Evil In Carnations (24 page)

“He’s the baby of the family. She spoiled him. So she asked me to shape him up.”

“Will Rafe be staying in New Chapel then?”

“Until he realizes that school would be a hell of a lot easier than working for me.” He dipped his head toward me. “You
are
hot, by the way.”

Our lips met for a few long, dreamy moments. I would have happily continued down that road, but because we had more pressing concerns, we reluctantly cut it short to get to work.

Muttering, “I’ll be glad when we have some time to ourselves again,” Marco took a seat at his desk and pulled out his notebook, while I settled in one of the leather chairs on the other side. “All right,” he said, glancing over his notes, “who would you say is our strongest suspect?”

“At this point, I’d have to say Carmen Gold.”

“Motive for murder?”

“Motive. Okay, if Carmen is, as we suspect, the older woman Jonas was dating, then she’d be the one who bought him the Ferrari with her dad’s money. So for motive, I’d say being used by a greedy boyfriend and then dumped when she couldn’t buy him any more goodies is a good one, and also makes her a prime candidate for a vengeful hit-and-run driver, especially because she’s driving a rental car now.”

Marco took the Cloud Nine business card out of his wallet and lifted his phone. “Let’s see what I can pry out of Carmen’s assistant.

“Hi, is this Pamela? My name is Marco Salvare. I’m a private investigator working on a case involving a vehicle owned by Jonas Treat. I understand Jonas was a Cloud Nine client and—Yes, I did speak with Carmen about this case yesterday. . . . I understand, but I was hoping you could—I see. Okay, thank you.” He hung up. “Pamela has orders not to talk to anyone about Jonas, but if I need the name of the company lawyer, she will provide it for me.”

“That’s interesting. Do you think we made Carmen nervous yesterday?”

“Seems that way.” Marco pursed his lips, thinking. “Tonight is the next speed-dating event in Maraville, right? Is there a time when we could slip into the restaurant and talk to Pamela without Carmen seeing us?”

“I think so, once the first round of dating starts.”

“Let’s plan on it. Next up is Robin Lennox. What makes her a likely suspect?”

I listed the items on my fingers. “Jonas cheated on her while they were engaged. He backed out of their wedding at the last minute. Jillian heard Robin lost a lot of money on her gown and a wedding band for Jonas. She’s having bodywork done on her car.”

“You’re getting good at this, Sunshine.”

“I should be. I’m learning from the master.”

He gave a nod to acknowledge my compliment. “So tell me how Robin knew to find Jonas at the sales office late on a Sunday evening.”

“She might have known his work habits. Or maybe she phoned him earlier in the day and asked to meet with him.”

“Why would he schedule a meeting with his ex-fiancée
after
his date with Nikki, or at all, for that matter? Jonas allegedly had Nikki home by midnight. That would put him back at his sales office about twelve thirty. Kind of late to set up a meeting. Besides, how would he know in advance what time his date with Nikki would end?”

I scratched my forehead, thinking. “We did discuss an angry ex tailing him, didn’t we? Maybe Robin followed him that evening, waited until after Jonas took Nikki home, then called him from her car and asked to see him.”

“Still, why would Jonas agree to meet with her?”

“That would depend on the reason Robin gave for wanting a meeting.”

“What we need is a copy of Jonas’s phone records. Dave was expecting the prosecutor’s discovery information to come this morning, and the phone records should be in that package, so I’ll give him a call when we finish here.” Marco glanced at his watch, muttered something about the battery, then unstrapped it from his wrist and laid it aside. “Let’s keep going. What about Iris Frey?”

“All signs seem to indicate Iris had a crush on Jonas, and her feelings clearly weren’t reciprocated, so maybe she found out about his dinner date with Nikki, then, in a jealous rage, confronted him afterward and stabbed him.”

“If Iris had a crush on Jonas, why kill him? Why not go after Nikki?”

I pondered that for a moment. “If Iris can’t have Jonas, no one can?”

“It’s weak, considering she never even dated him. Why would she think she had a chance?”

“Maybe Jonas flirted with her at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Still weak.”

“You’re right. Plus, Iris doesn’t seem the violent type, although, as you’ve pointed out, people swept up in the heat of the moment can do bad things. Don’t look so surprised. I actually do listen to you.”

With a sly grin, Marco said, “Okay, Fireball, then how would Iris have found out about Jonas’s date with Nikki?”

“Follow him to Nikki’s house.” I shrugged. “Iris doesn’t really seem the stalker type to me, but as you’ve also told me, we can’t count someone out until we can.”

Marco’s eyes widened. “You
are
a fireball today.”

“I do my best,” I said, flipping back my hair to make him laugh.

“We need photos of our suspects. If someone’s been stalking Jonas, the staff at his sales office might be able to identify the person.”

Somewhere in the bar, glass shattered. Then Rafe called, “I’m okay. I just dropped an empty beer bottle. I’ll clean it up.”

Marco went to the doorway. “Rafe!”

His brother appeared a few seconds later, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry. It slipped out of my hands.”

“Forget that for the moment. You’re computer savvy. I need photos of these people.” He tore off a page in his notebook and handed it to his brother. “See what you can dig up.”

“Yes, master,” Rafe said, pretending to be Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant. “Igor get photos.” He hunched his back and dragged one leg as he headed toward the desk, glancing at me as he passed. “How do you stand him?” he whispered.

“It takes practice,” I whispered back.

Ignoring his brother’s antics, Marco vacated his desk so Rafe could sit down, then took a seat in the chair next to mine and propped his notebook on his lap. “Next up is Hank Miller. What do we know about him?”

“Miller sold his land to Jonas. He had an altercation with Jonas three days before Jonas was killed. Miller claimed he was in Florida when Jonas died.”

“I tried to reach Miller at his home in the Keys earlier this morning to get more information, but no one answered. I asked a friend of mine at O’Hare to check the passenger manifests on all flights in and out of the Miami, Key West, and Marathon airports around that date to see if by chance Miller did any flying. I should hear back from him today.”

Marco turned the page in his notebook. “Last up is Duke Kessler. What do we know?”

I ticked the items off on my fingers. “Jonas made deals behind Duke’s back. Jonas left the realty business to cut him out of a multimillion dollar deal. Duke filed a lawsuit two months ago over it.”

“Losing out on that kind of money is a strong motive. Do we know where Kessler was when Jonas was killed?”

“Sorry. I didn’t ask him.”

“No problem. Kessler was probably interviewed by the cops, so that information should be in the discovery package, too. I still want to get over to the gym to talk to him myself.”

“Here’s your photo of Iris Frey,” Rafe said. “It’s from an archived article in the
New Chapel News
from last year. Is the picture quality okay? It’s kind of grainy.”

We went around the desk to look at the monitor screen. “It’s clear enough,” Marco said.

“That is one unattractive woman,” Rafe said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone with a face shaped like an hourglass. It’s like her head got caught in a vise.”

“At least Iris has a good sense of humor,” I said. “You should meet her mother.” Then, as I skimmed through the article, I said to Marco, “This is sad. According to the paper, a fire destroyed part of the second floor of their building and severely injured Iris’s father, William, while he slept. I don’t remember it, but I was in law school. I didn’t have time to read the back of the cereal boxes, let alone newspapers.”

“I was a rookie cop then,” Marco said. “I recall a concern about arson being raised, but the cause was finally determined to be from an unattended candle in one of the bedrooms.”

Rafe’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Here’s something about Cloud Nine.”

I stood at Rafe’s shoulder, watching the monitor as he scrolled down the Cloud Nine Web site searching for a photo.

“While you’re finishing that, I’ll call Dave,” Marco said, and picked to the phone.

“Here we go,” Rafe said. “Damn! Carmen Gold is a babe.”

“She’s too old for you,” I said.

He cast me a decidedly Marco-like flirtatious glance. “Not a problem. I like older women.”

“Just print the photo.” On second thought . . . “Hey, Rafe, how would you feel about going out with a very attractive twenty-six-year-old?”

Rafe gave me a skeptical glance. “Well, okay, if my big bro doesn’t mind.”

“Not me! My roommate, Nikki.”

Rafe reached for the paper coming out of the printer. “The murder suspect? Pass.”

“Nikki didn’t kill anyone,” I said, snatching the print from his hand. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Marco ended his call and picked up his notebook, reading from it. “Okay, here’s what Dave told me. He received the discovery package, but the phone records were omitted, so he’s expecting to get them shortly by fax. The only interviews he has knowledge of were conducted with Hank Miller, Duke Kessler, Nikki, and Jonas’s employees at the sales office. No one has been called back for a second interview.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t interview Carmen,” I said. “From talking to Nikki, the detectives knew Jonas attended a speed-dating event. You’d think they’d want to find out who Jonas met and what transpired that evening, especially since it took place a mere three days before he was murdered. They’re ignoring the obvious. Do they know something we don’t?”

“We don’t have time to speculate,” Marco said, gathering the photos from Rafe. “We’ve got a lot to accomplish and it’s already . . .” He glanced at his wrist, remembering belatedly that he had removed his watch. “Damn. I keep forgetting.”

“Toss your watch my way,” Rafe said. “If that jewelry store is still on the corner, I’ll take it down and get a battery put in.”

“Thanks,” Marco said. “All right, let’s get to work. Abby, do you want to see what you can get Iris Frey to tell you about her whereabouts Sunday night?”

“I’m on it,” I said, slipping on my coat. “I’m also going to stop at Betty’s Bridal Shop to see if there’s any record of Robin ordering a gown. I want to know if she told me the truth about her wedding expenses.”

“We also need to get over to Dunn’s Body Shop later today to see if we can get a look at Robin’s car,” Marco said. “Right now I’m going to make a few phone calls to see what I can find out about Miller’s and Kessler’s alibis; then I’ll head over to Dave’s office to pick up the discovery information. Meet me here when you’re finished, and we’ll head to Jonas’s development to show our suspects’ photos to his employees.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I told him. But not a complete one. I needed a reason to go to Frey’s. I picked up Marco’s coffee cup and saw a few drops left. “Got a spare shirt?”

Marco opened a sleek black cabinet beneath his wall-mounted TV and pulled out a light gray T-shirt with black script on it that said, DOWN THE HATCH BAR AND GRILL.

“Dude,” Rafe said, “can I have one?”

Marco tossed it to his brother and gave me another one. I tipped his cup, spilling the last sip of coffee onto one sleeve. “Now I have a reason to go to Frey’s.”

 

When I stepped inside the dry-cleaning shop, I was instantly assailed by the chemical odor. There was a line of people waiting to drop off clothing, but no Iris behind the counter, only a high school-aged girl sporting short black hair with purple tips. Because of time constraints, I bypassed the line, walked up to the counter, and said to the girl, “Is Iris here?”

“Hey! No cuts!” the last woman in line yelled, clearly believing she was in third grade.

“Iris will be in at noon,” the girl told me, taking payment from a senior citizen who didn’t seem at all bothered by my standing beside her. “She comes in late on Thursdays.”

Noon?
Damn.
Half the day would be gone. I glanced through the doorway behind the counter and saw Iris’s mother working the huge pressing iron, wearing the same drab smock she’d had on before.
Hmm.
Maybe she would tell me where Iris was Sunday evening.

“Can I speak with Mrs. Frey?” I asked the girl.

She glanced behind her, through the doorway, then said quietly to me, “She doesn’t like to be bothered.”

“Get in line,” someone else called.

“I just need to talk to someone,” I called back, then whispered to the girl, “This is really important.”

“Why are you carrying a shirt with you then?” Ms. No-Cuts called snidely, starting others grumbling, too.

“Fine!” I said loudly. I stuffed the T-shirt in my purse, flipped up the counter gate, and darted through the doorway into the back room.

“Wait,” the girl yelled. “You’re not allowed back there. You might—”

Fall into a laundry cart?

I
n my haste to reach Mrs. Frey, I didn’t notice the canvas cart parked just inside the doorway. I was too busy wishing I’d brought a bouquet of flowers, I because it always made the questioning easier. My knees hit the soft side of the cart, and I tumbled face-first into a pile of soiled clothing.

As I struggled to find purchase to push myself out of the smelly clothes, a strong hand reached in, grabbed my upper arm, and pulled me to my feet. “Thank you,” I said, straightening my coat and smoothing down my hair. “I usually make a less dramatic entrance.”