Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (9 page)

Kate leaned forward with interest.

“Oh, yes. He came to see me. Joe Garrett.”

“Right.
He’s a good friend of mine. Our offices are side-by-side.”

The waitress returned with their wine and salads, and Julie resumed when she left.

“So, do you mind if I ask you some questions about Dianna?”

“No, not at all!
I don’t believe she committed suicide, Julie. I’ve been utterly dismayed by the newspaper stories. I’ll do anything I can to help you and Joe.”

“Great. Well, let’s start with business,” said Julie. “How long were you two partners?”

“Well…partners…just the last five years. I hired Dianna right out of college when she was only twenty-one. She went to UCF, a Business Admin major. The market was bad and she couldn’t find a job, so she got a real estate license and came looking for a broker to place it with.”

“You didn’t mind hiring someone that young and inexperienced?”

“Not a bit. I prefer to train my agents from scratch so they do things properly. You know the broker always gets left ‘holding the bag’, so to speak, having to deal with disgruntled customers and lawsuits.

“I’ve been burned in the past by two
experienced
agents. One misrepresented important facts to a buyer, and another one held back an offer on an apartment building so a friend of his could buy it for less. Sometimes the more they know, the more they think they can get away with.”

Julie nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of ‘disgruntled customers’…can you tell me about Mike Menello, the contractor Dianna was dealing with, the one who filed a complaint?”

“Oh,
him.
His claim was absolutely baseless,” she said. “He was inexperienced and operating on a shoestring. That he was holding Dianna responsible for his loss was incomprehensible! When the police asked me if she had any enemies, Mike Menello was the first person who came to mind…the
only
one, for that matter. I don’t know why they haven’t taken him into custody.”

“He has a good alibi, I understand,” said Julie.

“They need to look at him again. I think the man’s a natural born liar.”

“He does seem to have over-reacted,” said Julie in agreement. She took a last sip of her wine. “I
think I’m going to have another glass,” she said, motioning to the waitress. “Would you like another?”

“Why not?” said Kate. “I’m done for the day.”

The waitress brought them two more glasses.

“So, apart from Mike
Menello, I take it your clients were happy with Dianna?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kate. “We had one fellow, who was
too
happy. He took up her time for two weekends before she realized that he couldn’t afford a garage, let alone a house!” She laughed at the recollection. “I kidded her about her pal, Hal… but I was just teasing. Both buyers and sellers loved Dianna for good reason…she was an excellent agent.”

“What was she like on a personal level?”

“Well, she
was
ambitious; she liked the good life,” said Kate. “Dianna wanted it all.”

“By ‘all’ you mean…?”

“The right husband, children, a place in society,” she said. “And a home, preferably in
Isleworth
,” she said laughing, “with the rest of the rich and famous.”

The wine was clearly having an effect.

“You mentioned children. Dianna wanted children?”

Julie saw immediately that Kate knew. Her eyes welled with tears.

“Yes, she did.”

She used her napkin to dab under her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Julie.”

“No, Kate. I’m the one who should apologize. I was trying to find out if you already knew about Dianna’s pregnancy. The
Wielands are adamant about keeping it quiet.”

“She just told me two days before,” she said. “She was elated, happy.”

“Thank you so much for sharing that with me,” said Julie. “It’s such an important piece of information, Kate. It confirms what I’ve thought all along. The ‘unwanted pregnancy’ premise is bull. Dianna was approaching thirty and she wanted a family. She obviously loved kids; she was a volunteer at the YMCA. It all points to one thing: Dianna would have
welcomed
a child.”

Julie sat back and asked the most important question of all.

“Did Dianna tell you who the father was?”

“No, she didn’t. She was very secretive about the man. She said there were ‘some issues,’ and that she wanted to tell him first. She was upbeat though, Julie. There was no question about her state of mind.”

“What do you mean, her ‘state of mind’?”

“Why, she was in love…over the
moon,
in fact…

“Dianna was definitely in love.”

* * * * * 

Chapter 16

“Y
ou have pizza on your chin,” said Joe.

“Oops. Where?” said Julie, dabbing in the general area. “Did I get it?”

“Yes, you did,” said Joe, amused.

Talking excitedly and eating at the same time was always hazardous for Julie.

They were in Joe’s living room, the pizza box set on a huge, square coffee table. Their feet were propped up on either side of it, their plates on their laps. A safe distance behind the pizza box, two fat candles flickered and glowed. It was Julie’s little stab at atmosphere, which Joe’s apartment sorely lacked. She always thought it looked better in the dark.

“So, I think we need to proceed on the assumption that Dianna was murdered, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Joe, “I do. And there are a few other assumptions we can make. It couldn’t have been a robbery; the purse was too easy to get at. And it probably wasn’t a random killing because of the odd location and the hour. Someone lured her there.”

“Yes.
And what about the knife? That’s always bothered me. Where would Dianna get a
switchblade
? Women don’t use that kind of knife, Joe. The
killer
brought that. Which leads to another question: Why use a knife at all? A knife is messy. A gun is an easier, more reliable way to kill someone.”

“It was
personal
,” said Joe.

“Bingo,” said Julie. “And somehow, she got the knife away from him. Wait a minute, how come
his
prints weren’t on it?”

“They probably
were
until she got a hold of it. Think about it. Dianna would have been gripping the knife for all she was worth, Merlin. That would have obliterated any other prints.”

Julie sighed.

“Oh, God,” she said, stretching her neck back. “I am
so
tired, Joe.”

“Not
too
tired, I hope.”

He took her empty plate, set it on top of his, and held out his hand.

“Blow out the candles,” she said, taking his hand.

Joe picked up a candle and blew it out.

“What else can I do for you?”

•

It was midnight and Joe was snoring softly. Julie hated like hell to get up, but she needed clothes and she needed to tend to Sol. Most of all, she didn’t want to run into Luz or Janet if she overslept.

Gathering up her clothes from the bottom of the bed and the floor, she went into the bathroom, careful to close the door as she switched on the light. She dressed quickly, not bothering with a shower. She’d shower and wash her hair in the morning.

Quietly, she left the apartment and descended the staircase past the offices, making sure the front door locked behind her. She got on her scooter, kicked the stand and headed for her condo.

Julie pulled into the garage beneath her building a few minutes later. All the assigned spaces were filled, but it wasn’t a problem. She had bought a red VW convertible a year before which was parked in her space. When she pulled the mini-car in, she always left room for the scooter in front of it. She killed the ignition and, still seated, walked the bike between the cars to the front of the VW. Her neighbor’s Prius was parked leaving her plenty of space.

God bless Mr. Gladwell. He probably doesn’t want me to clip his new car.

Julie never saw her attacker. He came from behind before she got her helmet off. She did manage to press the panic button on her keychain, though.

Twice.

* * * * * 

Chapter
17

“J
oe Garrett?” said the woman on the phone.

“Yeah,” said Joe, switching on the light, wondering at the unfamiliar voice. Groggy with sleep, he noticed that Julie was gone. He picked up his watch.

It’s two; who the hell is calling me?

“Who is this?”

“My name is Megan Sewell, Mr. Garrett. I’m a triage nurse at the ORMC Emergency Room. I’m calling for Julie O’Hara, she gave me your name.”

“What?
Julie
?” Joe’s stomach lurched as if he’d eaten bad food. “What hospital?”

“Orlando Regional Medical Center, sir.
Ms. O’Hara is here in the Emergency Room. She asked me to call you to let you know she was here.”

Joe was fully awake now.

“What happened? Is she all right?”

“I can’t give you details, sir, but you can come into the Emergency Room and speak to the doctor.”

“But what
happened
?”

“She was assaulted, sir. She came in by ambulance. That’s all I can tell you,” said the nurse. “Do you know where we’re located, on
Kuhl, off of Orange Ave?”

“Yes, yes, I do. Tell her I’ll be right there,” he said, hanging up.

Joe pulled on his pants and shirt, and grabbed his wallet and keys off the dresser.

I knew something like this would happen! Why does she have to leave here in the middle of the night! Just so she doesn’t run in to Janet or Luz…

Joe was angry with Julie and scared at the same time.

Please, God, let her be all right!

Joe had been in love with Julie for five years, ever since she walked in his door asking about the office space across the foyer. Julie, on the other hand, was icy and barely spoke to him for nearly three years…until her best friend, Marc Solomon, was murdered.

Joe ran down the stairs now and hurried out to the Land Rover. He backed up, then
sped down Cypress and turned left on Eola Drive, his mind racing…thinking about Julie.

Their affair had begun during Marc’s case and they’d been together since. Joe thought he’d lost her when he proposed a couple months ago; he thought her refusal would spell the end of their relationship. But it hadn’t, thank God. Everything was the same.

I’ll never pressure her again, God. Please let her be all right…

Joe knew about Julie’s husband, knew how traumatized she was by his death. He understood her fear of loss. But Joe had fears, too, and he was afraid of losing
her
.

The traffic was light. In a matter of minutes, he was parking the Land Rover and running into the Emergency Room. He waited impatiently for a woman to finish her business at the window and move.

“Julie O’Hara. My girlfriend…she’s here…a nurse called me. Can I see her?”

A nurse with a clipboard stood behind the woman sitting at the desk. She looked up at him.

“Mr. Garrett?”

“Yes. Can I see Julie O’Hara?”

“Of course. I’m Megan; I called you,” she said. “Walk over to the double-doors on your right. I’ll let you in.”

Everything was beige…the walls, the shiny linoleum floor, the wooden doors that swung open, the wide corridor that stretched before him. It was lined with gurneys, IV’s and diagnostic equipment.

Joe followed the heavy set, pony-tailed nurse in her green scrubs, the small squeak of her white sneakers adding to the myriad sounds of the ER, equipment beeping softly, the carefree bantering of two EMT’s as they wheeled an old man on a rolling stretcher. He was dimly aware of an intercom voice paging a doctor, but it was the antiseptic smell that unnerved him. It brought back memories of Walter Reed Hospital where he’d gone to visit a friend who was injured by a roadside bomb in Iraq. He’d been unprepared for the horrible damage. He steeled himself now for what might be coming as Nurse Sewell turned, leading him into Julie’s room.

Catching his breath, Joe sagged with relief when he finally saw her. Julie was propped up on a gurney, her leg elevated on two pillows and encased in a hard plastic boot. She was conscious and in one piece.

Thank you, God.

A white-coated man with a stethoscope draped around his neck – Indian, perhaps - looked up from his laptop computer, acknowledged them, and continued with his typing.

“Julie…what happened?” said Joe, hugging her.

She sighed and smiled, obviously relieved to see him.