Deadly Traditions, page 7
I scooped Shakes up and placed him on the seat and then climbed in after him.
“You know he can’t really do that, right?”
“Maybe not. But he’d put me in an interview room for a couple of hours just to stop me from going behind his back on this.”
Eddie started his truck and pulled away from the curb. Watching in the rearview mirror, I spotted Baker’s oversized form as he ducked under the barrier tape and stared after us. He wore a smile that told me he’d slow walked after me, giving me a chance to escape my older brother’s overprotective ways. I made a mental note to buy the big cop a muffin the next time I went to the station.
“So, I got some useful information,” Eddie told me. He slid me a look when I didn’t respond and correctly read my mood. “I was just trying to get the scoop on our suspects, May.”
“And you couldn’t get it from an ugly guy?” I turned to him, giving him the full force of my frown. “You headed straight for the attractive woman cop to pump for info.”
Eddie gave me an unapologetic shrug. “My powers of persuasion don’t work on guys.”
He wasn’t wrong. So, I relaxed slightly. “What did the beautiful Sarah tell you?”
“I wouldn’t call her beautiful,” Dietz said. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
When I threw him dual raised eyebrows, he smiled. “Good save, right?”
I tried to hold the frown, but found it impossible. If my boyfriend was anything, he was charming. And he was right, women had trouble resisting his charm. Including me. I shook my head. “What did you learn?”
“I know who the woman suspect is. Would you like to go talk to her?” His grin told me he already knew the answer to that.
Jennifer Plotz lived in a small ranch on an untidy patch of land that bordered a neighborhood park. It was a festive neighborhood, filled with blow-up elves and snowmen, with twinkling lights hanging from nearly every house and tree. Our quarry had a wreath on her front door, but no other decorations. I realized as we stepped onto the front porch, that the wreath wasn’t even a Christmas one. Frozen red leaves and a couple of withered gourds hung limply from what had likely been a fall decoration.
Dietz rang the bell.
A voice burst from the silence and I jumped. Eddie pointed to the camera doorbell.
“I’m sorry,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m not interested in being sung to.”
I looked down at myself and realized she thought we were carolers. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Ms. Plotz?” Eddie held his PI credentials up in front of the camera. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Carol Ling.”
A deadbolt slid open and the door followed, revealing the slightly plump form of a pretty strawberry blonde with rosy cheeks and worried hazel eyes. She came out onto the porch in her stocking feet and closed the door behind her. “What about Carol? Did something happen to her?”
Eddie held out his hand and she took it. “I’m Eddie Dietz, Dietz Investigations. This is my associate, May. Can you tell me the last time you spoke to Carol Ling?”
Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest. I admired her long-sleeved tee shirt, which declared that she was easily distracted by dogs, coffee, and yoga. I suddenly wished I’d brought Shakes to the door to soften up our witness. “A week or so ago, I guess. She and I have been writing a song together.”
Eddie nodded. “You’re a song writer?”
“I am. In fact, I was the one who got Carol into it. She’s written some lyrics that showed promise. I encouraged her to keep writing. In a year or so, she’ll probably be pretty good.” Jennifer shrugged.
“How did you two end up writing together?” I asked.
“She asked me to help her write a song to submit to songsub.com.”
“Songsub.com?” Eddie asked.
Jennifer nodded. “It’s a place where you can submit lyrics and music and hopefully have a known artist pick them up. I figured it would be fun, so I agreed to work with her.” She frowned. “But I only did it with the understanding that I’d have top billing.”
“Was that an issue?” I asked, sensing that there was anger behind that statement.
“I found out that Carol had submitted it under her name.”
“That must have made you mad,” Eddie prompted.
“Of course it did!” she said angrily. She made a visible effort to calm herself. “Sorry. It’s still a touchy subject for me.”
“When you last spoke to Carol,” Eddie said. “Did you have it out with her?”
“I did. I told her if she sells that song, I’m going to sue her for everything she has.”
“How did she react?” I asked. Knowing Carol, I could imagine how she would have reacted to the threat.
“She was belligerent. She claimed she’d written ninety percent of the lyrics.”
“Did she?”
“Maybe fifty-five percent. But she didn’t write any of the music. That was me and Jerald.”
“Jerald?” Eddie typed notes on his phone as she talked.
“Another song writer. I introduced them. Jerald agreed to help me with the music on the project.”
“Did Carol leave him off the submission too?” I asked.
“She did. He wasn’t happy.”
“How unhappy was he?” I asked.
“To be honest, I thought he was going to kill her. I’ve never seen him so mad.”
“Do you think he could have? Killed her?”
Jennifer’s gaze jerked to Eddie’s. She looked genuinely surprised. “Carol’s dead?”
Eddie nodded.
“How…” Jennifer sagged against the door. “What happened to her?”
“Somebody strangled her with the ties on her velvet cape,” Eddie said. “It seemed very personal. As if the killer had suffered a personal injury at Carol’s hands.”
Jennifer stared at him another moment and then reached behind her for the door handle. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”
“Did you kill her?” I asked before Carol could disappear into the house.
For a moment our eyes met and I saw the cold calculation in hers. Then it was gone and I wondered if I’d only seen what I wanted to see. Without another word, Jennifer Plotz closed the door in our faces.
Eddie turned to me. “There can’t be too many Jeralds in the music world.”
“Let’s go find him.”
We passed Argh on the road as we drove away. I ducked below the window as soon as I spotted him and Eddie waved. I could picture my brother’s rage when he realized we’d beaten him to the interview. “Do you think he saw me?” I asked Eddie, sliding back up on the seat and glancing through the rear window as Argh pulled into Jennifer Plotz’s drive.
“He didn’t see you,” Eddie said, his voice filled with amusement. “But Shakes was peering out at him as we passed, so I’m pretty sure the gig is up.”
Chapter 3
My phone rang and I answered without looking at the screen. “Hello?”
“Punkin, you’re coming to dinner tomorrow night,” the Lieutenant said in his no-nonsense way. “I’ll see you at seven.”
I glanced at Eddie, grimacing. “I’m actually busy tomorrow,” I told my forceful parent. “Can we do it Thursday?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. Then his tone softened. “I haven’t seen you or the rodent for over a week. It’s important to make time for family.”
The softening of his voice reminded me of something I should have never forgotten. The anniversary of my mother’s death. We’d lost her to cancer a few years previous, and the Lieutenant always grew sad and needed to be with his family in the weeks around that sad date. “I’ll be there,” I told him. “But I may be late…”
“Precisely at seven,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”
I sighed. “All right.”
“Your sister and brothers will be here too,” he said, then hung up before I could say goodbye.
I slumped in my seat, earning a soothing kiss on the hand from my best furry friend. Hugging Shakes close, I buried my face in his sweet-smelling fur.
“Problem?” Eddie asked.
I didn’t speak for a moment. Then, pulling my face from Shakes’ wriggling body, I blinked away tears. “Dad’s insisting that I come to dinner tomorrow night. The whole family’s going to be there. I’m sure I’ll get double barrels from them about this murder and my supposed interference.”
He was silent for a moment. “But that’s not why you’re crying. Is it?”
He was too perceptive for his own good. “No. Mom died four years ago next month.”
Dietz reached over and wrapped his warm fingers around my hand, holding it in a firm, supportive grip. “Way too many people die this time of year.”
“I think it just feels that way,” I told him. “Because there’s so much pressure to make memories and have happy times during the holidays. It seems more tragic to lose someone during that time.” I pulled air into my lungs and released it slowly, scrubbing tears from my cheeks. Then I pushed the sad thoughts to the back of my mind, determined to lose myself in the investigation. “So, how are we going to find this Jerald guy?”
“If he writes music, his name will have popped up somewhere.”
“Do you have any connections in the music industry we can ask?”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I know someone who does.”
Dani Kraft had worked as a security professional for Eddie’s old college buddy James Thomas. When James had to leave the business because of legal issues, Dani had been promoted to CEO of his successful security company. But it wasn’t her experience in management that we were hoping would help us in our current investigation. It was her time on the street, working personal protection for the rich and famous.
“Hey,” Dietz said as Dani answered the phone. “You’re on speaker with May and me.”
“Hey, girlfriend,” Dani trilled happily. “You owe me a shopping trip. I’m coming up blank on a Christmas gift for your brother.”
“I know. How about Friday evening after you get off work?”
“I think I can do that. I’ll call you Friday morning after I see my schedule for the day and we’ll set a time.”
“Perfect.”
“Now, what can I help you two with?”
Eddie and I quickly filled Dani in on the Carol Ling murder and what we’d learned so far. She interjected a few times with questions, but otherwise remained silent. “And that,” Eddie finally said, “…brings us to the reason for our call.”
“You want to know if I’ve ever performed PP duties for any music big wigs?”
“Have you?” Dietz asked hopefully.
“Actually, I protected Vonda Williams a few times. She’s much nicer in person than she appears professionally.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, grimacing. “She seems pretty tough.”
That was putting it mildly. Vonda was a regular in the music news due to a reputedly sizzling-hot temper and a serious lack of personal boundaries.
“That’s all theater, May,” Dani scolded. “You should know all about that.”
“Touché,” I said, ceding the point. “Will she talk to us?”
“I can give her your numbers,” she said, her tone firm. “It’s the best I can do.”
“We’d appreciate it,” Eddie said. We said our goodbyes and Eddie disconnected, glancing at me. “Are you hungry? It’s dinnertime.”
“I am a little. But it needs to be something fast, I want to beat Argh to the punch on the Jerald interview.”
As luck would have it, Dani called back as we pulled into my favorite burger spot. She gave us Vonda’s number. “She says it’s okay for you to call her.”
“Great. Thanks for your help,” Dietz said.
“My pleasure. I’ll talk to you Friday morning, May.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Eddie wasted no time calling Vonda Williams as I nibbled some fries. The person who answered the phone sounded too young to be the singer. Eddie introduced himself and asked to speak to Vonda.
The voice on the other end rose in an angry shout, which it took me a beat to realize wasn’t directed at us. “Sorry,” the woman said. “These idiots don’t know anything about laying tile.”
Eddie gave a confused laugh. “Vonda?”
“That’s me! You’re Dani’s friends?”
“Yes,” Eddie said, glancing my way. “Eddie Dietz and May Ferth. It’s a pleasure to speak to you.”
“Not that way,” she barked, which I was pretty sure was also directed at the tile guys.
I dove into the brief silence that followed. “We really appreciate your help. Do you know a guy named Jerald by any chance? We don’t know his last name, but it’s our understanding he writes music.”
“Jerald Troka. The man’s kind of weird. But I’m pretty sure he could lay tile better than this crew!” She shouted the last part of her statement, followed by the sound of footsteps, and then a door closing. “Ah, that’s better,” Vonda said. “It’s good if I don’t watch.” She sighed, followed by the sound of furniture screeching across concrete. “Jerald wrote good music. Even great music, occasionally. But he just wasn’t consistent.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked.
“I’ve performed a few of his songs.” More furniture screeching. “They were really good. Most of his stuff is trash. But he really nailed it on the latest one. He sent it to me to test my interest and I was ready to buy it from him. But then I got a visit from someone else who said she was working with the songwriters, following up on the submission. She said she was the artists’ representative and wanted to know if I was going to buy the music or not. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t wild about her attitude.”
“Was her name Carol by any chance?”
“Hm. Carol, Callie, Kristine. I’m not sure. I don’t remember names unless the person is important to me. My business manager would know. My instincts were to throw her out on her ear. I hate drama of any kind. It kills creativity. But that song spoke to me in a way nothing has in a while. I ended up writing a contract with her for it.”
“Whose name was on the contract?” I asked.
“Just hers. She claimed the group wrote it under her leadership. I didn’t care who I wrote the check to. I just wanted that song.” Vonda made a disgusted sound. “Francis is always yelling at me for my careless business practices. I guess this mess proved him right. I should have demanded she show me her contract with the artists, but I didn’t care enough to do it. Jerald is small potatoes in the music business. I’d be surprised if he even had a formal contract with the woman.”
“Did she give you any proof at all that she was affiliated with the group?” Eddie asked.
“Of course. She had a recording of the song, which I did listen to. It was even better than I’d hoped after reading the music and lyrics.”
“How did Jerald react to finding out you’d signed the contract with someone else?” I asked, sharing a meaningful look with Eddie. If the payoff was large enough, we were looking at motive for murder.
“Not well. My business manager, Francis, had to threaten to send the police to Jerald’s home for harassing us. I tried to tell Jerald the woman had represented herself as their agent, but he wasn’t hearing anything I said.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Eddie said, “How much money are we talking about?”
“Just a couple hundred thousand dollars. Not that much because Jerald doesn’t have a reputation to sell. But with me singing it, this song might have climbed the charts. For him, it could have meant the difference between Raman noodles for dinner every night, and steak and lobster.”
Definitely a motive.
“Did you ever hear from Carol again?” I asked.
“Nah. She slithered away.” Vonda laughed. “She’s probably hiding from Jerald. I’ve never seen him that mad. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in her shoes.”
“Do you think he might have hurt her?” Eddie asked.
“Jerald? Not a chance. He’s all bark and no bite.”
“Can you share contact info on Jerald Troka?” Eddie asked. “Even a phone number would help.”
“I can do better than that. My business manager should have the man’s address on file. Hold on, I’ll get Francis on the phone.”
Jerald Troka lived only twelve minutes away from Vonda, in a mobile home park in the scenic hills rimming Asheville. The Mountain View Mobile Home Park was well maintained and sat on a pleasant lot with a white picket fence and an abundance of flowers.
“Looks like Jerald’s creative streak runs to gardening as well as music,” I noted as Eddie parked the truck.
“Off the top of my head, I wouldn’t peg this as the home of a murderer,” Eddie said quietly as he opened the pristine white gate and allowed me to precede him up a pretty flagstone walkway.
I climbed a set of curved concrete steps and knocked on the door. “What do you want?” a gruff voice asked. I jumped in surprise as a big guy with messy dark hair and a heavily pockmarked face came through the gate behind us. He was holding a pair of hedge trimmers and wore a scowl. “This is kind of a remote location for carolers, isn’t it?”
“Ha,” I said loud enough for the man to hear. Then I murmured to Dietz, “I should have changed clothes before we came.”
The man with the trimmers wore khakis and a navy wool coat with a burgundy sweater under it. He seemed a bit overdressed to be trimming bushes, and a few months past the time to do it. I noted the scratches on the man’s pocked cheek and knew we’d found one of the people Doug had spoken to in the alley.
Eddie pulled out his credentials. “Jerald Troka? Eddie Dietz. I’m a private investigator, working alongside HPD. This is my associate, May.”
I glanced away guiltily. Dietz hadn’t said he was working with the Hillside Police Department. He’d said he was working alongside them. Technically true, if slightly deceiving.
“What exactly are you investigating?” Troka asked.
“Carol Ling’s murder. We understand you knew Carol.”
