Odelia had taken a seat next to the man while Charlene disappeared into the kitchen. Her husband presumably had left for work, and so it was just us in the house—which is large and very modern, with plenty of glass and steel and concrete, but not in a cold and unpleasant way. We had stayed there before, so we considered Charlene’s home our home away from home and were happy to find ourselves on familiar ground for a change. Mostly Odelia conducts these interviews on the premises, and often it’s not what one expects: either more luxurious and outrageously opulent, or downright dilapidated and run down. This was neither, just a cozy little home designed for regular people like Charlene and Uncle Alec.
“Okay, so we’ve been in touch with the Abou-Yamen embassy,” said Odelia. “And they weren’t very helpful, I have to say. They didn’t want to answer most of our questions, and so we still don’t know a great deal about Prince Abdullah. Most of what we know is what we found on the internet, in fact, which is crazy when you come to think about it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know all that much about the man myself, Mrs. Kingsley,” said the lawyer.
“Odelia, please. After all that we’ve been through, I think it’s safe to say we’re on a first-name basis.”
“Okay, fine,” he said with a smile. “As I told you, I never met the man face to face. We talked on the phone, and we set up our appointment, but apart from that, I don’t know more than what you do. Like you, I Googled him, of course, as it’s not every day that an actual prince requests a meeting. But I expected him to supply me with the information I needed when he dropped by for our meeting—which as we know now never took place.”
“All I know is that he’s married with three kids—all of whom are living in Abou-Yamen. And that it’s highly unusual for a member of the Abou-Yamen royal family to travel without an entourage or security detail.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said the lawyer.
“Also, the couple we have in prison right now, on suspicion of the prince’s murder, told us that he didn’t want to meet them in the hotel conference room as he was afraid it was bugged. He wanted to meet them in his suite where they could talk in private. Does that ring a bell?”
The lawyer nodded thoughtfully as a deep groove appeared between his brows. “It does, actually. I suggested we meet at the office, but he said he preferred we meet in a public place. He actually wanted to meet at the mall. Which I thought was a little strange.”
“And you have no idea why he was so adamant not to meet at your office?”
The groove deepened as the man dug into his recollections. “Um… I seem to remember that he said it was safer for him to meet in a public environment, where we wouldn’t be overheard. It all sounded a little James Bond to me, to be honest. But then I guess if you’re a prince of a royal house you’re entitled to a touch of eccentricity. And also, considering my line of work, whatever he wanted to see me about would have required the necessary discretion. We are dealing with inheritance matters, which are always very delicate.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Odelia. “And I’ve read online that the grandfather of Prince Abdullah is old and poorly, so maybe Prince Abdullah was expecting him not to live much longer and wanted to discuss his possible inheritance with you.”
“It’s possible.”
“Is there any reason you can think of why he wouldn’t consult an estate lawyer in his own country, one who is more familiar with local law, and instead wanted an American lawyer?”
“The principles of estate law are similar in different jurisdictions, even though some of the details will differ, of course. So maybe he wanted an outsider’s opinion on some of the advice he had received in his own country? Though I have to say that mostly the people who come to see me are interested in setting up their own estate. Making sure that everything is in order before they pass away.”
“He does have a wife and kids,” said Odelia.
“Maybe he was considering a move to the United States? And bringing his family along with him? In that case, he would have been covered by our laws in regards to inheritance, and if that were so, my advice would have been more apt than the advice of my Abou-Yamen colleagues.”
Odelia nodded thoughtfully. “One final question, if I may.”
“Of course. Shoot,” he said, then grimaced. “That’s probably not the right word under the circumstances.”
She had taken out her phone and showed pictures of Jonny Carew and Jerry Vale. “Do you recognize these men?”
He studied the pictures for a moment. “Are these …”
“Yes, these are the shooters. Both from last night and yesterday morning.”
He shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen them before.”
“We think they were hired by a third party—the person behind this whole thing.”
“So what about the people you arrested yesterday? Maybe they’re also behind this?”
“They’re denying any involvement, either with the murder of the prince, or the shootings. And we haven’t been able to find a link with Vale and Carew either, or any phone calls or messages back and forth—not even any suspicious deposits or payments into their bank account. Unless of course they were using a second phone and a separate bank account.”
He handed her back her phone. “It’s extremely frustrating, as I have a lot of work to get back to. And I can only do so much by working remotely. So the sooner you find the person or persons responsible—or discover the reason why this is all happening, the better for me.” He held up his hand. “Not that I want to put undue pressure on you, of course, Odelia.”
“That’s all right. We’re used to working under pressure, my husband and I.”
“Is that unusual? A reporter and a cop collaborating?”
She smiled and settled back on the couch. Charlene came in with a tray carrying cups of coffee and cookies and distributed them among the present company, much to the delight of Odelia, who’s a real coffee nut. “Yes, it is a little unusual,” she agreed. “But it seems to work. My uncle says we make a great team, so he keeps sending us out in the field to catch killers and solve crimes.”
“And you do a great job, too,” said Charlene, joining the conversation. She turned to the lawyer. “Odelia has the emotional intelligence to make any suspect or witness open up to her in no time, while Chase has that analytical mind to make sense of things and make connections. It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a tough guy and can put the fear of God into a suspect.”
“He’s a real sweetheart, though,” Odelia assured the lawyer. “He may look tough but he’s actually a teddy bear.”
“He is,” said Charlene with a smile. “Just like Alec. He may look like this big grumpy bruiser but deep down he’s a softie.”
“Good to know,” said the lawyer as he took a sip from his coffee. “Well, I wish I could help you more. It’s extremely frustrating to me that I’m being targeted and I don’t even know why.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” said Odelia. She turned to me and gave me a wink. Which meant she wanted me to get to the bottom of it. And since I had absolutely no idea what was going on, I gulped a little.
Maybe Gran should buzz me with that bug spray, I thought. It might make my brain cells proliferate and work twice as hard as they were working now. Maybe then I’d finally have that breakthrough we were all looking for!
CHAPTER 29
Once again, we found ourselves at the General Store, being entertained by Kingman and invited to sample some of the kibble that his owner had put out for any passing cat. The bowl that emptied out the fastest would win flavor of the day, and its supplier would get a nice backfill order from Wilbur. The one that didn’t get any love at all would be removed from sale. It was a simple system, and frankly speaking, the only system that was fair: cat food being sampled by actual cats. How much fairer could it get?
There had been a short while when Wilbur had done away with the system, but that had led to a lot of complaints from Hampton Cove’s cats. And after being informed by Gran, the shopkeeper had reinstalled the old system. At the time, he had claimed that it was costing him an arm and a leg and that the General Store wasn’t as successful as it used to be. But after Odelia had written a nice puff piece on Wilbur and the store, things had turned around. So much so that the man’s famous tasters had returned—and a good thing, too, for with all this traipsing across town on our investigations, I got a little peckish from time to time, and to dip into Kingman’s bowls was always a welcome thing.
