Slippery Solicitors: A Piece of Cake Mystery (Piece of Cake Mysteries Book 4)

by A. R. Winters

  She reached in, grabbed the folder, and opened it.

  When we saw the contents of the file, the three of us stood frozen—shocked into silence for a few long minutes.

  Chapter 7

  Finally, Beth said, “What a strange pose! Didn’t it hurt to twist their bodies that way?” She looked at me, but I was still too surprised to speak. “Maybe they both did lots of yoga. Apparently, yoga helps you get into all kinds of poses.”

  Rita was still staring at the photos with her lips pressed together.

  I said, “Who is that man?”

  “That’s Judge Jeremy O’Connor,” said Rita. “He’s about two hundred years old, and he’s been married to Winona Flinders for about one hundred of those. Winona is really big on the social scene here.”

  I’d heard of Winona Flinders. She was a popular socialite in Santa Verona who hobnobbed with the Hollywood stars when they came down to visit. She did lots of charity work, including raising money for breast cancer awareness and saving endangered animals.

  “I always knew Lana would do whatever it took to get ahead,” said Rita through gritted teeth. “This thing she had with Judge O’Connor must’ve helped her with lots of cases.”

  “Or maybe she was just with him for fun,” said Beth.

  I took another look at one of those photos. And winced. “It’s almost painful to look at these photos. He looks so ancient—what could she possibly have seen in him? Although, it does serve Liam right. He deserves to be cheated on.”

  As soon as I said that, I wondered if that was right. I didn’t like Liam, but these photos didn’t paint Lana in a particularly flattering light.

  “Did you know about this?” Beth asked, looking at Rita.

  Rita shook her head, and from the shock that was written all over her face, I knew that she was telling the truth.

  “Why would Lana just leave this file lying around in her office?” said Beth.

  There was an envelope among the photos. Rita opened it and pulled out a piece of paper, which she read before passing it over to Beth and me.

  “Unless you want these photos splashed all over the Santa Verona Sun,” said the note, “leave $50,000 in unmarked bills under the bench at the Moorland Park, the one opposite the small fountain near the back. Do that, and your secret is safe with me.”

  “How old do you think these photos are?” I asked.

  “At least six months old,” said Rita. “Lana’s changed her hairstyle since.”

  “But there’s no way to guess how old this letter is,” Beth said. “She might have received this letter last week, or last month, or even a year ago.”

  “It does put an interesting spin on things,” I mused out loud. “If Lana was being blackmailed, she and the blackmailer might’ve gotten into a fight, which left her dead.”

  A flicker of doubt passed through my mind. Perhaps Rita was the blackmailer herself, and she was just pretending to be surprised. I glanced at Rita out of the corner of my eye: she was still looking through the photos and seemed far too surprised to be faking it.

  “Even if the note is kind of old,” said Beth, “the blackmailer might’ve gotten in touch with Lana again. Maybe this is what led to Lana’s death.”

  “I guess we should take these to the police,” I said. “Perhaps they can run them through their systems and find out some more information. These might help them find the actual killer.”

  “Aren’t you going to take these to Liam?” asked Rita. “After all, he’s the one paying you.”

  I looked at Rita and made a face. She was right—I should tell Liam about the photos before I took them to the cops.

  Beth said, “Liam will probably be happy to see these photos. Not only could they help exonerate him, they prove that he was right about Lana cheating on him.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said. Liam was our client, and it was our job to make him happy, but the thought of seeing him act all gleeful and vindicated was turning my stomach.

  I took the photos from Rita, and we thanked her for her help. It was time to see what other information these photos might turn up.

  I called Liam and asked him if we should come over to the courthouse to meet him, but he told me that he was on a sort of forced sabbatical while the case was being investigated. “I guess they’re not keen on having an assistant DA who’s being investigated by the cops,” he said dryly.

  For a brief moment, I felt sorry for him. “Okay,” I said, “we’ll come straight over to your condo.”

  When Liam ushered us into his condo, I noticed that he had three-day stubble on his cheek, and his face was marked with lines of stress and unhappiness. For once, he seemed to have lost much of his swagger.

  “Do you have any good news for me?” Liam asked as we all sat down.

  “I do, actually,” I said.

  Beth and I filled Liam in about the photos we had found, and I told him about the note. I’d left the photos in my car and refused to show them to Liam. I felt oddly protective of Lana, despite what she’d done. Those photos were creepy and might have led to her death, and I didn’t want Liam gloating over them.

  The lines on Liam’s face gradually disappeared as we told him about the photos and the note, and by the end of our conversation, he was smiling and looking a lot like his former self.

  “I guess we should go to the cops,” I said, “and give them the photos. Perhaps the lab techs can run them through the system and find out something more.”

  Liam shook his head vigorously. “No, you can’t do that! If you go to the police with this, they’ll know that you’re investigating and tell you to stay away. We can’t have that happen.”

  Liam had a point.

  “But perhaps this investigation is over,” I said. “Perhaps we won’t really discover anything else.”

  Liam shook his head. “There has to be something more. Keep looking. You can always go to the cops later. There’s no rush.”

  “If I don’t go to the cops now,” I said, “I’ll be withholding evidence.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll think of some excuse. I don’t want you to just stop investigating—this is a good start, but I’m sure there’s more information like this out there. I should never have trusted Lana; I should have broken up with her ages ago. Now she’s gone and gotten me involved in a murder investigation, and she might end up ruining my career from her grave.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Lana had been killed, and all Liam could think about was himself and his career.

  “I’m sure this investigation won’t affect your career,” I said. “And if I give these photos to the police, they might find out more information, more quickly than I could.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Liam. “I’m the client, and I’m saying that I want you to keep investigating. This is why I pay you the big bucks.”

  “We’ll keep looking for more information,” Beth said. She could sense my anger, and I was glad that she sounded so calm and level-headed.

  I remembered the feeling I’d had earlier in the morning when I thought someone had been following me. I was sure it was the same person who’d left us the threatening message—whoever it was, I hoped they didn’t find out that I had found these photos of Lana.

  Chapter 8

  I was disappointed at the way our conversation with Liam had gone, but we decided that we might as well keep working.

  Our next stop was Judge Jeremy O’Connor’s office.

  It felt odd to go to the courthouse and turn right to go to the actual court area instead of turning left to go to the police station. Beth and I continued until we found Judge O’Connor’s chambers, and then we knocked and walked into the waiting area, which was manned by a grumpy-looking chubby brunette in her early thirties.

  There was nobody else in the waiting area, so I wondered if the judge was in his chambers or not.

  Before we could say anything, the brunette glared at us and said, “Judge O’Connor isn’t meetin
g anyone right now.”

  “Is he in a meeting at the moment?” Beth asked. “Because I was told that he would be free to talk to us.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “We really have to see Judge O’Connor,” I said. “He’ll want to hear what we have to say. It’s about his wife.”

  The brunette frowned, but she picked up a phone, dialed a number, and said something softly before hanging up.

  She looked at us suspiciously. “He says to go in.”

  Beth and I smiled and walked through the door before the judge could change his mind.

  Judge O’Connor’s room was cool and shaded from the afternoon sun. The walls were wood-paneled, and his window looked out onto the courtyard.

  The judge himself looked a lot like the photographs we’d seen—old, wrinkled, and balding. When he stood up, we noticed that he was quite tall, and his eyes were clouded in confusion.

  He said, “Bridgette said you needed to tell me something about my wife.”

  Beth and I walked over to the other side of the judge’s desk.

  I wasn’t quite sure where to start, and we stood there in awkward silence for a few long seconds.

  “I don’t have all day,” said the judge. “If this is important, you need to tell me right now.”

  “This is important,” said Beth. “How long have you and Lana Scriven been having an affair?”

  The judge glared at us. “What are you, reporters from some gossip magazine? I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  “We have photos,” I said. “We found them in Lana’s office. I would show you, but they’re not very pleasant to look at.”

  The judge looked at me and Beth silently, obviously trying to guess if we were bluffing.

  Finally, he said, “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to know a bit more about you and Lana. We’re looking into Lana’s death.”

  “I think you two are making things up,” said the judge. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “We can show you the photos,” I said. “They’re in my car. Although, once they fall into the wrong hands, you’ll probably be a suspect in her murder as well.”

  The judge gestured to us to sit down. “Lana and I ended things three months ago. It started maybe a year ago? I can’t quite remember.”

  “Why did you end things?” said Beth.

  Judge O’Connor shook his head. “I didn’t end things, she did. And she wouldn’t tell me why. She said it was best for both of us. I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”

  “Why did you even get together with her?” I said. “An affair like this could jeopardize your whole career.”

  “I fell in love,” said Judge O’Connor. “I know it sounds stupid coming from an old man like myself. But I might only have a few more years to live. I wanted to experience life. I wanted to experience more than a stale marriage and the facade that I need to put on for the public. I loved Lana, and I would have given up my career for her.”

  Beth said, “But I’m sure she didn’t want that.”

  “No,” said Judge O’Connor. “She said I would regret doing anything rash. So we kept our affair a secret.”

  “Did you know that she was being blackmailed?” I asked. “The note we found with the photos was asking her for a lot of money.”

  The judge sighed. “She told me seven months ago. I said I’d help her pay it off, and that she shouldn’t let it bother her. Although, maybe that’s part of the reason why she ended it.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him silently. Perhaps the blackmailer had made Lana rethink her affair, and she’d decided that she was better off without the judge. “Has anyone ever tried to blackmail you?”

  The judge shook his head. “We’ve been discreet. I’m pretty sure Lana never told anyone, and I only ever told my best friend Barry.”

  “Maybe someone who knows you guessed about the affair.”

  Judge O’Connor frowned and stared at the wall thoughtfully. “Perhaps some people suspect. Maybe my secretary—she would see Lana coming and going from my chambers sometimes. Most of my other friends are just people I play golf with or hang out with at the country club. They would never understand.”

  “What does Barry do?” I asked.

  “He’s a successful businessman—Barry’s Packaging Plant is one of his businesses. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

  I nodded. I’d certainly heard about the packaging plant. “And you’re sure he wouldn’t blackmail Lana.”

  “He doesn’t need the money, and he’s my friend.”

  “What about your wife?” Beth asked.

  Judge O’Conner winced. “She found out a while back. But we’re not really the kind of people who confront each other or have arguments. She seemed upset, and I told her I wouldn’t stop seeing Lana. I was being discreet about it. I offered to divorce her, but she wouldn’t have that. What would all our friends think? Anyway, it’s not like our marriage meant much to her over the last few years. The passion died down a long time ago. It’s been a sham for a while.”

  “Did you tell her when things ended between you and Lana?” I asked.

  Judge O’Conner shook his head. “No. I didn’t feel like talking about it. I didn’t think my wife would care. Besides, I still thought I might be able to convince Lana to go out with me again. I’m a pretty persistent guy.”

  “When did you last see Lana?” asked Beth.

  “Three weeks ago at a fundraiser for polar bears. My wife does some charity work for endangered animals.”

  “The last time you met her, did Lana seem to be behaving differently in any way?” asked Beth.

  Judge O’Connor shook his head. “No. We were pretending to be polite to each other, like regular old acquaintances. She seemed completely normal.”

  We asked Judge O’Connor a few more questions about Lana, trying to find out more information about their relationship and Lana’s past. When it became apparent that he could tell us nothing new, I asked him where he’d been on Friday night.

  The judge smiled. “If you’re asking for my alibi, you can bet I’ve got a good one. I was having dinner at the clubhouse with at least twelve of my golfing buddies. I was there from six to ten. You can ask anyone.”

  He gave us the names of a couple of his friends and told us that we could also ask the staff at the clubhouse.

  “And what about your wife?” Beth asked. “Where was she?”

  Judge O’Connor shrugged. “She said she wasn’t feeling very well and stayed home that night.”

  Beth and I exchanged a glance. We would need to talk to Winona, and neither of us was looking forward to what could potentially be an awkward conversation.

  “Would your wife be free for a chat today?” Beth asked.

  “Do you really have to talk to her?” Judge O’Connor made an unhappy face. “She doesn’t like thinking about the affair, and she’ll be in a bad mood if it’s brought up again.”

  “You know we have to,” I said. “If it’s not us, it’ll be the cops.”

  Judge O’Connor nodded. His eyes were hooded and his face was lined with concern. “Oh well,” he said, “I guess I don’t really have a choice.”

  “You could talk to her first,” Beth said. “Perhaps you could soften the blow.”

  Judge O’Connor shook his head. “I know my wife better than that. Nothing’s going to change her reaction.”

  “Well, perhaps you could call her and let her know that we’ll want to talk to her?” I said.

  The judge twisted his lips in a facial shrug. “I’ll do that for you two, but in exchange, I need you guys to tread lightly on this topic with her.”

  Beth and I nodded.

  “We’ll do our best,” I said.

  We sat in awkward silence as the judge pulled out his smartphone and made a quick phone call to his wife. We heard him tell her that two young ladies, Beth and Mindy, would want to talk to her today, as soon as possible. No, he said, it had t
o be done. It was about the recent murder of a young lady, Lana Scriven. Yes, that Lana Scriven.

  After a couple more minutes of conversation, Judge O’Connor hung up and turned to us. “She’ll meet you at four-thirty today. She’s having lunch with some ladies at the Whirlpool Grill, so she’ll meet you next door at the Hoopla Café.”

  “We appreciate you setting up the meeting for us,” I said.

  Judge O’Connor shrugged, and for the first time his eyes seemed to be clouded with sadness. He looked off into the distance and mumbled something that sounded like, “It was the least I could do.”

  Chapter 9

  It was almost time for lunch, so Beth and I headed over to a bistro near the courthouse that was popular with Santa Verona locals and had cheap lunch specials. After a delicious meal of seafood risotto and a creamy pasta, we walked over to the bar where Felicity said she’d been on Friday night.

  The Donkey Bar was quiet at this time of day. It was housed in a large, dark room with booths lining one wall and tables in between the booths and the bar. The bar smelled of expensive alcohol and was dimly lit with overhead pendant lights. A long mirror behind the bar reflected the room back to us. Bottles lined the shelves above the mirror, and wine glasses hung upside down from racks above the bar.

  As we approached, the bartender looked up and smiled. He was a stocky young man, wearing a black T-shirt that revealed the tattoos along his arms.

  “What can I get you ladies?” he said.

  We ordered the club sodas that we usually drink when we’re on a job, and then we settled in at the bar and looked around. There were a few people sitting in the booths—there was one couple who looked like they were having a clandestine meeting, and two groups of people who looked like they were discussing business.

  “Are you waiting for someone?” asked the bartender.

  “Not really,” I said. “We were actually wondering about a woman who visited the bar last Friday.”

  Beth flipped through her smartphone. It took her just a few seconds to pull up a photo of Felicity from her social media profile.