Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  She smiled at Crenshaw and me and held up one finger, then turned to the man on the sofa. “Mr. Treat, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Ah, so that’s who he is. Lonnie Treat. I knew I recognized him. He was a mattress salesman who often appeared in local television commercials to promote his store, Treat Mattresses. Immediately, I could hear the catchy jingle in my head: “What a treat is a good night’s sleep!”

  Lonnie Treat stood up quickly, grabbing the worn brown briefcase at his feet and the brown coat on the seat next to him. The tall woman raised her hand to halt him in his tracks. Speaking smoothly, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Treat. It turns out Edgar’s train from Chicago was delayed, so he won’t be coming into the office this afternoon. I’ll tell him you dropped by.”

  Mr. Treat’s face fell. “This is the fourth time I’ve been here!”

  “Yes, I know. But Mr. Harrison is a very busy man. You understand.” With that, she took Mr. Treat by his elbow and deftly ushered him to the exit, murmuring a firm good-bye as she did.

  When he was gone, she turned to Crenshaw and me and shook her head. “Ever since Edgar announced his candidacy for mayor, he’s more popular than ever. Everyone wants a piece of his time.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Crenshaw, smoothing the front of his jacket.

  The woman smiled. “I’m Allison Mandrake, Edgar’s executive assistant. I assume you’re the lawyers from Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty?”

  “Indeed, we are,” said Crenshaw, with a half bow. “Crenshaw Davenport III, at your service.”

  “I’m Keli Milanni,” I said, offering my hand to Allison.

  “Wonderful. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the files are.”

  Allison led us down a quiet hall to a spacious conference room. I was happy to see the wall of windows overlooking the boulevard below. I could never bear the idea of being cooped up in a windowless room, a quirk that only worsened a number of months ago when I found myself lost in the tunnels that ran beneath town. Brushing off that memory, I turned my attention to the large oval table dominating the center of the room. It was piled high with file boxes and stacks of folders and ledgers.

  “Edgar is old-school, as you can see,” said Allison, pointing at the boxes. “I keep trying to get him to switch to electronic systems, but he does love his paper.”

  “Hmm,” said Crenshaw. He stared at the boxes, clearly not relishing the job we had before us.

  I cleared my throat. “I understand the company recently hired an IT specialist. So, Edgar must be coming around, right?” Of course, if someone really hacked into his computer, he’s probably ready to ditch the digital system once and for all.

  Allison chuckled. “The IT specialist was my idea. I had to twist Edgar’s arm, and he’s still skeptical, but I’m sure he’ll see I’m right before long. He has to join us in the twenty-first century eventually, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Crenshaw. “His way seems to have served him well so far.” I wanted to kick Crenshaw for his lack of tact, but Allison was unfazed.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she said. “There’s bottled water and fruit there on the credenza. If you’d like coffee, we almost always have a pot brewing near the workstations. Just go through the double doors opposite the conference room, and you’ll find yourself in the central work area. Feel free to help yourself. If you need me, I’ll be in my office at the end of this hall.”

  Crenshaw and I thanked her and began to remove our coats. She was halfway out the door when I stopped her. “Oh, Allison?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you expect Edgar to come into the office at all today?” I was hoping to question Edgar about the anonymous notes he had received. Beverly had told us he destroyed them, so unfortunately, I couldn’t see them for myself.

  Allison lifted a slender shoulder and shook her head. “It’s hard to say. But don’t worry. He explained to me why you’re here. These files cover the past three years and include tax documents, corporate filings, customer contracts and correspondences, advertising records, and employee files. If you need investment portfolios or anything else, just let me know.” With that, she waved her fingers and took off down the hall.

  I looked at the piles of paper on the table and sighed. “You know, this isn’t exactly our area of expertise.” Though Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty was a general practice law firm, I was more accustomed to representing individuals and families than corporations. “I think we should outsource this part of the job.”

  Crenshaw lifted the lid off one of the file boxes and winced when he saw how crammed it was with paper. “I’m inclined to agree. However, we must keep up pretenses.” He pulled out a manila folder and sat down at the table to review its contents. “Who knows?” he continued. “We might actually learn something.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant we would learn something to help us suss out the blackmailer, or we’d learn a new area of law. With Crenshaw, it was hard to tell. Slowly, I walked around the table, lightly touching stacks of paper as I skimmed the top documents. I was used to reviewing tax records for my divorce clients, but corporate filings were a whole other beast. Now, if I could find the employee records, I might learn something useful.

  The ping of ice pellets hitting glass drew my attention away from the table. I walked over to the window to have a look, but a wintry mix obscured the view. “This isn’t going to help those slick sidewalks,” I remarked. Crenshaw only grunted in return. “I think I’ll go find that coffee,” I said.

  I slipped out of the conference room and made my way to the open central work area, which featured half a dozen cubicles surrounded by lines of filing cabinets along each wall. Someone had taped silver and gold tinsel and construction-paper chains along the tops of the cubicles, but all the desks were empty. That is, all but one. Perched on the edge of one of the office chairs, with his back toward me, a young man tapped frenetically on a black keyboard. His head swiveled back and forth between two large computer monitors set at right angles on the corner of his L-shaped desk. This had to be Zeke, the IT guy.

  I watched him for a moment. What could possibly be so fascinating about all those rows of numbers? My eyes wandered from the screens to Zeke himself, whose appearance was much more interesting than his spreadsheets. In tight, cuffed jeans, and a crisp black T-shirt, he was kind of cute, in a scruffy, boy-band kind of way. He was slender, but not soft, and his light brown hair curled endearingly around his ears. I had a strange urge to wind a lock of it around my finger.

  “Like what you see, Miss Milanni?”

  I jumped at his words. He swiveled in his chair and faced me with an impish grin. “The new version of Excel,” he said, cocking his head toward the computer screens.

  My eyes flicked to the screens, and I shrugged. “I haven’t used it. What are you working on?”

  “It’s a real estate profit-loss analysis. I’m entering all the handwritten data into the computer to confirm the calculations and look for trends.”

  I nodded and took a seat at a nearby desk. “You must be Zeke. I was going to introduce myself, but you seem to know who I am already. I guess Edgar told you about the legal audit?”

  “Allison did,” said Zeke. He glanced at his watch, a complicated-looking piece that might as well have been developed by NASA. Then he looked up into my eyes. “But she didn’t mention how pretty you are.”

  Why would she? I thought, blushing in spite of myself. This kid was smooth.

  I was saved from coming up with a reply by Crenshaw, who moseyed in with his hands in his pockets. He affected a purposefully casual air. “Thought I’d partake in a cup of coffee as well,” he said.

  “Pot’s there in the corner,” said Zeke, as he sized up Crenshaw. “The clean mugs are in the cabinet below.”

  I gazed around the room, taking in all the empty, cleared-off desks. “It sure is quiet in here,” I said.

  Zeke looked away from Crenshaw and gave me a smile. “Lots of people take off t
he week before Christmas. They gotta finish their shopping, bake their cookies, you know. Do you bake cookies, Miss Milanni?”

  Was this kid flirting with me? More to the point, why was it so disconcerting? “Um, sure. Sometimes.”

  Crenshaw brought me a cup of coffee and pursed his lips. “I’m not sure if what you make qualifies as cookies. They would undoubtedly be vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free. . . tasteless. Am I right?”

  “Hey, don’t knock ’em till you try ’em,” I said, warming my hands on the mug. “In fact, you can try them next week. I’m bringing date-nut oatmeal cookies to the office holiday party. They’re quite delicious, if I do say so myself.”

  “Hmph,” said Crenshaw, just as the door opened and Allison came in.

  “There you are,” she said. “I have something for you.” She handed me a white envelope. “It’s two tickets to the holiday ball tomorrow night, courtesy of Edgar. For you and a date.”

  “Oh, wow. Thank you!” I had heard about Edgar’s annual holiday balls at the venerable Harrison Hotel. Beverly and the other partners went every year, as well as all the town’s VIPs. I had never been. “Did you say for me and a date? What about Crenshaw?”

  “I’m flattered you would ask,” said Crenshaw dryly. “But I already have tickets. And a date.”

  “I wasn’t asking—wait. Who are you taking?” We worked in a small office, and Pammy and Julie liked to gossip. If Crenshaw was dating someone, surely I would have heard about it.

  “It’s someone you know, I believe. Sheana Starwalt.”

  “The reporter? When did you start dating her?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. I have dated before, you know. Not that it’s any of your business, but I met Ms. Starwalt—Sheana—last fall. She wrote a piece for the Edindale Gazette in which she covered my performance in Arsenic and Old Lace. When she interviewed me, we discovered we share an ardent affection for all things theater.”

  For some reason, I had a hard time picturing the pretty, but hard-nosed reporter as a theater lover. Oh, well. Good for Crenshaw.

  Allison excused herself and retreated to her office. Zeke glanced at his watch again, then hopped up and stretched. He grabbed a hoodie from the back of his chair and put it on as he approached me. He nodded at the envelope in my hand. “All the employees got tickets. I wasn’t gonna go, but maybe I will now. If there’s any chance you’ll save me a dance . . . ?”

  On that note, I smiled and stood up. Some questions were better left unanswered.

  * * *

  For the rest of the afternoon, Crenshaw and I pored over documents in the conference room. First, we inventoried the files, organizing them by date and subject matter. Then we divided the bunch and began systematically reviewing each record for our dual purpose. We used a compliance checklist to ensure the records met all legal requirements, and a yellow legal pad to note any clues to the anonymous blackmailer. At the end of three hours, our yellow pads were still empty.

  I slapped my pen on the table and looked out the window. The precipitation had let up, but it was still overcast. The waning daylight filtered weakly into the room.

  “Are you having any luck?” I asked Crenshaw.

  He shrugged and set down the paper he had been reading. “It’s hard to know at this point what’s relevant and what’s not,” he admitted.

  “Exactly,” I said. “I now know about all the property Edgar owns in Edindale—which is quite a lot. But I have no idea how or if any of it relates to the problem Beverly told us about.”

  Crenshaw unscrewed a bottle of water and took a sip. “Well, you’re the illustrious detective. What do you suggest?”

  Ignoring his dig, I pushed back from the table. “I think we should go talk to Allison. We need to learn more about the people who work here. The employee files she gave us are pretty slim, basically just a list of names and titles. There has to be more. I’ll go ask her if we can have the HR files.”

  As I headed for the door, Crenshaw stood up and walked around the table. “I’ll join you,” he said. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

  We followed the carpeted hallway to the end and turned left. The first closed door on the right bore a brass plate with Allison’s name. A little farther down the hall I could see elegantly carved double doors—clearly the boss’s office. I raised my hand to knock on Allison’s door, but hesitated when I heard a raised voice on the other side. I tilted my head and listened. It sounded like Allison’s voice, and she did not sound happy.

  “Are you kidding me?” she shouted. “I don’t believe it!” There was a pause, and I realized she must be on the telephone. “That’s outrageous. Absolutely outrageous!”

  Crenshaw and I looked at each other. “What should we do?” I whispered.

  Suddenly, a piercing alarm blared throughout the hallway, drowning out Crenshaw’s response to my question. I clapped my hands over my ears. Just then, the door flew open and Allison rushed out. “That’s the fire alarm!” she said. “I wasn’t informed of any drill scheduled for today. We need to evacuate!”

  Chapter 3

  “Just take the blasted jacket,” said Crenshaw. For the third time, he tried to hand me his suit jacket.

  “No,” I said, through chattering teeth. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  We huddled on the sidewalk across the street from Harrison Properties, waiting for the Edindale Fire Department to give us permission to return inside. Between the bank employees and customers, and all the workers from the upper-floor businesses, there had to be at least thirty other coatless people shivering right alongside us. I didn’t need any special treatment from Crenshaw, gallant as he wanted to be.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that stubbornness is not an attractive trait?” he said, shrugging back into his jacket.

  I sucked in my breath. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you—”

  “All clear! Watch your step, people. Careful now.” A firefighter approached us and began herding the office workers back across the street, thus interrupting my chance to chide Crenshaw for his sexist remark. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity before too long.

  Once we were finally inside the lobby, I rubbed my arms and looked around. A small crowd was gathering in front of the elevators, and I overheard more than one person grumble that they just needed to collect their coat and belongings so they could go home for the day. Crenshaw maneuvered through the people to stake his spot in line, but I held back. I noticed Allison speaking to the firefighter, and I wanted to find out what she learned. However, before I could join her, someone grabbed my arm.

  “Psst. Follow me.”

  Startled, I whipped around to see Zeke, grinning at me like a mischievous schoolkid.

  “I know where the interior stairs are,” he said. “And you’re obviously in shape. We don’t need to wait for the elevators.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I said. I figured a climb up six flights of stairs ought to warm me up.

  I followed Zeke past the bank entrance to a small side hallway. We passed a service elevator bearing an OUT OF ORDER sign and stopped at a nondescript metal door. “Here we are,” he said, opening the door.

  “You sure this is okay?” When we evacuated the building, we had taken an emergency exit, which led downstairs and out into the alley behind the building.

  “Why not?” he responded.

  “All right, then. After you.” I wasn’t too worried about being alone in the stairwell with the young IT guy, but I wasn’t about to have him looking at my butt for six flights. I would be the caboose on this train. On our way up, I tried to make small talk. “Where’d you go to college, Zeke?”

  “SCIU, here in town,” he said. “But I’ve been out for a few years. I worked at Green Elf Energy Company before taking this job.”

  “That’s cool. So, how old are you?”

  Zeke looked at me over his shoulder. “Twenty-five. More than old enough.”

  I snickered. Only six years my junior, yet so much less mature. Wasn�
��t that often the way with boys? I was suddenly even more eager to see Wes in a few hours. He was my age and, unquestionably, all man.

  When we reached the top floor, we emerged from the stairwell into a dimly lit hallway. I followed Zeke past a mailroom and some restrooms, then down another hall, which led back to the cubicles.

  “How long have you worked here?” I asked.

  “Just a couple months.”

  “Do you like working for Edgar?”

  “Absolutely. Edgar’s great. And generous with his employees. He throws his lavish holiday ball every winter, and a huge picnic at his ranch every summer.” Zeke sat down at his desk and shook his computer mouse to wake up the matching monitors. “Edgar never forgets the little people.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. Was there a tinge of sarcasm in Zeke’s voice? I didn’t know him well enough to tell. And since he had begun typing, I guessed he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Like everyone else, he probably wanted to hurry up and finish his work so he could get out of there and get started on his weekend. I returned to the conference room. Crenshaw wasn’t back yet, and the mountains of paper didn’t look any less daunting. I sighed. Maybe Allison’s back now.

  I checked her office, but it was empty. She had left her door open and the lights on. Part of me wanted to sneak in and look around, but I knew that wasn’t a good idea. She would surely show up any minute now. I glanced down the hall. Beyond Edgar’s office, the hallway turned left, and I realized it must lead to the restrooms and the other entrance to the cubicles.

  I took a few steps forward when something caught my eye on the floor in front of Edgar’s office doors. Is that a wet footprint? I leaned down and touched the floor. It was wet all right. A speck of snow melted under my fingers. Hmm. I tried Edgar’s door, but it was locked. I wandered down the hall and looked around. There were no other visibly wet spots. Someone must have stood in front of Edgar’s door just long enough for a piece of snow to fall off the person’s shoe. Immediately, I thought of Zeke. I had seen him leave the building with everyone else, but I hadn’t paid attention to where he was the whole time we were outside trying to keep warm. Did he come back up here while everyone was outside? If so, why?