Voted Out

by J. S. Marlo

  The employee narrowed his eyes. “Is she expecting you?”

  “Yes, she is.” She just doesn’t know it yet. “Where’s her office? There wasn’t anyone at the front desk to point me in the right direction.” Too many questions swirled in Liliane’s mind, and for a change, she wanted answers.

  “Mrs. Finch didn’t require the services of that receptionist anymore, so she was dismissed yesterday.” The man indicated the end of the corridor. “Turn left at the end. Her office is the third one on the right. Her name will be on the door. You can’t miss it.”

  Liliane thanked him before following his instructions. The name Janet Finch was engraved on a golden plate screwed on a closed door.

  That was fast. The body of her late husband hadn’t begun to decompose yet but his name plate had already been replaced. Let’s hope she’s as intrigued about that check as I am.

  She knocked three times.

  “Come,” yelled a melodious voice.

  Surprised by the pleasant tone, Liliane opted for the friendly approach as she walked in. “Hello, Janet.”

  The woman behind the desk squinted at her. She had cut her hair short and enlivened her dark curls with blonde highlights since Liliane glimpsed her last. The new style accentuated Janet’s high cheek bones, piercing dark eyes, and full lips, shedding a decade off her face. She looked stunning and confident. “I believe we’ve met, but your name escapes me.”

  “Liliane. Liliane Irwin.” Without waiting for an invitation, Liliane sat at the edge of a chair facing the desk. “I own an art gallery in town.”

  A disconcerting smirk played on Janet’s face. “Yes, of course. You’re the infamous painter who took over Thomas’ finance position in the election office. I heard a lot about you. Nothing flattering I’m afraid. Did you know Thomas started cursing you not long after he hired you? He hated your guts.”

  “Well...” Unsure how to respond, Liliane strained to remain impassive. “We...we disagreed on lots of things.” More like on everything.

  “He couldn’t stand people who confronted him. I should have learned to say no sooner—like the day he proposed.” Janet’s gaze wandered over the bare beige walls marked with dark rectangular shadows where frames once hung. “After I repaint the walls, I’ll need new pictures to brighten the office. I’ll make sure to visit your gallery. So, what can I do for you, honey? I hope you’re not here to offer me your condolences. That would be hypocritical.”

  The twists in the conversation sent Liliane’s head spinning. Some women pretended to grieve for the sake of appearance, but not Janet Finch. She didn’t conceal her true feelings toward her deceased husband.

  “Then I’ll skip to business.” Relieved she didn’t need to walk on egg shells, Liliane pulled the check from her purse and placed it on the desk near a keyboard. “Could you shed some light on this check your husband wrote to a political party?”

  “Late husband, honey.” With the tip of her fingers, Janet brushed the account number at the bottom. “That check comes from his personal corporate account. And here I thought he only used it to pay for his bimbos’ clothes, phones, and whatever else he spent on them. After I took the reins of the company, I put a stop on all those checks and canceled the account. I’m sorry yours bounced back and caused you any trouble. Let me issue you a new one.”

  “No...wait...” The speed at which the widow jumped to the wrong conclusion flabbergasted Liliane. “It’s illegal for your—for any returning officer to make contributions to any political party. Is it possible someone else wrote that check to get Thomas into trouble?”

  Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, Janet stared at her with incredulity. “Thomas reveled in illegal and shady deals, honey. He was as corrupt and ruthless as one could be, and he never needed help to get in trouble.”

  Liliane had unearthed Thomas’ true nature, and the arguments struck the right notes, still that check couldn’t be real. “You’re positive this is Thomas’ signature?”

  “Yes, honey, I’m sure. Thomas kept these checks locked in this desk. No one else could have written or signed it. You know what they say about the ducks, don’t you? If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it can’t be a goose.” The widow pushed the check back toward Liliane. “Are you sure you don’t want me to issue you a new one? This one will bounce if you try to cash it.”

  A sigh deflated Liliane’s chest. The check was made out to a political party, a detail that appeared to fly over the widow’s head.

  This had been a wild goose chase.

  ~ * ~

  Back in her office, Liliane spread the leases and the credit card receipts signed by Thomas on her desk to compare them one last time to the check.

  The meeting with Thomas’ widow had eroded her conviction the signature was forged, still she couldn’t believe Thomas had been that stupid. On second thought, he’d been careless enough to turn his back on his killer.

  I guess I was wrong.

  She’d wasted too much time on a check that became irrelevant the moment Thomas died. Had Greg cashed it, it would have been another story since it would have opened an investigation into his party’s finances. The only person who could be accused of any wrongdoings was Thomas. Since no harm or damage was done, she suspected Headquarters would bury the incident in the name of integrity.

  As she cleared her desk, a knock on her door interrupted her filing. “Come in.”

  Damien ushered a teenage girl in a mini skirt and high heels inside her office then closed the door. “Lily, meet Rose Cartier. She would like to talk to you.”

  The name rang a bell. “Rose?” Like the Rose Cartier I refused to add to my payroll? Liliane was confounded. “What can I do for you, Rose?”

  With her big turquoise eyes and long black hair, the girl was beautiful. And young. Too young to entertain a man like Thomas. She sat on the plastic chair, her back straight, her knees pressed together, and her hands laced over her bare thighs. “I still haven’t received any money. I’d like to know when I will be paid.”

  Stunned, Liliane glanced at Damien. His back to the door, he shrugged. She had told him about Rose, he should have clued in to the girl’s identity. Before he dropped the bombshell on her lap, she would have appreciated a little notice. “Why would I pay you any money, Rose? You’re not working in this office.”

  Black mascara accentuated Rose’s defiant glare. “I worked for Thomas. He said I would be paid as revising agent for alleviating his stress. My massages are not free.”

  The mental picture creeping into Liliane’s brain sickened her. “There’s no money in my budget for massages—or sex. You should have asked him to pay cash.”

  Her cheeks blazing red, Rose leapt to her feet. “I’m an actress, not a prostitute. Just so you know, I made very important phone calls for him.”

  “Really?” Though Liliane had no intention of paying, she was curious. “What kind of phone calls?”

  “Calls he didn’t trust his secretary to make.” The girl paced the room, wiggling her hips with every step. “He needed someone with the perfect pitch to talk to the landlords on his list. He said I played the role of Liliane Irwin to perfection. I convinced a bunch of stuffy old guys to buy paintings in exchange for signing a new lease.”

  Staggered by the revelations, Liliane gazed at Damien. His eyes popped out of his head, he gaped at the wannabe actress like a fish who’d swallowed his hook.

  Liliane had hoped to solve a mystery today, but not this one. “And where were you when you made those calls?”

  “In a motel room at the edge of town. I can never remember the name of the place, but Thomas kept a room there for me. It was our secret meeting place.” The girl might be pretty, but Liliane questioned her judgment on too many levels. “Nobody knew about it.”

  Thomas’ truck was found in the parking lot of a motel at the edge of town. That couldn’t be a coincidence any more than it could be a secret. The town wasn’t that big.

  “Gi
ve me a few minutes, Rose. I need to verify something.” While she doubted the girl killed Thomas, Liliane couldn’t ignore the possibility she might be involved. “Damien will stay with you.”

  Liliane left her office, entered Nathalie’s, and under the inquisitive gaze of her friend, she dialed Jasper.

  ~ * ~

  The yoga instructor on the lam was spotted at a gas station in northern Ontario, less than fifty kilometers from where the moving truck transporting her belongings was intercepted. By nightfall, Jasper predicted she would be in custody, ready to be sent back for interrogation.

  Liliane’s surprising call and urgent request to see him at her office came as he was reviewing the inconsequential statement of the driver of the moving truck. Since she had never cried wolf before, he hurried to meet her.

  Upon his arrival, Liliane invited him to enter Nathalie’s office where she briefed him on the identity of her impromptu visitor. Stupefied Liliane had identified and unofficially detained his suspect Red Rose, Jasper followed her into her office where he met the daring young woman.

  Had Damien or Liliane asked, Jasper might have let them sit in on the interview. After all, cooperation extended both ways, and the illicit calls Rose made while impersonating Liliane had ramifications for them. Neither asked, and when Liliane turned off her music and exited the office with the man from Headquarters in tow, Jasper overheard her urging Damien to take Leonard out for lunch.

  Alone with Rose, Jasper sat at Liliane’s desk with a stack of blank paper, ready to record her statement—and hopefully convince her to sign it. “I’m Detective O’Neil. I heard Mr. Finch asked you to perform some services for which you haven’t been remunerated. You’re aware he’s dead, right, Rose?”

  “Of course I am.” The girl rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I need money? If he were alive he’d give it to me. Are you going to arrest the redheaded woman if she doesn’t pay me? I made real election phone calls for Thomas, you know.”

  Only one redhead worked in the office, the woman she impersonated, but Rose appeared unaware of Liliane’s identity—or the fact she had committed a crime.

  “Yes, I may arrest someone.” He would base his decisions on the answers Rose provided him. “First, would you mind telling me the nature of your relationship with the deceased?”

  “Sure.” Her face lit up. “I was his sugar baby and he was my sugar manager.”

  “Sugar manager?” Since sugaring wasn’t illegal, Jasper couldn’t care less if a man like Thomas showered his mistress with gifts and money. Still, that particular term was a new one for him.

  “He didn’t like to be called sugar daddy. It sounded too creepy.” A sigh whisked past her pouty lips. “Since he paid for my acting classes and arranged for auditions, I called him sugar manager or sugar Tom. He liked both.”

  The nicknames weren’t as creepy as the girl’s willingness to play along, but Jasper refrained from commenting. “Could you elaborate on the services you performed, whether you’ve been paid for them or not? I would appreciate all the details, like the day, the place, and the time.”

  On second thought, Jasper wouldn’t have lost any sleep if she had skipped providing information about her lover’s sexual prowess. Now he risked suffering recurrent nightmares. If her career as actress didn’t take flight, she could always write testimonials for the little blue pill. The pharmaceutical companies would love her. Rose might be a burger short of a combo meal, but her memory wasn’t missing any fries. Her account of the afternoon spent on the phone in the motel room matched what the landlords had reported.

  “I was fabulous. Thomas thought I’d be great at voice acting a cartoon or animated movie.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable. “He made me promise not to say anything about the calls, and I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t dropped dead, but I have expenses. You understand, don’t you?”

  The victim had used the gullible young woman to do his unlawful bidding. That gave her a motive to kill him.

  Jasper presented her with the spare election phone that Liliane had retrieved from the inventory room. “Was this the flip phone you used?”

  Rose examined it from every angle, with both hands, then flipped it open. “I remember the dent on the cover and how the number four is almost faded.” With her right index finger, she pressed on four. “Yeah, that’s the phone. The key is sticky. I didn’t like dialing with it, but when I borrowed Thomas’ nice phone, he snatched it from my hand. He insisted I make the calls from that crappy flip phone.”

  The spare phone had been wiped clean, but now her prints covered it. If she touched Thomas’ personal cell phone, one of these prints might match the mysterious partial. After prompting her to place it beside Liliane’s keyboard, he questioned her about Red Rose and the texts sent from the two cell phones registered to Thomas’ name.

  “I know nothing of a second phone and I didn’t send him any texts the night before he died.” Her face hardened as she glared at him. “He swore to me he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, not even his wife. If I’d known he cheated on me, I never would have agreed to have unprotected sex with him. Now I’ll have to get tested for STDs.” She tossed her phone at him. “This is the phone he gave me. You can keep it and dissect it all you want. All the messages, emails, and calls we made since we hooked up last September are on there. I didn’t delete anything. Now can I get paid?”

  ~ * ~

  Alone in Thomas’ former office, Liliane chuckled. She’d been right to think that sounds traveled through the ducts with the same clarity in both directions. The interview had been enlightening and entertaining. Rose’s account of Thomas’ machinations would bleach Liliane’s name clean and absolve her of any involvement in the lease misconduct. The thirty minutes Jasper spent explaining to Rose why she wouldn’t be paid, why she could be arrested for impersonating an election officer with the intention of committing a crime, why making those calls was a felony, why she remained a suspect in Thomas’ death until he cleared her of any wrongdoings, and why she shouldn’t skip town convinced Liliane that the young woman had been taken for a ride in which she didn’t steer the wheel.

  It pained Liliane that Rose didn’t seem to realize she deserved better than a man like Thomas. At her age, the girl should enjoy her life, her classes, not seek men to use or abuse her. Liliane understood the necessity of paying bills but not at the cost of losing her dignity.

  A knock on her door interrupted her musings. “Come.”

  Jasper walked in. “Damien and Leonard are in the kitchen. Were you hiding from them?”

  No, I was eavesdropping on you. Later she would fess up, but not here. “I was thinking about what Rose said and did. If she hadn’t run out of cash, we might never have pieced that puzzle together.”

  “Sometimes we get a lucky break.” A disarming smile spread across his rugged face. “Are you hungry? Am I allowed to steal you away for an hour to celebrate the completion of that puzzle?”

  “Please, kidnap me.” With Damien keeping an eye on things in the office, she could afford to indulge her appetite. “I promise not to call the police.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~Sometimes when things go wrong it’s because they would have turned out worse if they had gone right.~

  Skype chimed, waking Liliane from a tumultuous dream. As she tried to recapture the details before they faded, she reached out for the man by her side. When she didn’t feel him, she peeked through heavy lashes. Like the dream, he’d vanished into thin air. For an instant, she wondered if the wonderful night she spent with him had been a figment of her feverish imagination.

  No, it was real. Over the last week, she discovered he was also an early, and quiet, riser by nature as where she was forced to get up early. Just not that early without an alarm clock.

  As she toyed with the idea of making room in her closet for him—and getting used to his schedule—she slipped a nightgown over her head. Then propped against her pillow, she answered her iPhone.

  The be
aming face of her daughter filled the tiny screen. “Hi, Mom. Did I wake you?”

  “Yes.” If she looked as sleepy as she felt, she’d waste her breath lying to her daughter. Ariana wasn’t blind. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to call to say we’re having a great time in Brussels.” Ariane chewed on her bottom lip, a telltale sign that something else played on her mind. “Actually, Dillon and I were wondering if you had a chance to talk to his dad about having supper.”

  The last hazy layers of sleep evaporated from Liliane’s brain. That supper had to be important for her daughter to mention it again within days of asking her to set it up.

  “Yes, and he gladly accepted the invitation.” Jasper also wondered about their children’s motives, but not with the same intense curiosity as her. “Are you going to tell me why the four of us will enjoy a great meal together or leave me in suspense?” And guessing.

  Ariane’s laughter resounded in Liliane’s bedroom, joyful and crystalline. “I can’t tell you yet because it’s not official, but Dillon may need your moral support.”

  The reason ranked among the ten most enigmatic Liliane had ever heard, but at least it didn’t sound bad or deadly. “Dillon is a fine young man. Both of you can always count on me.”

  “We know, Mom, and we appreciate it.” Her daughter looked over her shoulder. “Dillon just came in with a bag.”

  In the background, Liliane heard the word chocolate. “Go eat and have a great day. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.” Her vibrant smile faded and the call ended.

  Since she was awake and alone at 6:02 a.m., she might as well bother her friend Nathalie. She sent her a text.

  Hey, Nathalie. I’m up. Want to meet me at the gym at 6:30 a.m.?