by D E Dennis
Charles goggled at him. “I don’t believe this. I thought you were on my side.”
“I’m on Beauty’s side,” he said harshly. “You may have paid me, but the innocent woman who was thrown down a flight of stairs is the one I’m working for.”
Charles deflated like a popped balloon, face crumpling. “I didn’t do this,” he whispered. A tear traveled down the bridge of his nose and dangled on the tip. “I have never heard of James Spindle. Even the idea that I would... with my own daughter.” His face twisted with revulsion. “I wasn’t the best father to my girls, but I am not... that.”
Michael cocked his head, leaning in. “Girls? Do you mean Alaina?”
Charles started, looking at him in surprise. “You know about Alaina?”
Even a child could have put that timeline together. From the snippets he got from Malia, Dora, and Mary; Alaina had to have been born while Malia and Charles were together.
“Yes, I know about her. I also know she died.”
Charles brought his cuffed hands to his face and awkwardly wiped his tears. “I was a different person then. A drunk. But with Beauty, I wanted to be different. A better father and a better man. I loved her more than anything, but there was nothing twisted about that love. I never sent those messages. I swear to you.” He matched Michael’s position, leaning in to look him straight in the eyes. “I am not Spindle.”
Michael said nothing for a full thirty seconds. He held Charles’s gaze, unwavering.
“Okay,” Michael said. “I believe you.”
His relief was palpable. He looked like he was poised to start crying again, but now wasn’t the time for tears.
“You understand that this means we have a problem,” Michael said gravely. “We searched your office right after the party, and there is no way my sister would have missed the phones the first time. If you didn’t put them there when you returned from the hospital, then that means someone else did. Someone is setting you up.”
“Who? Why?!”
“You tell me. Anyone holding a grudge against you?”
“No, there’s no one.”
Michael shook his head firmly. “We can’t do this again, Charles. Where you say everything was all sunshine and rainbows and it turns out that is far from the truth. Someone is trying to frame you for murder. I need you to help me figure out why.”
“But I-I... really don’t know,” he said desperately, hands out. “Things are fine at home and work.”
“Are they?” he pressed. “No disgruntled employees? No one fired recently or lost out on a part or embarrassed on set?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m between movies right now. I haven’t filmed so much as a home video in two months.”
“Okay, then let’s talk about home. What about your staff? Nico? Dora? Donna? Mary?”
“Nico is a new hire. He hasn’t been working for me long enough to form a grudge.”
“And the three women? They have been around for years. They have access to your home and your daughter’s apartment.”
Another headshake. “They worked for my family for over twenty years. We’ve maintained a professional working relationship the entire time even though Emma was Beauty’s friend. We’ve only had one issue in that time and it was resolved.”
“What was the issue?”
“They resigned to open their own business. The bed-and- breakfast was failing, and Dora asked me for a loan to help save it. I told her no and said the same to Donna and Mary when they asked. They were upset for a time, but when their business went under, I gave them their jobs back and it was put to bed.”
He sounded assured, but Michael lifted his brow. “You’re telling me three people who have served your family faithfully for over two decades came to you, in their hour of need, and you turned them down? Then their supplication is to once again be relegated to the role of servant? Charles, I’m not saying you were wrong to deny the loan, but you are wrong if you think someone wouldn’t hold a grudge over that.”
Cadal just blinked at him as though the thought had honestly never occurred to him.
Michael sighed. “Alright, let’s move on. What about Silva? Did the relationship improve after you tried to attack him in the parking lot?”
He frowned. “I explained that. I was trying to protect Beauty. I thought he was stalking my daughter.”
He was.
Out loud, Michael said, “I get that, but what happened after? Beauty spent most of her nights at home so he would have been a frequent visitor.”
“He was and, to tell the truth, the kid never grew on me. I didn’t have a good feeling about him. He was over at the house every single day wanting to see Beauty. He clung to her like a cheap sweater. And one night at dinner, only a few months into their relationship, he brought up marriage. I told Beauty she should break things off. She was young and had her future in front of her. I know what a mistake it can be to marry too soon.”
Eyes narrowing, Michael replied, “Did Gabriel know you were encouraging Beauty to dump him?”
“Who knows. That kid is impossible to read. He certainly never acted any differently.”
“What do you know about him?”
“All I know is he isn’t from around here. His parents died in an accident when he was eighteen, and he received a healthy payout from the life insurance.”
“What? But we looked into him. We didn’t find any information about an accident.”
“Most likely because he was adopted at the age of twelve. They let him keep his last name.”
Michael blew out a breath. “We’re up to four people who could have resented the Cadal family, so let’s go for a fifth. Tell me about Malia.”
“She had nothing to do with this.”
His certainty surprised Michael. “You didn’t even stop to think about it. How can you be sure—”
Charles held up a hand. “If this were twenty-three years ago, I would have said yes, absolutely, but things have changed. We’re friends now and that friendship was hard won. Besides, if she wanted to hurt me or Beauty, she had ample opportunity over the last couple decades to do so. She is a regular dinner guest. She has thrown four birthday parties for Beauty. She works with Kingdom Films to hire actors for her business. It doesn’t make any sense for her to suddenly seek revenge now.”
“Could something have happened recently that—”
“No.”
Michael was skeptical, and he gave him a look to match.
“Truly, Grimm. I’m not overlooking anything. I haven’t denied her a loan or tried to break up her relationship or even argued over a movie plot. Maybe the others could have a grudge, but not her.”
“Alright,” Michael said, holding up a hand. “I’d imagine you’d know your ex-wife a lot better than me.”
He received a curt nod in response.
“Tell me about the party then. The whole night from start to finish.”
“I don’t have much more to tell. We got ready for the party. We began receiving guests around six. We sat down to a buffet dinner, then cleared the food away and moved to the dance floor.”
Michael knew this already, he needed new information. “You left the room to go and get the cake. What time was this?”
“I went out to the kitchen ten minutes before nine.”
“And you went down the west hallway?”
Toward where Beauty would have been lying.
“No, I went around back.”
Michael’s ears quirked up. “Why would you do that?”
“The caterer parked around back to make it easier to transport the food. There was a problem with the cake, so she asked to speak with me before I brought it in. One of the doors leading to the back yard is just off the ballroom, so I didn’t need to go all the way to the kitchen.”
“What was the problem with the cake?”
“It was a four-tiered castle cake, and someone bumped it and smeared the icing. She explained to me that she could fix it but wanted to know if I fe
lt comfortable serving a cake someone had practically fallen on.” He shrugged. “There was less than ten minutes left and no time to get a new cake. I told her to just scrape it off and do the best she could. When she was done, I wheeled the cake to the kitchen, went in through the back door, and that’s when I heard Marcus shouting for help.”
He nodded. “Why did you bring it in and not Claudia or the caterer herself?”
“I always brought in the cake and started the singing. I have since Beauty was a little girl.”
Perfectly reasonable explanation for why he wasn’t in the ballroom, but...
“We still don’t have a lot to go on.” Michael checked his watch. “But we got some time left, so let’s go back farther to the first accident. What was going on in your lives when it happened?”
Squaring his shoulders, Charles opened his mouth and began.
MICHAEL STEPPED OUT of the interrogation room. Samira was waiting for him in the hall.
“What did he say?” she asked, getting right to the point.
“He didn’t do it. He’s not the catfish.”
“Does he have proof?”
“No.”
“An explanation for how the phone got in his desk?”
“No.”
“Anything we can use to dismiss the accusations against him?”
“He’s got nothing.”
Samira kissed her teeth. “Michael, then you have nothing. How can you believe him just like that?”
“Not just like that.” Michael tapped his chest. “I got a feeling, Samira. He’s being set up.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Samira threw up her hands. “You know what? Fine. You just tell me when you’ve got it all figured out. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Lunch with Mama Grimm.”
They gathered their things and left the station.
“You feeling okay?” Samira asked halfway through the drive. “You still sound hoarse.”
He tapped his neck. “Sore, but I’m fine. Feels better than it did two days ago.”
“I don’t approve of the nickname, but with that rasp, Ghoul Grimm kind of fits.”
Laughing, Michael playfully shoved her shoulder. “If the worse that happens after almost being strangled to death, is a few days of neck pain and a nickname that won’t quit, then I’ll say I was pretty lucky.”
“You were lucky. Something must have spooked them, or they might have finished the job.”
He inclined his head. “Or maybe they realized killing me wouldn’t have stopped an investigation, it just would have started one. There was no point to attacking me. It was actually a pretty stupid thing to do for someone who has acted so cleverly until now.”
“You can’t understand the mind of a killer,” Samira said. “If they lived by logic, they would know better than to solve their problems through murder. They went through the trouble of arranging an elaborate setup to fool everyone about time of death and then the murder was pinned neatly on someone else. Then you announce Charles isn’t the killer and you’re still on the hunt for the real one. They panicked.”
“Maybe,” Michael replied softly, eyes fixed in front of him. “Maybe.”
KIMONA GRIMM SEIZED him in a strangling hug seconds after he stepped through the door.
“My baby. How are you feeling?”
Michael tried to speak, but she had his face firmly in her hands while she peppered him with kisses. He freed himself amid Samira’s titters.
“I’m fine,” he said, stepping back. “I feel much better.”
She sniffled. “As long as our Samira has been taking good care of you.”
“Our?”
“I have been, Kimona.” Samira grinned at him. “I haven’t let him out of my sight.”
“Good.” Samira received the same strangling hug. “If I can trust anyone with my boy, I know it’s you.”
“So, Mom,” he cut in. “What are you cooking?”
“Keeping it simple today. Butternut squash soup, lasagna, and chocolate pudding. Only soft foods until you’re better.”
He considered telling her he didn’t need a diet change, but he had as much chance of convincing her to not fuss over him as he did convincing a boulder to salsa dance.
“I’ll help you with lunch.”
“You will not,” she said firmly, finger level with his nose. “You’re going to relax in the living room while we take care of everything.”
“We?” He took a couple steps and poked his head into the kitchen.
He laughed out loud.
“Gutierrez? What are you wearing?”
Spencer’s glower was strong enough to light the house on fire, but Michael just laughed louder. The man was standing in his mother’s kitchen over a pan of uncooked lasagna with an apron that read “Hot Mama.”
“Mr. Spencer thought he was going to sit out on the front lawn all day and watch the house,” his mother said as she breezed past him. “But if he’s going to be here then I’m putting him to work.”
Spencer softened his expression and turned a charming smile on his mother. “I’m happy to help, Mrs. Grimm.”
“You can put me to work too, Kimmy.”
Michael jumped a foot in the air. Spinning around, he saw his father emerge from the living room.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
Glenmore inclined his head. “Your mother invited me. I called to see how you were doing, and she told me to come and see for myself.” He stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve tried calling you a few times, but you didn’t answer.”
“I was busy,” he said curtly.
“Michael—”
“Excuse me.” Michael sidestepped him and went in search of his sister.
He did not have to go far. She waved to him when he and Samira entered the living room. After enduring more inquiries about his health, Michael steered the conversation to the case.
“Charles is not Spindle. I’m sure of it.”
“Can you prove it?”
“No.”
“How did his prints get on the phone?”
“Not a clue.”
“If it wasn’t him, who would want to set him up?”
“It could be any one of the suspects.”
Monica kissed her teeth, frowning.
“I had the same reaction,” Samira added. “See if you can get farther with him than I did.”
Sighing, Monica untangled her legs and dropped her feet to the floor, looking at him directly. “We’re partners, so I trust you, but you got to give me something here. We promised that woman we would have her daughter’s killer by now, and so far, all we’ve managed to do is get her husband locked up.”
“We spoke to Marcus again, and I had an hour with Charles to discuss who would want to frame him for murder.”
Michael filled her in on all they spoke about that morning.
“Those are the only people who could have done it. That and my gut feeling are all I have to go on right now.”
“Then I hope you have a flash of insight incoming because we haven’t narrowed the list of suspects. If anything, things have gotten murkier. Was this about Beauty or Charles?”
“I—”
Bursting into the room, his mother latched onto him and hauled him to his feet. “Stop talking about this awful case for a minute and come have lunch.”
Michael forgot how sound traveled in this house. He let her drag him to the dining table and deposit him at the head of it.
Spencer strode out of the dining room laden with soup. He placed it on the table and Monica clapped. “Looks yummy, Mom.”
“This was all Mr. Spencer’s work actually,” his mother said, clapping Spencer on the back.
Monica hummed appreciatively. “I do love a man who can cook.”
Michael thought Spencer might melt into a puddle of happiness right then.
“But the salad,” his father said as
he entered the room, “was all me. Where’s my praise?”
Kimona laughed. “There was a time when you couldn’t make the kids toast without burning the house down, so I guess some praise is deserved.”
“I’ve come a long way since then. From toast to salad. I plan to tackle cereal next.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed as his mother giggled. “Ambitious.”
“I dream of cooking the fantastic meals you used to make me, Kimmy. Interested in giving me a few cooking lessons?”
She swatted his arm, but the smile didn’t leave her face. “I may be able to find the time.”
The screech of a chair scraping the floor startled them. Their eyes flew to Michael as he clambered to his feet. “Mom, thank you but I have to go,” he said blankly. “Bye.”
“Go? Why? Michael, where—wait!”
Michael jammed his foot into his shoes, yanked open the door, and bolted.
He made it as far as the sidewalk before a hand grabbed his arm and spun him away.
“Michael Cornelius Grimm,” his father bellowed, straightening to his full height. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing is the matter, Dad,” he said evenly. “I have a case to solve. I can’t sit around sipping soup while an innocent man is in prison. So, if you’ll excuse—”
Out of nowhere, his father started laughing.
“What’s funny?” Michael asked, blinking at him.
“You are.” He shook his head, sobering. “You truly are my son. I used to use work as an excuse to run away from my problems too.”
“I’m not running away,” he snapped.
“No? So what do you call the little disappearing act you pull whenever I step into the same room?”
Michael scoffed. “I disappeared on you? Are you serious, Dad? Rewriting history a bit there.”
Glenmore lifted his brow. “If you have something to say to me, Michael, then say it. You’re a grown man now. It’s time we get past this.”
“Get past it? You want me to get past you choosing money and Fairy Tails over us? You kicked your wife and children out into the street!”