“Jacob didn’t have breakfast this morning.” Abby set an ivy planter in the sink, its long tendrils hanging over the side. She gently lifted the tendrils and placed them in the sink.
“He mumbled something to me at five this morning about a possible hostage situation. He was picking Frank up.”
“Jacob doesn’t have anything to do with hostages.” Abby used the sprayer on the sink to water the plant and rinse the dust off of the heart-shaped leaves. Her green thumb was evident in all of the plants. Sam only had to look at a plant to kill it.
“This one involved a cop and his wife. I’m not sure who, but it appeared to be all hands on deck.” Sam opened the pamphlet she had received at the Morning Glory Clinic while Abby turned on the radio. The pamphlet did give some background information on the two doctors. Matt and Austin had attended Reed University. Both were board certified hypnotherapists and members of the American Board of Hypnotherapy. The back pamphlet showed them in business suits that looked tailor-made. Matt’s dark hair and dark eyes were a stark contrast to Austin’s beach boy tan, sun-streaked hair and blue eyes. Hair and teeth were GQ perfect. Sam could imagine most female patients having a crush on either one. Another photo showed the doctors with their support staff, more pretty people. Not one average-looking person in the bunch.
“Is that the clinic you and Jackie went to?” Abby wiped the water spray from the sink and counter then laid the damp towel on the edge of the counter.
“Yes. This HypnoBirthing sounds interesting.” Sam handed the pamphlet to Abby, then opened her laptop and did a search on both of the names. There were a number of sites with extensive biographies. Both Matthew Bordeau and Austin Revere came from family wealth. The Revere name was big in land development, mainly resorts and golf courses. Bordeau was equivalent to Eli Lilly and Pfizer. Grandpa Bordeau was on the cutting edge of psychotropic drugs. There wasn’t any mention of wives or children.
“They have very attractive people working for them.”
That was one thing Sam had also noticed. “You’d think at least one woman would have hair with a mind of its own.” She absentmindedly touched the top of her head to see if her natural-curly hair was spiking.
The announcer on the radio caught Abby’s attention. They listened as he reported a murder-suicide by a Chasen Heights police officer.
Charlie Stanhope, a twenty-five-year veteran with the police force shot his wife, then calmly poured himself a cup of coffee and waited for the police to show up. Neighbors reported hearing loud voices and screams around four-thirty this morning when Charlie returned home. One neighbor claims Charlie had driven his truck across several lawns before crashing into a tree. He then fell out of the truck and staggered to the front door yelling his wife’s name. Betty Stanhope was seen at the front door holding a baseball bat. It is alleged that Charlie forced his way in and closed the door. Sergeant Stanhope engaged in a two-hour standoff with police before shooting himself. Unconfirmed reports claim the couple had been having marital problems. We will report additional details as they unfold.
“Did you know him, Samantha?”
Sam shook her head no. “Never met him.” But Stanhope was from the Third Precinct. Another open and shut case for grab and slap.
<><>
The precinct was the last place Sam wanted to be. Although Stanhope hadn’t worked at the Sixth, there would still be I.A.’s, press, and all kinds of commotion at every precinct. She opened her laptop and did a search on Matt Bordeau. A Facebook page showed pictures of his wife. From there she was directed to Crystal Creations, a web site showing the jewelry Crystal made and pieces that were available exclusively in upscale boutiques. One such boutique was the shop at the Center for Performing Arts. With one quick phone call Sam learned that Crystal Bordeau would be dropping off an order within the next few minutes.
On the way over to the Center, Sam called Forrest and verified that there was another support group meeting tonight. She said she would stop by to ask him and Carly a couple questions. She still had to figure out how Donna fit into the scenario. Had she been a patient and witnessed something at the clinic? And then there was Nina. Of course! Sam pounded the steering wheel. According to Junior, Nina had gone to Gamblers Anonymous, but what were the chances she might also have been a patient at Morning Glory?
She pushed the Blue Tooth button on the dashboard. “Hey, Junior. You mentioned that as part of Nina’s employment agreement she had to attend Gamblers Anonymous. Do you know if she also went through therapy?”
“I never did send that file back to Human Resources. Let me check.” The sound of papers being shuffled could be heard. “Here it is. She had six weeks of sessions at the Morning Glory Clinic.”
Sam’s head was spinning. There was a link to three of the victims to the clinic. All she needed was to find out how Donna fit in and what all four of them had in common. She entered the Center for Performing Arts and walked past a promotional display of The Adams Family play currently running on weekends until after Halloween. Beyond the large foyer was a restaurant, doors to the theatre, a ticket office, and the gift shop. She walked into the shop and was amazed at how such a small shop could hold so much. There were paintings, sculptures, clothes and jewelry created by local artists. Every inch of floor and wall space had been utilized leaving very little room to walk. Sam hoped she didn’t bump into a display and have to pay for some four-figure art piece.
“Welcome. I’m Maureen. Can I help you with anything?” The woman behind the counter looked made of bone china. When she spoke Sam could swear her face never moved. Her silk blouse, broach, scarf, jewelry, everything appeared to be a walking advertisement for the gift shop.
Sam felt like a street urchin next to Maureen, even though her sweater coat was pure alpaca, not a cheap purchase, and it was made by a woman on the Eagle Ridge Reservation, so she knew her money was going to help someone in need.
“I called earlier and was told Crystal Bordeau was here. I was hoping to have a moment of her time.” Sam handed her a business card.
“Of course. She’s finishing up some business in the back room.” Maureen disappeared behind a beaded curtain. Sam took the opportunity to check out the stained glass, framed paintings, and miscellaneous artwork. The glass cases displayed a number of jewelry pieces with small cards on stands identifying the artist. She wondered why Alex didn’t sell some of his jewelry in this shop. He was, after all, a local artist.
“Miss Casey?” Maureen stood next to a striking blonde who could have just come from a Vogue magazine photo shoot. Even her perfume smelled expensive. If the silver and opal necklace was any example of her artwork, she did extremely good work. Maureen introduced the two women, then excused herself and departed to the back room.
Crystal held up Sam’s business card and cocked her head like a cocker spaniel puppy. “This says you are an investigative consultant for the police department. Are my licenses not up to date?” She added a light laugh that sounded forced.
“Is there some place we can talk?”
“Of course. We can go to the restaurant.”
Sam found a table by the window overlooking the parking lot. A salad bar filled the center of the room, its cooling plates waiting to be filled. Lunch wouldn’t be served until eleven o’clock so before then patrons could use the self-serve coffee and pastry bar. Crystal must have been well-known or a heavy contributor because the staff immediately brought over coffee and a tray of pastries.
“You have stunning jewelry. May I ask where you purchased it?” Crystal fingered Sam’s inlaid wedding ring and the turquoise and coral necklace she wore.
“A family friend makes wonderful jewelry. Alex Red Cloud is from the Eagle Ridge Reservation, as is my mother.”
“Really.” Crystal scrutinized Sam’s hair and eyes, trying to find some Native American features.
“He lives with us and has made jewelry for quite a few people.”
“He should bring some samples here to the Center. I’ll put in a good word for him.”
“Thanks. I’ll let him know.”
Once the wait staff left and Crystal had doctored her coffee with sufficient amounts of sugar free substances, she said, “If I’m not in arrears with my licenses then what is this about?” Crystal picked at the pastry with a fork, placing a small bite in her mouth that would barely fill a thimble. The woman was model thin. Sam was too wired to eat.
“What can you tell me about Collin Revere?”
“Austin’s father?” Crystal made slow, crazy eight stirrings with her spoon. Sam assumed she’d need to do a lot of stirring to melt all the sugar she had dumped into the cup. “Is this about the body found at the golf course?”
“In a way. By telling me about the father, I might learn more about the son.” Sam couldn’t tell if the tight smile Crystal was attempting was a positive or negative impression of the Reveres.
“I thought the police were through interrogating Collin.”
“They are, but I’m more interested in Austin.”
Crystal finally stopped tormenting the cup and placed her spoon down. “I’m not sure I understand what you are getting at.”
Sam ran a cop’s eye over the stunning platinum blonde. Her teeth were far too perfect, probably veneers. The makeup was flawless, nails sculptured, jewelry not too flashy but still screamed wealthy. She remembered the corporate picture in the pamphlet of all the employees at the clinic. They were also too perfect.
“There are possibly three patients of the Morning Glory Clinic…”
“Clients,” Crystal corrected her. “Matt and Austin hate the word patient.”
Sam smiled, a tight cunning smile of curiosity at how the good doctors had trained family and employees when it came to speaking about the business, even in the choice of a simple word for patient. “Sorry. Clients who have died of an apparent suicide.” Sam could see the woman’s chest slowly rising in a controlled deep breath.
“What are you saying?” Crystal held up one dainty hand to stop Sam. “Are you implying that Matthew and Austin had anything to do with a client’s death? Have you spoken to my husband about this?”
“He’s not returning my phone call, unfortunately.”
“Whatever you are accusing them of, you are wrong.” Crystal stopped and scanned the room. Several waitresses quickly turned their backs and moved away. Crystal leaned closer. “Matt is a wonderful doctor and a wonderful husband.”
“Funny you should list them in that order.” If Sam had hoped to get Crystal to open up, she was going to have to work harder. A tinge of fury was staining Crystal’s cheeks and her dainty hands were clenched as far as the sculptured nails would allow. “And Austin? What would his wife say about him?” Sam hadn’t been able to find information on Austin Revere’s personal life other than he liked sailing and golf.
“Divorced. His wife didn’t care too much for the business or Matthew for that matter. Matt…”
“Let me guess. Matt had a certain image in mind for everyone surrounding him. I saw the women who work at the clinic. Just about every one of them could be a runway model. Even the older women, and there weren’t that many, looked like Hollywood starlets.”
“The marriage only lasted a couple years, no children. Emma let herself go, according to Matt. She was Italian and loved food. And Austin liked to play the field.”
“Do you know any of Austin’s playmates?” Sam turned a page and read off the names of the victims.
Crystal shook her head. “I’ve never heard of any of those names. One nice quality about Austin is that he doesn’t kiss and tell.” She used her napkin to wipe lipstick off of her cup. Then she folded the napkin prim and proper before setting it next to the cup.
“How did you get along with Austin? Did he ever hit on you?” Sam couldn’t see a player like Austin passing up such a beautiful woman, even if she was married to his partner.
“He tried, well, not in so many words, but I got the meaning. I shut him down. Told him I would let it slide but if he ever so much as undressed me with his eyes I would let Matt know. It worked.” Crystal checked her watch, then shoved her chair away from the table. “If you will excuse me, I have another appointment.”
“If you think of anything else, you have my card.” Sam watched her leave and wondered how long it would take for Crystal to call her husband.