by Nic Saint
“There’s a police officer here already. Happy Bays Police Department.”
“Yes, I know,” said Detective Barkley, stepping into the house.
“Just lead the way, ma’am,” Detective Farrier said courteously, so that’s exactly what she did.
“I… I found him lying on the floor of the kitchen,” she said.
“How did you ascertain that he was dead, ma’am?” Farrier asked.
“The hatchet gave it away.”
“The hatchet?”
“He’s got this big ol’ hatchet sticking out of his face.”
The detective blinked. “Did you touch anything, ma’am?”
“No, I didn’t, and neither did Orrick.”
“Orrick, ma’am?” asked Farrier.
“Orrick Fibril. He’s the gardener,” she said, experiencing a strong case of déjà-vu all of a sudden. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat the same thing over and over to different members of different police forces all day.
“And this Orrick, did he touch anything?”
“Oh, no, Detective. He just turned white as a sheet.”
They’d arrived in the kitchen, where the stringy policeman stood bent over the body, staring at it with marked curiosity. He looked up in surprise when the trio burst in. “This is a crime scene,” he announced curtly, holding up his hand like a traffic cop. “You can’t come in here,” he added.
“That’s all right, officer,” said Barkley, producing his badge once again. It seemed like second nature. “NYPD. We’re taking over the investigation.”
“But… I haven’t even gotten started yet,” the stringy cop protested.
“Yehudi Brevity was a very close friend of Mayor Putin, which is why he’s asked us to take charge of the investigation and make sure that whoever is responsible is caught and punished.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to do,” said Officer Scattering, though he didn’t look very convinced. Then, resigned, he said, “He’s all yours.”
“Stick around, Scattering,” said Barkley. “I may need you.”
“Of course,” said the officer. “Anything I can do to help.”
“Did you know the victim?” asked Farrier, kneeling down next to the body.
“Not really,” admitted Officer Scattering. “He pretty much kept himself to himself most of the time.”
“Mr. Brevity was a very private person,” confirmed Karie.
“Did you notice anything suspicious?” asked Barkley.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary, Detective,” she said.
“Any visitors this morning?”
“Nobody. He didn’t get many visitors here in Happy Bays.”
“And when he was up in New York?”
“I wouldn’t know, Detective. I was only employed here. He had a different housekeeper in Manhattan, where he spent his weekdays. He only came here on the weekends. And the holidays, of course.”
“So you only saw him during the weekends,” said Barkley.
But before she could respond, the doorbell rang again, and she hurried away. This time to open the door to the coroner, a toad-like man with a sneer on his face. The rest of the morning, police officers came and went, and about one hour into the investigation, suddenly the mayor of New York himself turned up. Boyce Putin—no relation—was a short, fat man with a short, fat head, and when he shook her hand, she noticed he had short, fat fingers.
“A crime,” he muttered as he walked in, shaking his head. “A real crime.”
“Yes, sir,” she said sadly.
“He was a great guy. A great guy.”
“Yes, he was, Mr. Mayor.”
“It’s a damn shame. A damn shame.”
Once she’d led him into the kitchen, she finally excused herself and went upstairs to her room. The police would take care of any other visitors, and the removal of the body from the kitchen, Barkley had told her, and it was obvious her presence was no longer required.
Like her employer, her employment was effectively terminated, and for the next hour or so, she cried bitter tears. She’d been very fond of Yehudi, and hated the way his life had so abruptly ended. Such a tragic and brutal death for such a gentle and sweet man. It just wasn’t fair. He still had everything to live for, and would have immensely enjoyed his retirement, which was just around the corner. He’d told her several times he was looking forward to finally selling his Manhattan pad and moving permanently to The Hamptons to enjoy a well-deserved retirement, and now he never would.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and after quickly splashing some water on her face, she went to open it. She wasn’t surprised to find Detectives Barkley and Farrier staring back at her, wanting a moment of her time. They’d come to interrogate her, she knew, just like they did on CSI.
She, of course, would be a suspect, until they scratched her off the list, and so would Orrick. But she knew she had nothing to fear.
“Can we have a word with you now?” asked Detective Barkley.
“Of course,” she said, stepping aside to let them in. She led them into her small sitting room and offered them a seat.
Barkley had flipped open his notebook, and was ready to take notes.
“Have you been employed by Mr. Brevity a long time?” he asked.
“A little over ten years now, sir,” she said. “Detective, I mean.”
“Just call me Sam,” he said with a reassuring smile.
“And I’m Pierre,” said Pierre, also smiling.
They were exactly like the cops she liked so much on CSI. So nice and friendly. So she smiled back nervously, still dabbing at her eyes.
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary the last couple of days?” asked Sam. “Strangers calling at the house? Or Mr. Brevity acting weird?”
“No, nothing of the kind. Like I said, Mr. Brevity rarely got any visitors out here. He liked to come here to relax. And to fish, of course,” she added, smiling at the memory.
“To fish?”
“Oh, yes, he liked to go out fishing with his friends. Though he wasn’t much of a fisher, really. He never caught anything.”
“And who were these friends he went out fishing with?”
“I never met them,” she admitted. “He would meet them in town. He did mention their names to me once. Tom, Dick and Harry, he called them.” She paused. “I never did catch their last names, though.”
“Tom, Dick and Harry, huh?” asked Sam with a sidelong look at his partner.
“Yes, sir. That’s what he called them.”
“Did he go fishing this weekend?”
“Yes, he did,” she said, nodding. “Had a great time, too, because he was really excited when he got back from this particular trip. Real excited.”
“But no fish.”
“No, not a fish in sight,” she said with a slight smile. “Mr. Brevity always told me Tom, Dick and Harry were better fishermen than he was. He just tagged along to have a bit of fun. He said he found it very relaxing.”
“What did you know about his life in Manhattan?”
“Oh, I just knew he was a very successful banker. And a friend of Mayor Putin, of course. But that’s about all I knew about that part of his life, I’m afraid.”
“He told you about his friendship with the mayor, huh?”
“Yes, Sam. He kept a picture of the mayor on his desk.”
Sam asked a few more questions, but unfortunately there wasn’t much light she could shed on the terrible events of that morning. It was horrible that neither she nor Orrick had been able to prevent this dreadful murder.
“Poor Mr. Brevity,” she said, tears once again rolling down her cheeks. “He was such a kind man, and generous to a fault.” She shook her head. “What will become of me now? Who will hire me after this tragedy?”
“I’m sure the investigation will clear you completely, Karie,” said Sam.
She looked at him hopefully. “Do you really think so, Sam?”
“I know so,” he s
aid kindly. “The domestic staff can’t be blamed for the horrors that men do. I’m sure you will find gainful employ soon enough.”
She nodded. “Poor Mr. Brevity,” she repeated.
The two detectives finally rose to leave and she composed herself.
“Thank you, Karie,” said Sam kindly, handing her a card. “And if there’s anything else you can think of, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
“Or me,” Pierre added, also handing her a card.
She took Sam’s card reverently, rubbing her finger over the embossed letters. “I will, Sam,” she promised, looking up at him. “I will call you.”
“That’s great.”
She thought she detected the hint of a smile in Pierre’s eye, so she told him, “You, too, Pierre. I’ll call you, too, if you like.”
She didn’t want to discriminate between the two men, or for Pierre to feel left out. Though she had to admit she liked Sam a lot better. He was easily as handsome as those detectives on CSI. More handsome. More like Richard Castle, especially in the early seasons of the show, before he got married to Detective Beckett and gained some weight. She escorted both men from her room, and joined them downstairs. The place was now swarming with cops and the mayor’s entourage, and in front of the house, camera crews had already gathered, and were taping news segments to be aired later on.
And as she watched Sam being taken aside by the mayor for an impromptu meeting, she wondered if he didn’t need a housekeeper. She wouldn’t mind working for him. Though she’d have to take a pay cut. NYPD detectives didn’t make the big cashola like Wall Street bankers. She didn’t mind. Job satisfaction was just as important as remuneration, and working for Sam would give her all the satisfaction she needed. She was sure of it.
Chapter 7
“Looking good,” Orrick grumbled, surveying his and Karie’s work. The cement was hardening just fine and would be done by nightfall. Good thing they’d gone for the fast-setting kind. And good thing they’d used the spot near the back of the garden, like Mr. Brevity had advised. With the cops swarming all over the place he’d feared they’d start asking questions about this little project of theirs, but so far they hadn’t even discovered the site.
“Mr. Brevity would have been so proud,” said Karie, sniffling a little.
“Yeah, he would,” the gardener agreed, leaning on his shovel. Loyalty was important, he felt, and he was glad Karie felt the same way. It was a rarity.
And as he and the housekeeper set foot for the house, he glanced over his shoulder. Both he and Karie had sworn an oath of secrecy, to carry Brevity’s secret to the grave, and he, for one, would never break that oath.
Satisfied that nothing indicated the work they’d done on their employer’s behalf, he asked, “So what’s next for you, Karie?”
She shrugged. “I’ll have to go and find another job, won’t I?”
“Yeah, damned nuisance,” he grumbled. “Same here. Though I don’t think I’ll have great trouble finding a new position. Plenty of gardeners needed, especially around these parts. I actually heard a new family recently moved into the old Hartford Manor. Really big garden to maintain. Maybe I’ll swing round and offer them my services.”
“Can’t do no harm,” she agreed. “Maybe I’ll join you.”
She’d been going on about some cop she fancied, but he’d told her cops didn’t need housekeepers, as they were usually a bunch of slobs who lived in dingy apartments and spent most of their time in their beat-up squad cars.
“They’re all women, right?” he asked.
She nodded morosely. The death of their employer had hit her a lot harder than it had him. Even though he’d liked and respected Yehudi Brevity, he wasn’t the first employer he’d lost, though he was the first one he’d lost to murder. It was a great shock, of course, but such was life.
“Three sisters and a grandma,” she said now. “I heard they’re… peculiar.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, peculiar?”
He didn’t mind peculiar, as long as they paid well and paid promptly. And didn’t tell him how to do his job. He liked to be in charge of the gardens he kept, and Yehudi had been great that way. He hadn’t known the first thing about gardening and had given him free reign to do as he pleased.
Karie shrugged. “I don’t know, Orrick. Just… peculiar. Apparently they fixed the place up so quick it’s almost as if magic was involved.”
“Magic?” he asked with a laugh. “That’s nonsense. Magic don’t exist.”
“I know that,” she said sullenly. “But that’s what they’re saying in town. That the Flummox sisters are weird, and Cassie Beadsmore even more so.”
“That would be the grandma?” he asked.
“That would be the grandma,” she confirmed. “The one we’d be working for. She’s a tough cookie, apparently. Used to getting her way.” She gave him a sideways look that spoke volumes. That was one more thing they shared: they liked employers who kept to themselves, and didn’t get in their way. Karie liked to run the household like he liked to run the garden. Unfortunately not all employers condoned that. Some were really hands-on.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” he said philosophically. “What about money? Do you think this Cassie Beadsmore can afford to keep a domestic staff?”
“She’s well off, all right,” Karie said, and he liked to hear it. He liked the rich, for they paid well. Mr. Brevity certainly had. He didn’t expect anyone to pay more than the wealthy banker, of course, but one could always hope.
“So she’s rich, huh?” he asked, licking his lips.
“Well, not as rich as Mr. Brevity, obviously. But she used to own a chain of stores which she sold to a big national conglomerate a couple of years ago.”
“Big payday, huh?”
“I don’t know the details of the deal, Orrick,” Karie said primly, “but it’s safe to say she’s well-off. Though of course Hartford Manor must have been a bargain, with that terrible history. And then there’s those grandchildren of hers she has to support, which can’t be easy. Or cheap, for that matter.”
“A bunch of scroungers, huh?”
“It seems to be that way,” she admitted.
“They don’t work?”
“They’ve got their own company, but no customers as far as I can tell.”
“What do they do? Party planning or something? Running a charity?”
“No, they’re in the private security and personal protection business.”
His bushy brows rose and his ruddy features became even ruddier at this. “What, they’re bodyguards? Three dainty little girls?”
“Yes, well, they seem to like it, though without much success, apparently.”
“Of course. Who’s going to put his safety in the hands of three girls?”
“Not me,” she confessed. “Oh, and one of them is involved with Detective Barkley,” she added, though the fact didn’t seem to please her.
He gave her a keen look. Yep, she’d gone and gotten fancy about a cop again. This time it was that Barkley, last time it was Wilson. Karie always fancied cops, which was odd, for she’d done plenty of stuff in her life to warrant a healthy distaste for the strong arm of the law. But maybe it was her way of keeping an eye on them. Make sure they didn’t mess with her affairs.
“So this cop will be sniffing around the house, huh?” he asked.
“Looks like.”
“Before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s just see if they’re hiring. For all we know, they don’t even need a gardener or a housekeeper.”
“Yes, let’s just drop by the house and introduce ourselves,” she agreed.
He just hoped this Cassie Beadsmore wouldn’t ask for references…
Chapter 8
“Oh, hi, Sam, it’s me.”
“Hi, Strel,” said Sam.
“What’s going on with you and Edie?” she asked without preamble. “She’s been holed up in the attic for days, and Stien told me you had a fight.”
“The thing is that I forgot our anniversary,” he said ruefully.
“Anniversary? What anniversary?”
"Apparently it's customary that when you've been dating for a month you buy your girl a present," he said. "And since I didn't know, and consequently ignored to buy her anything, she told me I obviously wasn't as serious about this relationship as she was, and pretty much kicked me to the curb."
He was surprised when Strel responded with a loud giggle.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbled.
“It’s the first time I’ve heard about this one-month thing.”
“Well, apparently it is a thing, though to be honest I’d never heard about it before either. Edelie seems to take it very seriously, though.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Estrella promised.
“Thanks,” he said, relief bubbling up in his bosom. “Do you think you can persuade her to give me a call? Or at least to take my calls?”
“Don’t worry, Sam. I think it’s a classic case of cold feet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Edelie has never been in a relationship before, so it’s only natural that she’s having second thoughts from time to time. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You wouldn’t, huh?”
“No, I’m sure she loves you very much.”
"Oh," he said, taken aback. Estrella had a way of being very direct, which usually he could appreciate, for he didn't like to beat around the bush either. But sometimes he didn't know how to react to her bluntness. Love wasn't exactly the word that came to mind when he thought about Edelie, though he liked her very much, of course, and had the impression she enjoyed his company, too. But love? It was a little too soon to use big words like that.
“Once you’re married with a bunch of kids you’ll see that she’s a very romantic person at heart,” continued Estrella.
“Wow,” he said. “Hold it right there. Did Edie mention marriage? And kids?”