“Have it your way. If I were in your shoes, I would be more concerned about the lone witness to the murder that I was investigating, but you do whatever you think is best,” Chas raised an eyebrow at the bull-headed detective.
“Yeah, well, you’re not in my shoes. My shoes aren’t expensive enough to suit your tastes, so just back off and let me conduct my investigation, Beckett.”
Chas walked away without looking back, making a mental note to include that little rant on his report to the chief.
***
Spencer Bengal hadn’t been able to turn up much information on Alison Edmunds, but he had managed to track down a woman with whom she played tennis at the country club. He knocked on the door of her gracious home and wasn’t surprised at all to see it opened by a housekeeper, rather than the homeowner.
“Hello,” he gave the tough-as-nails, iron-haired housekeeper the smile that had opened many doors for him in the past. “My name is Spencer and I’m here to see Mrs. Fillmore.”
The housekeeper was unimpressed and eyed him with suspicion darkening her features.
“Wait here,” she commanded, shutting the door in his face.
After what seemed an eternity, the housekeeper opened the door once again.
“Come with me,” she ordered, marching into the interior of the gracious home.
She led Spencer to a room that was obviously a home office, where Constance Fillmore sat behind a massive antique desk.
“Good morning,” she stood to an impressive height and extended a graceful hand, which Spencer shook gently.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Fillmore,” Spencer brought out the killer smile again, and this time it had its intended effect.
“The pleasure is mine, and please, call me Connie. How can I help you, Mr. Bengal?”
“Spencer, please. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Alison Edmunds, like I said over the phone.”
“Certainly. Would you like some tea while we chat?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Indeed you are, but if you’d like some tea in a bit, just let me know,” she grinned like a cat lapping at a saucer of milk.
Spencer died a thousand deaths inside, but had the grace not to let it show.
“Will do. How long did you know Mrs. Edmunds?” he asked, smoothly changing the subject.
“We’ve played tennis together several times. She has one heck of a backhand. I’d say we met probably three or four years ago.”
“So, you met at the club?”
“Yes, our hubbies were playing golf and we sat and talked for a bit. I recommended a landscaper for her, which seemed to work out better for her than she anticipated,” Connie fluttered her eyelashes.
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s funny really. She wouldn’t admit it, but she has quite a crush on Renaldo.”
“Renaldo?”
“The landscaper. Ally never quite fit in with our set. She had humble beginnings, so she’s always been a little uncomfortable in Dale’s world. I think Renaldo is someone with whom she feels comfortable.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t think she interacted enough to make enemies. She’s a bit standoffish. The only one who knew her well enough to dislike her was Dale.”
“And did he?”
“Did he what?” Connie was puzzled.
“Dislike her. Did Dale dislike Allison?”
“Not that I could tell, but then I rarely saw them together. Dale traveled a lot and Alison doesn’t come to the club much anymore.”
“Connie, may I be blunt?” Spencer asked, sensing that the woman was clearly not a huge fan of Alison’s.
“Please do,” she leaned forward in a kittenish pose, which looked strange behind an executive desk.
“Do you think Alison Edmunds killed her husband?”
“Doubtful. She liked not having to work. That alone I think would’ve motivated her to make sure that he stayed alive.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to murder Dale?”
Connie shook her head. “No, I really can’t. He was a nice guy.”
“One last question…”
“Anything, Spencer,” Connie licked her lips.
“Do you know what days the landscaper works on their home? I’d like to see if he has any insight as to who could’ve done this.”
“Well, let’s see. He’s at our house on Tuesdays, which would mean he’s over there on Thursdays. He keeps a rigid schedule, and he’s just the best.”
“Do you know around what time on Thursday?”
“He usually arrives right after eight.”
“Thank you, Connie. You’ve been very kind,” Spencer stood and shook her hand, surprised when she held on for longer than necessary.
“It was truly… my pleasure,” she purred, giving him a look that made him decidedly uncomfortable.
“I’ll see myself out,” he gave her a brief smile and took his leave.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Andrew Edmunds had packed his belongings and was headed to his rental car with his suitcase when Chas stopped him in the hotel lobby.
“Mr. Edmunds?” he asked.
“Do I know you?” Andrew asked impatiently, glancing at his watch.
“Chas Beckett. I’m a consultant with Calgon PD Homicide. I’d like a few minutes of your time.”
“Sorry, I’ve got a plane to catch,” Andrew tried to move past, but Chas stepped directly into his path, pulling him up short.
“We can either talk informally here, or I can transport you downtown to get an official statement. That’s your call,” Chas bluffed, shrugging.
Andrew’s eyes narrowed.
“Statement about what?”
“Your brother’s death. And the somewhat unusual handling of his estate. Spouses typically make each other their executors,” he observed casually.
“There’s no way that Alison could handle the disposition of Dale’s estate and the running of his businesses,” Andrew shook his head. “Money runs through her fingers like water.”
“Sounds like you don’t have a very high opinion of your sister-in-law,” Chas commented.
“She made Dale happy. That’s all that I cared about and it’s all that he cared about, but he was smart enough to recognize her limitations when it came to business.”
“How many life insurance policies did your brother have?”
“That’s getting kind of personal, don’t you think?” Andrew challenged.
“Well, if you’d rather, I can subpoena the information. I just thought I’d save some time so that I could find your brother’s killer sooner.”
“Three. He had three life insurance policies.”
“Three? How many listed Alison as beneficiary?”
“Just one, but it was the biggest one.” Andrew sounded a tad bit defensive.
“Who was on the other two?”
“I am on one, because Dale wanted me to have enough money to make the transition to running his businesses.”
“Who’s on the other policy?”
Andrew looked awfully uncomfortable.
“My mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. She and Alison didn’t get along, so Dale wanted to make sure that she was taken care of if anything happened to him.”
“Sounds like a man who knew he might die young,” Chas raised an eyebrow.
Andrew said nothing.
“Why didn’t your mother and Alison get along?”
Andrew sighed. “What difference does it make?”
“It could make all the difference in the world if it gives Alison a motive to kill her husband,” Chas replied casually, watching Andrew for a reaction.
The man seemed stunned, his mouth falling open briefly.
“No,” he shook his head finally. “My mother thought that Ally was a gold-digger, but I don’t think she’d do anything to hurt Dale.”
/> “Did he have any enemies in his business circle?”
“Not that I know of. He was just a straightforward guy,” Andrew stared into the distance. “There was a guy that he was really angry with though. He mentioned that the guy was flirting with Ally at the Fourth of July party. He was going to look him up and give him a talking-to.”
“Do you know if that ever happened?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked much in the past few weeks because we’ve both been so busy, so I have no idea.”
“Hey listen, if you’ve gotta get going, let’s wrap this up on the way to your car,” Chas suggested.
“Yeah, I do need to hustle to make my plane,” Andrew agreed, glancing at his watch again.
He strode out of the lobby and into the parking lot, with Chas beside him. Stopping beside a black sedan, he clicked the open button on his keys and then popped the trunk to put his suitcase inside.
“Nice car,” Chas commented, stepping back to survey the vehicle.
“It’s a rental,” Andrew said absently, tossing his sport coat into the back seat.
Chas circled the car, nodding appreciatively. “I’ve been thinking about upgrading.”
“Great. If we’re done here, I really need to get going,” Andrew opened the driver’s side door.
“I hope those scratches were there when you rented it, they’ll ding you for those,” Chas looked at the front fender.
“Yeah, this was the last car that they had available. I took what I could get,” Andrew got into the car.
Chas handed him a business card before he shut the door.
“If you think of anything important, let me know.”
Andrew Edmunds didn’t bother with a reply.
CHAPTER TEN
* * *
“I told you he was a hatchet murderer,” Echo said, taking a swig of coffee.
Missy had just told her that Thomas was in the hospital.
“Have you been talking to Beulah or something?” she handed Echo a vegan mango cupcake.
“I heard that!” Beulah’s voice rang out from the kitchen, over the noise of the electric mixer.
Echo looked at Missy and the two women grinned.
“I think poor Thomas was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Missy sighed.
“Or, he could have a murderer after him,” Echo pointed out the same thing that Beulah had earlier.
“I sure hope not.”
The bells over the door jangled, and Missy and Echo saw a woman in an uncomfortable-looking, high-necked dress enter, sweating profusely in the early morning sunshine.
“Hello,” Missy glanced at the clock above the cash register. “We don’t open for another half hour, but I can get you some coffee and cupcakes to go if you’d like,” she offered.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m here to speak with Melissa Beckett,” the woman said primly, reminding Missy of a maiden aunt.
“I’m Missy Beckett. How can I help you?”
“I’m Maureen Belsner, from Child Services. I’m here for your pre-adoption screening interview. We had an appointment,” she made the phrase sound like an accusation.
Missy’s eyes widened in alarm. “That was today?” she looked reflexively at her watch. “I could’ve sworn it was at the end of the week,” she muttered, pulling out her phone to look at the calendar. “Oh my, it is today,” she exclaimed.
“Yes, it is, and I made special arrangements with you to come early so that it wouldn’t interfere with your business,” Maureen snipped, peering at Missy through severe wire-framed glasses.
“And I do appreciate that. Won’t you please have a seat?” she offered Maureen a chair next to Echo, who had risen to go.
“I’ve gotta run,” she waved on her way out the door.
“My friend Echo and I usually have coffee and cupcakes before we start our work day,” Missy explained apologetically.
“I wonder how a child would fit into that scenario,” Maureen blinked, frowning slightly.
“Most of the time Echo brings her baby with her,” Missy answered, a flush rising up her neck to her cheeks and ears as she realized how hesitant she sounded.
“Mrs. Beckett, you run a very busy shop. How do you plan to care for an active three-year-old?”
“Lots of moms work, Ms. Belsner,” Missy protested, hoping that she wasn’t coming across as too aggressive.
“You forgot our appointment this morning. What happens if you forget a doctor’s appointment for the child?” she continued.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Who would you have for a backup sitter if the child was sick and couldn’t come to the shop with you, or go to school?”
“Well, my husband plans to be very involved with her care,” Missy finally had an answer that she could be proud of.
“Your husband? The private investigator? I would think in his line of work, he encounters dangerous people and situations on a daily basis.”
“Well, sometimes, maybe… but I…” Missy began.
“And what assurance do you have that none of the criminals that he encounters will come after him and his family?”
“Well, that’s only happened a couple of times, and we ended up being fine. Spencer has been his bodyguard for several years, and…”
“Mr. Beckett requires a bodyguard?”
“Well, it’s only because his family has a lot of money, which kind of makes him…” Missy stopped herself, biting her tongue.
“A target? I’m sorry, Mrs. Beckett, but that doesn’t sound like a very safe environment for a child.”
“Oh, but it is. You don’t understand. If you just talked to him, and if you had caught me when I was better prepared…” Missy pleaded.
Maureen stood. “Life is not a dress rehearsal, Mrs. Beckett. If little Kaylee can’t fit into the life that you have now, perhaps your family won’t be a good fit for her. I’ll come back one more time, when you and Mr. Beckett are both present.”
“Now you just wait one second, because I’m gonna share some honesty with you.”
When Missy was emotional, her Louisiana accent rang out loud and clear.
“You came in here ready to judge me. You have all these ideas about who I am and what I’m capable of and you don’t even know me. I’ll have you know that I lost my parents when I was seventeen, so I know how important having amazing parents is. After their deaths, I didn’t close the family business that I’d worked in all my life, I made it grow, and went to school at the same time. I have a heart full of love and a good head on my shoulders. I know what it’s like to be raised by loving parents, because I had the best ones in the world, and I know that Chas and I could be the kind of parents that a beautiful little girl like Kaylee needs,” Missy insisted, entirely unaware of the tears running down her cheeks. “So go ahead and put that in your little notebook, and if that isn’t good enough for you, then I want to speak to your supervisor,” she crossed her arms, her chest heaving with emotion.
“And so you shall,” Maureen responded icily, two spots of bright pink appearing at the top of her cheeks. “I’ll be bringing her to your next appointment. It would behoove you not to forget it this time,” she snipped, moving toward the door.
“Have a nice day,” Missy replied sweetly, seething. She was mad at the woman for being judgmental, but she was also mad at herself for forgetting and for letting the insufferable woman get under her skin.
“You sure told her,” Beulah emerged from the kitchen with a grin. “I didn’t know you been running this place since you was seventeen.”
“I haven’t. I took over the shop that my parents had in Louisiana. A few years later I opened another one.”
“How’d you get down here?”
“I met the love of my life and married him. The bed and breakfast across the parking lot is where we went on our honeymoon, and when it went up for sale, we bought it. Chas got a job with Calgon PD Homicide and we moved down here. I eventually opened up this place and we sold the
B&B to my friend Carla, and here we are.”
“You may look sweet, but underneath, there’s a backbone of steel, Miss Missy,” Beulah chuckled, gazing at her boss with respect. “Don’t you worry none about that old maid. You’ll get that sweet girl for your very own, I just know it.”
“Well, there’s still the matter of her father’s family wanting her,” Missy sighed.
“They don’t want the child, they want the money. The people who are taking care of her will figure that out, you mark my words. They can tell who loves the little ones and who don’t,” Beulah assured her.
“I hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
Eugene Clarendon was nothing like Chas had imagined. Based upon the man’s name and profession, he’d expected someone who looked rather outdated, a man without a decent wardrobe. On the contrary, Eugene seemed to fancy himself as a bit of a dandy. He had pleated trousers that he wore with suspenders, pointy-toed designer knock-off shoes, and a crisp white shirt with stainless steel cufflinks. His hair was slicked back with the entire contents of what had to have been the world’s last tube of hair grease, and though he was clean-shaven, the shadow of his soon-to-sprout five o’clock stubble could be seen just under the surface of his skin.
“Gene Clarendon,” he greeted Chas with a hearty handshake and a toothy, somewhat predatory grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi. Chas Beckett. I’m with Homicide at Calgon PD and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Eugene dropped Chas’s hand like it was on fire. “Homicide? I think you got the wrong guy,” he joked thinly.
“I just want to ask you a few questions, no big deal,” Chas tried to use language that would put the salesman at ease.
“Okay,” Eugene shrugged, plunging his hands into his pockets. “Have a seat,” he gestured to a small plastic chair beside the grey laminate desk where he spent most of his days.
“Thanks. So, how well did you know Dale Edmunds?” Chas asked casually.
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