Wicked as a Christmas Fruitcake (Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery: A Cozy Mystery on Kindle Unlimited Book 10)

by Lotta Smith

  His face was unreadable but he sounded a little sad.

  “Mandy, I think you want to relay his words to Evelyn.” Jackie looked at me encouragingly.

  “Look, Evelyn.” I paused, not quite sure about what I was going to tell her. “Woody used to tell us about his funny marriage with Natalia, but whenever he talked about her, he looked very happy and blissful.”

  Evelyn sniffled, but then she nodded. “If you say so.” And she offered a small smile.

  I half expected Anna to come and chat with Evelyn, as she seemed like one of those people who lived on gossip. I guessed having a conversation with Woody’s cousin would give her a good source, but she wasn’t around. Perhaps she’d found something more interesting.

  We said goodbye and to take care, then left the funeral parlor.

  * * *

  After the funeral, we headed for Woody’s condominium by the Hudson River, near Battery Park. Not that Evelyn gave us the address—mostly because she seemed to have assumed that we already had it—but we had Woody himself navigating our way there. Sometimes I felt like I’d never need things like GPS. Unlike the GPS system that barked commands in its machine-generated voice, ghosts usually spoke in friendlier tones. Not to mention they usually gave me additional help to navigate my way when I was lost.

  The building at 310 Hudson was one of four midrise condos standing on the edge by the water. It was a new building, though the exterior it was constructed to look like an old, historical building.

  “This is nice,” Jackie commented.

  “Hmm, I like it. Assuming from its exterior, whoever built it didn’t go cheap with the material,” Madame Roloff observed.

  “You bet.” Woody gave a thumbs-up. “I know a cheap scam of a building when I see one. My residence is number 105, on the tenth floor.”

  Woody gave us the code to unlock the entrance, and we went inside the building.

  When we came out of the elevator at the tenth floor and headed for Woody’s room, the door opened and a woman with gray hair came out.

  “Oops, it’s a cleaning day.” Woody slapped his forehead. “I don’t know why I’d forgotten about it.”

  “Perhaps you’ve been stressed out, what with getting killed and everything.” Jackie patted him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Mrs. Simmons. I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go. Look, it’s not like I didn’t like your services, but now that I’m a goner, I have no way of paying you. Oh crap… I should have written a will and left you something.” Then he turned to me. “She’s my cleaning lady.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Simmons.” I raised my hand in greeting.

  “Do I know you?” She looked at me skeptically, then at Madame Roloff. “I’ve seen you before from somewhere.”

  “That must be the movie,” Madame Roloff said nonchalantly. “People often tell me I look just like Greta Garbo.”

  Mrs. Simmons shrugged. “Are you from the police?”

  “We’re helping the police,” Madame Roloff volunteered before I said anything.

  “Hmm… something like private investigators?” Mrs. Simmons wrinkled her forehead.

  “Yes, we are.” Madame Roloff nodded. “Can we come in?”

  “Yes, but I guess they’ve already taken away many things.” Mrs. Simmons shook her head disapprovingly.

  “You mean the police?” I asked.

  “Who else would do that?” Mrs. Simmons returned.

  “I don’t know. Robbers, perhaps?” I offered a vague smile, but she didn’t smile back.

  “I don’t know what will happen to my work now that Mr. Napoleon is dead, but I want to keep this place as spotless as ever.” Mrs. Simmons grabbed a glass vase with a dead flower that was a color between dark purple and brown and threw the flower into a garbage bag.

  “I didn’t know you were a kind of guy who had flowers at home.” Jackie patted Woody on the head.

  “Stop that.” Woody brushed off her hand. “I’m not the one responsible for the flowers. Like Evelyn said, I was a ladies’ man, and women never stopped caring after me. Flowers are their thing. I remember this lady I met at a nightclub called the Masquerade.”

  “The one where everyone puts on a masquerade mask and dances all night?” Jackie perked up.

  “Yup. That’s the place.”

  “Ooh, I loved that place!” Jackie cooed.

  “She was a funny lady. She joked about us getting married.” Woody chuckled.

  I rolled my eyes.

  We followed Mrs. Simmons inside to the spacious living room, embellished with mostly earth-colored furniture peppered with contemporary art pieces and photographs here and there. Considering Woody’s notoriety as a developer who was addicted to building tasteless condo complexes with cheap materials and horrendous décor, I had assumed he lived somewhere that copied that room full of mirrors from Versailles castle, but this place resembled a five-star hotel’s suite.

  “So, are you ladies back from his funeral?” Mrs. Simmons said abruptly.

  “Yes, we are,” Madame Roloff replied. “The service was good. Personal, touching, and with many loved ones gathering there for him. You could have joined us.”

  Mrs. Simmons took off her rubber gloves and reached for a tissue. “I thought about attending the service, but I didn’t want to…. It’s too sad to say goodbye. Anyway, I’m glad he had a good memorial service. He deserved it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Simmons,” Woody muttered.

  “Have you been working for Mr. Napoleon for a long while?” I asked.

  “Well…” Mrs. Simmons shut her eyes for a moment as if to search her memory. “I’ve been taking care of housekeeping here for Mr. Napoleon and his lady friends for about a year.”

  “How many lady friends did he have?” Madame Roloff asked curiously.

  “A lot.” Mrs. Simmons grinned widely. “The funny part is, even when his lady friends encountered each other here, they never got into a catfight.”

  CHAPTER 7

  On that evening, I was at the bistro at the Ritz-Carlton. It was an evening without any parties, fundraisers, or other social engagements booked, and I was anticipating a quiet dinner at home, but Rick called me and asked for a date.

  I hurried back to our home on Fifth Avenue to change my funeral attire into something more appropriate for a romantic evening. Jackie said I should go with a red evening dress, and I followed her advice.

  I was tempted to ask him if it was an “I’m sorry about being an asshole yesterday” occasion, mostly because he brought me flowers and chocolate. But at the same time, I didn’t want to ruin the evening by being a hoity-toity blabbermouth, so I just smiled, thanked him for the gifts, and enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of the place.

  Indeed, it was very nice. I liked the ambience with the European décor and the soft music playing. The food was superb, and I was sitting at the table with Rick, who looked absolutely handsome and sophisticated in a black Italian suit and a pale pink tie. On top of all that, I didn’t have Woody burping in my ear. Even Jackie wasn’t tagging along with me tonight.

  We were at the table in a companionable silence. “So,” we said in unison.

  “Okay, you go first, Mandy,” Rick said.

  “I wasn’t saying anything. You go first, Rick,” I insisted.

  “Actually, I wasn’t going to say anything special, just something along the line of ‘How was your day?’” A corner of his lips quirked up into a lopsided grin.

  “What a coincidence. I was going to say the same thing.” I chuckled, thinking I might be an idiot to laugh at such nonsense. Oh my God, I was growing more pathetic by the day. “So, how was your day?”

  “I had a morning meeting, and several more after that. Then this afternoon, I had many more. Quite a boring day.” He shrugged, cutting his filet mignon. “How was yours?”

  “We went to Woody’s funeral at Merck’s Funeral Parlor, close to Hell’s Kitchen. The place was literally packed with visitors, coming for the purpose of paying their respects an
d, of course, for gossiping.”

  “Okay. How was Madame Roloff?”

  “She was proactively talking to her former acquaintances,” I said. “Rick, you don’t like having her involved in the investigation, do you?”

  “Of course not. What kind of a client butts into a murder investigation as if she’s suddenly morphed into Sherlock Holmes or something?” He frowned.

  “Miss Marple should be a better fit for her,” I commented. “Look, it’s better to have her help in the investigation, because she knows many of the people who were at the bakery when Woody was killed. Today, we met Anna Linton, a gossipy kind of lady who happened to be close to Woody when he died. Also, she’s a member of the board of directors at the Manhattan Avenue Arts and Heritage Association. Then I got to take a glimpse of Woody’s business partner, Doug Carino, and their lawyers. Woody went by their side to eavesdrop on their conversation, but according to him, they didn’t slip out anything juicy.”

  “Okay. I now know a lot of things happened along with your investigation.” Rick winked. “Hey, you ladies can ask around for info like Agatha Christie mystery characters, but don’t forget you might actually hit the jackpot and find the killer.”

  “Of course.” I looked into his mesmerizing green eyes. “When we actually learn about the whodunit part, we’ll notify the police. Well, we’ll let you know, at least.”

  “Good.” He put down his cutlery and reached for my hand across the table. “Don’t take risks, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “By the way, I think Madame Roloff is growing quite fond of USCAB as a company. Perhaps we might win the bigger contract.”

  Rick chuckled. “The odds of us winning this particular contract are 99 percent. Here’s the thing about her. She likes to throw challenges at the company she knows she’ll deal with eventually. To be honest, she’s looking for any flaws on our part so she can ask for a discount.”

  “Excuse me?” My eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean if I screw up, we’ll bleed?”

  “In a way, I guess.” Rick curled his lips. “She’s an extremely savvy businessperson, which is how she managed to build a Fortune 500 company by herself. So be careful. I’m still struggling to fathom her motive for investigating the murder herself as being true.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Still, in my opinion, she seems to be genuinely interested in working this murder case. She often talks about her favorite mystery novels and cop shows. Suppose I was just someone who loves cop shows and stories about fictional detectives and amateur sleuths, I’d consider including investigating a murder, or finding a dead body, on my bucket list.”

  “Seriously?” He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be glad that discovering a murder isn’t your favorite pastime?”

  “Maybe.” I offered a smile that I attempted to be enigmatic.

  We looked into each other’s eyes for a while, like a happy couple who were completely, absolutely smitten by each other. Rick was still holding my hand, and his other hand reached for my shoulder. I thought he was going to pull me close and kiss me. I was ready for romance. I assumed it was natural and healthy to have occasional differences of opinions, but I read somewhere that affectionate gestures following a makeup were very important for a long-lasting marriage.

  When I was getting ready for a wet, deep, and oh-so-intimate kiss…

  “Mandy, you’ve got to come with me!” Jackie popped up by my side from out of nowhere.

  “Oh!” I gasped, knocking over the glass on my side of the table. Good thing it was just water, and I didn’t end up spilling it all over my dress.

  “What?” Rick sucked in air. “No, you don’t have to explain. It’s Jackie, right? Or else Woody gave you a monster burp.”

  “It’s Jackie,” I whispered as a waiter came to our table in a swift manner to clean up the mess without other guests at the restaurant noticing it. Once he was gone, I turned my attention to the ghost of a drag queen floating by my side. She was in a shiny off-the-shoulder champagne-gold dress with a rainbow of rhinestones embellishing it.

  “Um… sorry about the interruption,” Jackie said in a tone that didn’t sound the least apologetic. “Anyway, you’ve got to come to the twenty-eighth floor. Woody has been stalking his business partner, and this Doug guy and his lawyer, Marshall Lynch, are having an epic argument. You’ve got to come and eavesdrop on them. Hurry up!”

  As she insisted, I reached for Rick’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. “Jackie says we’ve got to visit the twenty-eighth floor. She says Doug Carino and his lawyer are having an epic moment.”

  “No worries, honey.” He nodded without arguing, prompting my eyes to widen. He wasn’t the kind of guy who “honeyed” me. Then he offered the waiter an apologetic smile. “My sincerest apologies for the mess, but my wife isn’t feeling well. Can we possibly have a room? We’d prefer one on the twenty-eighth floor. We have a very fond memory there.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she all right?” the middle-aged waiter asked concernedly. “I can call a doctor if she needs one.”

  “It’s—” I opened my mouth, but Rick interrupted me midsentence.

  “It’s okay. She’ll be fine. All she needs is to lie down and relax,” Rick said firmly. “We need a room on that floor as soon as possible. Could you please?”

  “Of course. I’ll call guest services.” As Rick pushed a hundred-dollar bill into his palm, he started speaking through his intercom.

  The next moment, we were in the elevator, heading for the twenty-eighth floor.

  “Hey, you could have told them we’d be back,” I protested. “I haven’t finished my entrée.”

  “We can order room service.” Rick shrugged. “Remember? You’re supposed to be sick, and a sick person wouldn’t complain about not finishing her lobster dinner.”

  “You could have come up with a better excuse.” I pouted. “Hey, stop eye-rolling on me.”

  Rick didn’t stop. “Besides that, we can’t just sneak into one of the guest floors like at one of those cheap motels. The hotel requires a room key to access certain floors, and we’ve got the key. What’s not to be happy about?” He flashed the key card.

  “Do you think Doug and the lawyer will still be having an argument?” I glanced at Jackie.

  “I believe so.” She nodded. “It sounded like a looong argument, mostly consisting of Doug’s ranting. On top of all that, if it’s over, Woody would be here complaining about it, burping like a locomotive.”

  “Hmm… you have a point.” I nodded. “Hopefully we can eavesdrop on all the juicy details.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Rick produced some gadget that looked like an IC recorder, except this one had something resembling a very small stethoscope attached to it with a thin cord.

  “There you go. That’s their room.” Jackie flew over to the room with a doorplate reading 2815 and waved at us.

  As we came closer, we heard muffled voices.

  “There you go, someone’s yelling,” Rick commented. “It takes really booming voices to be heard from outside this kind of hotel.”

  He put the stethoscope-like attachment onto the door and inserted a small earpiece into his ear, then handed me the other one.

  The moment I put the earpiece in, an angry, frustrated, booming voice assaulted my eardrum. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you even have a brain?”

  “Then what should I have done?” another male voice demanded. This one sounded more defensive rather than attempting to attack the counterpart.

  “You’re my lawyer! Can’t you show a little skill to prove your status?” the first guy yelled.

  “What could I have done for that? Honestly, I’d like to know if I had any other option in the first place!” the other guy snapped. “You know what? Detective Derringer is one of the best guys at the precinct. Depending on the circumstances, I have a risk of getting dragged into court and prosecuted for obstruction of justice.”

  “Did you hear that?” I whispered to Rick. “He just said D
etective Derringer.”

  Rick nodded and put his index finger in front of his lips.

  “What happened to attorney-client confidentiality?” The angry guy—he should be Doug Carino, right?—yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “Come on, give me a break.” The other guy—the lawyer, Mr. Lynch—gave an exasperated sigh.

  “You traitor! I’ll ruin you!” Doug kept on yelling.

  “Look, Mr. Carino. It’s not like I betrayed you. All I did was answer a few harmless questions. That’s all. You don’t have to accuse me as if the mailman dropped a subpoena for the federal court at your doorstep.”

  “Don’t try to make light of it!” Doug snapped. “Do you have any idea of the total disaster we’re talking about?”

  “Well…” Mr. Lynch mumbled something incoherent.

  “Hell, having the DA coming here all the way from Florida is the last thing I need. Do you understand?”

  “Come on, Mr. Carino. It’s not like—” Mr. Lynch attempted to explain, but Doug sounded too upset to have a civilized conversation.

  “Derringer didn’t ask you about my partnership clause with Woody, did he?” Doug said irritably.

  “Well…” Mr. Lynch’s reply was too muffled to comprehend even with the stethoscope-like attachment and the listening device.

  “Seriously, you’re a worthless shit,” Doug spat. “You blabbermouthed about the business protection clause, didn’t you?”

  “Mr. Carino, believe me, I didn’t leak anything about you, and I’ve never been known as a blabbermouth.” Mr. Lynch sounded defiant that time.

  “Suppose that loser learns that I’d take over everything about the real estate business in case of his death. He’s gonna disseminate every bit of my personal life, making it a total hell! If that happens, I’ll ruin you!”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Carino?” Mr. Lynch grunted.

  “No way.” Doug’s voice was uncharacteristically calm. “It’s not a threat. I’d rather call it a promise.”

  Mr. Lynch let out a deep sigh. “Is that all?”

  “For tonight, that’s all, but don’t even imagine it’s over. It’s just the beginning of everything,” Doug harrumphed. “Look at the nice décor of this hotel room. Ritz-Carlton, my ass. If you screw up with me and my business, you’re gonna kiss this good life goodbye—booking a five-star hotel suite for a high-profile meeting with clients like myself, spending clients’ dollars to eat a hundred-buck burger, and putting your nasty ass on an Italian couch. Do you understand that?”