The Case of the Natty Newfie

by B R Snow

  Josie snorted.

  “Shut it. But you guys have fun.”

  “Sounds great,” Max said. “There’s a place just down the road where you guys can rent skis. If you’ll excuse me for a few moments, I need to check on dinner.”

  He gently slid Chloe off his lap and started to head toward the kitchen but stopped when Josie called after him.

  “Hang on. What was the Supermax comment all about?” she said.

  “Oh, that. It’s nothing,” he said, embarrassed.

  “Don’t be modest. That’s the nickname the local press has given him,” I said, beaming at Max. “As a tribute to all the great work he does. You know, like Superman.”

  “Let’s not do this,” Max said, shaking his head.

  “Supermax,” Josie said, grinning. “I like it. Is it a plane? Is it a bird?”

  “No, it’s Supermax,” Chef Claire said, laughing. “Faster than a speeding bullet.”

  “And they were so nice to me when we first met,” Max said, glancing over at me. “What happened?”

  “I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. Welcome to the family.”

  “I’d like one of those tee shirts with the giant S on it,” Josie deadpanned. “Women’s medium. Light blue if you have it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Max said, shaking his head. “I’ll meet you in the dining room in five.”

  “You need a hand?” I said.

  “Of course, he doesn’t,” Josie said. “He’s Supermax.”

  “I think we should start seeing other people,” Max said to me then headed to the kitchen still shaking his head.

  “You guys are bad,” I said, shaking my head. “Oh, I almost forget to call my mother. I told her I’d check in tonight. Can I borrow your phone?”

  Josie tossed the phone to me, and I gave my mother a quick call. She was having dinner at home with her boyfriend, Paulie, and I spent a few minutes giving her an overview of the day’s events. After telling me three times to keep my nose out of the police investigation, she hung up, and I handed Josie her phone back.

  “Thanks. It looks like I’m going to have to get a new phone,” I said. “That ought to be a whole lot of fun.”

  “You don’t keep any personal information or financial stuff on it, do you?” Chef Claire said, getting up out of her chair.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think there’s much there apart from the basic information I had to put in when I got the phone.”

  “Good,” Chef Claire said, nodding. “Because that could be a nightmare.”

  “Can the cops track a phone’s location even if it’s turned off?” I said as my neurons flared briefly.

  “I think it depends,” Chef Claire said. “There are definitely some phones you can do that with, but I think there are some settings that have to be turned on. Do you remember how your phone is set up?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” I said, heading for the dining room. “I have a hard enough time just getting to voicemail.”

  “I’m sure the cops will be running various traces,” Chef Claire said. “Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

  “That would be nice,” I said, then glanced at Josie. “Since you’re spending the day skiing, do you mind if I borrow your phone tomorrow?”

  “Knock yourself out,” Josie said, then frowned. “I can’t believe I got roped into going cross-country skiing.”

  “It’ll be fun,” Chef Claire said.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me at the meeting tomorrow?” Josie said.

  “Oh, I’m positive,” I said, laughing as I stepped into the dining room and was overwhelmed by the smell of chili and cornbread.

  Chapter 8

  Right after a breakfast of French toast and way too much bacon, I said goodbye to everyone, gave Max a hug and a kiss, then climbed into my SUV. It had stopped snowing sometime during the night, and the plows had done a great job clearing the main streets. As such, the drive back into the city center didn’t require the white-knuckle treatment, and I was able to sit back and enjoy the images the thick, white blanket had created. Officially, forty-nine centimeters had fallen, just short of a record, and I briefly tried to convert the snowfall into inches but got a headache doing the math and decided a lot was close enough.

  I followed the directions Max had jotted down for me, but after a few minutes, I realized I wasn’t going to need them since the route was taking me right back to where we’d been yesterday. And although I didn’t recognize the building’s address, it ended up being right across the street from John Naylor’s loft. I parked on a side street and walked to the corner where the two streets met. I glanced back and forth at both buildings, shivered as a gust of wind blew snow in my face, then wheeled around and headed inside. I glanced around the lobby and saw Abby sitting near the security desk checking her messages. She spotted me, put her phone away and stood up to give me a hug.

  “You made it,” Abby said, tossing her bag over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t bad at all,” I said. “Did you know that Victor’s place was right across the street from Naylor’s loft?”

  “I did not,” Abby said. “Convenient, huh?”

  “I was going to go with weird,” I said, glancing back outside. “Do we need to check in with security?”

  “Already done,” Abby said. “Victor is on the fifth floor.”

  She led the way to the elevators, and I unzipped my coat and leaned against the back wall as the doors closed.

  “What are Chef Claire and Josie doing today?” Abby said.

  “They’re going cross-country skiing with Max and the dogs,” I said, laughing a little too loud.

  “Really? How does Josie feel about that?” Abby said, frowning.

  “She’s…conflicted,” I said, grinning at her.

  The elevator came to a gentle stop, and I followed her down the hall. Abby pressed the buzzer, and a few moments later, Victor Rollins opened the door and beamed at us.

  “Welcome, ladies,” he said, gesturing us inside. “It’s great to see you.”

  We exchanged brief hugs with him, and he took our coats and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. While we waited for him, we wandered around his loft taking the place in. It was bigger than Naylor’s, and several original paintings covered a lot of the wall space. I glanced out the wall of windows at the building directly across the street and tried to figure out which of the lofts belonged to the photographer. I turned around when I heard Victor heading our way carrying three steaming mugs. I accepted the one he was holding out and took a sip.

  “This is a really nice place. But I never would have figured you as a loft guy, Victor,” I said, sitting down.

  “Me either,” he said, shrugging. “But Wilma talked me into it. And I’m glad she did. I love it here.”

  Wilma Firestone was Victor’s girlfriend and someone I had also met during our previous adventure in Ottawa. She was an animal massage therapist who had been swindled out of a business deal by the former CEO of Middleton Enterprises, Joshua Middleton, who had been murdered during the conference. Both Wilma and Victor had originally been suspects, then cleared when I was able to piece together the identity of the murderer. Since then, Victor, formerly the COO of the company, had been promoted, and he and Wilma had moved in together.

  “Where’s Wilma?” I said.

  “She’s in the shower,” Victor said. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I assume you heard about what happened at John Naylor’s place yesterday,” I said, making quick work of my coffee.

  “Yes, we did,” Victor said. “We saw all the police cars and the ambulance and knew something was up. Then we heard about it last night on the news. It’s so sad. Melinda was a wonderful person.”

  “You knew her?” I said, frowning.

  “Very well,” Victor said. “And Wilma is devastated.”

  “Where did you meet her?” I said, my neurons flaring.

  “I think the first time w
as at a party. And then we started to run into her at a restaurant we like not far from here,” Victor said. “After that, we got to be good friends with her.”

  “Was Naylor ever with her?” I said.

  “She was with him a few times,” he said, nodding. “But we kept our distance whenever he was around.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I can’t stand the guy,” Victor said, scowling. “Some of his photos have done some real damage to a couple of my friends.”

  “Tabloid photos?”

  “Well, they sure weren’t school portraits,” Victor said, heading off to the kitchen and returning with a carafe of coffee.

  “We were there yesterday,” I said, holding my mug out for a refill.

  “Really? At Naylor’s?” Victor said, frowning. “Can I ask you why?”

  “We hired him to do the photo shoot for our marketing campaign,” I said. “Naylor is buddies with our head of logistics.”

  “Interesting. How did he do?”

  “Great,” I said. “But someone broke into his loft and took all his camera equipment and computer. Everything we did yesterday is missing.”

  “And the cops think it might be the same person who killed Melinda?” Victor said, stirring his coffee, deep in thought.

  “That seems to be the working theory at the moment,” I said, then paused before deciding to tell him the rest of the story. “I’m the one who found the body.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I gave him a weak smile and shook my head.

  “I have to say that you definitely have a tendency to show up at the strangest times, Suzy,” he said, laughing.

  “Yeah, I really need to start working on that.”

  “How was she killed?” Victor said, leaning forward. “The news story was pretty vague.”

  “It looks like she was poisoned,” I said. “The killer apparently spread a white powder on Naylor’s pillows, and she must have ingested some of it when she laid down to take a nap.”

  Victor looked away for a moment, then back at me.

  “So, that would mean Naylor was the intended target,” he said.

  “It certainly looks that way,” I said. “Melinda was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least that’s what the cops are thinking.”

  “I knew it,” Victor said, nodding. “Somebody had to be going after him.”

  “I imagine he’s made a lot of enemies,” I said.

  We glanced up when we heard the bathroom door open. Wilma forced a sad smile and gave us a small wave as she approached. Abby and I both stood and exchanged hugs with her. She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down next to Victor on the couch.

  “How are you guys doing?” she said.

  “We’re good, Wilma,” I said. “We’re so sorry about what happened to Melinda.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Suzy was just filling me in on what happened at Naylor’s yesterday,” Victor said. “She’s the one who found the body.”

  “You were?” Wilma said, frowning at me.

  “Yeah, we had our dogs there yesterday for a photo shoot. We’re featuring them in the Wags’ marketing campaign.”

  “I see,” she said, nodding. “But how did you happen to be the one who found the body?”

  “I left my phone behind and went back to get it,” I said. “It looks she went into the bedroom to take a nap. The police think she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Or maybe she got caught up in something Naylor was doing.”

  “Like what?” I said, my neurons flaring.

  “Who knows?” she said, shrugging. “But since she worked for that sleazebag, I guess anything is possible.”

  “Absolutely,” Victor said, nodding. Then he shifted gears. “Okay, since all the work you did yesterday has gone missing, I guess that means you’re going to have to push back the marketing campaign. Which means we’ll have to push back the product launch.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Abby said. “We’re going to reschedule the shoot, and unless something else happens, it shouldn’t impact our schedule.”

  “You mean, something wonderful like Naylor getting arrested for murder?” Victor said.

  “I doubt if that’s going to happen, Victor,” I said, glancing down when I heard Josie’s phone buzz. “I should probably take this.”

  “Go ahead,” Abby said, reaching for her bag. “I’ll get started by going through some of these numbers with Victor.”

  “I always love it when I get excused from math class,” I said, grinning at her, then answering the call. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Court?” the voice on the other end of the line said.

  “No, this is Suzy Chandler.”

  “Suzy,” Detective Billets said. “It’s me, Shirley.”

  “Hey, how are you doing? I borrowed Josie’s phone for the day.”

  “Well, since you were the one I wanted to talk to, that worked out perfectly,” Shirley said.

  “What’s up?” I said, walking toward the wall of windows and staring outside.

  “I’m sitting here with one of our techs, and it looks like we’ve got a hit on your phone,” she said.

  “That’s great. How did you do that?”

  “Don’t ask me,” she said. “But this kid we just hired is amazing. He was able to get a GPS location on your phone even though it’s still turned off.”

  “I guess it’s true that Big Brother is watching, huh?” I said, shaking my head.

  “Actually, I think he’s renting the guest bedroom,” Shirley said. “Your phone is currently located at 112 West Johnston Avenue.”

  Stunned, I fell silent and glanced over at Abby who was in the middle of a focused conversation with Victor and Wilma as they studied a document.

  “Run that address by me again, please,” I said.

  “112 West Johnston,” Shirley said. “You sound surprised. Does that ring a bell?”

  “At the moment, it’s more like a cannon shot,” I said, glancing around the loft.

  “I’m going to need a bit more, Suzy,” she said.

  “112 West Johnston? Are you sure?”

  “GPS never lies,” Shirley said. “I’m familiar with Johnston Avenue, but nothing specific is coming to mind.”

  “Are you near a computer at the moment?”

  “I am.”

  “Google the address and check the map,” I said, rubbing my forehead as my neurons surged.

  I stared out the window and noticed it had started snowing again.

  “Holy crap,” Shirley whispered.

  “Yeah, weird, huh?”

  “That building is right across the street from Naylor’s loft,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “That’s the weird part.”

  “Hey, hang on a sec,” Shirley said. “How did you know that?”

  “Because at the moment, I’m on the fifth floor of 112 West Johnston Avenue,” I whispered.

  “What? What are you doing there?”

  “I’m in a meeting with Victor Rollins,” I said.

  “The guy who runs Middleton Enterprises?”

  “That’s him,” I said, feeling the onset of a headache. “Wags has an exclusive distribution deal with Middleton. I don’t believe it.”

  “I gotta say, I’m a little stunned, too,” Shirley said.

  “How precise is that GPS location?” I said.

  “You mean can it identify a specific floor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “But hang on. Let me ask my guru.”

  I waited a few seconds, then she came back on the line.

  “No luck on that,” she said. “Just the street location. Do you happen to know how many floors there are in that building?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember how many buttons I’d seen on the elevator.

  “I think it’s ten,” I said. “Plus, the floor the lobby is on.”
<
br />   “And the building is all lofts?” Shirley said.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, frowning. Then my neurons finally landed on an idea that should have been obvious. “Duh. Hang on, Shirley.” I glanced over at Victor and called out. “Hey, Victor?”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking up from the document he was studying.

  “Does this building only have lofts?”

  “It does,” he said, nodding.

  “How many lofts per floor?”

  “Four,” he said. “Each floor is basically cut into four large squares.”

  “So, there are forty in total, right?”

  “Yeah. Why do you want to know?”

  Good question, I thought. I debated about going with the truth but finally decided to lie through my teeth.

  “I’ve got a friend on the line who is moving to Ottawa and is thinking about buying a loft.”

  “Well, we highly recommend this place,” he said, glancing at Wilma who was nodding in agreement. “And I think there are a couple for sale at the moment.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “But tell her to bring a checkbook that can handle a lot of zeroes,” Victor said, laughing. “These things aren’t cheap.”

  “I’ll let her know,” I said, then focused on the phone. “Did you get all that?”

  “I did,” Shirley said. “How does your afternoon look?”

  “It’s pretty open. Why?”

  “I think Bill and I should have a chat with you about Victor,” Shirley said.

  “It is kind of a strange coincidence,” I said. “You think he might be involved?”

  “I’m not thinking anything yet,” she said. “But we’re certainly going to take a look at it.”

  “Where do you want to meet?” I said, glancing at my watch.

  “How about we meet you downstairs in the lobby in about twenty minutes?” Shirley said.

  “You want to meet in the lobby? Won’t that look a little suspicious?”

  “We’ll just meet you there, and then we’ll find a quiet place to talk,” she said.

  “Like Naylor’s loft?” I said.

  “It’s a crime scene,” Shirley said.

  “But you’re the cops working the case, right?”