by Laura Quinn
Marti refilled her glass, suggesting they start shopping. Claire reviewed the list and pointed out things she thought he would like. Kirstie took a photo of Georgie with every item, posting them on Instagram and instantly receiving lots of heart emojis. Claire’s eyes were beginning to blur, staring at the small screen for so long. Suddenly, her eyes widened, remembering where she had seen Kyle’s boots before.
“Carly,” Claire blurted out. “I mean, clearly he’s an Instagram star.” After a few dozen more posts, Jay joined his wife at the accessories counter, where she was ordering a custom collar. “Sorry bae.”
“I can’t even.” She turned away, with Georgie following suit.
“We’ve got to do something, or they’ll go ahead with that plan.”
Kirstie spun around and glared. “Again with the marina. Why do you always have to be so involved? Let the lawyers handle it.”
“It’s a chance to get to know our neighbors and get everyone committed to the meeting,” Jay said, stroking her arm. “That was the last family on the list, I promise. I’ve talked with everyone except the Marshalls.”
“I told you they’re going to be gone for a long time,” Kirstie said. “Bunny’s luggage barely fit in the limo. Now, can we get back to our baby? And don’t you dare look at your phone.”
Marti brought the pitcher for refills, but Jay requested water instead since he had to drive home. Harmony restored, they agreed on a brown crocodile leather collar, embellished with gold paw prints and a diamond-encrusted buckle. Moving to the freezer, each filled a bone-patterned insulated bag with entrees and ice creams. As the couple selected treats for Georgie, Nick knocked at the front window. Zac took over the bakery counter while Claire stepped out to talk to her visitor.
“I thought you were closed by now,” Nick said. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink somewhere.”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got plans tonight,” Claire said. “How about tomorrow afternoon? I think I can sneak out early.”
Nick accepted, offering to pick her and Baron up at one o’clock. He said he would surprise her with the location. When she came back in the door, all eyes were fixed upon her.
“So, the rumors are true,” Kirstie said. “He is a hottie. Hundo P!”
Claire successfully changed the conversation by bringing up her apple pie promotion. Zac packaged four mini-pies for Georgie, with cheddar cheese on the side so he could decide if he liked the combination. Marti took over the register, adding in the private-shopping fees. Kirstie hugged Claire on the way out, saying this was the best night Georgie ever had. She scheduled her next appointment while Zac carried out the packages with her husband.
“They’ve got a classic Ferrari convertible,” Zac announced upon his return. “It’s so cool. He offered to take me for a quick ride, but then thought he better get an iced espresso to sober up before driving. I told him about Jada, and that she was looking for investors for her new album.”
“I can’t believe that mocktail trick really works,” Claire said. “Let’s try it on Bob.”
“He’s a journalist,” Marti said. “He would notice before he even had the glass in hand.”
Zac closed out the register and whistled at the substantial total. Before he left, his boss asked if he could come in early the next day, to cover for her shortened shift. Bob arrived just in time to spare Claire from being teased about her date. He balanced a pizza box on top of a tote of Larry’s files and laptop. They moved upstairs to spread everything out on the large table. Claire set up the murder chart and watched as Bob grimaced when he picked up the glass of mock mojito.
“Where’s the rum?” he asked, causing his host to hand over a five-dollar bill to settle her bet with Marti. With a bottle of red wine opened and dinner arranged, they turned their attention to their investigation, starting with Bob’s foray into Larry’s office. He pulled out the few file folders he found, but they contained only miscellaneous bills and expense records. “Traci said Larry was paranoid about a paper trail and kept everything digital. I looked at his laptop, but can’t get past the sign-in screen.”
“Did you try 123456?” Marti asked. “I read that’s still the most common password.”
“No, I think we should wait until we find a tech,” Bob said. “If we guess the wrong password too many times, the system might completely lock down.”
“I may know someone.” Claire texted Zac to see if Keckers was available and coordinated an appointment with the teen the next day.
“I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I can’t believe this isn’t in evidence.” Claire said. “I know the police think these were crimes of passion, but really. Chief Pete is acting like some caricature in a bad mystery.”
“Suspects were falling into his lap,” Bob said. “Why should he complicate things?”
“I think Ken is safe now,” Marti said. “His lawyer all but got the confession thrown out, claiming that his client was clearly under duress when the statement was taken.”
“Plus, the neighbors’ videos showed a distinct lack of Ken’s presence anywhere near the house,” Bob said. “Unfortunately, because the cameras didn’t show any visitors, Traci is probably suspect numero uno again.”
“Bunny’s still a good fit for Kim’s murder,” Marti said. “According to the Patels, she’s still gone.”
They turned their attention to the photo of the note Traci found.
“I don’t think Kim wrote this. From what I’ve learned about her, she would confront Traci face to face,” Claire said.
“KB could be Ken Bancroft,” Bob suggested. “Maybe it fell out of his wife’s bag.”
“But why?” Claire asked. “Everyone knew about Kim’s affairs. Why would he suddenly call her out on them?”
“Josh was exceptionally young and fit. Maybe that was too much for Ken’s ego.” Marti said.
“What about Kyle Beeacham?” Claire showed the apple invoice as a handwriting comparison. “Maybe when the threat didn’t work, he killed Kim. That would explain why he threw away his boots. It was muddy in the tent and the distinctive tread might have left prints.”
“Maybe,” Marti said, comparing the handwriting. “It’s hard to tell.”
Reaching a dead end with the note, Bob suggested they look through Kim’s email for clues. “Traci got the password from Ken. She said he searched the house for her laptop, but couldn’t find it, which seemed odd to him, since she did everything on it. Traci quipped that was due to Kim’s vanity, not wanting to admit she couldn’t read her small phone screen.”
Claire pulled up Kim’s email on her laptop and they scrolled through the last two weeks of messages. They found only a collection of store promotions, fitness newsletters and a few general notes, recipes and photos from friends and family members. They tried her Facebook page, finding the same password worked.
“There’s nothing useful here at all,” Marti said.
“She must have been more paranoid than Larry; not putting anything online,” Claire said. “Maybe she did write that threatening note, but to someone else. I’m going to ask Jill if might have been directed at her.”
“Be careful,” Bob warned. “That woman could kill you with her pinkie.”
Chapter 16
Wednesday, July 13th
Before her better sense kicked in, Claire drove to the flagship Tonelli Gym. She found a space in front of the giant granite building, so she could keep an eye on Baron. Leaving her car running with the air conditioning on, she locked the door and braced herself for the upcoming encounter. The front desk directed her to Jill, who was pumping 350 pounds in a leg press.
“What do you want,” the voice growled. “Didn’t your friends tell you what I would do if you hassled me?”
Jill leapt up and lunged towards Claire, who closed her eyes and jumped out of the line of fire. As moments passed, she peeked through squinted eyes to see she was alone. Just as she was about to leave, Jill returned, thrusting an opened yearb
ook in Claire’s face.
“How would you like it if I unleash this photo on social media, so everyone will know you’re a former fatty? You better keep quiet, or I will. Trust me.”
Claire burst into laughter. “I grew up here. Everyone knows how heavy I used to be. In fact, maybe I’ll send it out to your contacts myself, telling everyone how I lost the weight, through a sensible diet and walking regiment. Think that will help your weight loss products?”
Jill grunted, which Claire took as a cue to proceed. “Look, I know you swapped the brownies in the VIP bags. Just tell me if it’s possible that Kim knew about it and may have threatened you.” A flurry of swear words followed, but Claire convinced her that she had no interest in outing her secret. Eventually, the bodybuilder admitted she swapped the full-fat brownies with the diet versions after hearing that Claire doubted the nutritional claims. She was sure there were no witnesses, having entered the tent at two o’clock in the morning.
“If you hadn’t opened your big mouth, I would have gotten away with my plan. Ken never would have known that the recipe changed by the time we went into production.” She returned to the weight machine and added fifty pounds. The angry clangs rang in Claire’s ears as she rushed back to Baron.
In the sanctity of her shop, Claire churned out French treats and decorations, making it seem as if the impromptu Bastille Day promotion had been long planned. She hurried to finish everything before leaving for her date, so she could enjoy the afternoon guilt-free. Singing Frère Jacques as she strung together an Eiffel Tower garland, she was startled to look up and see Nick.
“Maybe I should have made reservations at a French restaurant,” he said.
“You’ll have to step up your game,” Claire said. “Barbara was invited to go to dinner in Paris.”
“How unoriginal,” Nick said. Baron wagged his tail and stood next to the fireman, prompting Claire to get going.
She unsuccessfully guessed restaurants as they drove along Green Bay Road and into Wilmette. Baron barked as they turned into Lloyd Park.
“Aha,” Claire said, “a picnic on the beach.”
“Close.”
Nick pulled into a parking space and led her to the dock. They walked toward a gleaming blue power boat.
“A picnic on the lake,” he revealed. Hopping aboard with the basket, he helped Claire and Baron on deck.
“This is fantastic,” Claire said. “Your boat is beautiful.”
“I wish it were mine. It belongs to my Coastguard buddy.” He handed out life jackets for his two guests and put on his own, then cast off the ropes and piloted the boat towards Chicago. Setting anchor at a scenic view of the skyline, the host unpacked the lunch basket. He set out plates of roasted vegetables, roast beef, turkey, assorted cheeses, potato salad, coleslaw and a loaf of whole-grain bread from Viktor’s bakery. Claire laughed when she watched him unpack a Posh Pup box with meatloaf for Baron.
“Barbara helped,” he admitted.
The party enjoyed a leisurely lunch, getting to know each other better over stories shared from childhood to present day. Nick refused to tell the story of his real name, holding out for the second date. Claire guessed he was conceived in Phoenix, but he responded only by changing the topic. Baron was less enthusiastic about the conversations, falling asleep under the shade of the awning. Nick pulled out a map, showing his proposed route along the lakeshore and then up the Chicago River. Claire was excited about experiencing the locks, something she hadn’t done since she was a child. After the dessert buffet was served, Baron chose a cheesy bone and jumped up on the seat to chew it with a view.
Before setting back on course, Nick asked his guest if she would like to try piloting it. Claire grew up sailing on the lake, but had only been behind the wheel of a power boat a few times with friends in New York. She asked for a quick overview to get her bearings, then tried a slow loop. The radio crackled, startling the novice captain. Nick jumped up when he heard the message, calling back with a series of codes. Claire didn’t understand the transmissions, but sensed something serious was afoot. Laid-back Nick was now Assistant Fire Chief Cooper, reporting for duty to the assigned coordinates.
“An abandoned yacht was reported and they’re asking for any available boats to help search for possible victims,” he explained to Claire. “I could drop you off at the dock, but will you be able to get a ride from there?”
“We could help, if it’s ok.”
Nick agreed and advised them to sit in the back while he raced to the area. He coordinated a search pattern with the head boat and pulled out two pairs of binoculars. The limited brief advised it was unknown how many people were missing, if any.
Claire positioned herself at the bow, scanning with circular sweeps while Nick piloted the ship slowly through their assigned zone. Baron’s leash was tied around Claire’s waist, keeping him safely near. He sat on the bench next to her, looking out at the water. Occasionally, something drew their attention, but would turn out to be a bird, bobbing rubbish, or optical illusion. Nick marked each section as they cleared it, reporting in as they moved to a new quadrant.
An update reported that the yacht had been towed back to its marina and was identified as belonging to Alan Bloomberg on Shore Drive in North Haven.
Claire recognized the name. “The Bloombergs moved to Santa Barbara last month, after their daughter graduated. I think I have their phone number on my laptop. I’ll call Barbara to look.”
Before Nick could relay this information to the commander, a second update came over the radio that the owner had been contacted. The yacht was left as part of the estate, which was still up for sale. Chief Maloney suspected teenagers took a maritime joy ride, but the search and rescue efforts continued. Nick moved to the next quadrant, near the Bloomberg house. Baron suddenly looked left and cocked his head. A moment later he started barking and Claire followed his sight line with her binoculars.
“Something’s on that buoy; I can’t tell if it’s a person,” she shouted as the boat raced in that direction.
Looming beneath the surface, a charcoal blazer clung to the beacon by a snagged cuff. Nick documented and called in the discovery before pulling it into the boat with a large fishing net. As the jacket emerged from the water, a lapel pin blazed in the sunlight.
“It’s Brendan,” Claire gasped, recognizing the agent’s prized award.
After a few more passes, Nick was advised that it was no longer a rescue mission. A suicide note was discovered onboard and searchers were directed to look for a body. At the marina, they were met by Officer Conners, who took their statements and appropriated the couture evidence. Nick drove Claire and Baron home, promising a re-do of their ill-fated date.
Claire called Marti and conferenced in Bob to tell them her story. Bob was on the way to the police station for an interview and had already spoken with George Bloomberg. He learned that Brendan convinced George to include the yacht with the property for an exclusive listing.
“After showing the house, Brendan would take potential buyers on a cruise so they could see it from the lake. He said that experience would increase interest and the sale price substantially,” Bob explained.
“That’s a pretty slick deal; his own personal yacht for free and an increased commission to boot,” Marti said.
“All the more reason his suicide doesn’t make sense,” Claire said. “He had everything going for him.”
“We need to know what the note said. Can’t you call Betty?”
“My source is anonymous,” Bob reminded Marti. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”
After the call, Claire thought about what she needed to do. To her relief, she realized she was caught up on everything. She played with the cats while Baron slept off the excitement of the day.
A text from Nick said the search team was focusing on the area where the jacket was found, expanding the radius for drift. So far, they hadn’t found anything significant, though they did dredge u
p an unusual item. A vintage Peugeot racing bicycle was submerged near Lakeside park. Claire forwarded the information to her friends. She wondered if Keckers and Zac had taken that joyride after all, but kept the youthful indiscretion to herself.
Bob texted her back that he had big news and would call her and Marti in a few minutes. Claire theorized what it could be. Her first thought was that Brendan was found trying to cross the Canadian border after faking his death.
“Brendan killed Kim and Larry,” Bob announced to the joint call. “His note said he couldn’t live with the guilt any longer. Before you ask, I didn’t get to see the actual note, but my source paraphrased it.
“I still don’t believe it,” Claire said. “Brendan was way too narcissistic to kill himself.”
“Plus, what’s his motive?” Marti said. “Larry was hardly a rival, and I doubt that Brendan was that serious about Kim anyway.”
“It is very convenient,” Bob said. “Chief Pete is stopping all investigation and will officially close the case as soon as Brendan’s body is found.”
“Did they verify his handwriting against the note?” Claire asked.
“I doubt they’ll bother,” Bob said. “Apparently the letter was soaked in vodka, blurring the ink.”
“At least Traci should finally be in the clear,” Marti predicted.
“And so is the real murderer,” Claire said.
Chapter 17
Thursday, July 14th
“Bonjour, mon ami,” Claire said to her manager. “Ooh la la, I love your beret.”
“How was your date?” Barbara asked, unaware of the events on the lake. Claire filled her in on the general news, steering the conversation back to the cheery topic of Bastille Day.
“Maybe I should have renamed it Barkstille Day. Oh well, next year,” Claire said. She grabbed an extra-small red, white and blue collar from the display and wrapped it around her ponytail to match her red-striped top and blue culottes. Anticipating Agnes’s visit, she chose the sparkly Babe Magnet bandanna for Baron. “Everything looks great in here, or should I say tres chic?”
