Voted Out

by J. S. Marlo

  “That sounds like a good plan, Lily.” The older man patted her shoulder. “I’ll inform Headquarters of your decision.”

  When the man from Election Headquarters pulled out his phone, Jasper presented her with a lone key—the only key in the possession of the victim. The number one was engraved on it. “We found it in the victim’s pocket. Is that his office key?”

  “Yes. It was hooked to his truck keys and he liked to jiggle them.” Liliane reached for it, but at the last minute, she withdrew her hand. “Have you dusted it for prints yet?”

  “Yes. No prints. No smudges. And not attached to any key ring.” Whoever separated the office key from the other keys, wiped it clean, and kept the truck keys had become Jasper’s prime suspect.

  “Why would someone remove the office key, or take off with Thomas’ truck?” Despite her obvious weariness, Liliane had followed his reasoning. “Though I suppose it explains why his truck isn’t parked outside the office.”

  These questions bothered him as well. “Liliane, if you and Damien want to leave, I can lock and set the alarm once my guys depart. You don’t need to stay.”

  The man from Election Headquarters took Thomas’ office key from his hand. “I’ll stay with the detective, Lily. You should go home and rest.”

  The way she eyed both of them, Jasper feared she might object but she seemed to think it over and then agreed.

  “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my studio. Painting.”

  ~ * ~

  Painting served as an escape and her studio as her refuge. The tension in her body ebbed with every stroke Liliane dabbed on the canvas.

  A cherry red and smoky white lighthouse towered at the edge of a rocky cliff. With her brush, Liliane whipped up a storm. A dash of purple streaked the darkening sky. Whitecaps rolled over blue and turquoise waves, splashing a white mist against the cliff.

  “Hello? Is someone here?”

  Startled, Liliane dropped her brush. “In my studio—”

  She almost mouthed handsome, but caught herself in time. Traci manned the gallery. The last thing Liliane needed was for her daughter’s friend to overhear her calling him handsome and tell Ariana. This wasn’t how Liliane wanted her daughter to learn of her secret love affair.

  He entered her studio as she soaked her brushes in a jar filled with cleaning solution. “There you are. With everything that happened today, I’m surprised you left your door unlocked.”

  Confused by his statement, she wiped her hands clean. “Why would I lock the door when my gallery is open?” Then she recalled his initial greeting. “Isn’t Traci in the other room?”

  The man wreaking havoc with her mind had changed clothes since she’d last seen him this afternoon.

  In jeans and polo shirt, he looked ten years younger. “No, and the sign on your door says closed.”

  “It does?” Traci wouldn’t have closed early without conferring with her. “What time is it?”

  An estimate would suffice, he didn’t need to check his phone. “7:37 to be exact.”

  Sweet chocolate. Her gallery closed at 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays. Engrossed in her painting she had missed Traci’s departure. The poor girl had probably wished her good night from the doorway then left when Liliane didn’t acknowledge her. I’ll stop by after she opens at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow and apologize.

  She hung the painting lab coat she wore over her clothes on a hook by the sink. Pure white when she bought it many years ago, it was now splattered with every shade on her palette.

  Alone with him, she pressed her hands over his chest. “Is the crime scene unit still processing the office? Can we re-open tomorrow?”

  Before attacking her canvas, she’d booked a cleaning team for 7:30 a.m. then texted Nathalie about her office key before contacting Gloria. The receptionist volunteered to call the staff to let them know about the mandatory meeting at 10:30 a.m. tomorrow, which Liliane appreciated.

  Everything was in place to re-open at noon. The finance director at Headquarters even sent Liliane an email to let her know he’d adjusted her pay to reflect her added responsibilities. He didn’t mention any amount, but at this point Liliane didn’t care. Money wasn’t the driving force behind her decision to stick around.

  “The guys left around 6:00 p.m. You can re-open as scheduled.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” The top button of his shirt was undone, so she unbuttoned the other two. “Will you stay tonight?”

  “Wasn’t that the plan?” He slipped an expert hand under her top. “Or are you trying to get rid of me?”

  No, but Thomas’ murder changed the dynamic of their relationship. When she talked to Gloria, Liliane also asked about the screwdriver. The receptionist confirmed she left it on the corner of her desk for anyone to grab—and stab—and she also revealed the detective stopped by to ask her the same question. “Did you forget my prints are probably on the murder weapon? I’m flattered by the trust you place in me, but I doubt I’ve been ruled out as a suspect yet. Are you sure you want to risk your rental car being seen parked in my driveway all night?”

  “What can I say, I’m a risk-taker.” A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, I know you. If you were to kill someone that despicable, you wouldn’t just expose his banana, you’d chop it off, like Nathalie threatened to do.”

  Laughter spilled out of her chest and erupted in her studio. “It’s not funny, handsome. His wife was mortified over the remark. You’re so bad.”

  “You’re right, sweetkin. I’m terrible.” He peppered her lips with small kisses, teasing her. “How about spending the night in the privacy of your studio?”

  Recoiling from the sweet grazing of his lips, she stroked his chin where dark stubble tickled the pad of her fingers. “I caught one of my patrons having sex in my studio during a party once. Sorry, but that ruined your chances.”

  Though she mentioned Thomas forced Sophie to sign his little bimbo’s timesheet, Liliane didn’t elaborate on his method. She swore to Sophie she wouldn’t reveal her secret and she intended to honor her promise.

  “Then I guess I’ll have to risk being seen entering your house at night.” The gentle caresses he bestowed on her back ignited a fire under her skin. “Shall we go to your place, sweetkin, and order take-out?”

  The offer sounded too delicious to resist.

  Chapter Nine

  ~Common sense is a flower that doesn’t grow in everyone’s garden.~

  “I’ll be fine, handsome. Honest. I’m not going to stumble on another dead body.” Liliane kissed him, a long kiss that almost convinced her to rejoin him between the sheets. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later.”

  “Good cleaning, sweetkin.”

  Liliane didn’t lie. It was true that she wanted to leave early in case the cleaning crew showed up sooner than expected, but it wasn’t the reason she left forty-five minutes ahead of time. She drove by Tim Hortons to get a coffee then continued to the election office. The clock in her car indicated 6:57.

  That gives me half an hour to search Thomas’ office for the compromising photo.

  A dirty white truck was parked between the office and a dumpster. Wary of its presence, Liliane stopped her car on the street under a lamppost.

  Every dealership in town appeared to keep as many white trucks in inventory as they had trucks of any other color combined together. Jasper drove a white truck—except his spent more time at the garage than on the road—and so did Sophie.

  Hundreds of reasons could explain the presence of that truck, but that didn’t prevent Liliane’s imagination from going into overdrive.

  Sweet chocolate, Liliane. Get a grip. The odds of finding two dead bodies in a lifetime were infinitesimal.

  At the front entrance of the office, she pulled on the handle of the door. It was locked.

  Locked is good. It’s supposed to be locked. She entered using her key, then keyed in the code to disarm the alarm
. The light flashed red.

  A sense of déjà vu threatened her sense of security. Do not panic. Try again. She typed the numbers again. The light turned green.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have come alone. Then it dawned on her she’d been the last staff member to leave yesterday. Damien and Jasper had stayed behind and promised to arm the alarm, but it never occurred to her to give either man the code.

  See, Liliane. Logical explanation. The system was never armed. Nobody sneaked in early this morning.

  As she edged her way into the lobby, her relief evaporated. The returning officer’s door stood ajar and light filtered through the narrow gap. Immobile by Gloria’s desk, she pricked up her ears.

  Paper was being shuffled and drawers were being open and closed.

  Now would be a good time to panic. And run.

  Despite the signals her brain sent to her muscles, her legs refused to move.

  Someone groaned and mumbled. Though she couldn’t discern the indistinct utterance, the voice sounded familiar. Gathering her courage, Liliane advanced toward the office then inched the door open. Bent down, a woman rummaged through the last drawer of the filing cabinet.

  The significance of the truck hit Liliane at the same time as the reason behind the woman’s presence. “Morning, Sophie.”

  Her greetings startled the revision supervisor who jumped to her feet. “Oh, it’s you. You scared me to death for a moment.”

  “I was going to ask you what you’re doing, but I’m guessing you’re searching for that compromising picture.” Liliane was stunned when Sophie resumed her hunt as if she didn’t exist. “Sophie, did you have anything to do with Thomas’ death?”

  “Me? Of course not.” With her foot, she kicked the drawer. It closed with a clunk. “Mind you, I did think of strangling him, but not before getting my hands on that damned picture. I’ve been searching his office for two hours. It’s not here. You don’t think he kept it at home, do you? Of course not. He’d be afraid his wife would stumble onto it.”

  Though Sophie possessed a powerful motive, Liliane believed in her innocence. “Sophie, I need you to level with me. First, was the front door locked when you came in?”

  The revision supervisor slumped against the wall. “Yes, but the alarm wasn’t activated.”

  Sophie would have had to unlock the door to come in, which accounted for her key. Nathalie also texted her back saying her key was attached to her keychain, which left one key for Liliane to track down.

  “I’ll be taking over Thomas’ job, Sophie. I had to inform Headquarters and the police that Thomas coerced many employees to break the rules on his behalf, but I didn’t specify the means he used. The only persons still alive who know about the photo are you and me. Anyone else claiming knowledge of the incident could be in possession of the proof.”

  The younger woman sighed. “There’s also Jeremy, but he’d destroy it if he had it. He and his wife may be fighting all the time, but he doesn’t want her to go back home to Newfoundland with their son.”

  “Jeremy?” The name had flown above Liliane’s head without brushing her hair. “Who’s Jeremy?”

  “Jeremy Finch. Thomas’ son. I was with him in his garage the morning after that huge snowstorm when Thomas barged in on us.” Sophie identified a different lover than the one Liliane had pictured in her mind. A much younger one. “He held his phone in his hand and he was livid. I thought he was going to beat up Jeremy for cheating on his wife and risk losing custody of little Tommy. He threatened to disown Jeremy and to send the proof of our betrayal to my husband if we ever saw each other again.” She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Silly me. I bet he never printed the picture in case it fell into the wrong hands and ruined Jeremy’s marriage. It’s probably still on his phone. Do you know if the police recovered it?”

  Following the same logic, Liliane would argue that despite his threat to the contrary, Thomas never intended to show the picture to Sophie’s husband. In order to protect his daughter-in-law from the truth, Thomas needed to uphold both his son’s and Sophie’s reputations. “What did you tell Detective O’Neil when he interrogated you yesterday?”

  “I panicked when he asked about Rose’s timesheet and I gibbered about needing the money and being afraid to lose my job. I provided him with an alibi for yesterday morning. I was helping Ethan pack the van so they could hit the road before noon. You wouldn’t believe how much stuff they’re bringing.” The revision supervisor stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. “I love my husband, Liliane. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Listen, if you’re serious about saving your marriage, you should seek professional help.” That was the extent of any advice Liliane was willing to give. Though she wore many hats, counseling wasn’t featured under any of them. “Go home, Sophie, then come back for the meeting at 10:30. As far as I know, the police are still looking for his phone and his red truck. If I hear anything, I promise to call you.”

  The cleaning crew arrived within minutes of Sophie’s departure.

  ~ * ~

  Jasper left the police station in his cruiser.

  To be summoned, out of the blue, by the owner of Aurora Inn wreaked havoc with his schedule. At this rate, he wouldn’t eat lunch or supper.

  The owner, a man with a French accent, had remained secretive. Over the phone, he claimed to possess important information that needed to be discussed in person as soon as possible. Since the as soon as possible sounded more like a now, Jasper drove to the edge of town.

  It didn’t please him that he still couldn’t rule out any suspects. The tape at the Recreation Center showed Liliane and Nathalie entering and exiting the building, but it didn’t account for their time running in the trails. Though he could only vouch for one woman’s integrity, he believed in both their innocence since one couldn’t have killed Finch without the complicity of the other.

  While Election Headquarters deemed the entire staff innocent until proven guilty, he considered all of them suspects until he could clear them.

  The coroner had called him earlier this morning to share her preliminary findings. The autopsy revealed the victim was stabbed once with the screwdriver. The angle of penetration pointed toward an attack from behind while Finch sat in his chair. Tori estimated the blow killed him instantly. The victim also sported a bruise to his forehead that could be the result of his head hitting the surface of his desk before or shortly after his death. It could be the noise that startled the two women in the office, in which case they missed running into the killer by a whisker. No traces of semen, saliva, or any other body fluids were detected on or around the genital regions of the deceased. The results indicated no obvious signs of recent sexual activity.

  While Tori refused to speculate, Jasper contemplated the possibility that the killer unzipped the victim’s pants post-mortem. The motive behind the gesture remained unclear. Either it served to throw his investigation off or expose the victim’s shameful personality—it didn’t help eliminate suspects from his list.

  Deep in thought, he forced his attention back to the narrow winding road. At this time of day, deer liked to venture onto the rundown asphalt and munch on the plants growing amid the pavement. Why they prefer these plants to the ones growing at the edge of the forest was a mystery Jasper had no desire to solve.

  None of the officers had raided or arrested anyone at the motel since it had been renovated and the new owner no longer rented the rooms by the hour. Jasper parked in front of the entrance where a tall, skinny gentleman paced in front of the automatic glass door that kept opening and closing.

  Dressed in business attire, the man approached his cruiser as Jasper stepped out. “Detective O’Neil?”

  Jasper recognized the French accent. “Yes, and you must be the new owner of Aurora. What can I do for you, Mr. Chartrand?”

  “It’s about Thomas Finch. Please, follow me.” The man led him around the three-story building. “I would appreciate if you could remain inconspicuous.”


  You’re kidding, right? Jasper wore his uniform and his cruiser was parked in front of the motel. He understood his presence might alarm some guests, but he couldn’t be more conspicuous if he tried. “Sure. I won’t fire my gun unless absolutely necessary.”

  The owner threw him a dark look over his shoulder. “That’s not funny, Detective.”

  His son Dillon liked to remind him he needed better jokes before thinking of quitting his day job to embrace the life of a stand-up comedian. I’ll grant you this one, Dillon. It wasn’t my best. In his profession, humor acted as a safety valve. Whether the jokes were appreciated or not was another story.

  The asphalt was dark and even throughout the parking lot, both at the front and the back. The repaved surface reflected the rays of the sun. Jasper lowered his cap to shield his eyes from the glare. “Do you know Thomas Finch personally, Mr. Chartrand?”

  “Finch was my contractor. He showed up every day in his red truck during the renovations. Nice guy. Very hands-on. I heard in the news that he died in his election office yesterday.” The owner pointed at a vehicle parked in the second row, its fiery color shining brightly under the sun. “I can’t say for sure it belongs to Finch, but none of my current guests listed a red truck on their registration.”

  As Jasper approached the vehicle from behind, he matched the license plate number to Finch’s. The truck that had eluded his men for the last twenty-four hours rested within breathing distance.

  “It’s Finch’s truck.” He peeked through the window without touching any part of the vehicle. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary struck him. He returned his attention to the owner. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been parked here?”

  “Someone complained about seeing a bear climbing into the dumpster around midnight.” With a tilt of the head, the owner indicated the freshly painted green dumpster blending in with the edge of the forest by the corner of the lot. “When I checked, I didn’t see any animal—or red truck.”