Booked For Murder

by CeeCee James

  Veronica. Huh. It was the first time I’d heard her name.

  Google quickly gave me the down and dirty details. She was thirty-five—my age, weird—and had been married for ten years. That fit with all the family pictures I saw hanging on her wall.

  But the next bit of information made me catch my breath. She worked as a clinical psychologist at James Place, having graduated with her degree from Harvard.

  Wow … I didn’t know what to think.

  I looked up James Place and searched for reviews.

  Most of them were glowing. Apparently, Veronica Olsen was very respected in her field of work with PTSD. There were many accolades, and it started to warm my heart towards the widow. At the same time, I felt a wave of guilt for suspecting her.

  Bingo decided at that moment to make his presence known. He poked his head into the entrance of my room.

  I looked at him and said adamantly, “Good people can do bad things, too.”

  His tail gave two quick waves like he didn’t believe it, but he’d humor me. Walking slowly, he came to the front of the desk and stood there. I moved my feet a tiny bit, and he took the invitation and slowly began to wedge himself under the desk. After turning a couple times, he’d successfully pushed my feet out of the way and up against the chair rungs again. He sank down with a satisfied sigh.

  I giggled. That dog, I swear.

  There was more to the story that had caught my eye, and I clicked it to check it out.

  It was from a small-town newspaper located in the state of Ohio. The title screamed out boldly – “Local Man Blames Tycoon for Brother’s Death.”

  The article read like one of Momma’s stories. A military veteran identified as LT. Derik C. Smith was turned away from James Place. He was later found dead in an alley. The brother screamed injustice and attempted to sue James Place.

  The brother had no chance. A small-town lawyer was no match against the fleet of attorneys and endless money that were in Norman Olsen’s arsenal. The defense argued that the veteran had been belligerently drunk when he tried to enter James Place, and it was within the discretionary rights of James Place to turn him away in that condition.

  The picture accompanying the news article was of the brother as he left the courtroom, hat pulled low. Despite his face being partially hidden, there was no mistaking the tear tracks and the angry snarl of his mouth.

  I twirled the rubber band again and took in a deep breath. The poor man. What a horrible story. My heart squeezed inside.

  Sliding the rubber band off, I set it back on the desk. “You ready for a walk?” I asked the dog. He might not be, but I needed some fresh air. I stood up and headed to the kitchen for his leash, Bingo following reluctantly behind me.

  “Okay, buddy. Let’s go.” I snapped on the lead and opened the door. Together, we headed to the dog park.

  Laughs and splashes came from the pool, making me smile. Things were finally getting back to normal around here.

  My mind was busy with thoughts of military veterans, fired employees, insulin, and conspiracies. I understood why the investigation was focused on Caleb, but something wasn't making sense. Despite everything I’d read, I hadn’t seen a hint of a familial fall-out. And I couldn’t forget the way grief cut his face that day in the hotel.

  I let Bingo off the leash to do his usually sniffing and slowly turned around. There was something more I needed to check.

  Chapter 21

  Whistling, I called for Bingo. “Hey, sweetheart. Why don’t you show me where you found the bracelet? Huh, buddy?”

  He didn’t veer from his scent trail, and I didn’t have any food to bribe him. Sighing, I walked along the edges of the park, studying the area. Bingo was somewhere around here, I think, when Jake called him. Thinking about Jake made me smile.

  Loud screams rose from the pool area, making me tense up momentarily. The shrieks dissolved into laughter, and I continued on. The sun made me squint, and I pulled my sunglasses off the top of my head where they luckily still were located. I pushed them on and continued to scan the grass, wanting it to turn into a clue, but it remained just ordinary grass. Disappointed, I continued to survey the area.

  Nothing.

  Spinning around, I returned to the fence and walked along it, examining the bushes. After a minute, my smile widened as I saw something of interest. Two broken branches at the top of the hedge were parted to reveal a bent top of the chain link fence.

  “Someone hopped over and was caught,” I murmured to Bingo. Turning, I looked for him. He was chasing a butterfly. “Some crime partner you are,” I dryly muttered, then turned back. “He probably dangled there by that bracelet. That should have caused quite an injury.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped a few pictures.

  I thought back at when I’d seen Andy Davis, Danielle, and Cynthia. None of them had seemed injured. That pretty much ruled them out in my book.

  As I looked closer, I saw a small section of the chain link had disappeared. So, not only had the top of the fence been mangled, but a part of it had actually shorn off. I gently pushed away the branches at the base of the fence with my foot, searching for the missing piece.

  There it was. A small glint in the dirt revealed itself to be the triangle top of the fence. I took another picture and then kneeled down to dig through the branches. Dirt got under my nails as I pulled it out. I flipped it over in my hand. It had been neatly clipped at one end.

  Someone had really been stuck and needed some help to free himself. Or herself.

  I sent the pictures to Kristi and whistled for Bingo again. This time, he came running over, all of his extra skin flapping away. I clicked on the leash, and we walked back to the suite, my brain whirling a million miles a minute.

  The rest of the day, I had to force myself to focus on work. The convention was closing down, but I still had a lot of work running back and forth for the VIPs.

  Mr. Phillips showed up again, intermingling with the guests. I assumed he felt he needed to set minds at ease since the fire incident and do a little bit of damage control.

  To be honest, when I saw who had accompanied him, the whole mystery nearly faded from the front of my mind completely. Jake Phillips was walking beside his brother as well, shaking just as many hands. I wasn't sure why he was here, but I couldn't help watching him moving about. Although I might have to credit it to my overactive imagination, I could swear his eyes met mine. Twice.

  Inwardly I chastised myself. Good Lord, woman. As if you don’t have enough on your plate.

  I already had plenty of distractions with the real-world mysteries. The last thing I needed was a romantic infatuation, or more. Besides, being involved with the boss’s brother could have some major drawbacks if things didn't go well. I glanced at his Rolex and—My word! Are those real alligator?— Harrys Of London shoes. As if I even had a chance. I snorted, immediately feeling heat in my cheeks at the sound.

  I continued on with the evening, pointedly ignoring the brothers as they made their rounds. New guests checked in, even as the convention slowly dwindled.

  Soon the front desk’s phone was lighting up like a poor man’s strobe light with requests from the guests. A vase of flowers to one room, a specialty wine to another, and on the list went.

  Momma rolled in during all of the commotion. She stopped at the front desk and stared at me pointedly, even as I spoke on the phone trying to sort out two free tickets to the magic show that evening.

  Her eyebrows arched with indignation when I failed to respond to her. “Yes, that would be great. We need the table near the front. With a complimentary wine.” I spoke into the phone and held up my just-a-second finger.

  Momma’s eyes narrowed. I quickly put my index finger down before I lost it, instead opting for a thumbs-up and an overly-exaggerated enthusiastic face. “Nice hair!” I mouthed.

  She smiled and patted her curls before sauntering down the hall to our room. Phew. That was one lady I didn’t want to mess with.

&nbs
p; Finally, the flow of guest traffic began to ebb as the majority of the guests had checked in for the evening, and were now out having some nightly fun. Our town was truly a trap for tourists, with its nightclubs, restaurants, singers and fireworks display. I didn’t expect to see most of them until after midnight.

  “You’ve got this?” I asked Clarissa, once again my right-hand man. Or woman in this case.

  “Totally. Go have dinner.”

  I glanced in the convention hall as I rounded the front desk. It seemed the Phillips brothers had left, along with nearly everyone else, leaving the hall empty of mostly everything but chairs and litter. I shut the doors to the room with a mental note to make sure maintenance got on it in the morning.

  Bone-weary, I walked back to our suite, not expecting dinner since Momma was gone so long.

  My phone vibrated as I neared the room. Palming it, I quickly answered.

  “Maisie?” It was Ruby.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

  “What?”

  “Go turn on the news right now. Caleb James just got arrested. It’s on channel seven.”

  I keyed in the lock and ran inside, scarcely spending a moment to kick off my shoes.

  “Maisie? Is that you?” Momma called from the kitchen.

  “I’m busy, Momma. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “You hungry? I’ll make you some of my famous cheesy noodles.”

  I smiled at the mention of a childhood favorite meal. Most people knew it as mac and cheese. “Sounds good, Momma.”

  I leaned over to switch on the TV, only wincing slightly at the sudden clatter of falling pots and pans. I guess a human could get used to just about anything.

  Searching around Momma’s arm chair, I located the remote. With surreal energy, I flipped through the channels and finally rested on channel seven.

  The female reporter spoke in a solemn tone. Around her, a crowd of people swelled.

  “We’re here live waiting on the arrival of Caleb James, son of famed business mogul, Norman Olsen. Today, at approximately five p.m., a warrant was served on Mr. James for the murder of his father.”

  The Sheriff’s unmarked vehicle pulled up, and an officer ushered Caleb out from the back seat. They’d thrown a sports coat over his hands as a nod to decorum, but anyone with eyes could see that he was handcuffed.

  He looked up into the camera, and something in my heart broke. Caleb seemed to attempt to counter his emotions with stoicism, but he couldn’t hide the pain and fear in his eyes.

  I shook my head. That didn’t look like the face of a killer. It looked like someone who had been framed. Maybe it was me being naive; I’ve been accused of that before.

  But, anyway, how did he get access to insulin? I shook my head. No, this was wrong, all wrong. But what could I do about it?

  Police pushed back the crowd to make room for Caleb and the other officers. He was ushered into the jail, as the Sheriff took the make-shift podium to address the crowd. The Sheriff tapped the mic, and spoke in a voice that sounded like it had been created by chewing barbed wire, “I’m here to answer any questions.”

  Yells erupted around the area as reporters called for his attention. He glanced around until his gaze final settled on one. “You. Over there. What’s your question?”

  “What do you think the motive was?”

  “Mr. James owned a competing business with a likewise competing game. Other than that, it’s for the prosecuting attorney to decide.”

  The shouts erupted around him again, interrupting one another in attempt to get the Sheriff’s attention. The Sheriff looked and pointed again. “You.”

  “What was the murder weapon?”

  “It’s not being disclosed to the public at this time.” His narrowed eyes darted around. “You,” he chose again.

  “Do you think he worked alone?”

  “At this time, we believe so.” There was a pause, and then, “You.”

  “How do you think this affects Olsen Studios?”

  The Sheriff shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m not an economist.” He glanced around one more time before saying. “At this time, I’m done answering questions. As the investigation proceeds, we’ll continue giving updates to the public.”

  He turned and walked away into the jail as shouts and more questions followed him.

  The reporter returned to the camera and gave her follow up. Frowning, I snapped off the TV.

  Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. All wrong.

  “Momma!” I called. “They arrested the man’s son.”

  “Those dingbats,” she hollered back. “Don’t they know it’s the wife?” She continued, and my mouth moved, echoing her next sentence, “It’s always the wife.”

  I needed more information. I almost texted Ruby, or even Kristi Bentley herself, to see if one of them knew what was up. I hadn’t seen Kristi on TV, but I remembered her mentioning at lunch that they’d planned to wrap the case up when the convention ended. What was she holding back on me?

  What evidenced did they have to arrest him? All I could think of was the motive—that hefty inheritance. How did he get hold of the insulin?

  I closed my eyes and saw the replay of Caleb getting out of the Sheriff’s car. That moment of horror on his face before he masked it. He didn't do this. I couldn't believe that. But who did? And how could I prove that I was right?

  Chapter 22

  I jetted a text to Kristi Bentley. —Can you talk? I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight without some answers. How did I go from being a class A stalker of my own main suspect, to now defending him?

  My phone vibrated from her response. —I can play the hot or cold game again.

  Okay. At least a game I knew the rules to. —Is the cause of death still insulin?

  —Hot

  I wanted to ask how they thought Caleb injected his dad. My eyebrows furrowed, trying to think of how to frame it in essentially a yes or no question.

  —Is Caleb a diabetic?

  —Cold.

  Hmm.

  —But he had access to insulin?

  —Hot.

  How? Somehow with his pharmacist’s degree? I had too many questions to play this game any longer, so I told her I’d talk to her later.

  Just as Momma came through the doorway with the bowl of cheesy noodles, I remembered the top of the fence. Was Caleb the one who’d shorn it off?

  The next morning, I wandered into the kitchen with a sigh. Momma was just flipping the last pancake onto a plate.

  “You could have told me there was no butter,” she stared at me accusingly as I climbed up on the stool.

  “What?” I raised an eyebrow at Bingo, who slunk off under the table at the word “butter.”

  “Anyway, here it is.” Momma slid the plate of pancakes across the counter. She drowned her plate in syrup and then passed the bottle over. After pouring two glasses of orange juice, she took her breakfast to the table and put on her reading glasses. With a concentration line forming between her eyebrows, she opened her crossword puzzle book.

  “One thing I just don't get,” I said, forking up a bite of pancake.

  Momma set down the magazine with a sigh. She regarded at me over the tops of her glasses.

  “Don’t mumble, Maisie. Just spit it out.”

  “What about the granola bar? What kind of statement was Caleb making with that? And why did he mess with our outlet, and break in later?”

  “Who says that poor child messed with our outlet?” Momma frowned.

  “Well,” I was confused. “You said it was a young man …”

  “Pish. Age is different this side of seventy. Isn’t Caleb the same age as the rest of those people at the whatchamacallit?”

  “The Comic-Con. Yes.”

  “Those kids are practically babies. No. By young man, I was talking about someone in his mid-thirties. Your age. But, no one listens to me.”

  I shook my head, flabbergasted. “If you saw hi
m again would you recognize him?”

  “I may be old, but I’m not blind.” Her magnified eyes blinked from behind her glass lenses. “I’ve seen him several times since.”

  Her response rocked my world. “What do you mean, you’ve seen him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why on earth would I tell you about an incompetent electrician?”

  I closed my eyes then, remembering my decision not to tell Momma about the message inside the light switch.

  “Although,” she continued, looking back at her puzzle. “It’s obvious he was only filling in for someone else.”

  “Why are you saying that?”

  “Because he didn’t know what to do. Young people these days. It’s better he keeps to his own duties.”

  “Are you saying he works here?”

  She stared at me like I had alien antennas. “Louisa May Marigold Swenson! What kind of a dingbat do you think I am to let anyone but an employee in my house?”

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” I said, scrambling off the stool. I ran over and kissed her, and danced away. “I’ll be back in a little bit!”

  “Where are you going? You didn’t eat your breakfast!”

  “I have places to be, and cases to solve,” I hollered, searching for my heels.

  “You aren’t Nancy Drew!” were her parting remarks as I shut the front door behind me.

  Smiling, nearly giddy with excitement, I ran to the front desk. This was the final nail in the coffin for Mark Everett. I could just feel it. He’d definitely be a fish out of water acting as an electrician.

  The hotel lobby was empty, with the exception of Gary and Stan changing out one of the wall sconces.

  “Hi, guys,” I said as I passed by.

  “Good morning, Ms Swenson,” they shot back.

  Clarissa was covering the front desk, reading her Kindle. She perked up when she saw me approach.

  “Hi ya, boss! How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great! I think I can solve who murdered Mr. Olsen.”

  She set down the Kindle, still half-smiling. My enthusiasm must have been contagious. “What do you mean? I heard last night that they arrested his son.”