The next morning, I was up bright and early and ready to dive into this case. Manny was up with me since he had to get back to his place to get ready for work. I'd suggested he leave a couple of work suits for the night's he slept over, but he would still have to get home to feed and walk Bertie so que sera, sera. Anyway, after a little pre-dawn flirting, he was off, and I was plotting.
While my morning tea was brewing, I started digging into more of Kelli Olson's background. Everything she'd told me was easily confirmed since she'd lived such a public life. After having to forcibly return her crown, the disgraced beauty queen had somehow managed to revamp her image, marry Spencer Olson, the current owner of Powers Trucking, own and operate several successful event halls, and winning a seat as the councilwoman for district 8.
And all before she turned forty. Not too shabby.
Both Spencer and Kelli's combined net worth put them in the same tax bracket as David Howell, so that definitely made Kelli a prime target for Noah. But why blackmail Kelli and not Spencer? He was the one who headed Powers Trucking, a regional truck company the sold and repaired everything from semis to buses to fire trucks and raked in hundreds of millions a year. Kelli's personal business endeavors had been to invest in a handful of swanky venues that hosted the elite's premier events from million-dollar weddings to million-dollar fundraisers. Her venue business was successful true, but not as much as Powers Trucking. Maybe he couldn't find any dirt on him—no. That was unlikely. He probably chose Kelli because he'd already built a 'working' relationship with her and felt more comfortable scamming her because of their previous rapport.
I was hoping to take advantage of our rapport myself when I saw her today—if I saw her. She seemed like a busy woman. Showing up at one of her event halls was a gamble, and her and the hubby lived in a gated community with a guard booth and no way in but an invitation. Trying to head her off at City Hall was a good way to get my ass tased by security and calling would likely get me a brief talk with a secretary and the brush off.
My best option then, I wagered, was a surprise attack to her southside office. That'll give me less chance to waste time trying to track or wait for her...
But first, I had to put in a few hours at Taste Teas.
I had no doubt Pasha and Jackson could open without me, but it would be hard with the morning rush so most days I was there for opening if not closing. So, even though my mind was on murder, I unlocked Taste Teas personally and started prepping the days coffee. Today's special was a medium roast Colombian that was whole bean, so I had to grind it before I could brew it.
Jackson and Pasha arrived right behind me and went to their usual duties. For Jackson that was straight to the kitchen to fire up the donut fryer, and turning scone, muffin, and cinnamon roll batter into edible pastries before I flipped the sign to open in a few hours. For Pasha that was helping me prep the morning's beverages, setting the chairs, changing the chalkboard menu, and restocking the condiments stand.
After washing her hands, she flipped the stereo to some hippy folk shit and hummed along to Jim Croce while she wiped down the countertops. "Morning, Evie," she sang.
"Morning." I said as I set down a container of lavender tea—today's tea special.
The hour went by pretty quick. Before I knew it the coffee machines were loaded and ready, and most of the baked goods were sitting pretty in the bakery display.
As I looked over everything, I realized that half the donuts weren't out yet. We were ten minutes until open and one of my regulars was already parked out front in his car, waiting. The hell was taking so long?
I stomped my way to the kitchen, images of Jackson, headphones in ear, singing along to catchy hip-hop tracks even though I've told him a million times to keep his eye on the clock danced before my eyes. Well, he'd get an earful! Just because he was on the cusp of retiring didn't mean he could slack off in his last few weeks!
I pushed my way through the kitchens swinging door. "Hey Jackson, what's taking so long on the—" But he wasn't alone. Standing next to him behind the island was a woman in a pair of blue scrubs. "Oh, hello."
"Evie, this my girl Donna." Jackson's smile was a mile wide. "Donna, this my cousin Evie."
Donna was pleasantly squat, with creamy mocha skin and straight black hair that she'd put up into a sloppy bun.
I was so startled to find someone else I barely had time to wonder how she snuck back here without me seeing. "Hey," I said awkwardly. "Nice to meet you,"
She fluttered out a, "Yeah," on a breathy laugh like whatever he'd said before I walked in must have been hilarious.
I looked pointedly at the donuts hot from the oil but only half glazed. "What, uh..."
Donna cut in before I could finish my thought. "Well, I been braggin' 'bout my famous smothered pork chops for so long, so I packed him a lunch with leftovers from last night and thought I'd drop it off before work." She tapped her fingers on a Tupperware container on the counter.
I looked over her scrubs. "You're a nurse?"
She nodded. "Yep. Just started."
I searched my frantic early morning brain for a polite response but only managed a lame follow up about her work. "Oh. Were you an assistant before?"
"Stripper."
"Oh." I tried to self-correct, but I know I made a small face at the thought. I forced a smile, but it felt false. "Well, anyway. Jackson what's keeping the donuts? It's almost time."
He grabbed at a piping bag full of raspberry cream. "Sorry 'bout that. I got distracted."
"Yeah, I see that." My eyes quickly glanced at one then the other. "Well, hurry on those donuts. You still work here, remember?"
"Okay, boss-lady." There was a bit more spite on that boss-lady than usual, but it seemed mean to call him out in front of company, so I let that go.
As I was leaving, I could hear Donna whispering with her outside voice. "Don't worry 'bout it, baby. Once you get your CDL you can quit this dump."
Well, excuse me.
******************
After the lunch time rush, I made my way over to Kelli Olson's office. She leased an place in Sandalwood, only about fifteen minutes from her house. As I pulled into the parking lot I was reminded I was on one of the wealthier sides of town by the disproportionate amount of Benz's clogging up the parking lot. I pulled my little Ford in between a Range Rover and a BMW, rolled down my windows, and turned off the car. There was no reason to loiter if she wasn't even in, so my plan was to wait until I saw her.
According to her website, she was the only professional who worked out of her office and the hours of operations were from one to three. Seemed like no time at all until I remembered she put on events at various locations and had to make time for her city council responsibilities too. These two hours three times a week were likely necessary for a central location for all her business. Not to mention a place to send all that mail.
I'd say she probably spent those two hours paying her bills, making phone calls, and balancing multiple books.
I sat in my car listening to talk radio and doing my own book balancing on my phone while glancing up from time to time. When I checked the clock after thirty minutes it was about three forty-five.
Maybe she didn't come in today. Maybe she left early.
I was about to consider it a bust when she strolled out of the front doors with a brown leather attaché case in her hand and a woman, I assume to be her assistant, tailing her for dear life.
Show time.
I pulled myself from my car and followed after, but Kelli's pace was brisk. She must have been late for her next appointment. I picked up my pace and borderline torpedoed across that parking lot like a heat seeking missile—Lord knows ol' girl was moving like her ass was on fire.
By the time I was in yelling distance I was almost out of breath. Should've parked closer. "Mrs... Olson!"
"I'm sorry. No questions." She called without looking back. "I'll answer everything at the next council meeting."
I finally caught up and matched their hurried stride. "I'm not the press."
"Mrs. Olson is very busy." The assistant physically put herself between me and Kelli. Who'd she think she was? The damn Secret Service? I hope she gets paid Secret Service money, doing all that.
"It's about—" The two of them kept walking forward like I was as insignificant as an ant. "Noah Walker!"
She stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to get a good look at me. I probably didn't look like much. I knew I'd be out today, so I'd thrown on a simple tee, sneakers, and capri pants for the comfort. My hair, black and curly as all get out, was corralled into a semi-tacky low bun. By contrast Kelli Olson was dressed in a pressed power suit with her blonde hair somehow defying Florida humidity by being a sort of Jackie O inspired free flowing bouffant. The shoes on her feet were six inchers at least so combined with her six feet height, she probably towered over most people.
All the better to intimidate you with, my dear.
"Who did you say you were again?"
"Evie Harper. An, uh, acquaintance of Noah Walker. We talked on the phone."
"Ah!" Her eyes didn't change at the mention of Noah's name. "Shawn, take five please."
Shawn nodded like a royal guard would to his king. "Of course, Mrs. Olson." She stalked off.
When she was far enough away that she couldn't hear, Kelli looked down at me. "Mrs. Harper."
"Ms."
"Ms. Harper. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I had some more questions if you didn't mind."
Her eyebrow arched upward. "About Noah Walker?"
"Have you heard?"
"Yes. The police came to break the tragic news a couple days ago." A couple of days ago, huh? So, the police know about her connection to Noah and she's possibly under investigation. That's promising.
"Tragic?"
"I'm completely devastated," she said flatly.
"I'm similarly devastated." My tone was just as flat as hers. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."
She smirked, and it felt like I gained a bit of ground. "So, what kind of questions did you want to ask?"
"Just about why Noah contacted you three weeks ago."
"He only really had one reason to ever contact me." A frown spread so deeply across her face her lips almost disappeared. "He wanted more money, of course."
"How many times did he pull his little scam?"
"About three times." She adjusted her weight from her left hip to her right one. Those shoes probably weren't very comfortable. "The first time when I won Miss Florida, then right after I married my husband, and now. It's like he had a sixth scent for whenever my life was coming together. When I think of how much money that asshole got out of me I just..."
"Cops?"
"As ineffectual as ever." She was about to say something more but paused. "Now, wait a minute. What is this about?"
I played innocent. "Noah Walker."
"Yes, but why are you asking questions about him. Didn't he blackmail you too?"
"Yes."
She frowned and a couple of fine wrinkles settled between her eyebrows. "Then what could I tell you that you don't already know? Doesn't him dying solve all your problems?"
"Doesn't it solve yours?"
She was quiet for a time. Her eyes bore holes through me. The two of us stared at each other; the monotony only broken by the rumbling of thunder in the distance.
"Storm's coming," she suddenly.
"So said the weatherman."
She sighed. "What is it you really want to know, Ms. Harper?"
"Did you kill him?"
That made her laugh. "Me?" She pressed a sanctimonious hand to her heart. "Why would I kill him?"
"Noah's death is quite the windfall for you."
"Now Ms. Harper, I won't pretend that I'm unhappy that he's dead, but to imply I had anything to do with his murder, well, that's ridiculous."
"If it were me, I'd be at least a little mad about the blackmail. You seem perfectly...content. If not ecstatic."
"I am ecstatic." She gestured toward the incoming rainclouds. "It's a beautiful day, I have my health, I'm up in the polls, and one miserable shit-stain has been wiped off the face of the Earth." She allowed the slightest bit of resentment to creep into her tone. Just enough so it sounded believable.
"If you're not involved then you won't mind telling me where you were last Friday night."
"Last Friday? My husband and I attended the Leukemia Ball."
The what, now? "You were at the what?"
"Leukemia Ball. It's an annual charity for leukemia."
"Can anyone corroborate besides your husband?"
She threw her head back and laughed melodically. I saw all thirty-two of her teeth. "Oh, my Lord, yes! It was a heavily publicized event." She calmed down, then threw a hand up to smooth her hair. She needn't have bothered. Not a strand moved out of place. "Most of the city's who's who was there along with quite a few journalists. In fact, one of them wrote an article about me and my efforts to fundraise for the Tobacco Free World foundation so that America's children can live free of the death and disease caused by tobacco companies run amok."
That last bit sounded a little over rehearsed to me. And how she just gon' shove that in when the night was about leukemia? Who the hell does that? "It was your charity event?"
"Not completely, but I used my connections to raise the publicity and threw the event at the hall I own."
"How charitable."
She missed my sarcasm entirely. "I thought so." She looked deliberately at her wristwatch. "If that's all you wanted to know, I've got to get back to work."
"Of course. I didn't mean to keep you."
As I watched her continue her skulk across the parking lot like a raptor on the hunt for small children, three things occurred to me. A: Kelli Olson is smart. So smart she almost clocked my lies halfway through our conversation. If I needed to talk to her again, I have no doubt she will have since done her research on me and that could blow my investigation. B: She's a liar. And I'm not just saying that because she's a politician, though, that's par for the course. She was playing it way too cool not to know something. And C: The police are looking into her too, so I'm on the right track.
I made it back to my car just in time for the rain to start. So, the night of the murder Kelli was allegedly at a highly publicized charity event where a bunch of people saw her. Or so she said.
Good news was, there was an easy way to find out.