Still Life: The Randi Lassiter Series, Book 1 (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

The offices of Lassiter Inc. weren’t grand by any means—just a small functional, street-front space that was big enough to accommodate a lobby, a sizable private office, a store room–kitchenette combo and a microscopic bathroom. Unlike her personal life, Randi was fearless when it came to business, and her decision on the location had proven sound. The downtown office got a lot of exposure and was easily accessible—her client list had grown rapidly from the minute she’d opened the door.

Randi had gotten home from her police interview around dawn, had taken a lengthy shower and slept the rest of the day. Having missed the entire Monday of work, she began the morning by shuffling through a stack of pink message slips that had accumulated during her absence.

After two hours of steady work, she had eliminated the stack, RSVP’d a conference called Selling Property in a Down Economy, booked four open houses, and scheduled a myriad of appointments for new client meetings, closings, and showings. It felt good to dive into the work, but the promise she’d made to herself and to the dead woman lingered in her thoughts. She was anxious to discover who the woman was and why someone would want her dead. She just wasn’t sure where to start.

After several hours of sitting, Randi stood to stretch and was rewarded with the satisfying pop of stiff joints. She watched in delighted horror as CJ chose that moment to sashay into the room. It had taken time for CJ’s eccentricities to grow on Randi, and today the middle-aged woman stopped in the doorway to perform some type of bump and grind to an old rock tune that was playing on the office sound system. She wore wide-legged pants in lime green, a lavender knee-length Nehru tunic with a mustard belt and red clogs.

Randi often wondered if CJ might be colorblind.

“What can I do for you, CJ?”

“You’re famous!” CJ spun on one heel and slapped the daily paper down on the desk. There it was, right in front of Randi. Her worst fear. The headline read:

Local PI stumbles on body, compromises police investigation.

She suddenly felt ill. Her head dropped into her hands as she crashed back into her chair. “We’re screwed.”

“Quite the contrary.” CJ soothed. “This is free PR. It’s worth its weight in gold. You know what they say about publicity, don’t you?”

Numb, Randi stared down at the paper and imperceptibly shook her head.

“There’s no such thing as bad press. Just look at Miley Cyrus. Good God, if only you could twerk!”

A second of panic set in when she wondered if Detective Bricksen had seen the paper. Then she was mad that she even cared what he thought.

Seeing that her boss was still in shock, CJ gave her a synopsis of the article, that there had been a murder at the motel and a local private eye conducting a separate investigation had found the victim and unintentionally tainted the crime scene.

Randi gripped the sides of the desk with her hands, pressed her fingers into the wood and growled.

Sensing the winds had changed, CJ tried again to reassure her. “It’s okay. It didn’t mention any names.”

“Really?” Randi shot her a look that sent her cowering. “We are the
only
local PIs.” She dared CJ to argue the point. CJ slinked back to her desk in the lobby.

Randi had just resolved to let things go and get started on the mystery woman case when she heard the jingle of the tiny bell over the front door and a gasp from CJ. “Well hell, honey, your day’s ruined now,” she hollered. “Shit Stain is here.”

“What?” Randi walked to the doorway and leaned her head out around the corner. There stood said shit stain, smiling at her in the lobby.

Stuart Allen Lassiter.

“Hey, Baby.” She just stood staring at him, too shocked to display any normalcy. Why on Earth would her ex-husband be in her office? Ever. She hadn’t seen the son of a bitch since divorce court.

He looked over at CJ. “Hey there, Nutso.”

“How’s my favorite asswipe?” CJ turned to her file cabinet and resumed work.

Had she lost her mind or did hell just freeze over? Because that’s what she said would happen before she’d ever let that man walk back into her life. Given the events of the last couple of days, however, the losing her mind theory was plausible.

Stu and his new wife Marsha still lived in the area, but they had pretty much secluded themselves to the countryside, where his new in-laws had given them a farmette as a wedding gift—or so Randi had heard.

And because they lived in a small town where everyone’s business was fair game for public discussion, she had learned random tidbits about their life, and until now had managed to avoid any personal contact.

And now he was here. She was suspicious to say the least.

Randi put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at his attractive, lying, two-timing face. “What in the hell are you doing here, Stu?”

He looked nonplussed and placed a hand on his chest, where his heart would be if he had one. “Is that any way to say hello?”

“Hello, Stu. What in the hell are you doing here?” She returned to her office with Stu at her heels, staring at her butt as he trailed her. Thirty-eight years old and still unable to appreciate the figure of a woman without drooling on his shoes. “Quit looking at my ass.” Randi pointed to one of the leather office chairs as if commanding a dog.

“I can’t help it if I like the view.”

She ignored him. “What do you want?” She said it with more vehemence this time and busied herself with arranging papers as she stood behind her desk.

He sank down on the chair and expelled a long sigh. “What? I can’t just stop by and visit an old friend?”

“We aren’t friends, Stuart. We aren’t anything.”

There was a slight shift of his body. She noted a sudden slump in his shoulders and the grin fell away. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and made eye contact with her, a rare event. “I read the paper this morning.”

“That’s right, I forgot you could read.”

He tilted his head. “I was worried about you.”

Randi rolled her eyes and looked around her office as if searching for a hidden camera. “Am I being punked?”

“Seriously, I know you’re the PI that found the body. I was worried about you.”

She waited to hear the real reason. “Were you hoping to find me in jail? Or were you involved in the crime and need my help?” Randi sat down dramatically and feigned shock. “Don’t tell me… you slept with her and then had to kill her because she made fun of your dick. So, your extracurricular ways
have
taken a dark turn, have they?”

He jumped up and his voice lost all its sweetness. “Look, I just thought of you when I read the story. If you don’t care that I actually give a shit…” He waved his hand in the air and turned to storm out.

Despite the chance that there could have been a glimmer of truth to it she felt bad about her last statement. Stuart had a way of bringing out the worst in her. “Wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

She glanced at the clock. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“Fine, but you don’t need to go off on me.”

“No promises.” She motioned for him to retake his seat, and he did. Randi gave him the briefest version of the night’s events, omitting any specifics because she knew he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

When she was done he sat back in his chair, a look of shock on his face. “Shit.” After a minute, he added, “So…are you going to try to figure out who she is?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you couldn’t keep your nose out of it even if you wanted to.” He continued when she didn’t deny it. “If it helps, I don’t think she’s local.”

Randi’s brows rose.

“I talked to the gang down at Stack’s this morning and they already spoke to Doug at the gas station, who’d checked in right away with Dinky, who, let’s face it, knows everything going on, and nobody knows who she could be.” He shrugged a shoulder.

The major lines of communication in a small town were vital to how people stayed on top of everyone’s business. It wasn’t just important to the general population—it was a way of life. They weren’t happy if they had to read about current events in the local paper, and sadly the gossips tended to be more accurate than the press. Randi had been pretty sure someone would have identified the woman within a few hours if she were local. It was now more than twenty-four hours and no one had.

“Thanks, I’ll check into it.”

“So how you been?” Stu asked, hoping to engage her in small talk.

“Really, Stuart?” Randi tapped her watch. “Time’s up. Feel free to use the phone next time.” Stuart flashed her that million-dollar smile that had charmed his way into the hearts and panties of countless women, including her.

“Right.” He turned on his heel and walked back out of her life. One could only hope this time it was forever.

Chapter Twelve

Randi had sat quietly for all of the thirty seconds it took to look around her desktop for something to squeeze the life out of and realize she had nothing. Where was one of those squishy things that executives used to help them think? Why didn’t she have a squishy thing? Note to self: Get a squishy thing!

CJ walked in and plopped into one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. Randi didn’t acknowledge CJ’s judgmental glare.

“You heard?” Randi asked.

“Yup.” CJ stretched her gangly legs out. “I can hear your gears grinding and I know what you’re thinking. You might as well say it out loud.”

“Feel like helping me solve a murder?” She couldn’t keep the excitement she felt from creeping into her voice.

CJ slowly shook her head. “Shit. I knew I had a bad feeling about this.”

The two of them spent the next hour calling hotels and motels. Once they’d decided to find the woman, who according to the town consensus was not local; they’d split the list of every available accommodation in this county and the adjoining one, figuring she had to be staying somewhere.

Randi took the pen and marked the Wheel Inn off her list. As bad as the name was it could have been worse, given that the owners were Myra and Walter Vermin. “How many you got left?” She hollered out to CJ between calls.

“Done.” CJ appeared in the doorway. “You?”

“I’ve got four left. I’d be done by now if Mrs. Vermin hadn’t wanted to share news of her latest grandchild. I’m down to the B&Bs.” Randi punched the next number into her phone and waited for an answer. She asked a couple of brief questions and then hung up.

“Pay dirt!” she whooped. Randi slid into her shoes and snatched up her purse. “I’m headed out to Walnut Ridge. Georgia says she thinks that a woman matching the description checked in three days ago.”

A look of concern crossed CJ’s face. “Um, I don’t want to make a big deal out of anything, but in light of our…um, let’s say tenuous relationship with the local police, shouldn’t you be contacting them with this news?”

“Screw them. I’m working under an ancient philosophical credo—you snooze you lose. We’ve got to jump on this information if only to prove to Detective Know-It-All that we aren’t amateurs.”

Randi made the statement with such conviction that all CJ could do was give in. “Well all-righty then. Just remember, it’s not a competition and you don’t have to prove anything to him. You
do
need to worry that he may arrest you.”

“Look, there’s a reason this information landed in our lap. It’s a sign.” Randi defended.

CJ shot her a look. “My scale breaking after having lunch at the all-you-can-eat pizza buffet is a sign. Your last fortune cookie message saying a new pair of shoes will not fix your love life is a sign. I don’t think Stu prancing his skinny ass into your office should be seen as anything but a warning sign.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “That man has brought you nothing but trouble. You shouldn’t go jumping into the deep end just because he popped in with some gossip.”

Randi was not swayed by CJ’s lack of enthusiasm. She needed to do this, even felt compelled to do it. “I am fully aware of my legal limitations and responsibilities. All I intend to do is talk with Georgia. There’s no crime in that.” A spark of inspiration lit across Randi’s face, and her smile widened.

“What?” CJ looked at her boss. “Oh Jesus, I’ve seen that look before.” She got up. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, count me out.” She backed out of the room. “You are on your own, kiddo.”

Randi logged into her Intelius account and did a quick search for people in Milwaukee. When she had what she felt was a viable list she began to make phone calls. She intended to show Detective Charmless a tiny sample of her investigative abilities. “We’ll see how you like that.”

Around the corner CJ shook her head as she listened. “I worry about you girl, I really do.”

Chapter Thirteen

Before Georgia McGovern had taken on the running of Walnut Ridge Bed & Breakfast, she was a renowned art dealer at the premiere boutique gallery in Dallas. Pomegranate & Puce managed, thanks solely to Georgia’s eye for art, to pull in high six-figure annual sales numbers, which was unheard of for a small venue anywhere at the time let alone in the south.

Ten years ago, when her mother was suddenly diagnosed with cancer, she’d left the art world with her small fortune and moved to Wisconsin to see her through to the end. After the funeral, Georgia had decided to stay in the community and bring a little culture to her friends and supporters.

Georgia McGovern was a striking woman—silver haired with a couture style, her model-thin figure and sophisticated manner a contrast to the pedestrian drawl she’d picked up in Dallas. As she spoke Texan, Randi was pulled into a world of sharp twangs and lingering verbs.

“Why hello, honey. How’re y’all doin’?” She scooped Randi up by the arm and ushered her through the door. “I haven’t seen you since the Chamber Gala…what a gran’ soiree that was. I could have danced all night with that Jim Wahlens y’all introduced me to. Good Lord, what a handsome devil. Ya know, at first I thought he’s a ‘lil too tall…”

Randi cut her off. “I’m glad you had a good time, Georgia. But I’m here looking into the woman I called you about.”

“Oh, sure hon. What’s on y’ur mind?”

“I’m searching for a young woman from out of town that has gone missing. I was hoping we could figure out if your guest is my mystery woman.”

“Y’know, I was thinkin’ that might be Larissa.” The innkeeper led Randi into the kitchen. She leaned over a laptop and tapped up some results. “Yes, there’s a little gal here from Minnesota that sounds like it could be her. But she hasn’t joined us all for breakfast the last two mornings. I just thought she needed time alone. I tend to leave my guests to themselves, some like to come in for breakfast—some don’t.”

Georgia’s drawl took on a note of concern. “Her car isn’t here. Most everyone checked out right after the weekend, but not her. She left her reservation open ended, and since most of the guests are weekend only I told her she could stay all week if she wanted, but that she didn’t have to.” Her voice faltered.

Randi noted a look of cold realization as the light switch flipped in her head. “Oh dear. It’s Tuesday and I haven’t seen her since Saturday night. What should I do? Should I call the police?” She began to pace in front of the long line of walnut cabinets, wringing her hands.

Randi placed an arm around her and guided her to sit at the kitchen table. “We don’t want to alarm anyone if I’m talking about the wrong person. Why don’t you let me help you sort this out? I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Oh, Randi honey, I think you better…I really appreciate it.” Georgia visibly relaxed.

Randi had the time it took to drive out to Walnut Ridge to think about the consequences of not calling Detective Bricksen with this potential lead. It took six minutes to cover ten miles of rolling hills in her little red convertible, long enough to know she’d take the time to investigate the essentials before calling the police, and when she did, it would not be Detective Bricksen that she contacted.

Walnut Ridge was just that, a long moraine of mostly mature walnut trees that banked along a curved hillside with an immense log lodge nestled in its center. Not so much a bed and breakfast, more an expansive retreat with twelve guest cabins tucked into the lush timber and a multitude of sleeping accommodations at the main lodge. There was a grand conference center that was booked most weekends for meetings, wedding receptions and other large events. Georgia’s calendar of events was consistently packed with a rotation of stay packages, which included art appreciation in the form of classes, art history, and exhibitions. Other scheduled events included medicinal plant identification and usage, meditation and yoga, and apiary design and management. All of that meant lots of people coming and going. That Georgia hadn’t known who Larissa was off the top of her head did not seem that strange.

Randi recalled the large sign by the driveway entrance, which advertised their current event: “Eclectic Art—Appreciating the Unique”.

“Don’t worry, Georgia, we’ll figure it out.” She patted the woman’s arm. No sooner had Randi sat down that Georgia jumped up and fetched a tray of warm snickerdoodles and orange pekoe in an heirloom porcelain cup. Georgia pushed the plate of cookies at her and encouraged her to eat, as if the innkeeper were on autopilot and Randi was a paying guest.

Randi picked up a cookie and nearly choked on it when what looked like a giant tarantuala scurried across the floor and beneath the table. Georgia placed a firm hand on her shoulder before she had a chance to bolt.

“Hold still.”

“What?” Randi’s heart was in her throat. She hated spiders. And this one was the size of a small dog! “Georgia, I need to…”

“It’s okay. It’s just Kotori.” She patted the table with her hand. “Kotori, come.” She commanded.

Randi had the same feeling in the pit of her stomach that she got whenever friends talked her into going through a haunted house. It always sounded like fun and sometimes it actually was…until some jerk in a zombie suit came after her. Then it was all about him and his broken nose.

Randi reached down and took off one of her platform sandals, gripped it in her hand and prepared to Gucci it. There was a chattering animal noise and movement from the far side of the table when a tiny face popped up over the edge and grinned at Randi. It was a monkey! A tiny one at that.

“Kotori, come.” Georgia repeated. The monkey jumped up on the table and scampered over to them. Georgia moved the cookie plate to the counter and gave Kotori a small hard biscuit that she’d pulled from a baggie. The monkey nibbled on it and watched Randi with curious dark eyes as his eyebrows danced. He was so cute.

“Where did you get this little guy?” Randi reached out a finger and touched Kotori on the arm. He cackled but let her touch him. His fur was even softer than it looked.

“Kotori belongs to one of the artists. He is a Cotton-Top Tamarin monkey. I’m afraid she is no good at remembering to lock him up and he is no good at staying in even when she does.”

“I thought monkeys needed diapers?” Kotori was bare except for the brown hair that covered his body and the Albert Einstein mop of white on his head.

“I know. That’s usually the case but this little guy is house trained.”

“Okay, Kotori. Time to skedaddle.” Georgia picked him up and carried him like a toddler in her arms. She set him down and directed him out of the kitchen.

After Georgia did a quick clean of the table, Randi resumed her investigation. She nibbled on a cookie as she jotted notes on her small tablet. “What’s Larissa’s full name?”

“Larissa Leuenberger.”

“Do you remember what time she checked in?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t have to remember. I have video.” Randi’s eyes widened as Georgia held up a small SD card from a camera. “A few years back we had some vandalism. After that, I decided to invest in a security camera. Haven’t had a reason to look at footage since it was installed so it’s nice to know it will come in handy.”

“That’s great. If it is her then we can also see when she was coming and going from her room.”

Georgia fiddled with setting up the SD card to run on her laptop. “I assume she was here for the art show, like everybody else. It’s a monthly event. We have a troop of fifteen exhibitors, most of who have been with us for years.” She beamed proudly. “We book up a year in advance.”

“How many guests were staying here?”

“Forty.” Georgia said with confidence. She went on to explain. “Eight cabins with two people, four with four people and eight rooms here at the big lodge with singles. I save most of them for the artists, most of who prefer to come alone…something about being able to concentrate on the creative flow.” She explained with a swirl of her hand. “But Larissa is in one of those as well.

“Most of the guests have left by now,” Georgia continued. “They come for a weekend and then head out Sunday.” She’d found the video file and was fast-forwarding. “Here it is.” Georgia clicked play to slow down the footage.

Both women leaned in toward the lap top get a better look. The camera angle showed a panoramic view of the entire property. Randi was amazed at how much she could clearly see.

“There.” Georgia pointed at the screen. In black and white footage a blonde woman was getting out of a dark two-door Saturn in the parking lot. She slung a jacket over her arm and shouldered a small duffle bag she got from the trunk as she made her way to the entrance. When she was on the front stoop, she was only a few feet from the camera, and Randi could see how pretty she was.

A flash of the woman lying in the alley without her face intact popped into Randi’s mind. She shook herself and refocused on what she was doing. That was Friday evening, the day she checked in. Randi felt a sudden chill, as if this was a time machine and she was watching a woman living on borrowed time. She took a long sip of her tea.

They saw a plethora of guests in a procession to and from the lot, as well as exhibiting artists—each carting a mass of supplies in totes, boxes and bags. Early Saturday morning Georgia could be seen walking around the property and directing a young man on which flower beds to weed, pointing here or there—obviously comfortable delegating tasks. People came and went, wandering the property with coffee mugs, field glasses and cameras. Midday, artists began to unload bubble-wrapped canvases, sculptures and boxes of assorted sizes. They saw Larissa leave Saturday afternoon and return an hour and fifteen minutes later with what looked like Chinese takeout.

The main show was Saturday night, and they watched as guests decked out in fancy dresses, suits and casual attire made their way up to the lodge. Randi spotted Larissa among them in a sleeveless pale shift. A few stragglers passed by the camera after dark, the video showed a lit glow from the lodge during the art event along with the occasional smoker outside taking a break. As Randi and Georgia studied the sped-up feed, something shot across the camera lens, and the picture went dark. The women exchanged puzzled looks, and Georgia hit the play key again, slowing it down.

“Well, what in the Sam hell?” As she went to play it for a third time, Randi wandered outside to check on the camera. She found a small black box mounted to the wall up under the porch ceiling at the corner of the building, in a prime location to take in the entire area, just like what she had seen on the video.

She stood on tiptoe and put her head against the log siding to get a look behind the camera housing. At first glance, everything appeared normal but as she looked closer, a chill ran up her spine. She could see the wiring that ran from the back of the camera housing into the lodge. Randi heard Georgia quietly come up behind her and gasp.

Someone had severed the camera wires clean through.