Murder at the Car Show Read online

  Watermark Staffing was a bustling temporary employment agency, whose office took up an entire floor at a sleek, glamorous building overlooking the Chicago River. “Good morning, may I help you?” The receptionist was a young woman wearing a black skirt and a white blouse. To Georgie, she looked like she should be seating people at a posh restaurant.

  “Yeah.” Georgie, on the other hand, had a role to play. “I’m Georgie Kaye an associate of Detective Stan Toon. He’s looking into the death of Hera Packard. She died at the Tri-Local Antique Car Show. He is requesting a list of everyone who was hired by your firm to work the show.”

  Adjusting her plum colored blazer that matched her pants and tugging the cuffs of her black blouse, Georgie thought she looked like “homicide”. That was how the police talked about the detectives that worked homicide cases. They were nicknamed homicide just like vice was nicknamed vice and juvenile was called juvie. “Just a moment, Officer Kaye.” The receptionist replied as she picked up her phone and whispered into the receiver.

  Georgie knew it was against the law to impersonate an officer. She also knew she had no badge or warrant or anything to prove who she was other than a driver’s license and a library card. But, she wasn’t the one who said she was an officer, the receptionist did. She just said she was from Detective Toon’s office, not a complete lie since she’d been to Stan’s office this week. Besides, Stan was a detective, and she was his ex-wife; Georgie couldn’t help what the receptionist had obviously assumed. Georgie was pretty sure she’d never get past the gatekeeper no matter how green the girl was. Just as her gut told her to pretend there was an emergency phone call and make a dash for the elevator, the receptionist hung up the phone. “Ellen Vernham is the office manager. She’ll be right with you.”

  Before Georgie could take a seat, a lovely woman in a smart gray suit came down the hallway carrying a folder. She smiled and stretched out her hand to Georgie. “Please call me Ellen. We are so sad to hear about the unfortunate event at the car show, normally it is such a wonderful event.” She handed Georgie a folder containing some papers as she spoke. This is easier than I expected! Georgie thought to herself. I should try impersonating someone from Stan’s office more often.

  “Well, the world is a crazy place,” Georgie said without smiling. Homicide never smiled.

  “Here is the list of employees we hired for the show. Most of them have been with us for years; that’s why we continue to hire them. We also do background checks, and we do our best to keep their references current.”

  “Of course,” Georgie said, looking Ellen Vernham up and down suspiciously.

  “If there is anything else you need, please call my direct line.” Ellen handed Georgie her business card.

  “I’ll do that. Thank you, Miss Vernham. Detective Toon will be in touch if we have any further questions.” Georgie put out her hand and squeezed Ellen’s hand harder than she normally would have squeezed anyone’s hand.

  Before any additional questions arose, Georgie stuffed the folder underneath her arm, pulled out her cellphone, and pretended to dial the precinct as she walked briskly to the elevator bank. “Come on,” Georgie muttered. “Come on, so close.”

  The elevator doors slid open just as Georgie heard Ellen call her name. “Officer Kaye? Officer Kaye, wait one second!” Georgie stepped inside the elevator as if she didn’t hear her calling. Frantically she pressed the door close button. With the speed of a desert turtle, the doors finally slid shut just as Ellen was about to stick her hand between them. Georgie let out a sigh of relief. Without wasting a minute, she left the lovely downtown building, headed to the nearest restaurant, and took a seat away from the windows.

  “Can I get an iced tea and your dessert menu?” Georgie asked the waitress a couple of minutes later. She ordered an iced tea and a healthy slice of pecan pie she’d seen in the display case.

  When she opened the folder and started scanning the names, the first thing Georgie noticed was that Hera Packard’s name wasn’t on the list. There was a person by the name of Brynn Smith who coordinated the locations of all the booths, the parking, the entertainment area, and the food vendors. She might have an idea why Hera’s name isn’t on the list, Georgie thought as she dialed the woman’s phone number.

  “Yes, I’ve actually coordinated that car show for the past couple of years. Hera has been running that little lemonade booth every year I’ve been there. She was Mr. Deebs’ right hand man, or in this case, woman.”

  “Really? But didn’t she work for Watermark?”

  “Nope. We all knew Hera though. She was really sweet. In fact, the first year I was hired to do the coordinating, she was a huge help. I even ran the layout of the grounds and inside the tradeshow center past her before I submitted it to Mr. Deebs. He always said, if she approved it then it was as good as gold.”

  “What was her relationship with Mr. Deebs?”

  “Mr. Deebs hired her directly. Hera worked for him; they were friends or something, and he trusted her completely. She was the only one involved in the show that worked for Mr. Deebs. She collected all the fees from vendors and participants, handled their receipts, and any contract related problems then turned the cash over to him.”

  “What happened to the fees and contracts once Mr. Deebs had them?” Georgie asked while sneaking a bite of her pecan pie.

  “I’m not sure. I was just hired to make sure everyone had a place and there was a place for everyone.” Brynn laughed. “Organizing a show that size is really pretty easy after you have done the first one. A lot of emailing back and forth is required, but, like I said, after the organizational work was completed, my job was done. Hera collected the fees and dealt with the vendors’ contracts.”

  “Thank you very much for your time, Brynn. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I hope so. I really liked Hera. From what I could see, Mr. Deebs would have been completely lost if she hadn’t been there. I don’t know what he’s going to do now that she’s gone.” Georgie finished her conversation with Brynn and decided over her last bite of pie that she was going to pay another visit to Mr. Deebs. This time, he wasn’t going to speak to her the way he had Aleta. This time he was going to answer some questions.

  Just as she stepped out of the restaurant her phone rang; it was Obby. Georgie wanted to answer but hesitated; she was busy. She had to get to the bottom of this case because there was more at stake than just the death of Hera Packard. Georgie felt she had to find out if Marley had anything to do with it, for Aleta’s sake.

  “Hello?” against her better judgment, she answered.

  “Hello, Georgie. This is Obby. I’m sure it says in the cool guy code to wait three days before calling a girl, but I couldn’t wait. I had a splendid time with you yesterday.”

  “I did, too, Obby.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. What do you say to an evening of star gazing at the Planetarium and a picnic under the stars? I’ve got two passes for next Wednesday. The weather is supposed to be perfect.”

  On one hand, Georgie thought a picnic on the grounds of the Planetarium sounded fantastic, but she couldn’t leave this murder just hanging. She had to wrap up this mystery not just for Hera to get some rest but for Aleta, too. “I would love to, but my schedule is up in the air right now.” Georgie did her best to sound distracted, not hard considering all that was on her mind, “Can I call you back and let you know?”

  “Of course.” Obby sounded disappointed, making Georgie feel horrible. “Give me a call when you know how your schedule pans out.”

  After Georgie hung up with Obby, she questioned if this mystery wasn’t taking up too much of her time or was she hiding from Obby again just like Aleta was hiding from dating? She couldn’t think about it now. Like Scarlet O’Hara said, I’ll think about that tomorrow.

  Chapter 12

  Since the car show was over, Georgie knew she was going to have to go to Brock Deebs’ home. A quick check of the list that Ellen Vernham had provided showed her
that Brock Deebs’ address was listed under the title of Show Manager. Deciding to stay in character, Georgie jumped in Pablo and headed out of town eager to talk further with him.

  Brock Deebs lived almost an hour outside the city in the posh suburb of Beverly. Not all the houses were sprawling mansions or sitting on a couple hundred acres of land though. In fact, most of the houses had very small yards and were built in the blocky, garish style of the 1970s. When Georgie found the address, she was not surprised that Brock’s house was small with black wrought iron pillars, small windows, and a single car garage. The planter that stretched across the front porch was made with varying slabs of rocks. “Very retro,” Georgie mused out loud to Pablo, “I’m repulsed yet strangely attracted by it.”

  As soon as Georgie pulled in the driveway, the front door immediately opened. Someone had been watching from behind the sheer curtains that covered the window next to the ornate door with its handle smack dab in the center. Georgie didn’t wave but stayed in character, adjusting her jacket as she had done at Watermark and briskly moving up to the front door carrying her folder. “Can I help you?” Brock Deebs didn’t seem to recognize her from the other day. That was a stroke of luck.

  “Mr. Deebs? My name is Georgie Kaye. I’m an associates of Detective Stanley Toon. I just need to ask you a couple questions.”

  “About what?” Brock didn’t come outside or seem at all interested in talking to Georgie.

  Georgie looked in the folder, trying to think fast. “About Hera Packard.”

  “I told you people everything I know already. Hera worked for me more than ten years. She was a great lady.”

  “Yes, I saw that in your statement,” she lied, “but there were a few other things I wanted to ask you.” Georgie watched as Brock blinked his eyes quickly like he was squinting into the sun. Surely, he knew that the chance of being asked multiple questions on multiple occasions from the police was fairly routine. Hadn’t he ever seen an episode of Law and Order?

  “Other things like what?” Brock snapped.

  “What was her usual work routine?”

  “What do you mean?” Brock looked at Georgie like she had asked him to swallow a handful of nails.

  “Did she have any people at the shows whom she visited on a regular basis? Was there anyone in her job causing problems? Any people who...” Georgie let her voice trail off suggestively.

  “What do you mean ‘any people causing her problems’?” Brock snapped. When he stepped outside of his house he was barefoot, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt. Georgie’s first instinct was to step backwards, but she was in character. She was someone from Detective Toon’s office, someone who wasn’t easily intimidated.

  “I didn’t say people.” Now it was Georgie’s turn to squint at Brock nervously; she had said people. Still, she had to stay calm and continue her questioning. “But since you mentioned it, do you know if she was having any problems with anyone?”

  Brock’s cheeks flushed red, and his jaw clenched and released like he was chewing a tiny piece of gum. “No,” he finally said, placing his hands on his hips and looking out at the street, past Georgie’s stare.

  “Did she ever tell you anything about her family or neighbors at home?”

  “No, Hera just worked for me.” Brock stretched his neck to look past Georgie as if the grass growing on the neighbor’s yard was more interesting than dealing with her. “She did her job and that was it.”

  “But you said she had worked for you for ten years!”

  “That’s right.” Georgie’s comment had gotten his attention.

  “That’s a long time to be associated with someone and not know anything about them, don’t you think?” Georgie folded her arms across her chest.

  “Look, I hire people to do a job. I don’t get to know their personal habits. For all I know, Hera was mixed up with drugs. I mean, she smoked like a sailor and swore like one, too. Who knows who she associated with after hours?” Judging from Hera’s niece and nephew, the woman might have been rough around the edges but not necessarily criminal. Why would Brock throw out such a wild theory?

  “Did you ever see anyone suspicious loitering around?”

  “No. I was too busy running the shows.”

  “Did you ever have to talk with Hera about professionalism? Did she ever show up late or give you reason to think she might be using illegal substances?” Georgie couldn’t help but be proud of the authority in her voice. She thought she should use this tone when talking with the cable or credit card company.

  “Look, I can’t remember every detail about every day she worked for me.”

  “Surely, you can remember the days leading up to her death,” Georgie said.

  Those were the words that went too far. Brock focused on Georgie, and she was sure he recognized her from the visit with Aleta at his trailer. “I don’t,” he hissed. They stood there looking at one another for an uncomfortable couple of seconds before Georgie decided it was time to go. She pretended to look at her watch, really just a plain silver bangle dangling from her wrist, and then focused back on Brock.

  “Well, I do appreciate your time, Mr. Deebs.” Georgie saw his chest sink as he exhaled with what could only have been relief. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Everything inside her screamed to run back to her car, lock the door, and peel out of the driveway as fast as she could, but, staying in character, she turned and strolled to Pablo like she was hoping he’d try something. Ever hair on her neck was up. She strained to see any movement out of the corner of her eye. She was sure any second there would be angry footsteps stomping up behind her before she was grabbed and dragged into the retro-style house never to be seen again, but nothing happened. Georgie got in her car just in time to see, and hear, the front door slamming shut.

  “Whew!” she exhaled. The adrenaline was pumping wildly through her veins. Then she really did hit the gas and peel out of the driveway. As soon as she was down the block, her grip on the steering wheel loosened, and her foot eased off the accelerator. “There was nothing routine about that brief encounter, Pablo,” she muttered out loud to her car.

  “You can’t have an employee for ten years and not know a couple things about her,” Georgie told the steering wheel, “and you don’t just throw out there that a recently deceased person might have been a drug addict or dealer or whatever he was insinuating. It just doesn’t make sense.” Still, not making sense was not a crime. There was nothing in anything Brock said that could tie him to Hera’s murder. Georgie’s shoulders slumped, and her heart drooped inside her chest. The deeper she dug, the more Marley Gillibrand looked like her prime suspect.

  “Being a bad neighbor isn’t a crime either,” Georgie said trying to cheer herself. “Marley has as many flags on this case as Brock does, and I can’t forget Errol and his weird confrontation with Hera. So, when all is said and done and all the evidence I’ve collected so far is put together, I’ve got absolutely bupkus. Nothing, zero to go on.”

  Regardless of her failure to turn up the cold, hard evidence she’d hoped she would discover, Georgie had a wonderful time impersonating an officer. Funny, out of all the suspects so far, she was the only one who had committed an actual crime! I didn’t really commit a crime. I never said I was a cop. I just said I was from Stan’s office. I could be a secretary or a clerk or even a court reporter. No harm done. Nevertheless, Georgie wasn’t going to rush right over to tell Stan what she had done. “There’s no reason to tell. I didn’t find out anything new,” she said aloud to herself. Aleta, on the other hand, would get a kick out of it.

  “STAN WOULD KILL YOU if he knew you took an unnecessary risk like that,” Aleta scolded. “You’re telling me you went to the man’s house and interrogated him like a police officer, aren’t you? That’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not.” Georgie did her best to make light of the whole thing. “Interrogations take place in a tiny room with a single hundred-watt light bulb overhead,
and the suspect has to sit on a stool. I didn’t do anything like that.”

  Aleta laughed. “You let the guy believe you were a police officer.”

  “I never said I was one. I was very careful about that, Aleta.

  “Look, if you are doing all this because you see something happening between Marley and me, I think you need to let it go. Things are not looking too good right now for him.”

  Aleta was sitting on her back-porch swing reading a book when Georgie got home. “I’m not doing it just for that, Aleta.” Georgie sat down in the swing with her sister and gave it a gentle push with her feet. “Hera died in Marley’s vintage car at a car show. She was alive and well just a few minutes before when she served us lemonade. Whether Marley did it or someone else, and I’m still banking on someone else, she deserves to have justice.”

  “I don’t know, Georgie.” Aleta gave the swing the next push with both her feet. “What am I thinking? I’m not a teenager. Dating should be the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “You’re not dating like a teenager. Gross, Aleta. Don’t even equate the two; they are like night and day.” Georgie wrinkled her face as if someone had just offered her a slice of raw liver. “Who in their right mind would want to date like that again? All clumsiness and drool.”

  “I never dated anyone who drooled.” Aleta laughed.

  “Yeah, well, speak for yourself. Luckily, Stan grew out of it.” They both laughed.

  “Remember when we went on that double date with Sean Householder and Timmy Riordan?” Georgie decided to move away from the dangerous subject of Marley Gillibrand, “What grade were we in? We were juniors in high school, right? That was fun. They took us for pizza and a movie and then we drove to the Palos Toboggan Rides.”