by Cam Larson
Daniel told me to try and see Jared as soon as possible. We discussed details briefly. The server placed our dinner salads in front of us. I ordered raspberry tea and Daniel asked for a hot coffee.
"I can't believe you drink iced tea in the middle of winter," he said.
"It's one of those southern habits I haven't been able to break," I said. "We southerners drink iced tea year round." Anticipating his next remark, I said, "No, I have no idea when, where or how that tradition started. I have to say, I'm leaning more to hot coffee or hot chocolate since moving north."
We spent the evening chatting about anything other than the murder. It was inevitable we wanted to discuss the murder at the Steakhouse, but with willpower, we didn't do that. Daniel paid for our dinners and when we faced the bitter winds, I wished I had opted for a hot drink instead of iced tea. He pulled me close to shield me from the swirling air. I couldn't get into the car soon enough.
"I have something for you," he said when the heater blasted warmth. "I hope you like it."
He handed me a box that I knew he didn't wrap himself. I couldn't blame him, thinking of my mother's gift. "Open it now," he said. "I'll keep the heat going."
I gasped when I saw the bracelets. They were wrap bracelets of gemstones I had admired at Beads and Bangles. The shop was down the street from Roasted Love. I immediately put the artisan piece on my wrist and admired the colorful beads. I leaned over and kissed him.
"Thank you, Daniel, I love this." I hoped new Benji would measure up. “I hope you can wait for your gift. You’ll get it when you get back.”
“It must be something really special,” he said. “I’ll wait, but probably not patiently. You have my curiosity working now.”
He dropped me off at home, but not before reminding me that Steven was innocent. "Do everything you can, Laila. I'll see you in less than two weeks or sooner if necessary."
One thing was sure: I didn't plan to delay or shorten my trip to Tennessee. If it meant Steven faring for himself, so be it.
Chapter Seven
The next day was my day to work late at Roasted Love. That meant I had time to go to the bank and see if I could get anything out of Jared before I went in. West River Bank was situated at the end of an upscale strip mall. White Christmas lights glowed on low evergreens that spread on either side of the bank entrance. They invited customers in on this dreary winter day. Clouds overhung the town and threatened to spill snow before the day was over.
There was only one teller without a customer. I approached her and smiled in a friendly way. She returned the same.
"How can I help you today?" she asked. Her name tag read Sharon.
"I'm not a customer, Sharon," I said, "but I am here for some information."
"Do you want to open an account with us?" The hopeful look on her face anticipated a yes from me.
"No, I want to ask you about someone who may be a customer."
Sharon stepped back and readied herself for a negative answer. "If it is about a customer, I can't give out any information. You don't look like you're from the police department. Are you?"
"No, I'm not with the police. My friend Frank Duvall was murdered at Steven's Steakhouse the other night. You may have read about that. He had talked to someone here at the bank on several occasions and I'm wondering who that could have been."
Sharon stared at me. When she recovered, she said, "I did hear about that. But, I still can't give out information of any kind."
Sharon wasn't going to budge. "Well, maybe I could talk with Jared. Is he in today?"
"He's in his office. I'll see if I can reach him for you." Sharon was visibly relieved I chose someone other than her for more conversation. I had no idea what I could get from Jared, whatever his last name was. Sharon picked up her phone and asked Jared to come to the front.
"I'm Jared Freedman. What can I do for you?" The trim, six foot man turned to me when Sharon gestured in my direction. His once brown hair was now dotted with specks of gray. I put his age around fifty.
"I'm Laila Rook. Is there someplace we can talk privately?"
I followed the man in the pressed suit to his office. The plaque on his door read ‘Jared Freedman, Investment Banker.' He held prestige. I took a deep breath. He invited me to sit down in the plush chair across the desk from him. The comfort certainly must have lured patrons of the bank to invest. Right away I could see that Jared had a way of putting anyone across from him at ease. He put his elbows on the desk and latched fingers together, waiting.
"I'm here to talk about Frank Duvall. He was a friend of mine."
Jared's arms landed in his lap and he sat back in his chair. Then he quickly regained composure. Whatever hit him with my statement made me wonder just what his conversations amounted to with Frank.
"Frank was a good guy. I was sorry to hear how his life ended," said Jared. His hands were clasped and rested on the edge of his desk. "Whoever did that to him must have had something serious against him. I can't believe the person just left him there in that freezer."
"I take it that you knew him on a personal level," I said.
"I did know him a bit. Frank Duvall worked as a teller here. I would think as a friend of his, you would know that already."
It was my turn to recoup. "He always told me he worked in restaurants," I said. "I just met him soon after he started at Steven's Steakhouse."
Jared leaned forward. "I guess he wouldn't tell a lot of people about his work here. He didn't leave on exactly good terms."
"What happened to make him quit the job here?"
"I'm not sure if these are actual facts, but rumor had it around here that some money may have been missing from West River Bank. Everything was hush-hush when he left. He always cashed his paycheck right away. I know that much for sure."
"Is it possible to talk with the Bank Manager?" I asked.
"The manager at the time has since retired and moved to Florida. I think Frank was having serious money problems. That would explain why he immediately cashed his paychecks. It made me think he paid his bills in cash. Again, I have no proof of his methods of finances."
"Do you have any ideas about who could have killed Frank? I'm thinking possibly someone who worked with him here," I said.
Jared opened his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have any idea who would have done that. It's not like he left the job recently. I can't think of anyone who had a beef with him now."
He stood and reached for a business card. "Take this with you. If you want to talk more, just give me a call. I don't know of anything else I can tell you at this point." I was being dismissed.
When I turned to go, a sudden scowl showed on his face. A trim woman I had noticed earlier in the office next to his appeared in the doorway. She apologized for interrupting when she handed him a note.
"This may be important," she said. She didn't cowl in front of the investor and gave the impression she could hold her own.
The thing that hit me most was Jared's immediate impatience that was so visible. I excused myself and thanked him for his time. I was happy to leave the two together. I supposed they butted heads more than once in their workday.
I sent Daniel a text and told him to call me when he could. I let him know I had nothing concrete but wanted him to know about my conversation with Jared Freedman. As it turned out, my visit with the investor left more questions than answers. I was sure Frank Duvall had at one time been a customer of Jared Freedman. I was also certain they knew each other better than Jared let on.
When my cell rang, it was Daniel. "What do you have?" he asked. "Wait a minute and I'll pull over so we can talk better." I wondered what made Daniel so reluctant to fly. Something else I wanted to find out from him.
"I got to meet Jared. I didn't get much info. But I can imagine how getting a call from him when he isn’t happy would be an unpleasant experience." I laughed. "Does Steven know Jared?"
"He has never mentioned him to me," said Daniel. "You can ask
him when you see him the next time."
I made a mental note to do that. Daniel told me he needed to get back on the road and so we said our good-byes.
Thoughts of the Steakhouse owner and the investment banker swirled through my head like the blowing snow that circled around me.
Chapter Eight
My cell phone rang just after my call with Daniel ended. I hoped my disappointment wasn't evident when I heard Steven's voice.
"Laila, I just heard from the police. They have witnesses who say they saw Frank stealing alcohol from the Steakhouse. I guess you know what that means."
"I see how it could be a motivation for you to have killed him," I said. "It may help if you have any ideas of who may have committed the murder. Does anyone come to mind?"
"Believe me when I say I've been thinking a lot about that. Someone does come to mind and makes more sense than me killing Frank over a liquor theft. Can we meet someplace and I'll tell you what I think."
We agreed to meet at his restaurant. He promised dinner for me and I took him up on it. When I arrived, he had already grilled a steak and had a salad ready. He set the plates in front of us. Instead of sitting down, he paced back and forth. He must have something big, I thought.
"I do have someone else who may be a possibility for the cops to look at," he said. I waited for him to go on. His face became animated. "One afternoon when Frank played Santa to the kids, three teenagers came into the restaurant. This wasn't their first time. I had to run them out once when they started harassing one of my servers. This time it was much worse."
"What happened?" His nervous strides spilled over on me. "Why don't you sit down and talk?"
He stopped in mid-pace. "Sorry, I didn't know I was doing that." He sat down and picked up his steak knife. It hung in mid air. "One of the teenagers grabbed a branch of the Christmas tree and started shaking it. A second one looked at the kid on Santa's lap and told him that Santa wasn't real. He even pulled at Frank's beard to show the kid he was a fake. I was back in my office and heard two of the Chef's helpers yelling out in front. I came out to see what was going on. By that time, things had gotten out of hand."
"That must have scared the kids pretty bad," I said. "Did you get the teenagers out?"
"It didn't take long with several of us there. I told them I would call the police the next time they showed up in my restaurant or on the premises outside. In the meantime, Frank pressed charges. He gave names of the witnesses, including me, for back-up."
"I hope they were brought up on charges."
"The police found two of them and took them in, but it made things worse. Frank went down to the station to identify them. Two were held over in jail. The third one came back around and met Frank one night when he was getting off work. He threatened him with getting even."
I could see how Frank had become a target. What I didn't get was how his murder fit with the actions of teenagers. I asked Steven that very question.
"One afternoon, the third one waited for me to come out to my car. I always took a break away from the restaurant during a slow period. This teenager, whose name I later learned was Jason Miller, told me he was going to ‘teach Santa a lesson' unless I did something about the charges against his two friends. I told him they were all in enough trouble as it was and I didn't take threats easily."
"Have you told the police all of this?" I asked.
"I didn't tell them about the threats. At the time I brushed it all off. I remembered how I tried to act macho when I was their age. Most of what I did, along with my friends, was all bluff and no action. I figured that's what this kid was doing."
"What punishment did they get?"
"Nothing really, other than a half night in jail, I think. Then there were Frank's assault charges as well as disturbance of the peace. I don't know what happened with that. Jason slipped through the cracks I guess."
"I wonder what his part in it really was," I said. Steven questioned me. "Maybe it was possible Jason Miller was the ringleader and made the other two do the dirty work. Maybe it was all a part of his plan to not get involved directly."
"I hadn't thought of it that way. He was the one who threatened Frank and me."
"I think I'll look up Jason Miller and see what he has to say," I said. I picked up my purse and told Steven thanks for the dinner. "When do you get to open up again?"
"Opening day is tomorrow. My lawyer got right on it. By the way, I think Jason is a senior at the local high school. You probably won't see him until after school hours."
"Thanks for the tip."
Steven took my arm at the door. "Be careful, Laila. These teenagers aren't what you think of as normal kids. They're a rough bunch. Take some pepper spray just in case."
I almost laughed until I realized he was serious. I thanked him for his concern while wondering if teenagers like the three would really carry out threats all the way to murder. From what I now knew of Jason Miller, I felt it was at least a possibility.
By now, Daniel was home in Pennsylvania. I decided to give him time to settle in before calling him. I crashed that night with thoughts of Jared Freedman, Jason Miller and Steven Landers on my mind. I finally drifted off to sleep just as my cell phone rang.
"Hi, Laila, I hope you weren't in bed already," said Daniel.
"I was just drifting off to sleep, but no worries. I planned to call you first thing in the morning. I wanted to give you time to visit with your family before I interrupted."
"We had a good visit during dinner tonight. Things are working out on the home front, I think. How are things going?"
I told him about Steven's remarks concerning the high school senior, Jason Miller. "I'm not so sure teenagers like that would go so far as to commit murder, do you?"
"If Steven knows this kid well enough, then you should listen to his warnings. Don't meet him alone, Laila. There are instances of teenagers killing people. It's on the news often enough."
We discussed my approach to Jason. Daniel advised me to meet him at school just before dismissal time. "There will be others around at that time and you can see what he has to say for himself in a safer environment."
"I guess I shouldn't just presume anything," I said. Daniel agreed. Kids are different these days. "Steven told me he had not taken the threats to the police. Now, he thinks it will look fishy if he brings it up after all this time," I said. "I'm thinking about going to see Chief Hayes and telling him myself."
"I think that's a good idea. It may help Steven a lot."
"Especially if I take the Chief some of Roasted Love's treats," I said. "It won't hurt to butter him up a little. He looks like someone who likes sweets."
Daniel laughed and it was good to hear his humor float across the miles. I missed him and wished he was here to toss ideas back and forth with me. When we hung up, it was easier to go right to sleep.
Chapter Nine
By morning, my anxiety was back as I focused on Jason Miller. Above all, I wanted to bring him up to Police Chief Donald Hayes. I also called the school to ask when classes let out for the afternoon.
I pushed thoughts of the teenager out of my mind. If I spent too much time thinking about him, my anxiety got worse. I needed to meet with him, and I didn't really want to after thinking about his threats to Steven and Frank.
I knew a visit with Chief Donald Hayes would come first. I told Jacob I wanted to take some Christmas cookies down to the police station.
"I think it is a good thing to keep on the good side of the cops, don't you?" I said.
"That's always the case. But I have a feeling you have more of a motive than goodwill in this case. What are you really after, Laila?"
I didn't realize I was that transparent. "I want to talk to them about Frank Duvall's murder. They are looking at Steven Landers and I think there could be another suspect. And, yes, I do want to get on the Chief's good side. I promised Daniel I would do everything I could to help prove Steven's innocence."
"What does Daniel have t
o do with it all?"
"He and Steven are best friends. It goes way back. Daniel is convinced he is innocent."
"I know how well you like to play Sherlock Holmes when it comes to solving a mystery, but please, do be careful. Not everyone can be trusted."
Jacob went on to warn me about ruffling the wrong feathers, as he put it. He and I both knew there wasn't much that would hold me back from getting to the bottom of a crime. West River wasn't exactly the murder capital of the world, so it shouldn't be too hard to track down Santa's murderer.
On my break I picked up the box of cookies Eddie packed for me. I could feel the warmth coming from the box and the smell of peppermint reached my nostrils.
"I hope you added some of those sugar cookies with frosting," I said to Eddie.
"You have shapes of mittens, stars, snowflakes and Christmas trees, all decorated. Because I like you, I threw in some cheesecake truffles."
Jacob smiled and waved me from the kitchen. "If that doesn't butter the Chief up, nothing will," he said. I opened the door to face the bitter cold.
When I got to the precinct, the receptionist directed me to Chief Hayes' office. The door was slightly open. I knocked lightly and he told me to come on in. Folders were neatly stacked in two areas on his desk. One large file lay open in front of him. The rest of the office displayed several tables and the tops of them were in stark contrast to the Chief's neat desk.
"Roasted Love has sent goodies to you and your department," I said. I set the box on the edge of his desk. I was sure I saw his mouth watering as he opened the box.
"This is quite a holiday gift," he said. "Did you come down here just to tempt us all with the sweets?"
Chief Hayes was familiar with my sleuth activities. I'm sure that once he knew who I was in the Steakhouse kitchen that fateful night, he put two and two together.
I smiled my best holiday smile and sat down without being invited. "Okay, I admit it. I'm here to talk to you about the murder of Frank Duvall. Of course, I hope you enjoy the cookies, too. And, don't overlook the cheesecake truffles."