtroom and a superwoman.” He exited singing a song that I assumed to be a surfer song.
“I hope he’s not bothering you,” I said to Mandy.
“I’m enjoying having him here. He’s wonderful company. We have similar attitudes. You remember the Palm Beach philosophy. Non est vivere sed valere via est.”
I quoted, “Life is more than just being alive.”
“He’s got that down pat. I like the guy.” Mandy handed me a spectacular drink. It looked like a sunset and tasted like a lush orchard.
“You like most guys,” I razzed her.
She admitted, “I do. But as I’ve aged, I ration my passion.”
I choked laughing. “Should I ask?”
“Your cousin and I have a purely platonic relationship. He’s not only been fixing things for me, he keeps me entertained. I told him how tough you were as an attorney.”
Swimming with sharks. That would have amused Mandy. “I just don’t want him in your way.”
“Stop worrying. Now sit down and fill your plate. Sip your drink. He won’t be long. He even fixed a lamp for me. He’s a nice guy, Beryl. I know men. And I also know bad men. He didn’t kill that other diver. Or anyone else.”
“I hope not.” I had been wrong before, I considered. But I hoped I wasn’t wrong now. I wouldn’t want to cuff my own cousin. One thing was for certain. Chief Tom Powers was certain Boyd was complicit or had actually killed Simon Wagoner.
When Boyd returned and finished his work on the door, he gave it a swing. “No squeak.” He handed me three tools. “Thanks for coming over and loaning me the tools. Just stick them back into the leather bag in your trunk. In case you need them.”
On the way back down to my convertible, I realized each time I was around Boyd, I wanted to trust him. And I trusted Mandy’s instincts. She believed he was innocent. There was consideration and kindness. He had used the dust rag to go over the inside and outside of my car. He’d neatly folded the cloth. I wondered if I was on his side because I liked his looking after me. As if I were his kid sister. He wasn’t my brother, but he was the nearest person alive to being family. Unless my mother was still alive. And even if she were, she wasn’t in my life, and undoubtedly never would be.
For that very reason, I dropped by Chief Powers’ office. “Got something for me?” he gruffly questioned.
“I wish I did. All I know for certain is that I believe Boyd is innocent. Also, I’m working for Mona Ross Ogden. But I don’t like her much. Summer really doesn’t like her.”
“Summer doesn’t like most people,” he joked.
She certainly wasn’t fond of the Chief at one time. And she was on his despise list. Summer had dated his youngest daughter. She’d just finished college. Then she took a cruise aboard our yacht. Since that happened, he got over it when his daughter went back with her girlfriend, and he realized Summer hadn’t sullied her. Their relationship has improved.
“I’m just glad she likes and respects you now,” I bolstered Tom’s ego. “What is going on with your investigations?”
“Trevar, we’re stumped with both of them. We can’t do much with the Sea Fortune being in international waters. We have interrogated them. The only ones staying aboard are Coleman, Zhenya, and Laski. All bad actors, but we have nothing on them. Not even a warrant for jaywalking. I’ve heard they’ve got a treasure find hidden on the boat. They take turns being armed guards. One of my detectives says that he’s sure Dimitri was part of the Coleman sex-trafficking kidnaps. But he wasn’t caught.”
“They’re all buddies?”
“Seems like.” Tom peered across the room. “I’m thinking they all three were involved in that and drugs. In collusion together. Then after Coleman got out, they used their funds from their sex trade monies to buy the boat. Beginner’s luck. They’ve hit a small load of treasure. Small to medium. They’re not saying. They got another diver. We interviewed him, and he said they’re bringing up a few good finds.”
“If you hear anything…”
“And you, too. They’re all dangerous. And they’re keeping things close to their chest.”
“Not bragging about the find?”
“Nope.” The Chief looked out of the window. “Guys like that usually like bragging rights. They also like kidnapping women and getting them on the payroll. Without approval. You and your crew stay safe. You’d probably all be treasure for them.”
That seemed a distant idea. Four fairly hot Sapphic detectives being put on the sex slave market. I had a chill going up my spine. And it was a very warm day in Palm Beach.
Chapter 7
After waking early in the morning, I’d rattled our two cases around in my mind. I’d showered. I’d had breakfast, then attended a sinister morning meeting. All kinds of suppositions were brought up. We didn’t have time for suppositions floating aimlessly. Yet, it sometimes took just one simple puzzle piece.
Jill snagged me by the elbow. She suggested I accompany her to the Ross Architects Building. Jill had enough police experience to know there was an astonishing lack of clues to the Ogden murder.
She drove, and my mind was still jabbering ideas. None of them seemed to set themselves into a theory. Too many complexities, I mentioned.
“Beryl, I want you to sit in on a meeting with Mona Ross. I’m telling you, she is complicit in something. The hatred for Donald is not normal. Every case like this I’ve ever seen, the widowed wife is bereaved. Or, if not, she gives the pretense. You’ve probably heard it dozens of times They say, he was a jackal, but he didn’t deserve this. Or, who would have wanted to do this to him. You know, Mona and Donald tempered their hatred.”
“Maybe they just didn’t want to give back the wedding gifts,” I chided.
“Apparently, he set the tone, for whatever reason. He was gracious and humble one minute. The next, he was going to destroy his enemies. Take them by the throat and take them out. He had plans for an eventual career in politics. He offered his own false narratives. He believed Mona’s money was his ticket to Washington.”
Talking more to myself than Jill, I muttered, “I know sometimes people need to stretch even self-proclaimed truth to fit their daily challenges. He might have pushed Mona to hard. She knew she was being used. His charm couldn’t calm her.”
Jill added, “She’s too conniving to be calm.”
“She is downright cold,” I expressed as we entered. Looking across the lobby, I saw Mona reaming out one of her workers. When she saw us, she ushered us to her office. “Good morning,” I greeted her as we were all seated across the desk from one another. “We had a few more questions.”
As she stood, she flipped her tangerine-colored draped tunic. “I don’t know a thing more than I’ve told you. You and your women aren’t finding a damn thing out about Donald ’s prior private or professional life.” Her words were curt. She finally sat down with the harsh plop of a spoiled teenager girl.
“I did mention that we hadn’t found any women in his life. There’s no proof that Donald was having a torrid affair.” My thoughts streamed, but he was exposed to a societal goddess grouping. “There’s no paper trail indicating Donald was selling out company secrets. No cyber evidence of collusion,” I paused. “After we conclude our talk, would you mind if we took another look at his office.”
“That would be fine,” she said with a sigh. “The police investigators scoured it, but by all means, have a look. Now what do you need to know?”
Jill questioned, “Why were you thinking his ex-girlfriend would want him dead?”
“I assumed that everyone was a suspect. She took it hard when he dumped her. I wish to hell he would have wanted to dump me.”
“We can report that not only does she have an alibi, but she also has a fiancé,” I answered. “Is there any reason for your animosity?”
Mona gritted her teeth. Her eyes narrowed. “Something about him was off. You know, a while after the marriage, he wasn’t as eager in the sack.”
Jill offered, “Sometimes marriage lessens the appetite.”
“After only a year, neither of us had much of an appetite, to be honest.” She leaned back. “He didn’t want me, but he didn’t want to lose me. Or, rather, lose my money.”
I probed, “And what made you less eager for the relationship?”
“I suspected him of nefarious conduct concerning the company. But little things about him. He seemed to morph into whatever or whoever was called for at the time.”
I quizzed, “And nothing he said or did before you were married, or honeymooning, would have led to you to believe he was a gold digger?”
She gave me a look that indicated one of us was a fool. “For god sakes, I wouldn’t have married him if that was the case. I’m a pretty good judge of character. At least, I thought I was.” Mona hadn’t confessed to having one put over on her, but the implication made her emotions change back to rage. Hidden, to be sure.
“You do seem adroit at seeing people for who they are. He was a charming man,” Jill stated with as much contrived empathy as she could.
“He was a flipping ass. I should have seen it. But as you said, he was good at portraying his love.” Tapping her desk, for a moment, Mona then pushed her chair back. She stood. “I’ll show you his office. As I said, the detectives took boxes out of here. I’m certain they took anything relevant.”
She led us down the hallway, turning abruptly when she got to his office. It was spacious, and designed with elegant bronze statuary, and window furnishings. I looked around, then commented, “His office is certainly luxurious. Mona, if we find anything of interest, would you mind if we borrow it for a week or two? Papers? Anything incriminating?”
She gave me a second look doubting my intelligence. “I told you, the police already went through it, and they took a couple boxes to examine. He kept political garbage. Fancied himself some kind of expert on all things in Washington, D.C. But please feel free to rummage all you’d like.” She exited without so much as a curtsy.
Jill and I gave one another side-glances. “Which end of the room shall I take?” Jill asked. “I’ll check the desk. You knock yourself out on the previously rummaged file cabinets.”
We traded grins. Jill mumbled, “I’m guessing most of what she said was bull.”
“I agree. But it’s pretty standard that you let them keep lying.”<
br />
“You think she’s lying?”
“Probably. I wanted to see where she was going. There are times when they contradict themselves. Especially when they think the P.I. is imbecilic.”
Jill began her search. She began by reaching behind a couple files on the lowest drawer. Pulling out a few papers with accordion edges. Jill was trained to see what was stuck in the back. “Shame on Tom’s detectives, they left a few things behind.”
“Great work, my friend,” I complimented. I reached inside each desk drawer. Pens, scratch pads, form letters, and a selection of other items that might be nothing at all. When I opened the side drawer, I noticed that there was a burner phone under a couple of scratch pads. The first thing I thought of was that the phone was not well-hidden. Maybe the investigation unit overlooked it, guessing if it meant anything, it would have been concealed.
Jill saw me examining it. “Most people in an office like this don’t use trace phones.”
“Maybe he did have a fancy lady and didn’t want Mona finding out. Or he was actually a company spy.” I stuck the phone in my pocket. We finished our search, with mostly inconsequential items. “Jill, do me a favor. When you get back to the yacht, ask Rachel about phone records on the phone. Then check Mona and Donald’s phone records. Their office, apartment, home, and cell phones. And request both the phone calls being made to them, or by them.” I pulled the phone from my pocket and handed it to Jill. “Have Rachel research this. Maybe some of the burner cell calls are traceable.”
“Will do. I can’t see what Donald or Mona needed with a burner. And I can’t see it being left behind. We know Mona was upset with him. She’s making no pretense how deeply she disliked him. Her disdain for him is a confession for wanting him offed.” Jill’s grown of frustration indicated her feelings. “But why the killing? Why the violent homicide?”
I paused a moment. “Should she become a serious suspect, that might be her very best defense. She didn’t hide her anger and vitriolic claims. She’ll be able to say that if she did kill anyone, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to give away her motive. In fact, I’d be more suspicious if she’d have backed out of her previous statements. If she claimed she never wanted the divorce. Or said that she still loved him.”
