by Nic Saint
Rodrick beamed. He was obviously happy to be kept abreast by Rosa.
But then his eye caught the waitress approaching with the pies and he darted away again.
“So. Now that we’re all here,” said Brice, “maybe we can talk shop.”
I gave him an intent look. No talking shop in front of Rosa, that look said, but Brice ignored me, and so did the others.
“Did you clear the case already? Did you catch your killer?”
“Not yet,” said Lucien. “But we’re getting there. Saffron just convinced Chief Whitehouse to cooperate, and I have a feeling this cooperation is going to bear fruit very soon now.” He gave me a nudge. “Isn’t that right, partner?”
I merely gave an annoyed grunt. The lack of professionalism was frankly starting to irk me, and I would have said something if not a loud cry had us all look up. The thickset man who’d just managed to crawl up from the floor collided with the waitress carrying a large piece of pie. Between her feet, Rodrick was helpfully trying to pick up a fork she’d dropped, causing the woman to lose her balance and deposit the creamy pie on the poor customer’s head. The pie covered his face nicely, the cream dripping down his nose.
In the middle of all the confusion, Rodrick reared up, holding the fork, and handed it to the distraught waitress. “You dropped a fork!” he said jubilantly, then added, “I did my good deed! My second good deed for the day!”
Ugh. And here I’d always figured us Diffleys didn’t incur karma. If Rodrick kept this up, we’d have so much karma we might as well start punishing ourselves.
Chapter 18
After effusively apologizing to the gentleman caught in the aftermath of Rodrick’s good deed mania, Calvin and Brice returned home to resume their roof-fixing duties, whisking Rodrick along, Rosa returned to the offices of Long Life Insurance, and Dalton stubbornly went in search of Blas Storer.
As for my brother and me? We went in search of Carmina Parra, supposedly the woman who’d hated our client the most, and therefore had the most to gain from seeing her pass on from this mortal coil.
We caught up with Miss Parra at one of those co-working places where she occupied an office, alongside several other micro-entrepreneurs and workers.
The stylish office building was part of a growing trend of office sharing companies popping up across the country in an effort to offer work-at-home professionals the same benefits as employees in larger corporations. You could rent an office and feel as if you were part of a larger team—more fun than sitting at home alone. Though judging from the way Carmina Parra sat pecking away at her keyboard, holed up in a glass-walled office all by herself, she wasn’t in it for the networking or the water cooler gossip.
I knocked on the door and the woman gave me an annoyed look, then kept on pecking. I pushed open the door, and introduced myself, at which point she finally decided to offer me her undivided attention. I think the mention of the name Kandace Slaker must have done the trick, as I’d hoped and expected.
“So you’re trying to figure out who murdered Kandace, eh?” she asked.
She was a stylish woman of indefinite age, her platinum hair pulled back in a tight bun, her face carefully made up, her lipstick cherry red and her green eyes lively and sparkling with the light of intelligence. She was dressed in a monochrome gray pantsuit and didn’t seem like the type of woman I would want to mess with. When Lucien took out his phone and aimed it at her she held up a long-nailed finger and snapped, “Don’t you dare!”
Lucien instantly put his phone away and meekly took a seat across from the woman.
“Is it true that you and Kandace were… competitors?” I asked.
She emitted a loud snort. “Competitors. Now there’s a word I wouldn’t use to describe our relationship. Enemies would be better suited. Or nemeses, if the word hasn’t yet gone out of style. Have you seen that TV show where they pit famous Hollywood divas against each other? The Feud thing?”
“Oh—of course,” said Lucien enthusiastically. “I simply loved Jessica Lange as Joan Crawford. And what about Susan Sarandon as Bette Davis?!”
“Well, Ryan Murphy might want to consider making one of his shows about me and Kandace,” said Carmina. “Ours was exactly such a relationship. Not that we were all that famous, of course. But our rivalry was well-documented. Which is why it surprises me the police haven’t been banging down my door demanding I show them where I hid the murder weapon.”
She laughed, and I was pleased to hear she sounded neither bitter nor contrived. She might be formidable, but she wasn’t faking it.
“So you admit you and Kandace didn’t see eye to eye,” I said.
She flicked a piece of lint from her cream-colored blouse. “Of course I admit it. I hated Kandace with every fiber of my being.”
“And why was that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The woman was a viper. A backstabbing little cheat.”
“She cheated you?” asked Lucien, breathlessly following the story. “What did she do, exactly? Steal your husband? Steal your diamond tiara?”
“Nothing so mundane. She tried to destroy my business after I taught her everything I know. You see, Kandace was my assistant long before she was anybody. In that capacity I entrusted her with my greatest secrets. And when finally her education was complete, she quit and went into business for herself, using every last thing I taught her. And the terrible truth is: it worked.
“Her vlog soon eclipsed mine. Her fame soon outshone mine. She was the biggest star on the geocaching vlogging firmament while mine sank away into obscurity.” She heaved a sigh. “Soon I was a has-been while she basked in stolen glory. So no, you won’t find me shedding a tear for Kandace Slaker. Quite the contrary. I’m happy that evil witch is dead.”
I swallowed at the intensity of the hatred that emanated from the woman’s words.
“Where were you last night between eleven and midnight, Miss Parra?” asked Lucien without missing a beat.
She laughed a throaty laugh. “Oh, you’re going to try and pin this murder on me, are you? Well, your efforts will be in vain, young man. I was…” She hesitated, then intently studied her nails. “Actually where I was is none of your business. Not that it matters. I might have hated Kandace, but I would never jeopardize my career or my family to bring her down.” She gave us a smug smile. “I knew that eventually she would accomplish that feat all on her own. She was simply that kind of person.”
“What kind of person, Mrs. Parra?” I asked.
“The kind of person that digs their own grave. I wasn’t the only enemy she made on her way to the top, you see.”
“There are others?”
“Do you want me to give you a list?”
I nodded, and she gave me a smile. “Let’s just say Kandace Slaker was one of those people who feel the need to step on others to make it in this world. And one of the people she hurt the most was Pen Harvester.”
“Pen Harvester?”
“Yes. Pen used to run a beauty salon. One of the finest in Happy Bays.”
“So what did Kandace do to upset Miss Harvester?”
The woman leaned back. “Talk to Pen. She’ll be more than happy to tell you all about it.” She gestured at Lucien. “She might even let you film it.”
Chapter 19
Pen Harvester lived with her family in the more dingy part of town. Not that Happy Bays really has an extremely dingy part—the really dingy people usually move straight out of town when they can’t afford to live here anymore. Or they have a dingy ancestral home they cling to, like us Diffleys.
The house the Harvesters lived in had obviously seen better days, with paint peeling, porch sagging and gutters ready to succumb to gravity.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked my brother.
“As sure as I am of anything,” said Lucien, aiming his smartphone at the house and taking a few well-chosen shots.
“I’m not sure you should be filming this.”
“And I’m sure I sh
ould. My many fans know me as a completist.”
I got out of the car and approached the porch. It seemed as if a giant had accidentally stepped on it, as it was leaning precariously to the left. I gingerly set a foot on the first step, fully expecting the entire porch to collapse and take the rest of the house along with it. When nothing happened, I ventured further onto the property, and approached the front door. The moment I did, it swung open and a hard-looking woman in coveralls stood framed in the doorway.
“Yes?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “What do you want, then?”
“Mrs. Harvester?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Saffron Diffley and this is my brother. We’re insurance agents investigating the death of Kandace Slaker.”
The woman heaved a soft snort. “So she finally kicked the bucket, eh? Good riddance is all I say.”
“Could we come in for a minute?”
The woman turned her eye on Lucien. “Why is he filming me? Is this some kind of reality show?”
“Oh, no,” I assured her. “Lucien is simply documenting our investigation. It’s simple procedure.”
Lucien lowered his phone and gave me a look of pleasant surprise.
“Good thinking, sis,” he whispered. “I hadn’t thought of that excuse.”
“If you would stop filming I wouldn’t have to think up excuses,” I hissed.
Lucien gave the woman his best smile. “I hope we’re not intruding, ma’am, but we just spoke with Carmina Parra and she told us to come and see you. She said you have an interesting story to tell about Kandace Slaker.”
“Interesting. Is that what she called it? Well, I guess she’s right. I do have an interesting story to tell. Come in—and don’t mind the mess. We’re… redecorating.”
We stepped inside, across a creaky floor covered with threadbare carpets and tired furniture. A voice from the back of the house yelled, “Who is it?”
“Some insurance people,” she yelled back.
“Tell them we’ve got all the insurance we need!” the voice returned.
“Don’t mind my husband,” Mrs. Harvester said. “He’s not a big fan of insurance companies. When he had his accident the insurance stiffed us for the medical bills. Final nail in our coffin. We declared bankruptcy after that.”
“We’re not that kind of insurance,” I hastened to assure her.
“Yes, we would never stiff anyone for their medical expenses,” Lucien chimed in.
Since we mainly deal with people being wronged by other people and are in the business of restoring karma, stiffing people for any kind of expenses is simply not our thing. That would only mean we would incur some heavy karma ourselves, like many of those other insurance companies did, and that is not what Karma Corps is about. Of course I couldn’t tell her that.
“In fact, now that I come to think of it,” I said, taking out my notebook, “do you have the name of the insurance company that let you down?”
She gave me a suspicious look. “Why? Are you going to tell on us?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. It’s just that…” I thought hard. “I would like to report them to the insurance company regulator.” If there was such a thing.
She eyed me strangely, but then proceeded to provide me with the name—and the names of the agents responsible. Lucien gave me a nod to indicate he’d deal with them once we’d handled this Kandace Slaker business.
“So what can you tell us about Kandace?” I asked.
“What did Carmina tell you, exactly?”
“Not much. Just that Kandace hurt you in some way.”
“That’s exactly what she did,” the woman confirmed. She lowered herself onto a ratty old sofa, and invited us to do the same. Lucien eyed the moth-eaten upholstery disdainfully, then took a seat. I had no such qualms. I simply felt sorry for this family. It was obvious they’d fallen on hard times.
“I used to run a beauty salon,” Pen began. “And I was very successful at it, too. Kevin—that’s my husband—worked at the power plant, so we had our life pretty much together at that point. Making really good money, too.”
“Mom—what do you want me to do with this?” asked a boy, scooting into the room. He was a lanky teenager with long black hair, carrying a large cardboard box. When he saw us he paused, then eyed his mother curiously.
The moment she caught sight of her son, Pen nervously snapped, “Just put it out with the trash. And be quick about it.” When the boy had gone, she said apologetically, “That’s Jason. My boy. He should be in school today but he was sent home again. He’s been having some problems since his dad was fired and I lost my business.”
“You lost the salon?” I asked.
“Yes, I did. The thing is, Kandace Slaker was my biggest customer. In fact the two of us were like peas in a pod. Before she got involved with geocaching she was a beauty vlogger, you see. She would recommend certain treatments to her readers and give away beauty packages. She and I worked together as a pretty successful team. At least until…” Her face sagged.
“Yes?” I said encouragingly. “What happened?”
“Until she decided she’d become too big for her britches—and for me—and found herself another beauty parlor to represent. A big chain and my main competitor. They offered her an endorsement deal I could never afford. From one day to the next she dropped me like a stone, and so did her readers. Overnight I lost the bulk of my business. I managed to hold on for a couple of months but then had to let go. I lost the business. Around the same time there was an accident at the power plant and Kevin had to take medical leave and was fired.” She heaved a sigh. “And since we couldn’t afford our mortgage the bank repossessed the house and we were forced to move into this dump.”
“Oh, but that’s terrible,” I said, feeling for the woman.
“Yeah, well, you can blame Kandace Slaker stabbing me in the back.” She looked up. “You’re telling me she died?”
“Yes, she did.”
“What happened? She had an accident or what?”
“She was murdered.”
“Chopped up into pieces and distributed across a bunch of geocaches in Bethlehem Heights,” said Lucien gleefully.
The woman barked a curt laugh. “Well, ain’t karma a bitch.”
Chapter 20
I was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. Kandace Slaker might not have been a nice person, but she was still a human being, and didn’t deserve to be brutally murdered. And then there was the image of Odalis Slaker playing with her trolls I couldn’t get out of my mind. No matter what kind of person Kandace had been, her death had left her kids motherless.
So I rose to my feet, a little abruptly perhaps, and gave the woman a nod. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Harvester. You’ve been very helpful.”
The woman stared at me, a little surprised perhaps by my abruptness. Lucien, who seemed to have fewer qualms about the death of our client, slowly rose, and asked the obvious question—the one I’d forgotten about. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Harvester, but can you account for your whereabouts last night between, let’s say, eleven and midnight?”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, is that when Kandace was killed?”
We both nodded and she thought for a moment, then said brightly, “I was right here with my husband. And my son, of course. We were all seated on that very sofa over there, watching Blake Shelton beat the crap out of Adam Levine for another season. And if you don’t believe me ask either of them.”
“Blake and Adam?” asked Lucien.
“Don’t be an idiot. My husband and my son, of course.”
I gave her a quick smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Harvester.”
As she led us out, she asked, “So do you work with the police on this?”
“Yes, we do,” I confirmed. “They might drop by later and ask you the exact same questions, actually. I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, then I’ll just have to give them the exact same answers, won
’t I?”
I sensed that the woman had been hardened by the circumstances of her life, and I appreciated her misfortune. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that here we had a person who was obviously harboring a powerful grudge against Kandace. Then again, she seemed hardly the first one in that position.
We said our goodbyes and walked back to the car. And as we did, I saw that Jason Harvester was lugging the cardboard box to the curb and then dumped it next to the trashcan. As he did, the box fell apart and a bunch of spray cans fell out, clattering across the sidewalk. The kid groaned in annoyance, and started collecting the cans.
“Lucien!” I said, giving my brother a poke in the ribs.
“Ouch. What?!”
“Look. Doesn’t that remind you of something?”
He stared dumbly at the cans. “Um… the Harvesters painted their house?”
“No! Who uses spray cans to paint a house?”
“I don’t know, Saf. I’m not a professional painter!”
“Graffiti, Lucien. Remember what we saw at the Slakers? ‘Kandace Slaker is a horible person?’”
Lucien’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
I approached the kid. “Are these your cans?” I asked.
“And can you spell ‘horrible’ for me?” Lucien added.
Jason looked up with suspicion etched on his face. “Who are you?”
“We represent the insurance company investigating the murder of Kandace Slaker.”
He nodded and continued dumping the cans into the trashcan.
“So what did you use these cans for?” I asked, insistent.
“And how many Rs are in the word ‘horrible?’” Lucien demanded.
The kid shrugged. “These aren’t mine, lady. So I have no idea what they were used for. And there are two Rs in the word ‘horrible,’ mister.”