Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Then I’d better get back to my desk so you two can get down to business. Would you like coffee, Detective Wheeler?” Carol asked.

  “No thanks. I had a cup on the way over here.”

  “Well, I don’t mind bringing you a cup if you change your mind.” Carol brushed past the detective as he took a seat across from my desk. She paused for a second at the door and gave me a thumbs-up before shutting it.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I thought I might help you. Finding that scarf had to be unnerving, so I wanted to let you know that you have an alibi. You’re off my list of suspects.” My mouth dropped open, not sure how to take this information. Suspect? Alibi? Those words had flitted through my mind, but to hear him use them made my involvement in a murder investigation more stressful, not less.

  “I’m sorry, but did I need an alibi?” I felt irritated by his demeanor—a little too glib. In those TV cop shows, a lot of detectives come across as surly or macho. Had my initial impression of Jack Wheeler as a stand-up guy been wrong?

  “A good, solid alibi is always valuable when an item of your clothing turns up at the scene of a murder.” He had a wry grin on his face. Not an expression I could describe as surly or macho, maybe a touch smug.

  Hmm, what is it with this guy? I asked myself. Is he toying with me? I decided to play along. I stood there, behind my desk, and folded my arms.

  “Okay, if you say so. What is it?”

  “What is what?”

  “What’s my alibi?” I guess the abruptness of my question caught him off guard. Still, he hardly skipped a beat before answering.

  “It’s your FasTrak transponder. At the time your colleague was murdered, you had just sailed through one of the toll booths on your commute.” I must admit I did feel a wave of relief, although I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “Thanks for sharing that information. Glad you have one less suspect on your list. I’m sure you’ve confirmed what Doug and I told you. Mallory wasn’t the most likable character in our cast of thousands, so you must have plenty of other alibis to track down.” Again, he smirked. Did that count as surly or macho? Jack Wheeler was getting under my skin.

  “I’m sorry if checking up on you bothers you, but that’s what I do. It’s my job. If it matters, I’m glad you’re no longer on the list of suspects. I like it much better that way.” That smirk shifted to a way more engaging smile. I tried to hold onto my stern demeanor, but it had been too long and too weird of a day. I returned the smile and sat down.

  “I get it. I’m glad not to be a suspect. What I don’t get, though, is how my scarf got there.”

  “That is a good question and another reason I’m here. Have you given any more thought about when you last saw the scarf?”

  “Yes. I remember hanging it along with my coat on a rack in a cloakroom. That was about a week ago at a site we used for a retreat.”

  “Who had access to that cloakroom?”

  “It wasn’t a 1930s nightclub—no hat check girl or anything like that. Everyone attending the retreat had access. We all just filed in there, shed our outerwear, hung it up, and left.” I drummed my fingers on my desk, under his watchful gaze. “Sorry if that sounded abrupt. You may be used to this sort of horrendous situation, but I’m not.”

  “You never get used to horrendous situations, but I understand what you’re saying.” His dark eyes softened a little as he spoke, revealing what might have been a hint of sadness or weariness.

  “I’m glad you understand what I’m saying because I’m not sure I do. I did have an odd interaction with Mallory that morning in which she made a nasty crack about my scarf.” As I shared the details of that story, I realized how relieved I was to have that alibi. In retrospect, Mallory’s threat to tattle on me to her father sounded worse than it had at the time and under the current circumstance might even be considered a motive for murder.

  “So, who witnessed that interaction between you and Cruella de Vil?” Jack asked.

  “You know about Mallory’s nickname?”

  “Geez, it was hard to miss with Purrsilla shrieking it at the top of her lungs. Doug told me it wasn’t the first time he’d heard an associate use that name for Mallory. You found it an apt one for her, too, from what I understand.” He wore a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary expression.

  “I confess, yes. You’ve caught me. Does that put me back on the suspect list?”

  “Nah, but it does get us back to my previous question. If there were witnesses to that cloakroom interaction between you and Cruella, it’s no secret you two didn’t get along and not a coincidence they chose that scarf after watching the two of you fight about it. So, who saw you and Mallory go at it and wants to frame you for her murder?”

  My mouth flew open again, and I clamped it shut, setting my jaw. There was no smug look now on his handsome face. Jack was serious.

  “It wasn't a fight, Jack. At least not on my part. I’m also confident that scene didn’t let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. A lot of people knew one reason I had moved to the PR Division was to get away from Mallory. There must be plenty of scuttlebutt about my dislike for her, so I’ll confirm that for you. I didn’t like her. But why anyone would jump to the conclusion that I wanted her dead is beyond me. At the time of our little encounter that day, the meeting was about to start, so there must have been forty people milling about as witnesses to that scene. Doug had walked into the building right before me, and Mallory had her administrative assistant, Linda Grey, with her as well as her second-in-command, Dorothy Sayers. Key people were there from other divisions, too. It’s hard for me to conceive of any of them as a murderer, or angry enough with me to try to frame me.”

  “Desperate people will do desperate things, Georgie. Anyone willing to resort to murder to resolve a grudge or gain an objective wouldn’t think twice about having someone else take the rap.”

  “Take the rap—you guys really talk like that?”

  “You can put money on it, sweetheart,” Jack replied, in a pretty good imitation of Humphrey Bogart’s Philip Marlowe. Despite my concern about being the object of a colleague’s nefarious plotting, I smiled at his antics.

  “I wish I could point you toward someone, but anyone at that retreat could have grabbed my scarf. Not one of whom strikes me as a murderous thug planning to kill Mallory. If that's where the killer grabbed my scarf, that implies the murder was planned and already in the works, at least a week ago, right?”

  “It’s possible. Not a whole lot of planning, mind you. The scene is a mess, and the attempt to implicate you amateurish. The plan must have included setting up a meeting at, or near, the spot where your colleague killed Mallory. If we’re lucky, a text or email ought to give us more information about who set it up and why. Still, it’s odd. If you had as many enemies as this woman had, would you agree to meet at the crack of dawn in an empty theme park?”

  “I doubt her royal highness worried about it,” I said. “Part of what made her so intolerable was a callous disregard for the little people in Max Marley’s kingdom where she was heir to the throne. Why not ignore their hatred as well as their other sentiments that she trampled without thinking twice?”

  “I suppose if she was as self-centered as you say, she might have been oblivious to threats or felt invincible. Still, if only for sheer comfort and convenience, why wouldn’t she refuse to meet at that hour?”

  “What if she was coerced into the meeting—blackmail, maybe? You might already know this,” and I lowered my voice, “but there was another issue in her life: drugs. Gossip has it that Mallory was in and out of rehab. I hate to think of Arcadia Park as the scene of a drug deal that went wrong, but I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  “We ran a background check immediately, and the rehab thing popped up. Her father confirmed it when I spoke to him. He wasn’t much help identifying a suspect, though, and got all blustery about the idea she had enemies! Max Marley is not in good shape, by the way. The apple didn’t fal
l far from the tree, did it?”

  “Nope. We have a pet name for him, too—Mad Max.” My admission got a head shake and a guffaw from Jack. I continued, “The man’s a genius, but comes across as mad as a hatter at times. When Max becomes convinced he's right about something, he's at least as disinclined as his daughter to accept feedback. He can go pretty far off the rails before figuring out that's what he's done."

  "It sounds like Max had a blind spot when it came to his daughter."

  "Oh yes, and Mallory played him like a fiddle. Her performance in the role of darling daughter, worshipping at the feet of her accomplished father, was Oscar-worthy. Behind the scenes, before I left my old job, I heard her grousing about ‘that stubborn old man’ more than once. Supposedly, Max bailed her out of trouble on numerous occasions, including that recent bout of rehab. You’d think that would have been a clue she wasn’t Pollyanna. Blind spot, yes. Blustery and not helpful is about what I’d expect, given how distraught he must have been. Did he see his dead daughter in the park like that, Detective?”

  “It’s Jack, remember? No, we didn’t call him to the scene. I heard he showed up later at the morgue. The guy about had a stroke from what the coroner told me. Then did what you said he might do—flew off the handle, demanding they conduct a thorough autopsy. Like he had to take command to get that to happen.” Jack shook his head.

  “I sound harsh telling it like it is—or was—about a dead woman and her dysfunctional relationship with her father. No parent wants to outlive a child—even one as troubled as Mallory. Issuing an order is a strategy I've seen him use before. It's one of the ways Mad Max tries to cope with difficulty. Likes to feel in control, you know?”

  “I get it. Poor guy. We’re moving as fast as we can to find out what happened to his daughter. If we can find her phone, it might tell us who she met with this morning. It wasn’t with her at the scene. Her purse was there with a wallet, keys, and other stuff like that. No cell phone, though. It wasn’t at her office when we picked up her computer. Linda Grey says there was nothing on Mallory’s calendar about a meeting this morning. So far, there’s nothing on her computer, either. The phone wasn’t in her car, but a team at Mallory’s house is still searching. We should get her phone records tomorrow. Maybe that’ll give us something. Can you get me a list of everyone at that retreat when your scarf disappeared?”

  “No problem. I can contact the coordinator of the event. We had to sign in, so there’s an attendance record. I’m still working to put together that list of people who openly disliked Mallory. I hope that’s not your go-to ‘whodunit’ list, since I’m on it. That and my scarf make it two strikes against me already, right?”

  “Don’t worry about any three-strikes-and-you’re-out rule. It’s way more complicated than that to figure out ‘whodunit.’ Besides, it would have been quite a feat to leave that scarf at the crime scene while you were on your way to work. So, one strike: motive, yes. Opportunity, no." I paused for a moment trying to figure out how worried I should be and what else I could do to move the investigation along.

  "Is there anything else besides getting those lists that I can do?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. There is one more thing you could do. Let me buy you dinner.” Those strange snap-crackle-pop sounds happened in my head again, as I met his dark eyes. A warm flush followed.

  “No,” I responded instantly. Disappointment registered on his face. I fixed that in a flash. “I will have dinner with you, but we go Dutch.”

  “Go Dutch? I haven’t heard that expression for some time. I’m not an employee—it’s not against company policy to date me, right?”

  My mouth fell open for the third time, and after I had collected myself, I asked, “Were you eavesdropping on Dale and me?”

  “I’m a detective, ma’am, what can I say? I followed Carol and was about to barge in here when I realized you weren’t alone. After a minute or two of listening to your anguished politeness, I thought it was time for that cad to go—super cat or no super cat.” He shrugged. I pursed my lips, still not certain how to take this guy. While I was thinking, he changed the subject.

  “Where do you want to go for dinner?” I was hungry—starving, in fact.

  “How about the Blue Pacific? Fantastic food and they have music. Do you like jazz? I could use a little music to soothe my soul after today.”

  “The Blue Pacific,” Jack said, letting out a low whistle. “Working for the Cat must pay well. That place is pricey. Thanks for offering to go Dutch. As for soul-soothing, I had an alcoholic beverage in mind.”

  “Perfect! They have an exquisite wine selection. My treat for your diligence in getting me off the suspect list so soon by finding out I have an alibi. I started here as a chef, so I’m picky about where I eat. And yes, the Cat pays well. As you can tell, I earn every penny of it.”

  “I won’t argue with that!” Jack stood up. I did too. I grabbed my purse from a drawer at my desk. After shoving Dale’s Valentine card and candy into my bag, I removed my coat from the clothes tree near the door to my office. Jack helped me slip my arms into it.

  “That’s odd,” I said, patting one of the pockets of the coat. “I just saw my cell phone in my purse...but there’s one here in my coat.”

  “Don’t touch it! I’ll bet you anything you just found Mallory’s phone.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Am I back on the suspect list?”

  5 Dinner with a View

  Two hours later, we were seated at Blue Pacific with a view overlooking the ocean and an open bottle of wine. A jazz quartet played Coltrane, the lighting low and romantic, and there I sat with a homicide detective. What a way to spend my first date in ages! If I hadn’t been exhausted and freaked out, I might have been able at least to get into the film noir ambiance of the whole thing.

  “Cheers!” I said, holding up my glass. Jack gave it a clink with his.

  “What are we toasting?”

  “That this beastly day is over, and I’m not in jail.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” He took a sip and let out a little sigh of appreciation. “What a terrific wine. I can’t imagine a better way to end a day like this one. It’s a lovely view from where I’m sitting.” I could tell he was talking about more than the ocean.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you insisted we have dinner, despite the delay back at my office.” Evidence guys had come and picked up my coat and the phone. They had gone through my things, looking for other evidence linking me to the murder. There was no sign anyone had jimmied the lock on the door, so whoever left that phone either had a key or slipped in while it was already open.

  “Delay or no delay, we have to eat, even in the middle of a big case like this one.”

  “You may be used to dealing with murder and mayhem. I’m not. Well, mayhem maybe, but not murder. After the first hour or so with those CSI guys, I was ready to call it a night. I’m still not feeling great about the fact that someone at the Cat Factory has made another attempt to get me to take the fall for murder.”

  “Cat Factory, huh? I like that. Planting the murdered woman’s phone on you would have worked better if there had been texts or phone calls between you and Mallory. Whoever’s behind this isn’t thinking straight—not a mastermind, that’s for sure. As I said before, this has been a half-baked attempt to implicate you.”

  “It may be half-baked, but it’s unnerving, nevertheless.”

  “You have every right to be unnerved. Half-baked is still plenty dangerous.”

  “Why me? What have I done to tick somebody off?”

  “It might not be personal. The antagonism between you and Mallory is a plausible motive. That incident with the scarf was convenient—like Mallory was ramping up efforts to get you. Even if you hadn’t identified that scarf as yours, a lot of other people could have done it. The very public confrontation over the scarf made that possible and drew attention to the ongoing conflict between the two of you. Murderous rivalries aren't unheard of in my business, Georgi
e."

  "Rivalry? Mallory was daddy's girl—handpicked by Max. How could I possibly be a rival? Or anyone else, for that matter."

  "Even more of a reason to get rid of her. If workplace competition is at the center of this mess, it could be personal. You may not see yourself as a formidable rival, but you are. Mad Max isn't always off the wall—you said as much. Blood may be thicker than water, but it's no substitute for cold, hard cash. He must have had some expectations that his daughter would perform adequately in that role."

  "That's hard to believe. I hear what you're saying, though. Even if Max didn't want to hold her accountable, the shareholders would be after him if she screwed up too much."

  "My point, exactly! I’ll bet Mallory felt you breathing down her neck even after you moved to a different division. She may not have been the only one. Why not kill two birds with one stone by eliminating one rival and framing another for her murder? You’re competent and experienced, poised, and attractive. Uh, sorry no compliments, I forgot.” Jack sipped his wine and set the glass down. “I need to slow down—this wine is far too good.”

  I relished his compliments, but I’d had my shields up for so long I wasn’t sure I was ready to lower them yet.

  “Thanks for the kind words,” I said. “I do like to hear them. I’ve never understood the things you’re saying about such ruthless competition. Work harder. Improve yourself, yes. Murder someone to get ahead, or frame someone for murder—well, that’s beyond belief. It creeps me out to think a colleague like that works at Marvelous Marley World. Even worse to find out the culprit is close enough to take my scarf and plant that phone in my coat. Close and way ahead of me, that's for sure.”

  “Not too far ahead. Stealing the scarf was a crime of opportunity—it required some forethought, but not a lot. Planting the phone was a little trickier. Still, you were out of your office most of the day, so any number of people could have done it. That big, obnoxious tomcat had no problem getting in there, and I barged in on you. Carol’s a good assistant, but she’s not on guard duty every minute.”