“No, that’s definitely gone, probably sitting offshore. This looks more like a slow bleed.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Blackmail.”
Her email alert chimed, startling her. She froze, the way she always did lately when she heard an alert. Julius went still, too.
They both looked at her phone. Grace picked it up, looked at the screen and sighed in relief.
“It’s from Millicent,” she said. “Not the stalker.”
“Millicent gets star billing on our suspect list,” Julius said. He looked grim. “What does she want from you?”
Grace pulled up the email and smiled. “Life is short. Eat more chocolate.”
Julius frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It was an office joke. Kristy, Millicent and I used to amuse ourselves thinking up funny affirmations. Millicent came up with that particular slogan. She loves chocolate.”
Julius glanced at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock in the morning. Why is she sending you that email now?”
“I have no idea.”
“Does she make a habit of sending you emails like that?”
“No, she doesn’t. The line about eating chocolate was just a little joke around the office but Millicent isn’t one of those people who emails things like that.” Grace glanced at the email and the time. “It is a little weird, isn’t it?”
“Call her,” Julius said. “Find out why she sent it.”
The cool edge on his words sent a chill through Grace.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said. She eyed the phone. “But I will admit that a funny email at this hour is a little out of character for Millicent. Unless—”
“What?”
Grace made a face. “I’ll bet she heard about that little scene last night at the business banquet.”
“The scene between you and Diana?”
Grace cleared her throat. “More likely it was that kiss in front of all those people that got her attention. Alison says there were pictures.”
Julius did not look amused. He was very intent. “Why would Millicent email you a jokey affirmation because I kissed you at that damn banquet?”
“Got a hunch she’d think it was . . . entertaining. Millicent was always teasing me about my rather boring social life.”
“I’m not seeing a connection with chocolate.”
“It’s a female thing.”
“By all accounts, Millicent is very good with money,” Julius said. “A lot of it has recently gone missing. In addition, my financial wizards have uncovered something that looks a lot like blackmail. And now this Millicent, who is so good with money, is sending you funny emails at eight o’clock in the morning. Call her. Find out what’s going on.”
Grace took a breath. “Okay.”
She clicked on Millicent’s contact info—and got dumped straight into voice mail.
“Try emailing her,” Julius said.
Grace looked at him. “You’re very serious about getting in touch with her.”
“We know she just sent that email. She’s on her phone or computer. Go ahead, hit reply.”
Grace tapped out “Everything okay?”
She drank some coffee while she waited for a response. When none came, she tried leaving another voice mail message. Then she tried a text message.
“This is important. Please call.”
There was no response.
“Do you have her address?” Julius asked.
“Yes, of course. She invited Kristy and me over to her apartment occasionally for cocktails and a movie. She lives in the South Lake Union neighborhood.”
Julius got to his feet. “Let’s go see if she’s home.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“I’m not so sure this is a smart idea, Julius. As you keep reminding me, it’s still early in the morning. Millicent may not be alone. And even if she does answer the door, what, exactly, are we going to talk to her about?”
“Sprague Witherspoon and the missing money,” Julius said. “I’ve got lots of questions.”
Thirty-Four
The apartment building was one of the gleaming towers that had sprung up seemingly overnight in the South Lake Union neighborhood of Seattle. The area between the downtown core and Lake Union—once a sleepy industrial sector—was now a thriving mix of high-rise offices, condos, apartments, trendy restaurants and boutique shops. The sidewalks were filled with upwardly mobile techies and ambitious professionals who liked to live close to where they worked. There were very few suits to be seen. Denim prevailed.
It was only eight-thirty but the coffeehouses and cafés were busy. Julius admired the purposeful way everyone in the vicinity moved. The people around him all looked like they were intent on constructing a grand future. There had been a time when he had possessed a similar sense of drive and purpose, he reflected. But somewhere along the line the thrill had faded. Lately he had been running on autopilot. And then Grace had happened.
Grace had changed everything.
He watched her enter Millicent’s number into the apartment building’s electronic entry system.
“This is an expensive neighborhood,” he said.
“Millicent says she likes living here in South Lake Union because everyone is so busy inventing the future no one has any time to pry into other people’s business,” Grace explained.
“In other words, she likes her privacy.”
“Who doesn’t?”
There was no response from the entry system. Julius looked through the glass doors. A man sat behind a high desk doing his best to ignore what was happening on the other side of the front door. He was in his twenties. He might have been working on his computer but Julius thought it was more likely the guy was playing games.
Julius took out his wallet and removed some cash. He folded the bills and slipped them into his pocket.
“Contact that guy at the door station,” he said.
Grace raised her brows. “You’re going to try bribery?”
“Got a better idea?”
“Now that you mention it, no.”
She punched in the door station code on the keypad. The doorman responded to the summons. He got up and crossed the lobby to open the door.
“Can I help you?” he said. He looked as if he hoped the answer was no.
“I’m a friend of Millicent Chartwell in apartment twelve-oh-five,” Grace said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with her this morning. It’s very important. She’s not answering her phone but I think she’s here. I’m afraid she might be ill.”
“We’re extremely concerned about her well-being,” Julius said.
He palmed the folded bills out of his pocket and shook hands with the doorman. When he retrieved his hand, the cash had vanished. The doorman appeared significantly more concerned about Millicent’s health.
“You think Miss Chartwell might be too sick to come to the phone?” he asked, brow furrowing.
“Yes,” Grace said. “Or perhaps she fell in the shower. She doesn’t have any family here in town. There’s no one I can call to check on her.”
The doorman looked hesitant. “Well, we do insist on a signed PTE from every tenant.”
“What’s a PTE?” Grace asked.
“Permission-to-enter form.” The doorman headed toward the elevators. “I’m authorized to go into the units to perform safety checks. I noticed her car in the garage downstairs this morning when I came on duty but she didn’t go out for her usual latte.”
The elevator doors slid open. The doorman did not say anything when Grace and Julius followed him inside. On the twelfth floor they all got out and went down the hall to twelve-oh-five.
The doorman knocked loudly several times.
“Miss Chartwell?” he ca
lled. “Are you home? A friend of yours is here. She’s very concerned about you.”
“Something’s wrong,” Grace said. “I know it. Open the door.”
“Or we’ll contact the police,” Julius added. He unclipped his cell phone from his belt.
“Shit, don’t call the cops,” the doorman said, clearly alarmed. “She’ll be really pissed if you do that. So will my boss. Not a good thing to have cops seen in the building. Gives the place a bad rep. Hang on.”
He got the door open with a key card and called out loudly again, “Miss Chartwell?”
Still no response. The inside of the apartment seemed unnaturally hushed. The slice of the living room that Julius could see through the partially open doorway looked as if it had been furnished as a model apartment rather than a home. The color scheme was black and white punctuated with touches of red and gray. There was an empty martini glass sitting on the low black coffee table.
It was all very sleek and modern but it was also impersonal, Julius thought, as if Millicent had simply ordered the entire room from a furniture rental catalog. It reminded him of his own condo, although he was pretty sure his stuff had come with a much higher price tag.
Millicent had not put down roots in Seattle, he decided. It looked as if she was prepared to fold up shop and walk out the door on a moment’s notice.
“That does it,” Grace said. “You two wait out here. I’ll go see if she’s in there.”
She sailed into the apartment before the doorman could argue. Julius stood in the opening and watched her go through the empty living room and past the kitchen. She vanished down a short hall.
A moment later her voice rang out.
“Call nine-one-one. She’s still alive.”
Thirty-Five
When I saw her lying there in bed I thought she was dead,” Grace whispered. “She was so still. So pale. Barely breathing. Hardly any pulse.”
She stood with Julius and the doorman in the hallway outside Millicent’s apartment and watched the medics wedge the gurney into the elevator. Several residents from nearby apartments had gathered to witness the solemn process. Millicent was unconscious. There was an oxygen mask on her face.
“I heard one of the medics talking to someone at Harborview,” the doorman said quietly. “Something about the situation looking like a deliberate overdose. Man, I would never have guessed she was the type.”
There were several murmurs of agreement from the handful of other residents.
Grace shook her head and folded her arms. “I would never have thought so, either. I can’t believe it.”
Julius looked at the doorman. “How well did you know Miss Chartwell?”
The doorman shrugged. “She was one of the nicer tenants. Friendly. Tipped well. But we didn’t have what you would call a personal relationship.”
The muffled wail of the ambulance siren rose and then fell in the street outside the building. The small crowd in the hallway broke up as people drifted back to their own apartments.
“I’d better call my boss,” the doorman said. He took out his phone. “Sure hope he doesn’t get mad.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Grace said, “you just helped rescue Millicent. If she survives it will be because you performed a safety check or whatever it was you called it.”
The doorman perked up a little at that and moved a few feet away to talk on his phone.
The thirty-something woman who had emerged from the apartment next to Millicent’s shook her head. “I wonder if she was depressed because of that man she brought home last night.”
Grace turned quickly. “What man?”
“I don’t know who he was but I’m guessing he was married from the way he acted. They came in around nine or so. He wasn’t the first hookup she dragged home from a bar but I could tell by the way she laughed that the guy was different. She seemed really excited, as if he was special.”
Julius glanced back into the apartment. “What time did he leave?”
“I don’t know. It must have been around ten-thirty because I was getting ready for bed. He didn’t stay gone for long, though.”
Grace frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think I heard someone out in the hallway later. The door opened and closed. I assumed it was the same man. But maybe it was one of her previous hookups. Who knows?”
“How long did the second visitor stay?” Julius asked.
“I don’t know,” the woman said. “I fell asleep.”
“Is there anyone on duty at the door station at night?” Julius asked.
“No, just days,” the woman said.
“So she had to buzz in the second visitor,” Julius said. “She knew who it was.”
“Sure,” the woman said, a shrug in her voice. “But like I told you, she was always bringing guys home.”
Grace went to the doorway of the apartment. From where she stood she could see the empty martini glass on the table. She had to know, she thought. She had to be sure.
“I think I left my cell phone in Millicent’s bedroom,” she said in a voice pitched loud enough to be overheard by the two or three people who were still hanging around in the corridor. “I’m going to get it. I’ll be right back.”
Julius gave her a sharp glance. “I’ll come with you.”
She moved into the apartment and turned to look at him.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t see any sign of a personal computer,” he said. “Never met a numbers person who didn’t have one.”
“Yes, of course, Millicent had a computer.”
“I’m going to take another look around.”
He disappeared into the bedroom.
She headed for the small kitchen, dread whispering through her.
She had not imagined it. The liquor bottle stood on the counter. She had caught a glimpse of it earlier when she rushed past on her way to Millicent’s bedroom but she had not had time to take a closer look. Now she could see it clearly. She had been right about the label. A cold sensation washed through her.
“Damn,” she said softly.
Julius came up behind her.
“No computer,” he said.
She felt him go very still when he saw the bottle.
“The same brand of vodka that the stalker left in your refrigerator,” he said. His voice was grim.
“The same brand that I found in Sprague’s bedroom.” She gestured toward the bottle on the counter. “Millicent drinks vodka martinis but that isn’t her favorite brand. Whoever is stalking me tried to murder Millicent last night.”
Thirty-Six
Let me get this straight,” Devlin said. “You want me to reopen a very old, very closed murder case?”
“We’re not talking about reopening it,” Julius said. “The Trager murder was solved. What we’re looking for is a connection that links that case to the recent Witherspoon murder and Millicent Chartwell’s overdose.”
“A connection besides the obvious one,” Grace added very deliberately, “which would be me.”
“Which is you,” Devlin agreed. He contemplated her for a moment. “Interesting.”
Irene shot him a warning glare.
“Just making an observation,” Devlin said.
The four of them were gathered in Grace’s kitchen. It had started raining during the drive back to Cloud Lake. The steady drizzle was still coming down.
There were two large pizza boxes on the table and two bottles of beer. There were also two glasses of white wine.
Irene gave Grace an apologetic look. “You were right. I found out that Devlin did ask Julius to get a read on you the other night when you had dinner with us.”
Devlin winced. “Now, honey, I tried to explain—”
“Never mind,” Grace said. She gave both men a steely smile. “Old hist
ory. Water under the bridge. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. The applicable Witherspoon affirmation, I believe, is Never let old storms cloud sunny skies.”
Julius and Devlin exchanged male-to-male looks.
“In other words,” Julius said, “she’s never going to let me forget that our first date was supposed to be an undercover sting operation.”
Devlin picked up his beer and eyed Grace over the top of the bottle. “But you’re prepared to let bygones be bygones, right?”
“Absolutely,” Grace said. She gave him another overly polished smile. “However, under the circumstances, I’d say you owe me, don’t you agree?”
“Hah,” Irene said. “Damn right he owes you. And me.”
“I agree, I owe you both,” Devlin said. He reached down into a small briefcase and took out a laptop. “After I got Julius’s call today I pulled up the old file on the Trager murder again. The brand of vodka was not noted on the evidence inventory but there is a photo of the bottle.”
Grace caught her breath. “Same brand as the three bottles I’ve come across lately?”
“I think so,” Devlin said. “But it’s a little hard to read the label.” He hesitated. “Crime scene photos can be . . . disturbing. Are you sure you want to look at these?”
Images of Trager’s bloody mask of a face whispered through Grace’s mind. She swallowed hard.
“The only photo I want to see is the picture of the vodka bottle,” she said. “I need to be sure.”
Devlin nodded. “All right. Just the bottle. No need to look at the bodies.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He tapped a few more keys and then turned the laptop around so that she could see the screen. She thought she was prepared for the image but she was wrong. The sight of the broken vodka bottle splashed with dried bloodstains sent a shock of horror through her. She had killed a man with that terrible weapon.
“Dear heaven,” she whispered.
Devlin looked hard at her. “You saved a little kid’s life and your own. Never forget that.”
“I won’t,” Grace said. “I can’t.”
Julius reached under the table and put his hand on her clenched fingers.
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