by Sharon Dunn
A single piece of paper tacked to the small bulletin board caught Mallory’s eye. Written three times in block letters was the phrase WALT DISNEY DID IT.
Jacobson moved closer. “What did you find?”
Mallory yanked evidence gloves from her back pocket and pulled the tack out of the piece of the paper. She held the paper up and read it out loud. “I guess our crime is solved. We’ll just pick up Walt on our way to the station house.” She retrieved another piece of paper that had Dustin’s signature on it off the floor. The handwriting was the same as the accusation directed at Walt Disney.
Jacobson kneeled on the floor and flipped through a volume on wine. “You got that faraway look in your eyes, boss. What are you thinking?”
Mallory leaned against the desk. Nothing but the uneasiness in her stomach told her the note was significant. It had been her experience that sharing gut feelings did very little to impress other officers, especially male officers. Mallory pushed herself off the desk and waved the note. “I was just wondering if Mickey and Minnie know anything about the murder.”
Ginger closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of Arleta moving the oar of the gondola boat through the water. Midmorning in Calamity was still cool enough to enjoy being outside.
Suzanne slapped at a mosquito on her shoulder. “Tell me again why were out here.”
Kindra adjusted the tie of her cotton, wide-brimmed hat and slathered sunscreen on her legs. “Because Ginger and I thought this would be more private. No one can overhear us while we’re on the water.”
“Couldn’t we at least hire a gondola driver so Arleta doesn’t have to do all the heavy lifting?” Suzanne asked.
Ginger spoke without opening her eyes. “The gondola drivers cost extra. We are way over budget already.” She didn’t want to open her eyes. Right now, life felt like way too much to bear. The breeze and the rhythmic sound of the oars soothed her.
“I don’t mind rowing,” Arleta said. “It’s good exercise.”
The robustness of Arleta’s tone cheered Ginger. Not much got the senior member of the BHN down. Today Arleta was dressed in white cowboy boots, white skirt, and turquoise, western-cut jacket. The sequins and grommets on the jacket caught glints of morning sunlight. Ginger opened her eyes. Time to deal with life.
“Last night, Kindra overheard that lady detective talking about Earl and me. They say I threatened Dustin. Because Earl was found leaning over the body, they think we are up to some kind of funny business.”
“You mean they suspect you of murder?”
Ginger cringed. She couldn’t bring herself to think the thought or say the word. But leave it to Suzanne to blurt it out. “Maybe they just want to ask us more questions.”
“So did you threaten Dustin?”
Ginger raised her arms. “I guess. He just made me so mad. I didn’t kill the guy, and I sure didn’t ask Earl to.”
Kindra adjusted herself on the narrow wooden seat. “That’s all we need to know.” She slipped into her gauzy, long-sleeve blouse.
“Kindra, why don’t you wear a parka?” Suzanne slapped another mosquito.
“I burn easily, okay?” she snapped back as she buttoned her blouse to the neck.
Arleta stabbed her oar in the water and pushed it through. “Ladies, ladies, we all know that none of us is getting much sleep. Lets not get at each others throats just because were tired.”
Kindra crossed her arms. “At least you guys had beds to sleep in. Ginger and I caught our ZZZs out in the lobby.”
Ginger placed a steadying hand on Kindra’s forearm. It was a technique she had learned teaching Sunday school. A soft touch calmed an agitated child. “The couch wasn’t uncomfortable.” But it was lonely. She hadn’t been able to find her husband.
Kindra’s spine collapsed, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, guys. I am not mad at you. I am worried about Xabier. He’s disappeared. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me Dustin was his dad.” Her shoulders jerked up slightly. “I kind of liked him. We sorta had a date that he missed.”
Suzanne wrapped an arm around Kindra. “Kind of, sort of, this sounds serious.”
Kindra touched her chest. “I know there has to be more to a relationship than attraction, but when he looks at me something goes off in my heart like Fourth of July sparklers.
The rest of the BHN offered an assortment of “oohs” and “ahhs.”
Ginger stared out at the glassy lake. Arleta stopped rowing and took a seat beside Ginger. The rest of the BHN stared at Ginger. Her friends were here to help her, and that was something. She cleared her throat.
“When the police come to question Earl and me, we need to show why we are not guilty. All of us saw different things last night that may or may not be important. Let’s put the story together. I’ll start with what I know. Dustin missed his big speech a little before ten; he missed his appointment with Little Vicky after that. He died in the bear costume that belonged to Xabier.”
Kindra added. “I talked to Xabier when he was still in the bear costume—that was when Arleta and Suzanne were up dropping off Ginger’s food. And I am sure it was Xabier; he had his head off. That must have been a little after nine.”
Suzanne lifted her water bottle off the bottom of the boat. “Kindra and I saw the bear racing by with two men after him close to eleven. The bear might have been Xabier, or it might have been Dustin.”
Kindra undid the top button of her shirt. “It was probably Dustin. I can’t believe Xabier would have run by without a wave—or something—when he saw me.”
“A little after nine,” Ginger said, “I saw the bear run across the convention floor. It could have been Dustin, or it could have been Xabier. That would have been after Kindra saw Xabier and before the bear was chased by those two guys.” She shifted on the wooden seat. “Dustin told Tiffany he was about to come into a windfall that would solve all their problems,” Ginger said.
Kindra bounced on her wooden seat. “Oh, and … that woman told Tiffany that her jewelry and her friends had been stolen from their rooms.”
“We know that Binky the squirrel was found dead with Dustin and that my cat was chasing him.” Ginger made eye contact with each member of the BHN, waiting for them to burst out laughing. But they smiled and nodded as though she were sharing a recipe for pineapple upside-down cake.
Suzanne nudged Ginger in the shoulder. “That could be important … the squirrel thing.”
“At least it’s something for Earl and me to bring to the police. Maybe they can find those two men who were chasing the bear. They might be why Xabier has disappeared or Dustin is dead.”
“Where is Earl, anyway?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since right after the body was found.” Her jaw tensed. She pressed her palm against her chest and stared at the water rippling around the boat. “I don’t know what has become of my husband.”
And that worried her more than anything.
Mallory and Jacobson waited at the open door of Dustin Clydell’s office. A woman with sandy-colored eighties hair stood at the file cabinet, her back to them. She zipped open a drawer, yanked out a file, examined it briefly, and tossed it on the floor.
Mallory slipped into the office. Framed magazine covers and newspaper articles about Dustin covered one wall. Civic awards cluttered glass shelves along with framed pictures of Dustin with assorted celebrities. The opposite wall was a window that looked out on the lake.
Mallory cleared her throat to cover the sound of her growling stomach.
The woman spun around. Except for the poufy hair, her appearance was office chic: cream blouse, slacks, subtle makeup. Hardly the showgirl they had been expecting. Tiffany Rose was probably in her early thirties.
Jacobson flipped open her notebook. “We were told we could find Elise Rosemond here.”
The woman raised her hand as if she were in second grade. “That’s me, but I have decided to go by Tiffany Rosemond. Sort of a combo of both my names. Sounds more businesslike, don’t you think?�
�� She turned toward Mallory. “What can I do for you, sweetie?”
Mallory tried to remember if anyone had ever called her sweetie in her life. Nope. Nothing in the database on that one. Not even by one of her ex-husbands. “You are Dustin Clydell’s second ex-wife?”
Tiffany raised her hand again and rocked heel to toe. “Guilty. I was married to Dustin for two years.”
Saying the word guilty was usually not a good idea in the midst of a murder investigation. Mallory tilted her head toward the file cabinet. “So are you running the hotel now?”
“I was practically running it before Dustin died. He was all show and no do.” She stepped over the heap of files that had accumulated around her feet, slipping on a stray one. She recovered and sat on a corner of the huge mahogany desk. “I’ve got a lot to do. The police have closed down the inventors convention, trying to figure out if Dustin was killed there. Huge loss for the hotel.” Tiffany leaned forward as though sharing a juicy bit of gossip, but her voice grew even louder. “Money is flying out the window as we speak, but I think I can fix it.”
“Did Dustin leave you the hotel?” Jacobson took a step toward Tiffany.
Tiffany crossed her legs, leaned back on her palms, lifted her chin, and shook her hair, supermodel style. “The specifics of Dustin’s will haven’t been released. He told me a while ago he was going to give me the hotel. I’m the only obvious choice. His first wife wouldn’t be interested in this sort of thing, and he didn’t get along with his only child.” She uncrossed her legs and sat up straight. “You’re not from Dustin’s lawyer’s office, are you?”
Mallory noted the hopeful glee in Tiffany’s voice. “We’re detectives.”
“Oh.” Tiffany hiccupped the word. She hopped off the desk and wandered toward a bay window that looked out on the lake. “I guess that means you want to ask me some questions … about Dustin’s death.” She combed her fingers through her hair.
Mallory paced a half circle hoping to cause Tiffany to turn so she could read her reactions while they did the interview. “So why were you working for your ex-husband? You must have had a good relationship with him.”
“A good relationship?” Tiffany released a forced laugh. She picked up a mug that had been sitting on the bay window and turned again so Mallory had a clear view of her back.
“All the staff we interviewed seems to have liked him.”
“That’s because they didn’t know him. Dustin could be quite charming at arm’s length.” Tiffany stepped closer to the window. She is slipperier than a river trout. Mallory raised an eyebrow in Jacobson’s direction. Jacobson closed in on Tiffany so she would have no choice but to look at Mallory. Tiffany offered both of them a clear view of her profile.
Mallory leaned sideways, nearly touching the wall, to get some level of eye contact with Tiffany. “Did he make you crazy, Tiffany?”
Tiffany turned to one side and then to the other and then slipped out from between the two detectives, so they had a clear view of each other. Mallory did an “after you” gesture, and they both followed Tiffany across the room.
She walked over to the mahogany desk, picked up a sequined purse, and then put it back down.
“You were divorced from him. Why didn’t you just leave if he upset you so much?”
“He owed me money as part of our divorce settlement.” She sauntered from the file cabinet to the window and then back to the file cabinet. “He promised he would pay what he owed me if I helped him with the hotel.”
Mallory stepped closer to Tiffany. “We estimate that he died between ten and eleven last night. His last official appointment was with someone named Edward Mastive. Do you know who that is?”
Tiffany shook her head.
Jacobson flipped through her notebook. “Can you tell us where you were between nine and midnight?”
“I was sleeping, and no one was with me. I had to get up early to run the front desk.” She drifted across the room and fingered the glittery purse again.
“You still haven’t told us why you kept working for him,” Jacobson said.
“You know, I have a lot to get done here.” She returned to the file cabinet. Kneeling, she gathered a stack of files and dumped them on the desk, and then she picked up the purse.
Mallory mentally reshuffled her interrogation technique cards. Trying to cornet Tiffany was not working. She softened her tone. “We have all been stupid when it comes to men. I’m the president of that club.”
For the first time since they had entered the office, Tiffany made eye contact with Mallory. She tossed the purse back on the desk. “Dustin … had a way of … a way of …” She slammed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I’m not a stupid woman. Please don’t think that.”
“I’d never think that.” Her comment wasn’t to win Tiffany over. She had some firsthand experience with being a smart woman who made poor choices in men.
Tiffany picked up one of the files and slammed it back down on the desk. “What I don’t understand is that when I looked through the financial records … Dustin said he could pay me once the hotel was back on its feet.” She crossed her arms and spoke through tight teeth. “I took a few accounting classes at the junior college. This hotel was actually making a profit. Why did he lie to me, and where was all the money going?”
Mallory shifted her weight. This was news. All the employees they had talked to so far were under the impression that the hotel was going under. Where was the money going? That Dustin had a gambling problem was the obvious conclusion, but somehow that didn’t fit what they knew about the late Mr. Clydell. Dustin liked to gamble, but not at slot machines. Maybe he had made some sort of bad investment as an aspiring empire builder.
“He kept saying he needed more money. He sure wasn’t putting any of his money back into the hotel. This place needs some serious maintenance.” Her hand brushed over the purse.
Jacobson asked, “Is there something in that purse you want to tell us about?”
Tiffany’s head jerked up. Her face paled. “No, I—”
Good call, Jacobson. “Tiffany?” Mallory made her request as gently as possible.
Tiffany dragged the purse across the desk and unzipped it. “The afternoon before he died, Dustin slipped me a note.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to Mallory. She curled her fingers into fists and shook her head. “Look at me. I’m protecting him even after he’s dead.”
The note was short, written in the same block letters as the accusation against Walt Disney.
LEESY, I HAVE STRUCK THE DEAL OF A LIFETIME. OUR MONEY PROBLEMS ARE OVER.
DUSTIN
“Leesy was his pet name for me.” Tiffany rubbed her neck with an open palm. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead, right?” She stared at the ceiling, lips pressed together. “I think Dustin was stealing jewelry from the guests. I think the deal he was talking about was with a fence or something.” Her words came out in a sudden burst.
“Have the thefts stopped since his death?”
Tiffany nodded. “I reported the thefts. But I should have told someone the minute I suspected Dustin. I don’t know why I felt like I had to protect him.”
Mallory knew why. Dustin had messed with her mind so much, it would be a long time before she would be able to think straight. She pulled the “Walt Disney did it” note, still in the evidence bag, out of her blazer pocket. “Do you know what this means?”
Jacobson jerked slightly, something Mallory had never seen her do. Did her partner not approve of her showing the Walt Disney note?
Tiffany shook her head. “Dustin was working on his uncle’s dairy farm from the time he was five years old. He never got to play much. That’s why he liked classic toys. I’m sure he liked Disney stuff for the same reason.”
Mallory waved Dustin’s note to Tiffany. “We’d like to keep this if that’s okay with you.”
Tiffany nodded. “All this will be worthwhile once I get the hotel.”
The tw
o detectives excused themselves and slipped out of the office. Mallory caught a glimpse of Tiffany resting her face in her hands through a slit in the open door. Jacobson and Mallory walked down the long hallway. Mallory thought the swish-swish of her thighs brushing against each other was oppressive in the silence. Her waistband felt even tighter than usual. Maybe she should start working out more.
Mallory waited until the elevator doors closed before speaking. “So Dustin told Tiffany she was going to get the hotel. Material gain is always at the top of the list for motive. But I think I see an even stronger motive.”
“Which is?”
“He messed with her mind. Speaking from experience, you can only take so much of that before you either get out or retaliate. I got out; maybe Tiffany made the other choice.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Jacobson leaned against the brass railing in the elevator. “When I was working patrol, we’d get called in on domestic violence cases. Within ten minutes of our arrival, some of those women were already taking the jerk back. It never made sense to me.”
“Dustin didn’t use his fist. He was more subtle than that. You got a woman who feels slighted and ripped off, and yet she stays and works for him and protects him from being suspected of theft. Would you like yourself very much if you were that weak?”
“Guess not.”
“The rage smolders for a long time, and then there’s a sudden outburst.” Mallory pushed the number one on the elevator panel. “Outburst? You mean like killing him?”
Mallory nodded. The doors slid open. “In the meantime, let’s keep an open mind. We need to track down the Salinskis for further questioning. I had a feeling when I interviewed them they were hiding something.”
Ginger slumped behind the screen of her laptop when the two lady detectives walked by the window of the coffee shop. The heavier one, the one whose name started with an M, turned her back toward the window facing the European chocolate outlet store. Belgian chocolate was still on sale.
Kindra glanced at the window and then back at Ginger. “Maybe you should just go talk to them.”