The Easter Egg Murder (9 page)

21

Friday Morning, April 14, 2000

Ramona Sanchez’s daily routine since her employment by Senator Philip Lawrence twenty years ago was essentially the same.
After preparing his dinner, she filled the coffee maker with water and freshly ground coffee and set it to turn on at six. She arrived each morning by seven and prepared the senator’s breakfast first thing upon arriving. She could always tell how the day was going for him by how much coffee was missing. An empty pot meant he had been up early and was already hard at work. On those days, she needed to get breakfast ready in a hurry. Other times, the coffee would be only partially consumed, and she knew she could take more time to prepare the morning meal. On this day, the coffee was untouched.

Ramona
looked around the kitchen, searching for other signs that her employer had been up and about. Perhaps he had already run out of coffee and made another pot for himself. She checked the coffee grinder for signs of use. Nothing. It was just as clean as she had left it the night before. In the sink were the dishes from his dinner the previous evening. They were rinsed and stacked as usual.

She checked the magnetic message board beside the refrigerator for a note or special instructions. The board was wiped clean, and there were no scraps of paper beneath the three carefully lined-up magnets. She wasn’t concerned. Ramona Sanchez was not a woman given to hysteria.

She had raised three boys to adulthood. Each had been a challenge in his own way, especially Pablito, her wayward youngest son. She learned a long time ago you had to keep your head about you until you had all the facts. If you remained calm, you could always find a reasonable explanation for what seemed to be unexplainable. She reminded herself of this as she swung open the door between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

The drapes in the living room were still closed. That’s odd, she thought. Even before he got his coffee, the senator opened those drapes first thing each morning so he could look out at his flower garden. He often told her it was his source of peace and calm.

Mrs. Sanchez mulled over the possibilities. Maybe he became ill during the night? Perhaps he fell? After all, he is an old man. She shook her head. She refused to make any assumptions until she had more information.

She tapped softly on the bedroom door and waited. Her tension mounted, and she strained to hear a response from within. She tapped again, loudly this time. Still no response. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door as she called out, “Senator Lawrence, are you all right?”

Even in the dim light, she could see the bed had not been slept in. The bedspread and pillows were still smoothly in place. The door to the adjoining bathroom stood open and proved to be as unoccupied as the bedroom.

She went down the hall to the library
and discovered to her puzzlement that the door moved slightly under her knock. Her alarm set in. This door was never left open. She pushed it fully open and saw him on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding his head. She heard the sound of a hysterical woman screaming.

It took a few seconds before she realized she was that woman.

22

Harrie looked at the bedside clock
. Six-thirty. She hadn’t slept much Thursday night. Her eyes felt like they had gravel in them. Crying always did that to her. That was another thing she couldn’t understand. Why had she cried? Maybe she did feel sad because she’d never be able to tell him off. Maybe she was just a bitter female who was all screwed up emotionally because she didn’t trust men. Who knew?

Might as well get up and stick
my head under the hot shower
. She laughed.
Or in the oven if I don’t get a grip.

Harrie felt better after the shower. She dresse
d quickly and surveyed her long auburn hair in the mirror. Not much she could do with it now. Brushing would have to be enough for today. She was surprised when she found Steve and Ginger sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly and sipping coffee.

“Did I wake you guys up when I turned on the shower?”

Ginger shook her head. “We’ve been up since five. Just couldn’t sleep anymore. How about you?”

“I know I slept for a little while, but I kept waking up all night. For once, I hoped I would dream, and maybe get some answers.”

Steve’s cell phone rang. After he hung up, he said, “That was the mortuary. They wondered if I could come in today and make arrangements.”

“What about Nick’s family? Will you try to reach his grandfather,” Harrie asked.

Steve said, “I thought I told you last night. I finally reached the law firm that used to handle Dimitri Despotides’ affairs. They told me the old man died two years ago. As for Nick’s father, they never knew what happened to him, so unless we initiate a search for him, he’s not a consideration. In any event, I doubt seriously that a guy who was paid to marry a wealthy heiress, produce an heir, and then took a big settlement payment to get lost would be interested in financing a funeral for a son he hasn’t seen since birth. Nick’s mother died when he was sixteen, and she was an only child. The upshot is, there’s no one left in the family. Nick was the last surviving member of the Despotides dynasty.”

Harrie frowned. “So where does that leave you? Are you supposed to take care of everything?”

“I guess so. I haven’t seen the will, of course, but if the note they found in Nick’s pocket is really what he wished, then I’m it. I’ll have to go down to the law firm first thing this morning and find the guy Nick conned into doing his will years ago. We need to push things through so I can legally act as his representative for the funeral arrangements. I presume he had enough money to pay for a decent burial, but with Nick, I’m not going to count on it.”

“We should get to the office early,” Ginger said. “Yesterday was a total loss
as far as getting any work done.”

Harrie nodded in agreement. “I’ll take Tuptim home first and change into some fresh clothes. I love being your guest, but next time, remind me to pack more than one outfit.”

When Harrie unlocked her front door, Tuptim jumped from her arms and went in search of her very own cat box. Harrie changed her clothes, gathered her briefcase and sweater and headed for the office.

As she drove, she thought about Nick. She could imagine all sorts of reasons why someone would want to kill him
—she herself had thought of it more than once if only as an exercise in fantasy. Of course, except for the knowledge she had gained being married to Mark, she didn’t have any experience with murder. With that thought, she realized the irony. Murder had also taken Mark from her. A violent felon had killed him when he was simply doing his job, and now someone had murdered her first husband, too. It was one more reason not to get involved in a relationship again. Maybe she somehow caused the death of men who dared marry her. She almost laughed as she realized how conceited that sounded, even to her.
Come on, Harrie, nice try. You definitely are not a femme fatale.

She pulled her car into the parking lot
next to the black SUV. As she expected, the office door was already unlocked and she could see Caroline standing beside her desk, talking to a man. Harrie spoke as she cleared the door.

“Okay, who belongs to that black SUV out front?”

“I do,” said the man as he turned toward Harrie.

She stood perfectly still. The man smiling at he
r, bright white teeth sparkling and blue eyes twinkling, was none other than DJ Scott, aka Sunglasses.

23

A torrent of emotions and thoughts engulfed her. Something inside her took over, put a smile on her tight face, and caused her feet to walk forward. She watched from outside herself as she acknowledged the man she’d been trying to avoid and greeted him with a warm smile.

“You must be the DJ Scott I’ve heard so much about from Ginger and Caroline. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Harrie McKenzie.”

Good grief! Have I completely lost my mind?

“Yes, Mrs. McKenzie, I learned your name during my last visit. How are you today?”

It wasn’t what she expected. “Please,” she said, “call me Harrie.”

He smiled
and said, “Harrie it is, then.”

An awkward moment of silence ensued before she retrieved her briefcase from the floor where she had deposited it. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make. It was nice to meet you.”

As she turned to go to her office he said, “I’d like to speak to you privately if you have a few minutes. Perhaps when you’ve finished your calls, we could talk in your office?” It almost sounded like a question, but not really. Far from being flirtatious and friendly as she’d expected, he was very businesslike.

She said the only thing that came into her head. “Of course. I’ll just be a moment.”

She realized she didn’t have any calls to make. It had been an excuse. She tried to be clinical about her reaction to the man. Why did he affect her this way? He was attractive, but that was no reason for her to go all breathless and fluttery. She was not interested in having a man in her life—even a gorgeous one. Been there; done that. But here she was, acting like a high school girl with her first crush.

She got out her day planner and stared blankly at the calendar.
Today was Friday, the end of the Week from Hell. Nick was dead. What was her most pressing task for today? She had many pages of editing to do, and she and Ginger needed to confer with Senator Lawrence at some point this afternoon. Steve was arranging a funeral. A black SUV was parked right outside her office, and it belonged to DJ Scott. He wanted to talk to her. About what? Who was he, really? What could he possibly have to talk to her about? Why had someone murdered Nick? She shook her head. If she kept this up, they would take her away in one of those weird white jackets.

After d
eciding she’d stalled long enough, she invited DJ to her office. Her level of apprehension ratcheted up a notch when he closed the door before he sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He reached inside his suit jacket and flipped open a leather folder to reveal a badge and photo ID.

“FBI?” Harrie gazed at the case and looked back at DJ. Her confusion must have been apparent.
“You’re with the FBI?”

This time his smile was more like the one she saw when he helped her to her feet in the parking lot.

“Guilty. I’m Special Agent DJ Scott.”

“N
obody said anything about your being with the FBI. What could you possibly have to talk to me about?”

“I would have mentioned it to you when I was here on Wednesday, but you disappeared, and I had to leave soon after.”

He smiled, and she studied that face. He was uncomfortably good looking. A very bad sign, she thought.

She raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it.
You still haven’t told me why you need to talk to me.”

“Your name came up during
an investigation, so I need to ask you a few questions. Would that be all right?”

What could she say but, “Certainly.”

“You were married to a Nicos Constantine from 1986 until 1987, is that correct?”

“It would appear you already know the answer to that. Why do you want to know?”

DJ sat back in the chair and studied her. “As I said, we’re conducting an investigation, and one of the individuals of interest is a Nicos Constantine. We have information that you were married to him during a part of the time his activities brought him into contact with the subjects of our investigation. I don’t mean to be cryptic, but could you please verify the dates of your marriage to Mr. Constantine?”

Harrie felt the heat of anger rise up from her chest, flooding her neck and most likely her face as well. “Have you been following me?”

“Why would you think I’ve been following you?”

“Well, this is just a little too coincidental, don’t you think? I find you lurking outside my office on Tuesday morning
. You disappear, only to reappear Wednesday morning. Ever since Monday, a mysterious black SUV has popped up wherever we happen to be. Now here you are again on Friday morning, black SUV parked, nice as you please, just outside our door, and you ask me if I was married to Nick Constantine, even though you apparently already know damn well that I was.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared, defying him to dispute her logic. “Well?” she demanded.

Before DJ could recover, Ginger barged into the office, breathless and very pale. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just got a call from Ramona Sanchez. Something’s happened to Philip. He’s being taken to Presbyterian downtown. You’ve got to take me down there. I’m too upset to drive. Steve’s cell phone is turned off. I can’t reach him.” She looked panicked and not very steady on her feet.

Harrie grabbed her purse and put her arm around Ginger. She turned to DJ. “Your questions will have to wait. As you can see, I have something more pressing that needs my attention.”

DJ shook his head. “No, let me drive you both.” He ushered them into the reception room where Caroline waited, looking slightly alarmed. “I’m going to drive them to the hospital to see about their friend,” he said to Caroline. “You can call my cell phone if you need anything before we return.” He didn’t wait for a reply and hurried them out to the black SUV.