by Laura Quinn
“I’m sorry; that woman always gets under my skin.” She knelt down to hug her furry friend. “She’s complaining that we don’t have enough items for the silent auction for the Frost Ball. It was literally the only thing she was tasked with doing.”
“Isn’t that this weekend?” Claire asked, sensing she should run while she could.
“Yes, which is so fortuitous that I ran into you here. I can put together some Magnificent Mile holiday packages and a Caribbean getaway, but I know that almost everyone attending has a dog. Can you possibly put together a few more of your dazzling creations? Your gingerbread dog houses would be absolutely parfait! I’ll add certificates for custom dog furniture and spa dates, and of course, I’ll pay extra for the rush.”
Claire took a deep breath before responding. “I would love to help you, but I don’t know if I can get these done for you in time. What if I donated some gift cards instead?”
“No, we need drama, we need your treats. The hospital is depending on this fundraiser; think of those poor children. Not to mention my reputation. That Bunny creature is just waiting to take over this event, I know it. Please, dear, I’m absolutely begging now.”
“But, with the wake and funeral this weekend, I—"
“Oh, Claire,” Lana interrupted. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. Was this a close relative?”
“No, no. It’s for Donald.”
“Oh, him,” Lana said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, not so much for him, but for poor Delilah. She needs support, and I fear his services won’t be that well attended.” Lana appeared unmoved, and Officer Sheila Conners beckoned Claire. It was the perfect opportunity to say no, then escape into the office. The baker followed the CD’s advice, to take a deep breath, stand tall and just say no. “So, you see how backed up I’ll be as it is, having to bake late into the night to catch up on the orders I’m already behind on…”
“Serendipity! You’ll already be baking. How much longer can a few little houses take?” Lana said, batting her enhanced eyelashes. “Especially when you think of those poor little children who have so little, and at this time of year with the spirit of giving, and…”
“Okay, okay,” Claire surrendered. Sheila was tapping her highly-polished toe. “I’ll put together some show-stoppers for you, for the children.”
“You are an angel! I’ll pick them up Friday.”
“If you’re done conducting business, Ms. Noble, I’m ready for you,” the officer commanded.
Claire and Baron trotted into the room and shut the door behind them. Sheila was seated behind a large desk, with several papers and files arrayed on top. She opened a file and looked at her notes for several minutes.
Claire broke the pressure of the silence. “I’m not sure how I can help…”
“I didn’t just pass the detective’s test by being an idiot. An anonymous tip came in about illegal imports being warehoused in your neighbor’s store. A complaint was received from a rodent rescue group—and I can’t believe there is such a thing—claiming that your neighbor endangered a rat in an attempt to frame you. Now that neighbor is killed, and you don’t know how you can help?”
“I thought he had a heart attack,” Claire said. The searing glare she received raised the room’s temperature twenty degrees. “Okay, maybe I did suspect someone killed him and maybe I had an inkling of his illegal trade, but if I had proof, I would have brought it to you.”
“At least you had the sense to leak the story to us so we could collect the evidence legally, with a search warrant. I’m going to overlook the breaking and entering, this time.”
Claire objected. “I had permission to enter the store, though I’m not admitting I actually did.”
Sheila closed the file and rolled her chair forward. “Cards on the table, I want to be promoted to detective rank. A multi-jurisdictional case like international smuggling would do that. Tell me what you know, and I’ll keep it all off the record, including your hindering police investigations.”
Claire knew not to argue and told her what she found in the warehouse as well as Donald’s late-night deals and suspicious international shipments from African and Asia she received. She didn’t mention the suspicious young man, however, sparing Delilah from the embarrassment of the revelation of her husband’s young lover. Baron woofed, but the officer did not include his statement in her notes.
Claire drove to the Golden Oaks Manor with her window down, trying to cool down from her time on the hot seat. The box of cupcakes was well-received by the seniors, drawing a crowd of familiar faces.
“So, we hear you’re investigating Mr. Prescott’s death,” Jean said. “What’s the scoop?”
“Yeah, tell us the snoop scoop,” her husband, John, added.
“You guys are the top snoops; I only just found out he was murdered,” Claire said.
“I didn’t trust that man. He had beady eyes like my late brother-in-law, and he was a real horse’s patootie” May declared. “He said my Cartier carriage clock was worthless, shows what he knows. I doogled it, and a conservative estimate is two thousand dollars.”
“Googled,” Vera corrected, having spent many hours at the library’s tech sessions. “I thought he was very charming and so handsome; he reminded me of Sir Lawrence Olivier.”
“He did look very distinguished,” Pearl said.
“He certainly charmed Ginny,” May interjected. “He was swooning over her Toby mugs”
“Jugs,” Vera corrected, having spent an equal number of hours watching Antique Roadshow.
“Every man ogles Ginny’s jugs, the way she puts them on display,” John said, cracking up at his joke.
His wife elbowed him, concluding the Donald was a pervert and a cheat. She turned to Claire, demanding, “Was it his wife or not?”
“I’ll bet she did it,” May said. “How long can you put up with that?”
“I can’t imagine anyone would kill such a gentle man,” Vera said. She pulled out a handkerchief from the cuff of her sweater to stem the tide of tears for the fallen hero. “Oh, Claire, you must find who did it.”
Baron licked Vera’s hand and Claire assured her she would do everything she could. As sobs ebbed to sniffles, Claire complimented the group on the collars. Baron sniffed through the collection, choosing a blue snowflake collar for himself.
“I’m glad you like them,” John said. “We added some extra doodads on some.”
“Bling,” Pearl corrected. “My granddaughter would say they are blinged out. We’ll have to charge a little extra for those.”
“I agree and will take them all.” Claire settled her account and left with two large bags of handmade accessories.
On the way back to the shop, she picked up the requested thin-crust vegetable pizza and Caesar Salad, dressing on the side, for her staff.
“OMG, we’re starving,” Emma announced. “It’s been hella busy since you left, and Jesi has been great with the customers.”
Peggy declined. “I already ate, even though I don’t have much of an appetite considering the morgue next door.”
Claire suggested Emma and Jesi take a dinner break, while Peggy process the new stock. A woman shopping for her grand-dogs kept Claire busy, insisting on three sets of exactly the same-sized treats for each. Peggy was surprisingly helpful to a new customer, helping her decide on the perfect gift for her boss’s terrier.
When the girls returned, Claire retreated to the kitchen to begin mass baking. Baron kept her company, enjoying warmed holiday poochie pizza while Claire gobbled down the last slice of lukewarm veggie pizza. Before she realized it, her staff closed the shop and said goodnight.
To bulk up on the popular beefy-cheesy wreaths, Claire alternated between mixing new dough, letting it rise, twisting the ropes into bi-colored circles, basting them, then double-baking each batch. Tray after tray came out of the oven, until the phone rang. The steady rhythm crashed to a halt with the first four words.
“Oh Claire, thank God,”
Lula said. The baker took a deep breath before the call continued to the inevitable. “You must come over here. Poor Lila is in a terrible state. I’ve tried talking with her, but she won’t listen to me. I know she’ll listen to you; you must come.”
“Well, yes, of course, I will,” Claire answered before her brain engaged. “Just text me your address. I’ll finish up here, then take Baron home. I should be there in a few hours.”
“Nonsense,” Lula replied. “My driver is already on his way to get you. Bring your adorable dog with, I’m sure Lila would love to see him. I’ll order whatever he likes for dinner. For you too, of course.”
“Oh, okay,” Claire stammered, briefly considering reporting the take-charge CD’s publisher for fraudulent marketing; she seemed to be saying yes to everything now. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Don’t worry about me, I’ll eat whatever you’ve got on hand, and I’ll bring a meal for Baron.”
“See you soon, then.”
Ten minutes later, the distinctive Maybach pulled up to the front door. The chauffeur, who looked like an aspiring model, opened the door and escorted his female and canine passengers into the car. Claire tried to get some information about the deceased, but the driver had never met him. He explained that he worked for an agency that supplied drivers whenever Mrs. Banks was in town.
A uniformed doorman greeted the guests outside the marble high-rise, and the desk attendant escorted them to the penthouse. The elevator doors, accessible only by keyed entry, opened to a stunning gold-rippled travertine tiled entryway. Claire was mesmerized by the groupings of modern and abstract art, many of which she recognized as Kandinsky, Warhol, de Kooning, Rothko, and Mondrian.
“It was my third husband’s hobby. Not my taste, but I can’t seem to part with any of them,” Lula said. “He bought this place for us as a little getaway spot, though I sometimes think he wanted it as a museum for his treasures. He was the only one I truly loved, and then he had to go and die on me.” Her eyes glistened, but she changed the subject before they betrayed her tough exterior. “In this case, the grim reaper did Lila a favor, though she’ll probably never realize it.”
“People always seem to forget a person’s bad behavior after death. It’s probably better that way.”
“She never recognized it while she was alive.” Lula knelt down to pet Baron. “She’s practically catatonic now, but I bet this precious doggie will bring her out of it.”
“He does have an amazing connection with people; sometimes I think he’s telepathic,” Claire said.
“I felt that about him immediately,” Lula agreed, gazing into Baron’s deep brown eyes. “First, let’s have some din-din. I ordered sirloin for him; I hope that’s satisfactory. It was prepared without butter and seasoning for him. The restaurant pitched a bit of a hissy fit about that, but I got them to see my way.”
“You’re very thoughtful. I’ll add it to the entrée I brought for him.”
Lula instructed her butler to thinly slice the meat for their furry guest as a starter, then present his dinner when they all sat down. He was also to bring out a down blanket, covered with a cashmere throw, for Baron to lounge in comfort by the table.
After seating Claire in an over-stuffed velvet sofa, Lula left to get her sister. Delilah was practically unrecognizable. Much of her normally sleek hair had escaped its bun and waved frantically around her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her face bore the remnants of a torrent of tears. She wore her sister’s silk pajamas under a bright jade and fuchsia kimono, making her already pallid skin seem garish.
“Claire, how good of you to come to visit,” the strained voice warbled. Her arms trembled as she hugged her guest. “And Baron, you made the journey too. How marvelous of you.” For a long while, she sat silently, stroking Baron’s head with one hand and grasping Claire’s hand with the other.
“What my sister is noodling is how to tell you in the most genteel way that she has become a suspect and....”
“Lula,” Lila snapped at her sister. “The police are making inquiries, quite preposterous of course…”
“…and if there isn’t a nefarious element, those keystone cops will see you as their best suspect,” Lula said. “I’m sure Claire will confirm that the spouse always tops the list.”
Claire nodded her head in agreement, prompting Lula to continue. “And then they’ll rush to pin the murder on a convenient scapegoat before the case brings unwanted attention. That’s why we need you, Claire.”
“Of course, I’ll help you however I can….and Baron will too.”
“Sis has been telling me that you have quite an intuition into these matters and that you’ve successfully solved cases.”
Claire could feel her cheeks burning. “Well, that might be overstating it slightly. I have offered some suggestions, done a little research, things like that, to help with a few investigations.”
“Don’t be modest, dear,” Lila said. “Everyone says you saved that lovely Bancroft couple from being falsely convicted.”
“That settles it,” Lula said. “I’ll pay twice your usual rate.”
“I’m not actually a private detective,” Claire reminded the gung-ho sister. “My friends Marti and Bob and I like to unravel mysteries, like solving puzzles. We’ll put our heads together and see if we can’t come up with some good alternative suspects for the police to investigate.”
“Great! Let’s celebrate with dinner. Lila, you are going to eat something if it kills me. Besides, I’m sure our guests are starving, and it would be rude to make them eat alone.”
“Yes, Baron and I could definitely use some dinner. Can I help you in the kitchen?”
Lula chuckled. Even Lila smiled at the suggestion of her sister’s performing any such domestic task. Lula led everyone to the chrome and glass dining table, covered in dozens of different offerings. Claire couldn’t help but take a global smattering of goodies, from Austrian schnitzel to Thai lettuce cups. She rationalized she would double her exercise tomorrow.
Lila sipped most of her egg drop soup and ate a few bites of a watercress sandwich. Baron dined on matching china, enjoying the sirloin appetizer and enhanced doggie meatloaf. Lula told stories of the first time she had eaten each dish, in its native land, in an effort to displace the dismal thoughts of death. Only when the tea was served with the chocolate torte, did the original topic return.
Lila explained that the police originally thought it might be a robbery gone wrong, but now suspected that her dear Donald was involved in illegal activity. She was too distraught to say anything more than her attorney thought she could be charged as an accessory, if not worse.
“The police are waiting for a search warrant before looking for evidence of other crimes,” Lula said. “I told them I would leave a copy of the new store key with you. Do you mind letting them in? It’s best that Delilah stay away from all that. If I had my way, we would shut it down and sell it lock, stock and barrel.”
“But, it’s his legacy,” Delilah wailed, then ran from the table and slammed the guest room door behind her. Tallulah didn’t follow, confessing to Claire that she had ground up one of the tranquilizers and stirred it into Lila’s tea.
“Mixing it with bourbon is an old family secret to cover the taste. She should get a good night's sleep tonight, and hopefully, she’ll be more rational tomorrow. Having you here really helped.”
“I don’t know, I think I made things worse.”
“Oh, not at all. She wouldn’t have left her room, let alone eat, if you hadn’t come. She thinks you’ll help clear the fool’s name along with hers, which will help her settle.”
Claire stood and signaled to Baron it was time to go home. She looked down the hall and lowered her voice, “Just between the two of us, what do you think? Could it have been a swindle gone wrong?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that snake. In fact, I’m still not sure he wasn’t involved in that poor woman’s death.”
Claire’s eyes widene
d at this unexpected news. “Ruth Fischer? I thought her death was an accident.”
“All I know is that the police were very interested in the calls she repeatedly made to the shop before her death. According to Sis, Donald claimed that Ruth was calling to see if she won, but I’m sure that was a load of baloney. Nothing more was made of it, but I know he was working some angle. Darned if I know what he could have been after, though.”
“Could he have been working with a partner?”
“I never heard about a partner, but then I never heard much about Donald at all. If he had one, you can bet he had the upper hand,” Lula said. “I sure as heck would never do a deal with him.”
Claire promised to keep the sisters informed of any developments and took the key to the newly installed door locks. The butler helped Claire with her coat and carried a large bag of leftovers packed for her and Baron. He led the visitors to the heated awning where the Maybach was polished and waiting. Under the mega-wattage of the overhead heat lamps, the car’s exterior appeared dimpled. Claire asked the chauffer what happened.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, ma’am,” the handsome driver said. “I was just hired to drive Mrs. Banks when she arrived yesterday.”
“I imagine it will cost a fortune to fix.”
“Everything with these cars costs a fortune, but they’re a dream to drive,” he said. “If traffic cooperates, I should have you home very soon. Mrs. Banks told me to put the pedal to the metal.”
“I appreciate that. It’s been a long day,” Claire said. She watched out the window as Christmas decorations blurred into colored streaks.
Baron dragged himself up the stairs and fell into a deep sleep as soon as he reached his bed. Even the cats were too tired to complain, joining their brother in slumber. Claire tossed and turned under the comforter, trying to shut out resurrected thoughts of Donald’s involvement with Ruth’s death.