by S. L. Menear
John waited until the waitress served him and walked away. “The ME found traces of the sedative in his cocktail glass. I checked out the bartender. He’s clean.” He bit into his burger.
I swallowed a bite of grilled chicken. “Any chance Binky and Jet were partners in a shady deal with the mob?”
He reached for the ketchup. “Binky hung out with spoiled rich guys. I didn’t find any mob connections.”
I stabbed my fork into the salad. “The mob angle was a long shot. The deaths are clearly connected. If we can figure out the connection, we’ll catch the killer.”
“Both men did terrible things and got away with it. That’s the connection.” He dipped a fry in a small pool of ketchup. “I’m guessing some of their victims got together and hired a pro.”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. “A hit man?”
“Gwen, I’ve worked plenty of murder cases. Both of these have the earmarks of professional hits—deaths that appear natural with no evidence of the killer. I’ll ask around if a heavy hitter’s in town.” He focused on finishing his burger.
“I know I’m new and a little naïve, but I’m confident if we keep digging and go by the book, the killer will end up behind bars along with the people who hired him.”
He looked skeptical as he summoned the check. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve seen lots of bad guys walk, even though the cops did everything by the book. We have no cause of death, no murder weapon, and no suspects. See if you can turn up evidence proving their victims communicated with each other. If we can find a link there, we can squeeze them and see who caves.” He dropped money on the table and stood.
I rose to shake his hand. “Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know what I find on the victim angle. Call me if you hear anything about a hit man.”
Disappointment marred the next two weeks. I couldn’t find any evidence that the rape and fraud victims had plotted to hire a hit man. John’s confidential informant reported no hitters in town. Every investigative avenue dead-ended. Still no cause of death for either man.
I was batting zero when I headed for the grand ballroom at The Breakers on Saturday night. It was the season’s most popular charity ball. I was ushered into a seat next to Aunt Liz at the guests-of-honor table.
“Thanks for inviting me. I love seeing all the beautiful gowns.” I kissed her cheek.
She squeezed my hand. “Gwen, darling, we wouldn’t dream of coming without you. You look lovely in that rose Versace.”
Uncle Clive raised his glass of Ruinart Blanc de Blancs Champagne. “To our dear Guinevere, the most beautiful girl in the room.” He tapped his glass against mine and Aunt Liz’s. “How is your murder case progressing?”
“It’s a dead end. Not a good way to launch my detective career.” I glanced around the room. “Have you seen my designer friend, Cam Altman?”
She smiled. “Yes, dear, he’s floating around the room, fussing over all his clients.”
An hour later, I refreshed my lipstick in the ladies-room mirror before returning to the table. My relatives had disappeared, no doubt circulating among the five-hundred guests. Quite the social butterflies. I scanned the room and spotted Cam gliding toward me dressed like eighteenth-century royalty.
“OMG, Gwen, your aunt and uncle are divine! I’d love to get my hands on that extraordinary antique brooch and matching ring the duchess is wearing. I’ve never seen anything like them—gold and crystal with rubies and sapphires.”
“Aunt Liz wears them everywhere.” I hugged him. “You look dashing, Cam. What’s new in the fashion world?”
“Oh, you know, the other designers kiss my face and stab my back—business as usual. My line of antique-style jewelry and gowns is all the rage.” He pointed at a woman in a satin-and-lace cream gown. “That’s one of my creations. Isn’t it fab?”
“It’s lovely. Did you design the matching pearl-and-diamond necklace and earrings?”
“I design all the jewelry for my unique gowns. My clients love dressing like Renaissance royalty.” He touched his hand to his lips as he gave me the onceover. “I could make you look like a princess. I see you in an emerald satin gown with a diamond-and-emerald tiara and matching earrings. The corset bodice would accentuate your robust cleavage and help you snare a rich husband. We should do something soon, girlfriend. You’re rapidly approaching old-maid territory.”
“Thanks, Cam, but I don’t want to blow my trust fund on diamonds and emeralds. My new job is my top priority. I’ll focus on catching a husband after I collar some major criminals.”
“Oh, Gwennie, I know who you’re hunting. He’s long gone, dear. Forget him and enjoy life. Your parents would want you to move on.”
“And let that murderer destroy more families? Never. I’ll get him. You’ll see. But first I have to catch the person who killed Jet Donley and Binky Worthington. I don’t want to fail on my first case.”
Cam shook his head and scanned the room. “Here comes the duchess. I’ll have another chance to gush over her jewelry.”
Aunt Liz beamed and clasped his left arm. “Cam, darling, you simply must design a gown for Gwen. Your creations are superb.”
“We were just discussing that very thing. Unfortunately, your niece is more interested in catching criminals than a husband.” He focused on her brooch. “Your jewelry fascinates me. May I remove your brooch for a closer look?”
She placed her hand over the large antique pin. “Sorry, darling, Lloyds of London has strict rules. It must remain on my person or locked in my safe if I wish to keep my insurance. The brooch and ring are centuries-old heirlooms.”
Cam glanced over my shoulder. “Oooo, hottie alert! Check out Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome behind you.”
“That’s Lance Logan,” my aunt said as I turned. “He’s a detective with the Palm Beach Police. I met him earlier this evening. Would you like an introduction?”
“Yes, indeed.” Cam grabbed my arm. “Come along, dear Guinevere, and meet your Lancelot.”
“Geez, Cam, dial it down a few clicks. You’re salivating.” I pulled my arm free. “He’s probably married anyway.”
Aunt Liz turned to me. “No ring on his left hand. I checked earlier.”
Cam grinned at her. “Well done. I love a woman with an eye for details.” He shifted his glance to me, giggling. “FYI, I can have your dress ready in time for a June wedding.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get this farce over.”
Just then, the object of Cam’s desire smiled at my aunt.
She stepped forward. “Lance, darling, I want to introduce my niece and her friend.” She half-turned to me. “Detective Gwen Stuart, meet Detective Lance Logan.”
I extended my hand and looked into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “Pleased to meet you.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, his eyes piercing me like a laser beam. “The pleasure is mine. Are you a private detective?”
“No, I’m with the Welton Police. I understand you’re with the Palm Beach Police.”
Cam cleared his throat and looked expectantly at my aunt.
“Lance, I’d like you to meet Cam Altman. He’s with the fashion police.”
The men shook hands as Cam said, “I’d arrest you for stealing James Bond’s fabulous tux, but you look better in it than he did.”
“Thank you, I …” Lance pulled out his vibrating cell phone and read the text. “Excuse me, duty calls. It was a pleasure to meet you both.” He smiled and walked to the exit.
Cam smirked at me. “That smile was for you, girlfriend. I’m thinking satin and antique lace with lots of pearls for your wedding gown.”
My gut told me Lance’s call was connected to my case. “I’m going after him.”
“You go, girl.”
I rushed outside and saw Lance heading for the oceanfront walkway that ran along the seawall behind the hotel. He followed the brick path north sixty feet and stopped at a bench where a man sat slumped against the seatback. Two uniforme
d officers were taping off the area.
I caught up with him. “Check his neck for a tiny puncture wound.”
He spun around and thrust his hands on his hips. “Excuse me? You look like you’ve been a detective for maybe five minutes, and you’re telling me what to do? This is my case. Go back to the ball.” He turned away.
“Is he a wealthy criminal who escaped prosecution and appears to have died of natural causes?”
He hesitated before facing me again. “What if he is?”
“I’m working the Jet Donley/Binky Worthington cases—wealthy criminals with no obvious causes of death. Both men had pinpricks over their right carotid arteries.”
Before he spoke, the medical examiner arrived. “Check his neck for a needle puncture near a carotid artery,” Lance told him.
The ME examined the man’s neck with a bright light and a magnifying glass for about a minute. “Yep, found a puncture mark over his right carotid. Are you thinking poison?”
Lance glanced at me.
I shook my head. “Not poison. His condition mirrors two recent murder victims. They both had non-lethal doses of sleep sedatives in their bodies.”
The ME arched an eyebrow. “Who are you?”
“Detective Gwen Stuart, Welton PD,” I said.
“All right then.” The ME checked the body. “No injuries or signs of a struggle. Liver temp indicates he died about an hour ago.” He bagged the man’s cocktail glass and cigar. “I’ll check these for toxins. Is this a high-profile case?”
Lance nodded. “He’s Barrett Branson, a wealthy Palm Beacher and alleged pedophile. He escaped prosecution several times by buying off the parents. Somebody did the community a big favor here.” He turned to me. “Eh, Gwen, wasn’t it? Sorry about earlier. Looks like our cases are connected. Let’s plan to meet after the autopsy to compare notes.”
I stared into his handsome face for a long moment, giving him time to regret his earlier snap judgment of me, then pulled a card out of my purse. “Apology accepted. Call me when you’re ready.”
I walked back to the ball feeling superior for the first time since I made detective.
The next morning, I switched on my police computer and read the files on Barrett Branson’s numerous pedophile arrests. Each case was dropped shortly after the parents of the alleged victims suddenly became millionaires. The pattern of payoffs was obvious, but the district attorney couldn’t prosecute Branson without the victim’s cooperation. The injustice churned my stomach.
My cell phone rang.
“Hello, Gwen, it’s Lance Logan. The autopsy results are in. Can you meet me at The Colony for dinner tonight at seven o’clock?”
I did a quick mental scan of my schedule. “Ah, yes, Lance, seven o’clock should work.”
“Good, see you then.”
A hint from the autopsy report would’ve been nice. He must be the strong silent type. He must have money too. Meals at The Colony were expensive, even if we split the check. I flashed back to his brilliant blue eyes. Then I reminded myself this was for police business, not romance. That didn’t stop me from agonizing over what to wear. I wanted to see approval in his sexy eyes.
Down, girl.
Rod approved my dinner meeting, and I spent the rest of the day organizing my notes. A clever theory to impress Lance with my detective skills eluded me. Guess I’d have to depend on my electric-blue cocktail dress. I convinced myself my usual detective attire wouldn’t be fancy enough for The Colony.
It was exactly seven o’clock when I strolled into the restaurant where Lance waited for me at a secluded table in a dark corner. His navy suit fit perfectly on his tall, muscular physique as he rose to pull out my chair. Whoa, he looked like a movie star. I sucked in my breath and attempted to control my heart rate.
“Good to see you again, Gwen. You look amazing in that dress.” He gave me a dazzling smile.
“Lance, you look dashing in Armani. We don’t look like detectives, do we? Then again, this is hardly a restaurant for cops.”
“I’m trying to make amends for being a bit of a jerk at The Breakers. I shouldn’t have judged your detective skills based on your youthful appearance. Care for a glass of Bordeaux?” He signaled the waiter.
The waiter deftly poured us glasses from a bottle of vintage Pavillon Rouge du Chateau Margaux and presented us with menus.
“Wow, dinner at The Colony and a legendary wine. This is too much. I already accepted your apology at The Breakers. Let me split the check with you.” I took a sip of the divine wine.
“No way. You’re my guest tonight. Don’t worry about wiping out my bank account. My lucrative stock portfolio makes up for my meager detective salary. Relax and order whatever you like.”
“You’re too nice, thank you.” I glanced at the jazz quartet across the room. “I love the mellow music here.”
“It helps me unwind. That triple murder case has been vexing me. Palm Beachers aren’t known for their patience.” He breathed in the wine’s bouquet and drank the ruby liquid.
I gazed into his intense blue eyes. “Dare I ask what Branson’s autopsy turned up?”
“Same as the others, but this time the ME figured out what killed him—a massive stroke triggered by an air embolism. It was caused by injecting a large volume of air into the carotid artery.” He sat back and waited for my response.
“Brilliant—instant death with no obvious cause. The killer must be a clever pro.”
“The ME suggested we look for someone with medical expertise. Too bad we didn’t find a hypodermic syringe at the scene.”
I pulled out my case notes. “This is a list of Jet’s, Binky’s, and Barrett’s victims and their family members, including their occupations.” I scanned the list for medical personnel. “The father of one of Jet’s victims is a brain surgeon. I see a veterinarian and two nurses among Binky’s victims. The mother of one of Barrett’s victims is a phlebotomist.” I handed him the list.
“Looks like we hit the mother lode.” He stared into space, then smiled. “I wonder if they got together and agreed to a Strangers on a Train scenario.”
“Like Hitchcock’s movie? Two strangers meet on a train, discover they each want someone dead, and agree to commit murder for each other. No one would suspect them of killing someone they didn’t know.” I pondered the idea a moment. “A simple yet brilliant plan, just like the murder method.”
Lance turned his attention to me. “Well, now that we know who to investigate, we can dispense with the cop talk. Would you like to enjoy some decadent red meat with our delicious red wine?”
“Sounds good. What do you suggest?” I scanned the steak section on the menu.
“How about chateaubriand béarnaise for two?” He signaled the waiter.
“That’s my favorite beef entrée, and the Chateau Margaux will complement it perfectly. I’m in gourmet heaven. How is it you know my favorite wines and foods?”
“A lucky coincidence. They happen to be my favorites too. I guess we have a lot in common.” Lance gave our order to the waiter.
We enjoyed a scrumptious meal, fine wine, and lively conversation. Turned out we did have a lot in common. The climax was when he walked me to my car and gave me a gentle kiss I’ll never forget.
Maybe a girl can catch criminals and a husband simultaneously.
Lance and I pursued the Strangers-on-a-Train suspects each day with the same zeal we pursued each other at night. Our days were strikeouts, but our nights were home runs. We couldn’t find any evidence the medical professionals had ever met or communicated with each other. They all had rock-solid alibis. We were left with no leads.
The Palm Beach social season ended in mid-April, and my aunt and uncle returned to their castle in England.
I sat at my desk in the cop shop and stared at the files, trying to spot something I’d missed, when my cell phone played, “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher. Cam was calling.
“Hey, girlfriend, how’s it going with Mr. Hottie? Should I ge
t started on your wedding gown?”
“It’s going great, but it’s too soon for wedding bells. What’s new with you?”
“I was researching antique jewelry, and I found a drawing of your aunt’s fabulous brooch. Turns out it dates back to the reign of King Arthur. Legend claims Merlin himself created the brooch and matching ring with magical properties. King Arthur asked Merlin to forge the enchanted jewelry for his queen’s protection after Queen Guinevere was kidnapped by Mordred and rescued by Sir Lancelot.”
“I had no idea. How do they work?” I tried to visualize her ring and brooch doing something magical.
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything on that, and I’m dying to know. Would you be a dear and ask your aunt?”
“I’ll ask her, but chances are the secret was lost centuries ago.”
“Well, you know what they say, ‘Nothing ventured ...’ Anyway, call me after you talk to her. TTFN.”
I checked the time. Almost 11:00 p.m. in England, too late to call my aunt.
The next morning, I was assigned a robbery investigation and forgot to call her.
The more time passed, the more I became obsessed with solving the triple homicides. A month later, I was slowly scrolling through the case files mid-morning when my cell played, “God Save the Queen.” It was Uncle Clive.
“Gwen, Liz has become quite ill. She may not last long, and she’s asking for you. Can you come right away?”
“Yes, of course, I’ll catch the Miami-to-London flight tonight. I’ll call you when I know my arrival time.” I booked the British Airways flight to London online and waited for the printer to spit out my boarding pass. How had Aunt Liz changed from vibrant to terminal so quickly? She was only sixty-five. Surely the doctors were mistaken.
The police captain was very understanding and told me to take as much leave as I needed. What a relief. My next call was to Lance.
“I have to cancel our date. Aunt Liz is seriously ill, and I’m flying out tonight.”