by Nancy Bush
“No problem.” I reached over and slid my business card back into my palm. She eyed me suspiciously. I walked straight to the door, saluted her with the clipboard and walked into the watery November afternoon sunlight.
I put in the call to Sean and ended up leaving a message. Big surprise. I doubted he would phone me back in a timely manner. I mean, why should he be different from anyone else? Maybe I should stop by the Crock later on. It was Friday. I could phone ahead and see if Sean’s band was still on the playbill.
I went home and took Binkster for a walk around the neighborhood. It makes me kind of nervous because around this section of West Bay there aren’t any sidewalks, and the streets are narrow and twisty with poor visibility. Still, I was feeling the need to move, so we wandered around with Binks smelling every leaf and twig, pressing her flat face to the ground, stubbornly ignoring my tugs on the leash. But the rain still held off. It had been nearly a day since it had precipitated. Almost a record.
Violet called as Binks and I reentered the cottage. Binks ran straight for her bowl as I answered my cell phone.
“Jane, I’ve got the greatest news,” Violet said.
Instantly, I braced myself. Everything comes out of left field with Violet and I wasn’t sure I was ready. “What?” I asked cautiously.
“Well, first let me tell you that I joined the Columbia Millionaires’ Club. It’s kind of like being a social member rather than a full-fledged one, if you’re a woman, but it was great. I just walked in and told them who I was and what I was about—being a Purcell doesn’t hurt around Portland—and voila!”
“Well, that’s great.” The wheels in my head were turning.
“And guess what? There’s a CMC party tomorrow night, and I put your name down as my guest! Now you can wear that dress. It’s perfect. You want to know about escort services? Dating services? Might as well check it out from the inside. Right? Best kind of investigation.”
“Where’d you get this idea?”
“It just came to me. It’s brilliant, don’t you think?”
More than delving deeper into the circumstances surrounding Roland’s death, I sensed this was one of her attempts to be friends. Just us girls…doing something crazy again.
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell them about your association with the deceased Mr. Hatchmere.”
“I left that off the application,” she admitted. “And I had to be a little cagey about your occupation, too. I fuzzed up some details on both of us, but it’s always kind of a game at these places anyway. Everybody lies.”
“What did you say about me?”
“I said you were looking to meet a partner. I’ll come over tomorrow and put you together before we go.”
“You don’t trust me to do it on my own?”
“No.”
I stared into the middle distance, thinking hard. This was an unexpected opportunity for me to gain access to Columbia Millionaires’ Club. “Okay, I’m in.”
“Terrific,” Violet enthused. “Good thing I bought all those products at The Face, huh?”
I had hours to kill before I could meet Sean at the Crock, so I spent the afternoon on my laptop writing up my notes. I put the facts in one file, my thoughts and impressions in another. If and when I could, I wrote down people’s comments verbatim because sometimes what they said took on new meaning later—a trick I learned from Dwayne.
That finished, I took some time to chronicle my adventures at Do Not Enter, facetiously writing up a bill for Dwayne. I wasn’t really after payment on this one, but it worked great as an exercise in laying out the information I’d gathered. It was clear to me Keegan Lendenhal would have to be caught in the act to make the charges stick as there was no direct evidence. Maybe Dawn’s older sister, Dionne, would have some things to say about Keegan. Maybe Dawn’s parents would chime in with their own suspicions. But getting Dawn to have a change of heart was something else again, and even on the remote chance she did, with no evidence it was a matter of “he said, she said.”
However, a beer can with traces of a date rape drug and Keegan Lendenhal’s fingerprints ought to be a good start. I didn’t trust Lake Chinook’s finest to procure that piece of evidence in a raid on Do Not Enter. Keegan would dispose of it first. On that I would bet. So it looked like it was up to me.
Since I had no intention of calling Keegan earlier, as he’d practically insisted, I had a week before the next, and last, game. Meanwhile, I could concentrate on the Hatchmere murder, so I whiled away Friday afternoon looking over the information I’d put in my notes, examining my timeline and considering the possible motives that Dr. Wu had given me for both Gigi and Sean. Roland’s death had prevented him from changing his will. His estate was divided between them, except for concessions made to Melinda. Violet got exactly zero.
I glanced down the list of names of wedding guests and friends. Deenie was still incommunicado, but my interest level in her had nose-dived. What could she tell me anyway? That she and Gigi had cried and hugged and cried some more? Would her version be any more illuminating than Gigi’s? I was betting on a big, fat no, but I circled her name anyway.
I paused at Emmett’s name, then moved down the list to David and Goldy Popparockskill. If I believed Daniel Wu’s account, which I did, then what had Roland had against them? Was it just a case of no one being good enough for his little girl, including the would-be groom’s parents? Or was it something else?
Grabbing my coat, I decided to take a jaunt down to Wilsonville, about seven miles south of Lake Chinook, to check out Miller-Kennedy Mercedes. Maybe David Popparockskill wasn’t interested in talking to me, but hey, I sure felt like talking to him. Emmett had said he was the accounts manager. Based on David’s one uptight phone message to me, I suspected it was a good thing he wasn’t in sales.
It was about four-thirty when I took off and I wondered if I might be too late. Did the employees leave at five? Six? Or did some of them stay around throughout the evening, catching the after-work customer? This might be an exercise in futility, but one never knew.
There was a faint misting rain sputtering on and off. I looked up at the heavens and silently pleaded for a drought. A fat plop of water splattered on my windshield and I turned on my wipers.
I considered how it might be going with Gigi and Emmett since he’d quit the dealership. What’s that line about retirement: twice the husband, half the income? In Emmett’s case, he wasn’t even getting half the income. But then he wasn’t even once a husband, strictly speaking.
The Miller-Kennedy Mercedes dealership was all blue-green tinted glass hung on a soaring, silvery metal frame. The front windows formed a peak over the showroom, which made it look like a huge, futuristic church. The back of the building dropped a story or two into your basic tilt-up concrete walls painted a shade of ecru. All the cars sparkled like polished gems, lined up in rows with rain beading on their waxed exteriors: red, blue, gold and silver, shining under the stadium lights that lit up the place like day.
A salesman held open the glass-paneled front door for me, all smiles. I reflected on my black pants and boots, topped by my anorak. I was almost okay, though the coat was a little tired, but hey, it had gotten a lot of use lately.
“Weather’s been a mess, huh?” he greeted me.
“The cars look great.”
“They sure do, don’t they?”
The showroom held three superfancy cars with every button and gizmo known to mankind. A dark blue convertible took center stage, gleaming and throwing back sparks of illumination from the overhead track lights. My new friend started talking car talk as if I’d pulled a string to his voice box. I waited politely for about three seconds, then interrupted. “Is David Popparockskill still here?”
He stopped abruptly, looking more surprised than crestfallen. “I’m not sure. He could still be in his office.” He pointed to a hallway that turned a corner toward the back of the building. “It’s down that way. Take a right after you pass the water fountain. Be
tter yet, check with Junie-Marie. She’s at the reception desk till seven.”
“Junie-Marie?” I repeated, digging rapidly through my memory. Someone had mentioned Junie-Marie recently. It wasn’t a name to forget but I couldn’t immediately place it.
“You know her?”
“She was…Emmett’s girlfriend before Gigi,” I said. It was the Best Man. He’d definitely favored Junie-Marie to Gigi.
“You do know the family.” He gave me a more studied examination.
“I’ve never actually met Junie-Marie.”
“She’s great. Check with her.” His eye traveled to a young couple who’d just squealed into the lot in an oversized SUV. They stepped out, both wearing business clothes, as if they’d just come from the office, and there was something about their apparel that screamed money.
He was gone in a flash.
The reception desk counter was a large semicircle of blond wood, chest height, lit by a plethora of overhead can lights. As I neared it, I could see a woman’s brunette bob come into view. Her hair was short, clipped just below her ears. What struck me first was how much she looked like Gigi. Second, I saw that the resemblance actually wasn’t much past the short, dark hair, large brown eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Junie-Marie was prettier but radiated an overwhelmed tension that surrounded her like a force field. She smiled at me. “May I help you?”
Tiny diamonds, or maybe zircons, sparkled at her ear-lobes. Her lipstick was light pink where Gigi’s was brick red. I put both women around the same age, but Junie seemed younger.
I started lying as soon as I opened my mouth. Sometimes it’s clear in the first few moments how to respond to a potential interviewee. Besides, I like to lie. “I thought Emmett Popparockskill worked here, but I was told that he’s gone now?” I tried to project perplexed disappointment.
Her smile dimmed a couple of watts. “I’m sorry. He’s no longer with us. But all our salesmen are really knowledgeable.” She reached a hand toward the intercom.
“I’m sure they are, but this is a personal matter.”
“Oh?” She pretended merely a polite interest, but her body was practically bristling.
Leaning an elbow on the counter, I sighed hugely. “This is totally embarrassing, but I met Emmett at the clubhouse. We, well…we hit it off. But then I found out he was getting married! I was just devastated, you know. God, life’s full of lousy tricks, isn’t it?”
She didn’t verbally agree with me, but it was in her face. She forgot the intercom, dropping her hand to her desk, fiddling with a notepad and pen within reach.
“So I was really, really bummed, to say the least. I just found out that he never got married. I haven’t seen him around the club, though, so I thought maybe I could catch up with him here.”
“Unfortunately…no…”
“Do you know how I can get in touch with him?” I asked hopefully. “Can you tell me where he’s working now?”
She fingered an earring. “I’m not sure he’s taken another job.”
“Wow. Really? Like he’s living a life of leisure? Gosh, maybe he’s gone to a new country club.”
“I think he’s still at Willamette Crest.”
“Well, he’s been like a ghost, then,” I said. “I’ve been there nearly every day.” I tried on a pensive look. “Do you know what happened? I mean, why he didn’t get married. She didn’t call it off, did she?”
“No, oh no. Not by choice.” Junie-Marie was struggling. Boy, did she want to dish with me! I was counting on her not considering me any real threat for Emmett’s affections as I was more like a groupie, a little desperate, definitely not a real contender. Junie-Marie didn’t want to seem unprofessional, but there had to be some deep resentment somewhere over the whole Emmett thing. I mean, what was she doing working here? In this nest of Popparockskills and Millers, all related to Emmett.
“Maybe you read about it?” she said carefully, shooting a look around the showroom. We were the only people for miles. Everyone else was outside in the overcast skies, looking at vehicles, or at the far end of the showroom, practically a football field away. “Emmett’s fiancée, Gigi Hatchmere? Her father was killed the day of the wedding. By his ex-wife.”
“What?” I repeated, aghast.
“So the wedding never happened. All that planning…all that money…and then boom! It’s over.”
“What do you mean? They broke up?”
“Not even,” she said, hugging herself tightly. “They’re living together…at the house where it happened.”
“What happened? The murder?” I breathed, scandalized.
Her head bobbed tightly.
I blinked and shook my head, wondering if it would be too much if I stepped back, hand to my heart, and staggered around a little. I kinda thought Junie-Marie might buy it, though.
“Emmett up and quit a couple weeks ago,” she said, pressing her lips together, as if there were more to say but she was scared to let it out. I pretended to be poleaxed. Just couldn’t take it all in.
“Poor Emmett,” I said. “That’s awful.”
“It was awful.”
“Is he doing all right? I mean…really?”
“No,” she stated flatly. “No, he’s not. Emmett and his mom had a real loud fight about his decision. Goldy blamed it on Gigi. She’s never liked her much. You know why they were getting married, don’t you? She told him she was pregnant. All a big, big lie. Goldy tried to talk him out of it, but Emmett was going to do the right thing by Gigi. Wouldn’t listen to anyone.”
“He thought she was pregnant and he said he’d marry her.” I tried to keep the skepticism out of my voice. There hadn’t been a hint of this anywhere, and since it was obvious Gigi was not pregnant, why was Emmett still hanging around if that was the supposed “trap”? Plus, I’d witnessed Gigi’s reaction to learning Emmett had quit his job. That sure wasn’t her idea. To Junie-Marie, I murmured, “Sounds just like him,” keeping up the hero worship.
“Doesn’t it?” She fought a last thought toward discretion, looked down for a moment, then shot me an upward glance. There was a neediness in her eyes that made me feel a little guilty. “I probably shouldn’t say this…since you really like Emmett and all…but I was with him before Gigi. We were seriously together, and if it weren’t for all her tricks, we’d still be together.”
“You and Emmett?” I gazed at her in astonishment.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You couldn’t know. I was kind of hoping when the wedding didn’t come off that he’d…figure it out. You know…that he’d get over her.” She gave a half laugh. “Goldy didn’t think I was good enough, but Gigi, well, she takes the cake. Goldy just hates her. All of a sudden I didn’t look like such a bad choice, you know?”
“I didn’t know,” I murmured.
“Gigi’s smart, though. I’ll give her that. She saw how to get Emmett for herself, and just went for it.”
“You said Emmett was fighting with his mom. Does she work here, too?”
“Goldy’s just here a lot.” She seemed to realize she’d said far more than she should have. “Still want him?” She half laughed. “You can have him.”
She didn’t mean a word of it. I pretended to be having trouble absorbing everything. “I can’t believe you stayed on after everything,” I said in a tone of admiration. “That must be really hard.”
“Mike Miller, Emmett’s uncle, hired me. That’s how I met Emmett in the first place. It’s not like I’d lose my job just because Emmett and I broke up.”
“But the…memories. That’s gotta be hard.”
“Not really.” More lies.
“It would devastate me.”
Junie-Marie’s mouth twisted. She looked outside, at the rows of colorful cars, but she was tuned into her inner vision. “Gigi came in to buy a convertible. She’d totaled her car and she wanted a Mercedes. Emmett helped her. After that, she came in again, and again. I could tell something was up, but what’re you gonna do? You can’t fight true love
,” she said with an edge.
“I’d want to kill her,” I said. “And him, too.”
“Yeah…well…she does have money….”
That was it, I thought. Junie-Marie might lie to herself about Gigi trying to trap Emmett, but the truth was he went for the cash and she knew it, whether she wanted to still believe in her prince or not.
“I couldn’t compete with that,” she admitted. “But I stayed on. I needed a job and this is a good one. I’m sure it bothers her,” she added a bit meanly.
Well, until Emmett quit, maybe.
My sales buddy came back inside and saw me standing at Junie-Marie’s desk. He stopped short, unsure if I still needed help or not. I rapped my knuckles on the counter and said, “Thanks so much,” then scooted toward the back hallway. Junie-Marie looked at me in surprise. “Looking for the loo,” I said and hurried away.
I found David Popparockskill’s office on my first try. Right past the water fountain. D. POPPAROCKSKILL was etched in a gold nameplate that was held tightly in a slot on the open door. I peered inside. My luck was holding, as he was seated at the desk: a gray-haired man in a gray suit and a gray-and-blue-striped tie. He seemed somewhat shrunken, like the chair was too big for him, and his gaze was out a small back window toward the parking lot beyond, though I suspected he, too, was seeing something in his inner vision.
He looked startled when I rapped on the doorjamb.
“David Popparockskill?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I strode across to him, hand extended. “Jane Kelly. I’m the private investigator who called you. I’m looking into Roland Hatchmere’s death.”
My direct approach caused him to rear back slightly in his chair. I shook his hand, which was dry and limp, and seated myself in one of the two dark blue club chairs in front of his desk, crossing my legs. I should have worn a skirt, I thought. I might have gotten further as his gaze was on my legs, which were tucked demurely away inside my black pants.
“I thought I made it clear in my message that we have nothing to say to you,” he said huffily.