by Amy Andersen
“Yes, darling.” Dory leaned back and gave a triumphant hair flip, loving the chance to discuss other people’s problems. “He’s a horrible spender. He’s maxed out one credit card after another. And he’s got so much money, the different companies just keep sending them. He’s accrued a huge amount of interest.”
“Wow.” Marion bit her lip, thinking. “I bet Owen would do just about anything to get out of all that debt, wouldn’t you say?”
Dory nodded. “I most certainly would.”
Chapter 6
Marion looked down into the deep black finish on the 2013 Tesla in front of her. The car was like something from outer space. It was shaped like a small pod meant to be catapulted out of a rocket and its doors were designed to swing up instead of out. Anyone who saw a car like this would surely recognize it. Did Mrs. Sullivan?
“What are you thinking, partner?” Glenn’s voice rang through the big garage where they were inspecting the Sullivan family cars. The garage was so roomy and modern that their conversation echoed against the far walls.
“I’m thinking,” Marion answered, getting low to check the bumper, “that this car looks so unique that if I saw it coming at me on the road I would definitely recognize it.” She continued around the bottom edge of the car, reaching up under the bumper to see if anything felt cracked or loose. She didn’t feel or see any signs of a recent accident, but their suspects were all fabulously wealthy; any of them could easily afford an emergency repair.
Glenn focused on the bright red Ferrari that belonged to Mrs. Sullivan’s son, Owen. In contrast to the Tesla car, the Ferrari looked like an animal sleeping in its natural habitat. The fender on the back reminded Marion of a shark gliding through the water and the lights in the front looked like the eyes of a wild cat stalking its prey. Even the cherry red color seemed wild and fierce.
As he ran his hands around the body of the car, Glenn continually checked the door for any sign of their suspects walking in. So far they had been left completely alone, both Owen and Noah seemed to have lost all interest in the two people visiting their opulent home, but their luck could run out at any moment.
Glenn let out a big sigh. Like Marion, he was at a dead end. Both cars were in perfect shape, not a scratch on them. He crouched down with his elbows on his knees and regarded the perfectly polished and gleaming car in front of him. He wondered why Owen wasn’t out driving this massive beast right now. Glenn didn’t think he could ever let such a beautiful car just sit and gather dust in a garage.
Mrs. Sullivan’s car was a testament to taste and old money. It was a royal blue Rolls Royce Phantom, a car that had a distinctly British look to it. The smaller size and rounded corners seemed to add to the level of class it had on its own and Marion could almost hear it purring down the road. She gave the car a quick glance, but like the others, it led to nothing.
“What does this mean?” She turned to Glenn who had already given up and was just standing by the door.
“I wish I could tell you.” He opened the door to peek through, then waved Marion over. “Let’s head upstairs to update our victim.
In Camille’s room, she was bright-eyed and anxious for news. She patted the space next to her on her bed for Marion to sit down.
“So,” she said, looking to her two sleuths, “tell me everything. Do you have any clues?”
“No,” Marion took the lady’s hand reassuringly. “I’m so sorry, but we have no idea who tried to hit you. We think Owen may be involved, but there’s just no proof.”
Camille lowered her voice and leaned in toward Marion. “And what about Noah? Is there anything about him I should know?”
Marion and Glenn exchanged a quick glance. She tried to send him a quick mental question, do we tell her? He read her expression and nodded. She looked down and steadied herself before speaking.
“There is something.” She looked up at Camille and kept hold of her hand. “Noah hasn’t been honest with you about his family. We found a letter he plans to send to his son for his tenth birthday.”
Camille blinked at Marion. “He has another son?”
“No,” Glenn interjected. “He only has one. And it would appear Noah invented the story about his son passing away. He’s alive.”
A quick laugh escaped Camille and she looked back and forth to her two investigators. “But, I saw him just after it happened. He was inconsolable. He just fell apart. Why do you think I took him in?” She looked at them and waited for Marion or Glenn to confirm that it was a mistake, that Noah couldn’t be a liar, but they said nothing.
“I can’t believe it,” Camille shook her head and put her hand to her mouth, holding in a sob. Two little tears fell on her blanket. “I just can’t believe it. How could Noah have been so dishonest with me?”
Marion reached over to the nightstand and got her a tissue. She could think of plenty of reasons why a young, handsome man would want an older woman to feel sorry him; a chance to live rent-free in a mansion was only one of them. She held her tongue and Camille took the tissue gratefully and dabbed at her eyes. “My dear,” she said to Marion, “I need you to find out everything you can about everyone around me. Please. This is so—” she stopped to catch her breath and gulped in some air, “so shocking. My closest friend.”
Glenn joined the two ladies on the bed and the three of them made a ring with their arms around one another. Camille cried onto Glenn’s shoulder and kept ahold of Marion while she regarded the wealthy, lonely widow. She wanted to help her more than anything. If only she could dig up some clues.
Chapter 7
Wendy gently and steadily stirred the sweet, iced tea in its glass pitcher. The sunlight coming through the windows illuminated the liquid and gave the illusion of a small halo around Wendy’s blonde head. She smiled up at Glenn and Marion and lifted the pitcher a bit. “All set.”
They sat and allowed themselves to be served by the young assistant, marvelling at the enthusiasm she brought to her job. The lightness in Wendy’s step and the big, innocent smile on her face told the story of a little girl who had dreamed of serving a wealthy mistress and her friends for years and years.
“Wendy,” Marion said, accepting her tea. “I’m wondering; what is it you’d like to do? Do you want to stay here with the Sullivans or do you have plans for a career after this?”
The young assistant blushed and sat down across from the visiting pair. She looked off into the distance, already imagining her future life.
“What I really want,” she began, “is a big family. Lots of noisy children running around my house. The kitchen full of food and big celebrations at every holiday. I’ve always wanted to have a full Thanksgiving table, a giant Christmas tree so buried in presents you can barely see a branch. Can you imagine?
“I want to have a wonderful husband and lots of little ones to take care of and keep me busy. I already know how to cook and sew, how to work with kids and help them with their schoolwork. My whole life has been a long training session for becoming a mom.” She laughed at herself a little, realizing how idealistic she sounded. “I know it’s a bit cliche, but I’ve just always enjoyed caring for people. And I’ve always pictured myself as a parent. I think it’s the best job in the world.
“I actually moved here to Chippingville because it’s such a great place to have a family. Such a lovely little town, we have the beach but it’s not hot all the time. Everyone knows everyone and it’s nice and safe. I wish I had grown up here.”
“How did you come to work here?” Marion settled back into her chair and kept her eyes on Wendy’s face.
“Well,” Wendy said, meeting her gaze, “the job came with a great place to live and a family to spend time with, so it seemed like a great deal.”
“Can I ask,” Marion continued, toying with her tumbler, “what do you think of Owen and Noah?”
Wendy went silent and frowned as she thought about Marion’s question. “I guess Owen is a pretty typical rich guy. Bu
t honestly, he’s got a good heart.” She picked up the empty pitcher and tray and stood holding them, adding, “But I don’t know about Noah. He seems so, I don’t know, secretive. And I don’t know if you two know this,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper, “but he often spends the night in Camille’s room and I don´t think they’re playing cards.”
Her audience of two were appropriately shocked, their eyebrows raised and they looked at one another, but neither spoke.
“Well, I had better head upstairs and check on the boss lady. You two let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, okay?”
They thanked her and watched her leave. They sat in the quiet room without speaking for a while, just listening to their ice cubes clink around in their glasses for a moment. Marion thought of Camille lying in her bed while Wendy planned her own wedding next to her on the silky, king-sized bed and then had her bachelorette party right downstairs. Camille could host the event itself out on the grounds or even in the main hall, guiding her former assistant down the aisle from a wheelchair. The thought of it made her heart twist.
“Oh, hi,” Owen’s voice took her out of her daydream and she quickly stood to greet him.
“Owen! My goodness, I didn’t even see you. My apologies.” She held out her hand and he graciously accepted it, giving her a gentle handshake. Then he turned to the right to say hello to Glenn.
The men greeted one another and made small talk. Glenn was also a big fan of tennis thanks to his private, high-priced education and he chatted with Owen about an upcoming game. While they swapped tennis stats, Marion got a good look at Owen’s right shoulder. She was exactly one head shorter than he was, so it was right at her eye level. She looked at it and then looked at Glenn, then looked at the muscled joint again. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing?
“I’m just on my way to the gym,” the young man said. “I hope you and I can take to the courts one day, Glenn. You’d probably give me a run for my money.” The two buddies laughed and Marion feigned a small giggle. Owen glanced at her but kept his focus on the doctor. “Well,” he said, “If you don’t mind I’m just going to head out. I’ll see you both at the party, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” Glenn agreed. “Have a good workout.”
“Bye. See you at the party,” Marion gave him a big smile a polite nod as he headed towards the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, she dropped the act and grabbed Glenn by both arms, her eyes darting around as her mind started to make connections in every direction.
“What? What’s happening?” Glenn was just as excited, but completely lost.
“Glenn, I need you to get to city hall right away. Go now.”
“What? Marion, what’s going on?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I just need you to find one record. Then, we’ll have a full report to give to Camille.”
“Hang on. Why were you looking at his shoulder? And what’s at City Hall?”
Marion took a deep breath to keep herself calm, then let go of Glenn and gave him a little smile. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to make sense in just a little bit. I need you to get downtown and then call me once you’re in, I’ll tell you what we need.”
“Marion,” the corner of Glenn’s mouth turned up just a bit, “did you crack the case?”
“I did,” she said, breathless with the realization. “I think I solved it. I’m pretty sure I know who wants to kill Camille Sullivan.”
Chapter 8
Soft piano music drifted through the air over the sound of sharp, white teeth tearing into tiny, thin crust pizzas and figs on top of phyllo nests. Everyone in the room looked as if they’d spent a small fortune on their uncomfortable ball gowns and suits, their up-dos and organic beard gels, as well as their shiny shoes that served to keep them from moving too much or too quickly.
Rolling through the crowd was the woman of honor, Camille Sullivan, with her new hairdo and her gleaming, silver wheelchair with Wendy steering her from guest to guest. All the other woman dipped low to kiss her on the cheek, like proper ladies bowing to a queen. Mrs. Sullivan ate up the attention, positively glowing with each formal greeting and the chance to compliment each perfectly styled guest. What she really reveled in, however, was all the comments she received on her lovely new hairstyle.
“Camille darling! I insist you give me the name of your stylist. You’ve never looked better!”
“You look ten years younger. Who is this miracle worker? I must know.”
The birthday girl just smiled and nodded in the direction of Marion, who stood with Glenn. The two of them were much fancier than usual; Marion in a sweeping, sleeveless gown of black and white with her hair swept off the back of her neck to show off her shoulders. The dress was borrowed from Camille’s closet, but no one needed to know. Glenn wore a lovely, dark grey suit with a white shirt underneath and a black tie. The combination looked very dashing and several girls watched him from across the room, whispering to their girlfriends about the handsome doctor and his date, the stylist.
“Glenn,” Marion whispered, “there he is.”
Glenn turned to see Clifton Gerheart, a well-dressed but slightly disheveled lawyer. He was there by special request and looked a bit out of place in the fancy, perfectly put together crowd. He kept running his hands through his floppy, untamed hair and his face was a bit sweaty. When a waiter passed him with a tray of cucumber circles topped with grilled ahi tuna, he quickly grabbed six of them and stuffed them in his mouth. Still chewing, he saw Marion and Glenn and gave them an enthusiastic wave. They nodded politely.
Before they could join him, Owen stood up on a chair and clinked his fork against his champagne flute, calling everyone’s attention. “Friends,” he said, smiling at the room. “I am so happy to see all of you here, celebrating my beautiful mother, the lovely Camille Sullivan.” He paused so that everyone could clap and Mrs. Sullivan could have a moment to blush modestly.
“As you know,” he continued, “it is my mother’s birthday today. And Mom,” he turned to Camille and smiled down at her, “Noah and I each bought you a gift that we sincerely hope you will love.”
He hopped down off the chair and a man nearby handed him a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny silver paper. He handed it to his mother and gave her a little kiss on the cheek as she took it. “Happy birthday, Mom.” Everyone nearby let out a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs” as she tore into the paper to reveal a collection of Bette Davis’ Films; a complete retrospective of her career.
“Oh!” She reached up her arms for a hug and pulled Owen down to her. “I just love it! Oh, you remembered she’s my favorite. Thank you, dear!”
Then it was Noah’s turn. As he stepped up, Camille turned decidedly colder, but didn’t say anything to him.
“Señora Sullivan,” he started, “you have been a great friend to me. While you deserve everything in the world, I hope this small gesture will help show you how much you mean to me.” He handed her a small box in sparkling red paper and Camille accepted it graciously if a bit uncomfortably.
“Thank you.” She ripped into it and saw a collection of CDs by Vivaldi, one of her favorite composers. “Oh.” Camille looked at Noah, the man who had lied to her for so many years, but had always been sweet to her in more ways than anyone could know. “Thank you, Noah. Truly. I love it.” The two hugged, but Camille’s face gave away her discomfort.
After that, Camille lifted her own champagne glass and everyone turned to her as she gave a quick speech from her wheelchair.
“Thank you, everyone. You’ve made an old, disabled woman feel like a princess in her prime.” Polite laughter rippled through the room. “Now please, let’s get back to having fun together. And drinking!” At that, all the glasses in the room raised with cries of, “Here, here!” and “Cheers, Camille!” All around her, champagne glasses were upended and their contents drained.
The hostess caught Marion’s eye and motioned
for her and Glenn to join her in the center of the room. “I need some air,” Camille said, nodding toward the glass doors in the back. “Would you two walk with me through the garden?” They agreed and wheeled her through the room where the music had gotten a bit more lively and the alcohol was flowing a bit more freely. Almost no one noticed their exit.