Dead Silent (A Jettine Jorgensen Mystery, Book 1)

by S. L. Menear

  I waited while Gwen savored a few bites of her meal. “Think I should change security companies?”

  Pierce shook his head. “I’d keep their service and make them post guards on the grounds free of charge for a few months to compensate for their mess up.”

  Gwen patted her lips with a napkin. “He’s right. A scandal like this could sink their company. They’ll bend over backwards to win you back and restore their reputation.”

  He checked his watch. “I’ve got to dash. I have a court case in West Palm Beach.” He signaled for the check. “Lunch is my treat. Thanks for the company, ladies.” He stood as the server ran his card through her electronic tablet.

  “Thanks for lunch.” I waved goodbye to him.

  I grinned at Gwen. “He was nice. Did you two ever date?”

  “No, we tried a few times, but never managed to sync our schedules.” She checked the time on her phone. “I have the whole day off. Let’s go to Elite Security, and maybe we can find out who tampered with your video feed.”

  “I would like to feel safe in my home. Armed guards for a while would be nice.”

  Gwen finished her meal. “I’ll flash my badge when we meet the CEO. It might help with the negotiations on your security upgrade.”

  Four

  I slid into the passenger seat of Gwen’s roadster and pulled my hair in front of my shoulder. I held it so it wouldn’t blow around with the top down.

  The drive to Elite Security in West Palm Beach took fifteen minutes. I gave my hair a quick brush as she pulled into a parking spot.

  We strolled up to the receptionist, and Gwen said, “Officer Gwen Stuart and Jettine Jorgensen to see your CEO.” She flashed her badge. “He’ll know what this is about.”

  The receptionist, a blonde in her mid-twenties, stiffened when she heard my name.

  Bad news traveled fast.

  “Do you have an appointment?” She tapped her computer keyboard.

  I leaned forward. “After what happened yesterday, we shouldn’t need one.”

  “No, and I’m sorry you went through that.” She made a call, gave our names, and listened to the response. “Our CEO, Mr. Spencer, will see you now in his office.” She pointed at an elevator bank. “He’s on the top floor.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  We entered the elevator, and a few seconds later, the doors opened. A tall brunette rose from behind her desk and ushered us into the CEO’s office. Tall windows on the east side showcased the nearby Intracoastal Waterway.

  A middle-aged man of medium height with graying temples walked around his L-shaped cherry desk, introduced himself, and offered his hand. “Miss Jorgensen, Officer Stuart, thank you for coming. Please, be seated.” Spencer waved at cushy leather chairs.

  As we settled in, he sat behind his desk. “Miss Jorgensen, I heard about what happened at your home yesterday. Is that why you’re here?”

  I crossed my arms. “Please tell us who tampered with my home security system and what you’re doing about it.”

  “We haven’t discovered the guilty party yet‍—could be an outside hacker. But don’t worry, we’ve added several additional layers of security oversight to your system.”

  Gwen joined in. “One of your employees might be an accomplice to murder, putting Miss Jorgensen at risk.”

  “I’d like to talk to your head of security.” I arched an eyebrow. “Now, please.”

  He picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Send Wilfred Sims to my office right away.” Replacing the receiver, Spencer smiled. “He’s coming.”

  Moments later, a skinny man wearing wire-rimmed glasses entered the office and closed the door. His weasel eyes focused on me, and he froze.

  Something about him made my skin crawl. I shot a glance at Gwen. Her eyes telegraphed the same reaction.

  “Have a seat, Sims,” the CEO said. “Miss Jorgensen and Officer Stuart would like a word with you.”

  The weaselly guy stared at me. “Sorry about the trouble at your house.”

  “You mean the murder.” Gwen zeroed in on Sims. “Why haven’t you identified the employee who tampered with the Jorgensen’s video feed?”

  “Whoever did it covered his tracks.” He swallowed hard, still staring at me, and licked his lips, like a lizard about to eat a fly. “Could’ve been an expert hacker.”

  Sims behaved like he was guilty of something. I said nothing and gave him the Aniwaya evil-eye glare my mother had taught me. It seemed to be working. The longer I stared back, the paler his face became and the more he squirmed.

  “How do you intend to catch the culprit?” Gwen asked.

  “I have all the employees who had access under surveillance,” Sims replied.

  “That’s it?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. “You’re not doing anything else?”

  Spencer said, “The police are running checks on all my employees’ financial records. They’ll find whoever received a big payoff or steady payments over the past two years.”

  The little head of security shifted in his seat, chewed his thin lips, and eyed the door like he was about to make an escape.

  “Not if the guilty party was paid in cash,” I pointed out, still focused on the creepy head of security.

  Gwen leaned forward. “Well, Spencer, how are you going to make things right for Miss Jorgensen?”

  “There’s no evidence we were at fault.” His eyes darted from her to me.

  “In that case, I’ll tell all my neighbors how you treat customers when there’s a security issue.” I stood. “Cancel my contract. I’ll find a company with better customer service.”

  “Wait, how about free round-the-clock security guards and the Tier-One Package for the next three months?” Spencer continued, “After that, a fifty-percent discount on whatever services you choose to continue.”

  “Make it six months and I won’t sue, provided a guard begins walking the grounds today.”

  Spencer bit his lower lip. “Agreed. I’ll have a guard there in two hours.”

  “Good, and don’t forget to notify the Banyan Isle Police about the guard,” Gwen said. “The home’s interior is still taped off as a crime scene.”

  We kept our expressions neutral as we exited the building.

  As we drove back to Banyan Isle, Gwen turned to me. “Wow, Jett, you really gave Wilfred Sims the evil eye.”

  “He’s guilty of something. Mom taught me that guilty people will squirm if I focus my eyes on them like blue laser beams.” I chuckled. “Hey, I took a shot. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops find evidence Sims rigged the video.”

  “Do you think you inherited any of your mom’s psychic abilities?”

  “Maybe a few fragments here and there, but it has never helped me pick the right boyfriend.” I paused, remembering her. “She was guided by wisdom and kindness and had a strong connection to the spirit world. I really miss her.”

  Gwen drove over the bridge to our island community. “I wonder if you’ll get a call from the Banyan Isle cops soon, telling you who’s responsible for your altered security tapes.”

  “I hope so.” I leaned back. “And maybe I’ll get a call from Pierce Lockwood.”

  Five

  That evening, Gwen and I enjoyed a quiet dinner on her screened-in, oceanfront terrace. We ordered a thin-crust pizza delivered from Luigi’s Italian Ristorante on Main Street. A chilled bottle of chardonnay complemented the meal.

  I took in a deep breath of fresh ocean air as small rollers broke on the sandy beach fifty yards from the elevated terrace. Palm trees swayed in the warm breeze as twilight set in, the sun slowly setting behind us in the west.

  “It must’ve felt good to get free armed guards for your home security today.” Gwen handed me a plate with two slices of pizza on it.

  “It’s only fair.” I breathed in the enticing aroma. “It was their job to keep me safe at home. Armed guards were the least they could do after what happened yesterday.”

  “And what about Pierce? Do you l
ike him?”

  “He’s smart, handsome, and charming, and we seem to have a lot in common.” I smiled. “Yeah, I like him.”

  “Good. You should date him. Best cure for a broken heart, and you’ll be less likely to stay in the Navy.”

  “Just because I like him doesn’t mean I’m ready to start dating again.” I changed the subject. “Why don’t you call Mike and see if he has any news on murder suspects?”

  Gwen made the call, listened to Mike’s answer, and rolled her eyes. She pocketed her phone. “He said they have too many suspects now.”

  “Too many? Did he give you any names?”

  “Well, there’s the mayor’s vengeful wife, Marjorie, of course. And Brenda’s jealous husband, Andy, who owns Carrigan’s Irish Pub.”

  “Brenda already mentioned them.” I sipped my wine. “Who else?”

  “Technically, I’m not supposed to say, so this is just between us. Could be Dolores Delgado, owner of Fit and Fabulous, a new health club here on the island. The CSU techs found a hairbrush with her hair, fingerprints, and her company’s name on it behind the nightstand.”

  “Hell hath no fury.” I chuckled. “She must’ve found out about the other women.”

  “Or it could’ve been her husband, Manny. He owns Paradise Construction Company, rumored to have Mafia connections, and he’s known for his hot Latin temper.”

  “Oh boy, I wouldn’t want to be in Dolores’s shoes if Manny finds out about all this.”

  “Yeah, but then there’s Victoria Master, owner of Master Realty, whose gold Montblanc pen was found under the bed. It had her initials engraved on it, and it was covered with her fingerprints. And Victoria’s husband, John, is a real estate lawyer in the same company. If he knew about the cheating, he’d have a motive too.”

  “Those are a lot of suspects. Who do you think did it?”

  “Who knows? Here’s the kicker: none of them have alibis for that afternoon.”

  “I suppose anybody could’ve poisoned the Scotch, but Brenda’s husband is the most likely culprit. He owns a bar that specializes in top-shelf Irish and Scotch whisky.” I took a bite. “The mayor’s wife is the other major suspect. Were her fingerprints on the bottle?”

  “No, just the mayor’s prints.”

  “So maybe Andy Carrigan sold the mayor the poisoned Scotch and was careful not to leave prints.”

  “Ah, but that’s where the plot thickens. Carrigan’s Irish Pub doesn’t sell Glenglassaugh whisky, the brand of Scotch found in your guest room. Nobody on this island carries it.”

  “That complicates things, but I’m sure there are plenty of places on the mainland that sell that expensive whisky.” I reached for my other slice. “And anyone in the mix could’ve been vengeful enough to take action. Mike must be getting gray hairs over this one.”

  “They all had motives if they knew about the cheating. That’s seven people.”

  I chewed on a bite of pizza and thought about the suspects. “The thing is, the Scotch could’ve been poisoned any time after the mayor bought it, like the day before the murder. Maybe he was the only target.”

  “I bet his wife gave him the poisoned whisky and didn’t care which tart drank it with him. Revenge is a strong motive. So is jealousy. She must’ve felt betrayed by her husband.” Gwen leaned forward. “I forgot to tell you one of her stick-on nails was found on his right sleeve.”

  “That could’ve happened at home.” I admired a full moon rising over the ocean. “I don’t envy Mike trying to solve this.”

  “You’re right. This is a tough one. PBSO is doing everything they can to help.”

  “Has your perspective on solving crimes changed now that you’re a cop?”

  “When my parents were murdered, I couldn’t bear the injustice of the killer getting away, and I poured out my anger on the police officers assigned to the case.” She turned to me. “Now I understand how difficult their job can be. I’ve since apologized to all the cops involved.”

  “But you’re still trying to catch the guy who did it, right?”

  “That’s why I drive my fancy bait car. I research all unsolved carjacking cases with the same MO, most of which are in other counties. If that monster ever comes back to Palm Beach County‍—”

  I interrupted, “You’ll catch him and lock him in a cage for the rest of his miserable life.”

  Gwen touched the center of her chest where the bullet wound had left a scar from the surgery. “No danger of me forgetting him‍—not with this souvenir front and center. I still have nightmares about him‍—those evil eyes are forever burned into my soul.”

  “Sounds like your memory of the carjacking is still crystal clear.”

  “Just before he drove away, he shot us and laughed. He laughed. Only a monster would behave like that.” She took a big sip of wine. “He’s the reason I became a police officer. I will catch him.”

  Gwen’s French chef, Hugo Fournier, and her Spanish house manager, Leonardo Pérez, returned from Miami and joined us on the terrace.

  “Jett, darling, sorry about that nasty business with the mayor and his floozy, but you look marvelous. The Navy must agree with you.” Leo nudged me. “How’s your love life?”

  “Not so good. My boyfriend dumped me and married his childhood sweetheart.”

  Hugo joined in with his heavy French accent, “Sorry, Jett, but you know what they say. Best way to get over a man is to get under another.”

  Gwen laughed. “That’s kind of what I’ve been telling her.”

  I smiled at the men, Leo dressed in a pale-blue linen suit, and Hugo in khaki shorts and a floral Hawaiian shirt. “Did you find anything at the art fair?”

  “A few paintings and a fabulous bronze mermaid sculpture.” Leo covered a yawn with his manicured hand. “It’s been a long day. We’re turning in early. See you girls at breakfast.”

  Six

  Later that night, I went to bed in the same third-floor guest room at Gwen’s house and left the doors to the balcony open to let in the fresh sea air and moonlight.

  I experienced a vivid dream that my mother visited me. She led me downstairs, out the terrace screened-door, across the back lawn, through the beach gate, and across the sand to our back gate. Mom walked right through the gate, but I had to climb over it. I trailed her to our house, where she walked through the glass terrace doors. I tried to follow her, but my head banged against the glass, waking me. Confused, I stared into the great hall. No one was inside. It had all seemed so real.

  Gwen yelled, “Jett! Wake up!” She ran onto the Italian-tiled terrace, barefoot in her nightgown, and grabbed my arm.

  I faced her. “Are you in my dream, or is this real?”

  “You were sleepwalking. I followed you over here.” She touched my forehead. “That’s going to leave a bruise. Does it hurt?”

  “It’s not bad, but more important, I’ve never sleepwalked in my life.”

  “How would you know you sleepwalked if you ended up back in your bed?”

  “I’ve been in the Navy for six years. Somebody would’ve noticed.”

  “Were you dreaming?”

  “I thought I was. Mom led me here. I woke when I slammed into the glass door.” I rubbed my forehead. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  Gwen patted my back. “The mayor’s murder must’ve triggered the dreams and sleepwalking.”

  “If that’s true, why was last night’s dream about my parents’ jet crash and tonight about Mom leading me home?”

  Gwen and I were barefoot and wearing nothing but knee-length satin nightgowns.

  “Freeze! Hands up!” An armed security guard pointed his weapon at us.

  I turned around. “It’s okay. I’m the homeowner.”

  “No, you’re not. This home is unoccupied.” He pulled out his cell phone and called the police. “Wait right there until the cops arrive.”

  Frustrated and embarrassed, we sat on white woven chairs and waited for a police officer.
/>   “We must look foolish out here in the middle of the night,” I said to Gwen.

  “We look like idiots. No wonder the guard called the cops.”

  “Well, I hope whoever comes will be someone we know.”

  She straightened her nightgown. “I’m hoping it’ll be someone I don’t know.”

  “Good thing we aren’t wearing see-through nighties.” I smoothed the fabric.

  We sat in silence, staring out at the dark ocean as whitecaps breaking on shore glistened under a bright moon. A steady breeze made me shiver and rub my arms.

  Ten minutes later, a deep voice said, “Jett? Gwen? What are you doing out here so late?”

  It was Detective Mike Miller. Why couldn’t it have been a patrol officer?

  Great, my old boyfriend will either think I’m drunk or stupid.

  Gwen and I exchanged glances, not sure what to say. Would he believe I had sleepwalked here?

  She stood. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why we’re here. Go ahead, Jett, tell him.”

  That was fair. After all, my dream had led us to my house, so why should Gwen have to come up with a plausible explanation?

  I began, “Dealing with the murder has been stressful‍—”

  She interrupted, “Yes, very stressful.”

  I continued, “I might’ve had too much wine, and I couldn’t sleep, so I stood on the guest room balcony, looking at the beach. Thought I saw someone climb over the beach gate and run into my backyard. Not really thinking, I yelled and rushed downstairs and out the back door.”

  Gwen broke in, “I followed her, thinking she was sleepwalking or something.”

  “I forgot to bring my key, and the guard found us here on the terrace. No intruder. End of story.” My face flushed. “Sorry.”

  Mike stared at me. The judgmental look on his face told me he didn’t believe my story. “Lack of sleep can make people do strange things. Come with me. I’ll drive you two back to Gwen’s house.”