A Game of Murder (15 page)

“Okay. I want you to go back inside and wait for homicide. I’m sure the detective will have a lot more questions.”

* * *

Faith and Hope sat at the table, the dregs of their drinks in front of them, Hope’s mostly melted ice, Faith’s collapsed milk foam. A half dozen police cars, the M.E.’s vehicle, a Crime Scene Unit van, and an ambulance had converged on the Prickly Pear Café and its neighbors, putting them out of business for the afternoon.

The now-familiar Detective Kastner had appropriated Hope’s real office at the far end of hallway from the dining area. He first questioned Faith, and then Hope. Lorna was with him now. Faith had repeated her story. She didn’t know what Hope told the detective.

“Did he say when you can reopen the Prickly Pear?” Faith asked.

“No.” Hope sighed. “He hasn’t decided whether it’s part of the crime scene or not.”

“Surely he doesn’t think Ashley was murdered here?”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what he thinks. If they send the fingerprint team inside, they might take days. Just think of all the people who were in here this morning!”

A middle-aged man pulled on the door, found it locked, then noticed the sign at eye level. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside before moving on.

“Can you afford to stay closed that long?”

Hope picked up her glass and raised it to her lips. She tilted her head back to get the last few drops of liquid in her mouth, then put it on the table, empty. “I suppose. It will hurt, but now that Walt has the ranch foreman’s job, his salary is enough to tide us over for a week or two. Longer than that and…”

Faith didn’t want to think of the consequences the loss of a month’s income would have for Hope. Like most small businesses, the café didn’t make a huge profit. Faith doubted Hope had put aside much—or any—money in an emergency fund. “Let’s pray the police don’t shut it down longer.”

Faith looked down into her mug. Too little to drink.

“Can I make you another latte?” Hope asked.

Faith patted her stomach. “I don’t think I can afford the calories. The only exercise I’ve gotten today is taking out the garbage. I should have gone to a gym.”

Hope gave her a wry smile. The sound of the air conditioner coming on droned in the empty café.

Lorna came out of the back hallway, her face pale.

Hope jumped out of her seat and helped Lorna to it. Lorna rested her shaking hands on the table. Hope stood behind her, rubbing Lorna’s back.

“What happened in there?” Faith asked.

“I told him about Ashley and Paul and Derek being in the café Saturday for lunch. He asked a million questions about what they ate. He made it sound as if I poisoned her on purpose.”

“Surely he can’t think there was anything wrong with the food?” Faith thought the detective was jumping to unwarranted conclusions. At this point, he couldn’t know for sure Ashley had been poisoned.

“He’s sending someone to check on Paul and Derek now.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Faith glanced up at Hope. She was chewing on her lower lip. Faith couldn’t blame her. Even though she was positive the food the trio had eaten at the Prickly Pear hadn’t been responsible for Ashley’s death, there was always the chance something was tainted. And, after the poison in Mira’s salad, Hope couldn’t risk any more bad publicity.

“He asked a lot of questions about Scott and his job again.” Lorna’s voice was hoarse. “He hinted I had one of the strongest motives for murder.”

“Yikes! Why would he say that?” Faith asked.

“He thinks I wanted to eliminate my competition for the Adventurer’s Torch.”

“But I don’t think Mira was your strongest competition,” Faith said. “Certainly Ashley wasn’t. That would be…” And then it dawned on her.

Lorna nodded. “Derek and Paul.”

“Oh, no. I hope nothing’s happened to them.” Not because Faith had any particular affection for the two gamers, but because the case against Lorna as the murderer would be a whole lot stronger if something had.

Faith flinched when Detective Kastner spoke from behind her. “I’m going to need you ladies to vacate the premises.”

He must be wearing rubber-soled shoes, thought Faith, since she hadn’t heard him approaching. Hope’s eyebrows arched into her forehead and her mouth formed an O, reminding Faith of a goldfish gasping in open air after jumping out of its bowl.

“For how long?” Hope managed to say.

The detective shrugged. “As long as the CSU takes to process it. Probably at least the rest of the day given the size of the place. I’m not sure how long the Health Department will need.”

“Health Department?” Hope asked. Her face looked as if she’d seen the creature from
Alien
.

Kastner’s expression reminded Faith of an old boss, one who regularly thought her intelligence ranked somewhat below that of a slug worm. The detective patiently explained. “This is the second death that’s taken place here. I have to notify the Health Department. It’s a matter of public safety.”

The blood drained from Hope’s face. “But Ashley didn’t die here!”

“She did eat here. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Ferguson?” He pinned Lorna with his gaze.

Lorna nodded, her eyes wide.

“I’ve sent an officer out to do a welfare check on the two who ate here with her.”

The detective watched the three of them closely. Probably trying to see if one of them would indicate more knowledge of the situation than they’d each told him previously. None of them flinched.

He directed his attention to Hope once again. “I’ll call you when we’ve released the crime scene. Now, if I could ask you to exit via the front door…” He pointed as if they didn’t know where it was.

Dutifully, they shuffled out of the café. A clump of gawkers gathered nearby, ogling the police activity. The three women paused in the parking lot.

“Now what?” Lorna asked.

Hope shrugged. “I guess we go home.” She said the words casually, but her right eyelid twitched repeatedly, betraying her inner turmoil. “There’s not much else we can do.”

Faith wasn’t so sure. Doing nothing wasn’t in her nature. She wanted to race off to Paul’s house, see what the police found there. She wondered where Derek lived. Her stomach roiled with indecision. She’d made a promise to John, one he expected her to keep. Faith prided herself on keeping her promises. She also prided herself on loyalty to her friends.

“Call me when we’re open again,” Lorna said.

“Sure thing,” Hope said.

The two of them headed for their cars, leaving Faith standing on the asphalt contemplating her options. She deliberated over whether she could change John’s mind. Probably not right away, but maybe in a day or so. What if she couldn’t? Was she willing to risk losing him?

The next morning, Faith needed to think about business instead of murders. Earlier than she would have liked, she found herself driving through an industrial park near the airport, hunting for the address she’d been given over the phone. At last she spied the sign displaying the company name and pulled into the parking lot.

Faith started to get out of her car, then stopped and opened the console to retrieve the lint roller she kept there. Pixel, unhappy at being left alone this morning, had tried to persuade her to stay by rubbing up against her pant legs and rolling over on her shoes, leaving both decorated in orange fur. Not the best impression for a new client.

Clothes cleaned of cat hair, she approached the entrance to Arizona Cycling Products, evaluating the company by the appearance of its facility. The construction was relatively new, and the grounds evidenced the manicured appearance of professional landscaping.

The lobby was similar in nature, fairly large as lobbies go, with a receptionist behind a long counter. Photographs of El Tour de Tucson, the annual bicycle race, and the company’s products hung on the yellow walls. Rich brown carpet covered the floor, a nice change from the tile found almost everywhere else in Tucson.

“Faith Andersen to see Harry Kaplan,” she said to the receptionist.

“One moment.” The receptionist picked up the receiver and punched a speed-dial button while Faith perused the photographs. Most displayed a combination of high-end parts: frames and gears and pumps, and less-expensive—well, to be honest, cheap—accessories like streamers and grips and brightly-colored horns. A place of honor was given to a walnut plaque with a brass plate mounted in the middle, thanking Arizona Cycling for being a major sponsor of El Tour.

“Mr. Kaplan will see you now,” a female voice said.

Faith turned toward the voice. A woman in a navy blue suit—the kind with a skirt, not pants—carefully coiffed dark hair, and full makeup held open the door to the office area. Yikes! Faith thought. Good thing I put on my best black slacks and real shoes for this one. Even so, she felt underdressed.

The woman led her past a secretarial cubicle to an office as big as Faith’s living room. Maybe bigger. An elderly man rose from behind a desk large enough to seat six for dinner. He was all in gray: gray suit, gray hair, silver-gray wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Faith concluded he set the formal tone his secretary had adopted. He must not be from Tucson. Even in businesses, Tucsonans rarely dressed formally. Faith, already intimidated, tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She needn’t have worried.

Harry Kaplan gave her a warm smile and extended his hand. “Miss Andersen, I presume.”

“Yes. And you must be Mr. Kaplan.” She took his hand and, despite his age, his handshake was firm.

“Have a seat and let’s get to know one another,” he said, then glanced up at the secretary. “Please don’t disturb us for the next half hour, Grace.”

Faith liked the way he said “us,” including her as an equal. This might not be so bad after all. Once Grace left the room, closing the door behind her, Faith said, “When your secretary called to make the appointment, she told me you were interested in a new website.”

“That’s right. Our I.T. person is too busy handling the day-to-day business requirements to waste time on the website.”

Faith tried not to cringe at the “waste time” remark. “Can you tell me how you heard of me?”

Kaplan settled back into his black leather executive chair. “Of course. I know Tom Yates from Visit Tucson,” he said, naming the city’s primary tourism organization. We’ve attended several partner events together. Last month he told me about what a great site you’d done for the ranch.”

Faith almost laughed at the contrast between Tom Yates, Walt’s boss at the Crazy Creek Dude Ranch, and Harry Kaplan. There couldn’t be two men more opposite in dress and demeanor. She held herself to a smile. “I enjoyed working on that site. Lots of gorgeous scenery and activities to feature on the pages.” Which made her wonder how she could do anything similar for bicycle tires and streamers. Maybe she would take a cue from the lobby and focus on the riders and races.

“Yes. My wife and I have spent many happy weekends at the ranch.”

“I enjoyed it when I was there.”
If she ignored the murder and the fire and being shot at.
“Do you have a website now?” Faith almost hoped the company didn’t. Starting from scratch was often easier than trying to fix a poorly designed site.

“I think so.” The look on his face was as vague as his statement. “I know I paid for one several years ago.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to see on the new site?” Faith bent over and grabbed her pad and pen from the outside pocket of a purse so large it also functioned as her briefcase.

“The focus should be on our customers,” Kaplan said. “I want our product catalog available, and the ability to order our merchandise online. That would allow us to cut down on the number of sales people we have to employ.”

Faith tried not to wince. While Kaplan’s demeanor might be that of a kindly grandfather, his attitude showed him to be a ruthless businessman. She hated being the cause of other people’s unemployment. She’d lost too many jobs herself. And, while online order systems were convenient, the personal touch often clinched a sale, especially for a small business like Arizona Cycling Products. “What else?”

“Brand awareness. Although we’re well thought of in the industry, bicycle shops often find our competitor’s products first. I want to change that.”

Faith wrote “SEO” on the pad. A lot of sites predated the popular search behemoths of today, weren’t optimized for them. “Do you have a sales brochure with information about Arizona Cycling?”

“As a matter of fact, we just got in the new one in preparation for Toy Fair.” Harry Kaplan reached back and took a glossy brochure from a stack on the credenza behind him. He handed it to Faith with a look of pride.

As Faith suspected, the company probably spent more dollars on the brochure than it budgeted for the website. But, since business websites functioned as online sales brochures, the booklet made a good start toward how the site should look.

“This will do nicely,” she said as she flipped through the pages. “I think it would be a good idea to put the history of the company on the site, as well as your biography and those of some of your top salespeople. Do you know if this information is available in electronic form?”

“I suppose it is, but you’ll have to talk to our I.T. person about that.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Faith said. “He’ll also be the one I’ll need to talk to about interfacing the web ordering system with whatever you are using now.”

“Of course.” Kaplan picked up the phone, pushed a button, and said, “Can you come to my office for a minute?”

After hearing the response, he again turned to Faith. “He hasn’t been with us very long, but he’s proven satisfactory.”

Faith was about to ask more questions when a familiar voice came from the doorway behind her.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Kaplan?”

Heart pounding, Faith swiveled her chair to face the doorway. “Hello, Derek.”

She didn’t know whether to be happy he was alive or dismayed she would need to work with him.

Derek frowned, then, ignoring her greeting, turned his puzzled gaze back to his boss.

“Ah, you know one another,” Kaplan said.