Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  Yay.

  ~

  I had a lot of explaining to do, and Solomon was an excellent listener, rarely interrupting to ask a question. The SUV purred lightly as we picked up speed on the interstate, traveling south, away from Montgomery. Houses made way for industry, which in turn, made way for long swathes of green fields. My nerves fizzled with electric energy and I had a strong urge to cross my fingers.

  "I'm not convinced she isn't dead in a ditch somewhere," said Solomon when he finished absorbing what I told him. He did take interest in what I had to say about Marissa's relationship with Edward, and her sudden departure from both the hotel and her regular life.

  I figured he was convinced enough, or we wouldn’t be nearing Lake Pearce. "There were no signs that the saboteur was violent until last night."

  "The stabbing?"

  "Maddox said it was an argument that got out of hand. There's already been an arrest, so I don't think that had anything to do with the saboteur. The lights going out, yes, the stabbing, no. It was a coincidence that the two happened at the same time."

  "I can work with that."

  I twisted in my seat to look at him, surprised by how calmly he was taking all this. "You aren't going to yell at me?"

  "No. Why would I?"

  "Because I got made." Fletcher would probably rather die than get made. Flaherty had taken a bullet on the job, and Delgado would probably kill the first person to look at him in a way he didn't like. Lucas would ruin the credit history of anyone who made him. And Solomon? Solomon was smooth.

  "Shit happens," he said, simply.

  "I got made," I said, slumping a little lower in my seat. So much for showing everyone that I was just as good as they.

  "Everyone gets made eventually," said Solomon. "This is your first big job. You'll look back on it and see where you went wrong, and you won't make that mistake again."

  "Where did I go wrong?" I asked.

  "The easiest thing to do is underestimate someone."

  I had seriously underestimated someone, but whom? Amanda? Chef Fabien? Peter or Marta? Louisa? Sylvia, with her knack of being everywhere at just the right time? How easily I’d written off the idea of her killing someone.

  "The getting bashed thing worries me a little," continued Solomon, his face dark as he breathed sharply. His posture seemed angry, but his grip on the wheel was light. He lifted one hand and reached over, moving my hair slightly so he could glance at the receding bump. "I won't put you in that position again."

  It worried me a whole lot, but I didn't want to be pathetic about it. I had a bump on the head, but no serious harm done. I would live. And I would get better at my job. And I wouldn't avoid a job because it had the potential to get a little scary.

  "I'll be fine," I assured him.

  "Maybe you got made," pondered Solomon. "Maybe not. The saboteur might just think you were a nosy temp, like Marissa. Probably trying to scare you off when you asked questions that hit too close to home. And he or she didn’t shoot you when they had the chance."

  "She," I corrected, my decision made as I tried not to think about how close I’d come to being killed too. "She thought she could scare me off."

  "Are you sure?"

  "That it's Sylvia? Yes. She fits best. She's got the means to get around the hotel without being noticed. She has access to all the systems. She's always on scene when something goes wrong." The canceled conferences, the fire, the power cut. She'd been on scene for all of them. I tried to recall where she was yesterday, but I couldn't remember seeing her. That didn't mean she hadn't been there, somewhere.

  "What's her motive?"

  "I'm not sure. The kitchen stuff could be getting back at Chef Fabien because of the broken engagement. Maybe she wants to get him fired?"

  "And the rest of it?"

  "To cover up the kitchen damage? Make it look like it was part of something bigger?"

  "Lot of effort to go to."

  "I know." I chewed my thumbnail.

  "Would you go to that kind of effort to get rid of a guy who wronged you?"

  I didn't hesitate. "No, I'd leave." I also had a history of running away to join the Army, but that didn't count because the man who wronged me hadn't been a colleague. He'd just been an asshole.

  "Sylvia could do the same."

  "But she didn't. She had opportunity, and she killed Greg Conlan when she thought he could identify her.”

  We took the exit, heading away from the interstate and down roads that gradually become narrower, the countryside giving way to woods. According to the onboard navigation, we would soon come out onto a road that led to the houses dotted around the lake.

  Solomon took the next left and we continued for about a half-mile, finally pulling up in front of a large house. A small blue car was parked outside. I checked the plates against the notes on my cell phone.

  "This is Ally Fields' car," I told him, my spirits lifting.

  When we got out, I had everything crossed that we were about to hit pay dirt. As we passed by the car, Solomon pressed the back of his hand to the hood. "Cold," he said. "You knock. I don’t want her to freak out if she sees me."

  I knocked on the glass panel door, Solomon a step behind me, and we waited a few minutes, but no one came. Solomon leaned past me and tried the handle. It was locked.

  "Let's walk around back," he said. I noticed he ditched his jacket, and his gun was holstered at his waist. He unclipped the flap, his hand resting on top. "Just in case," he said when he saw me looking.

  “Is it legal?”

  “Of course, it’s legal.”

  We moved around the side of the house, underneath the carport, and found a half-sized wooden gate in the fence. I reached over, drew back the slim bolt to push it open, and we entered the garden. There weren't any flowers to speak of, now we'd moved into fall, but the lawn led right down to the lake where they saw an empty, wooden jetty. I could just imagine it in the summer, with boats moored there, people getting ready to sail across the beautiful lake. Now, however, it was framed with the oranges and golden browns of trees shedding their summer foliage.

  "You really think you'll need that?" I asked Solomon as he stepped past me.

  "It doesn't hurt to be ready," he said. "Remember that next time you go into a hotel room blind, and there’s someone waiting to pistol whip you."

  "Gotcha." We took the steps up to the deck, passed the wood clad wall and the tarp-covered furniture, now secured against the coming winter. The back of the house had long, glass windows, the kind that folded back on themselves on hot days. They revealed a cozy sitting room and adjoining kitchen with a large, eat-in breakfast nook. Someone had decorated entirely in neutrals, dotting the walls with huge canvasses of the lake.

  At the counter, Marissa Widmore sat, a blanket over her knees, a book in one hand, and a mug in front of her. She rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on the countertop. She looked tired.

  I nudged Solomon and knocked. Marissa didn't lift her head. I knocked again, my fist heavier against the pane, and this time, she glanced upwards, saw us and leapt off the stool, but not before grabbing a carving knife from the rack next to her.

  “You were supposed to look reassuring,” murmured Solomon.

  "Marissa Widmore?" I shouted through the glass.

  "Who are you? What do you want?" Her voice was laced with sheer panic.

  "Your friend, Elisabeth Fong, sent us. I'm Lexi Graves. This is my boss, John Solomon."

  She stepped closer, but her grip remained tightly on the knife. "Elisabeth sent you?"

  "She's been worried about you. She thought something happened to you. Can we come in and talk? We want to help you." I pulled my ID from my purse and held it to the window as Solomon did the same, angling his hip away so she wouldn’t see his gun.

  Marissa stood unmoving for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind, crossing to the kitchen door and unlocking it. She stuck her head onto the deck. "Come in."

  Marissa was a ball of n
erves but she made us coffee, inviting us into the sitting room, as I explained why Elisabeth asked me to look for her.

  "How did you find me?" she asked. "Did Elisabeth guess?"

  I shook my head. "Once I was sure nothing bad happened to you, I figured you'd go somewhere you felt safe."

  "I never meant to cause so many problems," she told us, fussing around, collecting mats for the cups. "I'm really sorry. I needed to get out of town fast, and this was the first place I thought of."

  "What about your car? It was impounded."

  "I needed to switch. I saw Ally and I knew she would be out of town for a while, so I… borrowed it. I knew no one would notice it was missing. I didn't want to be found."

  I chanced my theory. "Marissa, I know you were scared out of town. That's partly why we're here. We're working for The Montgomery and I know you worked there when you decided you had to leave town. Did your leaving have something to do with the sabotage there?"

  "Is this why you're here? I swear I had nothing to do with it! I don't care what she tells you, it wasn't me! I'll take a polygraph."

  "That won't be necessary," I assured her. "I know none of the sabotage was down to you."

  "She said if I told anyone, she'd make sure the police thought it was me. I mean, it was her word against mine, and everyone loves her. I'm just a temp. She said she'd tell the board about Edward and me, and that would ruin him too. I didn't know what to do."

  "What did you see?" asked Solomon. He sat forward, his attention sharp.

  "Edward asked me to stay late one night. He's so lovely to work for and I'd do anything for him. I was just running some extra towels up to the service closet on the fifth floor when I saw her coming out of the guest room with a laptop. She saw me and told me not to say a word. I didn't get it at first. I mean, it didn't look anything bad. Then the next day, Marta, who works the front desk, told me a laptop had been stolen and I realized, it was her all the time. I'd seen her at the concierge desk too, deleting stuff, but it didn't even occur to me that she would do something like this."

  "What happened next?" I asked.

  "I didn't know what to do. She must have overheard Marta telling me, and realized I’d guessed." Marissa wrapped her arms around herself and her shoulders gave a subtle shake. "She cornered me later that day and told me I was in big trouble. She said everyone knew I'd been on the fifth floor and that she would tell them she saw me with the laptop. She said if I said anything, the police would find it hidden in my office and I'd be arrested. I would lose my job and then my apartment." Marissa burst into tears and through her sobs, she wailed, "and Edward would hate me and he's the best thing that ever happened to me!"

  "You don't have to worry. We know it wasn't you. You don't have to be afraid of Sylvia anymore."

  Marissa's crying subsided and she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Sylvia?" she said, frowning. "It wasn't Sylvia."

  Solomon and I exchanged surprised glances and I gulped. I'd told Maddox to look closer at Sylvia!

  "If it wasn't Sylvia, who's been sabotaging The Montgomery?" I asked.

  "You really don't know?" Marissa looked from Solomon to me.

  "No."

  And Marissa told us everything.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It wasn't easy to persuade Marissa to return with us, but once we explained that an innocent person would go to jail if she didn't tell the police what she saw, she agreed.

  "I need to call Maddox," I said, hitting “speed dial” and waiting while the call failed. "No bars," I told Solomon, with a sigh.

  "Call him from the road."

  I waited until we loaded up Marissa's gear and Solomon assured her someone would come back to pick up Ally's car. We drove away from the lake house, though with all the nervous energy I contained, I probably could have run all the way back to Montgomery.

  It was a few miles, and several tries later, that I got Maddox's cell phone. No wonder Marissa had never picked up her messages. The lake house was in a dead zone.

  "Are you serious?" Maddox asked, after I repeated what Marissa told us.

  "I've just collected Marissa Widmore," I said. "She can confirm what she saw."

  "Who's Marissa Widmore?"

  "She's the missing person case I was working on. And she was also Edward Killjoy's last assistant. She witnessed one of the thefts."

  "But not the murder," Maddox pointed out.

  "No, not the murder."

  "There's been a murder?" Marissa said from the back seat, but I signaled her to remain quiet.

  "And I didn't see anything either," I said. There was a long pause, and I winced, realizing my mistake.

  "What do you mean you didn't see anything?"

  "I..."

  "Lexi!"

  "I'm sorry!"

  "You were there?"

  "Kind of. I got hit over the head and knocked unconscious."

  I think I heard Maddox scream.

  "But I'm fairly certain I can prove who did that too," I said when I heard him breathing heavily on the line. "And it wasn't Sylvia."

  "Did you see someone, or didn't you?"

  "Not exactly."

  "It's not enough for me to go on. We're ready to make the arrest."

  "You can't arrest her," I protested. "Sylvia didn't do anything."

  "It sounds like I could also arrest your missing person." I thought he might add “or you,” but he didn't. Perhaps that was a cop girlfriend perk. I wouldn't get arrested for murder unless the evidence was unequivocal.

  "She didn't do it," I said. “She wasn’t there.”

  “I bet she can’t prove it.” Maddox sighed. "Does Marissa know where the stolen property is?"

  "Wait. I'll ask." I asked Marissa, but she shook her head. "She doesn't know, probably because, oh yeah, she didn't steal it!"

  "I'm calling in backup to search the hotel," he said. "If anything's here, we'll find it. I can hold them off until you get here, but hurry. You better hope I find a connection because I really prefer not to arrest you."

  A thought occurred to me, something that hadn't even seemed important until now. "Check to see if there are any unlimited-access employee passes in use," I said. "I have one. Killjoy has one. The pass can get the holder into any room and any area."

  "You think that's how all the thefts happened? Someone used an unregistered all-access pass?"

  "I'll place a bet on it," I replied with certainty.

  "I'll let you know what happens. When will you be back?"

  I checked the clock on the dashboard. "Forty minutes, give or take."

  "Drive safely." Maddox hung up and I slid the phone into my pocket, wondering how high I currently rated on his balls-up scale.

  "He going to make the arrest?" asked Solomon, glancing at me before returning his eyes to the road and stepping on the gas.

  "Not yet," I told them, as I noticed Marissa was looking depressed again. "He's going to have the hotel searched."

  "She'll say it was me," Marissa whimpered softly.

  I bit my lip, and Solomon stared hard at the road. I watched the needle on the speed dial edge up.

  "I've got an idea," I told them, "But you're not going to like it."

  "I don't like the whole situation," said Solomon. "What's your idea?"

  I twisted in my seat. "Marissa, have you ever heard of a honeytrap?"

  "Yeah."

  "We're going to lay one." And I set out my idea. At the end, Solomon nodded and a ghost of a smile curled on his lips.

  "You sure this will work?" asked Marissa.

  "Nope. But I'm gonna try."

  I pulled out my phone and re-dialed Maddox, detailing the plan.

  "I don't like this," he said, "but it might work."

  Next, I dialed Edward Killjoy's direct line, and got him to call me back on his cell phone. I was sure I knew how my meeting with Greg Conlan had been infiltrated, and it was safer to talk on an untapped line. First off, I told him Marissa was fine and on her way in, but to keep tha
t to himself.

  It was time to put this case to bed.

  We met Maddox around the corner from the hotel, well away from prying eyes. Solomon drew up next to Maddox's SUV and rolled down the window as Maddox climbed out and walked around to our side.

  "Marissa, meet Detective Maddox," I said as Maddox leaned his arms against the window rest.

  Marissa leaned forwards, giving him a forced smile. "Hi."

  Maddox nodded to her. He wanted to know what she saw and she told him quickly. "Good enough for me," he told us. "We can arrest her for theft, if nothing else. I got my guys searching the hotel. We haven't found anything yet. Maybe she’ll spill when I get her into questioning."

  "Keep looking," I said. "I'm sure the stolen property is in there somewhere. What's going on at the hotel?"

  "We're still interviewing the employees. No one's allowed to leave."

  This was good news.

  "I have a wire," I said.

  "Do I even want to know why you have a wire?" asked Maddox. Solomon gave him a look that summed it up and Maddox shook his head. "If you recorded anything pertinent to my homicide, you’ll have to turn it over."

  "Solomon?" Maddox's mouth set into a firm line as I deferred to my boss with a slight movement of my head.

  "Anything we have pertinent to your case I'll turn over," Solomon agreed.

  Maddox nodded and pulled out his own wire kit. "You'll need to wear mine this time. I'll have my guys listening in, and I'll be right outside. You need me, just yell."

  I took the kit, slipping it under my shirt and checked to be sure it was activated. A moment later, Maddox got a call on his cell phone.

  "We're good to go," he said.

  "Do I need a safe word or anything?"

  "No. Yelling should do it. Get going before I change my mind," he said, slapping a hand against the car door as he walked away.

  Solomon pulled out, drove around the corner, and parked in the front lot in a space reserved for guests. He pulled out a guest pass and placed it on the dash.

  "You sure?" he said. "I seem to remember saying something about not putting you in any danger."