Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “Aww, let’s see.” I reached down to unlatch the crate, but Mila stopped me.

  “Mind if we do a quick walk-through first?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” I wondered if she intended to cast a spell or perform an enchantment to make Drishti feel more at home. Instead, she examined all my house plants.

  “This is the only one I’m worried about,” she said, handing me a potted peace lily. “It’s toxic to cats.”

  “I’ll take it to my office,” I said, placing it by the door.

  She then moved my vase of tulips to a small shelf on the wall, tied up my window cords, and hung my holly and mistletoe out of reach. “The poinsettia plants are fine. She’s not likely to chew them, but if she does, they’re not lethal.”

  After letting Drishti out to explore, Mila gave me some quick instructions. Then we left together. I headed to work in high spirits.

  For most people, this was just the Tuesday before Christmas. They didn’t know the Solstice was a holy day for some religions. That was okay. I had already arranged to take off early from work, telling everyone I needed to run errands and complete my holiday shopping. Besides, like the rest of Western culture, I recognized that the winter holiday was really a season-long celebration. It wasn’t limited to a single day. I would still make merry with my friends and family on December twenty-fifth. In fact, I would be having Christmas Eve dinner with Wes and his parents, and then flying home to Nebraska later that night. I would wake up on Christmas morning in my childhood home, just like old times.

  As soon as I dropped off my coat and purse, I made a beeline for Beverly’s office. I had several things I wanted to discuss with her, not least of which was the mysterious white envelope burning a hole in my purse. I tried her outer door and found it to be locked. Darn it. She’s still out? Even though I didn’t think she was in there, I knocked anyway.

  Crenshaw came down the hall, carrying his briefcase and coat. “She’s not coming in today,” he said. “She’s still too upset.”

  I frowned. “Do you speak to her every morning, or what? Why do you know these things?”

  He glared at me without responding. I sighed. “Well, I know something you might not know.” I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice. “Did you know Allison Mandrake wants to take over management of Harrison Properties? And that Edgar had planned to appoint his younger daughter to that role? Apparently, Allison is not very happy about that.” I snapped my fingers. “Maybe that’s what she was yelling about when we overheard her in her office last Friday!”

  Crenshaw sucked in his cheeks and shook his head. “When will you stop playing detective, Milanni? There’s no case here. The police ruled Edgar’s death an accident. Remember?”

  “I know, but—”

  Crenshaw turned on his heels and stalked off without letting me finish.

  I growled under my breath and headed to Kris’s office. Crenshaw liked to fancy himself Beverly’s right-hand man, but the fact was he was just an associate like me. I would speak to the real number two person in charge.

  “Come in,” called Kris, after I tapped on her door. “Have a seat, Keli.”

  “Good morning, Kris. If you have a minute, I’d like to run something by you.”

  I explained to her my idea of having the firm retain a private driver. I also pointed out that the time was ripe, since Edgar’s chauffeur was now out of a job. She tilted her head from side to side, indicating her ambivalence about the idea.

  “I suppose it might come in handy,” she said. “But, as far as I know, you’re the only one who tends to find herself without a car because she walked to work.” She gave me a teasing grin and took a sip from her coffee mug.

  “True,” I admitted. “But there are evenings when others go out for happy hour or dinner. At one time or another, I think we’ve all found ourselves in a situation where we’d rather not drive ourselves home. And you know how small Edindale’s taxi fleet is. If we had a private driver on call, it could be a life saver.”

  Kris smiled. “Fair point. All right. Go ahead and reach out to the man. Find out if he’s interested and how much he would charge. After you have the info, I’ll bring it up with Beverly.”

  Beaming, I stood up. “Thanks, Kris. Speaking of Beverly, do you know how she’s doing and when she’s coming back?”

  Kris bit her lip. “Crenshaw asked me the same thing right before you stopped by. As I told him, I’ve only spoken with Beverly briefly. She called me last night and said she’s still too upset to leave her house. She’s not even sure if she’ll make it to the visitation tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, wow. Poor Beverly. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Kris nodded, and I left her office.

  It was disconcerting to imagine my tough, unflappable boss so fragile, but it was understandable. She was only human.

  On the bright side, at least now I knew where Crenshaw got his news about Beverly.

  Back at my desk, I pulled out the number Allison had given me and called the driver, Bob Franklin. After introducing myself, I asked if he could meet me later in the day. At first, he seemed confused as to why I wanted to meet in person, but when I couched the meeting in terms of an interview, he agreed.

  I put in my full half-day’s work, then headed out the door. It was close to 4:00 when I entered the Loose Rock, a casual bar and grill that doubled as a hip indie music venue. The Loose, as my friends and I affectionately called it, featured a small dance floor, a sizable drink selection, and a bighearted owner named Jimi Coral. It was Jimi who had introduced me to Wes. They had been college buddies, and then Jimi had helped Wes get back on his feet when Wes returned from New York broke and jobless.

  In spite of the early hour, the place was moderately busy already. I spotted Jimi tending bar and waved at him. He flashed me a peace sign, then pointed toward a booth in the back. Following his gaze, I saw a man in business attire sitting by himself. It had to be Bob. Evidently, he’s punctual, I thought. That’s a good sign. I nodded my thanks to Jimi and walked over to the booth.

  “Bob?” I asked.

  He started to stand, but I waved him back down. “Don’t get up. I’ll sit.” I slid into the booth, and we shook hands. As we exchanged pleasantries, I made a quick assessment of the chauffeur. He was on the heavy side and appeared to be in his mid- to late-forties, though his light brown hair had few strands of gray. His crinkly brown eyes were kind, with a tinge of sadness, and he spoke with the raspy voice of a smoker. I couldn’t help but notice his iced drink looked a whole lot like Coca-Cola.

  This should be interesting, I thought. Mila had recommended I offer Bob a relaxing beverage, and here he was drinking caffeine and sugar.

  A waitress stopped at our table, and I asked for a white wine. She returned in short order while I was explaining to Bob what I had in mind for the law firm. He seemed interested if not overly eager. He told me he had been a professional driver for fourteen years, and had worked exclusively for Edgar for the past five. He had been paid well, but he sometimes felt lonely and isolated living out at the ranch.

  After a fortifying sip of wine, I proceeded to question him. “Did you ever drive for Gretta?” I asked.

  “Nah. She used to drive herself or ride with friends, and now she can only travel in a mobility van. I told her I’d stay out at the ranch as long as she wants, but she said there’s no need. She has plenty of help, between Ricardo and the other staff, plus all her friends. So, I’ve already started looking at apartments here in town.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Who’s Ricardo?”

  “Oh, he’s Gretta’s . . . gardener. And handyman. He lives out at the ranch, too.”

  “I see. How many people live at the ranch?”

  “There are three cottages behind the main house: mine, Ricardo’s, and Victor’s. Victor’s the chef, but he’s out of town for the holidays. There’s a cleaning staff, too, and a visiting nurse, but they don’t live out there.”

  “What about Edgar’s dau
ghters? Doesn’t the younger one still live at home?”

  “Yeah, Annabelle lives at home. I’ve driven her a few times, but she never liked it. She always thought I was trying to be her babysitter.” Bob chuckled. “Teenagers.”

  I smiled. “I suppose she’s more of a young adult now, though. Isn’t she eighteen?”

  Bob grunted. “Eighteen going on fourteen. She’s not the most mature kid I know. Like, just the other night, she wanted to leave the ball early and go to this slumber party on a houseboat. She about pitched a fit until Gretta gave in. I had to drive her all the way to Craneville and get myself back to the hotel before midnight.” Bob shook his head in disapproval.

  At the mention of the hotel, I felt my heart pitter-patter in my chest. Was this my opening? Bob was the one who had brought up the night of the ball. Maybe I wouldn’t have to give him the truth serum after all. I took another sip of wine to calm my nerves, then forged ahead.

  “So, Bob. When you took Edgar home Saturday night, did he talk about anything in particular? That you remember?”

  Bob wrinkled his forehead in confusion, and I mentally kicked myself. Come on, Milanni! You can do better than that.

  I swallowed. “I mean, uh, did Edgar mention any plans to come back to the hotel? Did he ask you to hang around and drive him back?”

  Bob slowly shook his head and remained mute.

  Ugh. What must he think? Even to myself, I sounded like a busybody fishing for gossip.

  I finished off my wine and eyed Bob’s glass. It wasn’t quite empty, but it was close enough. I stood up. “Hey, I’m going to go get us another round. Would you like something besides Coke?”

  “No, I’m good. I probably shouldn’t stay much longer anyway.”

  “Oh, you can’t leave yet! I mean, I’d still like to hear about your rates and availability. Besides, I’d really like to buy you a drink, you know, in appreciation for you meeting me on such short notice.”

  “I don’t drink and drive.”

  “Of course not! I didn’t mean to imply . . . What I meant was, have you tried Jimi’s famous nonalcoholic vanilla Coke cocktail?”

  Before he could answer, I bolted to the bar. Good Goddess, what was I doing?

  Jimi saw me coming and met me at the end of the counter. “Everything okay, Keli?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Do you have any vanilla syrup back there? Could I have two vanilla Cokes, please?”

  “Sure. Want ’em with a shot of rum?”

  “No. Just virgin, please. And add a long-stemmed cherry to make it special.”

  Jimi raised his eyebrows, but turned to make the drinks. While he did, I reached into my purse and pulled out the small glass vial Mila had given me. Cupping it in my palm, I whispered a spell under my breath:

  When Jimi set the drinks in front of me, I scootched closer to the bar and hovered over the glasses. As discreetly as possible, I poured a couple of drops into one of them.

  “Um, Keli?”

  With a start, I looked up and met Jimi’s curious eyes.

  “Herbal supplement,” I said, holding up the vial. “I feel a cold coming on.”

  “Ah.” He seemed to relax. “I may have to borrow that from you. ’Tis the season, and I can’t afford to get sick right now.”

  I laughed nervously. “Sure. Anytime.” Then I looked back down at the drinks. Oh, hell. Overcome with guilt, I poured two drops in the other glass.

  If one of us was going to open up tonight, then both of us would.

  Chapter 10

  When it came to real magic, I knew props and potions were often like placebos. Their effectiveness derived not so much from the objects themselves, as from the understanding and intent of the person using them. Belief itself was a powerful form of magic.

  And I believed that Mila’s truth serum would work. Maybe that’s why I started talking a mile a minute right after I rejoined Bob and took my first swig of spiked vanilla Coke cocktail.

  “Wow, this is sweet!” I said. “I don’t usually drink soda, or, at least, not flavored soda, that is, unless it’s cut with something hard like rum. I mean, this is tasty, but it’s a little bit strong. Don’t you think? Is it too strong? Do you like it?”

  With a bewildered look, Bob took a sip. He made a sour face, then took another sip. “It’s not bad, actually. Has an interesting spiciness to it.”

  “Yeah, spiciness. That’s a good word. You know what they say. ‘Variety is the spice of life.’ It’s good to try different things, don’t you think? My friend Farrah is always trying to get me to try new things. Like, just the other day, she said she was going to book us a mud bath at this new spa over in Craneville. A mud bath! And I said, ‘I’m not going to take off all my clothes and sit in a big goopy bath of mud.’ And she said, ‘What’s the big deal? I thought witches—’” I choked on my words and forced myself to take a deep breath.

  Good grief. I needed to get ahold of myself and focus on the mission at hand.

  Fortunately, Bob seemed to be unfazed. He took a long draught through his straw, then sat back and loosened his tie. “I don’t know if the interview is over, but this shirt is really itchy.” He tugged at his collar, then he snickered. “Or maybe it’s just too tight. I probably shouldn’t mention this to a potential employer, but I have a bit of a doughnut addiction.”

  I pushed my glass away. “Bob, I think we can consider the interview over. If it were up to me, I’d hire you right now. You can be sure I’ll put in a good word for you with my boss. But I have to be honest with you. The chauffeur job was not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Bob nodded. “Somehow I got that impression.”

  “See, Edgar’s death is really eating at me. I found him, you know, after the fall. He was a long-standing client of my firm and a close friend of my boss. And I just find it so odd that he went all the way home to his ranch after the party, then turned around and came all the way back. Plus, how did he get back if you didn’t drive him? His car never left the hotel.” I looked Bob in the eye. “Can you shed any light on this? Any at all?”

  Bob looked away, and I could almost see the wrestling match going on in his mind. It didn’t last long. He finished off his vanilla Coke, then leaned forward.

  “You didn’t hear this from me. . . .” he said.

  “Hear what?” I asked softly. I wasn’t going to make any promises, but I did give him what I hoped was an encouraging look.

  He propped his elbow on the table and cupped one hand to the side of his mouth. “Edgar never went home that night.”

  “He didn’t? Where did he go?”

  “No place. He never left the hotel.”

  Huh? My astonishment must have shown on my face, because Bob frowned. “Now, you have to keep this to yourself, you hear? I don’t even know why I told you this in the first place.”

  Quickly I composed myself and dropped my voice to a whisper. “I don’t understand. People saw him get in the car, and saw you drive him away.”

  “Yeah, and I drove around the block and came back through the parking lot behind the hotel. I dropped Edgar off at a back entrance.”

  “Oh!” That was unexpected. I had so many more questions, I wasn’t sure where to begin. “So, was this prearranged? Did you know why he wanted to go back?”

  Bob shrugged and avoided eye contact. I thought back to what I had overheard Gretta tell the police. Hadn’t she implied that he had returned home after the party? As far as I was concerned, that was a lie by omission. But why? “Bob, do you know—”

  He held up his hand, then stood up. “Look, there’s one thing you need to know about me. I can keep a confidence. My word is my bond, and I gave my word to Edgar. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really gotta take a leak. Good-bye, Ms. Milanni.”

  I watched Bob walk away and shook my head. I doubted if he would come back—he had taken his coat. I sighed. I probably wouldn’t have gotten much more out of him anyway. I glanced at my half-finished, watered-down vanilla cocktail and curled m
y lip. It really was too sweet.

  Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my phone to check my messages. Farrah was supposed to meet me here at 5:00 and it was a quarter past now. I sent her a quick text, then looked up and gasped. There was someone else sitting in the booth across from me.

  “Zeke! I didn’t hear you! Or see you. How did you do that?”

  “I can be stealthy when I want to.” He raised his eyebrows smugly. “Fancy meeting you here. Come to the Loose often?”

  “Yes. I do. And I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “I saw you having a drink with that big dude,” he said, deftly ignoring my unspoken question. “You sure have a lot of boyfriends.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, but thanks for noticing.” I hoped my sarcasm wouldn’t be lost on him.

  “In that case,” he said, “mind if I join you?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone else here.”

  “Another boyfriend?”

  Just then, Farrah walked over. “Boyfriend?” she asked. “Who has another boyfriend?”

  “Hello,” said Zeke, gazing at Farrah with interest.

  Farrah sized him up, then looked at me. “Who’s this?”

  “Zeke Marshal. He works at Harrison Properties. He’s an IT guy.”

  “Oh, then I should give him a business card.” Farrah was good at her job as a legal software sales rep. She pulled out a card. “Here you go, young ’un. Now scoot. You’re in my seat.”

  Grinning like an impish little kid, Zeke slid out of the booth and wandered over to the bar. Thank Goddess. I shuddered to imagine what I might have said to him under the influence of the truth serum. For a moment, I watched him chat with a waitress on the other side of the room. Had he come in here alone? Never mind, I thought. I had more important things to worry about—such as why Edgar had secretly snuck back into the hotel the night he fell over the balcony.