“That’s grounds for dislike, but hardly for murder,” Margaret commented, slowly gaining interest in spite of herself. “After all, that kind of thing happens all the time in the business world. Broken promises, less-qualified people getting advancement . . .”
“Exactly what I said,” Louise agreed, nodding her head emphatically. “But Candice said it didn’t end there. Whalen made everyone’s life at the casino miserable, especially Greaves’. He apparently spent a lot of time belittling and humiliating him, even yelling at him in front of the rest of the staff. Maybe Whalen knew that Greaves was better qualified than he was and was trying to make him look bad. It was so bad between the two of them that most of the other employees expected that Greaves was going to quit soon. Maybe that’s what Whalen was hoping, too.”
Margaret held off on answering for a moment as the waiter refilled their coffee cups. She waited until he had drifted off before she continued the conversation.
“That makes one more person with a motive, but there’s no real evidence that poor Mr. Greaves is the murderer.”
“Maybe not,” said Louise with a triumphant expression, “But Charlisse told Candice that Greaves was not in his office around the time of the murder. She remembers going to look for him to deal with a problem with a customer that evening, and she couldn’t find him anywhere. Nobody seemed to know where he was, and he hasn’t said anything to account for his whereabouts.”
“Not to her, anyway. Surely the police must have asked.”
“Who knows? The casino employees haven’t been volunteering a lot of information to the police. None of them were very heartbroken when the news got out.”
Margaret pursed her lips and gave her friend a strange look. “You know, Louise, I’m beginning to get the impression you’re enjoying this. You’re really getting into it. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”
“I’m human, too,” Louise said primly.
“Amen to that. But you’re not the only one with information. I have some news as well.” She told Louise about her conversation in the hotel swimming pool and about seeing Mrs. Whalen in the jewellery store.
Louise’s eyes glistened in interest. “This gets more fascinating every day.”
“Will you ladies be needing anything else?” the waiter was back.
“No, just our bills, thanks.”
As he walked away, Margaret said, “They want this table.”
“It’s time for Vince’s walk anyway.” Louise reached into her purse for her wallet.
“Are you coming with us?” Louise looked over at Margaret, unsure whether their peaceful reunion included her canine companion.
Margaret smiled at her friend. “Naturally.”
Once they were back in Louise’s car, headed toward Bubbles, Margaret said, “Look, why don’t we enjoy our vacation together—during the daytime, I mean—but keep our separate hotels? I’ve been sleeping so much better at the Harbourview. I won’t be fit to live with if I don’t get my sleep.”
“Makes sense. I’ve actually gotten quite comfortable at Bubbles. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
Margaret was relieved that the sleeping arrangement was settled so easily. “Good. Then the next question is, what do you want to do over the next few days?”
“Actually,” Louise shot her a cautious look, “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the funeral tomorrow.”
“What? What funeral?”
“Mr. Whalen’s. I read in the paper that it’s going to be held at the Lakeview Funeral Chapel at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Margaret stared at Louise’s profile, but her friend was intent on the traffic ahead, waiting to make a left turn. “Why on earth would we do that?”
“Well, anyone can go to a funeral, right? There’s bound to be a lot of people. We wouldn’t really stand out. But we might learn something.” Louise was still looking at the road, and Margaret almost suspected that she was avoiding looking at her.
“What if somebody there asks us how we knew the deceased?”
“Oh well, we can make something up.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like, we’re frequent gamblers at the casino, and Mr. Whalen was always very nice to us.”
“That’s a pretty lame story.”
“Well, you come up with something, then.”
“I don’t know, Louise. It’s a pretty bizarre idea. That’s taking our idle curiosity a little far, don’t you think?”
“Oh, come on. Where’s your spirit of adventure? We wouldn’t be the only nosy people there, I’m sure.”
Margaret sat back and contemplated the dashboard. She hated to admit it, but Louise was making a weird kind of sense. She felt a little shiver of excitement as she found herself getting caught up in the idea of intrigue.
“I guess it’s not like we have anything else pressing to do in the morning,” she finally said.
Chapter Six
The next morning neither of the women felt quite so confident about Louise’s plan.
“I don’t know about this,” Louise confided as she pulled into the parking lot behind the funeral home.
Margaret glared at her in disbelief. “This was your idea.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. We’ve come this far. You’re not allowed to get cold feet now.”
They waited as long as possible before entering the funeral home, choosing to sit in the back row of the chapel so that they could see everyone in attendance. Margaret nudged Louise, nodding in the direction of the elegant Mrs. Whalen at the front. She was seated beside the same man Margaret had seen her with at the concert. Directly behind them was a somewhat less elegant woman wearing a black cardigan over a denim jumper. Her salt-and-pepper hair was short and spiked. Margaret recognized her from the newspaper photograph.
“That’s Connie Whalen,” she whispered to Louise, “Doug’s sister.”
“Why isn’t she sitting with his wife?” Louise whispered back.
Margaret shrugged. Both Mrs. and Ms. Whalen sat stiffly through the organ medley of mournful hymns.
Louise noticed that one woman, who appeared to be in her thirties, didn’t seem to fit in with the predominately business-attired crowd, with wild red and blonde streaks running through her brown hair. She sat at the back of the room, across from Margaret and Louise, dabbing at her eyes, obviously distraught.
“Charlisse?” Louise mouthed the question at Margaret, bobbing her head in the woman’s direction.
Before Margaret could respond, the music stopped and a man with a vaguely ministerial manner mounted the two stairs to the oak podium.
“Welcome, friends,” he intoned with a practised kindly, but solemn, manner. “We are here to say goodbye to a friend and brother who was lost to us prematurely. Every death is a tragedy, but when a man in the prime of life is lost in a circumstance such as this, it is doubly painful. Our hearts go out to you, Julia, and to you, Connie, at this sad time.”
The two mannequin-like women at the front of the room showed no sign of having heard. The speaker continued, undaunted.
“Doug Whalen was well-known in our business community. He was a highly respected and successful entrepreneur who contributed to the economic well-being of this city. In addition, he was a beloved husband and brother. We will miss both his energy and his talent.”
The speaker continued, reciting some well-rehearsed generalities about life and death and how the deceased continued to live on in people’s memories. Finally, he closed the service, announcing that the internment would be private and subsequent, followed by a reception at the Harbourview Hotel. He stepped down, and the organist began a mournful rendition of The Lord’s My Shepherd as he walked down the aisle.
Wasting no time, the widow and her companion rose and turned to go. Mrs. Whalen nodded coolly at her sister-in-law, the first acknowledgement Margaret had seen the widow give of Connie Whalen’s presence. Then she marched toward the door with her mal
e companion in tow. Margaret didn’t miss the poisonous glare Mrs. Whalen directed at the weeping women with the tri-coloured hair as she passed. Margaret nudged Louise.
“If looks could kill,” she whispered in Louise’s ear.
As Mrs. Whalen swept past them, Margaret heard her mutter to her companion, “There had better be no surprises.”
Ignoring protocol, Connie Whalen remained seated at the front of the room until more people had begun to make their way down the centre aisle. Then she followed behind. Her rigid face was pale as she walked, not acknowledging anyone else in the room.
“Poor thing,” Louise whispered. “She looks stricken. And she seems so alone.”
“There’s no love lost between her and her sister-in-law, that’s for sure,” Margaret said. “I wonder who that man is who never seems to leave Mrs. Whalen’s side.”
“Maybe Mr. Whalen wasn’t the only one fooling around.”
“Louise! I’m shocked.”
“No, you’re not. Admit it, you were thinking the same thing.”
“Maybe, but that’s me. It’s not like you to suspect the worst in people.”
“You must be rubbing off on me,” Louise said.
“Well, anyway, what now? We came, we saw, we learned absolutely nothing.”
“Maybe we’ll have better luck at the reception.”
Margaret just stared at her friend for a moment, letting Louise’s words sink in before she responded. “Aren’t we carrying this a bit too far? What are we going to get out of going to the reception?”
“Free sandwiches? Just kidding, just kidding! Come on, in for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Have you been reading Jane Austen, again? What’s with this ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ stuff?”
“It just slipped out. You know what I mean.” Seeing the look of hesitation on Margaret’s face, Louise said, “Look, Margaret, we’ve come this far. If we don’t see this through, we might always regret it. Besides, we’re not breaking any laws. What have we got to lose?”
Margaret exhaled a long stream of air, and slumped in defeat.
“Okay. You realize, of course, that we’re making idiots of ourselves.”
“So what? No one here knows us.”
As they walked down the hallway of the Harbourview toward the Amethyst Room where the funeral reception was being held, Margaret reflected that, for such a pleasant person, Louise certainly managed to get her own way most of the time.
“Let’s stay together,” she muttered to Louise, “and don’t talk to anyone if you can possibly help it. Don’t even make eye contact.”
“Then how will we learn anything?” Louise asked. “Come on, Margaret, where’s your courage?”
“I’m seeing a whole new side of you,” Margaret said. “I must say, I never knew you had it in you.”
“Thank you . . . I think.”
On their way to the reception, they passed the glass windows of a shop on the left. Still under construction, it bore the sign, Opening Soon: Amy’s Boutique.
“Look at this. Too bad it’s not open yet. Maybe I could have found something for Nicole.” Margaret stopped in front of the window.
“Now you’re just stalling. Come on.” Louise tugged on Margaret’s arm and they followed a small knot of people entering the Amethyst Room.
“Tell me again what it is we’re doing here,” Margaret said sotto voce, looking around to make sure she wasn’t overheard.
“Looking for clues. Nice flowers,” Louise said, taking in the opulent floral arrangements displayed on either side of the guest book. The largest and most prominent arrangement was from the casino.
“I just had a thought.” Margaret mused thoughtfully.
“What?” Louise stopped and looked at her, as though hoping Margaret had an insight into the case.
“This is probably the very first time the Amethyst Room has been used. Do you suppose it’s a bad omen that the first reception in a new hotel is a funeral? Especially for the hotel’s owner?”
“Bad omen for who—I mean, whom? It can’t get much worse for the hotel’s owner.”
“Very funny. It just seems like a strange beginning for a new business, that’s all.”
“Never mind that. Circulate.”
They circulated, trying to blend into the crowd or mourners. Margaret stopped at the food table for a cup of coffee, taking her time, pretending to study the array of sandwiches and crudités as she attempted to overhear any significant bit of information from her fellow grazers. When she couldn’t stand there any longer without becoming conspicuous, she carried her cup and sandwich plate over to where Louise was flipping through the guest book.
“Find out anything?” Louise asked.
“Yes. The votes are in: most people are impressed by the décor, but think a hotel like this could do something more original with the food. You?”
“No. None of these names tell me anything.”
“That’s not surprising, since you don’t know anyone in this city, apart from Eina.”
“Well, let’s just mill around for a while longer.”
“And what? Look for a potted palm to hide behind while we eavesdrop? You play Inspector Clouseau if you want to. I’m going to the ladies’ room. Here, hold these.”
She thrust her cup and plate at Louise, and strode out into the hallway, following the signs that directed her down the long hallway toward what she hoped was the rest room. She passed a handbag and accessories boutique, a men’s suit store, and a sign that announced the imminent opening of “The Empress Lunchroom: Fine Teas & Coffees with European Pastries.” As she continued to follow the ladies’ room signs leading to a corridor on the left, she heard voices coming from around the corner. One voice carried while speaking in a very intense tone, but it was too far away for Margaret to make out the words. As they came closer, however, she heard another woman’s voice, one she recognized. That voice was clear and cold.
“I can’t help you, Connie. My hands are tied.”
“This isn’t over, Julia,” the other voice replied in an angry tone.
“I’m afraid it is,” the first voice said, but the argument came to an abrupt halt as the two women rounded the corner and saw Margaret. The speakers were Mrs. Whalen and her sister-in-law, Connie. They brushed past Margaret in stony silence.
Margaret continued walking, pretending she had heard nothing, but her mind was in overdrive. Whatever the two Whalen women had been discussing, she was sure it was significant. They had never appeared friendly enough with each other to have a casual conversation. And from the sound of it, Connie was asking—or demanding—something from her sister-in-law. What could she possibly want, or need, from someone she so clearly disliked? Margaret could hardly wait to tell Louise.
Back in the Amethyst Room, she had to search the room several time before she finally located her friend, who appeared to be deep in conversation with an elderly woman sporting a grey perm that reminded Margaret of steel wool.
What now? Margaret wondered. How does she do it? Everywhere she goes she gets chummy with somebody.
She waited until she managed to catch Louise’s eye and motioned for her to come over. Louise touched the older woman lightly on the arm and said something, then walked over to where Margaret stood near the doorway.
“What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Who was that you were talking to?”
“Oh, that’s Maria. We were having the nicest chat. She goes to the casino every Friday morning for breakfast. The food is cheap, and if you’re a senior citizen, you get free gambling chips.”
“She likes to gamble?”
“No, she says she’s never gambled in her life and doesn’t intend to, but she cashes in the free chips and gets five dollars. She lives on a tiny pension, and it’s a way of supplementing her income.” Louise dropped her voice. “She didn’t say so, but I suspect she came to the funeral for the food.”
“Well, she’s creative, anyway. Listen, w
e need to go somewhere private. Wait until I tell you what I just overheard.”
They went to the lobby and found a quiet corner where they could huddle together on a conveniently placed, dark leather couch.
“Wow,” Louise said, when Margaret described her encounter with the two Whalen women. “I wonder what that was all about.”
“I know. I wish I’d been there about twenty seconds earlier, or been a few feet closer.”
“Maybe it was about the will. Maybe Mr. Whalen’s sister was cut out and was asking for her share.”
“Could be. But it seems a bit early for that. They don’t usually read the will before the funeral.”
“Still, maybe they already knew what was in it,” Louise said. “People don’t always make their intentions secret.”
“You know,” Margaret said, “I have this feeling I’ve seen Connie Whalen somewhere.”
Louise nudged her to be quiet and nodded in the direction of the lobby desk. Mrs. Whalen and her constant companion appeared to be in the midst of an intense conversation; unfortunately, their voices were too low to be overheard.
“Now that’s interesting,” commented Margaret in a low voice. “A few minutes ago her sister-in-law was threatening her, and now those two are whispering like thieves. Something’s definitely going on.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Louise said suddenly.
Margaret groaned inwardly, Louise’s ideas of late seemed to be getting crazier and crazier. “What is it?”
Louise hesitated. “You probably won’t like it.”
“So, what else is new?”
Louise waited until Mrs. Whalen and her companion had headed back toward the reception, then turned back toward Margaret with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
The Serenity Stone Murder Page 7