Guarding Candy Kane (The 12 Mysteries of Christmas Book 3)

by V. B. Tenery

For the first time since he met Clay Kane, Sean felt sorry for the man. His sorrow seemed genuine. Very unlike the crass young man he appeared to be.

  Before Clay left the dining room, the doorbell chimed. Almost immediately, Doyle led the sheriff into the room, followed by two deputies.

  The sheriff nodded to Mrs. Kane. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I’m here to arrest Clay for the murder of Annie Miller.”

  Clay stopped and stared at him. “You’re insane. I had no reason to kill Annie.”

  Hilda Kane moved closer to her grandson. “Sheriff Dawes, that’s impossible. There must be some mistake.”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. Annie broke off with him for his cousin. And the cyanide that killed the girl was manufactured by the laboratory where Clay works. We also found physical evidence. Hair found on her body matched Clay’s DNA collected last year in the rape charge.

  “Cyanide is manufactured for state’s use on death row inmates. As you may imagine, it’s kept under tight security. Your grandson is one of the few people in the firm with direct access.”

  Dawes turned to one of the deputies. “Cuff him.”

  Velma clutched at Logan’s arm. “Stop them, Logan. You can’t let them take him. You know he can’t be guilty. He couldn’t even watch an animal die when we were kids. You must do something.”

  The deputy slipped the handcuffs on Clay and Logan stepped to his cousin’s side. “I’ll call Uncle Morgan. This must be some terrible mistake. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”

  Sobbing hysterically, Velma put her hands over her face and ran towards her room.

  Sean walked the sheriff to the door. “Are you sure about this?”

  Dawes gave a solemn nod. “I’m sure. The Vail police called me this afternoon. They want to talk to him about the death of a young woman at the resort. It seems her ski pole had been tampered with. They found a file under Clay’s bed in his suite that matched marks on the pole.”

  “Where are you taking him?” Sean asked.

  “To the jail at the Christmas Tyme Police Station. It’s small since there is virtually no crime there. Eventually, I’ll move him to the county jail.”

  Sean caught Clay’s gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep your chin up. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  As Sean closed the door after the sheriff and his men, he considered what Dawes had said. Clay might very well be guilty. There was a lot of evidence against him. However, in Sean’s experience, murder cases didn’t fall into place with the simplicity of a child’s puzzle. Clay didn’t appear to be slow or stupid.

  Murder by poison was premeditated and thus first degree murder. Typically, it drew the harshest sentence. Yet the motive suggested a crime of passion. Cyanide was not usually a man’s weapon of choice.

  At breakfast the following morning, a group of solemn faces gathered around the table. Nana was pale and nervous. Velma’s eyes were red and swollen.

  “Logan, did you call Morgan last night?” Nana asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Logan said. “He’s sending a criminal attorney out of Denver, Rafe Johnson. I’ve heard of him. He’s one of the best. He’ll talk to Clay at the jail at ten this morning.”

  Sean moved to the coffee urn and refilled his cup. “I’ll meet him at the jail this morning, Hilda. I want to talk to Clay as well. I’ll let you know what the attorney thinks.”

  As Sean returned to his seat, Velma turned her gaze to him. “It’s none of my business, but if Clay is behind all that’s happened, it seems the Kane family no longer has need of your services.”

  Candace laid her fork down on her plate. “You’re right. It’s none of your business. I’m not convinced Clay is behind the attempts on my life.”

  Velma smirked. “Perhaps you want to keep Sean around for more than protection. Sad that you have to hire a boyfriend.”

  “If you weren’t Teddy’s mother, I would slap that smirk off your vile mouth,” Candace said through gritted teeth. “I resent your remarks on more than one level. One, that I would hire Sean for more than what his profession offers. Two, that he would allow himself to be used in such a manner.”

  Logan glared at Velma. “That will be enough, Vel. This family has enough problems without your trying to start a cat-fight.”

  Velma threw her napkin on the table and stormed from the room.

  Logan pushed back his chair. “Pay no attention to her, Candace. She’s upset about Clay. I’ll go see if I can talk some sense into her. Infighting is the last thing this family needs right now.”

  “Well, this has been fun,” Candace said then turned to Sean. “I’m going with you to the jail.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t leave you here alone.” He glanced down at his watch. “Get your coat and I’ll find Doyle. Meet you in the foyer in ten.”

  Candace was quiet on the drive into town. Sean squeezed her hand. “Don’t let her get under your skin. She seems like a very troubled woman.”

  Candace inhaled a deep breath then blew it out. “I know. I won’t dwell on it. Do you think Clay could have killed two women? Somehow it doesn’t feel right. I always saw him as passive aggressive at best. I guess you can never tell about people, though.”

  She slipped her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m beginning to wonder about this family I inherited. Nana and Teddy are the only normal members I’ve encountered so far.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Police Station

  Christmas Tyme, Colorado

  S

  ean and Candace waited in the police station lobby until Rafe Johnson finished talking with Clay Kane. When Johnson exited the jail, Sean invited him to join them for coffee at Kringle’s.

  He graciously agreed, even though his clients were Morgan and Clay Kane. Nana confided to Sean before they left the chalet that Morgan instructed the attorney to share information with the Kane family.

  The attorney looked to be in his mid-fifties, a little older than Sean expected. A polished dresser, which was no surprise, with confident brown eyes.

  “How is he doing,” Candace asked.

  The attorney added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it slowly. “Not well. He’s confused and discouraged. Are you going to visit him today?”

  Candace took a sip of the hot cocoa Sean had brought her and nodded. “Yes, as soon as we finish here.”

  Hilda was desperate for news about her grandson. Sean wanted to bring her as much positive news as possible. “What was your first impression, Mr. Johnson? His grandmother is very concerned.”

  “I wish I could give you a positive report, but I don’t have enough facts yet to devise a defense. My firm has an investigator on staff and I’ll put him on it immediately. I can only tell you it’s going to be a tough case. Primarily because Clay himself isn’t sure he’s innocent.”

  Shocked, Sean leaned forward. “What do you mean? He thinks he may have killed those women?”

  Rafe Johnson shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t repeat what he told me, but you’re going to see him later. You can judge for yourself. Perhaps he’ll confide in you. I need more time with him and a psychiatric opinion before I can put together a defense strategy. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to repeat anything he says to anyone. As a matter of fact, I suggested his visitors be restricted to immediate family only.

  “I tried to talk him out of talking to you, Mr. McGregor, but he insisted. He thinks you may be able to help him.”

  Sean glanced across at Candace. She seemed as shocked as he was by the revelation. One thing Sean knew. He needed to talk to Clay before they shut him out.

  When they arrived back at the station, Clay was already in a small room, cuffed to the table that was bolted to the floor. The room was sterile with white walls, white table and chairs. The only color in the room was Clay’s orange jumpsuit.

  Clay reminded Sean of an abused dog who had been kicked too many times, discouraged and defeated.

  He didn’t speak
until Sean and Candace were seated. “Thanks for coming, Sean, Candace. I haven’t given you any reason to want to help me, but I appreciate your willingness to come. I would like to hire you, Sean, to find out what happened.”

  “I’m already working for your grandmother to protect Candace. There will be little time to investigate the charges against you. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story? Mr. Johnson has an investigator he’s assigning to your case. If it looks like he isn’t finding anything, I know some good people to contact. Do you mind if I take notes?”

  Clay spread his cuffed hands out on the table. “No, whatever you need.” He looked down at his hands, then stared into space. “I honestly don’t know if I have a story.

  “I didn’t see Annie at all Wednesday night, at least I don’t think I did.”

  “Why wouldn’t you know if you saw her or not?” Sean asked.

  Clay raised his shoulders and let them drop. “All my life, I’ve been accused of things I don’t remember doing. Stolen items would be found in my room, in my backpack, or my coat pocket. Things I had never seen before.

  “Now Annie is dead with my hair found on her body. Even if I had been interested in Annie, there would have been no need to kill her. I know Logan. He has never been seriously interested in any woman except Velma. He treats her shabbily, but he cares for her, deeply. You know she’s adopted, and not blood kin, right? Logan would have tossed Annie aside sooner or later. Maybe he already had.

  “D-Dawn is dead. . . and the police found a file in my room.” He shook his head and drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t believe I would kill her. There must be something terribly wrong with me.

  “I’ve often wondered if I might have a split-personality. I’ve read that those people don’t know what the other character does when they revert to the dominant personality. Is that even possible?” He covered his face with his hands. “I’ve got to know. The thought that I may have . . . please, please, you’ve got to help me.”

  Sean gripped his shoulder. “Don’t convict yourself until all the facts are in. It’s too early in the game to give up. After I’ve had some time to look into your situation, we’ll come back. Shouldn’t take more than a week.”

  Sean and Candace watched as Clay, a lonely, dejected figure, lumbered ahead of the guard back to his cell.

  Outside in the cold air, Candace turned sad eyes up to Sean. “What do you think? I admit I don’t know if he’s telling the truth. I’m tempted to buy the dual-personality theory. The guy I saw yesterday and today is nothing like the jerk we met that first day.”

  Sean placed his hand on her back and guided her to the curb where Doyle waited. “One of three things are for certain: Either he is guilty and is trying to go for an insanity plea; he really has a multiple personality disorder; or someone has been messing with his head most of his life.”

  The next morning, Doyle drove Candace, Nana, Sean, and Frank Calla to the Denver airport. Sean asked Frank to come along as an extra precaution. The foursome flew out first class on American to the Big Apple.

  Candace wanted to bring Teddy, but Velma refused. She was still angry over their spat at breakfast.

  Trump International Hotel

  New York, NY

  The airplane window provided a spectacular view of the New York skyline before it landed at Kennedy. Despite Sean’s aversion to the state’s liberal political climate, the view never failed to remind him of the courage and tenacity of the people on 9/11.

  The party deplaned, collected their luggage, and stepped outside into snow flurries. Fortunately, a limousine waited at the curb. Doyle had thought of everything.

  The limo whisked them through afternoon Manhattan traffic to the hotel.

  Hilda reserved two tower suites in the hotel, one for her and Candace, the other next door for him and Frank.

  He and Frank followed Hilda and Candace inside their suite. While Hilda placed her handbag on the glass top coffee table, Sean surveyed the spacious quarters. Floor to ceiling windows framed a dazzling open view of much of Manhattan through the now heavy snowfall.

  A white marble fireplace featured against one wall glowed with warmth from an electric log.

  Six large earth tone chairs surrounded the hearth. “Shall we discuss plans for tomorrow now or later? I can have room service bring up coffee. By the way, the detective investigating Candace’s accidents left a note at the desk. He will stop by at 5:00 this afternoon. I’d like you to be here, Sean, to see what he has to say.”

  Still standing, Sean said, “I’ll be here. But let’s wait until we talk to the detective. What he tells us could affect our plans going forward. That will give you time to unpack and get settled in before he arrives.

  “Frank will act as butler while you’re here. Under no circumstances are either of you ladies to answer the door. I have a key-card to your room for emergencies.”

  Sean went to his room, showered, changed, and arrived back at the suite at 4:45. Hilda had ordered high tea and the coffee table was spread with finger sandwiches, cakes, tea, and coffee.

  The detective arrived right on time.

  Frank led in the very tall, nicely dressed, black detective. He introduced himself as Isaac Washington. Sean shook his hand and introduced his companions. “I watched you play college basketball for the University of Alabama. You were good. I expected to see you move on to the pros.”

  Washington gave a modest grin. “So did I. Unfortunately, I blew out my right knee during my last college game.”

  Sean shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have a seat. You might want some coffee and refreshments. That weather out there is brutal.”

  Washington laughed and glanced at the large windows. “Yes, it is, and you folks have a front row seat.”

  Candace settled into a chair next to Sean.

  When Washington was seated, Hilda filled a cup with coffee and passed it to him. “What have you discovered about the attempts on my granddaughter’s life, Detective?”

  He set his cup on the table. “We learned from one of our undercover drug agents that an MS-13 gang member was hired to kill your granddaughter. His name is Jose Lopez-Vargas, an illegal from El Salvador. The agent had him under surveillance for another reason and saw the pay-off take place. He was taken into custody two days ago.

  “As I’m sure you know MS-13 is an international criminal gang that spread here from Los Angeles. The members are illegals from Central America, principally from El Salvador. The gang later spread to many parts of the continental United States and are active in urban and suburban areas.

  “Lopez is a tough guy and he isn’t talking. He refuses to tell us who hired him or anything about his mission.”

  Sean sat forward in his chair. “So you have him in custody now?”

  “For the moment. I’m not sure how long we can keep him. He lawyered up with the ACLU,” Washington said. “We have to charge him within seventy-two hours or let him go and the clock is ticking. All we have on him is hearsay. Did you get a look at him either time, Miss Kane?”

  Candace shook her head.

  “The informant took a cell phone shot of him with a man in a business suit.” Washington pulled his phone from his pocket, switched it on then passed it to Hilda. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Hilda leaned forward and studied it closely. “It’s Brady Mullins. He’s a board member at Kane Industries.”

  Candace glanced at Sean. “He’s one of the lemmings.”

  “Lemmings?” Washington asked.

  Sean nodded. “There are four people on the Kane Board of Directors that were apparently planning a takeover of the firm. He’s one of the four.”

  “How do you know this?” the detective asked.

  “Investigative work done by my assistant, but there’s no hard proof, at least not enough to get a conviction. Mrs. Kane and her granddaughter are meeting tomorrow to terminate them. That’s why we’re in town.”

  Washington rubbed a finger across his lower lip. �
�I’d like to sit in on the meeting if I may?”

  “Of course,” Hilda said. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow morning and call you with the time and place.”

  She relaxed against the chair. “I’m glad none of the family was involved in this sordid affair.” She placed one hand against her cheek, sadness in her blue eyes. “But we still have to deal with Clay’s involvement in the murders back home.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Trump International Hotel

  New York, NY

  S

  ean asked Hilda to order dinner in her suite that evening. Keeping Candace out of the public eye would help insure her safety. He wasn’t taking any chances. Even though the supposed assassin was in jail, there could be others.

  At 7:00 p.m. a server rolled in a cart and set china and glassware on the table. “I’ll serve you, ma’am, whenever you’re ready.”

  The four travelers took their seats and the waiter dished up a five-course seafood banquet, including cheesecake with strawberries for dessert. Some of the best cheesecake in the world was in New York City.

  Over the cheesecake and coffee, Sean asked Hilda, “Can you schedule the meetings tomorrow here at the hotel? It will be safer than going into a possibly hostile environment at Kane Industries.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll text Earnest to come at 1:00 p.m. and the other three every thirty minutes after that.”

  When they’d firmed up the details for the next day, Sean strolled over to say goodnight to Candace. She stood at the windows, looking down on the fairy-tale scene of Christmas lights and falling snow on the streets below. He touched her arm. “I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”

  She drew her gaze away from the city lights and a quirky smile formed on her lips. “I couldn’t entice you to take me dancing, could I? I saw on the hotel brochure there’s a bar in the lobby with a small dance floor. I need to let off some steam. Do you dance?”