03-Keeping Mum

by Alyse Carlson

  “Productive day?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. He always said Cam didn’t give in to comfort enough, but he was clearly a little alarmed when she did.

  “My dad has asked me to look into this murder.”

  “What? Oh!”

  It was what she loved about him. He was quick on the uptake. She didn’t need to explain the connection to Vivian. He’d been getting the evidence updates all afternoon and knew who the new prime suspect was. And he knew she’d gone to the fund-raiser with Cam’s dad.

  “Is it that serious?”

  “Seems to be. I think there’s also . . . she was a friend of my mom’s, so he might have wanted to help her anyway, but you can tell he really likes her.”

  “Wow. Because the evidence is . . .”

  “She’s connected to both men. She told me how.”

  “You’ve talked to her?”

  “Just ate cannoli with her, actually.”

  “Are you sure that’s safe?”

  “Are you serious? Look, we know she didn’t physically do either crime. She was in the middle of a herd of people for the first and with my dad here in Roanoke for the second. And . . . she was my mom’s friend! Aunt Vi! She wouldn’t hurt me. Especially if I’m trying to help her, but even if I wasn’t . . .”

  “Okay, okay. I just don’t get how you keep getting sucked into these things.”

  “You do, too.”

  “I’m a reporter. I’m just doing my job.”

  “You’re a sports reporter. Your job is covering Virginia Tech, or the Redskins, or the Senators . . . or whatever that hockey team is . . .”

  “The Capitals.”

  “Yeah. Dumb name.”

  “I didn’t pick it. Red Wings all the way, baby.”

  Cam rolled her eyes. He was being silly, but he definitely could do a good impression of a mindless sports fan.

  “My point is you report on games, not murder. You don’t have any more business doing this than I do.”

  “We’ve done pretty well with it, though,” he said.

  She went over and hugged him. “So here we go again, hmm?”

  He kissed her temple and sighed. She knew she had him. “Did you have dinner?”

  “Sandwich,” he said.

  She fetched a bowl of grapes and a couple of beers and sat down on the futon with him.

  “So let’s think this through.”

  Cam shared what she had learned from Vivian at her dad’s house, and Rob shared a few other details that Vivian must not have thought to bring up.

  “You know they’ve subpoenaed her computer and phone records.”

  “Seriously? What do they hope to get?”

  “Jake’s not talking. They must have some reason to suspect her.”

  “Yeah, I’ll believe that when they prove it. I don’t think that’s the right direction,” Cam said. “Anything else?”

  “Potentially big. That company that paid for the media table—the one that was arranged by Derrick Windermere?”

  “Chrysanthemum Holdings, yeah?”

  “The other partner—Treemore? Something like that. Anyway, there was a suit filed to have Windermere declared incompetent so the other partner could take over. Looks fishy enough that their books have been subpoenaed, too.”

  “Treemore. I’ve never heard of them.”

  “No, the searching I’ve done looks like it’s just a dummy company for some other one.”

  “How many dead ends are we going to hit?” Cam asked.

  “I’m not sure it’s dead. It’s just above my pay grade,” Rob said. “We should work on something more manageable. Any suggestions?”

  “How do we get close to Vera Windermere-Sullivan?” Cam said.

  “Funeral for her dad is tomorrow,” Rob answered.

  “Oh, that sounds tasteless.”

  “It sounds like where we can assess who’s sad and who’s just being seen. Maybe there will even be someone there who’s a little smug. Or someone obviously missing.”

  “Okay, then. He was a miserable man, so I suppose being tacky by going doesn’t bother me all that much,” Cam said. “Say . . . was there a life insurance policy?”

  “There was, actually. Rather sizable.”

  “And the beneficiary?”

  “Police have sealed the information. They know, but they aren’t telling.”

  “You mean Jake won’t give a hint?”

  “I think it’s being contested pending the investigation anyway, so he can’t.”

  Cam pulled out her phone and called Annie, who didn’t answer. She was probably mid-rant at her dad, so Cam left a message.

  “Big life insurance policy on Derrick. Police aren’t saying who gets the money . . . but maybe one could be persuaded.”

  “You’re terrible,” Rob said when she clicked her phone shut.

  “No. I’m efficient.”

  “Very.” He pulled her closer.

  CHAPTER 15

  Cam thought she’d never seen such a pretentious funeral. Even dead, the guy was obnoxious. The flowers were so thick and pungent Cam almost felt nauseated, and she was a flower enthusiast. There was a string of black limousines six deep, as if his immediate family couldn’t stand to be in the same car with each other. The church was filled with blaring organ music. The harem from the fund-raiser had hardly bothered to make themselves appear more appropriate. And the orations given by supposed loved ones sounded bought and paid for. At least it was very interesting people watching.

  Derrick’s ex-wife sat with their daughter, Vera, whom Cam recognized from the fund-raiser. Both looked like a studied example of grief, sniffing and holding each other, but Cam wasn’t buying it. She could understand an ex-wife being supportive of her child, but given what she knew about Derrick and that this woman had gotten away from him some time ago, real grief didn’t make sense. Unless of course she was sad she wasn’t still married to him because now the bastard was gone and she wouldn’t get any of his money.

  That was another issue—Derrick had an estate besides the life insurance policy. Cam wondered what it was worth. He had lived like a very wealthy man, but his livelihood had required that he look successful. She wondered if he really was. She decided maybe the ex-wife was a good person to approach at the reception.

  His current wife was so surrounded with people it was hard to actually see her face. Her hat also had a veil to it. Cam wondered if she was hiding her dry eyes. Why hadn’t this woman been looked at more seriously? Wasn’t it always the wife?

  Rob elbowed her, pulling her from her thoughts. He pointed to a trio of people coming in.

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  “That is what we in the sporting world call organized gambling.”

  “Oh! Wait a minute. That guy was the guy with the phone.”

  “What phone?”

  “Joel’s phone, remember? So who are they?”

  “The guy at the back is Big Al.”

  “That’s a bit of a stereotype on naming, don’t you think?”

  “I think he likes to play on it. He keeps clean, at least on paper, but everyone who gambles in this town knows he’s behind it.”

  “And who are the other guys?”

  “Now that I see him in context, rather than on a little screen with a naval hat, the suit is Dave Barrett. He’s a lawyer, and I think he knows how to keep them walking the ‘can’t get caught’ line. I don’t know the third.”

  “The lawyer for a gambling ring borrowed and kept the phone of a staff member. And they’re here paying respects to Derrick Windermere. Interesting.”

  “Not really. Derrick was just a white-collar version of what they do.”

  Cam thought that was probably true, but in her mind, white-collar and blue-collar gamblers didn’t play together. “Maybe gambling is behind the murder.”

  Cam was surprised how many faces she recognized as she looked through the crowd. A number of them had been at the fund-raiser. Even Samantha was there, sitting with Ja
red Koontz, of all people. When Joel Jaimeson stopped to greet her, Cam almost hid. They had to be quiet then, as the events of the funeral began in earnest. Other than the people she recognized, it looked a little like a who’s who of seedy society. Cam was surprised people like this were so prevalent in Roanoke. There were a lot of furs and six-inch heels, which seemed very over-the-top for a somber occasion, and there were a few men with oversize rings and flashy suits. They were not the mourning funeral-goers she would have expected at a classier man’s funeral, or even a humbler man’s. No, Derrick Windermere, if he had had a hand in planning this, wanted everyone to think he was loaded.

  Thankfully, the service wasn’t overly long. And thankfully, though for an entirely different reason, the reception was across the parking lot at a hotel conference room. The same sort of decorations graced the place, and Cam thought some local florist had made thousands from this man’s death. The estimated profit was almost enough to suspect a murder motive. She whispered that to Rob and saw his mouth twitch.

  “There she is. We’re going in,” Rob said. “You’re point.” He put a hand on her back and followed her silently.

  “Do we know her name?” Cam whispered behind Derrick’s former wife.

  “Charlotte? Charlene? Something like that.”

  Cam didn’t want to get it wrong, so she went with the ever-reliable “Mrs. Windermere.”

  “Mrs. Windermere, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The woman had chocolate hair and eyes that were almost black. She appraised Cam a moment.

  “Why thank you. You are?” Cam thought she smelled an early-morning cocktail on the woman’s breath.

  “Camellia Harris. I was a professional acquaintance. It’s just so sad.”

  “Well, yes. I’m more here for my daughter. I’m actually Mrs. Langston now, but I appreciate your sentiments.”

  “I’m so sad for your daughter. I hear she lost her husband recently, too.”

  “Yes, well. Good riddance to him.”

  “Really? Was he so awful?” Cam crossed her fingers that the alcohol the woman had imbibed loosened her tongue.

  “She wanted to leave him. Had for years, but her father wouldn’t hear of it.” She then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be gossiping.”

  “Oh, no. I quite understand. Sometimes you just need to ease a little of the pressure. We won’t say a word. Will we, Rob?”

  Rob shook his head dutifully.

  “It’s just . . .” She leaned in conspiratorially, like she relished the gossip, however inappropriate. Cam decided it was definitely the drink. “He had some gambling problems. It made it impossible for them to get ahead. And then I think he was a bit of a womanizer on the side.”

  “Then why would Mr. Windermere object to her leaving him?”

  “He claimed he was old-fashioned, but I know better. He divorced me, didn’t he? And he’s been living with that tramp for years. Actually, I think it was the family connections.”

  Cam tried to act dumb. A son-in-law connected to a former senator and a cop was possibly very appealing to someone with criminal tendencies. She wondered if Derrick had ever taken advantage. She knew what Elle had said, but Elle had perhaps only said what she didn’t mind her husband knowing. There might have been a lot more to it.

  “Living with . . . so the woman up front wasn’t his wife? She seems to have a lot of support,” Cam said, thinking gossip on that front might be even more forthcoming.

  “Heather? Oh, honey. He never married her. Poor idiot has been biding her time for years and just missed the gravy train.”

  Cam thought Char-whatever Langston looked particularly smug.

  An argument broke out then, at one side of the reception. One man was a police officer in his formal blues and the other was none other than Chad Phillips.

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Langston said. “I’ll need to intervene there. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She rushed off, wobbling on her first few steps.

  “Three guesses what that’s about,” Rob said.

  “Why on earth would he show his face here?” Cam asked.

  “And how would Vera’s mother be the best person to intervene?” Rob asked.

  “No clue. You don’t think Vera is tied to Phillips, do you?”

  The gleam in Rob’s eye told Cam that was exactly what he thought and that this story appealed to the journalist in him, even if it was fairly tawdry.

  “You do know who that cop is, don’t you?” Rob asked.

  Cam shook her head.

  “That is Len Sullivan, our suspicious cop. Looks like he thinks something about Chad Phillips being here is inappropriate. Is there anyone else here we need to talk to?” Rob asked.

  “Have you noticed who Vera’s friends are? I can see it being helpful to talk to one of them.”

  Rob pointed. There was a quartet of women hovering near one wall. One was turned with her back to them, and Cam could swear it looked like she was spiking her coffee. It was confirmed when she passed something to another woman in the group. The rest of them watched as Mrs. Langston lectured both of the men who’d been arguing. Vera was to the side looking petulant, but she followed her mother as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder sadly as they left. Cam could have sworn the look had nothing to do with the inappropriate behavior at her father’s funeral.

  “Come on.” She took Rob’s hand and pulled him toward the women.

  They looked at her questioningly as she and Rob arrived, but Cam just dived in.

  “It’s so sad. Vera could really use that support today.”

  “Who are you?” one of the women asked.

  “Cam Harris. I worked with Mr. Windermere—he talked about Vera all the time. You must be . . . sorority sisters?”

  “No, we’ve been friends longer. Vera’s never mentioned you.”

  “Well, I don’t imagine Mr. Windermere mentioned me to her. His secretarial pool would hardly be interesting family conversation.”

  They seemed to relax a little, except for one who reminded Cam of Kim Kardashian.

  “So if you’re the secretary, what business is this of yours?”

  Cam would have been shocked had she actually had a less sneaky interest, but this seemed to reflect the class of this group. “Mr. Windermere was good to me. I wanted to pay my respects. I just thought . . . well, I don’t want to approach Vera directly, so I hoped as her friends, you might pass on my sympathies.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Aubrey. That’s nice of you,” one of the other women said. “But what were you talking about . . . use that support?”

  “Chad Phillips? I . . . I took it they are close—Vera and Chad.”

  “Close?”

  The woman she was talking to seemed clueless, but the face of one of the others behind her told Cam she’d guessed it.

  “Maybe I’m mistaken,” Cam said. “It was just an impression I had.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” the knowing one said. “Look, we’ll pass on your message.”

  “Thank you.” Cam took Rob’s arm and led him off.

  “Vera and Chad,” Rob said. “Well, well.”

  “I could see her face—she was sad he was going, and it completely explains why Mike and his brother would both be so mad at the guy—the fight at the poker game when Sully had learned something.”

  “You think there was an affair?”

  “I think it’s likely,” Cam said.

  “Then Jake dropped the ball there. I’ll make sure he knows he needs to follow up on that poker game.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe we should look into it?”

  “How would we do that?” he asked.

  “Maybe we should go play some cards.”

  • • •

  • • •

  Cam couldn’t remember later how she convinced Rob to go along with it. She had to get him past his Dylan hang-ups, his hesitation at going behind Jake’s back, and his arguments that Cam had no poker face. In the end,
she conceded he could play. It was true—she certainly couldn’t. She called Dylan to find out how to go about it.

  “Cam, these are big-stakes games. Nobody can get in for under a grand, ten grand if you want one of the really big ones, which I think you do.”

  “What?”

  “The people you want to talk to—those games are closed, and if a young guy like Rob comes in, they’ll smell a rat if he doesn’t come with a pedigree. It’s not that they care where the money came from, but they don’t want cops or investigators buying in. Which you are, by the way.”

  “But we’re looking into the death of one of them.”

  “And some of them probably think, good riddance. Sully was a teddy bear when he won, but he didn’t win much. And when he did win, it usually went up his nose.”

  “Wait. Not just the gambling? Drugs, too?”

  “Look, I never saw it. They try to keep it looking clean. Everyone knows there’s an escort or two hanging around, and everyone knows the reason when someone comes back from the john sniffing, but they don’t do anything illegal in the main room.”

  “Other than gambling,” Cam said. “So how do I get in there to talk to somebody?”

  “I thought your buddy Jake was calling them.”

  “He’s focused on another suspect and I think he dropped this angle prematurely.”

  “Look, if you want to put on a real-short skirt and help me pour drinks, you can come to one of the games Wednesday. I get half your tips because they’d all be my tips otherwise, but I admit you’ll get more than me, so you can keep half.”

  “Deal!”

  She wished Rob was as enthusiastic when she relayed the plan to him. In fact they argued about it and he went home early, but she knew he’d come around. He’d bought in to going to the card game himself. And she was sure he knew he wouldn’t make a credible silver-spoon heir coming to the table, not to mention neither of them had ten thousand dollars lying around.

  • • •

  • • •

  Cam went to work the next morning and found herself inundated with mundane tasks. The Roanoke Garden Society was sponsoring a winter garden that needed coordination with the city, a nearby elementary school, and a neighborhood group, so Cam made a series of calls. She felt like she was playing the telephone game before long and finally just requested a meeting.