Chapter 15

That night I had a dream that Ashley stood at the bottom of my bed looking at me. I swear there was an expression on her face that said she was counting on me to figure out who killed her. I sat up straight with a gasp. A quick look at the clock told me it was five A.M. I turned on the bedroom light to dispel the unease I still felt from my dream. I put my head back down on my pillow but couldn’t sleep, so I got up. After making coffee, I turned on my computer and brought up the file I had on my persons of interest in Ashley’s case. It was a list of people at the reception who were also country club members. I was certain none of my relatives had a reason to see Ashley gone.

I opened my search engine and entered Mrs. Fulcrum’s name. There were a couple of local news articles on the woman. She came from Chicago high society, which meant big money. Her father was in advertising and made a killing in the fifties and sixties. Her grandfather was an architect and real estate magnate. Her great-grandfather started the family fortunes with a department store that went nationwide. Mrs. Fulcrum herself married into money as well, doubling the size of her son Clark’s fortune before he was even born.

That said, she wasn’t simply a lady who shopped and went to lunch with her friends. She was an active alumnus of Morduray College. There was also an article about her volunteer activities in her church and another article about her holding the honor of being named person of the year by the Chicago Ladies Auxiliary Club. Twice. There was an article about her influence in Chicago social circles and another one on her tireless work with homeless children. According to the papers, Mrs. Fulcrum was a saint. I sighed and looked at the information I wrote in her file. Maybe Gage was right. Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree with my suspicions.

I forged on and did a search of Mrs. Thomson, Samantha Lyn’s mom. She wasn’t quite as pedigreed as Mrs. Fulcrum. Mrs. Thomson was a local girl whose parents were university professors. She met and married Rick Thomson in 1984. Rick’s family ran a successful brokerage firm, elevating Josie to the ranks of Chicago society. The couple had two boys and a girl, Samantha Lyn. Josie was a member of a handful of exclusive clubs and had earned her reputation as a person of note by serving on committees and boards in the clubs. Her eldest son, Richard Junior, had married well, bringing money and prestige to the family. Her middle boy, Theodore, was currently at Berkeley Law and a member of the prestigious fraternity Delta Epsilon. It was pretty clear that Josie Thomson was salivating over a match with the Fulcrum fortune.

I could understand Mrs. Thomson’s hurry for the kids to marry, but why would Mrs. Fulcrum want Clark to marry Samantha Lyn? The best I could tell, Clark was a bit of a ne’er-do-well. Mrs. Fulcrum had to be looking for a girl who could attract Clark’s attention and yet had a head on her shoulders. After all, it was Clark’s wife who would ensure there was a fortune left for Mrs. Fulcrum’s grandchildren. Samantha Lyn had graduated at the top of her class at a private girl’s academy. She was in her first year of college when she met Clark. After her freshman year, she hadn’t returned to school. I could only guess that it was because her east coast school was too far from Clark, who had dropped out halfway through his freshman year and was currently working in his father’s office in Chicago. It was pretty clear that the two older women were set on making this match, regardless of what was right for Clark and Samantha Lyn. There was little I could do to convince them otherwise. After all, as Samantha Lyn had said, “It was a complicated situation.”

But was it complicated enough for murder? As far as I could tell, while they both had means, neither lady had a good motive to kill Ashley. Not even by accident. Except for the fact that Clark had complained that Ashley had done her job and refused to serve alcohol to a minor. I sighed and studied the computer. There wasn’t a whole lot left for me to dig up. I shut it down and got dressed. There had to be another angle I was missing.

Maybe Detective Murphy knew something that would help in my search. I pulled on navy blue wool dress pants and a pressed, long-sleeved pale blue blouse. I did my makeup in my usual minimalistic yet businesslike way. Then I ran a comb through my wayward red hair, slapped on some lipstick, and headed off to the police station.

If there was one thing I had learned about Detective Murphy, it was that he rarely gave up any secrets on the phone. If I was going to find out anything further, I would have to face the lion in his den.

The snow had stopped shortly before Gage had finished shoveling my driveway after dinner the other night, so the drive remained clear. I pulled Old Blue out of the garage and noticed Mrs. Crivitz peering out her dining room window. I waved her a good morning as I closed and locked the garage then headed back into Old Blue. The big Buick warmed up fast and had heated seats—something that was needed in cold Chicagoland.

My cell phone rang as I pulled into a coffee shop parking lot. I parked the car and dug through my purse. I managed to answer the phone before it went to voice mail.

“Perfect Proposals, this is Pepper. How can I help you?”

“Pepper, it’s Toby,” he said. “I told you I would call.”

“Right,” I said, and glanced at my watch. “Thanks for being part of the proposal last night. Did you have fun with Amelia?”

“Yes,” he said. “She is very pretty.”

“I thought you two might have something in common . . . well, besides me,” I said with a laugh. “Do you?”

“We do,” he said. “She reminds me of you in many ways.”

“Thanks,” I said, and tried not to overthink that comment. “Good. Listen, I was wondering if you would help me with another proposal?”

“Sure,” he said. “What do you need me to do?”

“You remember Brad and Jen from last night?”

“The couple that had never cooked before?”

“What?”

“They had never cooked before,” Toby said. “I believe I’m wealthier and I still learned to cook. So I found it strange that neither had cooked before.”

“I think they were pretending for the class,” I said.

“No, they really didn’t know a wok from a saucepan,” he said. “Thankfully Amelia at least knew that much.”

“Amelia is a good cook. You should have her make you dinner sometime,” I suggested.

“She said the same thing,” he said. “So what are you planning?”

“Brad and Jen are the couple you suggested I involve in a few of my proposal events.”

“Ah,” Toby said. “The ones I suggested you plan a proposal for me as a dummy for theirs? You really shouldn’t have introduced me to them if you wanted me to pretend to be a client.”

“What I would like is for you to call Brad and set up a meeting for the night of the next proposal event. That way, Jen won’t think I’m preparing her event because Brad can’t come.”

“Alright,” he said. “I think that makes sense.”

“Thank you,” I said, and quickly rattled off the when and where of the event.

“And what about Amelia?” he asked. “Will she be at this next proposal?”

I stopped short at the unexpected question. “I can ask her if you want me to,” I said. “But really this would be a great reason to call her. Tell her what you are doing and have her help you with Brad. Maybe she could be an associate at the meeting. I’m sure you could think of something.”

“Right,” he said. “It would be better if you invite her to the proposal event and I meet her there, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think,” I said.

“Fine, I’ll have my secretary call her and set up the meeting with Brad and Amelia,” he said.

“No,” I said as gently as I could. “If you are interested in Amelia as a date, you need to call her yourself.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll call Amelia and have my secretary set up a meeting with this Brad person at the time and place you requested.”

“Thanks, Toby, I knew I could count on you,” I said.

“You might want to send my secretary an e-mail to remind me of this commitment,” he said. “And send her Amelia’s contact information.”

“Toby,” I warned.

“I’ll call her,” he said. “I need you to send Francine the information so she can put it in my digital database.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for doing this.”

“Any time, Pepper,” he said. “Your business is fun in a cloak and dagger sort of way.”

I tapped into my cell phone as we talked. “I’ve texted Francine the details and Amelia’s contact information. See you soon, Toby.”

“Always a pleasure, Pepper.”

I hung up the phone and stepped out into the frigid air to pick up coffee for Detective Murphy. It was always a sure bet that I would get in to see him if I brought coffee. I added a few lattes and a box of scones to my order for the rest of the guys at the station to fight over.

“Well, good morning,” Detective Murphy said as I handed him his coffee.

“Peppermint mocha, triple shot with extra whip,” I said, and then handed him a smaller bag. “Plus two cinnamon scones.”

“You are my best friend ever,” he said with a grin and sipped the coffee, then dove into the bag of scones.

I sat in the small plastic chair across from his desk and watched him attack his snack. “Are you on a diet or something?”

“My doctor insists. I told her it was foolish, what with the holidays approaching,” he said between bites of scone. “She set me up to see a nutritionist. They want me to eat egg whites scrambled with no salt and dry whole wheat toast in the morning. I think they’re secretly trying to kill me.”

“I won’t tell,” I said. “But my dad had the same thing happen last year.”

Detective Murphy made a face. “They called my daughter and now she’s on my case about the diet.”

“Then definitely don’t tell her that I brought you a snack,” I said. “I don’t want her to give me the evil eye.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin as he dug out the second scone. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good,” I said, and smiled. “How are you? Mrs. Crivitz was asking after you.”

“What? Why?” He stopped eating and looked a little pale.

I grinned. “She thinks you and her Mary Ellen would make a lovely couple. So romantic,” I mimicked her. “The handsome detective marrying the girl next door.”

“Ugh.” He dropped the scone. “The last thing I need is to be set up with Mary Ellen. Have you seen her?”

I giggled. “But she’s perfect for you.”

“Right.”

“Speaking of perfect,” I segued not too subtly. “How’s Emily?”

“She’s good. I talked to her last night,” he said, and wiped the sugar off his hands with a napkin. “I got to thinking about what you said.”

“What did I say?” I asked, and sipped my coffee.

“That I had to let her live her life. I think you’re right. I can get a little too . . . involved.”

“You’re her father. That’s what you do,” I said, and let him off the hook.

“Yeah, well, I called Emily and I promised that if she moved back I’d give her space . . . no strings attached. I’ll be there for her when she wants and keep my distance when she needs me to.” He leaned back and sipped his coffee.

“Good for you,” I said.

“I even went so far as to tell her she could bring her loser boyfriend if she wanted to.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t use the word loser,” he said and blew out a long breath. “I said boyfriend. And I told her I’d welcome any friend of hers with open arms. Anyway, Emily was happy.” He looked at me, his dark eyes shining. “I haven’t heard her sound so happy in a long time. In fact she actually cried and thanked me.” He cleared his throat. “It got me a bit choked up.”

“I see that. Good for you both.”

“No word on whether she’ll come or not, but I put it out there and she appreciated the effort.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“You didn’t come here to talk about Emily,” he surmised.

“No, I wanted to continue the conversation about Ashley’s death,” I admitted, and leaned forward. “It feels all wrong. I have to know. Despite what the autopsy reports indicate, do you truly believe it was an accidental overdose? Do you really think the case should be closed like the chief says?”

I noticed him wince slightly.

“You don’t, do you?” I said, certain I’d read his expression correctly.

“You know I can’t work on a case that is officially closed, Pepper,” he said, and looked down at his desk. “I’ve got plenty of work to do on cases that are active.”

“But we both know this case isn’t closed,” I pressed. “Someone killed Ashley, and I’m not going to let a convenient story keep that person from justice. I know that I only had a few conversations with her that night, but she was so easy to like. She was caring and she was fun and she was kind to Samantha Lyn, and let me tell you, that little girl needs someone caring in her life.”

“The fact of the matter is that Ashley died from taking too much Xanax and then drinking alcohol.” Detective Murphy’s voice was gruff. He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk pad he had on top of his desk.

“According to my sources, half the people at the country club take Xanax,” I pointed out. “Any one of them could have slipped the drug into Ashley’s drink. I mean, maybe they didn’t intend to kill her. Maybe they meant to make her sick.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Detective Murphy asked.

“I don’t know, maybe they were mad at Ashley. Take Clark Fulcrum, for instance. He was upset that Ashley wouldn’t serve him alcohol. I distinctly heard him say that he was going to tell his mom that Ashley was being insubordinate and that his mom would do something about it.”

“It sounds like a childish threat,” Detective Murphy said.

“That’s what I thought at the time,” I said. “But I’ve learned that Ashley had a history with Clark and his girlfriend Samantha Lyn.”

“Besides meeting them at another event where Ashley bartended?”

“Well, no, at that event. You see, that was the only time Samantha Lyn admitted to anyone that Clark was not a good guy.”

Detective Murphy straightened. “What did she mean by that? Has Clark abused Samantha in any way?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not that she’s said, anyway. But Samantha Lyn told me she doesn’t really love Clark, but her mom and his mom are dead set on the union. Samantha is young and wants to please her parents. She told me that Clark was being horrible to her that day and she confessed it all to Ashley. Ashley left the event early, missing out on tips and wages she clearly needed just to take Samantha Lyn home and see that the girl was okay.” I paused for a moment to let that information sink in. “I think the mothers found out and were out to get Ashley.”

“Why?” Detective Murphy asked. “Why would they see a protective bartender as a threat?”

“Because Ashley made friends with Samantha Lyn. Everyone knows that peers are hugely influential when you are Samantha Lyn’s age. The moms must have seen Ashley as a threat to their plans. They could have wanted her out of the picture. You know, a little Xanax slipped into a drink and Ashley would have gone home, leaving the kids alone. Both Mrs. Fulcrum and Mrs. Thomson have a prescription for the drug. With Clark complaining about Ashley yet again, it wouldn’t have been hard to slip her something to get her out of there.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?” Detective Murphy said. “Like I’ve said, Pepper, you get too emotionally involved in your couples. You are there to facilitate the proposal. You aren’t their life coach or their counselor.”

“I know that,” I said, and sighed. “But I can’t rest thinking that Ashley killed herself accidentally. From what you’ve told me, she’s been through a lot. If she were going to hurt herself—accidentally or not—she would have done it years ago. Right?”

“Maybe,” Detective Murphy hedged. “Sometimes these things lie dormant for a while. We don’t know. Something could have triggered her that night.”

“If it did, then I have to know what it was,” I said. “Tell me what you know. Please. I can bring in more scones.”

He gave me a long look. “You are not going to leave this alone, are you?”

“No.”

“Fine,” he said, and took a folder out of a pile on his desk and opened it. “I’ve been looking into Ashley’s apartment. She lived alone, renting a room from a Polish woman near Lincoln Park. Her landlady told me that Ashley insisted on staying in the attic bedroom. There’s a full-size one-bedroom apartment in the basement, but Ashley was—and I quote—too scared of sleeping on the first floor.”

“That’s something,” I said, and studied the papers in the folder. I was pretty good at reading upside down. “Wait. Is that Ashley’s mom’s name and address?” I asked, pointing to the left-hand paper that listed a Mrs. Pamela Klein.

“Yes,” Detective Murphy said.

“It’s a Chicago address,” I pointed out. I knew because I once went to a friend’s bridal shower in that area. “I thought you said Ashley’s family lived in Michigan.”

“No,” he said. “She went to college in Michigan, and that’s where she was almost killed, but she was born and raised here in the city.” He closed the file and frowned at me. “You aren’t supposed to see confidential stuff.”

“I want to talk to Ashley’s mom,” I said. “You know, pay my condolences and such.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Pepper. That woman has been through enough.”

“Really?” I asked. “What if something happened to Emily? Hmm? Wouldn’t you want to talk to one of the last people she spoke to? Wouldn’t you want to know about the efforts to save Emily’s life?”

“She isn’t me,” Detective Murphy said softly.

“No, she’s a grieving mother,” I agreed. “Look, I won’t tell her where I got her address. I promise. I’ll take her a casserole. I know that would mean something to my mother.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I don’t want to know about it.”

“Cool,” I said, energized. “Thanks, Detective Murphy.” I bussed a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He scowled at me. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I winked. “I’m taking a casserole to a grieving mom. How is that stupid?”