13 Blue Shue Bribery
“Howard Humphrey. How do you like that?” Neely asked.
“I don’t like it one bit. That’s all Edgar needs is to hear that his nephew is as untrustworthy as his ex-girlfriend was before someone ended her wretched life. Edgar cared for her more than he’s willing to admit, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, he’s a big dope to fall for young women the way he does. Fortunately, he’s a fool who sets limits. Since Edgar used Howard as an alibi, that gives Howard one, too.”
“You’re right. Edgar’s nephew may be a louse, but that doesn’t make him a strangler,” I conceded.
“We’ll have Charly check him out. If Howard stands to inherit part or all of Edgar’s estate, he could have been involved with Diana in some unscrupulous way.”
“Like speeding Edgar along to an early grave in order to get his hands on his inheritance quicker?” I asked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time that sort of ambition was a motive for murder. History is full of examples of murderous conflicts over rights to the throne back when an heir stood to inherit an entire kingdom. Something was going on, and I’m not sure Edgar should continue to rely on Howard as a trusted companion even though he is family as Diana pointed out.” Neely’s shoulders slumped. The idea made me sad too.
“Poor Edgar. Money’s a curse, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes, that’s true whether you have too much or too little,” Neely responded.
“It’s too bad we don’t have a better name than Boo for the big ugly guy spotted with Diana. If anybody needs to be investigated it’s him, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Well, if the police find him as interesting as we do, they can have The Gardeners and Andi Stoeckel help them come up with a sketch. Or maybe there are surveillance tapes at the resort that the authorities can get their hands on. A guy like him may already be known to the police in San Francisco. With a photo or sketch, they might be able to pull up his real name.”
“Now that you have me in character as a Hollywood scriptwriter, it occurs to me that Boo sounds awfully theatrical. Maybe it’s a stage name.”
“For what? The WWE?”
“What’s the WWE?” I asked.
“The World Wrestling Entertainment.”
“Are you talking about those staged fights between huge men in outlandish makeup and costumes?”
“That’s not far-fetched, is it?” Neely replied. “It could be where he got the scars. Even when fight scenes are choreographed, accidents happen. I’ve seen stunt men get injured when there’s a misstep on a well-planned stunt.” Neely grew quiet for a second. “You know, Tara my Hollywood daughter, Andi made a good point when she described Boo to us. He’s more likely to be a bouncer. Diana must have run into guys like him at the clubs where she sang. That could also be where Boo had the fights that left his face messed up.”
“What kind of business would she have had with him—if what she told Andi was true?” Neely had a quick reply this time.
“Nothing too original. A petty scam like stealing money or credit card numbers from customers while Diana plied the poor saps with drinks and her prettiest smile. Or, you know what? Maybe Boo hocked or sold the merchandise Diana stole from the Blue Moon Boutique before Judi Stephenson was framed and fired!”
“Of course! Diana had to get rid of the stuff somehow. When I call Judi, I’ll ask what they found in her drawer. That could give us some idea of how much money Diana and Boo were making from her thieving.”
“While you have the poor Stephenson woman on the phone, ask her if she knows when those thefts started. I wonder if Lady Di was using the account Edgar set up to buy designer label goodies and sell them to bring in a little extra income and then switched to stealing to keep the cash rolling in.”
“That would explain Boo’s willingness to be her shopping companion, wouldn’t it? She shops, hands the stuff over to him, and he sells it. I’m not sure how—like out of the trunk of his car?”
“Online maybe—eBay or Craig’s list. They were peddling real designer goods, not knockoffs, so he could have had outlets in shops, too. I’m not sure how the black-market in designer goods works, or how much she and Boo could have made from cashing in her loot.”
“Whatever the amount, Diana could have been in a real fix when Edgar cut her off. In her desperation, pinching items from the store might have seemed reasonable.”
“I doubt Diana was motivated by desperation. She spent lots of her young life engaged in underhanded activities. Some people get hooked on the cheap thrills from putting one over on others or setting them up the way she framed Judi. I don’t understand it,” Neely said removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes as if trying to bring the bizarre concept into better focus.
“I suppose that old proverb must be true for some people—that stolen waters are sweet.” I was struggling with it too given how much distress Diana must have caused Judi. “It wouldn’t be a proverb, would it, if there was some truth to it?”
“It’s as good an explanation as any for how Diana could get into so much trouble at such a young age. Not to mention, causing so much misery for other people. Getting fired was bad, but Judi’s lucky she didn’t go to jail,” Neely responded.
“If Diana did frame her coworker, someone must have warned her in advance. Otherwise, how would she have known a security check was coming, so she could put the stuff in Judi Stephenson’s drawer?”
“That solves another problem I’ve been pondering which is why Judi didn’t spot the stuff in her drawer when she went on break or to lunch that day. If Diana got a heads up about the raid shortly before it happened, she could have made the transfer minutes before security arrived. Hmm…” Neely didn’t ask the question we both must have had been mulling over. Who warned Diana? A moment later, we made eye contact, and then spoke almost in unison.
“A boyfriend!”
“An insider in security maybe.” Neely agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
“We have a little more time before we meet Marty and Midge. Let’s check out a few of the other places where Diana might have shopped. I’d like to get a better idea about how she used the resort account Edgar set up for her. I’m not sure how to bring it up or what we might learn, but maybe someone knows more about Diana’s other men friends. Do you have more scones?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Let’s start a few doors down at Blue Shue where she must have bought the Gucci sneakers she had on when she was killed.” Neely took a box of scones, and as we walked into the swanky shoe shop, she untied the ribbon. She marched right up to the saleswoman standing behind the counter and popped the top open.
“Sorry, you can’t eat food in here,” the young woman said. Then the sweet vanilla scent must have hit her. “Where did you buy those?”
“We didn’t buy them. My daughter, Tara, is a primo baker—they’re homemade glazed vanilla bean scones. Want one?” She glanced around at the nearly empty store.
“Why not? I’m starving and it’s not time for my lunch break yet.” When she bit into the scone, she was a goner. There’s no greater pleasure for a baker than to see the sugary bliss take hold of someone. I smiled. After she swallowed that bite, she spoke.
“These are wonderful! I wish we had pastries this good around here.” She took another bite as I checked out the shop in which we stood. It wasn’t large, but it was luxuriously appointed. The walls and shelves were emblazoned with designer labels—some I recognized, others were new to me.
“How can I help you?” She asked as she pulled a bottle of water from behind the counter. I did a quick little shuffle in my head—from scriptwriter to wannabe pastry shop owner.
“I’m considering opening a shop. I heard an employee here was murdered and her body was found on the beach. Should I be worried about that?”
“Diana Durand’s troubles had nothing to do with her job, trust me.”
“How do you know?” Neely asked.
“What I heard is that s
he left San Francisco owing lots of people money. It’s no wonder since she was a shopaholic. She had an account some guy set up for her last year and she always hit empty before the end of the month when he put more money into it. Diana Durand did not treat you well if you were the one who gave her the bad news that she didn’t have enough money in her account to buy whatever it was she plopped down at the register. She had a nasty mouth on her, too.”
“Do you think a coworker caught her alone on the beach and decided to shut her up?” Neely peered at the twenty-something woman in a chic tunic that looked a lot like those we’d seen at Two.
“If that were the case, someone would have done it months ago. A while back, her account permanently went to zero and Diana couldn’t hassle any of us anymore.”
“No kidding? Her benefactor cut her off?” Neely asked, feigning ignorance about Edgar’s behavior.
“Ha! Benefactor’s one name for it. I figure the guy who set up that account wised up, ended the relationship, and her shopping—on his dime, anyway.” She leaned in and dropped her voice a little. “Diana soaked him for thousands while she played the field with other men in the outfits he bought for her. He had to be steamed when he found out.”
“No!” I exclaimed. “You don’t mean steamed enough to kill her, do you?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation going even though we already had the scoop on Edgar. Benefactor, yes. Killer, no.
“Who knows? A jealous boyfriend is the oldest story in the book when it comes to murder, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do you know who set up that account for her?” Neely asked.
“I’m not sure, but some really old rich guy was with her once or twice when she went on shopping sprees. I didn’t catch his name, but I know someone who did. Diana had the nerve to introduce him to one of the guys she was sneaking around with behind his back!”
“No way!” I gasped.
“Does he work here?” Neely asked. The salesclerk nodded.
“Yes. Mark Hudson sells merchandise at the golf shop, but he also gives lessons. That’s who Diana said he was when she introduced him to the old guy—her golf instructor. Mark told me he felt bad about it. She did take a couple of lessons from him before they hooked up. Mark said she paid for them with money in the account that old guy or some other chump set up for her. A woman like Diana Durand is lucky to have lived as long as she did.”
“Do you think Mark Hudson would talk to us about it?” The young woman frowned a little, perhaps puzzling over my request. Neely shoved the box of scones closer.
“You keep these for later. Thanks for filling us in. Let’s hope Tara feels comfortable enough about what’s gone on here at Blue Haven to open a shop, so you can buy more.”
“I guess you shouldn’t just take my word for it. Tell Mark Hudson, Vicki Hardman says you and your mom are cool. He’s a sucker for sweets, so do the same thing you did with me—bribe him.” Then she beamed a beautiful sparkling white smile, exposing a Hollywood-worthy set of perfect teeth.
“Capped,” Charly had said when I’d mentioned Greta Bishop’s gorgeous smile. “It’s a glamor thing,” she’d added. A glamor thing that costs a pretty penny. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d put dental visits on hold until I could afford the insurance premiums again. I checked my bag which now held only one more box of scones.
“Thanks, Ms. Hardman,” I said.
“It’s Vicki, Tara. I aim to be on a first name basis if you open a shop around here. You can thank me with more of these. Do they come with chocolate chips?” I laughed.
“Yes, Vicki, they do!” As we left, I wished I could open a shop. I’m not sure how I’d explain the name change if I showed up again as Miriam rather than Tara.
Oh well, stop worrying about it, I chastised myself. It must cost a fortune to do that in an upscale resort setting like this one. There’s no better way to make shoppers feel happy and comfortable than to have the enticing aroma of fresh-baked cookies or pies wafting through the air. A dreamy feeling lingered as I tagged along behind Neely. Why not? Dreaming is free.
Neely turned the corner and stopped in front of the Blue Haven Pro Shop. As soon as we entered the store, Neely made a beeline for the tall sandy-haired store clerk in a golf shirt and shorts.
“Are you Mark Hudson?” She asked.
“Who wants to know?” He replied sporting another of those big, gleaming glamor smiles.
14 All in the Family
“We heard you’re the golf instructor around here,” Neely responded. Then she took the Mark Hudson aside and spoke to him in a more confidential tone. A man standing behind the counter across the room glanced at us before going back to whatever he was doing. “Vicki Hardman told us you could answer some questions for us.”
“She did, huh? What about?” His smile had faded. In its place was an expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
“Yep. She told us to bribe you, too.” Neely handed him a box of scones, and then went through her routine. She introduced us by our fake names, but skipped the scriptwriter angle. Instead, she explained that I was interested in opening a bake shop although I was concerned about the murder of a resort employee.
“Is that right?” Mark asked, examining the box he held before peering at me.
“Yes. There’s a sample of my baked goods in the box your holding—vanilla bean scones,” I offered. Neely jumped back in to move the conversation along.
“Vicki Hardman told us you could back up her claim that Diana Durand’s death wasn’t related to problems here at the resort.” As we stood there talking, I noticed the man behind the counter look up from the papers he’d been perusing. When he peered at us, there was something familiar about him. When he caught me looking at him, he smiled and then went back to examining the page he’d been marking up with a pen. Maybe Mark noticed because he chose that moment to address the gentleman.
“Hey, Howard, I’m going to grab an early lunch, okay?” I caught Neely’s eye. She nodded in response to the puzzled expression on my face.
“Yes, that’s Howard,” Neely whispered. Howard was eying us again, peering at Neely this time. They must have run into each other before. Did he recognize her despite her makeover? I held my breath until we left the shop—waiting for Howard to out us with a “Hey, Neely, is that you?”
“I’m going to get a sandwich and a drink to go with dessert. What do you want to know about Diana?”
“Was she a two-timer?” I asked.
“Wow! You get right to the point, don’t you?” Mark asked, flashing that smile at me. “Yes. I didn’t know that at first. She was beautiful, fun to be with, but heartless. At least I figured her out quick.”
“Do you mean when she introduced you as her golf instructor to some old guy named Edgar that she was seeing?”
“Vicki told you about that too, huh? Why do you need to talk to me if you already know I was sneaking around with her behind that nice old guy’s back?” Mark Hudson appeared to be genuinely distressed as he stopped walking and looked directly at me. I felt sorry for him. A little guilty, too, about misleading him to get information since he, like Vicki Hardman, was so forthcoming. “Not to mention that Edgar’s nephew happens to be my supervisor at the Pro Shop. I’m sure Vicki must have told you that, too.”
“It sounded to us like she took you for ride. I’m not judging you. I just want to find out what happened to Diana Durand,” I said.
“I wish I could tell you. I’d rest easier if I knew who killed her. Howard’s Uncle Edgar had reason to do it, didn’t he? If you read the news coverage, you’ll find out she wasn’t killed here, but near where the frail old guy lives in a retirement community a few miles north of us. That ought to ease your mind about opening a shop here at Blue Haven Resort.” He shrugged.
“By the way you describe him, it doesn’t sound like he could kill anyone,” I said in a skeptical tone.
“No, but he could have had someone do it for him.” Mark scanned the empty marble laden halls
that led between the resort shops. “He might not have even had to ask. His nephew’s a bigger fool than Edgar or me.”
“What does that mean?” Neely prodded as Mark started walking again.
“Howard had a thing for Diana a while back. I thought it had ended or I wouldn’t have started seeing her. When I found out she’d dumped Howard for his rich uncle, that shocked me more than realizing she was cheating on Edgar with me. I told Howard he’d better warn his uncle about Diana if he cared about him.”
“Did he do that?”
“They broke up, didn’t they?” Mark asked, and then paused. “Look, I don’t know for certain what happened because I told Diana I didn’t want to see her anymore—not as a customer or a girlfriend. Howard was really upset about it when I told him he needed to do a better job of protecting his uncle from Diana. Now I wonder if Howard might have done more than just lay it on the line for Edgar. That’s awful, isn’t it, wondering if a guy I work with killed someone? Since I was involved with Diana, too, I’m in no position to point fingers at anyone, am I? I’ll bet everyone she dated is a suspect.” Mark stopped at the door to a little café and shook his head.
“Even death doesn’t end the trouble some women can cause, does it? That’s probably not a very kind thing to say, but once I found out about her, I asked around. It was disturbing to hear how many people she hurt.”
“Besides, you and Edgar and Howard, you mean?” Neely asked. Mark opened the door and a blast of food odors hit us. Something spicy in a slightly exotic way. We stepped inside with him.
“Oh, yes! It wasn’t just us. What bothered me the most was what I heard about this woman, Judi Stephenson. She got set up by Diana just like a guy I know in Guest Services who took guests’ luggage to their room while they were checking in.” Mark dropped his voice before he spoke again.
“The resort doesn’t like it to get around when employees are fired for stealing or some other problem like that. Mike Evans wasn’t a friend, but he was an okay guy. I found out the company fired him because items he was taking to guests’ rooms went missing. He told them he didn’t steal anything, but management let him go anyway. What he didn’t tell them, because he didn’t think they’d believe him, was that Diana was around playing up to him both times guest property went missing.”
A Body on Fitzgerald's Bluff Page 12