Tinsel and Temptation

by Eileen Rendahl

  “Sir, one more thing,” Clyde said. “Several guests mentioned seeing a women head down a hallway off the main room. I checked it out, there’s access to the back of the estate from there. No-one saw her return.” Clyde scrolled through his notes. “The woman’s name is Karen…no, sorry—autotype.” Clyde tapped the screen. “Maren…it’s Maren Kane.”

  Alibi checked his phone, nothing from Lee yet. He was tempted to go back to the library and find out her shoe size himself. It wasn’t so much that he was hearing anything conclusive that pointed to Maren. It was more that there didn’t seem to be anyone else who looked good for Jameson’s murder. He wondered how long it would be before he would have to read Maren Kane her rights…

  His thoughts were interrupted when Rachel Codghill spoke up. “I have a call from the coroner. He’d like you to come to the guesthouse now. He says it’s important.”

  When Maren awakened, she had a stiff neck from sleeping in the chair. She felt far from refreshed. Alibi hadn’t come back, and had failed to deliver on his promise of a room where she could lie down. She knew she was cranky, but really, he was rapidly proving himself to be useless. She opened another protein bar and tried to make sense of what she knew so far.

  The senator’s holiday party was supposed to have been her chance to breakout, to have some fun. Instead, Maren had found herself a suspect in a violent murder. And on a lesser, but still disturbing note, she’d had to share one of the lowest moments of her professional life with a man she thought she might be falling for.

  Maren knew her behavior at the last task force meeting had been inexcusable. While politicians often get away with public displays of anger, it can cost lobbyists their jobs. Maren felt fortunate that the consequences for her had been limited to a stern reprimand from the Ecobabe Board, as well as the clear message that she should not expect a holiday bonus.

  The only person who seemed to understand and even support Maren’s outburst was Beth Connors. Beth had told Maren she agreed that Jameson needed to be stopped and that Maren was a hero for publicly saying so. Maren was surprised at Beth’s passion, since Beth had stayed on the sidelines of political advocacy after Carissa’s death. But then Beth shared that it was LILHealth’s Texas division that wouldn’t pay for Carissa to be seen by a doctor until it was too late. Maren was glad to see Beth funneling her grief into something positive—testimony from Beth when the Hindall bill was heard in committee might be just the thing to cause the legislature to be thoughtful regarding the LILHealth funding decision.

  Maren wished there was something she could do for Beth. She remembered her sobbing as she left the party, and realized the one-year anniversary of Carissa’s death had hit her hard—Maren couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. Maybe they could go out for an evening after this was over, when the real murderer had been caught and Maren was off the suspect list.

  But then, as the phrase “real murderer” floated around in Maren’s mind, something else struck her about her memory of Beth tonight. When she almost knocked her over, Beth’s sweater was wet as though she’d just been out in the rain and she was shivering from the cold. At the time, Maren assumed Beth had just arrived at the event. But as she replayed back the interaction in her mind, she realized Beth hadn’t been coming in from the front entrance, but rather was walking in the opposite direction, through the crowd from the back of the estate.

  Beth was coming from the place where Johnny’s body was found.

  Maren stood up, her dizziness returned. She felt a sharp stab of pain in her stomach. She realized she might throw up. She leaned heavily on a chair as she considered the conclusion she had just reached, that it was Beth Connors who killed Johnny Jameson.

  “I understand he wanted me to wait, but I need to speak with Alibi, now!” Maren felt at a disadvantage trying to pull rank over a uniformed police officer when she was wearing a gold and red-striped jogging suit, but she was not taking no for an answer.

  “I’ve texted him, he’s not picking up. I can’t let you disrupt a police investigation…”

  Maren leaned right, then dodged left, employing a basketball move she’d used in college when guarded by much taller girls, then took off at a dead run past Lee. She skidded as she made the turn at the powder room out to the now empty main room. Her intent was to exit the french doors to the back of the property and find Alibi herself, but the door was chained with a padlock, evidently to prevent contamination of the crime scene. She changed course and headed back the way she’d come, slowing to a dignified pace when she was in sight of the library.

  Officer Lee was still there. Not only hadn’t he chased her, he hadn’t left his post. He said something into his walkie-talkie, she assumed calling off whatever pursuit he’d put in motion, and stepped aside to let her back into the library.

  Maren was happy that Lee seemed to believe that she had learned her lesson when confronted by the locked exit—that the back yard was absolutely off limits—and that she would behave herself and wait patiently for Alibi.

  Not even close, as she planned to keep on walking through the library and right out the courtyard sliding door.

  But once she got inside the room she saw it was time for Plan B, as there was a new officer, one she hadn’t seen before, sitting outside in a chair by the gate in the courtyard.

  For someone who wasn’t being detained, Maren was definitely feeling a “you’re a detainee” vibe.

  She found her silver clutch, sat down facing away from the courtyard, pulled out her cell phone and texted Alibi.

  Connors is killer.

  Then she realized he might not know what that meant.

  School teacher Beth Connors killed Jameson.

  Call off the hounds. I’ll explain.

  It was then that she noticed there was a Plan C. In front of her, partially hidden by heavy silk drapes, was a large double-hung window. She had closed the door on Officer Lee (she didn’t slam it, as none of this was his fault), and the cop in the courtyard couldn’t see her from where he sat.

  She eased over to the window. It didn’t open easily, she needed to use both arms and put her weight into it. She wasn’t sure whether the side yard opened onto the back of the estate, but at a minimum she could yell over the fence and have somebody get Alibi’s attention. She put one leg over the window sill, then the other and was on her feet on the gravel pathway just in time to see Beth Connors coming from the front of the estate, still in her party clothes, a large red purse clutched in both hands.

  Maren’s hand flew to her mouth. She couldn’t imagine what Beth was doing back at Senator Stanton’s, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

  When Beth saw Maren, she smiled fleetingly, but her face was drawn. As she got within a few feet she moved back against the hedges along the fence. When she spoke it was almost a whisper. “I have to talk to you.”

  Maren said the first thing that came into her mind. “How did you get inside the estate?”

  Beth toyed with a strap on her purse. “When the driver of an SUV stopped to talk to the cop at the gate, he was distracted, it was easy for me to pass by the other side. They’re watching for someone trying to get away, not for someone trying to get back in. “Beth paused. “I know you’ve been arrested. I saw it on Facebook. I’m here to help you.”

  Arrested?

  Seeing Beth in her poufy skirt and holiday sweater, stating that she was here to help, Maren had a moment of doubt. She found it hard to hang on to her earlier conviction that Beth Connors had killed Jameson. Perhaps Beth was coming from the back bathroom when Maren ran into her earlier, or had been out getting a breath of air in the courtyard. Things Maren had done that made her a suspect. Beth certainly looked anything but dangerous right now. Maren stepped closer to her. “I haven’t been arrested.”

  Beth shook her head. “There are photos of you on the internet with the senator, she’s pointing at you. The arrest is public. Is the Governor ok?”

  “The Governor?”

/>   “He was shot. Not with Jameson. Later.”

  “Beth, that’s not true. Someone from the event must have posted a photo of the senator and me and then it became an old-fashioned game of telephone. Each person who posted got the story a little more wrong, until it was all wrong.”

  Beth shook her head again, her eyes tearing up.

  Maren’s brow creased in sympathy, she spoke softly. “I know you’re upset, and with the anniversary of Carissa’s passing…”

  “It was Tuesday, one year ago, almost Christmas.” Beth’s tears started again, rolling down both cheeks as she reached into her purse and withdrew a gun.

  The blood drained from Maren’s face.

  But Beth didn’t point the weapon at Maren. She was examining it, turning it over in both hands. Then she looked up, her eyes glassy. “I had to. You know I had to. You’re the one who made me realize it had to be done.” She cradled the revolver, holding it tightly against her chest and rocking back and forth. “You were right. What happened to Carissa can’t happen to anyone else.” She rocked faster, shifting from one foot to the other as though she were comforting a fussy baby, rather than a 38 revolver. “When Carissa took sick they wouldn’t give me an appointment, some advice person on their phone line told me to give her Tylenol, that fevers are normal in young children.” She looked down at the gun, seemed to realize suddenly that she was not holding a baby. “You said if LILHealth came to California that more children would die. You said Johnny Jameson should pay!” She gestured wildly, the gun still in her hand.

  Maren ducked.

  Beth saw Maren’s response and dropped her arms to her sides. “I have money saved up. We can drive, maybe to Mexico. They shouldn’t blame you, they shouldn’t. But since it was your idea, the police won’t let you go.” She began walking towards the front of the house at a determined pace, until she looked back and saw that Maren wasn’t coming. Beth kept her voice low, but her tone was urgent. “We need to leave now.”

  Alibi felt like as though he’d aged 10 years in one night as he started up the path to the guesthouse to meet the coroner. He told himself not to care, that what happened to Maren Kane was no longer his concern. They hadn’t spent more than 20 minutes together, so what if it felt intimate? It must be the holidays, creating the illusion that wishes come true. He reached for his phone and realized he’d left it at the command station with Rachel. He’d pick it up on the way back.

  He was halfway up the stairs when Sandy Jones emerged from the guesthouse. Pale, white-haired, stooped with thick glasses, he looked every bit like someone who spent most days in the morgue.

  “Alibi, what on earth took you so long? I’ve got to get home. This virus will be the death of me if I can’t get some sleep.”

  Sandy was always certain he was about to die of something. Alibi was surprised all coroners didn’t feel the same way. Or maybe they did, but Sandy was the first he’d worked with who could compete in hypochondria at the championship level.

  “I gather we know the cause of death, a 38, “Alibi said. “And time of death was between 6:45 and 8:05 PM tonight. Anything else I should know?”

  Sandy coughed, then wiped his brow. “He was already dead when he hit the water. One bullet to the shoulder, inconsequential, but the second took out his heart.” He coughed again.

  Alibi turned his head away, hoping Sandy hadn’t cried wolf so many times that Alibi was now in the presence of something actually contagious. “Thanks. I look forward to your report.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. When I’m sick I don’t think as clearly. I don’t know if one of your officers shared this with you or if they thought I would. The deceased had his phone with him when he fell. Some kid is working to see what he can get from it.”

  Some kid? Alibi scanned the area and saw Clyde Watson bent over at one of the tables under the lights. His strides lengthened as he hurried over to him.

  “It’s a Sony Experia Z,” Clyde said. “It’s cool. Really cool. Waterproof.” He had the back off the phone, the battery out. “But either due to the velocity of the fall or the pressure of the rushing waterfall, it definitely got wet where it shouldn’t have. I’ve on with tech support.” Clyde gestured to another phone on the table, in speakerphone mode. “I called Sony, they patched me through to AT&T’s emergency line.”

  Alibi was beginning to realize this kid was a valuable asset.

  “Can I help you?”

  The voice was tinny. Clyde picked up his phone for a clearer connection.

  “Uh-huh…Okay…Thank you. Yes, ma’am, that would be good. Thank you.” Clyde looked at Alibi. “They ran a system trace. The last active signal from Jameson’s phone was 7:18 pm, before the elements in the phone got wet, and shorted out. She’s emailing me over the documentation.

  “So that’s when Jameson fell into the water? 7:18?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “A minute or so after he was shot?”

  “It seems so, yes sir.”

  Alibi stepped away, pulled out his own phone from his pocket and opened his texts.

  Does this count as a first date? Time-stamped at 7:22pm. Maren Kane had been talking to him at 7:18pm, at the time of the murder. Alibi realized he was Maren Kane’s alibi…He thought he might actually have felt his heart lift. True, he no longer had a clue who the real murderer was. But it wasn’t Maren. And that was a good thing.

  Alibi started walking, then jogging towards the library to speak with her. When he arrived, Lee was saying something about a text, about not reaching him, something about Maren running. Alibi was only half-listening. He wanted to tell this woman—this beautiful, stubborn, a little bit crazy woman—right now, that she was in the clear. He wanted to tell her more than that. He ordered Lee to go see if Rachel Codghill needed help. When Officer Lee continued to object, Alibi made clear he was having none of it, and Lee complied.

  But when he opened the door, Alibi was faced with a wide-open window and an empty room. He ran over and stuck his head out.

  Maren was standing still, her back to him, while a woman in a strange, fluffy red skirt and a holiday sweater waved a 38 revolver in the air. Upon seeing Alibi, the woman steadied the gun with both hands and took aim. She looked like she’d had practice. Maren turned and saw who Beth was aiming at just as Alibi pulled out his service revolver, clasped it in both hands and aimed back.

  Maren stepped between the two.

  “Maren. Move!” Alibi yelled. He was constrained by the window frame. He couldn’t get a clean shot around Maren. He couldn’t risk firing.

  Maren stayed between them.

  Beth took two steps to the side, her intent clear. As she tensed to pull the trigger Maren bent low and threw herself forward, tackling Beth hard at the knees. Praying as she did so that she was out of the line of fire.

  She was.

  But Alibi was not.

  Maren shifted in her chair, setting down the magazine she’d been unable to read.

  Alibi’s hospital room was small but private, with a window overlooking F Street, where a gentle rain was falling for the second time in as many days. Sacramento holiday shoppers didn’t seem bothered as they sheltered wrapped packages under recently-purchase umbrellas.

  Maren wondered what it would be like to be out there now. Because inside, it seemed to her it would be hard for things to get much weirder.

  She was engaged in a bedside vigil for a man she had just met.

  A man she barely knew.

  A man whose life she had saved.

  The bullet sailed off target when Maren knocked Beth Connors down, causing it to graze Alibi’s arm instead of hitting him in the face. Or the heart. Or somewhere else really bad.

  He opened his eyes, blinked twice and closed them again.

  Maren couldn’t tell whether he’d seen her or not, until he spoke. His voice was dry and raspy, his eyes still closed.

  “Does this count?”

  He lay motionless. Maren thought he might have slipped from consciousness agai
n.

  “I said, does this count?”

  Maren stood up, leaned in and pressed her lips to his, lightly. He opened his eyes and encircled her with his good arm, pulling her towards him, where he gave her a kiss.

  A deep and serious kiss…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A former local elected official, Kris Calvin’s debut political mystery novel One Murder More: A Maren Kane Mystery is published by Inkshares. Educated at Stanford and UC Berkeley in psychology and economics, Kris has been honored by the California State Assembly and the Governor’s office for her leadership in advocacy on behalf of children. Kris is an avid Northern California sports fan (Warriors, Giants and Niners). Learn more about Kris at www.KrisCalvin.com.