by Gini Koch
“That’s a good theory,” Beckett said. “Because we’re pretty sure that the murder was done in a different location from where we found the body.”
“Does this mean I can let him go?” Gower asked Jeff, indicating Beckett.
Jeff nodded. “He’s horrified, confused, and freaked out, but he wasn’t here to try to damage human-alien relations like his partner was.” Gower nodded and let go.
“Thank you,” Beckett said, as he rubbed his upper arms. “And no, I’m not here to do anything but find out who murdered Robert Cordell.”
“Fine,” Jeff said, speaking so that everyone nearby could hear. “Now, I echo my mother-in-law—tell us what’s actually going on and get some real police work going, or I’m calling in the unit we know actually does that sort of thing and we’ll let the K-9 squad handle it.”
“Not those damn dogs again!” Charmaine said.
Beckett looked at her and, for the first time, I saw him look like a detective. “Mister President, I think the dogs might be an excellent idea.” Beckett stepped over to Charmaine and Kramer. “Your reactions, Missus Cordell, seem remarkably calm for someone who’s just found out her husband’s been murdered.”
“That’s because she’s having an affair with Zachary Kramer here,” Amy said, as she let go of me and went next to Beckett. He pulled out a notebook and scribbled while she gave him the whole story as viewed by the audience. It had been even more lurid from the cheap seats, apparently.
While that was going on, Gadhavi faced the remaining people. “We came here to raise funds for a school. All education is important. I would like to suggest that you not be like those who took the opportunity to leave early with their checkbooks full. I will begin the donations. I, Ali Baba Gadhavi, who have no children in this school, will donate ten thousand dollars.”
The audience gasped as “Rockin’ the Suburbs” by Ben Folds came on. “Do the damn follow-up,” Charmaine hissed at me. “Keep it rolling!” While being interviewed by a police detective about her husband’s murder. She might be an Evil Kangaroo, and her priorities sure seemed out of whack, but you had to hand it to her for PTA dedication.
Stepped up next to Gadhavi. “I’d like to ask Rajnish Singh, my husband’s Chief of Staff, and Colette Alexis, my Press Secretary, to please assist the Honorable Mister Gadhavi in handling the rest of the donations. Please give as generously as you can—we’d like to cover scholarships for the Kramer children, since we’ve all heard that their father is leaving them penniless.”
Hey, Charmaine hadn’t said how to keep it rolling.
Raj and Colette zipped up to the stage and they brought along a celebrity guest—Cologne was with them. They’d also all found microphones. “Who’s next?” Raj asked, Troubadour Tones set to Generous Donations.
“Ten thousand,” Jeff said. Managed not to have a heart attack—whether the A-Cs printed their own money or the patents that Alfred and the others had were so lucrative or the government paid them to continue to be awesome for truth, justice, and the American Way—or all of the above—we were always loaded with cash.
“Ten thousand from our President,” Colette shared, Troubadour Tones set on Don’t Be A Slacker.
“Ten thousand,” Chuckie said. Then he and the rest of us got off the stage, Beckett and his suspects, too, though with Secret Service assistance.
“Ten thousand from my production company,” Cologne said. “The company that’s going to be making the Code Name: First Lady series.” This earned wild applause. Joy. “Now, come on, folks. Let’s get this really rolling. We want to support those poor kids whose dad just dumped them in front of all of us, and we want to support this school community as well. So, who’s giving next?”
Others started calling out sums. Nathalie got busy gathering names, pledged amounts, contact information, and, where she could, checks. Abner, Mrs. Maurer, the Kristie-Bot, Adam, Lizzie, and the Valentino kids started helping her. Pretty soon we had a full on function going again, with lots of money being raised.
DJ Algar kept the tunes rolling with “You Never Give Me Your Money” by the Beatles, “Mind on My Money” by Flo Rida, “Lay Your Money Down” by the Exies, “Easy Money” by Billy Joel, “Money Honey” by Lady Gaga, and “All That Money Wants” by the Psychedelic Furs. Then we got The Black Crowes’ complete “Shake Your Money Maker” album including bonus tracks. Algar really liked to stick with a theme, and I couldn’t argue with the commitment.
Mom got information back while we were waiting. No bombs around the school that any Field agents could find, and they’d brought in the full K-9 squad to sniff, just in case. The dogs were all now used to taking Tito’s Hyperspeed Dramamine, so they’d sniffed at hyperspeed. And I was assured that all of them had gotten extra dog treats for it, too.
Buchanan and Kevin had done the Sawyer handoff and were on their way back. Since they were both awesome and good at multitasking, they’d confirmed that Robert Cordell had been shot three times in the gut, had all the money taken from his wallet, and also had his watch and wedding ring stolen.
Clearly Cordell’s murder was supposed to have looked like a wrong place, wrong time mugging since the police only had suspects because of the call he’d made to me. Meaning him calling me was probably not in the plan. Which made sense, since that call had brought the police to me, and therefore to Charmaine and Kramer.
However, Sawyer getting the case seemed to have been what whoever killed Cordell wanted, but why? Was it truly a coincidence, or did Chuckie remain correct in believing real coincidences didn’t happen all that often? If I took the assumption that Sawyer coming here to try to arrest me was what was wanted, then whoever killed Cordell had to have known he’d try to call me. Again, why and how? How did you set up a murder victim in that way? Or, rather, who would go to that level of intricacy? And, again, why?
Thought about the uncles. The Dingo had been a little bit like my own Sherlock Holmes. So, what would Uncle Dingo have said if I’d asked him about this? Came up with two things—who stands to gain by the detectives coming to this party and what, exactly, do they gain? Figure that out and I’d know who orchestrated Cordell’s murder.
The Tinkerer was my number one suspect in all of this, but whoever was running robotic things at the NSA could also have wanted this. Maybe they’d worked together. Or maybe they hadn’t and whoever had killed Cordell hadn’t been who’d put him where the police found him.
While all this was going on and I was pondering the situation, Detective Beckett was actually doing his job. Charmaine and Kramer had airtight alibies for the time of Cordell’s death, but since they’d literally admitted to an affair in front of hundreds of witnesses and had both acted shady when the news of the murder was shared, they were both now suspects. Sadly, they were not suspects in handcuffs, but you couldn’t have everything.
Beckett questioned Mrs. Paster, who was trying to take care of the Cordell twins, both of whom looked stunned and confused since they’d just discovered their father was dead and their mother was a cheating ho who hadn’t even bothered to come over and comfort them. Couldn’t hear everything, but basically, the kids appeared to have no idea what was going on and Mrs. Paster had even less information.
Of course Beckett questioned those who’d been in the limo with me—including Jeff, who I could tell was really controlling himself from either bellowing, punching someone, or just demanding that Chuckie, Mom, or Reader take over the investigation—but ultimately gave me my phone back.
“Did you find the old man who spiked the punch?” Hadn’t seen anyone looking for our mystery man all that hard, but then again, I’d been focused on what the detective was doing. On cue the music changed to “My Old Pals” by Kim Carnes.
“Not so far,” Beckett said. “We got good prints on the bottle, though.”
“Which only matters if the person is in the system, right?” Which I knew Trevor would not
be, and I was about ninety-nine percent sure that Trevor was the punch spiker. Wasn’t sure what the musical clue was supposed to tell me, just, as always, hoped I’d figure it out in time.
“Right.”
“Did you interview a Doctor Rattoppare?”
He looked at his notes. “No. Uniforms handled most of the guests and, again, some booze in punch, while an issue for you religiously, doesn’t matter to the police as much as a murder.”
Managed not to say that if the President and every A-C here had died it would matter. We’d managed to stop that, so I could pretend that Beckett was correct. “Um, right. What about if it was a hate crime, though? It’s well known that it’s against our religion to imbibe alcohol at all. I mean, it’s not like someone putting a swastika on a synagogue, but still.”
“It’s not in homicide’s bailiwick. It’s up to you if you want a different crime unit to come out. If so, your friends in the K-9 squad are already here, and they float into whatever department, so I’d suggest them.”
“Super,” I lied. “I’ll take that up with Officer Melville.” Who knew that alcohol was a murder attempt in our case, not a hate crime. So much for focusing Beckett where I needed him focused.
“So no, we don’t expect to discover whoever did that—that’s for the school to determine and punish the offending kids, because in my experience, kids lie about stuff like this, and they’re the likely punch-spiking culprits. My focus is and will remain on the murder. Where I now have no leads at all, since you’re cleared, and even though I have suspects, I have nothing on them that would make a judge want to give me a search warrant.”
Gave up and didn’t share, again, that we knew the kids didn’t do it, because they were the witnesses for the fact that we were looking for an old man. Prejudices were hard to combat, regardless of who or what they were against.
“Senator Kramer has a limo driver named Evan,” I said quietly. “I sincerely doubt either Zachary or Charmaine pulled the trigger, but Evan might have. If she’s around, we’ve confirmed that Marion Villanova is working with Kramer on things I can promise you are shady, so she could be involved as well. Also, three delivery trucks with food supplies for the kitchen didn’t show up tonight, which was why Mister Cordell left the fundraiser to try to help out and gather replacements. The chef probably knows what company or companies they were with. To me, that seems extremely convenient, because he was sent out after Kramer and Charmaine had their alibis established, and while it could have really been a mugging, I think it’s too coincidental.”
Plus, Cordell had told me the robots were going to try to kill me. Possibly because he felt that robots had been who’d killed him. The question was—who were the robots Cordell was warning me about? My money was still on Kramer and Charmaine—they were cyborgs, but I only knew to call them that because of Marling telling me so in my dream. Of course, Somerall and Lee were possibilities, too. One way or the other, if you’d found out that people had a bunch of wires in them, you might call them a robot, too. Or a nightmare. Maybe both.
Beckett nodded. “Thank you for the tips. I’m sorry this started off so unpleasantly for you. Sawyer was convinced you were guilty, and until this evening I didn’t know he was anti-alien. I just thought he was following a detective’s hunch.”
“Well, the tips are good, but I have to warn you, I’m already betting that whoever pulled the trigger has washed their hands and clothes really well. Just know that they’re out there, and if you need help, we’ll be glad to do what we can. And, hopefully, you’ll find a lead based on the missing food deliveries.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
“What happens now?”
“I’ve told the Senator and Missus Cordell not to leave town. They’re not likely to be a flight risk and I don’t have enough to bring them in.”
“Figures.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is. Uh . . . could I ask a favor?”
“Um, sure?”
He pulled out his cellphone. “Could I get a selfie with you? My wife will literally kill me if I don’t get a picture with Code Name: First Lady.”
CHAPTER 73
THE POLICE FINALLY LEFT. The moment they were gone, Charmaine tried to get Mrs. Paster to give her the funds raised. Mrs. Paster declined, citing the fact that the donations were made to Sidwell for the Kramer kids’ scholarship fund, not the PTA.
This, of course, didn’t sit well with the Evil Kangaroo. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she said to me as she finally gathered up her children, who still looked shell-shocked, understandably. “You’ve raised funds for scholarships, not for the PTA. So your hockey game had better be a success or you’re still a failure.”
“And a pleasant night to you, too.”
Kramer came and put his arm around Charmaine’s waist. “I’ll take you and your children home.” They left to the vocal stylings of Donald Fagen’s “The Goodbye Look,” Kramer and Charmaine giving me a death glare, the kids just looking dazed.
Under the circumstances, we started closing the party up. Reader arranged for a floater gate that was stationed near to the main entrance, where he and Chuckie stood guard to ensure that whoever went through wasn’t Dr. Rattoppare.
Meanwhile Jeff, Mrs. Paster, and I were standing a little ahead of them so we could shake paws and thank everyone for their support. Christopher and Amy lurked nearby, just in case we needed the Flash or Mean Girl Support, depending. We were back on instrumentals, too. Hoped that meant things had finally calmed down.
The Good Day USA! team was back outside, doing final interviews and letting people get their pictures taken with Cologne, Adam, and the Kristie-Bot. They were a far bigger draw with this crowd than Jeff and I were, which was fine with both of us.
“Where’re Richard and Camilla?” I asked Jeff quietly while there was a lull in people leaving and Mrs. Paster was in conversation with a group of parents.
“Searching for Trevor. Camilla’s with Richard to protect him, under the guise of showing him around, per Mrs. Paster’s request.”
Mrs. Paster’s group headed for us before I could ask anything else, and we were once again shaking paws and such. No one was mean, no one was nasty, though some of these people were for sure in Charmaine’s entourage. Wasn’t sure if they were faking us out or if they were normal and nice when she wasn’t around.
Finally, everyone in the ballroom was gone, other than those who were a part of our gigantic entourage, were associated with the school, or were working as waitstaff. “Do you need to stay or do you get to go home now?” I asked Mrs. Paster.
She heaved a sigh as the assistant principal joined us. “I’d love to say we’re going home, but we do have to be certain all’s well here.”
“The President’s security forces were kind enough to double-check the school grounds,” Yamaguchi shared. “We have no loiterers, all buildings are locked, and all the cars are gone from the lots, other than those of staff or the President and his many guests.”
He and Mrs. Paster both looked tired. Could relate. “Then let’s hurry things up so you two can get out of here.”
Mrs. Paster nodded. “Thank you. By the way, I heard what Missus Cordell made you agree to. Please know that we who actually run Sidwell don’t want your children leaving.”
“Not to worry. I expect the hockey game to be a big hit.” Said with far more confidence than I felt. But that was why I had staff of my own.
She smiled. “I’m sure it will be.” The music went back to rock—“The Last DJ” by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. She made a little grimace. “We also need to make sure whoever you have doing the music leaves the building before we lock up, too. I don’t know that I approve of their choices, but who am I do question the First Lady?”
“Um, I will definitely get on that.” Had no idea who Mrs. Paster thought she’d met. Algar’s influence meant she’d seen whoeve
r he’d wanted her to see. Had no idea where the DJ actually was, or if it was just Algar making people think someone was there, but in case someone actually was, made a note to find them before we all left.
Reader shut down the floater gate, and we headed for the others who were hanging around the door I assumed led to the patio. Chuckie gave a signal, and Amy came over and started up a conversation with the administrators. She also moved them just a little bit away, so the rest of us could talk without them overhearing. Clearly Amy had joined the CIA in her spare time.
“Wasim says that everything’s totes going smoothly with moving Clinton and his family,” Lizzie shared as we joined them.
“We’re just waiting for the Good Day USA! team to finish up,” Louise added. Noted that there were no windows that showed the patio area. Frankly, if I hadn’t been told there was a patio, I’d never have assumed the door we were near led to anything other than dumpsters.
Tim joined us as well, the rest of Alpha Team following him. “Kitchens are secured and staff is home.”
“It’s only all of us,” Lorraine said.
“And whoever’s outside,” Claudia added.
“Who is outside?”
“Not sure,” Lizzie replied. “People can leave from out there, and a lot of them have. Get their photo op, take off.”
“Where’s Richard?” Serene asked, as I opened the door to check who was delaying our getting out of here.
“I haven’t seen him since I told him what was going on,” Reader said, sounding worried. “He got Camilla to help him hunt for Trevor.”
“Um . . .” White was outside, with the flyboys and all the K-9 squad, dogs included. They were getting interviewed, and White and the flyboys were apparently helping with the dogs. The music piped out here, too, and I knew this because we were now treated to David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs.”