“LAPD!” A woman said as the pounding resumed. Gary opened the door, and several people entered the room.
“Is everyone okay?” The woman asked. I caught a glimpse of a badge pinned at her waist as she stepped into the room and placed both hands on her hips.
“Yes,” Gary responded. “We’re all a bit shaken at the prospect that Charlotte Chantel was murdered. You can see for yourself,” he said as she followed him to the bar area and peeked into the little pink box. “It looks as if she had an angry visitor before she died unexpectedly this afternoon.”
“What else have you got?” She asked.
Gary Peabody did a quick summary as he pointed to the glass reeking of bourbon and then walked the newcomers the short distance to Charlotte’s body. One member of the team began taking photos, and another knelt, put on a pair of gloves, and began to examine the body.
Max had begun to pace. I couldn’t blame him. Guests would be arriving for the gala soon. The gala doors would open to guests in about an hour. Charlotte wasn’t scheduled to dance for another hour after that, but she was expected to be present to greet guests.
“What are we going to do?”
“I think it’s time to call Stacy and Kathleen,” I responded. Jack, who’d introduced himself to the woman who must be the lead detective, joined Max and me.
“She’s not happy about all the people hanging around,” Jack said. “I explained that, initially, we had little reason to believe a murder had taken place.”
“What did she say to that?” I asked.
“Something to the effect that we had no reason to suspect she’d been murdered except that her goddaughter found the door unlatched. She finds a woman with no history of heart disease dead only three hours after she was assaulted in public. There’s a glass suggesting someone had been drinking booze the dead woman loathed next to a box in which someone chopped the head off a figurine that’s the spitting image of her.”
“Well, some of those reasons explain why I called LAPD minutes after I got here,” Gary Peabody said, clearly irritated by the woman’s demeanor.
“What’s her point? There aren’t that many people in the room and what else could we have done given the way events unfolded?” Max asked.
“I bet she wouldn’t be any happier if we’d all cleared out, would she? Would she prefer hunting us all down if we’d taken off? Not that I would have risked abandoning Carol to the insensitivity of a surly cop.” Uneasiness swept over Jack and Gary. I turned to see the woman standing close enough that she’d probably heard me.
“This is Detective Spencer,” Jack said. “Max Marley and Georgie Shaw are from Marvelous Marley World. They’re due at a charity gala that’s about to start. Madame Chantel will be missed because she was the guest of honor. She was also scheduled to perform and expected to be in the receiving line to greet guests as they arrive.”
“We’ve got to offer an explanation soon,” I added.
“At the risk of sounding like an insensitive cop, even if we rely on the statements that Mr. Peabody has already taken, we’re going to need more than an hour to investigate what’s gone on here.”
“Surely, it’ll make you happy if some of us clear out since there are so many people in the suite as it is.” I fought to stay calm, but she irked me, and I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. I tapped my foot, and then Max’s phone rang.
“It’s the woman from my PR department who’s going to have to say something soon about Madame Chantel’s absence to several thousand guests. Is she supposed to tell them that she doesn’t know why? Do you expect her to tell them I’ve been detained by the police and will be missing in action for at least another hour?” The phone rang again. Detective folded her arms over her chest before she spoke.
“I understand none of you witnessed the murder, although several of you were present during the alleged assault at Arcadia Park. I’d like Carol Ripley to stick around since she found the body and can answer questions for us about her godmother if they come up.” When the phone rang a third time, she grabbed it from Max’s hand and answered the call.
“He’ll call you right back.” Then she hung up. Max was so flabbergasted that he was speechless. As the color rose in his face, he retrieved his phone and spoke in an icy tone.
“I’ve already told Gary Peabody what happened during the few minutes before he arrived with the EMTs—twice! I’m more than happy to give you a statement about the assault by the Natalie Bucco woman. I wasn’t just a witness, I was a victim.” Max was growing more agitated by the moment, finishing that last sentence up on his toes. “I’ve got to do something to salvage this charity event. Now!” She chewed her bottom lip for another second.
“Jarvis, get over here! You can all clear out once you make sure Sergeant Jarvis has your contact information. He’ll arrange for you to come in to sign off on the statements and give us your prints if we need them.” That was all the EMTs and Dr. Vincent needed to hear. In seconds, they were speaking to the officer as Detective Spencer continued.
“In fact, you’re right, Ms. Shaw, that I’d appreciate it if most of you would leave so we can do a proper investigation. Don’t share any of the details about what’s gone on here this afternoon. At least not until I’m satisfied that I’m clear about them.” As she said that, Detective Spencer leaned in a bit closer to Max. Entering his personal space without being invited was tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull. I had to do something quick before the blustering began.
“How about this, Max. For the time being, let’s do as Detective Spencer suggests and say as little as possible. Why not just announce that Madame Chantel is ‘indisposed’ and won’t dance tonight? That way we can wait until we’ve all had more time to reflect on how best to memorialize her life before announcing her death.”
“That’s fine with me,” Carol added as she joined us from where she’d been watching the woman from forensics work. “I’m not up to answering questions or acknowledging all those ‘sorry for your’ loss comments no matter how well-meaning they are. That’s assuming I manage to get out of here before the gala is over.”
“That’s not half bad,” Gary said. “Why tip your hand to Natalie Bucco or anyone else who might have been involved? Maybe whoever did this will take it to mean she’s still alive and will come back to the hotel to find out what’s happened. Anyone who asks questions about Madame Chantel’s whereabouts or well-being gets a few questions in return.”
“What’s that?” Detective Spencer asked as the member of the forensics team approached turning over a plastic bag in her hand several times.
“I’m not sure until I get them back to the lab and take a closer look. One was in her hair, and the others on the collar of Madame Chantel’s dress. They almost look like my cat’s whiskers except that they’re a bit bigger and they’re black.”
Max and I looked at the long thin, pointy bristles. Max’s grunted exclamation told me he recognized them, too. I made eye contact with Jack, and he nodded which I took to mean I should speak up.
“They could be whiskers,” I said, sighing. Detective Spencer looked at me as if I’d spoken in a foreign language. “I can’t say how they got here. You should know, however, that Madame Chantel had a more pleasant encounter today at lunch with a young man who happened to be wearing whiskers like these.” Carol looked on anxiously as I explained what I meant by that. The detective still wore a bewildered expression when I’d finished my explanation.
“A murderous phony fox is a new one.” Detective Spencer shrugged as she glanced at the contents of the evidence bag.
“No! I can’t believe he’d do such a thing. Brett protected her from Natalie today.” Carol’s tone was adamant. “Plus, he was more gaga over my godmother than Max.”
Detective Spencer peered at Max with her head tilted as if she’d just been given a new angle from which to evaluate the man. Max met her gaze with his jaw set. She blinked first.
“So, what do you mean by more
gaga than Max, here?” She asked. As Carol tried to explain, she repeated parts of the conversation that had occurred between Madame Chantel and our server. She also recounted the way in which Brett had acted to ward off Natalie Bucco’s attack. His actions did more than his words to convey Brett’s apparent infatuation with Madame Chantel. Carol didn’t say anything about the moments in which I’d caught him brooding in the background once Max had swooped in and taken over. I felt compelled to mention it, but I didn’t feel good about it.
“Okay, how do we find Brett the foxy server? What’s his last name?” We all lapsed into silence. I stepped in, once again, to explain.
“Name tags at Marvelous Marley World only include first names. I’m sure Chef Tomás must know his last name and how to reach him. He offered to pass on an invitation from Madame Chantel for Brett to be her guest at the awards ceremony later in the week. Brett’s supervisor at Versailles Veranda will have a phone number for him to call him when an extra shift opens. Human Resources will have even more background on him. They can probably help you even without a last name since you know he’s a Versailles Fox in Arcadia Park. If you want their number, I can give it to you.”
“Give it to Jarvis, okay? Will anyone still pick up the phone in the HR department if we call this late?” The detective peeked at her watch as she asked that question.
“It’s possible, if you call right away,” I replied. As I did that, I imagined Brett being cornered like a fox with the police investigators surrounding him. What if Carol was right about him and I’d just helped sic the hounds on an innocent guy? I could have been wrong about my notion that he was sulking during lunch, but those whiskers told me he was here this afternoon.
“Did you hear that, Jarvis? Ms. Shaw is going to give you the number on her way out the door with her boss. Call now and get an address for the guy who just moved ahead of the wine-throwing assailant as a person of interest.”
Ahead by a whisker, I thought as I waited for my turn with the police officer. Max, who’d stepped ahead of me, quickly checked in with Officer Jarvis. Then he took out his phone and walked to the door as the conversation continued and we paused for Jack to catch up with us.
“Gary, do you have someone going through the surveillance video? Madame Chantel’s death must have occurred during a narrow window of time…two hours or so between lunch and the time you showed up right, Ms. Ripley?”
“Less than three, anyway,” Carol said wearily as she rushed over to say goodbye to Max and me.
“We’ve got people working on it. There ought to be good images of anyone walking toward the suite from the elevator or the other end of the hall. Someone who came up from the stairway just across from the suite might be harder to identify.”
“They ought to be good enough to tell us if her visitor was male or female…or a fox.”
“Carol, call me when you’re done here,” I said. “Jack and I want you to stay with us in Crystal Cove tonight if that’s okay with you.” I hadn’t spoken to Jack about the idea. He’d been chatting with Gary until Detective Spencer asked that question about surveillance footage. I caught his eye as he joined us.
“She’s right. It’s probably a good idea for you to stay a day or two until Detective Spencer gets a handle on what’s happened here today.”
“Thank you,” Carol said, hugging me. “I don’t like the idea of being alone or making decisions about what to do for her without getting a second opinion. I don’t trust my judgment as shook up as I am now. It wasn’t that good before my godmother was murdered or I couldn’t have been so wrong about Brett.” I tried to smile in a comforting way as I looked at her sad, worried face.
When Max’s phone rang, I heard him utter Stacy’s name as he stepped out into the hall. I was about to follow him when I suddenly remembered an image of Carol in a happier moment when she’d come to work in a costume wearing whiskers.
“Carol, where’d you get the whiskers you wore to work?” All eyes in the room were on me.
“What do you mean? You aren’t saying I had anything to do with my godmother’s death, are you?” I suddenly realized how my question sounded.
“Oh, goodness, no! It’s just occurred to me that it wasn’t a very foxy move for Brett to turn up here still in his costume if he’s the one who visited Madame Chantel this afternoon. Someone in the lobby, or at the front desk, would surely remember a guy dressed like a Versailles Fox. Especially if his efforts to play the hero at lunchtime have already surfaced in the media.”
“I saw the whole thing! ‘Versailles Fox Saves the Queen of the Dance’ or something like that. I couldn’t see the whiskers.” The woman from forensics shrugged as she went back to bagging items in the bar area. Then she paused. “So, are you saying someone could have planted those whiskers on her body?”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here,” Detective Spencer said before I could respond.
“Of course! That’s exactly what Georgie is getting at!” Carol exclaimed, responding to the forensic investigator’s question and ignoring Detective Spencer. “They’re easy to find in any toy section in Walmart or any other store like that. It’s only one of the outfits Max markets to kids so they can dress up like a favorite Marvelous Marley World character. I grabbed my little makeup kit from the toy section in a CVS drug store.”
“Why plant false evidence on a woman who was supposed to have died of natural causes?” Jack asked playing devil’s advocate. To my surprise, Detective Spencer answered him.
“Maybe a plan ‘B’ in case plan ‘A’ hit a snag as it obviously has. I can imagine lots of situations where Madame Chantel’s death might never have been reported. A family physician like Dr. Vincent gets called in, the doctor says she died from cardiac arrest, and family members make a call to the funeral home—case closed before it’s even opened.” It was Gary Peabody’s turn to speak next.
“None of us noticed those whiskers even though we all got a good look at her body. Carol, the EMTs, and Dr. Vincent all examined her at close range and still didn’t see them.” The forensic specialist who was still at the bar area dusting for fingerprints paused to comment.
“I didn’t see them either at first. They were caught up in her black lace collar like strands of hair or some other trace material left behind during close contact between the victim and her assailant.”
Or while dancing a tango, I thought. Had they been dancing when she died—at his hands or from natural causes? I dismissed the natural causes angle once again. Given Brett’s quick reaction to trouble at lunchtime, he certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to call 911 if she’d suddenly become ill. Either he wasn’t here, or there wasn’t anything natural about the trouble she’d encountered while they were together.
“If this is murder, it’s a crafty one. Not the kind of sloppy assault launched by Natalie Bucco,” Jack muttered. A sort of growl came from Detective Spencer.
“Oh, come on. You know it’s too soon to peg the culprit or rule anyone out.”
“Sorry if it sounded like that’s what I was doing.” Jack took a step closer to the door.
“Will you all just get out of here, so we can determine whether there are any real clues if you’re right about the whiskers?” Max must have been holding the door open rather than allowing it to close and lock behind him. He suddenly flung it wide open. If Jack had taken another step toward the door, Max would have flattened him.
“Georgie, I must insist that we go to the gala right now! We’ve got more trouble.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s another body.”
“No,” He sniffed in an angry retort to the detective’s remark. “It’s almost as bad!” An unhealthy pallor had returned to Max’s face as he dashed out into the hall.
“Don’t go to the gala alone,” Jack told Carol. “Gary Peabody is going to escort you.”
“Promise,” Carol said as I brushed her cheek with a kiss and dashed through the door Jack held for me. “Be careful!”
“What
now?” Detective Spencer asked, growling again as I let the door slam.
6 The Show Must Go On
“Tunnels,” Max said as the elevator stopped at our floor. He already had his keys out, fiddling nervously with them to find the one he wanted.
“Are there tunnels here, too?” Jack asked as I stepped into the elevator, and used my key to send us to the employees only basement level. Jack had already found himself in a network of tunnels under Arcadia Park with links that lead back to the Marvelous Marley World Headquarters and other buildings on a campus that’s even larger than the one we were on now.
“Yes,” Max replied. He put his keys away and the elevator plunged more than twenty floors to the basement. “This is a fiasco! Who knew that hosting a dance competition could become such a dreadful venture?”
“Am I going to have to call Dr. Vincent again?” I asked as I tried to calm him down.
“No, you won’t. He’s already there,” Max snapped as the elevator doors popped open and cool, damp air rushed in. Jack and I hesitated for a split-second wondering what to make of his comment. Max darted from the elevator toward a small fleet of golf carts that were parked nearby.
“Don’t let him drive,” I whispered. Jack heard me and quickly moved to reach the closest golf cart ahead of Max. He jumped into the driver’s seat and turned on the vehicle. Max ran around to the other side of the golf cart and climbed into the passenger seat leaving the back seats for me.
“Why is Dr. Vincent already there?” I asked as we sped off in the direction Max pointed.
“He was planning to attend the gala tonight and must have decided to go on over to the site rather than leave and come back again within an hour or so. That was fortunate for Kevin Whitley who had a horrible accident and broke his leg.”
“He took that whole ‘break a leg’ thing to heart, huh?”
A Tango Before Dying Page 5