The Case of the Natty Newfie Page 4

  “Hello?” I said. “Is anybody there?”

  “This is security,” a man said.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I said, relaxing a bit when I heard the familiar voice.

  “I’m sorry,” the confused voice said.

  “I just checked in with you a few minutes ago,” I said.

  “Sure, I remember,” the security guard said. “You were heading back up to John Naylor’s place on five. And judging by what I see on my system, you’re still there. How can I help you?”

  “There’s…a problem up here,” I stammered.

  “I see,” he said, suddenly on edge. “What sort of problem?”

  “I think you should get up here right away,” I said. “I’m pretty sure there’s been an intruder.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “Mainly because of the dead woman in the bedroom,” I said as a torrent of tears began to stream down my cheeks.

  “Stay right there,” he snapped. “And don’t touch anything.”

  I remained rigid with my back against the wall and continued to scan the loft. A few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. I headed to the door and reached for the handle.

  “Who is it?” I said, before opening the door.

  “It’s me. Security.”

  Still holding the knife, I slowly opened the door, and the security guard stepped inside, saw the terror in my eyes, and held his hands up.

  “It’s okay, I’m here,” he said, motioning for me to put the knife down. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” I said, setting the knife down on the floor.

  “You said there was a woman in the bedroom,” he said, leaning down to pick up the knife.

  “Yes, there is,” I said.

  “Okay, just stay here while I take a look,” he said, heading toward the back of the loft.

  “I think I’ll come with you if it’s all right with you,” I said, following him.

  “I suppose that would be okay,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Just don’t touch anything.”

  “Aren’t you going to pull your gun?”

  “Most security guards in Canada aren’t armed,” he said, approaching the bedroom.

  “They aren’t?” I said, frowning.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We Canadians have found that having fewer people carrying guns cuts way down on the number of people getting shot,” he said, then stopped in his tracks. “The woman in the bedroom wasn’t shot, was she?”

  “No, she wasn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know how she was killed, but I did see powder on one of the pillows.”

  “You’re sure she’s dead?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  The security guard stepped inside the bedroom, exhaled loudly as he shook his head, and examined the body without touching it. He nodded for me to follow him, and he walked back into the main area of the loft and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He placed a call, spoke briefly to the person on the other end of the line, then hung up and made a second call. This one lasted longer and judging from his end of the conversation it was apparent he was speaking with the police. I sat down in a chair and wiped my eyes with a handful of tissues. The security guard finished the call, put his phone away, and sat down in a chair facing me.

  “The police are on their way,” he said, shaking his head. “That poor girl.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Sure. Enough to say hi and chat. She was around all the time since she worked for Mr. Naylor.”

  My neurons fired.

  “Can I borrow your phone? I need to make a call.”

  “Sure,” he said, handing it to me.

  I concentrated hard trying to remember Josie’s number then dialed it. She answered on the first ring.

  “This is Josie.”

  “Hey, it’s me,” I said.

  “What’s keeping you?” she said. “Can’t find your phone?”

  “No, I didn’t find it,” I said, exhaling audibly. “But there’s a problem up here.”

  “What sort of problem?”

  “Melinda.”

  “Naylor’s assistant? What’s the matter with her?”

  “She’s dead.”

  I waited out a long silence.

  “Okay,” Josie said. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you didn’t kill her.”

  “No, but I’m the one who found her body,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “And that means I’m probably going to be tied up here for at least a couple of hours.”

  I glanced at the security guard who nodded his head in agreement.

  “So, you guys might as well head back to Max’s place. I’ll either have the police drop me off when they’re done with me, or I’ll take a cab.”

  “Max just called,” Josie said. “He said that he and a neighbor are going to take their snow blowers out and clear the snowbank that’s blocking the street.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Just head back to his place and let the dogs do their business. They must be busting by now. I’ll give you a call later on as soon as I know anything.”

  “Got it,” she said. “You need anything before we take off?”

  “No, I’m good,” I said. “But drive careful. And tell Max I’m sorry the weekend is getting off to such a lousy start.”

  “I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Josie said.

  “When are we going to Cayman?” I said, forcing a small laugh.

  “Not soon enough.”

  “Oh, you might want to try calling Naylor’s phone again,” I said, my neurons slowly beginning to kick into overdrive.

  “I called a few minutes ago,” Josie said. “His phone is still off.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding. “If you get a chance, keep trying to get in touch with him. He needs to know what happened here. And you might want to see if you can get hold of Thomas. Maybe he knows where John is.”

  “Will do. Get out of there as soon as you can.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  “Oh, Suzy. Just one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to keep your Snoopmeter in neutral,” Josie said, her voice rising a notch to emphasize her point.

  “Sure, sure.”

  Chapter 5

  While we waited for the police to arrive, the security guard and I chatted. I learned that his name was Gilbert, liked to be called Gil, was a vegan who was working his way through school, and had hopes of becoming a physical education teacher or fitness instructor with yoga as the central tenet. As much as I admired his focus and dedication to his life goals, as you might imagine, most of our chitchat was short and perfunctory.

  In a concerted effort to keep my mind off the dead body in the bedroom, I tried to pay close attention to what Gil was telling me. But after patiently listening to him recite his ten favorite ways to prepare Brussel Sprouts, and discuss the two hours he did six days a week on his stationary bike, my neurons were screaming for relief. And by the time he covered in great detail how much he enjoyed snacking on raw tempeh and boiled veggie dogs while he was on his bike, I was squirming in my chair and almost threw up in my mouth. I forced my neurons to chase away all thoughts about his dietary choices and focused on the insane yet far less troubling notion of a daily, two-hour bike ride that never left the living room.

  But Gil did turn about to be a dog lover, and that fact broke several awkward silences and saved the day. We were deep into a debate about the best breed of water dogs when we heard a loud knock on the door. He hopped to his feet and headed for the door. I glanced at the two detectives heading my way and almost fell out of my chair.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said, standing up and smiling as I glanced back and forth at them.

  “Suzy Chandler,” Detective Shirley Billet said, extending her hand. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Shirley,” I said, shaking her hand. I extended my hand to the other detective. “Hi, Bill.” />
  “Hello, Suzy,” Detective Bill Franklin said, shaking his head in disbelief as he returned the handshake. “This oughta be good.”

  “Questions?” I said, glancing back and forth at them.

  “About a dozen come straight to mind,” Shirley said, looking at her partner.

  I’d met the two detectives the last time we’d been in Ottawa. Josie and I had been speaking at a conference where the CEO of Middleton Enterprises, the largest pet store franchise in North America and now Wags’ exclusive retail distributor, had been killed. Much to their initial dismay, I had inserted myself into the investigation and later played a major role in solving the murder. I’d also learned that Bill was a widower who was secretly involved with Shirley, and they had finally decided to go public. Judging by the rock on her left hand, they’d recently decided to take the relationship to the next level. Shirley noticed the look I was giving her engagement ring, and she held her hand out so I could get a better look.

  “Impressive,” I said, nodding. “You moonlighting as a jewelry thief, Detective?”

  “Funny,” Bill said.

  “Congratulations,” I said, beaming at them. “I’m very happy for you.” I looked at Shirley. “Have you guys set a date yet?”

  “We’re looking at June,” Shirley said.

  “Nice,” I said, nodding. “Are you having the wedding outside?”

  “Yeah, we’re leaning that way,” Shirley said. “But I’m worried about bad weather.”

  “Give me a call,” I said. “My mother works with an amazing tent guy. She uses him all the time.”

  “Thanks,” Shirley said. “I’ll do that.”

  “What about the honeymoon? Where are you guys going?”

  “We’re still undecided,” Shirley said, putting her hands on her hips. “There are just so many choices.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, nodding. “But as long as you’re there together, it shouldn’t matter where you decide to go, right?”

  “I guess.”

  Bill cleared his throat and Shirley and I glanced at him, red-faced.

  “Sorry,” Shirley said, then transitioned back into detective. She looked at the security guard. “Why don’t you take us to the body?”

  “Sure, follow me,” Gil said, heading toward the bedroom area.

  “I think I’ll wait here,” I said, sitting back down.

  I sat quietly until they returned about fifteen minutes later. The security guard said his goodbyes then left. The two detectives sat down on a couch across from me, and both pulled out a pen and notepad and stared at me.

  “You want to play twenty questions or would you like me to just start talking?” I said, glancing back and forth at them.

  “Let’s start with you talking,” Bill said. “Then we’ll do the twenty-question thing.”

  “Good call,” I said. “I’m in town with my other business partners for some meetings regarding our new dog toy business. You remember the dog toys that the murderer’s sister created?”

  “We do,” Bill said.

  “Well, we bought the company from her before she went to jail, and we’re getting ready to launch.”

  “I see,” Bill said, scribbling a note. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then provided a quick summary of the day. When I finished, I sat back and waited for the questions to begin.

  “Why did you decide to use John Naylor as your photographer?” Shirley said.

  “He’s a friend of our head of logistics. Thomas Steel,” I said. “Do you remember the woman who organized the conference where Middleton was killed?”

  “Yes, I do,” Shirley said. “Marjorie, right?”

  “You’ve got a good memory,” I said. “Thomas is her son.”

  “Okay,” Shirley said. “But today was the first time you’d met Naylor and the victim, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re positive that the victim, Melinda, was still in the loft when you left this afternoon?” Bill said.

  “Definitely,” I said, nodding. “She was the one who walked us to the door.”

  “Okay,” Shirley said. “How long was it from the time you left this afternoon until you came back to the loft?”

  “Let me think,” I said, my neurons flaring. “We left just before three. And we waited forever for the elevator. It probably took us five minutes to get back to the car, another five to get all the dogs in and settled down. Then the drive to my boyfriend’s place took about ten minutes. Access to his street was blocked by a snowbank the plows had left behind, so we turned around and came back here. I thought I’d left my phone here. I parked in the garage downstairs and headed straight back up to the loft. It couldn’t have been more than forty-five minutes. Maybe a bit less.”

  “That’s not a lot of time,” Bill said, frowning.

  “Well, the plows had been out, so the streets were pretty clear,” I said, shrugging.

  “I was referring to the amount of time that elapsed before she was killed,” Bill said.

  “Oh. Sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “No, I guess it’s not a lot of time.”

  “Did you pick up on anything between the woman and Naylor?” Shirley said.

  “Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “Apart from the fact that it was pretty clear they had a good working relationship.”

  “How so?” she said, pen poised.

  “They were very efficient,” I said. “It was like they’d developed a sort of shorthand working together.” I glanced back and forth at them. “Sort of like the one you guys have.”

  The detectives both nodded and jotted down notes.

  “Any indication that they had more than a working relationship?” Bill said.

  “You mean, sort of like the one you guys have?” I said, grinning.

  “How about you try to keep a lid on the annoyance factor?” Bill said. “You were doing so well.”

  “I thought it was funny,” I said, shrugging.

  “Me too,” Shirley said, laughing. Then she refocused. “You haven’t seen Naylor since you left this afternoon?”

  “No, we tried calling him a couple of times after I realized I’d forgotten my phone,” I said. “But all the calls went straight to voicemail.”

  “Have you spoken to anyone?” Shirley said.

  “We managed to get hold of Thomas,” I said. “He was at the gym.”

  “Do you have his address?” Bill said.

  “No, but I can definitely get that for you,” I said. “What do you think was the cause of death? I took a quick look when I discovered the body, but it didn’t look like she had any injuries.”

  “She doesn’t,” Shirley said, glancing at Bill who shrugged as if to say go ahead. “It looks like there’s some sort of powder on the pillows.”

  “Yeah, I saw that,” I said, my neurons firing as I flashed back to what I’d seen in the bedroom earlier. “What do you think it is?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Shirley said.

  “But not a drug, right?” I said, frowning.

  “Probably more like a poison,” Bill said.

  “Somebody sprinkled poison powder on the pillows?” I said.

  “That’s our best guess at the moment,” Shirley said.

  “But if that’s the case, wouldn’t that mean that Naylor was the intended victim?”

  “That’s also our best guess at the moment,” Bill said. “And given Naylor’s reputation, it’s a pretty good assumption.”

  “Because of the tabloid photos he takes, right?” I said.

  “I thought you said you just met the guy,” Bill said, raising an eyebrow at me. “How the heck would you know that?”

  “Really, Bill?” I said, scowling at him. “After all we’ve been through, you’re going to start suspecting me?”

  “I’m not suspecting you,” he snapped. “I’m just wondering how you knew that.”

  “The security guard was talking to one of my business partners earlier,” I said, shrugg
ing. “He mentioned a few things about the Naylor’s lifestyle.”

  “I think we might need to have another chat with him,” Bill said, scribbling another note.

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Shirley said, also writing in her notepad. “And as a security guard, he might have a way to access all the residences.”

  “I’m sure he would,” Bill said, nodding. “What else did the security guard have to say?”

  “Let’s see,” I said, pressing my stomach to stop the hunger pangs that were beginning to make themselves heard. “He said that John does photoshoots with a lot of different models, loves to make money, and that he works all the time.”

  “Did he say anything about blackmail?” Bill said.

  “What?” I said, staring at him. “Blackmail?”

  “Rumor has it that Naylor isn’t above trying to extort money from some of the people he manages to catch in compromising positions,” Bill said.

  “No, that is something I had not heard,” I said, frowning. “Who has he blackmailed?”

  “Like I said, at the moment, they’re just rumors,” he said, glancing around the loft. “And that’s why we need to get our hands on his cameras and computers. The photos and videos he has stored on them should tell us a lot about who he might be going after.”

  “And maybe point us in the right direction about who might have been trying to kill him,” Shirley said.

  “Good luck with that,” I said, glancing out the windows at the storm.

  “Good luck with what?” Bill said, staring at me.

  I felt my face flush red, and I took a few deep breaths before continuing.

  “His office is empty,” I said eventually.

  “You searched the guy’s office?” Bill said.

  “Well, searched is such a strong term, Detective,” I said, giving him a weak grin.

  “Why on earth would you do that?” Shirley said.

  “I was looking for my phone.”

  “I see,” Bill said. “Had you spent any time in his office when you were here earlier?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “But you still thought it was okay to search the guy’s office?” Bill said.