BLUE WEDDING (Melody The Librarian Mysteries Book 3) (9 page)

“I can help,” I said, getting up. I wrapped my arms around his mid-section as he stirred. “I can’t wait to see what’s for dessert.”

I wouldn’t have minded spending the night, but I remembered that this would be my last chance to review the video footage of the reception. Gary understood, and we laughed about wondering what the neighbors might have thought seeing me slip out the door of his house at dawn, concertina wheezing with each step. I gathered my things, gave Gary a last kiss and was just about to sneak out the door when Zak Van Dyke came sneaking in.

“Melody! What a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, Gary and I just wound down a practice session.”

“Well, it never hurts to stay in practice,” he grinned. “If you don’t use it, you lose it, right?”

“And just where have
you
been tonight, Zak?” I asked, trying to deflect scrutiny.

“With a lovely woman, if you must know, Melody,” he sighed. “You’ll have to meet her someday. I know that you’ll like her, too, though probably not as much as I do, because I think she’s just the bee’s knees.”

We both laughed at his phrasing. “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I giggled. “Twenty-three skidoo?”

“Very good. I think you’ve captured the same era there. So where’s my son?” he inquired, looking about with mock concern, as if I might have buried him under the floorboards.

“I think he went upstairs,” I said. “Well, I’m off for home. I’m really happy that you have a special friend, Zak.”

“So am I,” he called out as I stepped onto the porch. I mean that I’m happy for you, if you likewise have a special friend, not that I’m prying, mind you.”

“Good night, Zak,” I sang over my shoulder. A part of me felt resistant to watching any more of the video and photos. I didn’t really want to spend the last waking hours of my day looking at those people, but I knew that I would. Who knows? The key piece of evidence might be found lying somewhere in that digital haystack.

***

The next afternoon, Marian stopped by the library, bringing along with her a little ‘surprise.’

“Hello, Molly.” I’d barely gotten the words out before she enveloped me in a hug.

“Listen, Melody,” Marian said, “I hope this isn’t an imposition, but I have a doctor’s appointment in Crawford, and need to do some grocery shopping afterwards. Would it be okay if Molly spent the afternoon here with you? If not, I can take her with me, but I thought she might be bored.”

“No, I don’t mind, as long as her mother doesn’t object,” I replied. It had been a quiet day and I didn’t expect that to change much in the remaining three hours.

“Already cleared it with her,” Marian assured me. “Well, I should scoot so I’ll be on time for the waiting room ordeal. Thanks a bunch, and we’ll get together soon for ‘Stormalong,’ right?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Molly fell right back into her routine of selecting a small stack of books to browse at her table. I felt a little nervous about how to handle Cat when she picked up Molly. Should I take advantage of the opportunity to question her further about her relationship with Amanda Holt, or should I ease off, allow her to lower her guard a bit and try again later. With Molly present, it might not be the best time to confront her.

It turned out to be a moot point. By 5:45, Molly had put away the books and stood watching out the window. I heard a car horn honk and Molly scrambled for the door.

“Is that your mom, Molly? Isn’t she going to come in?”

“No, she told me to be ready to go and she was gonna stay in the car. Goodbye, Miss Melody.” No hug this time, but at least I got a wave goodbye.

At least I confirmed that Cat was avoiding me and it wasn’t my imagination. I had an idea. Maybe if Cat wouldn’t come to me….

***

In the evening, Michael called with updates on his investigation. He had driven to Traverse City and spoken with Charlie’s partner, Gordon Haskell.

“Boy, with friends like that, a guy sure doesn’t need enemies. He had quite the axe to grind about his partner, or ex-partner, Charlie. Called him a ‘serial philanderer.’ He said the company had had to settle several sexual harassment claims, and he showed me the files to back it up. According to him, Charlie was a charmer to whom no one could say no. That was great when it was a business proposition, but not so great when he was propositioning subordinates.

“In addition to the financial downside of Charlie’s impulses, Haskell said he was genuinely concerned about the women who said yes, especially the ones to whom he proposed. The guy was married six times!”

“Wow,” I responded. “Charlie was quite the romantic.”

“Well, Haskell claimed the women were all gold diggers, and that he was genuinely concerned about Charlie being taken advantage of, emotionally as well as financially, especially by his latest love interest. Haskell admitted to losing his temper about the whole thing, as well as having drunk too much, but he claimed that he’d never hurt Charlie.”

“Did he say anything about following Charlie back to the Hartford House just before Charlie died?” I asked.

“He said that he did follow Charlie after their last confrontation, but that he’d gone to apologize. But he was afraid he’d just anger him again, so Haskell went to his room to sleep off the booze for an hour or two. And Mrs. Hartford backs him up on that. Haskell had a room on the first floor, near the office. She saw him go in and would’ve seen him leave, but he didn’t.

“Hmmm,” I murmured, mulling this over. “If you look at the video and the photo when Haskell entered the Hartford House, he doesn’t appear to be in an apologetic spirit.”

“I plan on reviewing the material tonight, but looks can be deceiving. Again, Mrs. Hartford corroborates his alibi.

“And what about the housekeeper, Fiona? It appeared that Charlie might have said something to her just before he went to the Hartford House. It wasn’t very clear in the footage.”

“Yes,” Michael replied, “I spoke with her and she said that Charlie asked that a bottle of champagne be brought to his room and chilled. He told her he planned to pry his wife away from the guy dancing with her and hoped they could sneak away for quick one.”

“A quick one?” I repeated. “Is that what Fiona said?”

“No, I said that, but that’s what she inferred. So she got the champagne from the kitchen, along with a bucket of ice, glasses and a tray – all of which was attested to by Mrs. Harford. She put the tray on a table and left.”

“Well, that shoots down most of my conspiracy theories,” I admitted. “Did you come up with anything interesting?”

“I spoke with the widow who, as it happened, was being consoled by Raymond Heller when I arrived. Maybe ‘consoled’ isn’t the right word. At any rate, they both appeared slightly disheveled. God, I love popping in for unannounced interviews. It keeps them off-balanced.” Michael emitted an evil chuckle and continued.

“First impressions can turn out to be wrong, but neither of those two struck me as the type to pull off a hit-for-hire scenario. They both had such an air of privilege and entitlement that I can’t imagine either of them making the effort required to pull that off. People like that seem to just fall into money, and Charlie taking a spill in the tub is completely compatible with their kind of luck. It rains money on some people.”

“I didn’t know you were so cynical,” I said. “You should get together with Tim Neil to discuss the inequalities of the distribution of wealth in the world. By the way, did you talk to Tim…the groundskeeper?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know anything. I’m betting he’s got a criminal record, though. I can spot that pretty easily. I’m getting a check done on him as we speak.

“Oh, but back to the widow and her friend, Raymond. Nobody’s ever accused me of being delicate during an interview, and I’m afraid that I mentioned something that Gordon Haskell had shared with me. Turns out that Raymond does have a connection with Charlie Hayes:  he’s his stepson. Plus he worked for the company. But Raymond never told Tiffany she would be marrying his stepdad!

“You’d have thought I’d poured a bucket of cold water on the two lovebirds when I dropped that bombshell. Apparently, Charlie didn’t want anyone to accuse him of nepotism, so when he hired Raymond, he made him swear never to reveal to anyone at the company that he was the spawn of Charlie’s ex. I’m not sure whether it was Wife Number Two or Four, but anyway, Raymond turned out to be quite a tight-lipped fellow…much to Tiffany’s chagrin.

“That
is
rich,” I agreed. “And her reaction?”

“She kind of moved away from him on the couch. She obviously has some things to sort out. Was Raymond going to help her spend her inheritance while keeping his own hush-hush? And isn’t there something inherently creepy about having an affair with the son of your husband? Food for thought. But something tells me that Tiffany is capable of making cold, detached decisions that will serve her self-interests.”

“Amen to that, brother. So you don’t think someone as deceptive as Raymond could have orchestrated the hit-for-hire angle? Seems to me that he had two horses in the race and, thus, the most to collect when Charlie took a fall.”

“Well, that gets complicated and involves a lot of time. One of the things I’ll be searching the videos for is anyone who looks like they might be a hit-man material. If I spotted someone I knew, or who stands out, I would do my best to look into it. But a wedding reception at a B&B isn’t going to have the most stringent ID requirements, and pros know better than to use their real names or pay for their rooms with credit cards. There are other ways to get leads, but it’s very complicated. I’d have to have some compelling reasons for going down that road, but I’ll be watching the video from that perspective.

“Like I told you, sis, my investigations mostly turn up the most mundane explanations for events. It’s not like the movies.”

“Well, brother, you be sure to take the time to watch the material, especially starting at the times I mentioned in my emails. I finished watching them last night and I have to say that I’m glad I made it all the way through to the end.”

“Really?” Michael said. “And why is that?”

“Because I think I spotted the clue that will wrap this case up for you, brother dearest.”

“You’re bluffing,” he scoffed.

“I’d be glad to make a wager. I’ll bet you can’t find it.”

“You’re on,” he said. “How much?”

‘Let’s say fifty bucks,” I replied. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Michael snapped. “Your imagination has definitely gotten the better of your abilities, sis.”

“Mom!” I called out, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “Do you want in on some of this action?”

“Funny,” Michael bristled. “I’m going to go fire up the TV.”

“Happy viewing!” I smiled.

The bedroom door swung open. Mom looked alarmed. “Did you say something, Melody?”

“Yeah. Michael just called and I asked if you wanted to talk with him.”

“Oh,” she said, a little confused. “Why, yes, I would have talked with him. I always like talking to Michael.”

“Well, he was busy anyway. He’s working on that Charlie Hayes case.”

“Ooh, did he have any news?”

“Nothing that he’d tell me,” I said. “Anyway, it sounds like the wheels of justice are grinding slowly. You know how that goes.”

Mom nodded. “Okay. I’m going to go back to my show. I’m watching that new Sherlock Holmes series, the English one? I’m so glad I can record these things and stop and rewind, otherwise I wouldn’t understand anything. They’re so complicated!”

“I know,” I agreed. “But nobody’d watch if the cases were
mundane
, would they?”

“I guess not,” Mom said, looking a little confused again. “Okay.” She closed the door.

Fifty dollars, I thought. I hoped I wasn’t too cocky. Michael’s a real detective, after all, and a good one. But I felt confident that I was going to win this bet, pure and simple. Or as Sherlock might say,
elementary!

When Margaret appeared to relieve me for lunch the next day, I ran home to get my car and headed for the Cooke Paper Products main office. I left the library at 11:00, so I had an hour before Cat would take lunch. This hunch was based on Marian’s telling me that when she babysat Molly, Cat would usually call at noon or a little later, if she called at all.

Cat was seated in an open office area with four other workstations, two of which were unmanned. Her surprised expression when I entered nearly made up for a calorie-less lunch hour.

“Hi, Cat. I missed you yesterday when you picked up Molly. Gosh, we haven’t seen each other in a while, so I thought that maybe we could have lunch together somewhere. Do you know anyplace decent?”

Cat fumbled around with papers on her desk. It was obvious that she’d been caught completely off-guard. “I don’t know, Melody. I was thinking about working through lunch today. Most times, I only take 15 minutes for a smoke and then punch back in. I manage to squeeze a little overtime in that way.”

“Oh,” I said innocently. “Well, do you need a couple minutes to think about it? I know I should have called first. Hey, could I use a phone while you’re thinking about it? Just for a couple of minutes?”

“Sure,” she said. “Pick a desk. Both of them are at lunch.”

“Thanks.” I sat at the one I figured would afford the most privacy. I’d written down the number of the law firm representing Bob Christian. I hoped
everyone
wasn’t at lunch.

“Hello. Mr. Scott’s office, please.” I waited to be transferred. I was killing two stones with this visit. If Cat decided to blow me off, at least I could attempt to get some info on the billing for Bob Christian’s defense. I thought it might appear more legit if my call showed up on the law firm’s display as Cooke Paper Products instead of my private number.

“Hi, Mandy, this is Virginia Ross, from Bob Christian’s office. I don’t know if you heard, but Bob was involved in a terrible accident and is hospitalized in up in Houghton. Oh, yes, he’s recovering, but he asked me to contact your office and confirm the billing arrangements for his legal expenses. I’m just trying to help out while he’s incapacitated. Of course, I’ll hold. Thank you.”

This was the worst part:  the waiting. Would Bob’s attorney pick up the phone and start firing questions at me as if I were on the witness stand? Would the office manager ask to call me back with that information? What name had I used? I peeked over at Cat, but she was looking down at her desk, probably formulating an excuse to block my invitation. The woman at the other desk was on the phone, speaking loudly enough to shield my conversation.

“Yes. This is so helpful of you. I see. So, just so I understand when I relay this to Bob, the invoices are being sent directly to Nathan Cooke and not Cooke Paper Products? No, I’m sure that’s exactly how Bob understood it would work. The clarification is just for my benefit. Mandy, thank you so much for your help. I’m sure it’ll ease Bob’s mind greatly. You, too.”

So Nathan Cooke was personally paying for Bob’s legal expenses. Why would he do that? Wouldn’t it make more sense just to bury any employee expenses in an employer’s account? Or would there be some advantage for doing it this way. Obviously, there would, but I didn’t understand it. Maybe Michael could unravel the mystery for me.

“Thanks, Cat. My cell’s battery is dead. So what do you say?”

Cat grimaced. “Boy, I’m sorry, Melody, but today is not a good day at all. Like you say, maybe if I’d known….”

“I know. Totally my fault. Well, you’re obviously busy, so I’ll leave you to your work. Hey, maybe we could go have a beer sometime.”

That offer seemed to have more appeal for her. “Yeah, I’m always up for a beer. Someplace local, of course; I wouldn’t want to get pulled over out here.”

“No way. Wouldn’t have to worry too much with Deputy Lee, though, huh? Yeah, there’s a couple of places within walking distance of your place, if you could work things out with your sitter.”

“Yeah, I could probably do that,” she smiled, twirling her finger through her blond hair. “Justin’s coming down from Houghton to spend the weekend with me, so maybe next weekend we could have a drink.”

“Great. Speaking of Houghton, you heard about what happened to Bob Christian?”

Cat’s demeanor changed at the mention of his name. She sat upright and the smile disappeared. I’d asked the question quietly, almost in a whisper, but she glanced about the office, as if someone might be listening.

“Yeah, I heard,” she hissed. “And I’ve got a good idea who’s responsible. That wasn’t no random beat down.” She stopped abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about that. You should probably go, Melody. It wouldn’t look good if my boss came by and saw me visiting.”

“Sure, I understand. Okay, take care, Cat, and I’ll check back with you next week. See you.”

That went well. I needed to get back to work anyway, and something told me that Cat would be more talkative with a couple of beers down her than between bites at lunch. And she knew that she couldn’t keep blowing me off. I knew where she worked, I knew where she lived, and I wasn’t above stalking someone to get at the truth.