by Lotta Smith
I didn’t say that aloud because that could encourage him and his dad even more to accompany my daughter when she least wanted—such as her first date with her crush.
“Don’t worry, Rick, darling. You all have eighteen to twenty years until she becomes a debutante,” Clara assured lightheartedly, then let out a hearty laugh. “Besides, that particular debutante ball’s slot is really hard to acquire, so why don’t you stop worrying and enjoy raising her? You only live once.”
“Hmm, that’s a good point,” Rick agreed after I relayed her words of wisdom. “Mom, how long can you stay with us? Maybe we can visit Chateau Hotel and Spa in Tarrytown for a weekend getaway,” he said, getting out of the bed.
“Actually, I have several charity auctions in November and then the grand ball at the end of the year, so my schedule looks pretty tight. Also, I’m supposed to leave for a cruise to Maui next week.” She listed her smorgasbord of scheduled events, counting them with her fingers. She’d been super active since she had passed away following the complications of multiple sclerosis. I had no idea they had charity auctions and ballroom dances in the world of the dead.
“Oh, Clara, you’re such a busy person,” I said, completely amazed. “I rarely see someone busier than Rick and Dan, but you’re definitely one of them.”
She chuckled. “Also, visiting Tarrytown now won’t be a good idea as I have things to do here in Manhattan. So, let’s talk about this business that needs attention really soon. I’ve just met a fellow ghost, and it looks like she needs a little help. Mandy, Rick, can you assist me as I tackle this case?”
CHAPTER 2
Two hours later, Rick, Sophie, and I were in the car heading for a condo in Williamsburg. Of course, the ghostly duo were tagging along with us. According to Clara, she had become acquainted with a middle-aged lady who had recently died. Even though the ghost didn’t seem to remember what exactly had happened, Clara believed she was murdered, and she wanted us to dig into the cause of her death. At first, I was skeptical about investigating a case without being asked to, but when Clara mentioned the victim, Christina, was a mother of two, I didn’t have the heart to say no.
Considering we were heading for a potential crime scene, bringing our baby daughter might not have been a good idea, but Rick didn’t want to forgo his weekend of spending quality time with Sophie. When in need of a babysitter at the last minute, my mom and Nana were the first I called, but they were in Queens, and we were heading the opposite direction. After debating for thirty seconds, we came to an agreement to take her with us. After all, it wasn’t like we would see a body there, and we could visit Brooklyn Children’s Museum after we were finished with my attempt to talk to the ghost Clara had met earlier.
“Who’s the cute little girl? It’s you, Sophie!” Clara kept cooing as Jackie disappeared and reappeared, saying, “Gone, gone, gone… peek-a-boo!” making her giggle hysterically from the child’s safety seat next to me.
Whenever Jackie reappeared from the black space, Sophie’s big eyes widened even more. And each time, she looked at me with those wide mesmerizing green eyes that stayed the same as her daddy’s eyes, with her mouth shaped in an O, looking absolutely stunned and surprised.
“Mommy, where did Auntie Jackie go?” Clara translated my daughter’s words for me.
“Ooh, I can’t find her either. Where’s Auntie Jackie?” I said, playing along with Clara. “Why don’t we call her? Oh yes, that sounds so fun, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does!” Clara chimed in, and we said in unison, “Auntie Jackie, where are you?”
“Ta-da! I’m heeere!” Jackie popped up from out of nowhere.
“Oh my! Auntie Jackie is here! Surprise!” I cheered as Sophie squeaked with joyful laughter. Alicia, my younger sister, became a mom years before I did, and I used to be Auntie Mandy with no kids. When I didn’t have a child of my own, I used to play along with my nieces, but a part of me always had this voice whispering in my head, like, “Seriously? You’re just playing along with little kids, pretending to be having fun. Remember, you’re not a kid person!” But now that Sophie had come into this world, moving and babbling with her own will and opinion, playing with her had become what I loved to do the most.
“I’m glad the four of you are having such a fun time,” Rick commented behind the wheel.
“Oh yes, Clara and Jackie have been entertaining Sophie, and she’s loving it,” I informed him.
“You sound quite entertained yourself, Mandy.” He chuckled.
“That’s because Clara is really funny. She’s not just glamorous but a really caring grandma for Sophie,” I said.
As we chatted, Rick drove into a residential neighborhood in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
Williamsburg was a stellar neighborhood with family-friendly events like Smorgasburg, a weekly festival featuring over a hundred food vendors as well as a full outdoor bar, cool play spaces, and train stations.
“We’re getting close to our destination. Rick, will you turn right at the next corner?” Clara said.
I relayed her words and he followed her instructions, stopping in front of an eight-story brownstone building.
When he parked, he got out and jogged to the trunk, taking out the stroller and helping me strap Sophie into it.
While we were working with the stroller, our daughter wiggling in her seat and giggling, a muscular guy in a gray suit appeared.
“What a lovely baby girl!” he exclaimed as his eyes focused on us.
It was Detective Rochester from the NYPD. When Rick and I were with the FBI, we’d worked together on a homicide case. He was with the precinct covering this neighborhood, and when Rick made a call to him, asking for some information about the death of Christina Hepburn, he’d offered to meet us at the scene of her death.
“Detective Rochester, long time no see.” I smiled at him. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good, thanks. How old is she?” he asked, bending down to Sophie’s eye level.
“She’s eleven months old,” Rick answered, taking her little hand and waving at the detective. “Hello, Detective. I’m Sophie!”
As she looked at her dad with wide eyes, her mouth opened like she contemplated crying in protest, but Jackie did an amazing job soothing her. “Sophie, darling, he’s Daddy’s friend. You want to smile and say hello.” Following her words, Sophie giggled and raised her free hand.
The detective’s icy blue eyes widened. “Wow, how adorable! Look at your green eyes. They’re the same color as your dad’s, huh? It’s so lovely to meet you,” he cooed before looking at Rick and me. “I didn’t know you were bringing your daughter here.”
“It’s not easy to grab a good babysitter, especially at the last minute,” I explained.
“I see.” He nodded. “My younger sister has that problem with her two kids. I guess it’s a blessing I haven’t had any kids yet.”
So far, Detective Rochester had married three times and divorced three times. According to the rumors, he was a total lady magnet, but thanks to his tendency to attract women who wanted their better half to take them more seriously than his job as a detective, his marriages had been short-lasting.
“Maybe your opinion could change once you have a child of your own,” Rick said nonchalantly.
“Rick, that’s none of your business.” I poked him. “We found it really awkward when my mom kept talking about her youngest grandchild before we had yet to conceive Sophie, remember?”
“You have a point. Anyway, I didn’t want to spend my weekend without my baby daughter.” Rick reached for her hand and gently squeezed it, prompting her to squeak excitedly. Then he turned to the detective. “So, is this the condo where our potential case took place?”
I looked up at the building. It was an old brownstone with awnings that screamed historical. I assumed its age to be something between 100 and 150 years old.
“Yeah, she fell from the balcony on the fifth floor.” He pointed at the far corner of the building. �
�Look, there’s a bouquet over there. That’s the approximate location where the victim was found.”
A small yet lovely bouquet of roses in bright pink lay on the sidewalk. Two kids in their low teens, each of them riding a bike, were coming toward it, chatting, laughing, and fumbling with their smartphones. Smartphones were like the new heroin; adults couldn’t put them down while behind the wheel, and the younger kids who didn’t have licenses to drive played with them on their bikes.
In my head, I recalled the information I’d learned from the investigation documents courtesy of Detective Rochester.
At 8:37 a.m., approximately two months ago on August 25th, a housewife named Christina Hepburn fell off the balcony of her condo and died. The victim was home alone while her husband was at work and her two kids were at their summer day camps. Remaining on the balcony were a watering can, pots of plants, and a stool that was knocked down by the railing. The police investigated the case, taking in all possibilities—an accident, suicide, and murder.
“Assuming from the circumstances, suicide was initially considered to be the most likely case,” Detective Rochester explained. “After all, it’s not like adults are raining from balconies all over the city. Besides that, she didn’t have alcohol in her system, so suicide is the easiest possibility to consider.”
“It’s sad that so many law enforcement officers across the world love the suicide option so much.” Jackie shook her head. “Then again, considering Detective Rochester is so cooperative with you and Rick, I think he’s not really buying it.”
“Did you test for narcotics in her system?” I asked, just in case.
“Her tox screen came back spotless.”
Rick seemed to be familiar with that piece of information, as he was having fun with Sophie clasping his index finger with her little hand instead of paying attention.
“I see.” I nodded.
“The entrance was locked, and there was no sign of a struggle inside the unit,” Detective Rochester went on. “On top of all that, the victim had used a stool to go over the railing. According to her family, she’d been using that stool to water the plants. The majority of us had the first impression that it’s a case of a woman jumping off the balcony out of impulse.”
“Had she been struggling with anything? Mental illness, perhaps?” Rick asked, still playing with Sophie.
“According to the husband, she had menopausal issues. He recalled having seen her occasionally looking down and somewhat depressed.”
“Oh, menopause. I’ve heard about that,” Jackie chimed in. “According to rumors, it’s a really difficult situation to adjust to.”
“Jackie says menopause is a really difficult situation,” I said.
“Oh, Jackie’s here?” The detective arched his eyebrows, but then he raised a hand. “Hi, Jackie.”
“Hi, Detective! It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She beamed.
“She’s happy to see you again,” I informed him, wondering where Clara had gone.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” He grinned. “Anyway, it was supposed to be just a simple suicide, and I could have finished with paperwork easily enough. All we had to do was talk to the guy who found her while walking down the street, have the photographers capture the scene, and question her family. After all, NYPD doesn’t have resources and manpower to dig deeper into an apparent suicide.”
“Okay,” Rick interjected, “but something’s bugging you, right?”
“Yeah.” Detective Rochester took a deep breath. “Right. There’s something weird about her husband. He never makes eye contact with me, and whenever I talked to him, he was sweating profusely. Also, he smashed not just one mug but three when I met him previously at his condo. Can you believe that? The guy just kept on dropping porcelain mugs.”
“I see.” I nodded. “That’s weird.”
“So he’s either extremely clumsy or he’s hiding something, and meeting you stressed the hell out of him,” Rick commented.
“Hello?” Jackie raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. “You’re not supposed to say hell in front of Sophie’s tender ears.”
Before I said anything, Rick sucked in air. “Oops, I’m not supposed to use the H-word. Sophie, you need to forget what you just heard. I used a bad word, and it was a mistake. You’re not going to use bad words.”
As he talked to our daughter with a serious face, I cleared my throat. “Come on, Rick. Now she’s going to be more interested in the bad word.”
“Holy sh—I mean, oh my gosh… what should I do?” Panic filled his eyes.
“Nothing,” I informed him. “Act naturally and keep your face straight. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
Detective Rochester laughed. “Hey, who could have imagined you fussing over your little princess? She’s practically changed your life.”
“I know,” Jackie agreed, nodding again and again. “But the thing is Rick’s always been really sweet and smitten by Mandy, in my opinion.”
“You have a point. But I’m sure you’ll start behaving just like me when you have a child of your own.” Rick snorted and cleared his throat. “So, the vic’s husband has been acting weirdly. If I were in charge of this case, I’d already be interrogating the he—I mean heck out of him.”
“Right.” The detective nodded, apparently suppressing the urge to chuckle. “I thought this alleged suicide could be something else—something more sinister—so I started to dig and found out the vic had an insurance policy with two million for a death benefit. The hubby’s running a dry cleaning factory, but seriously, two mil for a housewife is a huge policy.”
“That’s a lot of money,” I commented. “And the husband was the beneficiary, right?”
“Of course he is. On top of that, his dry cleaning factory hadn’t been doing well in the past few months, but thanks to the insurance money, his business has been saved.”
“Hmm, that makes murder for the insurance money pretty likely.” Rick crossed his arms.
“Exactly. Now that we have this info, the initial theory of the vic having suffered from menopausal issues suddenly sounds totally bogus.”
“Had she been seeing a doctor for her menopausal problems?” I asked the detective.
“So far, no sign of that.” Detective Rochester shook his head. “I’ve checked her insurance records, but no such event was documented.”
“I see.” As I thought it through, Sophie extended her hand toward me, babbling something like “Ah!”
“Hi, baby, are you bored?” I leaned down closer to the stroller.
“Bah!” she replied.
“She just wanted to have a little chat with you,” Jackie translated her words for me. “She wants you to hold her.”
“Oh, sure. Come to Mommy.” Cooing, I unstrapped her from the stroller and held her in my arms.
“Did the husband’s alibi check out?” Rick asked, caressing his daughter’s cheek.
“Yeah, that’s the problem.” The detective frowned. “He was witnessed at a hotel in Midtown at eight thirty when he went there to retrieve the linens. The hotel’s employee remembered bumping into him and chatting for a while. They happened to be members of the same trumpet club.”
“In Midtown? With the traffic, no way could he have rushed back here and thrown his wife off the balcony.” Rick looked up at the upper floors of the building.
“Still, if he’d used a chopper, he could have made it here in time to kill his wife,” Detective Rochester stated, and he didn’t sound like he was joking.
“Had he?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know helipads were available in this neighborhood.”
“If you’re in a chopper and you want to land, you can land it anywhere you want—such as the park close to here.”
As the detective spoke, Sophie giggled like she found his words hilarious.
“Detective, Sophie thinks you’re funny.” Rick chuckled.
“Really? Thanks a lot, Sophie.” Detective Rochester beamed. “Anyway, had he come
by chopper, he would have stood out like a sore thumb, and the neighbors would have come out to see what was going on. Since there was just one witness who saw her fall, the chopper theory doesn’t pan out.”
“Okay,” Rick replied. “In my opinion, the husband bribing the hotel’s employee to testify for him sounds more likely—unless we’re trying to accuse the wrong guy.”
“That’s a good point,” Jackie interjected. “At least, it’s far better than the chopper theory.”
As she looked at me expectantly, I said, “The bribing theory sounds more plausible than the one with the chopper.”
“I agree,” Detective Rochester said, looking thoughtful. “And here’s another weird thing. Just seconds before her leap, she was talking to her husband on the phone.”
“If that’s the case, you know exactly where the husband was when the victim died,” Rick pointed out.
“Yes. He was calling from Midtown.” Detective Rochester shrugged.
“So, maybe someone else killed her,” I said.
“I doubt that.” Detective Rochester shook his head. “If he had nothing to do with his wife’s death, why’s his behavior so erratic?”
I watched as Rick tilted his head in thought. “What if the husband is some sort of psychic who can transport long distances in a moment?”
“Or maybe the hubby said something really terrible to the victim, driving her to leap to her death.” Jackie crossed her arms, fuming. “What a horrible dirtbag! If that’s the case, I’m gonna haunt him like heck. Oh yes, I’m gonna haunt him ‘til he goes nuts.”
I rolled my eyes at her. Even though she was fuming like hell, she had the decency to avoid using the H-word.
When I passed on her words, omitting the part about haunting the husband, Detective Rochester commented, “Or maybe the balcony had been tampered with so she would fall off the railing.”
“Except you found nothing amiss with the balcony, right?” Rick chimed in. “Had it actually been tampered with, it’s more plausible to cause the whole balcony to fall from the building with the victim, but obviously nothing like that happened.”