Beach Thriller(84)
Have I driven her away?
Holly felt sick at the thought. She hoped that Jade was simply giving her the silent treatment. But she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in her gut that something else was wrong. She tried to quiet her unease by focusing on the task at hand.
Holly studied her writing notebook, where she had jotted down suspects with columns for Motive, Opportunity, and Method written beside each one. She’d never crafted a detective story, but perhaps the bones of one were staring her right in the face.
Tom Walker: police officer, alleged history of sexual coercion. Anna was potentially one of his victims when she narrowly escaped arrest. Tommy Boy had access to evidence and was present the night of the explosion.
Conrad Carmichael: Anna’s lover. It’s always the boyfriend … She was with him that night with the intent to break it off. Did he get angry, take revenge?
Elizabeth Ward: the scorned woman, maybe also a femme fatale? She’d killed before, albeit indirectly by doctoring the Lypotrel research to hide its deadly overdose risk. Could she have taken a more active role in Anna’s death?
Maeve Carmichael: fired Anna and pressed charges. Was she upset when charges were dropped? Maeve was also at home the night Anna died. Did she seek a more violent and final revenge?
Allen Spellman: tricky. He had access to the evidence and had likely tampered with it. He was a criminal as well. But he had no apparent connection to Anna.
Holly left the Motive column blank. But what if he was part of a bigger plot—a cover-up involving Anna’s death—and his suicide was actually a hit in disguise?
Ethan Greene: Aka, Hot Handy. Shit. Too bad … but he either withheld or strategically omitted having a connection to Conrad Carmichael, outside of being the family’s occasional handyman. Read Beyond Horizons, the same book that showed up mutilated with a scrawled threat. Motive, Method, Opportunity all unknown. But … the headaches?
Sadly, Holly added:
Serena: Motive and Opportunity undetermined. Method unknown.
Clearly, she was hiding something related to the necklace, but perhaps unrelated to Anna’s death. Holly kept her on the list anyway.
She jotted down other loose threads: Lypotrel, doctored gas report, her stolen copy of Beach Thriller, weird busker with his odd warnings, mysterious transactions from the house account to … where? Could those transfers have been Spellman siphoning money from the account over time?
Maybe the transactions were one thread she could tie into a knot. Holly tried Shae via FaceTime. She answered quickly, her beaming face oozing California effervescence. Given Holly’s agitated state of mind, it was almost too much to bear.
“Darling, tell me good news only,” said Shae cheerily. “Tristen has eczema because he’s stressed over a history test. His hands and feet look like they’ve been savaged by red ants.”
Holly didn’t skip a beat. “I found a dead guy who blew out his brains with a handgun, and he’s embezzled all my money.” She forced a smile while Shae’s face went slack. What Holly needed for this call was a little wine or whiskey—or better still, ayahuasca. Thanks to Ethan, at least the water was filtered.
By the end of Holly’s recounting of the day’s horrific events, Shae’s usually sunshiny smile had turned into a stormy squall. Holly left out some details to spare her friend unnecessary worry—like the threats she’d received, the missing evidence, and her stolen novel. However, Jade wasn’t a minor detail she could omit.
Shae shook her head in a slow sweep of disapproval. “That is a direct violation of the Sisterly Bond Laws: Thou shalt not keep any wandering waifs sleeping under your roof a secret from your oldest, dearest friend.”
Holly rebutted, “She’s tiny but could definitely take me in a fight, so I don’t think I’m in violation. But the next home intruder I let live with me, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thank you,” said Shae, sitting upright, satisfied.
“I wasn’t just calling to tell you about dead people and teen runaways. I was hoping you’d have an update on my account. And not to add to your caseload, but maybe you can help me battle through some red tape so I can figure out if I have any money left. Pretty soon, Jade and I will both be squatters.”
“You’re not going to be homeless—that’s not an option,” said Shae. “And to answer your question, no, not really. Those transactions go to two private bank accounts, and I need a police warrant to get the details. Now that we have a crime, I might be able to help you get one, but it’ll take more time.
“As for the rest of your funds, let me see what we can do. Hopefully, there’ll be enough left for your basics. Either way, I’m not letting you starve. There’s this thing called being a patron of the arts.”
Holly’s forehead creased. “I’m not interested in charity. I’ve made my own way in this world for forty years. I’ll figure something out.”
“‘If he was beholden to pride, he would never have braved his many failures, thereby achieving great success.’”
“Are you quoting Chaucer to me?” asked Holly.
“No, Meow Mindfulness, page 172—a passage about King Fluff, the great mouse hunter.”
Holly exhaled a sigh. “Maybe there’s a way Chester can make me millions like King Fluff.”