Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (22 page)

“After all this, your egg hunt was unsuccessful,” Ransom said.

“The hunt’s not over until the little bunny sings, my friend.”

I lifted my cuffed hands, ready to be set free.

TWENTY-FOUR

(Day #6: Wednesday Afternoon)

Luck finally shined her face upon me when Mary-Louise left me a voicemail, not only giving me permission to go inside her house, but stating she was heading to the station to turn herself in. Her Uncle Horace finally convinced her. I played the message for Ransom, Parker, and Officer Prickle shortly after they agreed not to arrest me. Or maybe it was shortly before.

Either way, I didn’t stick around to press my precious newfound luck. Besides, I might be able to catch the end of the Wonderland Tea.

I climbed into the Mini and checked the rearview. A bruised cheek and a bandaged head. Well, that’s that. I couldn’t go to the Big House, I’d frighten the children. Plus, if Mr. Ballantyne saw my injuries, he might forbid me from investigating future inquiries. An obvious head wound wasn’t quite as discreet as it sounded.

What I really needed to do was head to Bennett’s Funeral Home. It would be awful to have a stranger tell Gilbert about Alex’s arrest for Jaime’s murder. Especially at her viewing, across the hall from the killer’s father’s funeral. I debated stopping at home to change, but I knew this news might make it to Bennett’s faster than I did.

As I turned into the winding drive, a stream of cars pulled out onto Cabana, all with their lights on, following a sedate black hearse. Presumable Peter Whitaker’s funeral procession on their way to a local cemetery.

I parked near the entrance and walked into the quiet lobby. Soft organ music drifted out the open door to Jaime’s viewing room. I peeked inside. Alicia Birnbaum sat with three women, two of whom I recognized from mahj, and Gilbert sat alone.

Without looking at the casket, I tiptoed over and tugged his sleeve. When he turned, I put a finger to my lips and indicated to follow me to the lobby.

“Elli, what happened to your face?”

“Shhh, let’s not disturb the others,” I said, and walked over to a pair of parlor chairs in the far corner.

I scooted closer until our cushions were nearly touching. “The police made an arrest in Jaime’s death. Alex Whitaker.”

I expected him to shout or cry or something loud, but he gasped out, “What? Alex?”

“You knew him well?”

“Not well. Only with his father, Peter. His sister Kat’s been asking me for the egg back. Why would he kill Jaime?”

“Was Kat the one harassing you?”

He dropped his head in his hands, slowly nodding up and down. “She really wanted it back, said if I couldn’t give them the life insurance money back, then I had to give them the egg.” He looked at me, tears fell onto his cheeks. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I told her I didn’t have it anymore, that Jaime did.”

“It’s not your fault, Gil. Alex killed her. His rage and grief consumed him.” I lifted a torn flower applique on my dress. “He did this looking for the ballerina.”

“Ballerina?”

“One of the figurines on the trinket tray Mr. Whitaker sold you. It was part of the egg, the surprise inside.”

“But Kat never mentioned a ballerina.”

“I’m not sure she knew, but either way, I doubt they would’ve told you. Makes the egg worth so much more.”

“Jaime died for a trinket.” Gilbert sat with his head low, softly crying.

I rubbed his back, then whispered, “I’m sorry, Gilbert.”

Pulling into my cottage, I realized Ransom was spot on. I didn’t find the egg. And if the Whitakers didn’t have it, who did? I sighed. I turned off the car, sitting there, staring at my steering wheel. My suspect list was the same one I had the day before with Sid when we went to visit Judith.

I slapped my head. “Ouch!” I said aloud. “Judith said something about Jaime and how she had her way with words.”

Like about not wanting the egg. Jaime told me she didn’t want it, like she didn’t want to keep it. She never said she didn’t take it.

But where did she put it? And I almost slapped my head again. The slippery clue from earlier clinked into place. The one place Gil couldn’t go.

I took ten minutes to wash up and put on my best tennis whites. As a non-athletic person who’s never lifted a racket, I wore a white polo and crisp white shorts and clean white Vans. Once properly attired, I drove straight to Haverhill.

I called in a favor from Jake, the tennis pro at the club. He left me a gate pass, and I arrived at the clubhouse a few minutes later.

Walking across the pink marbled floors, I remembered being there with Ransom. It felt as if months had gone by instead of days. So much had happened. I passed an attendant on my way to the ladies’ locker room and nodded as if I belonged.

It was quiet, mostly deserted. Fine wood lockers lined the walls, jutting out in short rows. Soft carpeting covered the floor, and marble tile led to a series of entries: the vanity area, the restrooms, the showers, then branched toward the steam room, plunge pool, and sauna. A lovely way to spend the afternoon. Except I wasn’t there to spa, I was there to hunt.

Each locker had a brass nameplate on the front, which was a serious break for me. I did not want to test my theory three hundred times. As it was, I searched nearly half the lockers before I found the one I needed tucked in the last row. Two lockers, side by side. Birnbaum and Goodsen. I punched Gil’s office alarm code into the tiny silver number pad and the Goodsen locker clicked open.

Alicia must not have had the heart to clean it out yet. A sharp white tennis skirt and performance top hung from the top bar. A variety of personal items sat on the shelf. Toiletries, socks, a bottle of perfume. But below, in the back corner, wrapped in club towel, was the Fabergé egg. It was more beautiful than Gilbert described, with gold trim and a stunning, deep orange fire opal for the clasp. I opened it. The perfect spot inside to fit a miniature ballerina. Gilbert was right. Jaime had it the whole time.

EPILOGUE

(Day #7: Thursday)

I spent part of the afternoon by the pool, sipping a glass of Carla’s homemade lemonade iced tea. The ice settled into the glass as I settled into the sunshine.

“How’s the eye?” Ransom asked.

“Blue. Black,” I said. “Makes me look tough. That’s what Zibby Archibald said, anyway.”

“You came back to the Tea yesterday? I didn’t think you would.”

“Yeah, but after it was over. The committee was having their wrap-up meeting.”

Ransom sat across from me and poured himself a glass from the pitcher. “Did she win the prize with the teapot you replaced?”

“You heard about that?”

“I hear about everything.”

“I doubt that,” I said with a half-laugh, half-snort. “But no, she didn’t win. Nurse Elaine did.”

“Nurse Elaine?”

I shrugged, not wanting to explain the moniker. Or the fact that she broke up with Matty and he and I had a date on Friday. I sipped my lemonade. “Zibby wasn’t too disappointed. Gave her incentive for next year.”

“Zibby with incentive, that should keep your hands full,” Ransom said. He leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankle. “You ready to give up your discreet inquiry business yet?”

“Ha! I’m just getting started. Knocked another seventy-five hours off my PI requirements. Now only a smidge over five thousand to go.” I poured a little more lemonade. “I’ll tell you, like the cranky wicked smart tv Dr. House said, everybody lies. To protect themselves from embarrassment or jail or maybe out of compulsion, patients always lie. And for me, it’s clients.”

“You’re just figuring that out?”

“I’m only a thousand hours in, so I think I’m pretty quick on uptake, considering. But seriously, had Gilbert Goodsen spilled his beans in the emergency room on Day One, most of this would’ve been avoided.”

“Except for finding the egg,” Ransom said. “Since Jaime had it all along.”

“Just saying.”

Even though I found the egg, neither Gilbert nor Kat Whitaker wanted it. Too many horrible things transpired for both families because of it. They let Jane auction it off through her gallery in Savannah. They donated the proceeds to two charities: one in Jaime’s name and one in Peter Whitaker’s.

Gilbert did accept the payout for his wife’s life insurance policy. He convinced his attorney to accept actual money instead of the egg, and the Gil-animals fees were filed in a timely manner.

“How about saying yes. To a date. Since you said you’re ready. This Saturday night?”

Tod appeared before I could reply. I tried not to look grateful.

“The Ballantyne Board short list is no longer needed.” Tod slowly poured lemonade into a tall glass. “Mr. Ballantyne just appointed Matty Gannon to fill Leo’s old spot. You’re hosting a welcome lunch for him on Saturday.” He tipped his glass at me and walked back into the Big House.

Ransom stood, finished his drink. Set the glass on the table. He took his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. “So Saturday at seven, then?”

“We’re still on?”

“Oh, it’s on.”

About Kendel Lynn

Kendel Lynn is a Southern California native who now parks her flip-flops in Dallas, Texas. She read her first Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators at the age of seven and has loved mysteries ever since. Her debut novel,
Board Stiff,
the first Elliott Lisbon mystery
,
was an Agatha Award nominee for Best First Novel. Along with writing and reading, Kendel spends her time editing, designing, and figuring out ways to avoid the gym but still eat cupcakes for dinner. Catch up with her at www.kendellynn.com.

In Case You Missed the 1
st
Book in the Series

BOARD STIFF

Kendel Lynn

An Elliott Lisbon Mystery (#1)

As director of the Ballantyne Foundation on Sea Pine Island, SC, Elliott Lisbon scratches her detective itch by performing discreet inquiries for Foundation donors. Usually nothing more serious than retrieving a pilfered Pomeranian. Until Jane Hatting, Ballantyne board chair, is accused of murder. The Ballantyne’s reputation tanks, Jane’s headed to a jail cell, and Elliott’s sexy ex is the new lieutenant in town.

Armed with moxie and her Mini Coop, Elliott uncovers a trail of blackmail schemes, gambling debts, illicit affairs, and investment scams. But the deeper she digs to clear Jane’s name, the guiltier Jane looks. The closer she gets to the truth, the more treacherous her investigation becomes. With victims piling up faster than shells at a clambake, Elliott realizes she’s next on the killer’s list.

Read all about it and/or grab the book from Amazon

CLICK FOR BOARD STIFF

Be sure to check out Elliott’s prequel novella

SWITCH BACK featured in

OTHER PEOPLE’S BAGGAGE

Kendel Lynn, Gigi Pandian, Diane Vallere

Baggage claim can be terminal. These are the stories of what happened after three women with a knack for solving mysteries each grabbed the wrong bag.

MIDNIGHT ICE by Diane Vallere:
When interior decorator Madison Night crosses the country to distance herself from a recent breakup, she learns it’s harder to escape her past than she thought, and diamonds are rarely a girl’s best friend.

SWITCH BACK by Kendel Lynn:
Ballantyne Foundation director Elliott Lisbon travels to Texas after inheriting an entire town, but when she learns the benefactor was murdered, she must unlock the small town’s big secrets or she’ll never get out alive.

FOOL’S GOLD by Gigi Pandian:
When a world-famous chess set is stolen from a locked room during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, historian Jaya Jones and her magician best friend must outwit actresses and alchemists to solve the baffling crime.

Read all about it and/or grab the book from Amazon

CLICK FOR OTHER PEOPLE’S BAGGAGE

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