by B R Snow
I handed her the storage device and sat back on the couch next to Max. Moments later, an image appeared on the TV I assumed was the book cover Melinda had planned to use.
“You want to drive?” Jennifer said, tossing me the remote then settling into a large overstuffed chair.
“Sure,” I said, glancing around. “Is everybody ready?”
Everyone nodded and stared up at the screen. I clicked the remote, and the image changed to a photo of a woman sitting on a park bench in the middle of a heavy snowstorm. She was feeding peanuts to the squirrels and was covered in snow.
“A relative of yours?” Josie deadpanned as she glanced over at me.
“Shut it,” I said, advancing to the next photo.
It was the same woman, and I clicked through a series of a dozen photos of the same scene.
“Life in moments,” I said, nodding.
“Melinda had such a good eye,” Naylor said. “Did you see all the subtle changes in the woman’s expression?”
“I did,” I said.
“It’s very good,” Jennifer said. “You really didn’t know she was working on a book?”
“No, she was very evasive about what she was working on,” Naylor said. “I imagine she wanted to surprise me.”
“But you helped her out, right?” I said.
“Sure, especially when she first started working for me,” he said. “But she picked everything up in a hurry.”
I pressed the remote, and an image of Charlotte Evans appeared on the screen. She was sitting down and stroking a cat that was sitting on her lap.
“The Black Widow,” Naylor said. “Why on earth would Melinda be taking photos of her?”
“I don’t think that’s the question you should be asking,” Jennifer said, staring up at the screen.
“What do you mean?” Naylor said.
“Take a good look at it,” Jennifer said.
“Wow,” Naylor whispered eventually. “It looks like it was shot from across the street.”
“Not just across the street,” Jennifer said. “If I was going to guess, I’d say it was taken from your loft.”
“What the heck was Melinda doing?” Naylor said, motioning for me to continue.
I quickly went through a couple dozen photos of Charlotte in her loft, sometimes alone, sometimes with George Theo, the mining magnate.
“Oh, this is not good,” Naylor said.
“But it wasn’t you taking the pictures, right?” Jennifer said, glancing at Naylor.
“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “You have my word.”
I continued to work my way through the photos, and we studied sets of several other people in various outdoor settings.
“She did great work,” Max said. “But why would she feel the need to hide them from me?”
“I don’t have a clue,” I said, clicking the remote and flinching. I heard everyone in the room gasp. “No, hang on. I take that back.”
“Uh-oh,” Naylor said, shaking his head at the image.
“Oh, boy,” Jennifer said. “Okay, I guess that blows our cover.”
I stared up at the photo of Jennifer and Naylor lip-locked in a passionate kiss on the very couch Max and I were sitting on.
“Aunt Jennifer?”
“Yes, Max?”
“Do you have something you’d like to tell me?” Max said, grinning at his aunt.
“Well, a picture is worth a thousand words,” she said, shrugging.
“Isn’t he a little young for you?” Max said. “No offense, John.”
“Hey,” Naylor said. “If the situation were reversed, and I was the older one, nobody would say a word about our age difference.”
“Well put,” Jennifer said to Naylor.
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” Max said, nodding. “How long have you two been an item?”
“We started a week after the incident at the club. Right after I resigned,” she said.
“Even though everyone was convinced John was behind the whole thing?” Max said, glancing at Naylor.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I wasn’t involved,” Naylor said. “I’d never do anything like that to anyone, much less Jennifer.”
“And he managed to convince you he was innocent?” Max said.
“He did,” Jennifer said. “And after he was able to actually prove it, our relationship really took off from there.”
“What sort of proof?” Max said.
“I’ve got some photos. And some video with sound,” Naylor said, shrugging.
“Then why haven’t you gone public with it?” Max said, glancing back and forth at them.
“Because I’m saving it for my book,” Jennifer said, getting up and sitting down next to Naylor. She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. “It’s nice to finally be able to let people in on our little secret.”
“It is,” Naylor said, then frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m just trying to remember how far we went out here on the couch before we hit the bedroom,” he said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Max said, laughing as he looked at me. “Full speed ahead, Captain.”
“Hang on,” Jennifer said, frowning at Max as she got up to fiddle with the connections. The screen went blank, and she quickly clicked through the rest of the photos of her and Naylor on her laptop then reconnected the television to the computer. “We’re okay.”
“Who was it that spiked your drink at the club?” Max said.
“One of my political opponents,” Jennifer said. “Someone you know, and someone who is going to be very surprised and humbled when my book comes out.”
“I smell a comeback,” Max said, grinning at her.
“You can bet on it,” Jennifer said, her eyes dancing. Then she looked at me and motioned for me to continue.
“Nobody has been trying to blackmail either one of you?” I said.
“Absolutely not,” Jennifer said.
“Oh, no,” Naylor said, a puzzle piece dropping into place. “You think Melinda was blackmailing somebody.”
“I do,” I said, nodding. “And I think that the person being blackmailed is convinced that you’re the one doing it.”
“Because they’ve seen the photos and know they were shot from my loft,” Naylor said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Melinda had full access to your loft, right?”
“Sure, she had her own access card, but you already know that,” he said, frowning at me.
“Yeah, I knew that,” I said, my face red with embarrassment. “And her roommate said she spent a couple of nights a week at your place.”
“She did,” Naylor said. “My place was empty a lot of the time, so I was happy to have her around to keep an eye on things.”
“Because you were usually out clubbing with Thomas, right?”
“No, because I was always here,” Naylor said, shaking his head at me.
“Sure, sure.”
“Try to keep up,” Naylor said.
“Hey, there’s no need to get snarky,” I snapped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Does the burglar-housekeeper have something to say?” he said, returning my glare.
“Point taken, I said, reaching for the remote. “Moving on.”
I quickly advanced through the rest of the pictures of Jennifer and Naylor and landed on a fresh set of photos of a man sitting in a chair facing the window. A naked woman was draped over him, and her bare back displayed a massive tattoo of a coiled snake.
“Cool tattoo,” Chef Claire said, staring up at the image.
“Man, that’s a lot of needlepoint to sit through,” Josie said, frowning. “That had to hurt.”
“Absolutely,” Chef Claire said.
“That’s the guy who was hitting on me at the party,” Josie said.
“Jeremiah Walters,” Jennifer said.
“Oh, yeah, I remember,” I said, grinning at Josie. “He’s the guy who tried to lowball you.”
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“Shut it.”
I progressed through the photos that got increasingly graphic, and when I landed on the final one, I grimaced and quickly advanced to a fresh set of photos of the model, Claudine, and her girlfriend, Paradis. While not as explicit as the photos of the woman with the snake tattoo, they were definitely intimate and not anything I’d like floating around.
“Some of those photos are definitely something a blackmailer could use,” Max said.
“I can’t believe Melinda was trying to blackmail somebody,” Naylor said.
“Maybe she needed the money,” I said.
“No, that can’t be it,” Naylor said, shaking his head. “She didn’t spend much, and I paid her well. She had plenty of money.” Then he rubbed his forehead. “But I suppose she could have decided she needed more.”
I pressed the remote, and a photo of Victor Rollins and Wilma appeared. I worked my way through the series, and most of them showed the two of them relaxing in their living room, reading, or talking and laughing. But in a couple of the shots, they were obviously angry with each other.
“Nothing there,” Naylor said, motioning for me to continue.
I spent the next ten minutes clicking through the rest of the photos. Several other individuals and couples were featured in various locations around the city, but there was nothing in any of them that seemed damaging enough to force someone to pay money to stop them from being published.
“That’s all of them,” I said, tossing the remote on the table. I glanced around the room. “What do you think?”
“I think they’d make one heck of a book,” Jennifer said.
“Melinda couldn’t have been going after Claudine and Paradis,” Naylor said, concentrating hard. “They’d both love the publicity.”
“Then it has to be Jeremiah,” Jennifer said. “But he’s such a player, he might enjoy the attention.”
“Is he married?” I said.
“No. And I see different women with him all the time,” Jennifer said.
“Maybe the woman with the tattoo is married,” I said.
“And maybe the wife of someone he works with,” Max said.
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Jennifer said. “It’s too bad we couldn’t see her face in any of the photos.”
“Yeah, but that tattoo has to be pretty unique,” I said. “And she’s obviously in good shape.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Josie said, frowning.
“I’m pretty sure she works out a lot,” I said, then looked at Jennifer. “Do you have a gym in the building?”
“We do,” Jennifer said. “A nice gym. And a pool and sauna.”
“If she lives here and works out, somebody would have noticed that tattoo,” I said.
“I can’t imagine who she might be,” Jennifer said. “My guess is that she doesn’t live here.”
“Maybe we could check out tattoo parlors in the area,” I said. “You know if we don’t get lucky with the gym thing.”
“Your plan is to hang out in a gym?” Josie said.
“Why not? I’m sure I can figure out a way to remain inconspicuous.”
“Sure,” Josie said, grinning. “You hanging out at the gym. Nothing suspicious about that.”
Chapter 20
I tiptoed my way along the unshoveled sidewalk and climbed the short set of steps. I tucked the bag I was holding under my arm and pressed the doorbell. Moments later, a disheveled Shirley opened the door. She was wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas, and if she felt anything like she looked, she had my deepest sympathies.
“Hey,” Shirley said, coughing.
“How are you doing?” I said, holding out the bag. “I brought you some soup.”
“Thanks. That was sweet of you,” she said, taking the bag. “Come on in.”
“Are you guys contagious?” I said, staying right where I was in the doorway.
“I don’t think so. The worst is over,” she said, turning around and shuffling back into the living room where I heard a TV blaring the news.
I entered the house and closed the door behind me. Shirley set the bag on the coffee table and plopped back down on a couch next to Bill who was also in pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. He glanced over his shoulder at me and managed a small nod.
“Hey, Suzy,” he said, then blew his nose.
Shirley frowned at the handful of tissues in Bill’s hand then held out a small wastebasket close to him. He tossed them in then sank back into the couch, apparently worn out from the effort.
“Have a seat,” Shirley said, turning the TV off and pointing at a nearby chair.
“I think I’ll just sit over there if that’s okay with you,” I said. “Not that it’s going to make a lot of difference.” I sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Menthol, lemon, and bourbon,” Bill said, sipping from a steaming mug.
“And germs,” Shirley said, coughing.
“Yeah. And lots of germs,” Bill said.
“Man, I hate to say it, but you guys look awful,” I said, crossing my fingers and toes and praying I didn’t catch whatever they had.
“Actually, we’re doing a lot better today,” Shirley said.
“Yeah, I’m feeling downright peachy,” Bill said, setting his mug down to blow his nose again. “What did you need to see us about?”
I reached into my bag, removed Melinda’s journal and the storage device filled with photos and handed them over. Shirley took a quick look at the storage device then tossed it on the table. She began flipping through the journal as Bill glanced over her shoulder.
“Okay, this is the journal you mentioned on the phone yesterday,” Shirley said, looking up. “Since my vision is a bit blurry, you want to give us the short version?”
Starting with my conversation with Melinda’s roommate, I gave them an overview of the previous day’s events and hit the high points, ending with a recap of last night’s dinner at Jennifer’s. As they listened, they both leaned forward on the couch, their heads propped up in their hands and elbows resting on their knees. When I finally stopped talking, they sank back into the couch, exhausted.
“So, the girl was the blackmailer,” Bill said to the ceiling.
“It certainly looks like it,” I said.
“But the person being blackmailed was convinced it was Naylor,” Shirley said, sipping her hot toddy.
“Yeah,” I said, frowning at something Bill had hacked up and was examining in the light. He took one final look at the tissue then tossed it into the trash. “That’s disgusting.” He shrugged at me and sank back into the couch. I glanced at Shirley. “Between Naylor’s reputation and the fact that the photos were shot from his loft, it was a logical assumption.”
“And whoever tried to kill Naylor actually ended up killing the right person?” Bill said to the ceiling then glanced back and forth at us. “You know, the right person as far as the person who was being blackmailed wanted dead.” He frowned. “I’m babbling.”
“No, I got it, sweetie,” Shirley said, patting his leg. “But you might want to go easy with the bourbon in your toddies.” She refocused on me. “Naylor is involved with Jennifer Bell?”
“Yeah, they’re in love,” I said.
“I didn’t see that one coming,” Shirley said, then began to cough long and loud. “And he spent the night before the murder at her place?” She pointed at the end table next to my chair. “Toss me that box of tissues, please.”
“He did,” I said, throwing her the box.
“Naylor’s sure Melinda didn’t stay at his place that night?” Shirley said.
“Yeah, he’s positive,” I said. “He remembers Melinda telling him she had dinner plans and then was heading home to meet her roommate for drinks.”
“And the roommate confirmed they had a couple of drinks that night, then went home and were there all night,” Bill said.
“That’s right,” Shirley said, nodding. “She did say that. Did Naylor say wh
at time he left his place for good that day?”
“It was around six. He dropped off some dry cleaning, went to the grocery store, then headed straight to Jennifer’s loft. He didn’t leave until nine the next morning to head home and get ready for the photo shoot with the dogs.”
“So, whoever sprinkled the poison on Naylor’s pillows had about a fifteen-hour window?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said. “Plenty of time. But why didn’t the blackmailer take Naylor’s camera and computer when they put the powder on the pillows?”
“Maybe he kept them locked them up at night,” Bill said.
“Or maybe he took them with him to Jennifer’s place to do some work,” Shirley said, shrugging.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” I said, frowning. “You want to take a look at the photos?”
“Maybe in a bit,” Bill said, coughing. “At the moment, I think I need a nap.”
“Yeah, me too,” Shirley said, then glanced at me. “You said you wanted us to take a good look at Jeremiah Walters and some woman with a snake tattoo?”
“They seem to be the most logical suspects at the moment,” I said, nodding. “The photos of Claudine and Paradis are also pretty revealing, but Naylor is convinced they’d be more than happy if they got published.”
“You got photos of Paradis?” Bill said, sitting up on the couch suddenly wide awake.
“I thought you wanted to take a nap,” Shirley said with a laugh that transitioned into a coughing spell.
“Well, when duty calls, right?” he said. “What sort of photos are they?”
“What?” I said, frowning.
“You know, are they doing the model thing and posing for the camera?”
“No, Melinda managed to catch them in some of their more tender moments. They’re more like action shots.”
“Action shots? Really?”
“Yes, but tasteful action shots.”
“Settle down,” Shirley said, laughing and shaking her head at her fiancé. “You’re gonna have a relapse.” She blew her nose, tossed the tissues in the trash, then looked at me. “You figured all this out in one day?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” I said, chuffed.
Shirley glanced over at Bill.
“We should get sick more often.”