by Nic Saint
“Solve Kandace Slaker’s murder?”
“Go on.”
“Let’s pay a visit to Blas Storer. He seems to be the last one to see her alive.”
“Who’s Blas Storer?”
“Kandace’s videographer. The one Mr. Slaker fingered as a suspect.”
“Slaker fingered a videographer?”
“Don’t go there, Lucien. Please don’t go there.”
“Just so you know,” he said, performing an awkward U-turn, “I won’t try to get with Logan if you don’t want me to, sis.”
I looked up so sharply my neck cricked. “What?”
“I mean—now that it’s obvious that nothing will happen between you and Logan I might as well take a shot at the guy myself.” He shrugged. “Maybe this ban he’s got in place against the Diffleys is not a blanket ban.”
“What?!”
“Maybe he’s only boycotting Diffley women is all I’m saying.”
I shook my head. This was simply too much. But instead of beating the crap out of Lucien, like I felt inclined to, I said, “Be my guest. He’s all yours.”
Lucien’s grin spread from ear to ear. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. I have no feelings for the man whatsoever. None.”
“Great! I always thought that the lukewarm response to you wasn’t merely a figment of my imagination but an obvious sign the man is gay. Yay!”
Chapter 9
We’d arrived at Blas Storer’s house. It was a modern little bungalow in one of the nicer suburbs of Happy Bays. All the houses here resembled each other: immaculate front lawn, single carport, squarish architecture, and white-washed walls.
“You know, I could live here,” I told my brother.
“You mean you would trade our ancestral home for this?” he asked.
We both got out and I glanced at the feast of floral delight that brought life and color to the front lawn. “Yep. I sure could.”
Though I loved my family, living with five brothers sometimes got to me. I wouldn’t mind trading it in for a nice little bungalow like this.
“Even if you have to live out here by yourself?” asked Lucien.
“Sure. Why not? It must be nice to have some peace and quiet for a change.”
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing, indicating he didn’t agree with me.
I would have said a lot more on the subject but the moment we approached the house the front door swung open and a woman emerged. She was dressed in frayed jeans, black tank top and black knit cap and held a large box in her hands. Without offering us a glance, she moved towards a sizable pickup parked at the curb, dumped the box into the bed then returned to the house.
“Oh, hi, Miss,” I said, deciding to have a chat before she disappeared inside.
She turned to me, and gave me a look of annoyance. “What do you want?”
I decided not to let her hostility get to me. We had a job to do.
“Hi. My name is Saffron Diffley, and this is my brother Lucien. We’re with Diffley Insurance, investigating an insurance claim on behalf of our client Kandace Slaker.”
At the mention of the name, the woman produced a loud snort. “That bitch. What does she want now?”
“Um, I take it you know Mrs. Slaker?”
“Know her? That woman singlehandedly destroyed my marriage!”
“You are… Mrs. Storer?”
“Yes, I am.” She planted her hands on her hips and took a wide-legged stance. “And if you know where my no-good husband is hanging out I would like you to tell him that he’s made a fool out of me for the last time!”
“A fool out of you?” asked Lucien. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s over. You can tell him that the next time he’ll hear from me will be through the very expensive and very scary lawyer I’ve retained. This divorce is going to cost him!”
At this, she set foot for the house again.
“Um, Mrs. Storer?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with the woman. “Can you tell us where your husband is right now?”
She halted. “I thought that’s where you people came in?”
“No, I’m afraid we have no idea of his whereabouts.”
“Well, neither do I, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s somewhere in the vicinity of Kandace Slaker. Steaming up the windows of Kandace Slaker’s car. Kissing Kandace Slaker. Getting all hot and heavy with Kandace Slaker out in the woods somewhere—same way they’ve been doing for the past two years.”
“So you’re saying your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Slaker?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And he wasn’t even coy about it either. Admitted it to me the day before yesterday. Said they were in love and he wasn’t going to apologize for feeling the way he did.” She scoffed. “I told him if he wanted to get it on with a woman who digs up boxes for a living it was his problem—not mine. Geocaching. Huh. What a joke.”
“You do know that Kandace Slaker is dead, right?” asked Lucien.
The woman’s frown deepened. “Are you kidding? How can she be dead?”
“Well, she was murdered last night,” I said. “Which is why we’re investigating her death. For the insurance claim,” I quickly added, to make sure there were no misunderstandings.
It was obvious I’d given her pause, as she tapped her bottom lip with her finger. “Kandace was murdered?”
“That’s right. Her body was distributed amongst many different geocaches,” said Lucien helpfully.
The woman’s lips turned up into a smile. “Distributed amongst many different boxes, huh?”
“Yes. Her hand was found in one box, her other hand in another, and so on and so forth until all parts were accounted for,” said Lucien helpfully. “The only part they haven’t found is her torso. No box was big enough to hold it, you see.”
“Lucien,” I said softly. “I don’t think this is relevant.”
“Oh, no, I love to hear all the details,” said the woman, who was obviously not a great fan of Kandace’s. “So they chopped her up, huh?”
“Yes, effectively, so,” said Lucien.
“And stuffed her into those stupid geocaches.”
“That’s right. Terrible business.”
The woman shrugged. “There’s more terrible things than that. Global warming, for instance. Or inflation. I hate inflation, don’t you?”
I cleared my throat. I wasn’t going to compare the death of our client to a phenomenon I didn’t really grasp. “Do you have any idea where your husband might be, Mrs. Storer?”
“Like I said, I don’t have a clue. And I don’t care. Why, do you think he’s got something to do with the murder of the Slaker woman?”
“It’s too soon to draw any conclusions,” I said, “but we would like to talk to him.”
“He was probably the last person to see Mrs. Slaker alive,” Lucien clarified.
A slow smile spread across the woman’s features. “So the bitch is dead and my loser husband has disappeared. And here I thought this was going to be a dog of a day.” She clapped her hands with glee. “I like you guys. For a couple of insurance agents you’re not half bad.”
“Thanks. I guess,” I said. It was true that most people were not big fans of the insurance trade, but this woman’s vote of confidence did little to infuse me with a sense of pride and joy.
“Look, when you find Blas—if you find him—tell him he may have done the world a favor and I heartily approve.”
Lucien stared at her. “Do you really think your husband murdered his mistress?”
Mrs. Storer shrugged. “One can only hope, right?”
Chapter 10
We decided to drive over to the house of Kandace Slaker and talk to the husband again. Find out what he knew about his wife having an affair with her videographer.
“This is getting depressing,” said Lucien.
“Well, it is a murder investigation,” I told him. “What did you expect?”
“No, not the murd
er itself. The cheating. Why can’t people simply stay together? What’s with all the fooling around behind each other’s back?”
“That’s what’s upsetting you? Not the fact that we just found a woman chopped into little pieces as if she was a big chunk of sushi?”
“I guess I find the whole cheating thing far more upsetting,” he admitted.
I shook my head. “You’re so weird.”
We arrived at the house where Kandace had lived, which wasn’t all that far from the videographer’s house. This part of town was where all the rich people lived, in houses that were more like miniature castles. It was obvious the Slakers weren’t slackers in the earning department. Quite the contrary.
When Lucien parked the car across the street, I was surprised to see that the police hadn’t staked their claim yet. No Logan Munroe in sight, or any other police vehicle.
“Hey. Looks like we’re the first ones for a change,” I said.
Lucien seemed disappointed, gripping his phone in his hand and looking around, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of Logan in his checkered shirt.
“Maybe I should give Logan a call?” he asked. “Tell him we’re here?”
“Let’s forget about Logan Munroe,” I suggested. “We have an investigation to run, and the sooner we figure out who murdered Kandace Slaker the sooner we can make sure karma is delivered to her killer.”
We approached the front door and I was momentarily distracted by a large patch of graffiti that marred the facade. With letters that stretched to the second floor, it read ‘Kandace Slaker is a horible person!’
“Did you see that?” I asked, gesturing at the lettering.
“Yeah. Someone is a horrible speller,” Lucien said, shaking his head.
I pressed my finger on the bell. It buzzed merrily away inside the house, and soon footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door. It opened a crack and a little girl appeared. She looked about ten, with a cute button for a nose and straight flaxen hair. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Saffron, and this is my brother Lucien. Is your daddy home?”
She stared at me. “You look like a fairy. Are you a fairy?”
I laughed. “Not exactly. I’m just a regular person, I’m afraid.”
“I’m a fairy,” said Lucien with a cheeky grin.
She gave him a curious look. “You don’t look like a fairy. You look like a troll.”
His smile disappeared. “Well, I’m not a troll. Why would you think I’m a troll?”
“Because you look like a troll,” she insisted with a great sense of logic. She stared up at his hair. “You don’t have troll hair, though.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Your hair should be pink or green or blue or yellow. Can you sing?”
“Oh, I see,” he said, his smile returning. “You’re talking about Trolls.”
“Sing for me. And make it good, cause I haven’t got all day!”
Lucien cleared his throat, and sang Can’t Stop the Feeling! with feeling.
“I like Justin Timberlake better,” the girl finally decided, then turned to me. “Now it’s your turn. Sing!”
“Okay,” I said, and launched into my version of True Colors.
The girl smiled. “I like you best. You sing just like Poppy. Are you Poppy?”
“No, I’m not. Like I said, we’re here to talk to your daddy.”
“Daddy’s not home,” she said, dangling from the door handle. “But if you want you can talk to Aunt Lorissa. She’s here to babysit.”
“What’s going on here?” asked a woman’s voice. When the person the voice belonged to joined us, I saw the woman had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. “Who are you people?” she asked.
“They’re trolls!” the little girl cried. “She’s Poppy, and he’s Branch. But he can’t sing like Branch, but she sings just like Poppy. Sing!” she added to me.
“Um…”
“Go into the house, Odalis,” said the woman. “Shoo.”
The girl skipped away, and I had to smile at her spunk.
“We’re with Diffley Insurance,” I explained for what felt like the umpteenth time today. “We’re here to investigate the passing of Kandace Slaker.”
At this, the woman blinked, and quickly dabbed a handkerchief to her face. “Come in,” she muttered, and opened the door wider. As we followed her into the house, she said, “Such a terrible tragedy. I’m having a hard time coping.”
We arrived in a spacious and large living room, kids’ toys strewn all over the place, and I saw that our Trolls fan was playing in a corner of the room, an impressive collection of multi-colored trolls at her disposal. There was even a large tree that looked exactly like the Troll Tree in Bergen Town.
“I guess she likes Trolls,” I said.
The woman gave us a sad smile. “We haven’t told her yet, or her brother. At some point I guess we’ll have to tell them their mother isn’t coming back.” She shook her head. “It’s all so incredibly sad.”
“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss,” said Lucien, not sounding sorry at all. I made a mental note to tell him he had to work on his empathy skills.
“I’m sorry, but you are…”
“I’m Lorissa Ballot. I’m Kandace’s sister. The kids’ aunt. When Rycroft got the news he had Odalis and Galen brought home from school—in case one of the other kids heard about what happened and blurted it out. We want them to hear it from us first.” She shook her head and started softly sobbing. “Though how in the world we’re going to break the news I don’t know.”
“The thing is—” I hesitated, wondering how much I could tell the woman.
But then Lucien decided that he had no such compunction. “Is it true that your sister was having an affair with her cameraman?”
Chapter 11
“Lucien!” I hissed. “Show some respect!”
“It’s all right, Miss Diffley,” said Lorissa. “Yes, Mr. Diffley. My brother-in-law told me all about it. In fact he couldn’t shut up about it.” She darted a quick look over at the little girl playing with her trolls and folded her arms across her chest. “I felt so bad about the children. Kandace clearly had no idea what she was getting herself into.”
“Do you think Blas Storer could be responsible for your sister’s murder?” I asked.
She bit her lip. “I hardly knew the man. I met him once or twice, when he came to the house, and he seemed like a nice enough young man. He was married himself, you know. Lives not all that far from here.” She shook her head. “To tell you the truth I have no idea. No idea if he could be capable of something like this.” She shivered visibly. “Capable of such… evil.”
“What about the graffiti? Do you have any idea who might be responsible?”
“Again. No idea. Rycroft said that the local geocaching community wasn’t all that happy with Kandace for some reason, but why that would be I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the subculture the way Kandace obviously was.”
I shared a look with Lucien. There was obviously a lead there. Maybe Kandace had been in competition with some other members of the local geocaching community and had paid the price for that competitiveness.
“To be honest, I wasn’t aware of that aspect of Kandace’s life,” Lorissa continued. “She rarely talked about it, even though she was clearly passionate.” She gave us a weary smile. “I wasn’t all that interested. Searching the woods for hidden boxes filled with old junk isn’t my idea of a career.”
Suddenly, Odalis looked up from her trolls. “Is it true Mommy is dead?”
Lorissa gasped. “Whoever told you that?”
“Galen. He says Mommy was murdered because she was seeing another man.”
“Oh, God,” the woman groaned. “He must have read some things on the Internet. I thought about taking away his phone but he was furious when I even dared to suggest it.” She walked over to the girl and lifted her up in her arms. “What else did your brother tell you?”
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br /> The little girl thought hard. “He said that Mommy is in heaven now, where she’s looking for her little boxes, because she’d found all the little boxes here on earth she could find, and she was trying to find more boxes in some other, super-duper place.” She wiped her eyes. “Is it true, Auntie Lorissa?”
Auntie Lorissa gave me a weary look. “Yes, I’m afraid it is, honey. Your brother is right. Your mommy is in heaven now, playing with the angels.”
She nodded seriously. “I thought so.”
Just then, there was a stomping sound on the staircase, and a teenager came bursting into the room. He looked about fifteen, with blond hair like his sister, a pasty face and straggly hair. The moment he set foot in the living room and caught sight of me, he froze.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
I gave him my best smile. “You must be Galen. I’m Saffron.”
“You’re pretty,” he said.
“Um—thanks.”
He turned to his aunt. “When is Dad coming home?”
“Soon, honey. Very soon.”
He nodded seriously, as if he’d been expecting this answer. “They’re saying all kinds of things about Mom, and I want to know if they’re true before replying.”
“Replying to who, honey?” asked Lorissa, after a worried pause.
“Well, I’ve been chatting with some friends from school, and they all insist that Mom has been chopped up into little pieces, stuffed into little boxes and buried in the woods like a bunch of Easter eggs.” He sighed deeply, ignoring Lorissa’s cry of shock. “So I figured that the only way to deny or confirm would be to get hold of the facts, which I’m sure Dad will know by now.”
“Oh, God,” said Lorissa, who’d been covering Odalis’s ears with her hands. “Please don’t say those things to your sister, Galen. Promise me.”
“Why not?” he asked. “If that’s what really happened?”
“That’s not what happened and you know it,” she said sharply. “Why would you even say those things?”
The boy’s eyes met mine. “Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m not.”