Duffel Bags And Drownings (6 page)

Damn. That pretty much destroyed my theory—and Detective Grayson’s—that Jeri’s death
involved her married boyfriend.

“So who do you think killed Jeri?” I asked.

“There’s only person here who didn’t like Jeri,” Sierra said. “Lourdes.”

Sierra went back to work and I stood outside the ice room for a few minutes thinking
about what she’d told me. Lourdes, it seemed, had really disliked Jeri, maybe even
hated her. But that situation had existed for a long time. Something major must have
happened if Lourdes suddenly turned on Jeri and killed her.

I had no idea what it could have been.

I’d considered Cady a possible suspect also, since there was a question about her
whereabouts during the time of the murder. But so far nobody had mentioned a problem
between Cady and Jeri. Plus, Cady had had a serious melt-down when Lourdes had told
her Jeri was dead.

My major suspect was the giant leprechaun who’d run away so quickly he’d made a mad
dash out of here in a costume. Hopefully, I could come up with a motive when I found
him.

I stared at the yellow tape crisscrossing the door to the ice room and thought about
how Jeri had died. I’d seen a fresh scratch on her face, so obviously, there had been
some sort of physical confrontation between her and her killer. Maybe it had started
out small with an argument, then escalated. Things must have gotten crazy at that
point because I’d seen that yucky dent in Jeri’s skull.

Water had been pooled on the floor under the tank when I’d walked in and found Jeri,
but there was no trail of water leading out the door. I wasn’t sure how that was possible,
except that maybe the murderer had come prepared with some sort of bag to put wet
clothing in after the deed was done.

That made it premeditated. Whoever had done this to Jeri had put a lot of thought
into it and had deliberately attacked, then drowned her.

A really ugly picture popped into my head. I didn’t like it.

I started walking, following the sounds of the hammers, electric saws and drills,
and loud voices of the construction workers, and found my way to the space that was
being remodeled next door. A dozen or so men were busy doing all sorts of things with
all sorts of tools and equipment. The front door and rear doors were propped open.

I knew the same thing was taking place on the other side of Cady Faye’s. Faye had
told me she’d tripled their business in the last year. They needed triple the space—which,
to me, meant even more ways for the murderer to escape unnoticed by the constructions
workers intent on doing their jobs.

Detective Grayson floated into my head. I wondered if he’d thought of these things,
and figured that he must have. Still, it might be nice to compare notes with him—strictly
in the line of duty, of course.

I turned around and headed back, then followed my nose to the kitchen. It was a big
room crowded with stoves, ovens, sinks, prep tables, and other equipment. A dozen
or so workers wearing hairnets and plastic gloves were elbow-to-elbow preparing food.

I spotted Cady seated at a desk wedged into a tiny office at the rear of the room,
and walked over. The place was a mess. File folders, magazines, and papers were stacked
on every flat surface. Clothing was piled in a chair, shoes underneath. Print-outs,
notes, and schedules were pinned to a giant bulletin board. Cady was crouched over
her desk reading something.

“Hi, Cady,” I said.

She screamed—yes, actually screamed—and whirled around, throwing both arms in the
air.

I noted that none of the workers came running, which made me think this wasn’t an
unusual occurrence.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cady declared. She clasped both hands against her chest and drew in
several huge breaths.

“Sorry,” I said, and stepped into the room.

“It’s okay,” Cady said, still heaving. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Really?” I asked.

Her gaze darted around the room, then landed on me.

“No, I’m not fine,” she told me. “How could I be fine?”

Cady looked like she was going to lose it at any second.

I’m not good in that sort of situation.

“I wanted to discuss the menu for the Brannock party,” I said. “But I can come back
later.”

“Oh, God,” Cady said. She pushed her hands through her hair and gave herself a shake.
“Let’s do it now. Before Faye finds out and comes in here.”

Cady rifled through the stacks on her desk, knocking several folders into the floor,
then finally came up with a single sheet of paper.

“Green,” she said, waving the paper in the air. “I’m making everything that’s green.
Spinach, asparagus, lettuce, mint, pistachio. Any kind of food you can think of that’s
green, I’m making it. And Irish. Irish beef stew, Irish soda bread, Irish corn chowder,
Irish corned beef and cabbage. Green and Irish, green and Irish, green and Irish.
I’ve got it, okay? Green and Irish.”

Lourdes had described Cady as artistic—which, apparently, was code for a complete
emotional wreck. I’d talked with Cady before and, while she’d seemed a bit scattered,
she’d never been this crazed.

I caught the paper Cady was waving over her head and looked at it. It was the list
of food Nadine Brannock had suggested that I’d given to Cady on my initial visit weeks
ago to discuss the event. Cady hadn’t expanded on anything or noted any comments on
presentation. Not good.

Okay, now I was officially worried.

I knew expressing my concerns to Cady would be pointless, so I thanked her and headed
for Faye’s office. She was seated at her desk when I walked in.

The green duffel bag Wendy and I had found in the employee lounge yesterday was sitting
in the corner by a tall file cabinet. I guess it hadn’t been left behind, as I’d thought.
I hadn’t pegged Faye for a sexy lingerie and black lacy teddy kind of gal, but obviously,
I was wrong.

“What’s up with Cady?” I asked.

Faye looked lost. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I need you to shoot me straight, Faye. A lot is on the line here. I just saw Cady.
She’s a mess. Does she need to see a doctor? Or maybe just go home until she can calm
down?”

“Going home would serve no purpose,” Faye said. “Cady doesn’t have any children and
that husband of hers would do more harm than good.”

Her gaze darted to one of the photos on her desk. Faye and Cady were posed side by
side, flanked by two men. Their husbands, I figured.

“Let’s just say that Harry Wills’ primary interest in Cady is Cady Faye Catering,”
Faye said.

Lourdes had mentioned there was trouble in Cady’s little corner of marital paradise,
and it seemed that Faye’s opinion of her brother-in-law Harry confirmed it. I glanced
at the pictures of Faye’s kids on her desk. Seemed family life had turned out very
differently for the two sisters.

“Cady is really close to losing it,” I said. “Is it because of Jeri’s murder? Or is
something else going on?”

“Oh, those detectives,” Faye muttered and tossed the pen she was holding onto her
desk. “They were here again this morning asking more questions. It upset her.”

“Why were they asking Cady questions?” I asked.

“I have no idea. She wasn’t even here with it happened,” Faye said.

“Did she tell you what they wanted from her?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t discuss it. Typical Cady. Refusing to face anything head on. This whole
thing is ridiculous. Jeri’s death was a tragic accident, not a murder.”

“What makes you so sure?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fay said. “Jeri went into the ice room looking for Cady, then
somehow hit her head, fell into the water and drowned.”

Apparently, the police hadn’t told her about the scratches on Jeri’s face and the
dent in her skull.

I saw no need to get into it with her.

“And I’m positive that nobody—absolutely nobody—who works here would murder a co-worker,”
Faye said. “I don’t run that kind of company.”

“The police must have some sort of evidence,” I pointed out.

“And I have evidence, too,” Faye told me.

My senses jumped to high alert.

“Let me show you,” Faye said, and grabbed a DVD out of her desk drawer. “Come with
me.”

I walked with her to the employee lounge. No one was inside. Faye switched on a television
sitting on the counter that I hadn’t noticed before, and slid the DVD into the player.

“It’s the building’s surveillance tape from the day of Jeri’s death,” Faye explained.
“The landlord gave it to the detectives, but he kept a copy for himself. Insurance
reasons, he said. He brought it here and insisted I watch it to prove that his complex
is safe.”

Faye pressed a button and the TV came alive with grainy black and white footage. It
was a split-screen format, displaying views of the front and rear parking lots.

“Are these the only angles you have?” I asked.

“Some of the security cameras are off-line because of the construction,” Faye said.
She fast-forwarded the DVD. “This is shortly before Jeri died.”

I glanced at the date and time stamp at the bottom of the screen, then studied the
front parking lot. The stores in the shopping center formed a big “U” with parking
spaces in the middle. The security camera that captured this footage must have been
mounted near Cady Faye Catering because its field of view didn’t show the caterer’s
storefront, the traffic lanes in front of it, or the first few rows of parking spaces,
just a large area of the parking lot and a section of stores directly across from
Cady Faye Catering.

The shopping center was busy. Lots of vehicles were coming and going. People flowed
in and out of the stores.

“There,” Faye said, pointing at the television screen. “See that Mercedes? It’s just
like Cady’s, which explains why someone thought she was here when she wasn’t.”

The film was too grainy to see the license plate, but it was definitely a light colored
Mercedes.

“And look,” Faye said. “There’s another one.”

Both of the cars were too far away to get a view of the driver and any passengers
who might be inside, but Faye had a point—a Mercedes similar to Cady’s in the parking
lot wasn’t unusual.

A line of vehicles followed the Mercedes. They moved into the frame as they drove
down one of the aisles, circled to the next aisle, then disappeared out of the picture.
My breath caught when I realized that one of the vehicles was a black Land Rover—Jack
Bishop’s Land Rover.

My heart did a little pitter-patter—that happens a lot where Jack is concerned—and
it took a few seconds for me to focus on the screen again. Then it hit me—where was
my car? I’d pulled into the parking lot as Jack was leaving. Why hadn’t I seen myself
in the footage? I realized then that the entrance/exit to the shopping center wasn’t
covered by the security camera.

I turned my attention to the other half of the split-screen and saw, a few minutes
later, my Honda pull into the parking lot at the rear of the building. The angle of
the camera caught only a portion of my car.

“There’s a lot of the building and parking lot that isn’t covered by the footage,”
I said.

“Just wait,” Faye said. “You’ll see what I’m talking about.

I did as she asked and watched the screen. Minutes ticked by. At the rear of the building
the Cady Faye Catering delivery van that had been backed up to the double doors drove
away. Other cars pulled out. Vehicles kept rolling into the front lot, swinging into
spaces. Shoppers made their way to the stores while others hoofed it to their cars,
some carrying bags, got in, backed out, and drove away.

The security camera hadn’t caught them, but black and white patrol units had pulled
into the lot at some point, followed by a Crown Vic driven by Detectives Grayson and
Elliston.

Jack Bishop’s black Land Rover pulled into the front parking lot again. My heart did
its usual pitter-patter—but for a different reason this time.

Jack had driven
back
to the shopping center? Why?

As I watched, he pulled into a space near the dry cleaners.

Okay, that was weird.

Of course, there could be a number of reasons why Jack would return to the shopping
center. Maybe his dry cleaning hadn’t been ready when he’d been in earlier. Maybe
he’d forgotten something inside one of the stores he’d visited. Perhaps he was just
looking for a spot to make a cell phone call.

Or perhaps he’d seen the flashing lights on the patrol cars and pulled in to see what
was going down. Maybe he was just killing time. It didn’t sound likely, but I guess
even look-at-me-I’m-really-cool private detectives could have a slow day.

Another few minutes ticked by. Jack didn’t get out of his Land Rover. Finally, he
backed up and followed a gray Honda Pilot out of camera range.

I glanced at the date and time stamp on the screen and realized that while Jack was
sitting in the parking lot, I’d been waiting inside Cady Faye Catering to talk to
the homicide detectives, only to have my eventual interview interrupted by Cady’s
arrival and the screaming fit she’d thrown upon learning about Jeri’s death.

I realized, too, that the security camera hadn’t caught her Mercedes as it had pulled
into the parking lot.

“See?” Faye said. “Nothing unusual is going on.”

“There isn’t much on these tapes,” I pointed out.

“Exactly,” Faye declared. “If someone had actually murdered Jeri, wouldn’t we see
some sign of it outside? Somewhere on this footage? But there’s nothing, no indication
at all that a crime was committed.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Faye gestured at the TV. “Nobody is running away. No cars are speeding off. No vehicles
are racing through the parking lot—front or back. Nobody is jumping into a waiting
car and tearing out of here.”

There was also no sign of a giant leprechaun leaving the building.

“Everything is calm. Nobody is panicked,” Faye said. She drew in a breath. “Which
means there was no murder.”