David Howell was a very private man. I ran a full background Sunday morning at Taste Teas. I left the laptop in my office doing its magic while I worked up front. Would have put it on a nearby counter but people have a thing about people handling their food and a filthy laptop at the same time, I guess. When I got my first break, I went to check the results.
David Howell was born right here in the River City to some rich man who built fancy apartment complexes. After getting his million-dollar inheritance at the ripe old age of twenty-five he invested it in his own real estate endeavors and blahdy-blahdy—he was a rich man with an outstanding reputation. Everything I found on him was like a fantasy of the American Dream. He was rich, Christian, married to a beautiful woman with three beautiful kids, a successful businessman, etcetera. Yawn. There wasn't even so much as a parking ticket in this dude's bio.
There's no way in hell you can go forty something years of life without getting a little dirty—unless you're a hermit or a saint. And he was neither.
If I was going to get anywhere with David, I needed an assist. It killed me but I called Emily Shields.
"Do you know David Howell?" I asked when she picked up the phone.
"Yeah, I know of him. Why?"
"He's my other suspect."
"Seriously?" Her voice pitched up a couple octaves. "That's funny cause they're friends."
Of course, they are. "Makes sense. They run in the same circles."
"You know, he was supposed to be at the Leukemia Ball that night, but he and his wife didn't show up."
That was the night Noah was killed... "David might be my murderer."
"What about Kelli?"
"She's still my number one suspect but David's looking more suspicious the more I learn about him." Or rather, don't learn about him.
"You know, they're having another fundraising gala tonight."
I sighed. "They don't have enough money yet?"
"There's never enough money for this crowd." She cleared her throat and her voice dropped to an adult tone again. "Anyway, they have a campaign fundraiser thing tonight and I've been assigned to cover it."
"And you can get me in?"
"Maybe...I need to make a couple of calls but be on standby." I kept myself busy for about forty-five minutes before she called back. "You're in." She gave me the time, place, and dress code.
Back at home I went straight for the closet. I had just the dress for the occasion: a little-worn black number that came down to the knees and up to the clavicle. It wasn't one of my favorites to be honest. It was a sheath dress with no flare or embellishments. So, when I wore it, I looked like a plain black twig. Without a defined cinch at the waist it appeared as though I had no...waist, hips, ass...abysmal, but this wasn't a matchmaking event or a beauty pageant so I could just get over myself.
I threw it on—it was snugger than I remembered—then wrestled my hair into a tasteful high bun and put on an acceptable amount of makeup. With my last ten minute's I grabbed the nail polish remover and cleaned the chipped polish completely from my nails.
I gave myself a quick once over in the mirror, satisfied that I looked perfectly underwhelming and thus able to blend in with the media, then threw on a pair of black pumps.
On the way out I grabbed my little black shoulder bag and threw in my wallet, keys, audio recorder, pepper spray, and pocketknife, of course. Then, I was on my way.
**************
Regal Banquet, as I recalled, was owned by the Olson's. It wasn't as big as I thought it would be. The building itself was simple and rectangular and tall. The beige color made it look even more underwhelming. I don't know what I was expecting. A palace, maybe? In contrast, the grounds were much more impressive. The land stretched out behind the hall for two or three acres of lush green grass. Beautiful flowering jacaranda trees dotted a curving path. A white gazebo sat near a glittering lake. It would be a lovely place for an outdoor wedding, but I suppose that was the point.
Emily had told me she'd be waiting in parking lot B so that's where I decided to park. I pulled my car in as far away from the crowd as possible in a futile attempt to keep people from parking next to me, but I fully expected to be disappointed on the way out. Once the car was off, I swapped the white sneakers I'd driven in for my black pumps and started my trek. The pumps clacked loudly on the pavement as I moved but no one in the parking lot paid me any mind. I took that as a good sign but upon further inspection realized everyone I passed wore clothing of moderate expense and stood next to economical cars. Was this the servant's parking lot or something? Once the front door came into view I saw a valet service flittering around with Cadillacs, and Benz's, and Porsches so that answered my question.
Near the end of lot B a woman stood scanning the crowd near a dark red corolla. She wore black like me but paired it well with sapphire jewelry and a deep blue belt.
When we locked eyes, I drew to her like a moth to a porch light. "Evelyn Harper?" She asked when I was nearer.
"Yeah. Emily Shields?"
She pushed a loose strand of her relaxed hair behind her ear. "Call me Em."
"Call me Evie." Em materialized an ID badge on the end of a black lanyard and handed it to me. It read 'Press'. "So, David's coming to this thing?"
"And Kelli, obviously." The way she said Kelli made her sound twelve again. "It's a fundraiser for her reelection campaign."
My eyebrow jumped up. "A fancy fundraiser for a district representative? Is she running for governor or something?"
She shook her head. "You know how these rich people are. Always moving their money around." She threw her own badge over her head. It had her name and picture displayed prominently.
"So, how does this work?"
Before she could respond her face blanched at something behind me. "Oh—Steve!." Her voice raised so high she went from sounding twelve to eight. "Evie this is Steve. He's the photographer."
Steve shook my hand all business-like while balancing his camera. "Hey. So, you're the polisci major?"
My brain slid into the lie as easily as a well-worn pair of flats. "Yes! Or at least I think so. I've changed majors twice already."
"It happens." He nodded sagely. "At least you've got a nice cousin to let you sit in."
I smiled brightly. "My favorite kind of cousin."
Em cleared her throat again. "We're gonna go ahead Steve."
Steve nodded but didn't look up from his camera. "Alright, Em. I'll see you inside."
When we were far enough away she groaned. "Thank god you work quick on your feet."
"So, how does this work?" I reiterated.
"There'll be a cocktail hour. That's when I get to interview Kelli. I've been instructed not to ask any hardball questions so, yeah, this is pure fluff. Anyway, after that there's speeches and music and dinner."
"Do we have a table?"
"Yes."
That meant I'd get to eat rich people food...focus, Evie! "So cocktail hour is my best bet."
"I'd say so."
I paused as we stepped up and onto the curb. "What's in it for you?"
She turned back, her brown eyes sharp. "I give you access, and you tell me what you learned."
There wasn't much I could do so I took the deal but noted the pipsqueak was kind of a shark underneath it all. This was mutually beneficial, but I'd still better watch my back.
The inside was much grander than the outside. The foyer was tiled with intricate Arabesque designed marble. Two winding staircases framed both sides of the tall door frame that led into the ballroom. Both stairs were roped off, so the crowd trudged forward into the ballroom—a high ceilinged spectacle with columned walls and rows of golden chandeliers.
Pretty swanky.
Round tables clustered on the edge of the dance floor. Some people were seated at their tables, but most others were up and socializing. Em pointed out our table, a sad little thing in the corner, and walked right up to Kelli Olson like they were old friends. That gave me pause. What if they were friends? What if this was a trap?
I watched them greet each other carefully, but from the cool way they looked at each other I had nothing to worry about. This relationship was strictly professional.
When Kelli saw me, she froze oh so subtly then went back to her song and dance. Em asked her some pretty basic softball questions, before Kelli disappeared into the crowd. I tried to follow but the girl was on a mission to avoid me at all costs. I'd been clocked. If I was here then she knew I suspected her. I spent much of cocktail hour trying to talk to her, but she dodged my ass like a bill collector. Guess I should have seen that coming. I scanned the crowd for David, but he was AWOL. Maybe he'd decided not to come.
After a time, I drifted away from Em who was busy interviewing other less interesting people and toward a waiter holding a tray of fancy appetizers. As I was munching on some teeny tiny beef wellingtons in a teeny tiny puff pastry my ears picked up a couple of middle-aged gossipers.
"Can you believe this place." The one in a golden sequined gown spoke loud enough for her voice to ring off the high ceiling.
"It's breathtaking." Gossiper number two bit down into pate and fig jam on a crostini. Looked good but as a matter of principal I don't eat pate.
"You should have seen it two years ago. It was falling apart."
"Really?"
"I heard they almost lost it but if you can say one thing about Kelli, she's got the magic touch when it comes to rehabbing these old buildings."
"Well, it does look beautiful—"
She got cut off when a woman in a powder blue trumpet gown stormed right by us in a whirl of rage. Behind her, David Howell stumbled across the shining floors; his hair mussed and his suit barely ironed. As he passed there was a whirl of something else—the stench of alcohol.
Trouble in paradise.
He yelled after his wife. "Diane... wa-wait!" He took two wide strides, then reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.
She recoiled back in disgust. "Don't touch me!"
"Diane, please! It's a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding? You think I misunderstood?"
"It won't happen again! I swear!"
"If you want to talk to me, talk to my lawyer."
David shrunk back at that then looked around at the crowd of looky-loos before stalking off toward the back terrace. This was my chance. I took two steps and realized with annoyance my phone was ringing. I ignored it and wove my way through the crowd. David walked forward, seemingly in a mindless fog. When we made it to the back of the ballroom I watched as he slumped his way out into an evening that was quickly darkening. Before I could take two more steps my phone buzzed.
I pulled it from my purse and checked it quickly. Manny had left two calls and one text.
Can we talk? It said.
I quickly typed back. I'm working.
I was about to put the phone away when he replied. You got off three hours ago.
Other job.
It's important.
It's important? What should I do? Follow the white rabbit, or help a loved one possibly in traction? I watched David stroll farther onto the terrace...
Let me find a quiet place.
I looked around until I found the sign for the lady's restroom then hustled inside and closed myself in a stall. By the time I checked my phone again he'd left another message:
Never mind. Eddie's here.
Son of a...okay, cool it. He didn't know how important this was and if I hurry, I can probably still catch—
"Well, that was dramatic."
"Dramatic and completely humiliating." More high society women poured into the bathroom to gossip about the latest scene.
"Showing up drunk to a political dinner. Honestly, the man has lost his mind."
The other one giggled. "Can you blame him? He'll lose everything in the divorce."
"Should have thought of that before he cheated."
"That's not the worst of it." She dropped her voice down to a whisper that was still loud enough to make out. "Those messages were from a man."
"What? I can't even imagine." She gasped. "How'd she find out?"
"Apparently his boy toy sent it to her."
"Get out!"
Boy toy? Did Noah hack David's lover or was Noah David's lover? I wouldn't put it past him. And his wife found out about it? Did Noah leak that? Why? I can't imagine David couldn't pay whatever the price was for the info. The more I learn the curiouser it gets.
But I wouldn't find my answers standing in this admittedly nice bathroom.
I left the stall, gave the ladies a smile and a nod as I washed my hands, then bolted for the terrace. If David was my murderer I was about to find out.
A/N: In the previous chapter I referred to the journalist as Emily Higgs before realizing that that's Dr. Deb's last name too so it's been changed to Shields.
I'd also like to apologize for the substandard quality of this chapter. A series of fuckery almost prevented me from posting this chapter today but I pushed through to stay on schedule. Nothing important was lost, just some extra description of the venue and the people. Nothing plot relative got cut but some of the descriptive flow might be a little off.