“Help me and I’ll show you.”
Once the table was cleared, and the tablecloth wrapped up and tossed into the laundry room, Savanna set her laptop on the table, opening it and hitting the power button. “I think I’ve figured it out.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. She looked around the table at Sydney, Skylar and her mom, then down at her computer. The screen was black.
“Oh shoot, sorry!” She’d let the battery die again. She rushed into the nook, snatching the cord from her case and then searching in the dining room for an outlet close enough to reach. She finally got it plugged in and powered on, and turned it around to face her family.
“All right, watch this.” She had YouTube open and tapped play on Mayor Greenwood’s campaign video for the upcoming election. The video opened with the mayor itemizing the great things he’d already done for Carson set against a collection of photos in town and an uplifting instrumental tune.
“What are we watching? We all know he’s running, and now he’s unopposed.”
Savanna shushed Sydney. “Listen.”
At around the minute mark, Greenwood’s ad shifted to another montage, with his voiceover listing plans for his next term, including an exciting new boardwalk with shops, restaurants, and a luxury hotel with four hundred guest rooms. “Our new Better Living development is perfect for Carson as Michigan’s premiere tourist destination,” Mayor Greenwood promised. He ended with his slogan: “Good things are happening in Carson.”
Savanna spoke before anyone else had a chance. “We already know Mayor Greenwood supports the proposal, from what I saw when I was at the village offices. And with what his assistant Janice told us, we know it’s important to him that it goes through. But did you know John also had a campaign video?”
“How?” Skylar asked. “He’d only just announced his candidacy.”
“He was prepared, apparently. Both ads are small scale,” Savanna said. “Greenwood’s plays on mid-Michigan channels in prime time, something like three times a week. John must not have secured an ad spot yet when he died, but it’s still on YouTube. Watch.”
She typed on the laptop keyboard and then stepped out of the way as Councilman John Bellamy’s ad played. The quality was impressive; a similar caliber as the incumbent’s mayor’s ad. But the content was almost entirely about the Better Living development. Bellamy highlighted the drawbacks, including a blocked view of the lake, expected beachfront and animal ecosystem results, and the disastrous effect on Carson’s Main Street. Bellamy’s ad finished with a simple statement: “If you love Carson, don’t let Roger Greenwood destroy it. Vote Bellamy.”
The screen went black. The four women at the table were silent; Charlotte sat with one hand over her mouth, staring at the screen and shaking her head.
“I told you,” Sydney said, and then asked her mom, “You didn’t know?—Most of this town is probably in the dark.”
Savanna snapped her laptop shut. “John’s video has sixty-three views. Mayor Greenwood’s has over six thousand. If someone—”
“Roger Greenwood,” Skylar interjected. “Let’s call it what it looks like.”
Savanna nodded. “If Greenwood wanted the proposal and his campaign to succeed, he’d have had to make certain this town stayed in the dark. What better way than taking out his competition?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Skylar was the voice of reason. “This is enlightening, but I don’t think Detective Jordan is going to see it as motive for murder.”
“You’re right,” Savanna said. “But when you combine that with the yelling match Mayor Greenwood and John had in front of the ballroom the night before he was killed, I think he’d want to know about it, don’t you? They still don’t know whose fingerprints are on the door to the Michigan basement.”
“Oh!” Skylar said. “I meant to tell you. I looked into whether we require our government officials to be fingerprinted. Every system has varying rules. There’s no actual mandate, so each county, city and township has a protocol in place for procedures elected officials must complete to hold office. Carson requires a federal background check, based on name and social security number, but no fingerprints.”
“So it’s possible those prints belong to Mayor Greenwood?” Sydney asked. “I mean, assuming he’s never been arrested and processed, Jordan wouldn’t be able to match them to him so far, right?”
“Right. Jordan was going to talk to Greenwood last week, after we showed him that video. With lack of actual evidence, I doubt he brought him in for formal questioning, but I’d think he’d at least know if the mayor has an alibi for the night John Bellamy was killed.”
“Let’s ask him. Tomorrow?” Savanna asked. It was already Sunday evening, and she didn’t want to bother the detective again on his own time unless she had to.
“First thing,” Skylar agreed. “I don’t have any meetings until after lunch.”
“We can tell him about the major slant the Allegan County paper has for the Better Living deal too,” Savanna said. She opened the folder on the table in front of her, flipping through a stack of papers. With help from Mrs. Lyle this afternoon, she’d printed, collated, and stapled together every article she could find mentioning the Better Living proposal. “I printed them all. You’d be shocked at the huge discrepancy in how our county paper is covering it compared to most other newspapers.” She pushed the folder over to her mother on her left.
“Let me guess,” Sydney said. “Our newspaper says it’s the best thing ever, and everyone else says it’s a nightmare and should never pass. Anything for tourist dollars.”
“Look at the bylines on all the Allegan County paper articles.” Savanna leaned over, pointing it out to Charlotte. “Landon King. Why is he writing almost every single article?”
Charlotte scanned the first few. “Is he?” She flipped through. “Hmm. Most of them… No, here’s one, Allegan County newspaper, April of this year, by a Byron Kolczyk. Wait, this one too, last October, journalist Byron Kolczyk.”
“King’s done the majority,” Savanna said. “It’s just odd.”
“It’s a county newspaper for a moderately populated rural area west of mid-Michigan,” Skylar said. “A far cry from the Detroit News or the Lansing Press. I doubt there’s an abundance of reporters. But we should find out if Landon King has any stake in the company. That could be something.”
Savanna looked up at Skylar. “Yes. And Roger Greenwood, while we’re at it.”
“That’d be a conflict of interest,” Charlotte said. “Mayor Greenwood can’t have any ownership in the company and still push it as part of his campaign agenda.”
“Well,” Savanna said, “I also wouldn’t think Landon King could be the primary reporter for a story he stands to benefit from, either.”
Charlotte was slowly shuffling through the articles, perusing as she went. “According to this, the proposed development has made it through several hoops so far. This one says the Better Living Boardwalk proposal has passed their environmental survey, at least for the first stages.”
“How?” Sydney stood and paced as she spoke. “That’s impossible! There’s no way they can do what they’re promising without disturbing the Lake Michigan aquatic habitat, not just in Carson but for miles around.”
Charlotte pushed the sheaf of papers across the table. “They seem to have a plan for everything; sand retention equipment for use on the dunes during construction, that kind of thing.”
“Ugh!” Sydney stopped and perched on the edge of the buffet against the wall, color high in her cheeks.
“Okay,” Savanna said. “We’re getting off track. We can’t fix all of this. But tomorrow morning, I’ll meet Skylar at the police station and give Detective Jordan the articles, plus show him the video. It’s a good start. Maybe he can look harder at Roger Greenwood and also check into Landon King.”
“How was Joe holding up when you saw
him this morning?” Charlotte asked.
“Not great,” Skylar replied. “He was so hopeful, and we really didn’t have anything new to tell him. But we’ll get some answers from Jordan; I want to know if he’s actually ruling out the Remy/Mia James team as suspects.”
Charlotte stared at her.
“Mom. I know Mia is your friend. But she and Remy broke into John’s house, opened his personal safe, and took everything inside. Two days after he was murdered. Jordan has to follow up on that. And there’s still the question of whether it’s possible either of them was there the night he died.”
“They weren’t.” Charlotte’s jaw was set; she had that look each of the sisters knew well.
“You can’t know that for sure,” Savanna said, keeping her tone softer and gentler than her older sister had. “I don’t think they had anything to do with John’s death, Mom. But Remy was hiding something. He lied about Mia being there. What if there’s more he’s lying about?”
Charlotte pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “Well, then someone had better figure it out. Because Mia isn’t a killer, and I don’t believe her son is, either. He probably lied to protect her reputation. I’m finished with this conversation.” She went out the kitchen door, leaving them watching after her.
Skylar and Savanna exchanged wide-eyed glances in silence.
Sydney stood at the head of the table, leaning forward, palms down. “Let her cool off. She’ll be fine.”
Savanna was waiting for Skylar outside the police station Monday morning. She sat on the little half wall that separated the sidewalk from the two Carson village offices, an iced caramel mocha with whipped cream in her hand and a black iced decaf for Skylar.
Skylar joined her, coming from her law office next door. She nodded at the parks and recreation parking lot, and Savanna turned to look: two white sedans bearing the Better Living logo, the black B.L. inside a triangle, were in the lot with the other handful of cars.
“Must be a big meeting today,” Savanna frowned. “I wish we could spy on them.”
“If only. Let’s go pick Jordan’s brain.” Skylar held the door open for Savanna.
Detective Jordan was ready for them. The YouTube videos were already cued up on his computer screen as they sat in the two chairs across the desk from him. Skylar had emailed him last night.
“I’ve taken a look at these. While it’s interesting, I wouldn’t call it motive. But I can tell you that Mayor Greenwood has an alibi for the night the councilman was killed. He and Mrs. Greenwood were together all afternoon and evening. They ate dinner together, Roger worked in his study for a while after, and then they watched The Voice at 8:00 p.m.”
Savanna leaned forward. “His wife can act as his alibi? Dinner and television at home with his wife is really all he needs to be clear of this?”
“I caught him at home on Friday and spoke with him. He let me in and answered my questions amicably. And he wasn’t required to do so—I didn’t have a warrant.”
“Was Mrs. Greenwood there when you talked to him?”
Detective Jordan shook his head. “No, she was out. But she confirmed what her husband had told me when I spoke with her later.”
“You don’t think that’s a little weak?” Skylar had her yellow legal pad out and was jotting something as she asked the question. “You questioned Greenwood, and then he told his wife to lie and say he was home with her at—What time was time of death again?” She flipped back through several pages.
“Between eight-thirty and nine p.m.,” Savanna supplied.
“Weak or not,” Detective Jordan said, “it’s a witness corroborating his whereabouts at the time of the murder.”
“What did he say about the fight we saw on camera?”
“Oh,” Detective Jordan said, hesitating. “That wasn’t exactly what it looked like.”
“What do you mean?” Skylar asked.
“Roger Greenwood and John Bellamy apparently both have VIP standing at Carson Country Club. I checked, and it’s true, they do. But Greenwood has seniority by four years there. He said the councilman took his prime tee time for the season, even though the mayor’s seniority means he has higher standing. The argument was Roger Greenwood calling John Bellamy out for stealing his tee time.”
Savanna looked at Skylar.
Skylar looked at Jordan. “You can’t be serious.”
He sat back in his chair and sighed. “I am. Greenwood explained it without any hesitation.”
“Wait a minute,” Savanna said. “What does that even mean? It sounds ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous!” Skylar set the legal pad on the desk. “Carson Country Club has this elite status for members in good standing of longer than ten years. It’s not cheap, but it comes with unlimited play for each day’s green fees. Solo golfers and groups vie for the most-coveted tee times, but VIPs get first choice at bids on times. Bellamy must’ve gotten his bid in first and somehow had it accepted before the board realized Greenwood had seniority?”
Jordan nodded. “Exactly.”
“That fight—that pushing, shoving, yelling match—we saw on video, was about tee times?” Savanna couldn’t hide the disbelief in her tone.
“According to Mayor Greenwood. Carson Country Club would only verify their membership status. We obviously have no way to prove or disprove Roger Greenwood’s explanation of the argument, but as ridiculous as it sounds, it’s also plausible.”
“Wow,” Savanna said, shaking her head. “So Roger Greenwood’s wife is his alibi, and he picked a fight with the councilman after the banquet over tee times. In spite of those two opposing campaign videos involving the Better Living proposal. None of that sounds plausible, I’m sorry.”
Detective Jordan met her gaze. “Mayor Greenwood maintains that he and Bellamy left politics at the office. If anything else develops, I promise to let you know.”
“Moving on,” Skylar said, shooting Savanna a look. “We want to talk to you about a couple of other things. My sister noticed the Allegan County paper has a significant bias in favor of that Better Living development Greenwood and Bellamy opposed each other on. And almost every article has been written by one reporter, a man named Landon King.”
“Right.” Jordan nodded. “He covers Carson, Grand Pier, and other areas of the county.”
“But,” Savanna started, not really sure where she was going with the protest. “What do you mean? He’s always assigned to cases around Carson?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “Once in a while, another reporter will handle a story, but King’s been covering Carson and the surrounding area since before I made detective.”
“Even so, is there any way you can question him about where he was the night John was killed?”
“We can have a conversation; I can ask him. But I can’t bring him in for questioning without cause,” the detective replied. “Do you have anything other than his articles?”
“Not really.”
“You mentioned the other day that a reporter provided you with photos of your banquet, the night you think Joe Fratelli’s knife was stolen from him, right? That was King?”
“Yes, he had his photographer put the photos on a flash drive for me.” She dug around in her purse and handed it to him. She felt silly; she could hear how this sounded, first doubting everything the detective had told her about Roger Greenwood, and now pointing the finger at Landon King, who’d been nothing but helpful to her. “Detective, you know Skylar and I feel strongly that you have the wrong man in custody. We don’t believe Joe Fratelli could possibly have killed the councilman. How do you explain the fingerprints on the cellar access door?”
Nick Jordan sighed, leaning on his elbows on his desk, his expression earnest. “I don’t have an explanation yet. Bellamy’s water softener is in the Michigan basement; the salt company used that door to refill it every month.
We also learned he’d hired Carson Plumbing to replace some copper pipes down there recently. We don’t know that everyone in and out latched the door when they left. We don’t know for certain that the killer came in through the access door. It was our working theory, but it’s possible Fratelli didn’t come in that way. Bellamy could’ve let him in—they knew each other.
“I can’t fingerprint the salt deliveryman and every plumber who’s worked down there. Unfortunately, the primary evidence points to Skylar’s client. Without proof that someone else committed the murder or proof that Fratelli didn’t, I can’t change the course of this.” He snapped off his computer and pushed his chair back, standing up to signal that they were done.
Skylar gathered her briefcase and purse and stood, dropping her empty coffee cup into the trash can next to Detective Jordan’s desk. She turned to Savanna. “Ready?”
Savanna marveled at her cool and collected demeanor. She knew Skylar’s mind was spinning, constantly working to free Chef Joe, but her exterior betrayed nothing.
“One last thing.” Skylar stopped, a hand on the door to the office. “What’s going to happen to Mia and Remy James? Are you certain they were completely uninvolved in Bellamy’s murder?”
“Mia confessed to being at the house with Remy two days later, when they decided to get her belongings from Bellamy’s safe. Your wineglass fingerprints allowed me to bring her in,” he said, looking at Savanna. “But as it turned out, I never had to mention we had them. She gave us a much fuller version of what happened than her son did.”
“Will they be charged with breaking and entering?”
“Doubtful. They used a housekey Remy’s had since he was a teenager. We’ll be watching their accounts for any unusual activity, but they seem to have been truthful about what they took. We finally heard back from the councilman’s brother, his only surviving family aside Mia and Remy. The brother told us that all Bellamy kept in that safe were his ex-wife’s things. It’ll be up to the brother as to whether he wants to press charges, and I don’t think he will.”
Behind the Frame Page 24
