Murder of the Eccentric Billionaire: A Jolene Park-Attorney At Law, Cozy Mystery

by Liz Turner

  “Yes. And you are Lucas Auen?”

  “The one and only,” he said, although his smile was steadily drooping from his face.

  He led the way to a dining room.

  Jolene marveled at the house’s rich wooden furniture and impossibly high ceilings. She noted an abundance of plants peeking out from the corners in each room or hanging in small baskets off sconces. “Who’s the green thumb?” she asked warmly.

  “That was all Foster. Loved those things like children.” Lucas took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? Hot chocolate?”

  “I’d love some coffee, thank you.”

  Lucas nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two mugs.

  Jolene accepted the one he held out to her. “Will Mrs. Auen be joining us?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, his mouth a straight line. “She’s off doing something or the other. We’re both, as you can imagine, trying to deal with the situation. The tragedy. I can’t seem to leave to the house, preferring to nurse my pain in private, but my wife—she needs distractions. Always out of the house.” He shrugged. “Just different people, I guess.”

  Jolene studied Lucas, wondering if he was telling the truth about why his wife hadn’t shown up for the meeting. She had sensed some resentment in Lucas’s reply, but realized it may have just been grief.

  “Can I be frank, Mr. Auen?” she said. Lucas nodded, sipping from his mug, and Jolene smiled condolingly and leaned forward. “Do you think Lucy deliberately poisoned your cousin-in-law because he changed his will and excluded her from it?”

  Lucas’s face saddened. “No,” he said softly. “Lucy’s not an impulsive girl. She’s nonconfrontational. She loved Foster. He was the closest thing she had to a parent for most of her life.”

  “There have been more than a few cases of children murdering a parent,” Jolene said, and plowed ahead before Lucas could respond. “I’m a defense attorney, Mr. Auen, and I’ve extensively studied a number of killers.” She took a sip of her coffee and added a lump of sugar from the dish between them. “If an impulsive person was going to kill someone, it would likely happen during an argument. A crime of passion, so to speak. A gun would probably be involved—someone would be killed in a way that requires very little forethought or even in-the-moment consideration. If a confrontational person wanted to kill someone, the situation would likely be similar. A gun or knife brandished at the victim, an exchange of words…Perhaps the person never really anticipated or planned to kill, but then all of a sudden, they do.”

  Lucas stared at her. “What are you trying to say? What’s the point of telling me this?”

  “I think you know what I’m saying, Mr. Auen.” Jolene put her elbows on the table and met his gaze. “Is there any part of you that believes Lucy was capable of planning a murder? A long-held anger boiling inside someone who had no outlet for it because the object of her rage was her only real family—and her only source of income? Billionaires are often very difficult people to live with. Maybe Lucy had been playing around with the idea for quite some time. Doing research into poisons although not seriously considering it. But every time there was an infraction, and she felt powerless to fight back, she prepared another part of the plan—procured the poison, decided the delivery system…Then, the day she found out her uncle was disinheriting her, it was the last straw. She finally fought back in the only way she felt able to.”

  Lucas had been shaking his head steadily the entire time. When Jolene fell silent, he slammed his hand on the table. “To answer your question,” he said, his eyes shooting daggers, “no. There is no part of me that thinks any of that could be true. Lucy is not a murderer.”

  “Okay,” Jolene said, relieved. She believed him and was glad to have an outsider validate her own suspicions. “Then let’s talk about how we can help her.” She took out a little tape recorder. “What can you tell me about the dynamics in the house?”

  Lucas regarded her suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Foster Fielder was killed inside his home doing something habitual. It stands to reason that the killer was either a member of the household or a close friend.”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Auen—”

  “There were normal arguments, but nothing grave. Nobody did this—”

  “Mr. Auen, somebody poisoned—”

  “That bottle they retrieved from the lake Lucy said she went to wasn’t even potassium cyanide!” he yelled hysterically. “She didn’t do it! Nobody did it! It must have been a horrible, horrible accident!”

  Jolene stood to fetch some water for the man, who had started to sweat and grow red in the face. “Here you go. It’s okay. You could be right. Maybe it was just an accident.”

  Lucas took the water and gulped it down. He then put his head in his hands and began to cry. “It couldn’t have been an accident, I know that, I just…I just don’t know what to think.”

  “That’s very understandable. You’ve been through a lot these past weeks.” Jolene soothingly patted his back, but was secretly worried.

  How does he know about the poison bottle dummy? she wondered. That information wasn’t released to the public.

  Jolene liked Lucas and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but her years of experience told her that any discrepancy in a witness’s testimony was exceedingly important.

  “Oh God,” Lucas said, his voice laden with pain. “I did something silly. Something stupid.”

  Alarmed, Jolene glanced quickly at the tape recorder on the table to ensure it was still on. “What do you mean?” she asked gently.

  Lucas looked at her for a moment and then turned away, inhaling raggedly. “I planted a bottle filled with nitro glycerin in Toluca Lake. I hoped the police would find it and that would exonerate Lucy. I hoped they would think she was just confused. But I’m worried now because the reports say they did find the poison bottle—which means they must not have found mine and…Oh.” He paused and took a few deep breaths.

  Jolene put her hand to her head. Well, that explains certain things, she mused.

  It then crossed her mind that the police could take this visit with Auen as proof that she was in on the fake poison bottle. “You’ve created a bit of a mess, Mr. Auen,” Jolene said with a sigh. She sat down and slumped into the chair. “If you believed Lucy was innocent, why go to the trouble of planting fake evidence?”

  “I panicked. Lucy and Foster had just gotten into their biggest fight the day before he died. Lucy had disappeared for a while which is just what she does. So I wasn’t worried at first, but then… I don’t know. I saw the signs—who would look most guilty to an outsider…I panicked. I tried to help, but I’m afraid I only made things worse.”

  “What was their fight about?” Jolene asked, intrigued. “This was before the will change?”

  Lucas nodded. “It was about her engagement.”

  “To Jacob Deblasio?”

  Lucas nodded again.

  “Did Foster not approve of him?”

  “I don’t think it was that. I never liked to get involved, but from what I could tell, Foster was pretty terrified that Lucy was going to move out and he wouldn’t be a part of her life anymore. Or at least not a very big part. He didn’t like the idea of anyone taking Lucy away from him.”

  “But didn’t he want Lucy to be happy? She’s twenty-five.”

  Lucas shrugged. “I’m no doctor, but this past year living here, I think I’ve seen some signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s. He became more and more prone to fits of strong emotion, had irrational fears of being left alone…He’d even been systematically thwarting Rebekah’s attempts to move us out of here. Our arrangement was supposed to be for just a few months while we settled in. I told him he ought to go to the doctor and get checked out, but of course he wouldn’t have it.”

  Hmmm, Jolene mused. I wonder…

  Just then, her cellphone buzzed in her pocket. It was John. “Excuse me. I’ll j
ust be a minute,” she said, exiting the kitchen to answer the call. “John, is this urgent? I’m in the middle of—”

  “Jacob Deblasio broke Lucy Fielder out of the hospital, and they’ve been arrested in Mexicali.”

  “What?! When?”

  “Lucy was reported missing yesterday, but the press just now got ahold of the story. Apparently, their car was stopped by a patrol officer for speeding and they’re being held on charges of murder and accessory to murder until the detectives on the case get there.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jolene pressed a hand to her forehead. Her phone began to beep, and she looked at the screen to see an incoming call from Frank Cornuck. “Hold on, John. I’ve got another call.” She clicked over to answer. “Frank,” she said.

  “Jacob Deblasio is telling the police that his lawyer advised him to flee the country and get married so he couldn’t testify against his fiancée,” Frank said, sounding stressed. “Tell me he’s not talking about you.”

  Jolene closed her eyes, remembering Molly’s comment. The image of Jacob denying missing any potassium cyanide flicked through her mind. She sighed. “My colleague mentioned something like that in jest to him. I guess he might have—”

  Frank groaned. “Geez, Jolene. You went to see the fiancé? Simon’s going to have your head. I can’t feed you more information. They’re going ahead with the trial of Lucy Fielder for first-degree murder. I think, if you stay out of it, they’ll leave the evidence tampering case against you alone. So be wise.” Click.

  “Jolene, you there?” John was saying, the call having reverted back to him.

  “Hi—yes, yes, I’m here. I think Jacob’s actions may have been inadvertently caused by me. I’m going to fix this.”

  Chapter 6

  Insanity Plea

  Two days later, Jolene and John had an appointment to meet with Lucy Fielder. Now that she’d been officially arrested for the crime, the offices of Park and Walter had formally offered their services, with Jolene serving as Lucy’s defense attorney. Despite the risks to her credibility and Simon’s threat to bring evidence tampering charges against her if she got herself involved, Jolene was determined to help. She figured that if the state was that anxious to get her off the case; it meant she was likely on to something; she suspected there was a big hole in their case that they were worried about being exposed.

  Jolene strode alongside John down the long cinderblock hallway of the prison where Lucy was being kept. They were told to wait in a private room while Lucy was brought in. Shortly, the young woman arrived, escorted by a guard. She wore an orange prison jumpsuit and her thick dark hair was cut to her shoulders. Jolene tried to get a read on Lucy’s expression as the guard unlocked her handcuffs and gestured for her to sit.

  Lucy’s eyes roved the room, almost fearfully, and she repeatedly licked her lips.

  Once the guard had left them alone, Jolene pulled out her notebook, as did John.

  “Hi, Lucy. I’m John,” John said, breaking the tension.

  “And I’m Jolene, your attorney.” Jolene was grateful John had come along. Seeing how nervous the girl was, she knew she needed John’s easy-going nature to help Lucy open up to them.

  Lucy looked at the two of them with wide and concerned eyes. She reminded Jolene of a child trying to determine whether to trust kind strangers.

  “We’ve spoken to your cousin Lucas,” John said. “He’s worried about you. It seems you haven’t been accepting his calls since you came here. How are you doing?”

  Lucy just stared back at them.

  “Lucy,” Jolene began softly, “we’re going to help you get out of this mess, okay? We know it hasn’t been easy.”

  At this, Lucy shot a look to John, who nodded encouragingly. The woman cleared her throat. “Does everyone think I’m crazy?”

  Jolene looked at John, confused. He shrugged.

  “Why do you ask that?” Jolene said.

  Lucy’s gaze turned stony, her eyebrows pulling together. “Because I…”

  “It’s okay, Lucy. Nobody thinks you’re crazy. And even if you were, there are many people who love you very much anyway,” John said. “Just like your Uncle Foster did.”

  At the mention of her uncle’s name, Lucy flinched.

  “Can you tell us about the last time you saw him?” John prodded.

  Lucy shook her head. “No…”

  “Why’s that?” Jolene asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  Jolene and John exchanged glances. “What do you—”

  But Lucy interrupted Jolene’s next question. “I know that I stole potassium cyanide from Jacob’s lab. I was angry at my uncle. Then I served it to him in his cocoa. But I don’t really remember.” She rubbed her face and looked earnestly at the two lawyers. “I can’t remember,” she pleaded. “I must have blocked it out. Gone crazy.”

  Jolene’s mind whirled, recalling Lucy’s recorded confession to the hypnotist. Once again, it struck her that something wasn’t right, though she still couldn’t figure out what. “Do you remember what you were thinking when you lifted the poison from your fiancé’s lab?” Jolene asked. “Do you remember why you went there in the first place?”

  Lucy hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “I went because…” she huffed, “I went because Uncle Foster had just told me the truth about my father.” Her voice began to escalate quickly at the memory. “My father had gone crazy and murdered some people when I was little. He went to the hospital.” She closed her eyes. “I thought Jacob deserved to know what kind of family he was marrying into.” When she reopened her eyes, a large tear rolled down her face. She quickly flicked it away.

  “What did Jacob say when you told him?”

  “I didn’t tell him!” she wailed. “I couldn’t bear it.” She shook her head and then said in a lowered voice, “I told him a few days ago though, when he broke me out of the hospital and tried to marry me right away.”

  “And what was his response?”

  Lucy shrugged. “He gave me his typical science jargon answer. That my father’s case sounded like a nervous breakdown or delusion and probably wasn’t hereditary. But I wouldn’t marry him. I couldn’t do that to him.”

  “I think Jacob is probably right,” John said gently.

  Jolene leaned forward. “Lucy, did you kill your uncle?”

  Lucy’s lower lip trembled. “It feels like I did, but I don’t remember! He’s dead! Because of me? I’m certain I must have…I probably slipped up. Got too hot-headed. Decided to…” she trailed off.

  After the session with Lucy was over, John and Jolene headed to a nearby bakery to compare notes over pie and coffee. John wasn’t sure what to make of the interview; they’d never represented someone who simply wasn’t sure if they had committed the crime or not.

  John stirred sugar into his coffee for longer than necessary, and Jolene held her mug with two hands while staring intently at the fabric of the booth behind him.

  “Everybody we’ve talked to involved with this case thinks Lucy killed him,” John finally said, breaking the silence that had been brewing between them. “Even if they say they don’t, they do.”

  “But—”

  “I know,” John said, cutting Jolene off and nodding. “It doesn’t feel like the truth, but let’s go through it, anyway. Maybe it’ll help us figured it out better.”

  Jolene’s eyes lit up, and she pulled her notebook from her briefcase, opening to a new page. “Okay,” she said. “Shoot.”

  John grinned. He loved when she got excited like this. “Well, there’s Jacob Deblasio, her fiancé. You said he claimed he wasn’t missing any potassium cyanide after all.”

  “Right. But he’s got to be lying. The coincidence is just too big. And there’s no way a lab like that would misplace a dangerous poison. He was cagey, careful. So what does that tell us?”

  “That he either killed Foster Fielder himself or…”

  “He either suspects Lucy stole the poison or knows she di
d. Just because she may not have killed Foster, doesn’t mean she didn’t steal that poison. Regardless though, he believes she murdered her billionaire uncle because he wouldn’t let them get married,” Jolene said.

  John nodded. “That makes sense, especially with the way he fled and broke her out of the hospital to flee the country. That’s a last resort move. He must be pretty sure she did it.”

  “But he doesn’t care. He still loves her.”

  John smiled, reaching under the table and gently brushing Jolene’s knee. She met his gaze and smirked. “Okay,” he said, “what about the hypnotist?”

  Jolene sighed. “He doesn’t want to believe Lucy did it, but he did hand over her confession to the police in record time. Clearly didn’t want to get his hands dirty. So deep down, he thinks there’s at least a solid chance she’s the killer.”

  “Ah. And then the police of course think she did it,” John quipped.

  Jolene’s face twisted. “They were handed a recorded confession to the murder by a suspect with motive and opportunity. I guess I can’t blame them.”

  John whistled. “That leaves the members of the Fielder household. Who’d you manage to talk to?”

  “I spoke to her cousin Lucas, although she refers to him as her uncle. He and his wife moved in with them a year ago.”

  “And?”

  Jolene hung her head. “He’s probably the one who most doesn’t want to believe Lucy did it. He nearly bit my head off when I suggested it was the most likely explanation. He almost didn’t even give me a chance to tell him I was on his side yet. But then…” She chewed her bottom lip. “There’s the matter of his little evidence tampering stunt…”

  “He’s the one who planted that bottle of dummy poison in the lake where Lucy said she threw it, right?”

  Jolene nodded. “The one I ended up finding. Which leads me to believe he does harbor some suspicion toward his niece. Nobody creates fake evidence for someone they think is completely innocent. He claimed he just panicked, but he did admit Lucy and her uncle fought quite a bit.”

  John thought for a moment. “I wonder…” he said, stabbing his fork into his chocolate pie.