Yesterday

All my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

 

“Boss, can we talk a moment?” Sean whispered, tugging on Trixie’s arm.

She turned to look at him, noting the expression on his face. She stepped away from the cluster of mourners assembled in the narthex of the cathedral. The two of them had been watching carefully, noting many of their suspects arrive for the services. Sean pulled her towards a semi-private corner. After glancing around to judge the proximity of other people, he began to speak in a low voice.

“I know you can’t do this right now, but Harold Langham wants us to meet him at his yacht. He said he thinks he knows how the money’s being stolen from his company.” Sean’s eyes darted around the room as he spoke, watching the crowd while taking care to keep his voice low and pitched so only Trixie could hear. “I explained we were currently unavailable and would be for a while. He said he’d be there. In fact, he said something about moving to the yacht to live, that his wife had kicked him out.”

Trixie managed to show no surprise at Sean’s comments. Her hand automatically pushed into her suit pocket and grabbed her PDA. She resisted the urge to pull it out and check for messages since such an action would call attention to her and attract the curiosity of the people assembled.

“What else?” she asked softly, her eyes also scanning the area for anyone close enough to hear them.

“I told him we’d meet him later, that we should be there by four.”

“Anything else?” she breathed.

“Yes, there’s also a message ---” Sean stopped and nudged her foot with his own, warning her someone was approaching.

She caught the signal from him at the same time a tall, gangly man approached the two of them.

“Do you remember me?” he asked Trixie, smiling as he extended his hand.

“Of course!” She shook hands and bestowed upon him a brilliant smile. “You’re Mike. Mike King. Jim’s roommate from grad school.”

“You got it,” he replied as he looked around the space. “Is Jim here?”

“No, he wasn’t that close to the Beckhart family.” Trixie gave a slight shake of her head as she answered. “In fact, he’d only met Reid for the first time last Friday, at a fundraiser. I, um, I’ve worked with Reid in a professional capacity for a couple of months now.”

“That’s right!” He snapped his fingers and the pointed one at Trixie as he spoke. “You and Jim’s sister were going to open your own detective agency one day. Has that happened?”

“It’s coming together,” Trixie replied. “Basically, I’ve been doing some security reviews, background checks, lost dogs.” She shrugged. “You know; the kind of things I can do on my own while I wait for Honey to wrap up her job in Boston.”

“How long will it take her to finish up with that big case she was assigned?” he asked. “Jim said it was quite a coup that someone as young as Honey was assigned the deputy prosecutor role. It’s such a high profile case, people in Washington are even talking about it.”

Trixie’s mind blanked. In all her worries and stress over the past few weeks, she had failed to call Honey and keep up with what was going on with her job in Boston. She gulped. “She’s still trying to figure that out,” she finally managed.

“Did Reid’s kids lose the family dog and call you in? Is that how you met him?” he asked.

“No. A mutual friend recommended me to Reid for some security reviews. I think I was able to help him a little in that area,” she said, her tone professional.

Mike chuckled. “I’ll bet you were. Say, wasn’t it you and your brother that helped Jim and me test our educational software we developed for our senior research project?”

Trixie smiled. “Yes, my brother Mart and I were the ones. We had fun with that. I hope we didn’t get too carried away.”

“Nope, not at all. Jim should let you two test out the stuff we’re putting out there for his school. Has he told you that we took that grad school project and continued working it? We’re hoping to be able to market it to educational institutions.”

“Yes, he’s mentioned it several times. SMARTSchool, right? That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Yep, it’s cool stuff. If it works out for us, he’ll have a fantastic source of funding for his school for years.” Mike glanced around. “Well, I need to find Reid and pay my respects. Poor guy, I know it’s tough to deal with all this.”

“By the way, Mike …” Trixie’s hand moved to touch his arm. “How do you know Reid?”

“Reid is a friend of the family, so he and I go back a ways. He used to get advice from my dad on technical problems and stuff. Dad was one of the original investors in Reid’s company. Then later, Reid offered me a job after I graduated, in case I wanted some experience before I went to work in the family business. We’ve kept in touch even after Dad died. I guess you could say we share a common geekness.”

Trixie smiled. “Two of the nicest geeks I know.”

“Thanks, Trixie. You tell that Jim that I expect to see him now that I’m in town. Maybe the three of us can meet up for dinner one night.”

“Absolutely,” Trixie assured him. She watched as he carefully made his way through the crowd and into the cathedral where Reid and his family were greeting people before the service. “Absolutely,” she said quietly to herself. “You know too many people associated with this case!”

 

 

Trixie felt her gut twist more than once as the memorial service progressed. Whatever Allison had become involved in, one thing was clear. She didn’t deserve to die. The Beckharts and the Rockefellers were defenseless in the grief of their collective loss. But even noting the stricken look on Reid’s face didn’t prepare her for the faces of their children. As the service progressed, Trixie had swallowed more than once when she realized how close to her children Allison Beckhart had been. The poem Beth Beckhart had written for her mother had almost resulted in a breakdown. It took every ounce of training and experience for Trixie to maintain her composure during the reading of that poem.

She remembered vividly the vivacious teenager with the neon green braces and her excitement over the skating and meeting her favorite female ice skater. Trixie took a deep breath and vowed, Whatever it takes, I’m going to solve this case. Allison’s children will have justice.

The service seemed all to brief when it was time to stand for the final hymn, and when the lengthy service was over, she remained standing quietly with Sean in the back corner of the large cathedral. Both of them watched carefully as the friends and family of Allison Beckhart quietly exited the memorial service. Many of the women on the list of suspects had attended the service, but nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. At the same time, she knew, as she watched the mourners file out, that one of them, somehow and for some reason, was Allison Beckhart’s killer.

Kitty Buchanan had spoken to her before the service and given her a tearful nod as she exited afterwards. It wasn’t long before Trixie noticed Mike leaving with a woman she assumed was his mother, Margaret Gaitley, and none other than Mitsy Thornhill. Mitsy gave her a somber nod of recognition as well.

Chris, Ted, and Madji had come in and left as a group. They had been some of the first to arrive and the last to leave. It was clear they were all three shaken by the events that had befallen their long-time friend. Trixie recognized several employees from B3, including Andy, Ian, and Janiece, who had arrived together but left separately. Knowing the offices were closed, she wondered, who, if anyone, would return to B3 that day.

Her musings were interrupted by Amy. “Are we going to the interment?” she said softly.

Trixie shook her head. “Family only,” she explained. “I don’t see a need, do you?”

Amy shook her head. “Sean mentioned that Harold Langham wanted to talk to the two of you. Do you want me to go back to the office and record everyone we noted that was here today?”

“Yes, please,” Trixie answered, glancing at her watch. “We’ll be back by the office after we meet with Harold to fill you in on the latest there.” She paused as she caught the eye of her junior agent. “By the way, Freeman, you were with the funeral director. Did you notice anything today?”

She nodded slowly. “A few things. Mitsy Thornhill and Charlie Prescott were very cool with each other. They both seemed, well, scared of something.” She gave a small shrug as she continued. “Kitty Buchanan is genuinely distressed, much more so than anyone else in the group of socialites that associated with Allison.”

“Who are you putting in that group?”

“Our latest three with the Paris connection, of course – Eaton, Patterson, and Gaitley. Oh, and didn’t you think it odd that Tinsley Gaitley didn’t sit with her stepmother or her stepbrother? Her father wasn’t here either.”

“Tim Gaitley …” Trixie said quietly, her brow knit as she recalled the in-depth background that she had done on him before Amy had arrived to assist her. “Do me a favor, please. Check back over his background check and see if you think I missed anything. I’m reviewing it in my mind, but we should take another look there, just to be sure.”

Amy scribbled an additional note in her PDA and nodded. “You got it, Boss. I take it you and Barnes will go straight to the yacht from here?”

Trixie started to nod, but stopped. “No, we’ll grab coffee and a sandwich on the way. Make sure you do the same.”

Amy nodded in affirmation and the two women parted, both intent on the afternoon’s mission.

 

 

“What do you mean, we need a car?” Trixie stopped and stared at Sean.

“Aren’t we headed over to the Harbor on City Island in the Bronx?” he asked.

“You’re kidding me,” Trixie protested. “Langham may be hemorrhaging money, but there is no way he’d have his yacht anywhere but the North Cove Marina in Lower Manhattan. We can take the subway.”

“You sure, Belden?” he said doubtfully. The slippage fees are outrageous at the marina.”

“Trust me, I’m sure,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t ask me how I’m sure!”

Sean grinned, realizing that one of Harold’s many propositions to his boss must have included a rendezvous at the now-infamous Langham yacht, the Lillibet. “Okay, but can we grab a sandwich? I’m starving.”

“Works for me. Just start walking and when we get to something you want, we’ll stop,” Trixie suggested. She glanced down at the black boots she had selected that morning. Her choice had been driven by style and not comfort. “Just don’t walk too long,” she said wearily. “These boots were definitely not made for walking!”

Sean snorted and the two of them made their way south. It only took four blocks for Sean to locate a suitable deli, and they quickly ordered and made small talk while waiting for the delicious egg salad sandwiches that were the specialty of the shop. Seating was full, and they were forced to grab the first available table, which prevented any discussion of the case and speculation on what Harold might have discovered that he wanted to discuss with them.

Nearly an hour later they found themselves back out on the street ready to head for the marina. “Let’s walk a few blocks and then grab a taxi, Trixie suggested. She found herself suddenly in a hurry to get to Harold’s boat and get on with the case.

“What did you think our client may have found?” Sean asked.

Trixie tilted her head slightly as she pondered what Harold could have uncovered. “I’m guessing he has a computer and office hook-up on that boat of his and he’s just realized it’s not the most secure method of transacting business.”

“Wow, you are talking about a yacht, aren’t you?” He whistled.

“Yeah, the thing is, we both know what Harold is, right?” She glanced over at Sean and was reassured to see him nodding. “Harold likes the trappings of wealth. Much more so than his wife does, and he likes the fact that his money has always helped him to catch the attention of women, young attractive women if Grace Wheeler is to be believed. Until recently, he was always smart enough to make sure he kept the money coming into the family coffers.”

“You think it’s the latest girlfriend?” Sean wondered aloud.

“It’s certainly possible,” Trixie admitted. She looked around for a taxi and stopped as her cell phone rang. Noting it was the office calling, she stepped back against the building she was in front of to be out of the path of other pedestrians as she answered the call.

“Belden,” she spoke into the phone.

“Boss!” Amy’s tone was frantic. “Where are you and Sean? Have you arrived at the marina yet?”

“No, in fact we were just going to grab a cab. Lunch took a little longer than we hoped. Has Harold called? Is there a problem?”

“Harold hasn’t called here,” Amy started. “He can’t call anyone. He’s been shot.”