by Eileen Brady
“Don’t be silly. What’s on your mind? More suspects? Need more markers?”
“Very funny.” I was beginning to regret this call. “Have you ever heard of someone called Athenina?”
“Hmmm. Sounds like someone in the entertainment industry. Only one name.” He paused then said, “Never heard of them.”
That didn’t surprise me. Luke also wasn’t big on social media and didn’t pay much attention to extravagant behavior. Just a quiet, solid guy.
“What about J. D. Dowd? An entertainment lawyer.”
That got more of a reaction. “He sounds familiar. Local?”
“More of a weekender, I believe.” The lawyer had mentioned his second home during our conversation. I had the impression it was somewhere close in the Hudson Valley.
Again Luke was silent. “The plot thickens, but I can’t quite place him. Why do you want to know?”
“They made me an offer I might not refuse.” I explained about the restaurant invitation and the strange offer to buy my wish story.
He laughed. “A little obtuse for me. Are you home now?”
I confessed I was calling from the Tuscan Gardens parking lot.
“Why don’t you come over to my sisters’ house?” he suggested. “Or I could meet you halfway if you want and we could talk.”
This time I hesitated. “Well…”
“I’ll make it easy. I’ll head over to your place now. As an enticement I’ll bring an apple-cranberry pie Rosie brought over from the diner.”
“Don’t take their food,” I protested.
“We’ve got twenty of them. Someone in the kitchen screwed up and made a double batch. You can eat it tomorrow for breakfast.”
“A pie bribe? That’s low, Luke.”
“Did it work?”
“Sure did. See you soon.”
* * *
I beat him by fifteen minutes, just enough time to walk Buddy and check to see if Pinky’s lights were on. I doubted he had to plow tonight. There’d been no new snow in the last twenty-four hours.
Was he watching, hidden behind the curtains as my dog joyfully barked a welcome to me? Would he continue watching when Luke pulled up at my door?
No doubt about it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I brewed a decaf coffee for Luke and an herbal tea for me as he set up his laptop on the kitchen table. I’d told him everything I remembered about the meeting with Athenina and asked if their proposal might be real.
“This isn’t the type of law I’m that familiar with, although we did touch on copyright laws, contracts for intellectual properties, and that sort of thing. First of all, they want to take advantage of your publicity now. And second, it sounds as if they are in a bit of a legal bind with her publisher.”
As he spoke, he began typing up searches on legal websites and a law student bulletin board. He also searched Athenina and J. D. Dowd.
His search confirmed mine. Athenina had quite a following. Her workshops drew large crowds, and after a celebrity raved about it in a blog, her private client list tripled. Billed more as a life coach than a psychic, she had a website on her business card that described personal traits such as “empathic” and “deeply aware of the spirits that surround us all.”
Her agent, J.D., was another story. Although not accused of any crimes, he’d come close, with at least two disagreements with clients over money settled out of court. Most of the people he represented were hangers-on, reality-type stars, and some social media influencers.
“Influencers?” That description rang a bell. “I’ve heard of them, but I’m foggy as to what they actually do.”
Luke explained. “These are people with a large following on social media. Advertisers pay them to mention their products or to endorse them. You’d be surprised at how much they can make.”
“We’re in the wrong businesses.”
“So many ways to make money these days…and lose it. So, where does this duo fit on your murder suspects list?”
“Good question. I’m not sure if they do.” I got up and went over to the messy board, and on an impulse wrote Athenina and J.D. in scrolling pink script. “Maybe they can influence one of our suspects to confess.”
“Ha. Ha.” Luke took a moment to post our dilemma on a legal site used by many of his fellow students. The responses were not considered legal opinions, simply guidelines.
The consensus among Luke’s contacts was to take the money and run—but make sure the contract was detailed and in writing. A disclaimer absolving me of all and any penalties, lawsuits, etc., was vital. Everything had to be classified as “for entertainment purposes only.” And, of course, have the contract reviewed by a lawyer. Nonfiction books played by different rules than fiction. There had recently been several scandals involving nonfiction and publishers of personal memoirs that trampled on the truth.
“One of my professors used to work for a big New York City entertainment firm. I’ll run this past him. When did J.D. and the psychic say they’d be in touch?”
“My impression was that it would be soon. They both appeared pretty anxious to get it wrapped up.”
Luke typed a note on his phone calendar. “Can’t do anything until you get the contract.”
“Right.” But what I could do is a little bit of snooping of my own. Luke forgot I had a big New York City contact too, and his name was Gramps.
* * *
Luke left soon after, confessing his grandmother had asked him to pick up something from the store for her and preferred him to get in at a reasonable hour.
“It’s like high school. Her place, her rules,” he muttered. With a long kiss, he reluctantly bid me goodnight. “Don’t forget to set the alarm,” he reminded me.
There were a few things on my list, too. Buddy needed his last walk of the night, and I had to check to make sure I had a clean pair of scrubs for the morning. After talking to Luke, I debated whether to call Gramps this late and decided to email him instead. That’s when I discovered J.D. had sent me a proposal. Stunned by how quickly he acted, I was equally surprised at the offer of fifteen hundred dollars for the rights to my “story.”
Fifteen hundred dollars was a drop in the deep bucket of my student loans, but it was fifteen hundred more than I had now. Figuring he’d just left, I called Luke.
“Are you at your grandmother’s yet?” I asked, hearing music in the background.
“Nope. Can’t live without me for two minutes?”
“Obviously. So, what are you doing that you can talk to me? Not in the car, I hope,” I questioned.
“Grocery shopping for Granny.”
Ah, one of the few solitary errands that allow you to use your phone while adding items to your cart. It only took a moment for me to explain my surprise email.
“Go ahead and forward that proposal,” he told me. “I also included that group query to my contracts professor earlier, and he found it a very interesting teaching case. If you don’t mind allowing me to share the situation, suitably disguised of course, I may have a solution for you.”
Figuring many heads were better than one, I readily agreed. Also, I liked knowing my odd experience might end up as a teaching exercise for students. At least someone would benefit from it.
“Did that proposal include a confidentiality agreement or nondisclosure attachment?”
I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I kind of stopped reading at fifteen hundred bucks. Is that important?”
“It’s for both parties, Athenina and company, and you.”
Interesting. None of that had occurred to me, and I told Luke.
“See,” he said, “lawyers do have a reason to exist.”
* * *
The news of Devin’s million-dollar windfall spread like gas on a fire the following day. Law enforcement focused intensely on his alibi for the hours in que
stion.
“So, what do you know about Devin’s alibi?” I asked my receptionist.
“About as much as you knew about the million dollars,” she answered.
At a stalemate I assumed she couldn’t reveal anything just yet. “Okay. I sympathize. Devin made me promise not to tell anyone.”
She saw a spot on her desk and scraped it off with her nail. “I’m sort of in the same position.”
“Can you tell me anything? I heard he was with a woman.”
“You may have heard right.” Her fingernail kept worrying that spot.
Mari had already gone home, and Cindy and I were closing up the hospital. “Greta. I bet it was Greta.”
My receptionist’s blue eyes revealed nothing. Luke rapped on the front door. He waved at us through the big picture window.
“I thought you two had broken up,” she asked.
“So did I. It’s a long story.”
“For being broken up, he visits you a lot.” She thought a moment then said, “Here’s a hint. It’s someone you know, all right? But it isn’t Greta.” With that, Cindy walked over to the front door and let him in.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, brushing his feet off on the mat.
“I’m on my way home,” Cindy explained, slipping into her coat and picking up her large purse. “Lock me out?”
“Sure.”
I started flipping lights off and logging out the computers. Luke followed me, his attention on a text he’d just received. “Come along,” I told him.
Mr. Cat jumped down from wherever he’d been napping, in anticipation of an evening snack. Tail fluffed up after seeing Luke, he darted in front of us and disappeared into the treatment room.
“Did I scare him?” Luke slipped off his coat.
“Not really. He’ll come out when the cat food can is opened.”
Sure enough, as soon as he heard the lid pop, he jumped out onto the treatment table and waited patiently.
“You’re a handsome guy.” Luke took a moment to pet the big tabby’s fur. “Where did he come from?”
I put the empty can in the recycle pail. “He’s sort of a rescue cat. One day he showed up at the hospital door, no chip, no collar, and wouldn’t go away. Cindy let him in, and he’s been here ever since. We put up posters and contacted all the shelters, but no one claimed him. We’ve tried to adopt him out, but he likes living in the hospital.”
“Does he come over to your place?”
“No. He and Buddy don’t get along.”
Hospital secured, Luke and I went into my place. My dog danced around, happy to see his friend again. “Can’t stay long, but I wanted to tell you to ask J.D. and Athenina for a description of the property they are making an offer for.”
“So I don’t tell them…”
“Right. They tell you.”
“Clever.” I walked over to the whiteboard with the suspect names crowding each other out. “Okay, what are we going to do with this thing?”
“Erase it.” Luke picked up a paper towel and proceeded to wipe the board clean. “Now that the chief has focused his investigation on Devin, I think you can consider the mystery solved. I have it on good authority his alibi didn’t hold up. Now he’s got a million dollars’ worth of motive. All they need is some physical evidence, and they’ll charge him with murder. Eloise and Frank died of natural causes, albeit with eerie timing, and Raeleen died from domestic violence. Cases closed. No curse. No fatal wish.”
What a relief, was my first reaction. But Devin had seemed truthful and sympathetic. I decided not to tell Luke I still had doubts. “No fatal wish?” I repeated.
“Nope.” He pulled me close. “Merry Christmas.”
Even without the Christmas music, I felt the joy.
* * *
Finally relaxed, I was contemplating asking the chief if we could take down the YouTube video, when my phone rang.
“Hey, Mari.”
“Kate. I’m glad I caught you. I’m at Redcoats, and I heard something odd.”
Redcoats was a popular local bar, close to town. “What was it?” I felt I practically shouted the question at her.
Crackling washed out the beginning of her sentence. I caught it in midstream: “…was telling us about a rumor…you…a month ago.”
“What? I can barely hear you.”
“…not to hire Rae because of…”
“Mari,” I yelled into the receiver, “you’re fading in and out. Can you repeat that?”
I caught another sentence fragment: “…it was very odd, so I thought I’d call.”
With a temporarily good signal, I asked my veterinary assistant to repeat that story again.
“Hold on. I’ll go outside.”
After a few minutes, I heard her say, “Thanks. Can you hear me?”
Happy to be able to tell her yes, I listened, shocked, as she relayed her story to me.
At Redcoats while ordering a beer she had met a receptionist from an animal hospital in Kingston who asked about Raeleen’s death. Long story short, Rae had applied for a job as an assistant, but someone heard a rumor that she’d been fired from our hospital for mishandling the cash. Dr. Turner had personally been involved in the decision. Of course, they didn’t hire her.
The source of the rumor? Our little intern, Greta.
Baffled by such an outrageous lie, I now understood why Raeleen had been so furious with me. Greta targeted her specifically, using my name. Was she trying to drive her out of town? That way she’d have Devin all to herself. Was it cold and calculating, or nasty and personal?
I bet both.
* * *
The empty dry-erase board looked a little forlorn. Faint shadows of my arrows and suspect names clung like ghost writing on the now empty space. Was it time to tell Chief Garcia directly what I’d learned? Before I made that phone call, I’d ask Cindy for the latest on the investigation.
Taking advantage of a lull in our appointments just before lunch, I ambushed my receptionist at her desk. No lengthy explanation was necessary as to why I was asking her all these questions. Cindy assumed everyone was curious-bordering-on-nosy about their fellow man and woman.
She unpacked her lunch while we talked. “Pinky is in the clear. He was working the night of Raeleen’s death—all verified by clients and credit card receipts for coffee and occasional bathroom breaks. During the six critical hours for Frank Martindale’s time of death, Pinky was ten miles away, plowing out multiple homes.” With her manicured fingers, nails painted a pleasant plum color, she started on a Caesar salad. “Same for Eloise. The chief plotted out a map of where he was for the whole night up to when he discovered her body.”
“I’m so happy,” I told her.
Her face turned serious. “It’s not good news for Devin. At first he said he was at a bar, but no one remembers him there. Cell phone records show he and Raeleen argued by text around nine thirty that evening, and then his phone went silent for about ten hours.”
“While he slept at home.”
“That’s the problem. He wasn’t at home. He was with a lady friend.”
That didn’t sound far-fetched to me. “And you still can’t say?”
“Sorry. But you and someone you know will be very surprised.” A conspiratorial look crossed her face, and then she reached for a cheese stick. “Devin says the mystery lady and he were together all night, but they supposedly were sound asleep during part of that period of interest—between midnight and five a.m. He clocked in at Mr. Fix-it’s at six in the morning.”
Of course—why not add a love triangle complication to this messy situation? But didn’t Raeleen refer to herself as Devin’s fiancée? When I asked Cindy, she smiled and went back to her salad.
When I got a break, I called Luke. “You were right about retiring our suspect board,” I told him. �
��It looks like none of these deaths have anything to do with me or that dumb wish. We let all that paranormal talk sweep us away.”
“Kate…”
“I feel like a fool.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Now that it looked like Raeleen’s murder was solved, the Christmas tunes sounded cheerier, the decorations brighter. With Christmas looming, clients and staff alike were in festive moods.
Whoever came up with the idea of Pinky playing Santa Claus was a genius. He’d been hanging around the hospital, helping out, since he’d had so many cancellations from his plowing customers. I suppose the remote possibility of being plowed out and murdered at the same time scared some of them off. Sort of a deadly two-for-one.
Dressed in the traditional red costume with a fake white beard and a white wig transformed round-faced Pinky into the image of jolly St. Nick. Cindy designed an ad for a free photo of your pet with Santa—and emailed it to all our clients. The number who took her up on the offer was staggering. It was mostly our dog clients, because as everyone knows, cats don’t get into the holiday spirit like dogs do. A smattering of guinea pigs, rabbits, and one parrot rounded out the crowd. Since each family had a photo appointment, there had been no glitches so far. Pinky kept out of my hair, and everyone got the photo immediately emailed thanks to Cindy’s iPhone.
Our side business threatened to take over the waiting room until Beth Orstead volunteered to assume Cindy’s duties, appropriately dressed as Santa’s helper—thanks to the help of a little bird who suggested this fun activity…the little bird being Mari and Daffy, who supplied the outfit.
Cindy, Mari, and I had a powwow on how to handle Pinky.
“Why did he want to confess to murdering Raeleen?” Mari had come in late to the conversation, so Cindy brought her up to speed.
“First of all, Pinky is very literal. He doesn’t process information like we do,” she began.
“Well, you know him best of everyone here,” Mari said.
“He really believes that Kate wished Eloise and Frank away, so when he wished Raeleen would die and she did…”
Mari finished the sentence. “He thought he did it. Now I get it.”