Lawyers, Liars and Lemon Tarts

by A. R. Winters

  “Do you remember this woman?” she asked the bartender, showing him the photo.

  The bartender smiled. “Yeah, she’s one of our regulars. She and a group of young ladies like to come here for ladies’ cocktail night specials. They really liven the place up.”

  “Did they come by here on Friday night?” I asked.

  The bartender shook his head. “The rest of those girls came in, but not her. Actually, I haven’t seen her here in a while. The last time she came in would’ve been probably… let’s see, maybe two weeks ago?”

  Beth and I exchanged a glance.

  “Are you sure she didn’t come by on Friday?” I asked.

  “I would have remembered.” The bartender looked up at the ceiling and pointed to the cameras. “We do have security cameras and footage, if you’d like to check. But I can guarantee, she wasn’t here. I’ve got a good memory, and I remember thinking on Friday that something must be up. Perhaps she found a new bar that she likes to hang out at.”

  The bartender’s revelations made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

  I’d never really considered that Felicity might have actually hated Lana enough to want to kill her. She hadn’t struck me as a particularly malicious or dangerous person, and I couldn’t really imagine her leaving a threatening message for me and Beth, let alone following me down the street early in the morning. However, being an investigator meant having an open mind, and now we needed to be open to the possibility that Felicity might’ve had something to do with Lana’s death.

  Beth and I decided to take up the bartender’s offer of looking through the security footage, just to be sure that he hadn’t somehow missed Felicity. We spent the next two hours sitting in the back office, watching the tapes from Friday night. Sure enough, Felicity never showed up that night.

  “We need to talk to Felicity and ask her what’s really going on,” said Beth.

  I nodded. “I’m not looking forward to that at all. Why would she lie? She could have just told us that she had no alibi.”

  Beth shrugged. “Perhaps she thought we wouldn’t follow up. She’ll definitely be annoyed when she finds out that we know the truth.”

  I nodded. It was no fun dealing with people we’d annoyed, but being an investigator meant discovering unpleasant truths and having unpleasant conversations.

  Like the one we needed to have with Winona now.

  Chapter 10

  We arrived at the Hoopla Café a few minutes before our appointment time.

  The Hoopla Café was near the expensive shopping strip in Santa Verona. Well-heeled tourists stopped here in between buying their Cartier watches and Tiffany diamond bracelets. The menu might have seemed cheap compared to designer jewelry, but I didn’t relish the thought of having to spend ten dollars on a single cup of coffee.

  There was a row of outdoor tables, and the glass bifold doors of the café were wide open, letting in the gorgeous sunny weather.

  Inside, the café was decorated in the Scandinavian style, with bleached white wooden floors and light wooden furniture. Rose gold pendant lights hung overhead, and the clientele sat with their shopping bags and sipped their drinks and laughed.

  I wasn’t surprised that Winona had picked this place. It seemed like the overpriced, pretentious kind of place a popular, wealthy socialite would like. I assumed she would be fashionably late, and Beth and I perused the menu and decided to order ourselves some coffee while we waited.

  As we expected, Winona showed up fifteen minutes late, and not at all apologetic.

  Winona was a petite woman who couldn’t be more than five feet tall, but looked taller because of her six-inch high heels. She wore an expensive-looking floral-patterned dress, and her short blond hair was sleek and perfectly groomed. Her forehead looked a bit abnormally smooth, and her face was creepily devoid of lines. I find the Botoxed look kind of eerie, but I suppose fashionable older women prefer to look Botoxed than wrinkled.

  Introductions were made all around.

  “This is such an unpleasant business,” Winona moaned. Her voice was breathy and sophisticated, and devoid of much emotion.

  She lifted one dainty hand to call a nearby waitress and ordered herself a bottle of Evian water.

  “Well,” she said, “we might as well get this over with. What did you want to talk about?” And then she looked at us a little bit suspiciously. “You’re not working for some tabloid, are you? My husband can be a little bit… foolish.”

  “No,” said Beth. “You must have heard of us. Mindy and Beth, investigators in Santa Verona. We’ve solved quite a few homicides. We’ve even appeared in the Santa Verona Sun.”

  Winona rolled her eyes, obviously not very impressed by our credentials. “I’m not sure why I even have to talk to you two.”

  “Like we said, we’re investigating the death of Lana Scriven.” I looked at her seriously, not sure if she understood the gravity of the situation.

  Winona’s Evian arrived, and she took a sip. “Okay. What did you want to ask?”

  I glanced at Beth, wondering how to be tactful about this. “Well, first, I wanted to check that you understood the nature of your husband’s relationship with Lana?”

  Winona pursed her lips. “Yes. They were having an affair. What else is new? An old man, falling for a woman half his age. At least they had the decency to be discreet about it.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?” Beth asked. “That he was having this affair?”

  Winona laughed shortly. “Of course it bothered me! Our marriage hasn’t been doing too well in the last few years. I suppose when you’re married a long time, you tend to lose interest in each other. I mean, in some ways, I suppose he married me for my family connections, and I married him because he was a respectable judge. Perhaps we were attracted to each other at some point. But for the past few years, our marriage has been as good as dead. So I’m not surprised he slept with some young hussy, but it does hurt, of course. He could have done what most respectable people do and just pretended to be happy with me.”

  As she talked, Winona waved her hands around gently. Her hands were slightly wrinkled, and I wondered if people Botoxed their hands as well, or whether that wasn’t possible. Winona’s nails were long and perfectly manicured, painted a shade of nude pink. She wore a massive diamond ring on one finger, and another finger bore a ring with a stone that sparkled a deep blue.

  “Have you ever had an affair yourself?” asked Beth.

  Winona looked at her in surprise. It was obvious that she’d never been asked this before. “That’s none of your business!”

  I noticed that her cheeks were beginning to flush slightly red, and I assumed that she had indeed had an affair or three. She probably justified her behavior to herself, thinking that it was the same as what her husband was doing.

  “You’re right,” I said. “That’s none of our business. But it might affect the investigation.”

  Winona looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “What I do in my private time is nobody’s business but mine. Besides, I’ve been so discreet; nobody even thought to ask me that till now.”

  I was curious about who Winona might have been having an affair with. But she seemed to be offended by the question, and I didn’t want her to get up and leave in a huff, so I decided to circle back to the more important questions.

  “Did you ever meet Lana?” I said.

  “She must’ve been there at a couple of those horrible legal fundraisers that we have to go to every now and then. But if she was, she was smart enough to avoid me, and at least my husband had the good sense not to introduce her to me. So no, I never actually met her in person. Or perhaps I did, and I just never knew that it was her. What did she look like?”

  I wasn’t sure if I felt sorry for Winona or not. She was trying desperately to hold on to her fading beauty, but that didn’t seem to have done her much good. Her husband was no longer interested in her—and although she said she was no longer interested in him, why would she be so hurt by
his affair if she didn’t care about him? Even her own dalliances might just be a way for her to try to dissolve a bit of the pain she felt at her husband’s infidelity.

  “I can show you a picture,” said Beth. She found her smartphone and pulled up a photo from Lana’s office website. When she passed the phone over to Winona, Winona took a brief glance and shook her head.

  “I never met her. And she looks quite plain.”

  It was clear that Winona hated Lana, and of all the people we’d met so far, Winona had the most reason to want her dead. I wasn’t sure if I believed Winona’s story about never having met Lana, so I said, “Your husband says he was at a dinner at the country club on Friday night. That you stayed home feeling unwell.”

  Winona nodded. “Those dinners are so tedious. I try to limit going to these things. Lunch with a few girlfriends is fine, and every now and then I have to go to fundraisers, and once in a while I help organize a fundraiser. But other than that, I’m not interested in meeting my husband’s friends. Why should I do anything for him, when he does nothing for me?”

  “So you stayed home all day?” said Beth. “Did you call anyone that night? Or maybe someone came to visit you, or perhaps you even ordered a pizza?”

  Winona made a sharp, dismissive noise. “You’re asking if I have an alibi. I don’t. And besides, I’m a respected socialite. I never even knew this woman. I don’t have to justify my behavior to you.”

  “Did you tell anyone about your husband’s affair with Lana?” I said.

  Winona shook her head. “I had no reason to. The man was humiliating me, I had no reason to share that with anyone.”

  “Not even the friends you have lunch with?” said Beth. “Maybe a relative, or an old friend, or even someone you’re having an affair with?”

  Winona shook her head. “I’m not sure I could trust anyone to keep a secret. And I’m not looking for anyone’s pity. I have a great life, even if my husband is an idiot who can’t see what a fool he’s making of himself.”

  Winona looked at her watch and stood up abruptly. “I think I’ve answered all your questions,” she said. She opened her purse and pulled out a card for us. “My phone number’s written there. You can call me if you need to, but I think I’m done talking about this.”

  She glanced outside for a moment and said thoughtfully, “It’s a shame that woman died. But how can you ever justify sleeping with a married man? Nothing good can ever come from that.”

  We watched as she walked out, a graceful, dignified figure, and we wondered just how much truth there had been in her words.

  Chapter 11

  Beth and I drove home feeling uneasy after our conversation with Winona.

  “She is right about one thing,” I said. “She’s a prominent socialite. Nobody’s going to suspect her of killing Lana.”

  “Especially when she keeps saying that she’s never met Lana,” said Beth. “Although, she does have a really good motive. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for her to go over to Lana’s office and kill her.”

  “But apparently Lana knew whoever killed her. She let them up after the office had been locked for the night.”

  “Perhaps Winona called Lana early in the day and said that she’d come over to discuss something.”

  “Perhaps,” I admitted. “Winona does seem like the ruthless, efficient type. If she wanted somebody dead, I’m sure they would be.”

  “But is she cruel enough to actually want somebody dead?” Beth mused. “She did seem unhappy about her husband’s affair, but I’m sure she knows that getting rid of one girl won’t solve the problem. He’ll just meet somebody else.”

  “Maybe it was an act of passion.”

  “She didn’t seem like a particularly passionate kind of person,” said Beth.

  I had to admit that Beth was right. Winona seemed the kind of person who would suffer in silence, rather than make a fuss about something.

  We pulled up in front of our apartment, and Beth said, “I got an order for some more lemon tarts—mini ones, this time. I’d better get baking.”

  “That sounds good! We might as well take a quick break from this case—”

  Just then, my phone rang: it was my mother.

  “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll take this call, and then I’ll join you.”

  I sat in the car and answered the phone while Beth walked inside.

  “Mindy,” said my mother, “it feels like we haven’t talked in a while. Have you got a new case or something?”

  “I do, actually.” My mother’s always been supportive of whatever I chose to do career-wise, and I was happy to talk to her about the case, but I knew that the details would be hard to explain over the phone. “It’s an interesting situation; I can tell you about it when I see you.”

  “Then why don’t you come over tonight?” said my mom. “We can have dinner with your aunt Kira, and you can bring Beth along.”

  I mumbled something about perhaps needing to work on the case, but my mother pooh-poohed that. “I’ll make your favorite roast chicken,” said my mom. “And your aunt Kira’s been on a couple of dates recently. I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk to you about them.”

  I weighed up my options. Dinner with my mom and Aunt Kira sounded like fun, and it didn’t seem like we were progressing too quickly with the case anyway. It’s not like Beth and I would come up with a new idea overnight. “We’ll be there,” I said and hung up.

  I got out of the car, locked it, and began to walk toward the building. The parking lot was half-empty and devoid of other people, and the quietness of the early evening made everything seem a tiny bit sinister.

  I was just about to reach into my purse to find my keys when a woman appeared right beside me. She was wearing dark jeans, a loose hoodie with the hood up, a scarf that covered the lower half of her face, and big sunglasses. Although she seemed vaguely familiar, the outfit hid her face well enough that I couldn’t tell who she was.

  My heart jumped into my throat, and I glanced around. The place was deserted, and I was sure that nobody was watching us from their apartment window. I was trapped.

  Perhaps she was harmless, I thought. Perhaps half her face was covered because she was cold. Maybe I could make a quick run for my apartment.

  I took a step backward just as the woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at me.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  Instinctively, I raised my hands up into the air. My stomach twisted itself into a knot, and my legs began to turn to jelly.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  “Get in the car. I think we should take a drive.”

  “It’s not my car. It’s my friend Beth’s car.”

  “I don’t care,” said the woman. “Just get in the car.”

  “Did you kill Lana?” I asked, wondering if I was going to suffer the same fate.

  “That’s not important. She got what she deserved.”

  The woman’s voice was deep and somber, as though she was deepening her voice on purpose. It reminded me of nobody I’d talked to recently. I glanced up at her again, wondering if I could figure out who she was, but I couldn’t. And then, almost before I knew what I was doing, I reached forward and grabbed the gun.

  At the same time, my right leg moved up on its own, and I gave her a sharp, well-placed kick in the shin.

  I managed to point the gun away from me, and I must’ve punched her in the stomach, because the next thing I knew, she said, “Ow!” and dropped the gun, clutching her stomach. I wasted no time in pulling the gun away and pointing it at her.

  I said, “It wasn’t such a good idea to try to threaten me.”

  The woman looked at me, and then before I could fire a warning shot, she ducked behind another car and ran off.

  As I watched her dodging behind cars and running away, I wondered if I should fire at her. But I might miss her and hit somebody’s car instead; or perhaps I’d hit her in the back and kill her by accident. In the end, I decided to run af
ter her, but she was faster than I expected, and she got into a parked car.

  Seven-three-five, I repeated to myself as I watched her drive off.

  Those were the last three numbers of the license plate, but her car was a nondescript black Honda, and I suspected that it was either a rental or stolen.

  I walked home feeling quite shaken and headed straight to Beth’s apartment instead of mine, where I filled her in on what had happened.

  Beth gave me a quick hug, and then she said, “At least we know it can’t be Winona. I’m not sure she could have run off so quickly.”

  “Perhaps she’s a fast runner,” I said. “She might be old, but she seems like the kind of person who works out a lot. I’m not sure we can rule out anyone based on running speed.”

  “This is odd,” said Beth. “This woman’s really serious about covering her tracks. At least we know now that it’s a woman.”

  I nodded, suddenly realizing that I was trembling all over. “At least I have the gun, and the last three numbers of her license plate.”

  “You should head to the police station,” said Beth. “Do you want me to drive you?”

  “No, that’s fine, you’ve got your baking to do. I’ll just take an Uber.”

  Beth nodded. “It shouldn’t take you very long at the station. I can pick you up afterward if you’d like.”

  That reminded me. “I told my mom we’d be having dinner with her. You up for it?”

  Beth nodded. “Sure, the mini lemon tarts will be done soon. I can pick you up from the station and then we can go to your mom’s together.”

  I nodded, took a deep breath, and headed out to the police station.

  Perhaps Ethan could run the gun through the registry and find out who it belonged to. I hated to think that I’d let the woman get away, but maybe this gun would be the key to finding out who she was.

  Chapter 12

  I arrived at the police station and headed straight to Ethan’s desk. Thankfully, he was still at work.

  He took one look at my pale face and said, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”