Being wealthy wasn’t a crime in itself, and it stood to reason that people of any financial status might be capable of murder. It was truly an equal opportunity crime in many aspects. But it probably ruled out one motive: money. Sue Bennett lived—make that had lived—in a ritzy neighborhood. She must have had a few dollars stashed away. Come to think of it, she did always scout the sales racks… Sadie brushed the ridiculous thought away. The point was, Luke Manning’s portfolio was surely plumper than Sue Bennett’s.
Had the deceased been a client of Manning Property Holdings? A disgruntled client? A content client with a disgruntled financial manager? Had a deal headed south, leaving ill feelings on the side of both parties? Or multiple parties?
Sadie took a seat on a bench in the foyer, setting her tote bag beside her. “What do you think, Coco?” Coco stuck her head out of the bag at the sound of her name. “Plenty of possibilities here, don’t you think? And we haven’t even checked the other two names out yet.” Always one to back Sadie up, Coco yipped in agreement.
“It’s really not appropriate to bring dogs into public buildings if they can’t keep quiet.”
Sadie glanced up to see an extravagantly dressed woman pressing the Up button for the elevator. The combination of silk, cashmere, and pearls struck Sadie as heavy overkill for daytime wear. And the rock on the ring finger of the woman’s left hand was ostentatious.
She does look elegant, Sadie thought as she observed the woman’s refined demeanor. I’ll bet her name is something like Juliette or maybe Anastasia…
The woman glanced at Sadie briefly, dismissing her as if she were some sort of eccentric senior citizen who carried a dog around in a tote bag!
Oh wait, Sadie thought. I am an eccentric senior citizen who carries a dog around in a tote bag.
As far as Sadie was concerned, she had plenty of class without having to flash it around. She had a style all her own. She might prefer a bright chunky necklace of plastic beads to a string of pearls, but she didn’t feel a need to dress to impress. Morris had left her with a hefty portfolio and a penthouse apartment. Looks could be deceiving.
The thought came right back to smack her in the conscience. The woman, who thankfully had now stepped into the elevator and started on her upward journey, could be wearing her only decent outfit. And the hefty, sparkling rock could be cubic zirconium. Who could even tell the difference these days?
Coco yipped as if to chastise Sadie for her temporary pettiness.
“You’re right, Coco,” Sadie said. “I’m not setting a very good example for you.” She looked back at the elevator the woman had taken, noticing it had stopped on the seventeenth floor. “Well, now that’s interesting,” she said to Coco. “I see all kinds of possibilities here.” For example, a ring that size could be a weapon.
Realizing her imagination was starting to get the better of her, Sadie picked up her tote bag, precious contents and all, and stepped over to the elevator. A quick visit to Manning Property Holdings wouldn’t take long. She’d ask if Luke Manning was available, citing a money market account that she was contemplating liquidating for a real estate purchase. Asking for a consultation was a simple excuse for visiting a financial company. She had no appointment, so didn’t expect to be seen. But it would give her a chance to look around.
A few minutes later, Sadie stepped out of the elevator and into a marble-tiled lobby, elegant yet sparsely decorated, with a sole receptionist sitting behind a mahogany desk. There was no sign of the woman who’d first taken the elevator.
“I’m wondering if it might be possible to see Mr. Manning,” Sadie said.
The receptionist, an attractive woman in her thirties, looked up and responded politely. “I’m afraid he just stepped out. Did you have an appointment?”
“No, I didn’t,” Sadie said, feigning an apologetic tone. “I was just passing by, so I thought I’d stop in. He was recommended to me by my accountant.”
“I see.” The woman nodded and turned to her computer screen. “Mr. Manning’s upcoming calendar is full, but perhaps you’d like to make an appointment with one of the junior associates?”
“Let me check my schedule,” Sadie said. She pulled her cell phone out of a side pocket on her tote and tapped the keys. With the phone facing away from the reception desk, there was no way the woman would know she was merely tapping random icons. “It looks like I’ll need to check my commitments back at my office,” she said, putting the cell phone away.
“Perhaps you’d like to leave a message? Your name and phone number?” The receptionist picked up a pen and poised it over a notepad.
“That’s all right,” Sadie said. “I’ll just call back.” She took a business card from a holder on the desk and waved it in the air. Thanking the woman, she returned to the elevator and then to the first floor. Exiting the building, she headed back to her car, where, to her surprise, she found a man leaning against it.
“Ms. Kramer.” The man, dressed in slacks and a jacket, but no tie, appeared to be in his forties. With a hairline that was receding and a waistline that was expanding, he resembled a shoe salesman or a car dealer, perhaps. But his badge gave him away.
“Detective Frogert,” Sadie said. “Are you following me?” Coco, hearing the tension in Sadie’s voice, stuck her head out of the tote and eyed the man.
“I didn’t think I was,” Detective Frogert said. “I was coming by to see someone in the Stannon-Fielder building and just happened to notice this license plate.” He nodded toward the front of her car. “It seemed familiar. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Coincidences happen every day,” Sadie offered for lack of anything else to say.
“Why don’t we cut to the chase?” Detective Frogert pushed himself away from the car and took on a serious tone. “You were at Manning Property Holdings just now, is that correct?”
“That’s not a crime,” Sadie said, feeling defensive. “It’s a public building. It’s not like I was trespassing.”
“No, but it’s the second time today you’ve been somewhere of interest to me, so I need to ask you what you’re doing here.” The detective eyed Sadie suspiciously, which caused her to switch from feeling defensive to feeling annoyed.
“Detective Frogert,” Sadie said as she took a step closer. “You called me today as if I had something to do with whatever happened to Sue Bennett. I don’t even know what happened to her. I only know I couldn’t deliver the chocolates I intended to drop off. I then returned to my store, fully intending to mind my own business.”
“Yet here you are,” Frogert pointed out.
“Yes, because you’ve now involved me,” Sadie said. “It made me curious to see who had ordered the deliveries.”
“Then I suggest you un-involve yourself,” the detective said.
Not really my modus operandi, Sadie thought, knowing better than to say it out loud. She reached inside her tote bag and pretended to dig for her car keys. “Sure,” she said, her fingers crossed. “Am I free to leave now?” She pulled her keys out and waved them in the air. A giant purple pom-pom dangled from the key chain.
“You were never detained,” Frogert said. Standing back, he extended his arm toward her vehicle. “Be my guest. And may we not accidentally run into each other again.”
Fine by me, Sadie said to herself. She hopped in the car and buckled her seat belt, as well as the harness she used to safely secure her tote bag and Coco. Waving to the detective with a forced smile, she pulled away from the curb and headed back to the store.
CHAPTER SIX
Sadie looked out the window of her penthouse, admiring the San Francisco night lights. She took a sip of her favorite chardonnay, content to be relaxing at home in comfy leopard-print loungewear. For a day that should have been routine, it had certainly gone in a strange direction. First the botched chocolate delivery, then the bizarre exchanges with the SFPD detective, not to mention the unfortunate demise of a valued customer. This was not the ordinary day she’d expect
ed when she first woke up that morning.
“It strikes me as peculiar, Coco,” Sadie said. “How is it that Froggy just happened to be outside Manning Property Holdings the same time I was?” She moved away from the window and took a seat on the couch. Coco, busy batting around her favorite red lobster toy, didn’t respond. “Was he on his way to see Luke Manning, or was he simply following me?”
The last thought was particularly disturbing as it either meant he considered her a person of interest, or he was benefiting from her own detective work. Maybe it was just his attitude that bothered her, but at least he could do his own investigating. It wasn’t like she was being paid to help the local law enforcement. And she certainly didn’t need a detective pestering her for no good reason. Unless…
Well, of course it would be different if the detective in question were Broussard. She might be fine having him pester her a bit. Just a bit though. As a widow, she’d become used to her independence. She had her own habits, not to mention her own financial security, home, shop, and beloved companion, Coco. Still, the handsome detective had caught her interest. She heard from him at least once a week and sent him an email about as often, which is why it didn’t seem out of the norm to send him a quick note.
Moving to her home computer, she fired it up and opened her email. She deleted several annoying spam notices and passed over miscellaneous requests for charity donations. She frequently gave to good causes, but this wasn’t her mission for the evening. Instead, she composed an email to Broussard, detailing the events of the day. She included her run-in with Detective Froggy… er, Frogert, taking care to make it clear it was the man himself who annoyed her, not the involvement of law enforcement.
With the time difference between San Francisco and New Orleans, she didn’t expect an immediate reply. Yet it was only ten minutes later that her cell phone rang. Sure enough, it was the detective—the one she wasn’t annoyed with—calling.
“Detective Broussard,” Sadie said, using her most professional voice. It was a teasing habit they’d carried on since meeting on official business.
“Ms. Kramer,” Broussard responded. “An honor, as always, to receive your email, worrisome as this one may be.”
Sadie took another sip of chardonnay, which she had almost forgotten about in her haste to compose the email. “I didn’t mean to worry you but thought you might have some advice.”
“Aside from staying out of the situation before you complicate things more than it sounds like they already are?”
While thinking of a rebuttal, she decided another sip of wine was in order. She gathered her thoughts quickly and responded, using care to not sound defensive. “I didn’t choose to be in the middle of this. I went to deliver chocolates for Matteo—you really must try his almond-coconut clusters, they are remarkable—and left when I saw the house taped off.”
“Meanwhile getting your license plate on file with SFPD.”
“Yes, but that was because of Gladys,” Sadie explained.
“I thought you said the customer’s name was Sue Bennett. The victim is more accurate, I believe. Who is Gladys?”
“I meant Mags,” Sadie said. “Mags is Gladys. Gladys isn’t real. She’s a fictional television character. She’s the one who took down my license plate number.”
There was silence on the line for a few seconds. “Don’t be offended at this, but is there a chance you’ve been drinking?”
“Four sips over the course of an hour,” Sadie said. It was accurate. The glass wasn’t even half-empty. And no, she hadn’t had one before the one she currently held in her hand.
“All right,” Broussard said. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on this and assume it was the actual person named Mags who took down your license plate and gave it to the police. Not the fictional one, which would be problematic on several levels. Why would Mags do that?”
“Because that’s just what Gladys does.”
More silence. “Okay, we’ll go with that,” Broussard said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It’s normal the detective would want to speak with people who were at the scene.”
“Like on TV? They say guilty people might return to the scene of the crime.” Sadie reprimanded herself silently for not paying more attention to the others who were watching from the sidewalk. “Come to think of it, however, I doubt they arrive bearing chocolates.”
“Not everything resembles what you see on television.” Broussard’s voice held the telltale tone of someone trying not to laugh. He quickly became more serious. “My advice is probably not what you want to hear, but I strongly suggest you keep your distance. Obviously, that includes not chasing down potential suspects.”
Sadie mentally kicked herself for mentioning her trip to Luke Manning’s office in her email. She should have known it wouldn’t go over well. Still, the fact that Detective Frogert had caught up with her there was disturbing. “I figured if I could clear myself, Froggy would leave me alone.”
Again, silence. She should have predicted it this time. “Is this Froggy another fictional character, Sadie? You’re starting to worry me.”
“No, he’s the detective,” Sadie said. “And I’d like him to leave me alone.” She could envision Broussard nodding on the other end of the line.
“That can be easily arranged,” Broussard said. “All you have to do is…” Sadie suspected mind your own business to be the next words she’d hear. Instead, Broussard said, “Just stay away. Run your shop, eat chocolate, and let the detective do his job.”
“You should also try Matteo’s maple-pecan truffles,” Sadie said, distracted by the mention of chocolate. “They’re divine. Maybe I should send you some.” The unintentional change of subject worked to her advantage, as the conversation turned to everyday topics, with a touch of light flirtation mixed in.
“Promise me you’ll stay out of this,” Broussard said before the call ended.
“I promise,” Sadie said. Phone calls being what they were, she didn’t even have to hide her hand in her tote bag to cross her fingers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The boutique smelled faintly of roses when Sadie arrived the next morning. Amber was rubbing her slender hands together, rotating them at different angles in order to glide each hand over a different portion of the other.
“The garden rose hand lotion, I presume,” Sadie said. She helped Coco get situated on the counter pillow and looked over a new display Amber had set up not far from the register. “Smart, putting out a tester. The shop will undoubtedly smell like a rose garden whenever customers try it, but that’ll only add to the ambiance.” Sadie pushed the pump on top of the sample bottle and rubbed some on her own hands. “I love the way you’ve added a red-and-pink-satin ribbon and a dangling red heart tag to the ones for sale too.”
Amber smiled, pleased with the compliment. “It makes it a ready-to-go gift,” she said. “It should be an easy upsell. Next I’m going to set up the spring sweater shelves, and then I’ll rearrange the beaded jewelry in the display case, and then I thought…” She turned to a back counter, checking a long list of notes.
“Four or five cups today?” Sadie asked.
Amber turned back toward her. “You know me too well. Three here, plus the one I always pick up at Jay’s Java Joint on the way over.”
“Which I believe is a double espresso,” Sadie said. “Do you have the decaf brewing in the back office yet?”
Amber nodded. “Already started it.”
“Smart girl.” Sadie laughed. “Maybe just choose three projects and spread them throughout the day. I suspect we’ll be busy with last-minute Valentine purchases anyway. Only a couple more shopping days.”
As Amber began giving Coco a good-morning mini-massage, Sadie walked back to her office. She turned on her computer and, while waiting for it to warm up, checked her phone messages. As usual, the few calls were from sales reps looking to show upcoming fashion items and accessories for late summer and early fall. It was always
necessary to plan at least a season ahead of time. Sadie had already placed orders for the items Flair would carry through fall.
Turning her attention to the online issue of the SF Chronicle, Sadie skimmed the headlines. Upstaged in placement by a capsized boat and several tax initiatives, the article Sadie sought was linked in a side column. “Body of Woman Found in Russian Hill Home,” the link read. Sadie clicked through to the short report of Sue Bennett’s death. While not a source of additional information, it did confirm that the police suspected foul play. Although this was not news to Sadie, seeing it in print gave it a semblance of validity. As she had suspected, Sue Bennett had been murdered.
“Any news?” Amber asked, sticking her head inside the doorway. “About Sue Bennett?”
“Not really,” Sadie said. “The paper online says the police suspect foul play, but I already assumed that. Froggy wouldn’t have bothered tracking me down if she’d died of natural causes.”
“Froggy?”
Sadie looked up at Amber and smiled. “Yes, a detective who contacted me yesterday.”
“That must have been annoying,” Amber said. She excused herself as she heard people entering the shop.
“Yes, very annoying. I’d say annoying is an understatement,” Sadie said out loud to no one in particular since Amber had returned to the front of the store. The clicking of hangers and friendly chatter were the only sounds she heard.
Checking other news sources, Sadie still came up without additional tidbits of information, which only meant one thing: she’d need to keep snooping around herself. Having only the copies of the chocolate orders to work with, she pulled them out and flipped to one of the two she had yet to investigate.
Finding the name Zane Grey on the second order sheet caused Sadie to pause. The famous American author had died a good eighty years earlier, but the mental image of him standing at Matteo’s counter placing an order still flitted through her head. She pushed it aside quickly, moving on to her next supposition. Perhaps this was a fake name for someone not wishing it known that he was ordering a gift. A married man, perhaps? Or someone with another girlfriend with jealous tendencies? She made a note to ask Matteo if the person had ordered chocolate for more than one recipient. Meanwhile, she’d go with a third option: that this particular Zane Grey was neither long dead nor using a pseudonym. It was possible that Zane Grey just might be his name.
A Flair for Truffles (The Sadie Kramer Flair Mysteries Book 4) Page 3