White Colander Crime

by Victoria Hamilton

  Why did Glenn Brennan lie about being away on a work trip that same evening?

  Where was Delaney Meadows scurrying to or away from that night?

  Were Natalie Roth’s disappearance and probable death tied to Shelby Fretter’s murder? What did Shelby know about it?

  Curled up with Hoppy and Denver, she first leafed through the file of information on Delaney Meadows that Nan had printed off for her. She just hadn’t had time until now, and wondered if she’d missed something. First were the usual congratulatory “new business” stories, and employment figures. But then there were some questioning letters to the editor. One was a lengthy question about Meadows Employment Agency and its connection with DM Models. There was an odd veiled reference to “luring” young women in to work for them.

  The author wished to remain anonymous, but also wanted to hear from any young women who had interviewed with or worked for DM Models, and asked that responses be sent to a post office box address. Jaymie, familiar with Shelby’s writing style from perusing the journal, thought she detected the same tone and even similar wording in the letter. That made sense, if Shelby was beginning to suspect her boss in Natalie’s disappearance and thought it was connected somehow to the modeling agency.

  From there Jaymie got her laptop and went to the dating site Delaney Meadows admitted to starting. The only way to sign up was to create a profile. The whole process felt weird, not because there was anything wrong with dating sites or meeting someone online, but because there was a distinctly odd feel to this one. The interface was sophisticated looking enough, but with the men paying and women not, and wording that implied that the more attractive the woman was, the more likely she was to hook up with a quality man on the site, it was off-putting, to say the least. But she was not there to meet someone, she was there for information.

  So she built a bare-bones profile using a fake name, lying about her interests and uploading a free-use photo of an attractive redhead she found on a stock-photo website. The last thing she needed was for someone she knew locally to see her picture on the site. “Okay, Lizzie Bennet,” she said aloud, referring to her fake namesake, “let’s see what you find.” She started looking through members. Since she had never been on a site like this before, she was just feeling her way around at first.

  She easily found Glenn Brennan’s profile, and the amount of puffery was astounding. She bookmarked his page, then moved on. There were forums, a variety of them. Some were for general chat on different dating topics, while others were shout-outs and advice, or seeking the same, but one topic interested her right away. The topic was “Creeps.” There was a hard and fast rule that names could not be mentioned on the forum, but right away she recognized someone just by description.

  One girl complained about a guy she called TDL; it took Jaymie a while to find out that stood for The Drug Lord. He was a jerk, she said, who took her out once and expected her to put out. Another young woman chimed in that she had the same experience with a guy who claimed he was a pharmaceutical salesman. “Aha!” Jaymie said. “Sounds like our friend Glenn.” Hoppy, fascinated by Jaymie talking out loud, had wriggled his way up to having his front paw on her knee, watching her face intently.

  The forum complaints went back months. If it was indeed Glenn—and Jaymie believed it was—he was a very busy dater, with a similar method of operation every time. Lavish spending, over-the-top gifts of roses and champagne, then a veiled reference to spending the night together . . . all on the first date. By the end of the date his hints had turned to demands. A rejection brought insults that questioned a girl’s character and motives for dating him.

  The kindest comments called him a loser and jerk. The cruelest suggested his ancestry was more closely connected to the common simian origin than most. Not one hinted at any physical altercation with him.

  From there she went back to the social network sites where she had found comments that led her to Austin Calhoun. He claimed he truly loved Shelby, that they were besties, creatures of a like mind. However, as she reread his comments more closely, she realized that some gave hints that when he left Delaney Meadows’ employ, it was because of some problem that originated with Shelby. She had missed that last time, but now understood, from the receptionist at the employment agency, that Shelby had become angry when he had hinted she and Delaney were having an affair.

  Then Austin made a few snarky comments about Delaney, along with the hints she had noted before about Shelby being into something dangerous. In his conversation with Jaymie at the office building he had brushed off those online hints as himself dramatizing, but was he really, or was he just reluctant to confess what he knew or surmised? Austin Calhoun was definitely worth another interview, one that wouldn’t be interrupted by work. She also made a note to call Heidi in the morning, to touch base about anything else she might know about Shelby and Glenn Brennan’s relationship.

  For the first time she wondered about all the money in Shelby’s bag. Where did it come from? That was a lot of money, and Jaymie knew from experience how hard it was to save when there was a car to pay for, health insurance and in Shelby’s case probably, an apartment, nice clothes, shoes. How did she get together that much money?

  Hoppy whined, and she put out one hand to scruff behind his ears. The journal Shelby wrote bothered Jaymie a great deal. While the premise of the novel and movie Gone Girl was evidently behind her plan, her journal writing was spitefully clownish. Was it mere ineptness, or just that she didn’t intend to be gone forever? Perhaps she had her revenge on Nan planned as a few weeks or months of Cody uncomfortably eyed as responsible for her disappearance before she returned with some explanation. Her acquaintance with Shelby was too superficial for her to know. She needed to talk to those who did know her, including Lori and Travis. Was Jaymie right when she imagined the journal and its implication of abuse by Cody was part of a plot to destroy, or at the very least discomfit him, and therefore his mother?

  That would be one of her tasks for the next morning. She shut off her laptop and turned out the light. It was going to be a sleepless night. She had a nagging worry that Shelby’s plan to disappear for a while may have led to her demise as someone got wise to it and decided to use it in their own plot to murder her. It was a leap, maybe, to think that, but it fit all of the facts, and explained a lot. And if she didn’t do something about it, someone could just get away with murder.

  Twenty-two

  EVEN AFTER ALL she had uncovered the night before looking through the Internet chat rooms and other forums, Jaymie was still confused. If her supposition was right, and whoever killed Shelby was aware of her toxic relationship with Cody, then maybe they were also aware of her plan to leave town and finger Cody as her “murderer.” Their altercations had occasionally been public, as she had witnessed herself. But Shelby’s plans? Who knew about that? If Jaymie was right, that inside knowledge could be the one thing that pointed to who did it.

  Jaymie was fairly sure that Shelby didn’t ultimately intend for Cody to be convicted of any crime. She may have meant him to have an uncomfortable few weeks or months after her disappearance. After a time she likely planned to resurface, saying she was just on vacation, or taking a break, or even that she had to get away because she was afraid of him. All to avenge the perceived persecution of her family by the newspaper.

  Did Lori Wozny know about Shelby’s plot? Jaymie thought that she must have. What woman would disappear without telling her mother? Jaymie wanted to ask her, but wasn’t sure how to go about it without harassing someone who was in a great deal of pain. This was delicate ground with a genuinely grieving mother.

  Even given that, it didn’t explain who took Shelby’s plan and ran with it, if that was the case, killing her in such a way that Cody Wainwright was fingered as the assailant. That would require knowledge of Shelby’s plan to implicate Cody in her disappearance, knowing she was going to be in Queensville that night, and that
Cody was, too. If that was true it made Travis a logical suspect. But according to the note in his planner Delaney Meadows knew where Shelby would be, too, and since she wrote in her journal a lot at work, he could easily have had a look at it if she left it lying around her desk. Maybe he planned to have it discovered as a part of the plot to finger Cody, but Shelby didn’t leave it in her desk. Would Delaney know Cody would be in town? Or did he care?

  It was confusing and so far, just speculation. Was Shelby Fretter the chatty sort who regularly confided in girlfriends? Was she closemouthed? Or did she share her plans, but only with family? Whatever theory she came up with that excluded Cody still had to take into account that poisonous relationship. As annoyed as she was with Nan for dragging the duffel to her place the night before, Jaymie knew it had garnered her crucial information. She never would have seen the diary if the editor hadn’t done that; Jaymie intended to just tell the police about the bag. They would have seized it, and the contents would have remained a secret. Having read them, she could tell that the journal entries were as phony as a three-dollar bill, as her grandmother would say.

  Christmas Eve was in one week. There was much to do, but while she had been running around investigating, her normal life had fallen into disrepair. The house looked a little shabby, the animals were beginning to look at her with those mournful “you don’t love me anymore” glances, and she still had wrapping and baking to do. Fortunately she at least had all her Christmas shopping done, and Becca and her mother were taking care of the plans for their Queensville reunion. The women in her family were planners as well as doers, thank goodness. But Jaymie did need to go out to the Queensville Historic Manor and check in on her kitchen, and see if any cleaning needed to be done. She had been the one to suggest they take the load off Lori while she mourned her daughter’s tragic passing, and yet she hadn’t been keeping up with her end of the bargain. So after walking Hoppy and feeding him and Denver, she got into the van and headed out to the manor.

  She shed her boots and coat at the door and padded through the house in her sock feet. There was the usual bustle of heritage committee people there. Mabel Bloombury was in the dining room futzing around with her vintage china display yet again. Becca had loaned them so much that she had some stored in the sideboard and was taking out a green transferware tureen to center on the table. Jaymie headed back to her domain. To her surprise, she found Lori Wozny on her hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor. She stood for a moment, her stomach twisting in concern: How to approach her?

  But Jaymie’s usual manner was to just say what was in her heart. “Lori, hi.” The woman turned and looked up at her. Her face had the ravaged look of someone in excruciating pain. Jaymie sank down onto the floor by her. “I’m so sorry about Shelby. I just can’t imagine what you’re going through. You know you don’t need to be here, unless you want to be. We’ll take care of it until you feel better.”

  Her mouth worked and a tear leaked from the outer corner of her right eye. She swiped it away with her arm and shook her head. “If I don’t get out of the house I’ll go effing crazy. I mean it; sometime I feel like I’m going to crawl right out of my skin, then other times I want to hit something. Or someone. Like that ass-wipe son of your precious editor. I see they’ve let him off. He’s going to get away with it.”

  Ah, the opening she had been half hoping for and half dreading. Carefully avoiding the topic of Cody, Jaymie said, “I wish I had been able to help Shelby that night. She was still alive when I found her.”

  “Did she say anything?” Lori asked, turning and sitting on the floor to face Jaymie.

  It was dreadful to kill that hope in her eyes. “No, I’m sorry. She was unconscious.”

  “So at least she wasn’t in any pain,” she said hollowly. She sat cross-legged on the damp tile, her skinny jeans showing holes at the knees that were more fashion statement than wear and tear, Jaymie surmised.

  “I wish I had known her. I’ve met a few people who did in the last few days. Sounds like she was quite the girl,” Jaymie said. “Her brother must be horribly broken up.”

  Lori shook her head slightly, then said, “Sure. Of course.”

  Was she mistaken, or was there a flash of uncertainty on her face, along with the negative shake of her head? “He was with you both that night, right? I think I saw you all together. I hope he was there to help you when you found out?”

  “He was home. Or at least that’s where I took him. He should have stuck with her! He never should have let her out of his sight. Then that piece of crap couldn’t have gotten his hands on her!”

  “I understood she was meeting someone there that night,” Jaymie said. “Did she tell you that? I mean, not that she was meeting Cody, but someone else?”

  It was as if Lori froze in place, she became so still. But far from blasting Jaymie, as she had half expected, the grieving mother muttered, “She said she was meeting up with someone, that she had some business to take care of. I didn’t think anything of it, but . . . yeah, she did say that.”

  “Did she ditch Travis then? Is that what he said?”

  “I guess,” she said, pulling off her rubber gloves and tugging at a ragged fingernail.

  Shelby had parted from her mother and walked on with her brother, which meant that Travis may have seen who she met up with. But in that case, he would presumably have told the police. Not that Jaymie knew everything the police had learned.

  “Lori, I know you know Pam Driscoll. She’s actually my next-door neighbor and friend.”

  Lori eyed her, now chewing on the ragged fingernail.

  “Pam said you told her that you got separated from your son and daughter, and when you caught up with Travis next he was alone. He told you that Shelby had gone off with Cody, but the police know that at that time Cody was still at the Christmas tree farm working. That’s why they released him.”

  Lori’s expression was cold, and she had stopped working on the ragged nail.

  “Pam said you found Shelby after that but that she had something she wanted to do, so you gave your son a lift home, then came back to meet up with her. But . . . but you never saw her again.”

  “I . . . That’s not quite . . . I think Pam got it a little wrong.” She resumed work on the nail again, tore it off and picked it out of her teeth, depositing it in the pail of water with a flick. “Shelby did say she was meeting someone. I don’t care what anyone says, that was Cody. Or maybe he was stalking her and got her alone.”

  “But did you see her again, after you took Travis home?”

  She shook her head. “I never saw her again.”

  “What time was that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know . . . around nine, I think.”

  “And you never saw Cody.”

  “Travis did.”

  He said, Jaymie thought. She was stubbornly clinging to her son’s assertion, but it just couldn’t be true. Nobody else saw Shelby and Cody together, and the story had changed, subtly, the order of things, the timing, when they parted from each other. It was still possible that Travis himself had had a disagreement with his sister, beat her to death, and that was why he lied at first that he was with his mom the whole time. “Do you know who she was meeting? Was it business, or personal?”

  Lori narrowed her eyes and scrambled to her feet, beginning to pack up her cleaning supplies. She tossed the damp rubber gloves and sponge in a nearby empty bucket. “I don’t know why you’re asking these kinds of questions and I don’t know who she was meeting. Maybe it was that jerk who killed her.”

  “But what if he didn’t do it?” Jaymie got up, too, and touched Lori’s bare arm. “Lori, think about it for just a moment; what if it wasn’t Cody Wainwright who killed her?”

  The woman froze again. There was a struggle indicated by her expression. Hatred toward and suspicion of Cody was warring with a dawning fear that Jaymie’s wo
rds held some truth. “But he did do it. The police arrested him.” Her tone held less conviction.

  “They’ve since released him.”

  “You’re just trying to get him off the hook for that editor woman, your boss!”

  “Lori, that’s not true,” Jaymie said, urgent to convince the woman of her sincerity. “I am asking around, looking into it. But from my heart believe this; if it is true that Cody Wainwright killed Shelby, I want him to pay. I loathe those who kill. They deprive an innocent person of the awesomeness of life and deserve whatever they get from our legal system.” She took a deep shaky breath. “But I’ve seen people persecuted wrongly, too. It matters to me that the right person is caught, and it should matter to you, too.”

  “What do you want from me?” The words were resentful, but she seemed almost curious.

  “I’m trying to find out what else was going on in Shelby’s life.” This was the dicey part . . . Tiptoe, Jaymie, tiptoe, she thought. “Was she planning any major moves, or did she have any thoughts of leaving town in the near future?”

  “Why do you ask that?” she said, her tone wary, her eyes squinted, her mouth drawn, purse-string wrinkles seaming it.

  Jaymie considered just telling the truth about the duffel bag, but decided against it. “There were indications that she was planning to take off, maybe to Florida. Did you know anything about that?”

  She was silent. That answered Jaymie’s question more certainly than any words.

  Finally, Lori cautiously said, “I have a sister down in Florida. Shelby thought she might hang out there for a while.”

  The ticket to Clearwater! So, it was probably not a permanent move, just part of her plot to punish Nan for a time by incriminating Cody. “Why leave her friends and family? And a great job, by all accounts, one she was good at!”

  She snorted, suddenly energized. “Great job? With that scam artist Delaney Meadows? You mark my words,” she said, shaking her finger in Jaymie’s face. “He’s the one who’ll be leaving Queensville, any day now, before folks catch up with him. Oh, I know lots about him; Shelby told me everything. He tried to give her money to shut her up. Hah!”