A's in the Hole Page 3

  A video played next. Lilac and Hank Abbot waltz across a dance floor, her white feathered gown swishing in time to slow music. They rotated and struck a pose to rapturous applause.

  “I didn’t know she could dance,” Jake said.

  Olivia didn’t reply. A person in a hoodie, she couldn’t tell if it was man, a woman, or a mini-human as Van the Man had so eloquently put it, had materialized at the laptop station. He bent and dropped out of sight behind the cluster of folks just in front of their position.

  Olivia lurched to her feet and cupped a hand to her brow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s fiddling with the laptop,” she said. “Someone in a –”

  Screams cracked her speech right in half. Another image dominated the screen. A photo of Lilac Charleston, pink polka dot scarf fastened around her neck, eyes sightless.

  A woman nearby fainted, grasping at her chair as she fell. Another man clapped both hands over either of his children’s eyes.

  “What the –?” Jake scrambled upright too. “Who is that?”

  Olivia didn’t hang around to answer. She sprinted toward the mystery fiddler, pumping both arms back and forth. Sure, she wasn’t a spring chicken anymore but this was serious. This was a man – or was it woman – who’d decided ruining a deceased woman’s ‘wake’ was an okay thing to do.

  Olivia darted between the fainting women, the horrified men, and the fascinated teenagers – a group of which gawked and pointed at Lilac’s bugged out expression. Gosh, this was distasteful.

  The hooded saboteur backpedaled and tripped over the wires. They thunked out of the laptop and the image on the screen disappeared, providing a backdrop of nothingness for Van the Man, who’d gone green around the gills.

  “Hey!” Olivia yelled.

  The figure got up, turned and ran behind the screen.

  “Stop right there!” There had to be a reason they’d done this and she couldn’t think of a good one. “Stop!”

  Olivia sped up. Another person appeared directly in front of her, also sprinting toward the area where the figure had disappeared. Olivia couldn’t slow down in time – she’d worked up too much momentum weaving through the funeral-goers.

  She crashed into the man’s back and took them both to the ground.

  “Ouch,” she yelled, and rolled across the grass. Pain flared in her arm, then faded. Just a graze, nothing too serious.

  The man rose from the ground and glared at her.

  The color drained from Olivia’s face. That wasn’t any man. That was Detective Keane and boy, he didn’t look happy.

  “Cloud,” he growled, and brushed grass and clods of dirt from his pants.

  The group of onlookers around them backed off at the sound of his voice.

  “Cloud,” he repeated.

  “Sorry about that,” Olivia replied, and got up. She dusted herself off too and took her time about it – but only to avoid his anger.

  Keane huffed and puffed on repeat. He scraped his heels through the dirt. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I wanted to shut off the laptop,” Olivia said. It was the first excuse that sprung to mind. Hopefully, it’d be good enough to placate him. “That’s all. I thought the sight of poor Lilac would upset everyone. Just look at Van the Man.”

  “Van the –?” Keane cut off and shook his head. “You saw him, didn’t you? The person who fiddled with the laptop.”

  Olivia resisted the urge to correct the detective – they didn’t technically know if it was a him or a her at this point. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. If he suspected for a second that she’d taken this on as an investigation, she’d wind up in a cell. Olivia didn’t doubt he’d do it – he’d warned her about it several times in the last few months.

  Keane’s face screwed up. “You expect me to believe that –”

  “There you are, Olivia,” Jake said. “I see you managed to switch off the laptop.” Saved by the private investigator.

  “No, I crashed into the detective here before I got a chance. It’s off?” Olivia feigned confusion. “How did that happen?”

  Keane switched his suspicion between Olivia and Jake, eyes narrowed. He gave one final harrumph then hurried off toward the laptop, scratching the back of his neck.

  “That was close,” Olivia breathed. “Thanks.”

  “You’re lucky I followed you,” Jake replied, studying the detective’s retreating back. “I get the impression Keane’s not going to go easy on you this time.”

  Olivia nodded. “Me too.” And that made investigating this quickly and quietly all the more important.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A rundown motel was the last place Olivia expected to find the famed model Violet Charleston. All right, so she wasn’t Kate Moss famous, but she had made a name for herself in Los Angeles if Olivia’s Google search was anything to go by.

  “Are you ready?” Olivia asked.

  Alvira gave her two thumbs up. “I’m getting used to this, now. It’s better than staying home.”

  They’d come on a Sunday to stop from interrupting their busy Monday chocolate rush, but Olivia couldn’t be sure they’d be welcomed with open arms. She’d called the Chester Inn and requested to speak with Violet, only to be told that the woman wouldn’t come to the phone for fear it was the paparazzi.

  Olivia had managed to wangle the room number out of the front desk clerk with a box of Strawberry Cream chocolates.

  “The paparazzi,” Olivia muttered, and rolled her eyes. There weren’t any paparazzi in Chester to start with.

  “What’s that?” Alvira asked.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Olivia rapped her knuckles below the skew plastic number 23 on the door.

  They waited in silence. The crunch of tires on the gravel in the parking lot and the bark of a dog from across the road were the only sounds to interrupt their wait. Finally, the latch clacked back, a chain rattled and the door swung inward.

  Violet appeared, gorgeous with dark brown hair and almond shaped eyes. She pursed her full lips at them. “Who are you?”

  “Miss Charleston?” Olivia asked.

  The model made to close the door, but Olivia stuck the toe of her boot in the crack to stop it. She winced at the thud. “Please, Miss Charleston, we’re not here to upset you. My name is Olivia Cloud and this is my assistant, Alvira Goeway.”

  “It’s a strange name, I know,” Alvira said, and gave a friendly wave. “How are you?”

  Violet forced the door against Olivia’s foot. “Go away.”

  “No, no,” Alvira said. “It’s smooth. One word. Goeway.”

  “I don’t think she’s talking about your surname, Alvira,” Olivia replied. She switched her focus to Violet. “Please, we’re not here to do anything other than talk about your sister. She was a – friend.” A term to be used loosely. Lilac hadn’t had any real friends – she’d used everyone and called them by the name, but no real friends.

  “My sister,” the woman said. Her voice was melodic. She stopped pressing the door into Olivia’s foot. “Lilac.” Her face crumpled into sorrow and tears welled and spilled.

  Alvira cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “We’re sorry,” Olivia said. “But, we’re here because we want to help find who did this to Lilac.”

  “Y-you do?” Violet asked, she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  Olivia dug a pack of Kleenex out of her handbag and handed it over. “Yes. We do. And no, we’re not the cops before you ask. It’s been my experience that they’re pretty heavy handed with their investigations in Chester.” She’d never been a fan of Keane’s work. Perhaps, she was too entitled. Or perhaps it was because she was from out of town and she could tell he hadn’t gone about his previous investigations in the right manner.

  “You’re not with the police,” Violet said, and frowned at them. “Then why do you care?”

  “Like I said, she was a fri
end, and it bothers us that there might be a person in Chester who could’ve done this,” Olivia replied. “That is that they’re still around somewhere.”

  Violet glanced past them and scanned the road. “All right,” she said, and removed a tissue from the pack. She sniffled into it. “You’d better come in.” She released the door and allowed them entrance.

  Olivia shook her boot and silently lamented the dent in its side. They followed Violet into her motel room and sat down on a ratty sofa across from an even rattier armchair.

  Violet lowered herself into it. “I’d offer you something to eat but I don’t have anything with me. I – uh, I usually go out to dine.”

  To dine? Heavens, she was upper class.

  “No problem.” Olivia smiled at the model. It wasn’t as if they’d come for a meal. “We wanted to ask you a few questions about Lilac. Are you all right with that?”

  “I guess,” Violet said. “It’s not like you can do much with the information, though. I mean, you’re not with the police. Right? You’re not?”

  They’d told her this several times already. Why was Violet so jumpy about the police? “No, we’re investigating this independently. What can you tell us about your sister?”

  “My sister,” Violet said, and shook her head. “Ugh, what can I tell you about her? She was a piece of work.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you the same. Lilac didn’t care about anything but herself,” Violet said. “And that’s saying a lot coming from me. I am a model after all. We’re supposed to be the narcissistic ones. But Li-li, she took the cake. That was my nickname for her.”

  “I see,” Olivia said. She hadn’t brought a notepad and pen with her this time – she didn’t want to freak out the suspect.

  “She was Li-li and I was Vi,” Violet said. “We loved calling each other by our nicknames when we were kids, but that sweet treatment ended once I hit puberty.”

  “Why?” Olivia asked. Alvira leaned forward, intent on their interviewee.

  “She’d always have the limelight,” Violet replied. “And when I blossomed, that light moved from her and onto me. I’m not bragging, but it’s the truth. I got a lot of attention from our parents and from friends, and then a headhunter spotted me. By this time, Lilac was already out of the house. She was much older than me. I was a surprise baby.” Violet’s pleasantly pink cheeks went even pinker.

  “And Lilac didn’t like the attention you were getting.”

  “Not one bit. She didn’t speak to me for years apart from at family functions or over Thanksgiving, you know?” Violet sighed and brushed locks of luxurious hair back from her forehead. “Until recently, that is.”

  “What changed?” Olivia asked.

  “She found a lot of success. I think that bolstered her courage when it came to our relationship. She hated speaking to me because I was so much more successful than her, you know, because I’m a famous model.” Violet tossed her head.

  Olivia’s research hadn’t shown her that. Violet had attained moderate success but she hadn’t walked a runaway in a few months.

  “She invited me to come out here and see her in action. She had that big party for Chester Radio TODAY!” Violet rolled her eyes as if the party was an inane concept. “Who throws a party for radio personalities?”

  “It’s a small town,” Alvira said. “Radio is all we’ve got. Apart from the X Factor, but nobody watches that because of Simon Cowell.”

  “Anyways,” Violet said, loudly. She didn’t like the interruptions, apparently. “I came to see her but when I got here she was totally weird with me. She wouldn’t come over to see me. She rejected me. I traveled all this way for her stupid party and she wouldn’t speak to me.”

  “Did you attend the party?” Olivia asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I attended it. Ridiculous. The only good thing was the food. They had these chocolates there that were great,” Violet said.

  “Those are chocolates from my store.” Olivia smiled at the compliment but she didn’t trust Violet regardless. The woman had come all this way to attend her sister’s party. Didn’t she have a busy schedule as a model? And why was she in the Chester Inn? There were other hotels in the town. Ones better than this, that was for sure.

  “They were great. Made my night. And then poor Lilac – oh heavens. Oh, poor Lilac,” Violet said, and buried her face in another tissue.

  She’d gone from angry at her sister for ignoring her to weeping in two seconds. Grief did strange things to people. Or perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps, Violet had something to hide.

  Olivia couldn’t come right out and ask Violet if she had financial trouble. She didn’t know what had been in Lilac’s will either, or why Violet had stayed. “Are you organizing your sister’s funeral?” she asked. It was the best segue she could come up with.

  “Me?” Violet gave a bitter laugh. “No. That falls to her ex-husband. Poor Hank. She put him through so much.”

  “She did?”

  “Of course.” Violet balled up her tissue. “Lilac wasn’t a nice person. I say that with all the love I have. She was my sister, but she was all about Lilac. Nothing else mattered but what she wanted.” Violet’s voice shook and Olivia couldn’t work out whether it was from grief or anger. “My sister is gone now, though. She’s gone and I can’t bring her back.” Violet broke down again.

  Olivia rose from her seat and indicated for Alvira to follow her lead. She didn’t want to push her luck with Violet and end up in trouble with Keane all over again. Something didn’t add up in this scenario, though. Perhaps it was the mix of apparent sorrow and outright anger. Whatever the case, Olivia would get to the bottom of it – with help from her friends, of course.

  “Thank you so much for your time, Miss Charleston.”

  Violet sobbed. “If you need – anything – else – just – let – me – know,” she said, between hiccups of grief.

  “We will,” Olivia said.

  They hurried from the motel room, both caught up in their thoughts. Olivia guided her assistant back toward the sidewalk but movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

  “Wait,” she whispered, and dragged Alvira behind a tree just off the road, its roots cracking the concrete. “Look there.”

  Hank Abbot strode toward room number 23.

  “What’s he doing here?” Alvira asked. “That’s the guy you told me about, right? The ex-husband.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia replied. But why was Lilac’s ex-husband and accountant meeting with her sister? “Come on. Let’s listen in.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Where?” Alvira asked.

  They crept along the back of the motel, counting the windows in the wall together. “This one,” Olivia replied, in a whisper. They halted beneath what had to be the living room window of number 23.

  Olivia didn’t want to get ahead of herself here, but it looked bad. Hank didn’t have a reason to speak to Violet, did he? Sure, he might console his ex sister-in-law but what were the chances?

  Olivia scooched up a couple inches and peered over the windowsill.

  Hank and Violet were locked in an embrace within, quiet in each other’s arms, both their eyes closed.

  Alvira popped up beside Olivia and gasped.

  The suspected lovers separated and the two investigators dropped beneath the window again.

  “What was that?” Hank asked. “Did you hear something?”

  “Sorry,” Alvira mouthed.

  “No,” Violet replied.

  The walls at the Chester Inn were paper thin. Alvira and Olivia were privy to the muffled conversation within, and that meant those inside the room would hear them if they so much as, well, gasped.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Hank said. “I’ve been keeping up appearances and organizing things for the funeral.”

  “It’s fine,” Violet replied. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t need to lie, darling.”

>   Darling? Sheesh, how long had these two been together? And Hank was a lot older than Violet, not that love knew an age. She was in her late twenties and Hank in his fifties at least. Did they have a motive for murdering Lilac?

  “I will be fine,” Violet said. “I just wish all of this was over. I’m over all the secrecy. I want to be seen in public with you, Hank. I don’t want to have to hide behind closed doors for fear that people will –”

  “It’s almost time. After she’s gone and her finances have been dealt with we can be together officially,” Hank replied. “You know what people will think if we come out now. It will cause more suspicion and we don’t need that.”

  “I know,” Violet said, and sighed. “I’ve just had a visit from two women who are investigating Lilac’s murder.”

  Olivia’s mind kicked into high gear. Did Violet own a scarf similar to the murder weapon?

  “Really?” Hank sniffed. “I had a similar run-in with a woman. She owns a chocolate store in town.”

  “That’s her,” Violet said.

  Olivia winced.

  “Olivia Cloud.” Violet sighed. “I didn’t tell her anything that would make this worse for us. Nothing about our relationship.”

  “Your financial troubles?” Hank asked.

  “Nothing about that either,” Violet replied. “I kept everything about us and our problems a secret and I always will. But it made me feel uncomfortable.”

  Olivia braced herself against the wall, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. This didn’t sound good for her. And this didn’t sound good for either of them. Why would they need to keep their relationship a secret? It wasn’t as if Hank had cheated on Lilac.

  But they’d mentioned Violet’s finances. Goodness, what if she’d been desperate enough to kill her sister for the payoff. Could that be it?

  “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Hank said. “And I hate it that you have to live in this motel and not with me.”

  “Then let me stay with you.”

  “No,” he said. “If anyone notices you doing strange things, moving around, hanging out with me too much, they’ll become suspicious. And we don’t want that Olivia Cloud woman to interfere.”