Murder and Misfortune

by J A Whiting

  All the windows of the apartment were dark.

  “No such luck,” Nicole said.

  Claire stopped short and her friend eyed her. Nicole was about to ask why she’d stopped walking, when Claire turned around abruptly. Someone was heading down the sidewalk towards them.

  When the man got close, his eyes widened. “Oh, hi.” It was Michael Burton.

  “We thought you’d left town,” Nicole said. “You haven’t moved away yet?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Did you change your mind about leaving?” Claire asked.

  “No.” Michael took a look at the Corgis. “I need to wait a little while longer to leave.”

  “Why?” Nicole asked, even though she felt it was rude and prying.

  Michael blew out a breath. “The police asked me to stick around … to answer any questions that might come up.”

  Claire suspected that the police didn’t want a possible suspect leaving town. Little electric pulses bounced over her skin and made her uneasy. “Can we talk? Can you go with us to the coffee shop?”

  Michael glanced at his building and shuffled from foot to foot. “I don’t have much to say.”

  “We won’t keep you long,” Claire said. “It might be helpful to talk.” The man was about to decline, when she added, “I have some things to tell you.” Claire wanted to observe the man’s reaction to what she planned to say.

  Michael looked at Claire. “I guess I could. You want to come up? I can make some coffee.”

  When they entered the man’s apartment, they saw the place was nearly bare of furniture. Only a small table sat by the windows and there was one leather chair in front of the fireplace.

  “I’ve sold almost everything.” Michael gestured to the table and four chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”

  The dogs, on edge, sniffed around the room.

  Once they were settled at the table, Claire wasn’t sure where to start. “We’ve talked to several people in connection with Ashley’s death and Rose’s disappearance.”

  Michael said, “The police told me it was a case of the killer shooting the wrong person.”

  Nicole nodded. “Rose was the target. That’s why she took off.”

  Claire shared what they’d learned from Abby Wilcox, Mel Watts, Ricky Harris, and the employees at Rose’s boutique. “We know that you and Ashley were probably going to split up. We also heard through the grapevine that you and Rose were acquainted with one another.”

  Michael was about to protest, but then he shrugged a shoulder. “We weren’t involved with one another. It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it like?” Claire asked gently. “We’re trying to help figure out what’s going on, to figure out who’s after Rose.”

  Michael looked down at his mug. “Rose knew where I worked, what I did for work. She asked me to help with her business finances. She thought something was wrong.”

  Claire and Nicole exchanged a look.

  “She was working with Mel Watts,” Claire said. “We heard it was a temporary partnership.”

  Michael gave a nod.

  “Did you help Rose?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you find anything amiss?” Nicole questioned.

  Michael took a gulp of his coffee and set the mug down hard. “I don’t know what to do. Rose told me my investigation into the finances had to be done confidentially. I couldn’t reveal what I found out to anyone. She even told me not to tell the police anything.” He let out a short burst of mirthless laughter. “I thought that was ridiculous. Why would the police ever ask me anything?” Sadness dragged at his face. “I promised Rose I would keep whatever I discovered in confidence. Now I don’t think I can.”

  Claire’s heart started to race. “You found irregularities in her finances?”

  Michael gave the slightest of nods. “Her business was bleeding cash. It happened suddenly, well, not so suddenly. Things started slowly and built over a few months. It took time to find it. Someone was stealing from Rose. At first, I thought it was the bookkeeper, but then I wasn’t so sure. Rose wouldn’t let me interview anyone. I couldn’t call attention to anything. Rose seemed real nervous about it. She wanted me to take a look and not to let on to anyone that we suspected wrongdoing.”

  “Do you know who was responsible?” Nicole asked.

  “Not really. I wasn’t given the necessary access to determine who was doing it. Then Ashley got killed, and Rose took off.”

  “Did Rose tell you who she thought was stealing from her?” Claire asked.

  “She didn’t mention anyone’s name. I told her she needed to hire an accountant who specializes in this kind of thing to figure out what was going on. It’s not my specialty.” Michael looked from Claire to Nicole. “I’ve been torn about keeping this quiet. Should I tell the police what I found?”

  “Yes,” Claire nodded. “You should talk to them.”

  “If I tell them, will it put Rose in jeopardy?”

  Claire said, “I think she’s already in jeopardy. Your information might assist the police in helping her.”

  As Claire stood up to go, her hand brushed against Michael’s arm causing a flash of anxiety to race through her body.

  23

  Claire entered Ricky Harris’s office on the sixth floor of a glass and brick building in the financial district. It wasn’t as large or fancy as Mel Watts’s office, but it was decorated in cool blues and grays and had framed photographs on the walls of Ricky at food events and charity events posing with important and well-known celebrities and politicians.

  Claire explained that she was there to pick up the medals they’d won at the festival a few days ago.

  “Oh, right.” The receptionist was a cute, young, outgoing, woman in her early twenties. “I don’t have them here, they’re in Ricky’s office.” She smiled and pointed down the hall. “Just go down and knock. He’s in there. He’ll want to take a picture with you, I bet.”

  Claire’s heart dropped. The last thing she wanted was to see Ricky Harris and she thought he probably felt the same way. “Oh, well, I don’t….”

  “Go ahead.” The receptionist waved her hand. “Don’t be shy. You aren’t bothering him. Ricky loves to talk to bakers and chefs.”

  Unable to think of a way to get out of it, Claire plastered a smile on her face and shuffled away down the hall. She passed two open doors and peeked in as she walked by. The next door had a black metal nameplate on it, Ricky Harris.

  Claire took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock, but hesitated when she heard his voice behind the door speaking to someone on the phone.

  Ricky said with exasperation, “I don’t know where Rose is. If I did, I’d have the money. Why can’t you be patient? You know I’m good for it. Rose will lend it to me. She always does.” The man went quiet, obviously listening to the person on the other end of the call.

  “This is my brand,” Ricky said in reply. “You know what it’s worth. As soon as I can borrow from Rose, I’ll be all set. She always helps me out when I’m in a pinch. I know, I know. There have been a lot of expenses that have come up all at the same time. Don’t worry about it. Rose will help me out.”

  Claire heard Ricky hit the top of his desk in annoyance with what the person on the phone had said and she decided to slink away.

  When she reached the reception area, the young woman looked up with a bright smile. “That was quick. Did you get the medals?”

  “No.” Claire edged towards the door. “Ricky was on the phone. I’ll come back another time. I work nearby.”

  The receptionist was about to protest, but Claire opened the door and exited. Hurrying out of the elevator to the sidewalk, her mind was twirling trying to make sense of what she’d heard.

  If Ricky and Mel were stealing from Rose, why was Ricky low on cash? Was Mel actually the one who was stealing and doing it on his own? Was Ricky innocent of any wrongdoing or was he putting on a show of having no money?


  The late afternoon breeze blew off the ocean causing goosebumps to form over Claire’s arms. Deep in thought, she turned the corner and almost plowed into an oncoming pedestrian.

  The woman stepped quickly to the side to avoid a crash and when she saw who was in front of her, she said, “Claire.”

  Claire blinked a few times trying to remember the familiar young woman. “Oh, Meg.” It was Ashley Smith’s friend who had come to Tony’s market to find Claire and share her concerns about Michael Burton.

  “Listen, I’m glad I ran into you.” Meg’s face was sad and drawn. “I was going to come talk to you again. Do you have a few minutes? Could we sit in the park for a little while?”

  Claire wanted to hurry to Nicole’s apartment to tell her what she’d heard Ricky Harris saying on the phone, but Meg seemed so forlorn, she couldn’t deny the woman a few minutes. “Sure,” she said reluctantly. “Let’s go find a bench.”

  “I’m feeling awful.” Meg put her tote bag on the bench beside her, removed a tissue, and dabbed at her eyes. “No one’s been arrested in Ashley’s murder. How long does it take? When will they find the person who did this?”

  Claire explained that the police were still investigating and wouldn’t give up. She tried to comfort Meg by telling her how so many leads had to be followed, that the case wasn’t closed, that little things would turn up and lead to the killer. Claire hoped so anyway.

  “I know, I know.” Meg crumpled the tissue in her fist. “It’s just that it seems so hopeless, like trying to find a needle in haystack.”

  Claire smiled. “But that’s what the police do. They find that needle and they solve the crime.”

  Meg looked wistfully at Claire. “But some crimes are never solved. That’s my fear about Ashley. She was such a great person. They have to find her killer … they just have to.”

  Claire gently touched the woman’s arm. “Hold on to hope. That’s all we can do.”

  Meg clutched her hands tightly in her lap and looked out over the park.

  “Did you go to the police and tell them your concerns about Ashley’s boyfriend, Michael?” Claire asked. Sitting next to Meg caused her body to pulse with anxiety as if her nerves were firing wildly.

  Meg gave a nod. “I did. I told them my worries.”

  “Good. It’s good you talked to them. You’ve done what you could to help.”

  “I don’t think I did enough.”

  Claire took a close look at Meg.

  “I … I know something else that I haven’t shared,” Meg said.

  Claire’s throat tightened. “You do?”

  A tear escaped from Meg’s eye and traced down her cheek. “Ashley grew up in a very strict, religious household. Her father was a preacher. Her parents are dead, but they still held influence over Ashley and how she felt about herself.”

  Claire could barely contain herself and wished Meg would blurt out what she had to say. Meg didn’t continue so Claire asked, “How do you mean?”

  Meg cleared her throat. “Ashley confided in me. She told me not to tell a soul. Ashley was pregnant.”

  Claire’s blue eyes widened. “It was Michael’s?”

  “Yes. Ashley was devastated at his reaction.”

  “What happened?” Claire’s head was spinning.

  “Michael made it plain that he did not want a child. They discussed it. Michael said that Ashley would have to take care of the baby on her own. He would help financially, but he still wanted an open relationship.”

  “He’d marry Ashley?”

  “They hadn’t got that far yet. It was up in the air. Ashley thought that Michael would marry her, but because he wanted to be free to go out with other women, she would have to handle child duties.” Meg sighed and shook her head. “Ashley thought that once the baby was born, then Michael would change and they’d become a family. I knew that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Claire asked, “When you talked to the police, did you tell them that Ashley was pregnant?”

  Meg blinked back tears. “No. I know it’s stupid, but Ashley didn’t want anyone to know so I didn’t think I should say anything about it.”

  Claire said, “I assume an autopsy was done on Ashley so the police must know about the pregnancy.”

  Meg wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think they do.”

  Claire gave Meg a questioning look.

  “Ashley lost the baby two weeks before she died.”

  “Did Michael know she’d lost the baby?” Claire asked.

  “No. She hadn’t told him yet.”

  “Does Michael know that Ashley told you about the pregnancy?”

  “Absolutely not. Ashley didn’t tell him that I knew. She told him no one knew.”

  Claire’s stomach clenched. “Go to the police. Tell them what you know. I think it’s important. Will you do that?”

  “Yes,” Meg almost whispered. “I will.”

  Claire headed down Newbury Street and turned at the corner to the building that housed Rose’s boutique and the law office where Abby Wilcox worked. Even though Abby had told Claire in their first meeting that she didn’t know anything about Michael Burton, Claire felt that Abby opened up more the last time they talked and she might be willing to reveal some more information.

  Not wanting to barge into the law office again, Claire waited on the sidewalk across from the building knowing that in thirty minutes they would close for the day. Leaning on the trunk of a tree, she watched the people walking by and kept an eye on the front door in case Abby left early.

  When she glanced up to Rose’s office window, Claire had the impression that the shadow of someone walked past. She stared at the glass for a few minutes and decided it was only the sunlight that had caused the impression.

  Claire had been watching the window and almost missed Abby when she stepped out from the door and started away. Hurrying across the street to catch up with the young woman, Claire called her name. Abby turned around with an annoyed look. When she saw Claire, she frowned and didn’t say a word.

  “Can I walk with you?” Claire smiled. “I wanted to talk a little.”

  Abby’s face was hard. “I can’t now. I have to be somewhere.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing. I need to go. I can’t talk.” Abby whirled and stormed away.

  “Abby?” Claire took a few steps forward.

  The young woman glared at Claire. “I said I can’t.”

  Claire stood staring after her, baffled by the behavior when a thought popped into her head. Rose must have told Abby not to talk to me.

  Feeling dejected and down, Claire headed for home. She wanted to stop at Tony’s to talk things over and she wanted to hear Nicole’s take on the news that Ashley had been pregnant.

  Suspects and motivations swirled around in Claire’s mind. One minute, she was sure it was a particular person and then, the next minute, she settled on someone else. Her head started to pound and she rubbed at the back of her neck. Walking through the Public Garden in the evening light, a heavy sense of fatigue washed over her.

  She crossed the street and headed up Beacon Hill, and when she was a block from Ashley, Michael, and Rose’s building, a sense of panic raced through her veins. What’s wrong with me?

  Claire had to drag her feet up the sidewalk and the closer she got to the townhouse, the more each step made her feel like she was going to her doom. She stopped and pulled out her phone, but didn’t know what she would tell whoever she ended up calling so she stuffed it back in her bag.

  The streetlight came on and Claire stood under its pale, yellow light, the sky still a dark indigo blue. She thought how she’d walked past Ashley’s building a million times and never had this sensation.

  Taking slow, deliberate steps, Claire moved to stand across the street from the house that was making her feel sick and weak. Looking at the windows of Michael’s apartment, an image flashed in her brain that sent her stumbling backwards. Vertigo made her clutch a lamp post as
panic flew in her chest.

  Her vision dimming, she rummaged for her phone, pulled it out, and about to punch in Ian’s number, the phone fumbled in her trembling hands. It hit the sidewalk and skittered over the bricks, fell off the curb, and dropped between the slats of the sewer grate.

  Claire’s heart sank as she raised her eyes to the third floor windows.

  I have to go in there.

  24

  Maybe the door will be locked and I won’t be able to get in, Claire thought as she climbed the few steps to the front of the building. Like the last time she was there, the door hadn’t clicked all the way shut and she was able to walk into the lobby.

  She hurried to the first floor apartment and knocked on the door hoping to ask the occupant to call ‘911.’ No one answered so she rushed up the stairs and pounded on the second floor apartment door. When no one replied to her knock, Claire’s eyes filled with tears.

  Shaking like a leaf and feeling faint, she grasped the banister and pulled herself up to the third floor where she moved her feet slowly and softly over the landing to Michael Burton’s door.

  The sound of anger ricocheted off the walls inside the apartment … a man’s and a woman’s voices. Claire put her ear close to the door. The woman’s words were muffled, but the tone was accusatory and frightened.

  “I did it for you.” Michael Burton’s voice was loud and had an edge of hysteria to it.

  “Michael,” the woman whimpered. “You had Ashley killed? Because of me? I don’t understand what you’ve done.”

  Michael growled, “I love you and you love me.”

  “No, no.” The woman sobbed. “No.”

  Claire’s throat tightened and her heart beat pounded in her ears. She knew that things were about to go very wrong.

  The woman spoke again, but her words were choked with tears so Claire couldn’t make out what she’d said.