The Lady Who Sang High: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 7) (13 page)

“Hey, Ace. How’re you?” I answered.

“I’m doing all right, Reed.” Ace Smith spoke in his usual slow drawl. “Job-hunting stinks, and I’ve gotta go out and do something. Want to meet me at B 52’s?”

“No, I’m headed to work now,” I said. “But I can keep you busy for a while, if you want to do me a favor.”

“Uh, I guess. It’s not boring, is it?” Ever since I’d asked the Goofball Brothers for help in surveillance on a house, their one concern when assisting me was whether they would be bored. As if their regular routine involved a lot of unending excitement.

“Not at all. I need you to go by Paris on the Platte and ask the bartender and a waitress if they remember a lady named Ivy being there. Could you do that?”

“Uh, yeah I guess. Where is it?”

“Just northwest of downtown.” I described how to get there. “They supposedly know her, but if not, you can describe her.” I gave him a detailed description and told him to write it down. By the time he got pen and paper, and I repeated myself, I was at my car.

“Think you can handle it?” I asked.

“You bet,” he said with enthusiasm born out of being rescued from an afternoon of nothing.

I promised to call him later and ended the call. It should be an easy enough task for him, but he was, in fact, a Goofball Brother, so maybe I was too optimistic. I wondered what would happen if he had to describe Ivy – would that throw him off? But then, her alibi could’ve been set up. If she was friends with the wait staff, they might lie for her. I wondered if the bar had a video security system that could verify her presence there. But how would I access that? I sighed. Trying to verify her alibi was turning into a harder proposition that I thought. I wondered if I should call Detective Spillman. She’d been helpful with some information in the past, but it was usually more in passing. I doubted she would be so forthcoming with this kind of information if I called her out of the blue. Nope. I was on my own.

***

When I got to Blue Light, Bill and Pete were working the counter. I greeted both of them and then went upstairs to get my training instructions for the day. Jodie wanted to know how the investigation was progressing, and I filled her in. However, I neglected to tell her about my foray into burglary. She was still steaming about Ivy and wanted to fire her, and I again had to tell her to hold off.

“If Ivy killed Jude, all firing will do is make her more wary,” I said. “And if she didn’t do it, you’ll alert the real killer.”

“You’re right,” she agreed.

“I’m working on Ivy, so let me see where it goes.”

She wasn’t happy, but she agreed, then gave me jobs for the day. I spent the day working with the plants in the warehouse and helping in the store, where I learned how to take payments. And that was the most exciting thing of the day. As for my investigation, I gleaned nothing new.

Ace called me around five and reported that everyone at Paris on the Platte said Ivy had been there from shortly after seven on Friday night and stayed until nine-thirty. I thanked him for the information, but had to beg off on meeting him for pool. I could hear the disappointment in his voice, and he asked if he could help me again. He was desperate for some excitement. I said I’d see what I could do, thinking
we need to get that boy a job
.

Eight o’clock finally rolled around and I was able to leave. Dusk was settling in, but a stifling heat still remained as I walked to my car. It took me less than fifteen minutes to get to Ivy’s apartment building, and when I turned onto Race Street, I couldn’t find a place to park. Since most of the apartments and houses along the street had no garages, residents had no choice but to park on the street. I drove slowly toward Ivy’s building, concentrating on finding a space large enough to accommodate the 4-Runner. I suddenly became aware of people congregating on the sidewalk near her building, more than what seemed normal for a Monday evening, and a wary feeling coursed through me. Directly in front of her building, a smaller crowd had collected, and they were looking down at something – what, I couldn’t tell. But a twenty-something woman turned away, her eyes shut tight, a hand over her mouth. An older woman was crying. More than a few people had cell phones to their ears.

The wary feeling morphed to dread as I hit the gas pedal. The 4-Runner darted down the street and I pulled to the curb at the end of the block. I bolted from the car, not caring that I was illegally parked. I ran down the sidewalk and up to the crowd.

“Hey, man, you don’t wanna see it,” a guy in shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt said as he grabbed my arm.

I shrugged him off and pushed into the crowed so I could see what they were looking at. My stomach roiled.

Ivy was sprawled face-down on the ground, her legs half in the grass lawn in front of the building, the rest of her body on the sidewalk. Her head was turned to the side, her gaze toward the feet standing around her. Only, nothing registered in those vacant eyes. She was undoubtedly dead.

***

One side of her head was crushed in and blood oozed onto the sidewalk. I wanted to look away, but forced myself not to. One arm was under her body, the other lay out beside her. I scrutinized the ground around her, but didn’t see anything unusual.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She jumped,” a man next to me said.

“Suicide,” another murmured.

“Did anyone see anything?” someone else asked.

Multiple heads wagged back and forth: no.

Sirens grew louder and then blue and red lights flashed down the street as a squad car screeched to a halt in front of the building. Two officers hurriedly got out and began pushing the crowd back. An ambulance arrived moments later, parking behind the police car.

I stepped back, along with the other gawkers, but stayed in a spot where I could watch. I looked up at Ivy’s balcony. In the darkness I couldn’t see much. A light was on in her apartment, bathing the balcony in shadows. The sliding glass doors were open and curtains swayed in a soft breeze. That was all I could discern.

 A few people wandered off, busy, or not wanting to get involved. Or not wanting to see the gruesome scene anymore. The police officers began questioning people, gathering information. I waited and watched, and soon the person I expected to show up did.

I spotted the blue ’65 Ford Mustang first, parked behind the ambulance, and then Detective Sarah Spillman marched up the sidewalk. She talked with the officers who’d first arrived on the scene, and then she disappeared in the building. A few minutes later, her partners Moore and Youngfield arrived, and they went inside as well.

I continued to wait. The crowds drifted away, and only a few of us remained. After an hour, my feet began to hurt from standing, but finally Spillman came back out. She talked to the coroner and as she did, she glanced up and spotted me. I couldn’t tell if she frowned, but after she finished her conversation with the uniform, she came over.

“Seeing you isn’t a coincidence,” she said with her hands on her hips.

“It’s not.”

“Why are you here?”

She looked dressed for the weather, light pants and a short-sleeved blouse, but beads of sweat rolled down her neck and under her collar. She was hot and annoyed, so I quickly told her about my conversations and meetings with Ivy.

“And when you show up, she’s taken a nose-dive off her balcony.”

“Looks that way.”

She stared up at the balcony. “Did the victim seem despondent?”

“No, not at all. Ivy thought she was close to discovering this new process and she figured she was going to make some big money off it. She was planning her future, if anything.”

“Who knew what she was doing?”

“I don’t know. Jodie Lundgren knows now because I told her, but we haven’t told anyone else.”

“You may not have, but Jodie could’ve told someone.”

I pursed my lips. “Yeah, that’s true.” I made a mental note to ask Jodie if she’d kept her mouth shut about Ivy. “And if Ivy was willing to pull me into her scheme, maybe she tried other employees. Who knows how many people know about the new process.”

“Lots of suspects,” she muttered, then waved at the street. “Did you see anything?”

“No. When I drove down the block, she was already dead.”

“Did anyone else see anything?”

I shook my head. “You know more than I do. I just overheard someone say she jumped.”

“But no one said they saw her.”

“Nope.” I made eye contact. “What’d you find out?”

She looked away.

“Come on, Spillman. I’m being helpful.” I held up my hands. “I could canvas the neighborhood, too, and get the same information. I might even get more because I’m not a cop.”

She glared at me, then sighed. “We don’t have any witnesses so far. And no one heard anything. If you hear differently, you let me know.”

“Of course.”

She gazed down at the sidewalk for a moment. “Who knew about your meeting with Ivy?”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“But the victim could’ve.”

I nodded.

She mulled that over. “Or maybe it was a suicide,” she concluded.

“Come on, you don’t believe that. Isn’t it a little too convenient? She’s trying to figure out this new process and then she gets killed, right after Jude gets killed. And they both know something about a new weed-growing process that could be worth millions? That can’t be coincidence.”

“Prove it, Ferguson.” She snorted. “Remember, I have to build a case for court. I got a good look at the scene and right now, it looks like a suicide.” Except that her tone betrayed her.

“You don’t believe it, though.”

She arched an eyebrow, just slightly.

“Is Jude’s autopsy finished?”

She nodded. “One shot to the head, a .22 caliber bullet. No surprises, although Jodie seemed to want something more that would explain it all away.”

“When did you tell her?”

“I spoke with her a little while ago. She’s still at the store.”

“It’s tough,” I said. “She worshipped her brother.”

Sadness flickered in her eyes and then was gone. “Go home, Ferguson.” She turned and walked away. “If you think of anything else,” she called over her shoulder, “let me know.”

“You do the same,” I said.

“Unbelievable.” Jodie sat at her desk, shaking her head.

I was slumped in the leather tub chair across from her, staring at the ceiling. “You’re telling me.”

When I’d left Ivy’s apartment, I’d immediately called Jodie. She was still at Blue Light, so I told her not to leave, that I had something important to discuss. That was an understatement, and when I told her about Ivy, she was understandably shocked.

“And you don’t think she jumped?” Jodie asked when I finished.

“Why would she?” I said. “Did Ivy seem depressed or despondent to you?”

She shook her head.

“I would agree. From what little I knew of Ivy, she was giddy about ripping you guys off, and after Jude died, she seemed nervous.” I paused. “Which is part of what made me think she might’ve killed him, or been involved.”

“Why would someone kill her?” Jodie asked. “I was angry that she was trying to steal our new process, but I didn’t want to see anything bad happen to her.”

“Maybe someone was trying to steal her notes for the process,” I said.

“But she wasn’t that close to figuring it out, was she?” There was skepticism in her tone.

I tipped my head so I could see her. “I didn’t think so, but obviously I missed something.” I rubbed my eyes. I was tired and frustrated. “Ivy was sneaking around, trying to get the process notes. One of my theories was that she was manipulating Jude, but things went bad and she killed him. Or that she tried to blackmail your brother and when he didn’t go for that, she got rid of him. And she had a lot of student loan debt, so she needed money –”

“How do you know that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, not wanting to throw Cal under the bus.

“But she didn’t have the correct process, so why…” she swallowed hard. “Why kill Jude?”

“Jude double-crossed her by not giving her notes for the real process? But she didn’t know that until after she’d killed him.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, because I was wrong.” I thumped a hand on the arm of the chair. “None of this makes sense, so what am I missing?”

“I find myself wishing Jude and I’d never discovered this new process.” She put a hand over her mouth, smothering a sob.

I couldn’t argue with that. “There’s nothing more we can do right now, so let’s go home. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, with telling everyone, and I suspect the police will be here in the morning.”

“The police?” She sounded completely defeated.

“Of course. I don’t think Spillman believes Ivy’s death is a suicide, so she’ll be questioning everyone that knew Ivy. Besides, she’s still working on Jude’s murder, and there’s a killer out there who’s getting more desperate.”

“What should I say about you?”

“Tell her the truth,” I said. “She knows you hired me.”

“Oh, right.”

I stood up. “I’ll be thinking about this, trying to find what I missed.” I motioned to her. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

“Spillman called me earlier. They’re releasing Jude’s…the body.” She cleared her throat. “I can plan the funeral now. It’ll probably be the end of the week, something simple. That’s what he wanted.”

“I’m sure Jude would appreciate that.”

She got up slowly. “Oh, I’m tired. And I’m going to have to help in the store. Ugh, you’re right, tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Uh-huh.”

I helped her lock up and walked her to her car, and then I headed home.

***

A couple of hours later, when Willie came home, I was sitting in the kitchen with the lights out, drinking scotch.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, as she flipped on the lights and saw me. “What’re you doing?”

“Having a drink.” I sipped from a highball glass and grimaced.

She picked up the bottle and read the label. “Glenfiddich, nice.” She set it back down. “I didn’t even know you had any of this around.”

“I keep it for when my father is in town.”

“Oh.” She sensed something was wrong and sat down across from me and looked me straight in the eyes. “What happened?”

I told her, wrapping up with, “Like Jodie said, Ivy may have been crooked, but she didn’t deserve to die.” I took another sip and grimaced again.

Willie eyed me. “And the Scotch?”

“I seem to have run out of suspects, so I thought I’d drink a little.” I let out a short laugh.

“Trying to be like your noir heroes?”

“Maybe.” I lifted the glass and studied the gold liquid. “But for the life of me, I can’t figure out how Bogie drank Scotch – yuck. And it’s expensive. ‘The whole world is about three drinks behind.’ ”

“I’m assuming that’s a quote?” she asked.

“Yep. Humphrey Bogart said that if Stalin, Truman and everybody else took three drinks, we’d loosen up and have peace.”

“Funny.” But she wasn’t amused. She got up, took the glass from my hand and set in on the counter. Then she took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

***

Later, we lay in bed talking, Willie with her an arm draped over my chest.

“You need to sleep,” she said, her own voice low and drowsy.

“I can’t stop thinking about the case.”

“Well, okay. I guess we need to talk about this. You’ll never get any sleep otherwise. So, who knew about the new process?” she asked.

“Potentially anyone in the building.” I thought about Ivy’s activities the last couple of days. “She had been talking to Pete, and she lied to me about it. Was she in cahoots with him, and he killed her? But why would he do that?”

“Once they sold the process, maybe he wanted the money for himself?” She snuggled closer.

“Maybe.”
Did that mean he’d be coming after me?
“Carlo knew Jude was working on something in the lab. Is he involved? I need to talk to him again. Bill doesn’t seem like a suspect, although he didn’t like Jude scolding him.”

“You think Bill would kill Jude just because Jude yelled at him? Seems too extreme to me.”

“It does to me, too, but stranger things have happened. And where does Ivy’s death fit in that scenario?”

“I don’t know.” Willie yawned and rolled over. “But I know I can’t talk about this any longer. Good night, hon. In seconds she was breathing evenly.

I stared into the darkness. Someone was after the new process that had at one time – according to Jodie – been documented on Jude’s computer. Where was the process now? And who knew that Jodie and Jude had completed it? Wes and Heath were certainly possibilities, as they had offices upstairs and a lot of direct contact with Jude.

I thought about Wes and Heath. They would know how much the process would be worth to another business. And they’d have the contacts with other people in the industry as well. Had Jude told them about his success with the process, and one of them was trying to find the process to sell it? Did one of them kill Jude and Ivy? Both investors bore a closer look. A plan formulated in my mind of what to do when I returned to Blue Light.