Murder on Consignment (13 page)

I had just pressed my ear fully to the door when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped up and stood nose to nose with a maroon and yellow-capped bellboy.

“Can I help you ma’am?” He was giving me a hard look.

“Oh, no tha
nks. I thought I dropped something, but I guess not.” I was whispering, hoping that Alex wouldn’t hear the commotion and come to the door.

“That’s not what it looked like to me, ma’am.” 

Man, this bellboy was a sharp one. I signaled for him to be quiet and began rooting in my purse for a little persuasion. Unfortunately, Chuck had taken all my persuasion earlier in the week.

Just then the door opened. “Is there a problem out here?”

“Oh, hi again Mr. Sokolov … um … no there’s no problem. I just dropped something that’s all. This nice young man is helping me look for it.

Alex was standing, with both hands on the door frame. I shifted this way and that, trying to get a glimpse around him. He shifted also. Getting angrier by the moment.

“Is there something you want, Ms. Overton?” he asked curtly.

While his bulky physique took up most of the doorway, I did manage to catch a glimpse inside the room. In it I saw, over by the small table in the corner of the room, the lower half of a pair of woman’s leg
s, neatly crossed and wearing to-die-for red stilettos. 

“No, I was just on my way out.”

“You bet you are,” injected the bellboy, placing a firm hand on the small of my back and ushering me to the elevator. He stuck with me down to the lobby and out the front door.

Damn.

Now I may never know what was going on in that room. Could those legs have possibly belonged to Morgan Farrell? Geez, why didn’t I take a closer look at what shoes she was wearing? If those were Morgan’s legs, what was she doing with her husband’s illegitimate brother? Certainly not an affair? Or, maybe Morgan was more than just a ditzy spoiled housewife. Maybe she was the mastermind behind both of the murders and had teamed up with Fur Face to pull them off. Could she have been the lady that paid Chuck a thousand bucks for the Sokolov file? No, that wouldn’t make sense. If she was involved with Alex, she could have whatever she wanted from Calina Sokolov’s estate.

I was so frustrated, I wanted to bang my head against the wall and scream. I needed to calm down and think rationally. I was jumping to conclusions. I didn’t know for sure that Morgan even came up to the ninth floor. It was a huge hotel. She
could have gone anywhere. I didn’t even think she was wearing red shoes. I only saw her for a second before she entered the hotel, but I would have noticed red. Wouldn’t I?

Feeling like a failure, I made my way back to my car, which luckily hadn’t been
towed, and moved it so I had a prime view of Morgan’s vehicle. The least I could do was wait for her to leave and check the color of her shoes.

I waited, and waited, and waited.

Then, I woke up.

Wiping
drool from my cheek, I squinted against the early morning sunlight searching for Morgan’s car. It was gone. My heart sank. I’d fallen asleep and missed her exit from the hotel.

Shivering from the cold, I opened my cell to check the time. After seven already. I stretched and reached over to crank the engine
, only it wouldn’t start. It must have been running when I fell asleep. It was out of gas. Now my teeth were chattering and my stomach rumbling. I flipped open my cell again and dialed in desperation.

“Hello, Sis, I’ve got a problem. Can you meet me with a can of gas, a sweatshirt, and some hot coffee at the Huntley in Lisle?”

I paused as she flooded the line with questions.

“Actually, can I
explain it to you later?  I’m stranded in the lot right outside the main door. Hurry. I’m freezing.”

About forty-five minutes later, my t
rusty sister showed up with the requested items, plus an extra bonus of a half-dozen chocolate glazed donuts. Once the gas was in the tank, we sat in the front seat gobbling donuts, slurping coffee, and basking in the full blast of hot air coming from the car vents.

“It must have been some other woman
. I can’t believe Morgan Farrell was the woman in Alex Sokolov’s room,” my sister was saying. “She doesn’t seem like the type that would cheat on her husband. You’ve heard her talk about him. She seems so in love.”

“Well, maybe it’s a case of affair revenge. Obviously, she suspects her husband of having a mistress. Maybe she’s engaged in a retaliatory affair. Could you blame her?”

My sister shot me a dark look.

“Oh, give me a break, Sis. Don’t you ever get tired of the old double standard?  Men just get to do whatever, while women stay at home and accept it?”

“I’m not condoning any sort of extra-marital affair. First of all, you don’t even have proof that James Junior has a mistress. All you’re going on is idle gossip from one of his employees. Second, all you saw was a leg. A completely dressed leg. It could have belonged to anyone. You can’t be sure it was Morgan Farrell’s leg.”

She had a point. I really didn’t have any sort of evidence
at all. “You’re right. I’ve been spinning my wheels. I’m not any closer to figuring out who killed Pauline. Maybe Sean’s right; maybe the Farrells have nothing to do with this. Just because they’re a dysfunctional family, doesn’t mean they’re murderers.” I put down my donut. I wasn’t hungry any more. “I don’t know. I’ve hit a dead end.” Another day was gone and I was no closer to finding Pauline’s murderer. All I had done was screw things up. I was failing Shep.

Mary Frances put a hand on my shoulder. “Well, you could always pray about it.”

I cringed. The last time I sincerely talked to God, I had a gun pointed at my temple. At the time, I was bartering for my life. I actually promised God that if he spared me, I’d never get involved in another case again.

I shivered. Hopefully, God wasn’t going to ren
ege on his end of the deal because I couldn’t keep a promise. “It’s almost nine. We better head for St. Joan’s,” I said, completely avoiding the whole topic.

Chapter 15

Morgan didn’t walk into the parish hall until after ten. In fact, I was surprised to see her as I figured she might be too tired from her late night rendezvous at the Huntley.

“Hi all! Sorry I’m late. I’ll work extra hard to make up for it.” Her voice held no trace of outrage I’d seen the day before at JimDogs. She seemed happy and quite composed in her skinny jeans, multi-layered shirts, and mid-calf boots. The outfit, while it did look good on her, was a bit over-the-top for working a garage sale. I wondered if she had other plans for later in the day.

Morgan plopped a brightly colored, over-sized quilted bag onto the table and extracted my sweatshirt. “Here you go, Phillipena. I think you left this in my car yesterday.”

She handed it over with no hint of an apology for leaving me stranded in the JimDog parking lot. I decided to approach the topic anyway. “So, Morgan. Is everything alright? I mean, when you left me at JimDogs yesterday, you seemed really upset.”

Morgan shrugged. “Oh sure, everything’s fine.” She started sorting and stacking paperback books by category. I had been avoiding the books, unsure of what to do with some of the romance novels that were donated. They didn’t seem appropriate for a church garage sale.

Morgan, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered at all. “The afternoon crew sure got a lot done yesterday, huh?” she commented, while absent-mindedly leafing through a novel with a busty woman. It was titled
Sins of the Master
. I blushed just thinking about what those sins might be. Morgan, on the other hand, read the back cover, smiled to herself, skimmed a few pages, smiled some more, and tossed the book into her bag.

She glanced up and caught me watching her. “We couldn’t possibly sell that type of book at this sale. I’ll take it home and dispose of it,” she said.

I glanced over at a large garbage can filled to the brim with broken, unsellable items and then back at her purse; but she made no move to pitch the book. Obviously she wanted to save the garbage for herself. Maybe she wanted to share it later with Alex. Ugh … I shook off the image. Yuck and double yuck.

I grabbed a bottle of cleaner and some paper towels a
nd moved on to cleaning the donated toys. Mary Frances was nearby untangling the laces on a pair of rollerblades. “Hey,” she said to Morgan. “Were you at the Huntley last night?”

“Excuse me?” Morgan replied, stopping what she was doing and staring at my sister.

Mary Frances paused and looked directly at Morgan. “The Huntley in Lisle.”

I was all ears.

“Were you there, Sister?” Morgan asked.

The air sizzled with tenseness. I was watching Morgan closely.

Mary Frances went back to work on the laces as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “That hotel has the best restaurant. I do enjoy going with Sister Bernadette and Sister Teresa from time to time,” she said, not quite telling a lie.

Morgan made some sort of small guttural noise, but d
idn’t respond. She seemed uncomfortable. As far as I was concerned, she was looking guiltier every second. Maybe not of murder, but infidelity for sure.

“Were you there with your brother, perhaps?” Mary Frances prodded. I think she was enjoying herself. She had a wicked little smirk on her face.

Morgan attempted a chuckle; it came out like a snort. “No Sister, I wasn’t at the Huntley last night. You must have mistaken me for someone else.” She picked up her purse and began rifling through it. “I’m so sorry girls, but I just remembered I have an appointment. I’ll be back tomorrow to help out some more.” 

She was quickly making her way to the door with me in hot pursuit. I wasn’t about to let her get away without an explanation.

Just as her hand reached the doorknob, I reached out and got a hold of her arm and spun her around. “Can you wait up a minute, please? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

She jerked out of my grasp, turned back, flung open the door and ran right into Patricia Farrell.

“Hi ladies. How’s it going here?” Patricia asked, curiously studying Morgan’s flushed face. “Are you leaving already, Morgan?”

Mary Frances crossed the room. “Hello
, Patty,” she said, looping her arm through Patricia’s and directing her away from Morgan and me. “I’m glad you’re here. Come on in and see how much progress has been made. I think this is going to be the best sale ever. I’m so excited about the possibilities for the woman’s shelter. Plus, with your gracious offer to match our earnings this year, we should be able to do something wonderful for them.”

“Of course, Sister. James and I are happy to help in any way we can,” Patricia replied scowling at us over her shoulder. “Wait for me Morgan, while I talk to Sister,” she added firmly. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“What is your problem?” Morgan asked in a low, throaty whisper. We were still huddled by the exit.

“My problem? You’re the one acting weird. First you throw a fit and chuck a drink across the room, then you leave me stranded at
JimDogs, and now … what?  Sneaking around the Huntley with strange men?”

“Mind your own business,” she hissed.

So, it
was
her leg I’d seen. “How do you know Alex Sokolov?” I was grasping for straws, but what did I have to lose? I wasted too many days bumbling without any solid information.

“Alex Sokolov?”

“Quit acting dumb, Morgan. Two women are dead and one of them was my friend. If you’re involved in this, you’d better come clean.”

“Dead?” She seemed to go pale all of the sudden. Her eyes were darting from me to Pat
ricia. She seemed on the edge.

“Yes, all over something that was hidden in a book. A Russian book
,” I volleyed back.

I was waiting for her reply, when Patricia walked back over. “Well girls, I can see that you’ve been working hard down here. You all deserve a break. I’m calling ahead t
o the house to have Anna fix something nice for lunch. Why don’t you lock up here and come by in what … maybe a half-hour?” She flipped open her phone, shot another disapproving glance at Morgan who seemed to be shrinking next to me.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Mary Frances, the ever polite one, called after her.

Patricia glanced back. “No imposition at all. In fact, I insist,” she replied in a tone that really did seem insistent. Her eyes settled again on Morgan and they exchanged a look I didn’t quite understand.

Then, suddenly Morgan flinched and scurried out the door, not even bothering to say goodbye.

“Wait!” Patricia yelled out, giving us a quick wave before taking after Morgan.

That was strange. No proble
m, though. I’d catch up with Morgan after lunch and finish our conversation. I couldn’t help but smile. This was the break I needed. Only problem was, I felt gross. I hadn’t showered, brushed, or changed since yesterday morning. In fact, now that I was thinking about it, I had been wearing the same sweats for several days. They could practically stand up on their own.

I glanced around. Out of desperation, I started searching through the
Women’s Size Medium
table. It only took a couple of passes before I happened upon a pair of khaki pants and a long sleeve black top. Perfect.

I caught Mary Frances’s attention. “Hey, I’m going to make an early purchase. They’re already marked. I
’ll throw a couple bucks into the cash box when we open, okay?”

Not waiting for her reply, I headed off to freshen up. About twenty minutes later, we were on the road. I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. I’d splashed, rinsed, tied back my hair, and shimmied into my new outfit, which, by the way, fit pretty well. That’s the thing with used clothing—no need to break it in; it’s comfortable from the get-go.

Mary Frances and I decided to drive separately. Once again, as we passed the gateman and started down the winding drive, I was in awe of the beauty of the Farrell estate. Today, its massive brick and stone façade stood out crisply against the bright, cloudless sky. Mature oaks and maples provided a colorful canopy framing the house and surrounding gardens. Behind the house, I could see the stable hands had turned out the horses. Several handsome thoroughbreds grazed inside the white fenced pastures.

Patricia greeted us inside the foyer and escorted us toward the back of the house.
I assumed we were heading to the conservatory again, but instead we ended up in the dining room. I had to admit, Patricia had a great decorating style.  Everything about this home was a statement in refined elegance.

“I thought we’d take lunch in here today. There’s more table space and the guys will be joining us,” Patricia said.

“Where’d Morgan go?” my sister asked, looking around.

Patricia motioned for the maid as we settled into our seats. “I’m sure she’ll be along shortly.”

We’d just sat down when a clattering came from down the hall. Patricia left the table and went to intercept the men. I strained my ears, but couldn’t hear much. I assumed she was warning hubby and Junior about their unexpected lunch guests.

“Fine. But I won’t be here long. I need to change clothes before heading
over to the site,” I heard JimDog say as he made his way down the hall. “I met with the inspector this morning,” he continued, walking into the room. “Looks like we’ll have it all done by the grand opening. We just need to take care of a few …” He hesitated for a split second, nodding at us before positioning himself at the head of the table. His expression turned slightly sour as his eyes scrutinizing me. It was obvious that he hated me. “Have you been feeling better?” he asked, without a hint of sincerity in his voice.

“Yes. Much better, thank you,” I answered, raising my glass and taking a huge gulp of water. Suddenly, I felt like I was at Sunday dinner
with the mob and JimDog was the Godfather.

“You’re opening a new
JimDogs?” I asked, trying to break the ice.

“Yes, in Skokie.”   

I hesitated, waiting for him to add more. He didn’t.

“Where’s Morgan?” J.J asked, sitting down.

“She should be here any minute,” Patricia answered. “Let me introduce you to the O’Brien girls. Sister Mary Frances, and Phillipena.” 

I shook his outstretched hand, which was a limp as a wet noodle, and tried hard not to stare at his head
. I couldn’t help thinking it looked just like a flesh colored bowling ball resting on his narrow shoulders. His round eyes were positioned closely together above a long narrow nose which led right down to a round mouth that looked to be just the right size for an eight-pound ball’s thumb-hole. Looking at his head, it seemed that I could poke my fingers in and go for a strike, or at least a spare.

After a
little more small talk, we settled in and waited for lunch. I was having a difficult time focusing on the conversation as I couldn’t get past J.J.’s appearance. He was the exact opposite of Alex Sokolov. How could that be with the same father? It was a cruel twist of genetic fate that the same man would produce two sons so physically different from one another. If Alex the Sasquatch and this bowling ball man could combine genes, they’d end up with about the right amount of hair.

“
Pippi?” My sister was saying. “Patricia was just asking you about your business?”

I refocused and noticed that all eyes were on me. “My business?”

“Yes,” Patricia said, smiling up at Anna who had brought in a tray with plates of salad. “I think it’s fascinating that you left a job in finance to become an on-line retailer. It must have been a huge decision for you. How could it not have been with the different life-style choices you must have had to make?”

I sighed, and dug into my salad. How could I explain to this woman a decision to leave a prestigious, six figure salary to take on a career digging through garbage? I couldn’t. So, I decided change the subject in a big way.

I took a deep breath and smiled sweetly at Patricia. “Actually, my life is a lot different than it used to be when I worked as a trader, but it’s still very exciting. And, I meet the most interesting people. Why just the other day, I was tracking down merchandise that was sold off in an estate sale and I met the most charming man from Russia.” I paused for a couple of seconds to make sure I had everyone’s full attention. I definitely had JimDog’s.

“His name was Alex Sokolov.” I let the name drop like an atomic bomb.

The air was suddenly sucked out of the room. Jaws dropped, forks dropped, curse words dropped.

“What did you say?” James Farrell said, the look on his face and the way he was angrily clutching his fork
, sending spasms of fear up my spine.

I immediately wished I could take back my words. Unsure of how to proceed, I got busy with my salad, hoping to divert any additional conflict. Unfortunately, a leafy piece
of arugula stuck in my throat sending me into a spontaneous coughing fit. I gulped some water trying to force it down, but it had stubbornly lodged itself somewhere between the back of my tongue and my tonsils.

I coughed and sputtered.

Mary Frances looked concerned. Everyone else at the table just looked angry. In fact, the way they were looking at me, I was sure they were hoping I
would
choke to death.