CHAPTER FOUR
Mitchell was just as I’d remembered—the slim-fitting pin-striped suit, the thin, hard-lined lips, and the matching scowl. He strode across the room, leaving behind a group of waiters who looked as if they’d just been chastised. He sidestepped the marble table beneath the chandelier and pointed his finger at us.
“You,” he commanded, “are not permitted anywhere on these premises. Get out before I phone the police.”
“Hold on, Mitch,” Case said calmly. “We’re not here to stay.”
“You’re correct about that,” Mitchell snapped back. “Nor will you eat at our restaurant, swim in our pool, or speak to our guests.”
Case remained calm. “Listen, I never got a chance to apologize for our last encounter. I know I came on a little strong—”
“A little strong? You outright accused me of murder,” Mitchell sputtered, “among other things.”
“And I’m sorry for that,” Case continued. “Let’s start over. As you know, there’s been a suspicious death in the ballroom of your hotel, and we’ve been asked to help in the investigation.”
“You’ve been asked?” Mitchell mocked. “Two inept amateurs playing detective? I don’t believe you. Who on earth would ask for your help?”
“I did,” came a woman’s voice from behind me. She stepped forward and practically wedged herself into the middle of our little huddle. Abby Knight Salvare was taking control.
“Who are you?” Mitchell asked.
“I’m a guest at your hotel.” She paused to add, “A paying customer with an active Yelp account.”
Mitchell heard the implied threat and immediately backed down.
“I’ve asked Case and Athena to help me investigate the murder.” Abby held out her business card and introduced herself. “Abby Knight Salvare. Salvare Detective Agency.”
Mitchell took her card, gave it a quick once-over, and shifted his eyes between the three of us, finally landing back on Abby. “I’ll need to verify that you’re staying with us, and if so, these two will be your responsibility.” He started toward the reception desk.
Before he could take three steps, Abby called, “Do you know there is a broken lock on the ballroom’s back door?”
Mitchell halted.
“More importantly,” she continued, “do the detectives know that that particular door leads to a hallway where the killer could have easily gone in and out without being noticed?” Her words were loud enough that most of the guests could hear.
Mitchell turned around with his hands facing out, hoping to silence Abby. He walked toward us and in a hushed tone asked, “What are you implying?”
“I’m just asking a question,” Abby replied.
“I know of no such broken lock, and if you’re trying to implicate me or my hotel in this horrid situation, then you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Your lawyer or your father?” Abby asked. “Isn’t this his hotel?”
“How do you know that?” Mitchell sputtered.
Abby smiled confidently. “You don’t have to be an inept amateur playing detective to find that out.”
Flushed with embarrassment, Mitchell said sullenly, “Show me the broken lock.”
Abby led the way with Mitchell fast on her heels. The ballroom was located past the row of golden elevators, past the large, open dining room, at the far end of the hallway. The double ballroom doors were already opened, with hotel employees inside setting the tables for the upcoming event.
We wound through the tables, the sound of plates clattering and silverware clinking all around us. The ballroom was just as fancy as the rest of the hotel, with high, ornately decorated ceilings and dark-red draperies flowing around the corners of the room. Centered at the far end of the room was a stage. Mitchell followed Abby up the side stairs, across the stage, and into the backstage area, with Case and me trailing behind.
“I’ve already spoken with one of the workers,” Abby said, “and he told me the backstage area is set up the same as for the fashion show. Is that correct?”
“It is,” Mitchell answered. “And if this is the door of which you speak, then you are mistaken. The lock isn’t broken. The mayor’s security guard asked me to keep this door unlocked so he could more easily perform a security sweep before the show. Someone must have forgotten to pull the latch, that’s all.” Mitchell reached up, his tight suit pulling at the seams, until his fingers found the latch and pulled it down. There was a soft click, and the door closed and locked on its own. “There. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I do have a few more questions,” Abby said. “If you don’t mind.”
Mitchell straightened his jacket. “Keep them succinct, please.”
“This hallway leads out to a back parking lot,” Abby said. “I’m assuming that lot is for employees and deliveries.”
“Correct,” Mitchell stated.
“Do you have security cameras in the hallways?” Abby asked.
“No, but there is a camera at each hotel entrance. The detectives have already confiscated the files for those cameras, so I would suggest leaving that work to the professionals.”
“What kind of event is happening tonight?” Case asked.
“The Junior Miss Sequoia Beauty Pageant is tonight. We host the event every year.”
“And you’re certain that this backstage setup hasn’t changed since the fashion show?” Case asked.
“Yes,” Mitchell answered. “The detectives cordoned off the ballroom during their investigation. We haven’t been allowed back in until today, which is why we’re pressed for time. So I must insist that you expedite your investigation.”
“We’ll be quick,” Case said. He turned to Abby. “Any more questions?”
“Not right now,” she replied.
“Thanks, Mitch,” Case said as Mitchell turned to leave.
“You can thank me by never coming back,” Mitchell responded tightly.
As he exited the stage, Abby turned to us and smiled. “That Mitchell is quite a character.”
I let out a quick laugh. “You noticed?”
“Does he always talk like that?” Abby asked.
“You mean down his nose?” Case answered. “Pretty much.”
The three of us studied the backstage area, where I noticed that the back door that had been unlocked during the fashion show was right next to a folding table set up along the wall. Next to the table was a large wastebasket. There were brooms and mops leaning against the wall, ropes hanging from the ceiling that controlled the tall stage curtains, and several tools lying in one of the corners. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
I followed Abby to the dressing rooms, which were off to the left of the backstage area. The simple frame structures were just big enough for a person to change clothes in, closed off by a red curtain hanging from a dowel rod. Attached to each curtain was a green index card with the model’s name on it.
Abby swept open one of the curtains to reveal a folding chair and a tall, standing mirror inside. All three dressing rooms were identical.
Abby went to the curtain marked with Carly’s name and looked inside. “It doesn’t look like the detectives dusted for prints in here.”
I walked around the outside of the three dressing rooms and came back. “You know what I noticed? Jillian told us she hadn’t seen anyone near the dressing rooms, but she wouldn’t have seen someone standing behind the dressing rooms.”
“Or waiting outside the unlocked hallway door,” Abby said.
“But how would the murderer know Jillian was going to deliver those water bottles?” I asked.
Abby thought about it for a minute and then said, “Someone could have seen Jillian deliver the water on the first night and saw an opportunity.”
We left the dressing room area to find Case testing the hallway door, which was now locked tightly. “We should’ve had Mitchell leave this door open for us,” he said. “I’d like to go down the hallway and take a look at the door that leads to the parking lot.”
“I’ve already checked it out,” Abby said. “The employee exit is locked from the outside, but not from the inside. Anyone could’ve easily walked out, but they would’ve needed an employee security card to get in.”
“Unless someone let them in,” I said.
“Good point,” Abby said. “In that scenario, it would mean our killer would’ve had help.”
“Let’s re-create the scene,” I said as I walked to the side of the stage. “Jillian came up these stairs into the backstage area with three bottles of water. She saw Fran working with the wardrobe and saw an audio technician behind the curtain. Then she went to the dressing rooms, where she placed one bottle of water in each of the rooms. She said that was about an hour before the show started. She also told us the first model to arrive was Eleni, and that she had arrived about forty-five minutes before the show.”
“If Eleni is our killer, that would’ve given her fifteen minutes to slip into Carly’s room and poison the water before the other models arrived,” Abby said. “My husband and I have just recently dealt with a poisoning case, and depending on what kind of poison was used, the effects will start anywhere between fifteen minutes and an hour after it was ingested.”
“Then we need to speak with Fran or this sound guy to find out if they saw Eleni entering or leaving Carly’s dressing room,” Case said.
We heard a noise and turned to see an audio technician just outside the stage area setting up a microphone for the beauty pageant. His shirt had the Waterfront Hotel logo on it.
“Maybe that’s him now,” I said. “How should we approach him?”
“Excuse us,” Abby called, walking over to him. “Were you setting up the microphones before both nights of the fashion show?”
Without looking up, the man said, “Yep.”
Case leaned toward me and said quietly, “I guess that’s how.”
I was increasingly impressed with how confident Abby was. Case and I joined her.
“Were you backstage at any time before the show?” Abby asked.
“Yep.”
“On both nights?”
“Both nights,” he replied.
“We’re focusing on the night of the murder,” she told him. “Did you see anyone backstage on Thursday night?”
He fidgeted with a microphone and a cord for a moment, then a loud blare sounded, echoing throughout the empty ballroom. He tested the microphone by answering Case’s question. “I saw a redhead and a brunette.” His voice boomed over the speakers.
I didn’t have my iPad ready to take notes, but I stored away his response. The redhead would’ve been Jillian, and the brunette could’ve been Fran. Abby must’ve been thinking along the same lines.
“Did you happen to get either of their names?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. The man stood and anchored the microphone in its stand, then gave Abby a lopsided smile. “You mind testing this for me?”
Abby looked at the man quizzically. “How would I do that?”
“Well, you got any more questions, go ahead and just ask them right into that mic.”
She turned her puzzled expression toward Case and me. The audio tech hopped off the stage and walked into the middle of the ballroom. He looked up at the speakers on either side of the stage and then gave a thumbs-up to us. “Go ahead. Ask away.”
“This guy is a hoot,” Case said quietly.
Abby was shorter than the microphone stand, so she had to pull the mic down, closer to her mouth. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary on Thursday night?”
The man gave her a thumbs-up, then walked back to the stage, hopped up, and readjusted the microphone stand. “Just a bunch of flowers stuffed into a trash can in the backstage area.”
“Why does that stand out?” Abby asked.
“Seems out of the ordinary, don’t you think? A perfectly good bunch of flowers? I don’t know where they came from, but they were still there after the detective came around. I told him to take a look, but he didn’t care much what I had to say, so I took the flowers home to my wife.”
“Do you know who the flowers were for?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Do you know where the flowers came from?” Abby asked.
“No, but my wife might know,” he said. “There was a tag on the stems.”
Abby walked over and handed him a card. He read it and looked up at her. “Private detective, huh? Like Magnum P.I.?”
“Yes,” she said. “Just like that. Would you be able to get ahold of your wife and find out where the flowers were purchased?”
He pocketed her card. “I can ask her tonight after she gets home from work.”
“That would help a lot,” Abby said. “Please give me a call when you find out.”
As the audio tech left the stage, I said, “Why would the detective ignore the flowers?”
“I don’t know,” Abby answered. “They could be a lead.”
Before we left the backstage area, Case used his phone to take photos, and then we climbed down the stairs to the ballroom floor.
“The hotel’s restaurant is just down the hall,” Abby said. “Who’s hungry?”
* * *
We were seated at a table in front of a large wall of windows with a view of the outdoor eating area and the swimming pool, and beyond that, Lake Michigan. The indoor dining room was mostly empty, with most of the diners preferring to eat outside during the summer months. As we waited for our food to arrive, Abby said, “I’ll keep in touch with the audio technician. Once we find out where the flowers were purchased, the florist should be able to help with the sender’s identity.”
She paused as the waitress topped off our coffees, then, as Abby laced her cup with cream, she continued, “But I can’t stop thinking about the backstage exit. If the mayor was worried about security, why did his team leave it unlocked?”
“Maybe because it didn’t matter,” Case said. “The back exit leads to the parking lot, but the door to the parking lot is locked from the inside, like you said. No one could get in without an employee security card.”
“Athena,” Abby said, “you mentioned that someone could’ve been working with our killer. If that’s true, then we have a whole building full of employees who might have ties to this murder.”
Case set his coffee down. “We’d have to canvass the entire staff. That’s a lot of work for a theory with no leads.”
“We might not have to,” Abby said. “I’m going to try my best to get ahold of that security cam footage just to make sure we aren’t missing any leads. Just keep that theory in mind.”
“Another theory,” I explained, “involves Eleni Sloan arriving early to poison Carly’s water. The thing is, there’s no motive to back that up.”
“We’ll have to learn more about Eleni and her relationship with Carly,” Abby said as the waitress came with our food order.
We paused as our plates were delivered. I had ordered a yummy-looking taco salad with Southwest dressing, Case had a full plate of ribs and mashed potatoes, while Abby settled into her crispy French bistro ham-and-cheese sandwich.
After a few bites in silence, I realized I hadn’t asked Abby about her meeting with Jillian and her new lawyer. “What did Kevin Coreopsis have to say about Jillian being released from jail?” I asked.
Abby held up a finger while she finished a crunchy bite, then said, “He was able to get a bond hearing for Jillian tomorrow, so hopefully she’ll be released tomorrow afternoon. He said the judge will probably let her go home, but under the condition that she has to return at the detective’s request.”
“Looks like we have our work cut out for us,” Case said. “We have to make sure Detective Walters doesn’t have a reason to bring Jillian back.”
“Tell me about this detective,” Abby said.
“He’s been on the force a long time,” I told her, “and he’s not easy to work with. In fact, he’s on the surly side. He really doesn’t like us getting involved in his investigations.”
“He did acknowledge us after we solved the last homicide, however,” Case said in between bites of his messy rib dinner.
“Marco and I encountered the same situation in New Chapel,” Abby told us. “The detectives eventually got used to us, but it helps to be established. Hopefully, the same will happen to you.”
I gave Case a wry smile and wiped a spot of barbecue sauce from his mouth with my napkin. “I can’t see Detective Walters being that cooperative.”
Abby took a sip of coffee, then set down her cup and pulled a small notebook and pen out of her purse. “What do you know about the people who were backstage? Do you know them well?”
“I don’t know anything about the victim, Carly Blackburn,” I said, “except what you told us.”
Case wiped his fingers on a napkin, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his notes. “Carly was very active in the community,” he replied. “President of the middle school’s PTA, secretary for a philanthropic sorority, and the campaign manager for Mayor Sloan’s reelection. She had one child, a son, and was divorced this past April.”
Abby finished writing it down, then looked up. “Do we know anything about the ex-husband?”
“Not yet,” Case said. “I’ll do some more digging.”
“Divorce records are public,” Abby told him. “It might be smart to dig through those files as well.”
“I’m on it,” Case replied.
Abby readied her pen. “Who’s next?”
“Hope Louvain,” I said, “the police chief’s wife.”
“She’s a teacher,” Case said. “I found out that she’s teaching over the summer at Sequoia middle school, so we know where to find her. She has two children aged eight and twelve, and that’s all I have on Hope right now.”
Abby wrote it down. “Got it.”
“Then there’s Eleni Sloan,” I said. “She’s the mayor’s wife. She’s Greek and owns a bookstore on Greene Street called The Garden of Readin’. I’ve been there a few times to pick up books for my son. Eleni is always there, so we know where to find her, too.”
“You mentioned that she’s Greek.” Abby said. “Does that have any significance?”
“Just that she’s well-known in the Greek community,” I explained. “My mother is friends with her.”
“She is also a member of several philanthropic organizations,” Case said. “Most dealing with literature and the arts. She has a sixteen-year-old daughter. That’s all I have on her.”
“That takes care of the models,” Abby said. “What about Fran Decker?”
“Fran owns a boutique dress shop downtown called Fabulous Fashions,” I explained. “She’s also the chairperson of the Small Business Association.”
“She’s married and has no children,” Case added.
Abby noted it, then picked up her sandwich. “These women all sound perfectly normal.”
“I agree,” I said. “So, why was Carly targeted? Who was she, and what kind of enemies could she have made?”
“From what Jillian told us,” Abby said, “Carly was not a very nice person, so she could have had any number of enemies.”
“An enemy who would risk slipping into her dressing room to poison a water bottle?” Case asked. “That’s a pretty serious enemy. We’re going to have to find someone with a very strong motive.”
“Or a very convenient opportunity,” Abby added.
After we’d finished eating and the waitress had come by to refill our cups, I said, “Whom should we interview first?”
“Why don’t we start with Fran Decker?” Abby asked. “She was backstage more than anyone, and she worked with all three models. What do you think?”
I nodded. “That’s a good place to start. I’d suggest we stop by her dress shop midafternoon tomorrow. In my experience, business is usually slow at that time of day.”
“How about three o’clock tomorrow?” Abby asked.
“I can do that,” I said.
“You mentioned that Eleni Sloan has a bookstore,” Abby said to me. “Is that anywhere close to Fran’s shop?”
“It’s within walking distance.”
“Then we can talk to Eleni after Fran. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I told her.
“I’ll let you two handle the interviews,” Case said. “I’ve got some work to do. But don’t forget, Athena, we’re going to try to talk to Detective Walters at noon tomorrow. Abby, would you like to join us?”
“I don’t know,” Abby said. “With three of us there, the detective might feel cornered, and then you’d get no help from him.”
“We’ll be lucky if we get any help anyway, but I get your point,” Case said.
Abby finished her coffee and pushed back from the table. “I have some phone calls to make, and I want to see if I can get a copy of the hotel’s security camera footage for the night of the murder. And then I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“I’ll be at the Greene Street office tomorrow bright and early.” Case said. “Oh, and to make things easier”—he dug through his pants pocket, lifting out a key ring—“this is the spare key to our office. You can come by any time if you need a place to work. Just lock up when you leave. And feel free to use the reception desk while you’re there.”
“That’s Lila’s desk,” I said to Case. “You think we should set her up there?”
“Lila has never claimed the reception desk,” Case explained. “Besides, no one ever sits there, and it has a working computer.”
“Abby, you can also make yourself at home in my office if you need to,” I told her. “The reception desk is now officially Lila’s.”
Case rose and escorted us out, giving me his killer smile. “You’re going to explain that to Lila,” he said to me. “Not me.”
* * *
We left Abby by the hotel elevators and headed out to the parking lot around the side of the hotel. “What do you say we go to the Pamé for a sunset cruise?” Case asked, as we climbed into the Jeep. “I have a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge.”
I climbed in through the open door, buckled my seat belt, then double-checked to make sure it was tight. I laid my head against the headrest and smiled as Case’s hand covered mine. “That sounds tempting.”
“But?”
I turned to face him. “But I haven’t seen Nicholas all day.”
“Bring him along. He loves the boat.”
“I also have to check in with Delphi to see if she’s doing okay with her new responsibilities. And I should probably talk to my dad, too.”
Case pulled my chin gently toward him to gaze into my eyes. “Why don’t you check in with them, spend some time with your son, and then join me on the boat later tonight? You deserve some time to relax.”
I melted at Case’s charming smile and warm touch. “How about this? Once I get Nicholas tucked in, I’ll come over.”
“Perfect. And then tomorrow we can all go to the fair.”
I gave him a kiss. “Don’t push your luck.”
As we headed back to my parents’ house, my phone rang, and I saw Bob Maguire’s name on the screen. I put him on speakerphone and said, “Hey, Bob. You’re on speaker with Case. Do you have news for us?”
“I haven’t been able to learn anything about the poison yet,” he said. “Mainly, I’m calling to give you a heads-up about the case.”
“That doesn’t sound like good news,” Case said.
“Here’s the thing,” Maguire told us. “Detective Walters is getting ready to retire, so this case isn’t getting the attention it deserves. In fact, it seems to me like he just doesn’t care.”
“Maybe we can prod him a little tomorrow,” I said.
“You’re coming to the station?” Maguire asked.
“We have some questions for him,” I replied.
“He doesn’t like being bothered at work, Athena.”
“What about lunch?”
“What about it?” Maguire shot back.
“He has to stop to eat, right? Where does he go on his break?”
“He has food brought in,” Maguire answered. “But I should let you know that bothering Walters during lunch might be worse than bothering him while he’s on duty.”
“He’s not my boss, Bob,” I said. “I’m not afraid of him.”
Maguire laughed. “That doesn’t sound like the Athena I know. Where is this confidence coming from?”
“Just make sure Walters doesn’t order any food,” I told him. “We’ll bring lunch.”
“Okay, suit yourselves. All I can say is good luck,” Maguire said. “You’re going to need it.”