by Cassie Page
Matt yawned. Olivia could see the toll the day had taken on him. “Nothing is definite yet,” he said. “We’re looking around for either a weapon, or some sharp place where he might have accidentally hit his head and knocked himself onto the ground. Though an accident is possible, it doesn’t explain why he was buried so deep, or why his hard hat was found fifty yards away. And of course, now there’s the chainsaw. Why was something that expensive left unattended for the night?”
Olivia drained her wine, puzzling over these facts. She noticed the dark shadows under Matt’s eyes. Fatigue showed in his slumped shoulders as well, and the speed with which he had nodded off on her couch while she was getting the wine was telling. She knew he’d been up late the night before the groundbreaking preparing for a deposition he’d had to give this morning. That would have been before he got the news about Jed. It had been nonstop for him ever since.
They hadn’t spoken in a few days, but they had sent a few chatty texts. They’d kept one another informed of their whereabouts every day for months and it was hard to break the habit. It felt natural to fill each other in on the day’s events.
“The thing is, Olivia, people want to believe he was accidentally knocked in there by an earthmover or something because he was such a nice guy. But all the heavy equipment had been moved behind the partition yesterday while he was still seen working. You know, that fence you hung that banner on. As yet, we really can’t explain how he ended up in that patch of ground.”
Olivia knew the answer to her next question. “Did you investigate what I overheard? About him finding something that would stop the construction?”
Matt nodded. “I had Johnson try to tease out some information from the construction crew. They were closed mouthed, but he was sure a few of the guys were covering something up. We haven’t had a chance to talk to everyone yet. We don’t have a very large department. There are what, less than half a dozen of us working on this? I’m going to talk to Scott Pierce myself. I’m meeting with him first thing in the morning. I decided to wait to see if anyone would be forthcoming and I’d have something more than suspicions to go on. If he’s behind this, I don’t want to give him advance notice that we’re sniffing around. But what you heard definitely gives him a motive, if it’s true Fisher found something.”
Olivia remembered Scott’s behavior that morning. Snappish, impatient. She had chalked it up to irritation about having the groundbreaking ceremony interrupt work on the site. Then there were his actions at the meeting, that altercation with Russ. At the time, she blamed it on the nerves everyone was feeling, and the worry about the ramifications of a shutdown, how they would handle the press. This overwhelmed them all, and no one knew exactly how to handle it all.
Matt looked over at her, letting his gaze linger. Olivia knew the question that was behind those dark, velvety eyes and it had nothing to do with Jed Fisher. But he put it aside and asked instead, “Olivia, you know the people involved. Does anyone come to mind who has more at stake than anyone else?”
She looked into her empty glass to avoid his eyes and get her bearings. “I’ve been going over that question, too. I think it’s easier to eliminate suspects than to name one. Sonia, the banker, wouldn’t really have much to gain by hiding a toxic problem or some archeological find. Indian artifacts, for instance.”
Matt, of course, was the true Indian in the room. Indian American, parents and three grandparents from a town in northern India, his paternal grandfather from England.
Olivia knew that in the U.S. many tribes preferred to be called Indian rather than Native American. Archeologists and environmentalists who had ruled on the permitting process referred to indigenous people. Before the arrival of the Spanish and the gold rush, indigenous tribes lived throughout Northern California, their artifacts often found in the hills surrounding Darling Valley. But as far as they knew, no tribes had left their tracks on Charles’ property.
She continued on, exonerating the banker. “If there was a problem and permits were revoked for any reason, the bank would simply ask for its money back, as I understand it. They also have a terraced payout and wouldn’t give Charles any more money until certain milestones had been reached. Sonia doesn’t have much to lose reputation wise. She’s been such an improvement over Fastner, that I don’t think Darling Valley would stand for it if the bank tried to replace her.”
Matt knew who Elgin Fastner was, the sleazy banker in the case that threw Matt and Olivia together.
Matt had his pad and pen in hand. Unlike his partner, Detective Johnson who used electronic devices, Matt liked to write down his notes and thoughts. He started a list.
“So, Sonia,” he looked up. “What’s her last name?”
“Gutierrez.”
“Right. No motive.” He looked up again. “Why don’t we start with who has the most to lose?”
Olivia set her glass on the side table and focused on the case.
5:4
“Okay, let’s see. Well, Charles of course. But he would never jeopardize this project. And if something showed up, like finding a hidden toxic dump, he’d just have it remediated. He’s a very honest guy. As far as motive, no one wants this project as much as he does. But as far as being capable of murder? Charles Bacon is a pussy cat. Money wouldn’t be a motive. If he lost his investment, which of course he won’t, but if he did, it wouldn’t make a dent in his bottom line. And he doesn’t have a reputation at stake. There isn’t anything he wants from anybody, except for the world to enjoy his classic cars and honor the memory of his wife, Ellie.”
Matt nodded. He knew Charles and his love for his wife. He settled back on the couch, squirming a bit to get comfortable. He looked over at Olivia and for a brief moment, dropped his guard again. She saw in his eyes the longing she also felt, but not only did they need to put their relationship on hold because neither could figure out what they wanted, but there could be a conflict of interest if this case got sticky.
Matt dropped the look and returned to the business-like face he had been trying to maintain since he walked in tonight. He said, “I know he’s your friend and all, but we have to consider everybody. Did you know he had a habit of hanging around the construction site and chatting up the workers?”
Olivia was immediately on the defensive, instinctively wanting to protect her friend. “I don’t know if hanging out is quite accurate. He liked to swing by if he was in the neighborhood just to see how things were coming along. I mean it is his reason for living right now.”
Matt continued. “Well did you know he had befriended Jed Fisher?”
“Befriend the victim? No. Not possible. He would have told me. He considers it a notch on his belt anytime he makes a new friend because they are so hard to come by in this town. How did you hear that?”
“One of the workers. If Fisher had found something that would stop construction and had told your friend Bacon about it, there’s a motive.”
Olivia remembered the forlorn look on Charles face when he talked about the widow. “You should have seen how upset he was, especially about the wife and baby. Wanting to make sure they were okay.”
Matt had a ready answer. “Guilty conscious. Or, maybe it was some kind of accident or an act of passion and he never intended to kill him. I’m not saying he’s our number one suspect at this point, but you have to understand. Just because he’s your friend, I can’t cut corners. I have to do my job, wherever it leads.”
“I understand, Matt. Really, I do. But I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time on Charles. Not possible.”
“Okay,” he checked his watch,” “I’ve got to get going. But anyone else we should be looking at? Give me the short list.”
“Al somebody, but he’s easy to dismiss. He has absolutely no stake in the construction going forward or stalling. He’s the gofer for our art curator. He’s got an inflated vision of his importance. He probably picks up dust bunnies in his boss’s office.”
“What was he doing there? Who is his bo
ss?”
“I’ve told you about him. Pierre Ballard.”
“Oh, yeah. The French guy.”
“Pierre had to attend to a problem in Europe on one of his installations. Turns out someone bought some pieces that were forgeries or something. Someone sold art they claimed was stolen by the Nazis. Nobody could find the descendants, who would have had a claim to the work, so the pieces went on the market. Pierre was called to authenticate the work. Wait, can you authenticate a fake? Anyway, he declared it a forgery. His visit coincided with a conference on art fraud and he was invited to speak. The date conflicted with our ceremony, so he sent Al to stand in his place since his firm was already on the printed program.”
“Well, what would it mean to him to lose the museum job.”
“Pierre? Probably nothing. He is so well known and really has no investment in the construction end of things. He has already guided Charles to important purchases for the museum. He’s going to retire soon, so scratch him from the list.”
She mentioned Russ Bower the architect, the lawyers, the environmental consultant, but nobody jumped out as a prime suspect.
“As I see it, Olivia, we need to find a link between Jed Fisher’s death and the fortunes of the museum. We have to find what Fisher found, or locate someone he told about his discovery. Without that, we’ve got a whole lot of nothing.”
Olivia was still resistant to the idea of murder. “Could he have just had an argument with a coworker and his death had nothing to do with the museum?”
“Of course that’s possible, and we’re questioning everyone. But so far, everyone either got along with him, or just didn’t know him. You know what they say, follow the money. That’s usually behind suspicious deaths.”
Olivia shivered. “I hope this is just a case of a terrible accidental death with someone doing something stupid to cover it up. I hate the thought that The Bacon-Paatz Museum would be tainted with murder. It has had such a noble beginning.”
Matt stood up to leave. “I hope so, too. I have to get back to the office to see if I can piece some things together. Thanks for the wine.”
Olivia checked her glass. “Well, you didn’t make much of a dent, detective. I believe you are still in full possession of your faculties.”
Matt gathered up his jacket and briefcase and Olivia walked him to the staircase leading down to her office. “Do you want to go through the showroom or out back?”
“How about the front door since I’m across the street? I didn’t park in the driveway because I didn’t know if Mrs. Harmon would need to get into the garage.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry that’s such a bother.”
“It’s not really.”
Matt, his sister Taz and Mrs. Harmon had been friends before Olivia arrived on the scene. They often visited when Olivia was not around. Mrs. Harmon’s lease provided for a parking space in the small garage off the back yard. Olivia and her guests had to park in the driveway or, if Mrs. Harmon needed access, on the street.
“No problem. Let me get the keys.”
They walked downstairs and she flipped on the light in her office, then unlocked the French doors into the showroom. Large and small pieces of very expensive furniture stood in ghostly silhouettes in the shadows thrown by the street lights. They threaded their way past secretaries, settees, club chairs and elegant desks with secret compartments. When they reached the front door, Olivia switched on the porch light and waited, unsure of their next move. Matt seemed equally uncomfortable. They had maintained physical distance for four days now. Goodbyes were always tender, romantic moments for them.
Olivia kept it casual. “Good night, Matt. Get some sleep.”
“I won’t for a while. As I said, I’m on my way back to the office.”
He bent over and kissed the top of her head, lingering for a few seconds. He took her hands and kissed them as well. “Good night, Olivia.”
Olivia didn’t trust her voice. She just nodded and opened the door for him. She watched him step onto the porch and reach into his pocket for his car key. He didn’t turn to wave goodbye, but after a few steps he stumbled sideways.
“You see?” she said. “You need some sleep. You’re so tired you’re falling over yourself.”
He bent over and picked up a dead vine that had caught in his feet. He offered it to her with a smile. “You need to talk to your gardener about cleaning up.”
“That’s odd. I don’t have vines. It must have blown over from a neighbor’s yard.”
She reached for it and he took her hand and pulled her close. He gave her a long kiss, pulled away and said, “If anything happens, call me.”
He paused, cocked his head and said. “Hear that? A cat’s whining.”
Olivia shrugged. “I don’t hear anything,” then watched him make his way to his car.
She closed up the shop, went out back and dropped the vine into the green recycling bin. “Thank you, vine,” she said and went back upstairs to the loft, two at a time.
Chapter Six: Spells And Misspells
6:1
Tuesday Morning
“What do you mean you found a candle and a scythe on my doorstep?”
Olivia reached into her refrigerator for the grapefruit juice and poured herself a glass.
Tuesday had come into the kitchen while Olivia showered. She was drinking coffee at the sink; her eyes bloodshot from chasing down a prowler outside the back door during the night.
Incredulous, Olivia said, “And a prowler? Why didn’t you wake me?” She toweled her wet hair, threw her head back, sending a spray of water across the ceiling.
Tuesday drained her cup and stuck it in the dishwasher. “I figured you had enough going on baby girl and you needed your beauty sleep. Besides, with the full moon, I could see the yard clearly. That guy was long gone. He just left you a little present.”
Olivia pulled her Minnie Mouse bathrobe tightly closed, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.
The two friends had surprised each other a few minutes earlier coming out of their rooms in matching bathrobes.
They pointed at each and shouted, “You remembered.”
Purchased as a joke on a visit to Disneyland a dozen years ago, the trip had cemented their best friend status, the robes like a secret handshake. Right now the preening Minnie dancing all over the faded terrycloth mocked this scary news.
Tuesday pointed to the two items on the counter, a thick, stubby candle burned half way down and a miniature scythe. “Now if a third symbol had shown up I’d get major creeps.”
Olivia added her juice glass to the dishwasher. “What do you mean, a third? What are you talking about?”
Tuesday picked up the candle and scythe and examined them. “These look like death symbols to me. They were left on your back step so you’d have to trip over them. Only I heard a noise under my window and went down to look. So I’m the one who tripped over them, but I don’t think they were intended for me.”
Olivia filled the kettle to make more coffee, “Tuesday, translate for me. I’m short on bandwidth this morning. Death symbols? What does that mean?”
Tuesday was rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up fully. “I swear, if that cat starts singing again tonight I’m going to send it to a glue factory.”
“Horses go to glue factories. What cat?”
“The one that started crying at two this morning. I had just gone back to sleep after finding the candle and scythe and it started yowling.”
Olivia walked over to her sleepy friend and gave her a hug while the coffee dripped.
“I’m sorry, Tues. I’ve seen that thing sniffing around the garbage cans but I don’t know who owns it. Your window looks over the garden. In my room I can’t hear noise in the yard. But Matt said he heard it as he was leaving. Now tell me more about the symbols.”
Tuesday was her resident expert on all things metaphysical. She slid onto a stool at the counter and began explaining while Olivia puttered at the sink.
“In som
e cultures if you want to scare a person or send them a message, like back off, you send them a series of three symbols. They form a message. But you got only two so I don’t know how to read this.”
Olivia remembered Matt out on the front porch, tripping over a vine. “Would a vine be a symbol?”
Tuesday nodded. “A vine? Big time. If it were flowering it would signal happiness or success. But dead or withering? Fill in the blanks. Why do you ask about a vine?”
Because the lights were out in Tuesday’s room after Matt left, Olivia went to bed. Now Olivia told her about Matt’s feet getting tangled up in a vine as he was leaving.
“But I don’t know if it was a flowering or withered vine. I didn’t pay attention. I figured it had blown over from a neighbor’s yard because I don’t have any vines. It’s probably still in the recycling can though. We can check.”
They gave one another a let’s do it sign, put down their coffee and raced downstairs to the back door. As the recycling had been emptied the day before, Olivia almost fell into the can for garden cuttings trying to retrieve it. She knew immediately that it was dry and withered. She felt a thrum of fear as she handed it over to Tuesday. “It looks very dead to me.”
Olivia didn’t like the look on Tuesday’s face. “This is no coincidence, Ollie girl. We have to figure out who is behind this. I wonder if it’s the same creep who stole my hat.”
Over a breakfast of cereal and coffee, to which Tuesday had added a swirl of the Salted Caramel ice cream Olivia picked up the day before, they tried to figure if there could be a connection between the murder and the ominous signs.
“There has to be,” Olivia said, shivering at the thought. Her phone buzzed, a text from Alistair. She ignored it.
“Oh, this is crazy,” she said. “Why would somebody be sending me death messages? Do they think I’m behind Jed Fisher’s death? I don’t think it has even officially been declared a murder. The coroner’s report should be out soon and then we’ll know.”