The Case of the Natty Newfie

by B R Snow

  “Hey, it’s always in the last place where you’d expect to find it, right?” I said, going for casual.

  Shirley stifled a laugh and shook her head at me.

  “All his cameras and equipment are gone?” Bill said, annoyed.

  “Yeah. And his desk drawers are all empty.”

  “Okay,” Bill said, nodding. “I think we might be getting close to a motive.”

  “I think we should start with the building management and get a list of all the security personnel and other office staff who might have access,” Shirley said.

  “Don’t forget housekeeping,” I said.

  “Does this place even have a housekeeping staff?” Bill said.

  “Take a look around,” I said, flashing back to something I’d noticed in the bedroom. “Naylor is a twenty-three-year-old who works non-stop. And he doesn’t seem to be the type who’d be willing to spend the amount of time required to keep the place looking like this.”

  “It is immaculate,” Shirley said, glancing around the loft.

  “Yeah, that’s a good point. I remember what I was like at twenty-three when it came to cleaning up,” Bill said, nodding as he took a long look at his surroundings.

  “That’s probably because when it comes to cleaning up after yourself, you’re still in your twenties,” Shirley said, glaring at him.

  “Don’t start,” Bill said, returning her stare. “I said I’d try to do better.”

  “That was three months ago,” she said.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “And I haven’t?”

  “Can we do this later?” Bill snapped.

  “I’d rather you do the dishes,” Shirley said with a shrug. “But I’ll take what I can get.” She nodded to herself, apparently satisfied with how the conversation had gone, then focused on me. “I think you might be right. Keeping the place looking like this would take a lot of work.”

  “And I seriously doubt if a twenty-three-year-old would spend that much time making his bed the way that one in there is. That’s a hotel-quality job.”

  “Interesting,” Shirley said. “If the building doesn’t have a housekeeping staff, Naylor probably has someone come in.”

  “Someone with access to the loft,” I said.

  All three of us glanced up when he heard the door open. John Naylor entered carrying a large bundle of dry cleaning and two plastic bags. I immediately picked up a whiff of Chinese food and felt my stomach gurgle. Naylor set the food down on a table near the door and removed his coat without noticing our presence.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Melinda,” he called out. “I got enough food to feed a small army. But I figured since we’ll be working all night, we might want a snack later on. Oh, the dry cleaner said your black sweater won’t be ready for a few-” He stopped short when he finally noticed us and frowned. “Suzy? What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, I forgot my phone and stopped by to pick it up.”

  “Yeah, I saw it earlier on the couch near the windows,” he said, walking toward us. “I was going to try to get in touch with you later and let you know I had it. But how the heck did you get in?” He stopped in front of us and glanced back and forth at the two cops. “Hi, I’m John Naylor. Are you friends of Suzy?”

  “We are,” Shirley said. “But that’s not why we’re here, Mr. Naylor.”

  “Mr. Naylor,” the photographer said, laughing. “That sounds official.”

  “I’m Detective Franklin,” Bill said. “And this is Detective Billet.”

  “Okay,” John said, confused. He focused on me. “Why are the cops here? Did someone break in?”

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr. Naylor,” Bill said.

  “I imagine you rarely show up to deliver good news,” John said.

  “Fair point,” Bill said, nodding. “It’s about your assistant Melinda.”

  “What about her?”

  The detectives looked at each other, then Shirley gave her partner a small nod for him to proceed.

  “She’s dead,” Bill said softly.

  “What?”

  “It appears she’s been murdered,” Shirley said. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Naylor.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” John said, glancing around at us, wide-eyed. “Melinda’s the sweetest person I know. No one would want to kill her.”

  “If that’s the case, and we think you might be right,” Bill said. “That means there’s only one other logical conclusion we can come to, Mr. Naylor.”

  Naylor stood still in the middle of the loft looking off into the distance. Then he stared at Bill.

  “Somebody was trying to kill me.”

  He slowly made his way to the couch and plopped down. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor.

  “Do you have any idea who might want to kill you, Mr. Naylor?” Bill said.

  “Well, I know several people I’ve annoyed in the past,” John said, not looking up. “But I seriously doubt if I’ve given any of them enough of a reason to kill me.” Then he glanced toward the bedroom. “Would it be okay for me to take a look at Melinda?”

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” Bill said.

  “I’d like to see her,” John said. “And say goodbye.”

  “They’ll be plenty of time for that later, Mr. Naylor,” Bill said. “I’m sorry, but at the moment, it’s still a crime scene.”

  “All right,” John said, exhaling loudly. “I’m sorry, Suzy. I’m afraid we’re going to have to rearrange our schedule.”

  “That’s the least of our worries, John.”

  “Maybe I can get started in a couple of days after things settle down,” he said.

  “That might be a problem, John.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was in your office earlier looking for my phone,” I said. “And it looks like all your stuff is gone.”

  “What?” he said, jumping to his feet and headed straight for his office.

  Bill started to follow him, then stopped and turned back to us.

  “I need to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t go near the body,” Bill said. “Suzy, you should probably get going. Just make sure Shirley knows how to get in touch with you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But there is one small problem.”

  “What’s that?” Shirley said.

  “I need a ride.”

  Chapter 6

  I was sitting in the passenger seat of the cop car, which was actually a large SUV equipped with four-wheel drive. Shirley had both hands on the wheel and was driving slowly on the snow-covered streets deep in thought. I unzipped my jacket to deal with the heater that had turned the inside of the car into a dry sauna, and the incongruity of me sweating profusely while a wind-whipped snowstorm continued unabated outside was a not so gentle reminder of the approaching winter wonderland residents would be dealing with for the next several months.

  “Too hot?” Shirley said, glancing over at me.

  “Maybe a little,” I said, pulling the front of my wool sweater away from my skin.

  “Sorry,” she said, turning the heat down. “This is the way Bill likes it, and I guess I’ve finally gotten used to it.”

  “What is he? Part furnace?” I said, wiping my brow with a sleeve.

  “He does tend to blow hot air from time to time,” Shirley said, laughing.

  “He’s a good guy,” I said, nodding. “And congrats again on the wedding.”

  “Thanks. So, tell me about this new guy you’re seeing.”

  “Max? He’s great,” I said, smiling. “We’ve been dating a couple of months. He’s a disaster relief consultant.”

  Shirley flinched then glanced over at me.

  “You’re dating Max Jenkins?”

  “Yeah. Do you know Max?”

  “Only by reputation,” Shirley said. “He’s kind of a folk hero around here.”

  “Really?” I said, frowning.

  “A guy who spends
his own money to go into disaster areas and help people?” Shirley said. “What would you call him?”

  “No, I get all that,” I said. “I just wasn’t aware that a lot of people knew what he does. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “I don’t think many people did know about him,” Shirley said. “Until those tabloid photos were published.”

  My stomach sunk.

  “Tabloid photos?”

  “Yeah, about a year ago there were some shots of him coming out the back door of a club with a very drunk woman. He was holding her up with one hand and trying to fend off a photographer with the other.”

  “Who was the woman?”

  “Jennifer Bells,” Shirley said, glancing over, apparently expecting me to know who she was talking about.

  I shook my head and shrugged.

  “She was the Foreign Affairs Minister at the time,” Shirley said. “Her tenure ended shortly after that incident.”

  “Max was dating her?” I said, frowning.

  “That was the original assumption when the photos were first published. And they weren’t very flattering to the Minister. One of them was snapped when they were trying to get her in the car, and she came to momentarily, threw a punch at the photographer then threw up on him,” she said.

  “Yuk,” I said. “And the photos made all the papers?”

  “They certainly did. Along with pretty much every celebrity website. I’m surprised you didn’t see them.”

  “It actually does sound vaguely familiar,” I said. “But I wouldn’t have made the connection back then.”

  “No, of course not. But when the real story finally came out, we learned that our former Foreign Affairs Minister is Max’s aunt. His mother’s sister. Apparently, Max’s mom called him and asked him to go to the club to get her out of there.”

  “He’s never mentioned it,” I said.

  “Like you said, he’s pretty private. Anyway, what he does for a living came out in the story, and ever since then, some of the journalists have taken an interest in keeping an eye on him. Especially when he heads off on a new adventure. The Canadian press has started calling him Supermax. You know, a play on Superman.”

  “Got it,” I said, nodding. “What happened to his aunt?”

  “Well, they were eventually able to confirm that somebody had slipped something into her drink at the club. But by then it was too late. She had already resigned. I think she still lives around here somewhere,” Shirley said, glancing over and giving me a small smile. “Take a guess who was spotted talking with her at the bar earlier in the evening.”

  I stared out at the swirling snow deep in thought. Then my neurons flared and eventually landed.

  “John Naylor.”

  “You’re good,” Shirley said. “There was no proof, but most people believe he was the one who spiked her drink and that he had someone waiting outside the club with a camera.”

  “That’s despicable,” I said.

  “Naylor denies it to this day. But what else would you expect him to do, right?”

  “This is too weird,” I said, catching a glimpse of the street sign. “This is it. Make a right.”

  Shirley slowly made the turn onto Max’s street. The snowbank blocking access had been cleared, but the street itself still hadn’t been plowed.

  “Are you going to be able to drive through this?” I said.

  “Sure,” Shirley said, slowing down. “This is nothing. I grew up in this crap.”

  “Did they ever identify the photographer who was waiting outside the club?” I said.

  “They did not,” Shirley said. “It was confirmed it was a guy, but that’s about it. Everybody on the scene was more concerned about getting Jennifer out of there. And the photographer took off before they could get their hands on him or his camera.”

  “And now somebody is trying to kill Naylor,” I said, my neurons firing on all cylinders.

  “I doubt if the two are connected,” Shirley said, shaking her head. “But it does show you the sort of thing Naylor likes to get involved with.”

  “But why would he do stuff like that?” I said, shaking my head. “He’s so talented. And obviously very smart.”

  “Who knows what motivates people like him? And I’ve met a lot of very smart and talented crooks.”

  I caught a glimpse of my SUV parked in a driveway ahead on our right.

  “That’s the house,” I said, pointing.

  “Nice neighborhood,” Shirley said, slowing down.

  “You want to come in and meet everyone?”

  “Normally, I would,” Shirley said, pulling into the driveway behind my vehicle. “But I need to get back and help Bill out. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. You got a number where we can reach you in case we find your phone?”

  I dug through my purse, located a business card, then scribbled Josie’s cell number on the back. I handed it over and zipped my coat up.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said, opening the door.

  “No problem,” Shirley said. “I’m sure we’ll be chatting.”

  “Yeah, you can count on that.”

  Chapter 7

  I waved goodbye to Shirley as she drove off then headed for the sidewalk that led to the front door. Max had been busy. Not only had he removed the snowbank blocking the entrance to the street, but he'd also used the snowblower to clear his driveway and sidewalk along with those of his neighbors on either side of his house. I climbed the front steps and rang the bell. Max, along with four very excited dogs, greeted me at the door. He pulled me in for a kiss and a long hug, then I knelt down to say hello to Chloe and the rest of our tribe.

  “You made it,” Max said.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late,” I said, standing up to give him another kiss. “But what can you do, huh?”

  “Try spending less time around dead people?”

  “Yeah, I really need to start working on that,” I said, handing him my coat and following him into a large living room.

  I spotted Josie and Chef Claire in their sweats sitting in front of the roaring fireplace that dominated the room. They were drinking wine and nibbling from a nosh plate that was on a small table between their chairs.

  “Hey, you’re alive,” Josie said, grabbing a glass and holding it as Chef Claire poured. She handed me my wine, and I clinked glasses with both of them. “What’s the update?”

  “The cops think whoever killed her used some sort of poison,” I said, sitting down on a couch and immediately making room for Chloe who was looking for more attention. “Yes, I missed you, too.” I rubbed her head then she rolled over onto her back almost spilling my wine.

  “Do they have an idea why anyone would want to poison her?” Chef Claire said. “She seemed like a sweetheart.”

  “They think Naylor was the intended target,” I said, taking a sip.

  Max slid onto the couch next to me and lifted his arms to give Chloe room to slide over. Soon, she had somehow managed to drape herself across a portion of both our laps. Max gently stroked her back legs, and Chloe’s tail thumped against the cushion.

  “We’ve spent the afternoon bonding,” Max said. “So, somebody is trying to kill John Naylor.”

  “That’s what it looks like,” I said, draping an arm over his shoulder. “What’s your take?”

  “My take?” Max said, glancing at me. “I guess my take is to wonder why it’s taken so long. He’s done some pretty despicable things.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard,” I said, giving him a coy smile. “Supermax.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” Max said, frowning. “Who have you been talking to?”

  “The cop who drove me home told me the story about your aunt at the club,” I said.

  “I guess that story is never going to go away,” Max said softly. “That was a bad night.”

  “What is she doing these days?”

  “Aunt Jennifer is writing a book about her partying days and what it did to her career,” Max said. “Th
en she eventually wants to see if it’s possible to make a comeback.”

  “And Naylor was definitely the guy behind what happened at the club?”

  “That’s the prevailing theory,” Max said, nodding. “But Naylor has always been adamant that he wasn’t involved. He maintains that he was merely trying to talk Aunt Jennifer into going home with him.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Given all the other stuff he’s pulled, probably not. Do the cops have any idea about who might be going after him?”

  “No, not yet. They were hoping to identify some potential suspects by going through his camera and computer,” I said, taking a sip. “But Naylor’s loft was cleaned out.”

  “Does that mean they also got all the photos from our shoot?” Josie said.

  “Yeah, apparently, they got everything,” I said. “And since we’re not going to be able to review the mockups with Naylor that means most of our day tomorrow just got freed up.”

  “We’re going to have to do the photo shoot again?” Josie said, frowning.

  “It looks like we might have to,” I said.

  “You want to rent some skis and go cross-country tomorrow?” Chef Claire said, glancing around the room.

  “That sounds like fun,” Max said, leaning forward, obviously interested. “There’s a nice trail that runs behind the house.” He glanced at me. “What do you say?”

  “You really haven’t been paying attention, have you?” I said, laughing. “You guys go ahead. Abby and I have a meeting with Victor Rollins.”

  “What do you say, Josie?” Chef Claire said.

  Josie stared at Chef Claire and took a moment to formulate a response.

  “No, I should stay here and keep an eye on the dogs,” Josie said. “Other than that, I’d love to go.”

  “We’ll just bring the dogs with us,” Max said.

  “What a great idea,” Chef Claire said, grinning at Josie.

  “You’re not helping, Max,” Josie said.

  “Then it’s settled,” Max said, getting to his feet. Then he got an idea and glanced at me. “Maybe we should just wait until you get back from your meeting. What time will you finish?”

  “Oh, I’m sure the meeting is going to run long,” I said, deflecting. “Very long.”