This Old Homicide (24 page)

“I hope so.” I laid my head back against the soft-cushioned chair and stared at the view of trees out the window. “I still feel bad that I doubted him so often. The necklace was real, the girlfriend was real, and there’s probably other stuff that I thought was made up but was really real. I should’ve had more faith in him.”

“Well, he did spin some stories,” Jane admitted with a soft chuckle.

“Yes, he did.”

We sat silently for another few minutes. I was lost in thoughts of Jesse and of all the things I should’ve told him. Like how my life was made richer and more fun because of him, and how he made me laugh with his salty language and silly puns, and how I learned from him not to take things so seriously all the time. But I wouldn’t have the chance to tell him anything ever again.

*   *   *

Later that afternoon on the way home from Jane’s, I stopped at the post office and ran into my buddy Palmer Tripley, who owned and edited our local newspaper, the
Lighthouse Standard
. Years ago, my father had rehabbed his parents’ house and we had all become friends. Our fathers still got together to watch sports every so often.

“Did you hear about the suicide?” I asked right away.

“A little. What have you heard?”

I smiled at the way he hedged his answer. I had a feeling he knew plenty, being a good reporter. “I’ll tell you what I know if you’ll do the same.”

“Okay. You go first.”

“Oh, all right.” We walked outside to a private spot where we wouldn’t be overheard and I proceeded to give him the information I’d received from Douglas and Tommy. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

He grinned. “Of course not.”

“So, what do you know about it?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s see. Andrew Braxton drove up from Long Beach in Southern California for a pharmacology conference out at the Zen Center.”

The Zen Center was located outside town in what we called the Redwood Crest area. The actual name of the center was the Sanctuary of the Four Winds. It was run by our local Zen master, Kikisho. People came from all over the world to study with him, and some of them had even moved to Lighthouse Cove permanently to be close to their master.

The center was also well-known as a good place to hold small conferences with an emphasis on team-building and New Age wellness. I figured that was the focus of Andrew Braxton’s business conference.

So much for wellness, I thought grimly. Andrew was dead in an apparent suicide, although I knew it was really murder.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Palmer said. “According to his business associates, Andrew had been in good health and was happily married to a nice gal and they had three loving kids.”

Hmm. Andrew had a wife and three kids. So why had he been flirting so outrageously with Jane? He’d asked her out on at least one date while I was standing right there, listening in on their private conversation. And Jane had admitted later that he had called her three times to ask her out.

Just how happily married had he been? Not very, it seemed. Maybe the turmoil of being
un-
happily married had driven him to commit suicide.

But he didn’t commit suicide,
I reminded myself. Not if what Tommy said was true, that the hotel room had been scrubbed of fingerprints and other evidence. That sounded like murder.

Maybe his wife knew about his philandering and snuck up to Lighthouse Cove and killed him. It was a longshot, but if that were the case, it was just as well that he hadn’t been staying at Jane’s B-and-B. I shivered at the thought that Jane could’ve been involved. But that was ridiculous. It was more likely that Andrew Braxton was involved in some kind of industrial espionage and was killed by a business partner. Or, even more likely, I didn’t know what in the world I was talking about.

I tried to remember what Palmer had just said. Oh yeah, the happily married man.

“If he was so happy, why did he commit suicide in a hotel room in Lighthouse Cove?”

“Good question,” Palmer said. “Was he drunk? Was he coerced?”

“Was it murder?” I was more or less putting the idea into Palmer’s head.

“Could be,” Palmer mused. “One more thing. Braxton was scheduled to give a presentation this afternoon on the latest psychotropic drugs on the market. He had been traveling with a briefcase filled with samples of the drugs he intended to discuss during his speech.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But no such briefcase was found in his hotel room.”

*   *   *

That evening, Jane and I were able to gather the Festival Committee for a short, secret meeting at my house. We planned to spend one quick hour together to settle all of our remaining issues. Three of the food vendors hadn’t handed in a menu. We had come up with all the fun categories for the Pet Parade, and we were all thrilled with our choice of grand marshal, Chief Eric Jensen, who would lead the float parade. But we still had to determine the order of the rest of the floats and participants.

As I was placing a platter of cookies on the dining room sideboard, the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang.

“Good heavens,” Lily said. “Who’s that?”

Pat glanced at me. “Somebody’s desperate to see you.”

“I’ll be right back.” But as I approached my front door, a chill zipped across my shoulders. And as I reached for the doorknob, I knew why.

Whipping the door open, I said, “Hello, Whitney, Jennifer.”

“My, my, what have we here?” Whitney said as she brushed past me to enter my house.

“Do come in,” I muttered.

Whitney stood at the dining room entry. “Look at this.”

“It looks like a Festival Committee meeting,” Jennifer said, scowling. “I think you forgot to invite a few of us.”

“Didn’t you get the e-mail?” I asked. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“That’s a lie,” Jennifer declared.

Whitney blocked my way into the dining room. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

I stared at her with what I hoped was an insipid smile. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Jane didn’t miss a beat. “Hello, ladies. We’ve been waiting for you. There’s coffee and cookies, so grab what you want and have a seat so we can get started.”

Jennifer frowned at Whitney as I nudged them toward the table.

“We’ve made a list of the parade floats and we’re working out the order.” Jane passed them the list. “Some of us think the Baby Batoneers should come after the fire engine brigade, but before the Surf City Band.” She gazed blandly at Whitney. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” Jennifer said.

Whitney made a face. “Why would I give a fig?”

“Okay, then, all in favor of the order as posted?”

Six of us raised our hands.

“Opposed?”

We all turned and stared at Jennifer and Whitney, who looked at each other in confusion for the briefest moment but quickly recovered.

“I oppose it,” Jennifer said loudly, for no reason other than the fact that she was a knucklehead.

Whitney made a sound of disgust. “Let’s get out of here.” She shoved her chair back and stood. Jennifer did the same and they both stormed out of the room. I was quick to follow to make sure they left my house.

“The ayes have it,” Jane said brightly.

*   *   *

At noon on Saturday, Jane and I met Althea for lunch at Francois, the French bistro on the town square. The older woman turned out to be just as charming and easy to talk to as she’d seemed before.

I wore my rust-colored jacket and Althea spotted it immediately. “You. You’re the customer who came in the other day while I was at lunch, aren’t you?”

I modeled the jacket. “I am. I was down there on business and took a chance on stopping by. I’m sorry I missed you, but I did manage to snag a few fabulous items.” I pulled my hair back and flicked my new earrings.

“And you bought the earrings, too. Aren’t those great? Margot told me she sold the jacket to someone who knew me and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who it was.” Althea studied me for another moment before nodding in approval. “That color was created for you.”

“I think so, too.” I spun around. “I really love it. And your shop is so adorable. I could’ve spent another hour in there.”

“You should both come down sometime to shop. We’ll do lunch on the pier.”

“I’d love that,” Jane said. “I’m terribly jealous of Shannon’s new jacket.”

We ordered lunch: a salad for Jane, an omelet for Althea, and a burger and french fries for me. “I’ll split the fries with you both,” I said.

“You’d better,” Althea said, laughing as we handed our menus to the waitress.

“Your salesclerk was so charming,” I said. “And she had lots of great things to say about you. And need I mention, she is one heck of a saleswoman.”

Althea laughed. “Don’t I know it? I have no idea what I would do without Margot. I feel so lucky to have her working there.”

“That’s how I feel about my chef,” Jane said. “It’s so important to work with good people.”

Our lunches arrived and the conversation never stopped. It was as if we’d known Althea forever. She grew up in Southern California but moved north to open a vintage clothing shop after visiting Blue Point just once. She had a feeling in her bones that it would be the right move. She gushed about her shop, explaining that she’d always had a love of fine fabrics and clothing from when she was a little girl and played dress-up with her mother’s high heels and slinky dresses. She admitted she loved life in general.

“I think that’s why Jesse and I hit it off so well. We both enjoyed doing so many different things. Boating and yoga and traveling and golf. We had plans to travel and… well…” She tried to swallow but had a difficult time as tears gathered in her eyes.

Jane reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I know. It’s hard.”

Althea blotted her tears with a small white handkerchief. “Jesse always said he wanted us to be friends, Jane. I would love that, and I know it would make him happy, too.”

I discreetly lifted my napkin to dab my own tears. If this wasn’t real, then Althea deserved the Best Actress of the Year award.

Althea turned and patted my hand. “And you, too, Shannon. I know you were close to Jesse and I’d love to get to know you better, too.”

“I’d like that,” I said, sniffling delicately. “And not just because I intend to keep shopping in your store.”

We all laughed and Althea called for the check, insisting on buying us lunch. I left the restaurant feeling much more inclined to be friends with Althea than when we’d come in.

*   *   *

That night, I was getting into bed when I caught another dim flash of light over at Jesse’s place. I was surprised that the intruder was back because Jane had changed the locks and the guy knew it. Plus, the police had been driving by on a regular basis lately. That was obviously Eric’s doing, and I was happy he’d thought of it. But none of those precautions had scared off the crook, apparently.

This time I wasn’t going to let whoever it was get away. I put on my sweats and sneakers and grabbed my heaviest flashlight. Robbie must’ve been getting used to my late-night sojourns because he barely stirred in his bed. He just lifted his head, gave me a “You’re crazy, lady” look, and went back to sleep. Tiger ignored me as well. Downstairs, I called the police to report the break-in and then left the house as quietly as I could. When I reached the gate, I saw Mac jogging down the garage stairs.

“You saw the light?” he whispered.

“Yes, and this time I intend to nab him.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“Yes. But I’m sick of someone breaking into Jesse’s house. Jane even changed the locks. How did they get inside?”

“Pure determination,” Mac said. “Or else they stole the new keys somehow. Come on.”

We tiptoed silently down my driveway and snuck up Jesse’s front walk before Mac spoke again. “How about if you wait by the front door and I go around to the back?”

I hated the idea of splitting up, for all the reasons I’d come up with before, but we’d lost the guy several times when he ran out the back way, so I agreed.

After a ten-minute wait on the front porch, I didn’t see another flash of light or hear any sounds, so I jogged around to the back door to find Mac. “Did anyone come out?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe we came up empty again.”

“Does Jesse have a secret side entrance somewhere?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Maybe he’s still inside,” Mac suggested, “hiding in some crevice somewhere.”

“Maybe. We could wait out here all night, but I think whoever was in the house is long gone.”

I’d been so sure we would catch him this time, I was feeling extra bummed. Eric’s SUV arrived and he parked in front of my house.

“Uh-oh,” I whispered.

“Let’s go meet him.”

We jogged back to my place just as Eric made it to the sidewalk.

“We didn’t go inside,” I said immediately.

“Nobody came in or out,” Mac added.

“Then he’s probably still inside. You two wait out here.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

He flashed me a sardonic look, as if he didn’t believe my cooperative, good-citizen act.

Mac and I waited until he came back outside.

“Nothing,” Eric said. “I’ll bring a team by tomorrow to see if we can find any evidence. But he’s long gone tonight.”

*   *   *

Early Sunday morning, the police were already at Jesse’s, trying to find anything that would lead to the capture of this wily intruder. But there was nothing, Eric reported. Not a fingerprint or a footprint anywhere.

The three of us regrouped in my kitchen around the coffee machine. Robbie was beyond thrilled to have two great big men paying attention to him, so he showed them all his tricks: sat politely for a treat, rolled over, played dead. Tiger was more subtle, winding herself in and around their legs until Mac stooped down and picked her up. Now she was in heaven.

“So how did he get inside again?” Mac asked.

“The locks haven’t been jimmied,” Eric said, “so he must’ve used the new key.”

“This guy just won’t give up,” I said.

“I’ll beef up the drive-by surveillance for the next few days,” Eric said.