by Lee Hollis
Sandra shrugged, stumped.
“Besides, Chelsea is a successful actress on Broadway. It’s not like she needs the money anyway,” Maya added.
Sandra perked up. “Actress?”
Maya nodded. “Yes, she’s literally the exact opposite of Maisie. It’s hard to believe they were sisters.”
“I love flying down to New York and seeing Broadway shows. Stephen hates going and usually falls asleep five minutes after the curtain goes up, so I tend to go alone or with a girlfriend. I bet I’ve seen her in something.”
Sandra grabbed Maya’s laptop and spun it around so it was facing her. Then she typed Chelsea’s name in the Google search box. A dozen rows of images loaded and Sandra’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
Maya noticed her wide eyes staring at all the pictures of Chelsea. “What is it?”
“I know her,” Sandra whispered.
“You do?”
“Well, not know her really, but I’ve definitely seen her before,” Sandra said, pointing at the screen.
“What show was it? She says she’s appearing in Wicked at the moment.”
“It wasn’t a show,” Sandra said solemnly. “It was at the high school in the parking lot. I saw her in a heated argument with Maisie.”
“When was that?”
“About a week before we found Maisie dead.”
“But Chelsea went to such great lengths to tell me how close she was to her sister,” Maya said.
“Maybe they were, but they certainly weren’t that night,” Sandra said, closing the laptop. “I’m afraid if I hadn’t shown up, they might have killed each other.”
“Did you hear what they were fighting about?”
Sandra shook her head. “No, but I think we have enough to take a closer look at Chelsea and her relationship with Maisie.”
“But again, why go to the trouble of hiring a detective if the sister you despised is already dead and you have a fortune coming to you from a life-insurance policy?”
“Perhaps there was another reason why Chelsea Portman hired you other than to prove Maisie was murdered,” Sandra said her mind racing. “We just need to find out what it is.”
Maya couldn’t help but smile at Sandra’s focused determination. For the first time in a while, she felt like she had a fully committed partner who was totally on board with the case. And it made her feel like she wasn’t a solo act anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Top of the East bar, with its expansive floor-to-ceiling windows and boasting the most breathtaking view of Portland and Casco Bay, sat on top of the Westin Portland Harborview hotel. It was a must stop for a cocktail on any night out on the town. Sandra had been there with Stephen and friends numerous times and was a big fan of their Bayside Basil, a yummy concoction consisting of Cold River gin, St. Elder natural elderflower, Dolin Blanc vermouth, and grapefruit juice. She knew when she walked in that the bartender Lori, a pretty young redhead working her way through the University of Southern Maine, would recognize her once she found a place at the bar. Sandra knew she looked good in her cobalt-blue connected-sequin lace sheath dress that she had recently bought on sale at Macy’s along with her silver pumps, especially since a gaggle of businessmen seated at a table in the corner had abruptly stopped their conversation and were now staring at her.
It was happy hour, so the bar was crowded. Sandra scanned the patrons, settling on one sitting at the bar, sipping a Rose Kennedy. She was blond and beautiful and shouldn’t have had a care in the world, but tonight she looked miserable. She sat in a high-back chair, slumped over a bit, staring into her rose-colored drink.
Sandra turned her head to the side and spoke in a whisper. “I see her. She’s at the bar.”
She heard Maya’s voice in her ear. “Is she alone?”
“Looks like it. There’s a man sitting next to her. It looks like he’s working up the courage to talk to her.”
“Can you get anywhere near her to strike up a conversation?”
“The bar’s pretty busy. I’m going to order a drink and wait for something to open up.”
“Okay, don’t be too obvious, play it cool. You’re very approachable, so you don’t have to try too hard.”
“I’ve been charming my husband’s constituents for years. I got this,” Sandra said confidently as she sashayed across the bar, passing the table of men, who were still gaping at her, and stood at the bar until Lori noticed her.
“Mrs. Wallage, how nice to see you again!”
“Hello, Lori. When do I have to start calling you doctor?”
Lori laughed. “I’m getting my master’s in nursing. Adult-gerontology acute-care nurse practitioner, if you want to get technical. I have another year and a half to go.”
“Impressive. I’m so proud of your career goals. Most young people I come in contact with just want to make YouTube videos and get famous.”
“I’m too shy for that kind of stuff,” she said, chuckling. “You want the usual?”
“Please,” Sandra said, spotting an older couple putting some money down on the bar and getting up to leave. “I’ll be right over there.”
She walked over and smiled at the couple who passed her and moved off toward the elevator, and then she climbed up on one of the free chairs. Lori quickly removed their empty glasses, wadded up napkins and the cash tip, and then wiped the bar clean with a towel before heading off to make Sandra her drink.
Sandra casually glanced over in the direction of the blond woman, but Chelsea Portman hadn’t noticed her yet, or maybe she already had and had chosen to go back to drowning her sorrows in her Rose Kennedy.
One of the businessmen at the table with his buddies got up and crossed over to Sandra and the empty chair next to her. He leaned down close to her, resting an elbow on the bar, and mustered up the most dazzling smile he could. “Is this seat taken?”
Sandra turned and said with a wan smile, “I’m waiting for a friend.”
“Well, why don’t I keep it warm until he gets here?”
“I’m married,” she said coldly, holding up her ring finger.
“What a coincidence. So am I,” he said, raising his own ring finger, not willing to give up just yet. “Looks like we have something in common.”
“He’s really handsome. I mean really handsome. If I was going to cheat on him, you’d have to be the spitting image of Benedict Cumberbatch. And sadly you’re not, so read my lips: Not . . . going to . . . happen.”
She could hear Maya laughing in her ear.
Sandra felt comforted by the fact that Maya was parked outside, right across the street from the hotel, ready to rush in if she needed her.
But Maya wasn’t going to have to, because the businessman deflated right before her eyes and shuffled dejectedly back to his buddies, who were guffawing over his big fail.
Lori slid a red cocktail napkin in front of Sandra and set a Bayside Basil down on top of it. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, Lori.”
“How’s Mr. Wallage; I mean Senator Wallage?”
“Down in Washington fighting to make all our lives better,” she said. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. Despite his shortcomings, Stephen was one of those rare cases of a politician who was in it for the right reasons. He was sincere, at least in his work. It was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him all those years ago when they met in college at a campus protest. She couldn’t even remember what they were protesting, but Stephen had a bullhorn and had organized everyone. He had invited her over to his dorm room to help make signs, and when they finished at three in the morning they made love for the very first time. They had been a team ever since.
“My father didn’t vote for him,” Lori said matter-of-factly. “But my mother did, just to make my dad mad because he knows she has a huge crush on him.”
Sandra giggled. “I like your mom.”
Lori ambled off to wait on another customer waving an empty glass, and that’s when she finally noticed C
helsea Portman looking at her.
“That same guy tried hitting on me right before you came in,” Chelsea said.
Sandra grinned. “I guess he’s not having a good night at the plate. His batting average sucks.”
Chelsea chortled.
Play it cool, Sandra.
Don’t come on too strong.
Sandra casually took a sip of her drink and looked away.
Luckily Chelsea wasn’t done talking to her.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the bartender. Is your husband a senator?”
Sandra turned back and nodded. “Senator Wallage. Stephen Wallage.”
“Of course! I knew you looked familiar!”
This was her moment. Her time to reel in the fish. She had practiced it outside in the car several times with Maya.
“Well, truth be told, I recognized you the minute I came into the bar,” Sandra said, almost shyly.
Chelsea lit up. “You did?”
“I took my sons to see Wicked in New York a few weeks ago. You were a brilliant Glinda the Good Witch.”
“Thank you!” Chelsea cooed.
It was a slam dunk.
She had her right where she wanted her.
Sandra had gambled that Chelsea would not remember her from the night that she had intervened while she and Maisie were fighting in the high school parking lot. It was dark, and Chelsea had been too upset and distracted to pay much attention to her.
“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight. I’m going to buy you a drink!” Chelsea said, flagging down Lori.
“Seriously, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. When do I have the opportunity to buy a drink for an honest-to-goodness U.S. senator?”
“Wife, I’m just the wife,” Sandra said.
“Well, maybe you should be a senator. We need more women senators,” Chelsea exclaimed before slamming down the rest of her Rose Kennedy.
“I’ll drink to that,” Sandra said, raising her Bayside Basil.
Lori appeared, and Chelsea, who was still technically sober, but not for long, leaned in to her. “We’ll have another round. Just put it on my tab.”
“Coming right up,” Lori said before walking away.
Sandra lifted her glass to Chelsea. “Thank you.”
There was a pause, and then Chelsea, eyeing the empty seat next to Sandra, gently asked, “Mind if I join you?”
Mission accomplished.
It had been so easy.
She knew Maya was listening and hoped she would be proud at how effectively and efficiently Sandra had handled the situation.
“Of course. We can fend off the wolves together as a team,” Sandra joked, pointing to the table of businessmen in the corner.
Chelsea left her empty glass and walked around the bar to Sandra. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go to the little girls’ room. Save my seat.”
Sandra nodded, and Chelsea bounced off. The minute she was gone, Sandra waved down Lori and handed her the nearly full cocktail glass with her Bayside Basil. “Do me a favor and dump this.”
Lori took the glass, confused.
“And no matter how many more of the Bayside Basils I order, make them without alcohol, would you, please?”
“Really?” Lori asked, a puzzled look on her face.
Sandra reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll match this at the end of the night if you serve me nothing but virgin cocktails for the rest of the time I’m here.”
Lori snatched the twenty out of Sandra’s hand. “Whatever you want, Mrs. Wallage.”
Lori wasn’t about to ask any more questions if it meant pocketing a forty-dollar tip at the end of the evening.
Chelsea, looking refreshed but slightly tipsy, returned from the restroom and jumped up on the chair next to Sandra just as Lori returned with their drinks. Chelsea eyed Sandra’s cocktail. “So what is that?”
“A Bayside Basil,” Sandra answered.
“Mind if I try it?”
Before Sandra had a chance to stop her, Chelsea scooped up the drink and knocked back a healthy swig. She slammed the drink down as she tasted it and scrunched up her nose. “It’s a little weak.”
Sandra grabbed the drink and took a sip. “I don’t know. I think it’s got a nice kick to it.”
But Chelsea was already waving at Lori, who made her way over to them. “I don’t taste any alcohol. Could you make her another one, please?”
Lori stood there, not sure what to do. Sandra nodded to her, and Lori picked up the glass and went to make another Bayside Basil.
“I want to see how you make it,” Chelsea said, slurring slightly, as she pounded down another Rose Kennedy.
Lori prepared the drink and returned with it. She was about to set it down in front of Sandra, but Chelsea plucked it out of her hand before she had the chance and taste tested it. “Now this one is much better!”
She handed it off to Sandra, who took a slight sip. Lori had added a double shot of gin, and Sandra’s eyes practically watered. She turned and eyed the restroom before turning back to Chelsea. “My turn. Looks like I should have gone when you did—now there’s a line.” She held up her Bayside Basil. “I’m going to need this to keep me company while I wait.”
Sandra slid off the stool and marched to the restroom. There was a potted plant between the men’s and ladies’ rooms. She surreptitiously poured the drink out into it, and after waiting the appropriate amount of time since she didn’t have to really go to the bathroom, returned to the bar with the empty glass and set it down.
“Looks like I’m going to need another, Lori,” she said to the bartender with a wink.
Lori knew exactly what she was up to and raised the glass with a smile.
Chelsea spent the next twenty minutes asking about what parts of Wicked Sandra’s sons enjoyed the most, and Sandra dutifully told her that both Jack and Ryan were enamored with her performance as Glinda, gushing about her beautiful singing voice and perfect comedic timing.
Finally, she heard Maya’s voice in her ear. “You’re overdoing it.”
“Sorry,” Sandra said without thinking.
Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “Sorry about what?”
Sandra could have kicked herself. Rule number one about wearing a wire: never speak to the person who is not in the room and talking to you through an earpiece. But Sandra was caught off guard for only a few seconds.
“Sorry to go on and on like this, but it’s rare I get to hang out with a famous actress.”
“That’s so sweet of you to say, but I’m not really that famous,” Chelsea said, feigning a modicum of modesty.
“Nice recovery,” Maya said in her ear.
“Thank you,” Sandra said, then bit her lip.
Did she really just do it again?
“For what?” Chelsea asked, now thoroughly confused.
“Thank you for . . . sitting here with me and having a drink. You must have so many people who want to spend time with you.”
“You’d be surprised,” Chelsea said bitterly, staring into the bottom of her glass, lost in thought.
There was a long pause of silence with only the tin of the other patrons in the background chattering away and the sounds of glasses clinking filling the air before Sandra felt compelled to speak. “What brings you to Portland?”
Chelsea took a deep breath and sighed. “Technically I’m here on family business . . .”
“I knew your sister. I worked with her in the PTA,” Sandra said solemnly.
Chelsea seemed surprised for a moment that Sandra knew Maisie, but then after a moment, she relaxed. Sandra could see Chelsea’s mind putting it all together. Maisie worked at the high school. Sandra had two teenage boys. Of course it made sense that they knew each other. And it was obvious she had no clue that Sandra was the woman from the parking lot.
“Yes, it’s tragic what happened to Maisie,” Chelsea said. It was obvious she ha
d no desire to take the subject any further. “But the real reason I’m here . . .” Chelsea stopped herself, not sure if she should divulge anymore. She took another gulp of her Rose Kennedy, debating with herself.
Sandra could hear Maya breathing through the earpiece expectantly, waiting impatiently to find out.
“To see my boyfriend,” Chelsea said quietly.
“Oh,” Sandra said, astonished a beautiful actress like Chelsea wasn’t dating a hedge fund manager or a theater director back in New York. “Is he meeting you here?”
Chelsea’s face soured. “I got a text from him earlier. He’s not coming.”
“I’m sorry,” Sandra said softly.
“It’s the age-old story,” Chelsea said, raising a finger and pointing it down at her glass to alert Lori that she needed a refill and pronto.
Lori was happy to oblige.
“Married?” Sandra guessed.
“Yup, and for two years he’s been promising to leave his wife. I played the role of the other woman for two years on a soap, and I still couldn’t see the signs in front of me.”
“We never do,” Sandra said, touching her arm. “My husband promised me we would never live apart, and now he spends most of the year living in a duplex apartment on K Street down in DC.”
Chelsea seemed to appreciate the physical contact and leaned into Sandra, bumping shoulders with her. “I guess we gals have to stick together.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Sandra said, guzzling her nonalcoholic beverage. “Hey, I don’t want to go all fangirl on you, but can I get a selfie? My sons will love it.”
“Absolutely,” Chelsea said, batting her eyes, flattered.
Sandra pulled her phone out of her purse and snapped a few photos, both women checking to make sure they looked good.
“Hey, can you send those to me? I’ll post them on Instagram,” Chelsea said.
“I’m too drunk to type in your info. Why don’t you take a few with your phone?” Sandra wailed, pretending to be intoxicated and nailing it.
“Okay,” Chelsea said without a second thought. She rummaged through her bag and found her cell phone. She punched in the six-digit security code. 030690. Sandra made a mental note of it.