Murder at Villa Tacoma

By Jeanie Doyle Singler

Alexander LaGuardia is offered the opportunity to move his designer dress shop to the newly opened Villa Tacoma, an upscale mall built into a historic building formerly the home of a high school. Evana Stevenson, a recent widow, accepts a position as an accountant for the luggage shop owner who is an identical replica of her deceased husband. The death of the owner’s twin brother forces Evana to question why not one but two other men should so closely resemble her husband. In the meantime, the IRS arrives for an audit of mall shops based on inaccurate payroll reports, intimating Evana or her boss have been fudging the books. Anna Swensgard, the mall’s owner, enlists Alexander to be the eyes and ears assisting detective Lieutenant Sarkis in his investigation of not only the death of the luggage owner’s brother but another body found on the mall grounds. When a stash of exotic cars with questionable ownership is discovered on the premises, Sarkis struggles to determine which clues belong to which crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781546276920

Jeanie Doyle Singler

A lifetime passion for traditional mystery in the style of Agatha Christie and her contemporaries keeps Jeanie Doyle Singler writing in this format. She believes it is a fit medium for exploring the lives, motivations and personalities of her characters. This is her seventh novel featuring a puzzle for Lieutenant Davy Sarkis. The last two were MURDER AT VILLA TACOMA and PISTACHIO.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Do you really think that will fly? Alexander LaGuardia assessed the little old woman across the desk from him. In Tacoma?

An acuteness about Anna Swensgard belied her shriveled appearance. Young man, there are hoards of wealthy folks out there hiding in those trees. She waved her hand with its long painted nails toward the array of tall windows surrounding her. Seattle and the Eastside think all the rich live there. They have the wannabes. Real wealth doesn’t like all that traffic. They hide out down here in peace and quiet.

He controlled his tongue sufficiently to keep from expressing his disdain but his eyebrows got away lifting in unqualified scorn.

How long have you lived here? Her eagle-eyes peered at him.

He shrugged. Six months.

This Norwegian goddess has lived here all her life.

Norwegian goddess! Alexander nearly choked. He took out his handkerchief and had a coughing fit.

Have a mint. She pointed to a tiny crystal bowl on the desk filled with individually wrapped circles.

Figuring not to accept would give him away he took one, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.

You’ve bought the same lie as everyone else in this city. Tacoma is Seattle’s ugly sister. She eyed him as if expecting an impudent protest. Although tiny and wrinkled she had beautiful hair cascading to her shoulders. It appeared to have once been blonde but was now touched with silver.

So you plan to turn the high school into a shopping mall?

Look at that building. She motioned toward the windows again. It started life as a luxury hotel. Who would have thought it could be turned in to a high school? Why can’t it become an upscale shopping mall now the school district has had to give it up?

Alexander rose and approached the windows overlooking the castle-like structure down the hill and across the street. It’s an exquisite building, he conceded.

We’re making it a destination site, somewhere people go to spend the day and enjoy themselves. Look at that view. What more could you ask for?

A little less rain, he mumbled watching it come in sheets across the sound. But then, it was October.

We’ll have stores where you can shop, places to sit and have coffee by the fireplace. She had a surprisingly pleasant voice.

Large cranes were already at work on the brick building with spires, turrets and arched windows. If one ignored other buildings in the vicinity, looking past the castle to the sound, it appeared to be surrounded by a moat. It wasn’t that he couldn’t appreciate her dream. Rich people don’t shop at home they go traveling and do their shopping then.

All the better. We’ll get people from all over the world.

And where will these people stay?

At the hotels. We’ll run a shuttle.

Alexander returned to his chair. The whole thing seemed farfetched. Fun, but utterly farfetched. He noticed Ms. Swensgard followed him with her small penetrating eyes.

Young man, you really are a sourpuss. She folded her arms across her small bosom.

Swensgard and Company obviously weren’t short of money. This wasn’t their one chance at making it in the world.

You design and sell women’s clothing? she clarified his position.

"Correct. I have a small shop near the mall on 38th."

How’s that going for you? She squinted at him.

Honestly? Alexander considered. Okay, so far.

Just okay?

I’m getting started. He needed to be careful about defensiveness. Think positive, he told himself.

I’ve seen what you do and I’m impressed. But you definitely need a better location.

Location is everything, right?

You disagree?

No … no. It is.

And yours isn’t the greatest.

Alexander sighed. She did have a point.

We’ll have atmosphere and gourmet food and wonderful things to buy. She radiated excitement like a three-year-old.

In a bad economy, in Tacoma, and in the midst of the shop online world, he inhaled deeply to keep from snorting.

She went on as if reading his mind. Some things people need to buy in person, not with the computer.

Plus if you get them in the store they’ll buy things they never intended?

Exactly. She pointed a crooked finger at him. And if you have a pleasant place to go even if they aren’t looking for anything but a moment’s escape from reality they’ll come. And if they come they’ll buy.

Must be getting soft in the head, he was beginning to see the advantages of her idea. And in reality almost anything would beat his current location. Prices to get into the other mall had been too high for him. How much?

She leaned back in her chair, studying him as if his bank balance would appear on his forehead. I’ve decided to lease square footage at a 20% discount from what the other mall is doing.

Alexander calculated. He knew the charges for the other mall’s space. The discount would help.

She continued, But I’m not getting just any business that wants to set up shop with us. I’m being selective so I’m keeping the space available invitation only.

He raised an eyebrow. Was that legal?

The mind-reader went on, We’ll keep it lawful but still exclusive. She leaned forward. I’m offering the first ninety days rent free. I need time to approve of the business and for it to decide it can succeed in that location. She cocked her head. The business must provide its own décor and furnishings once their plans have been approved.

Alexander figured the whole idea was preposterous. But he had learned preposterous was the step right before phenomenal success. He lifted his shoulders.

A smile flashed onto her face giving her the appearance of a surprised teen-ager. You’re game? Again she had read his mind.

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Evana Stevenson glanced at her note – 1:00 p.m. Starbucks on 6th Avenue - then at the brick facade of the building, the green logo and small street signs. She took a deep breath. Interviews always intimidated even when one didn’t care about the result. She couldn’t decide if she cared or not. Her job was okay, but she needed to break away from her old life, her life with Jeff, her deceased husband. She needed to move on, which was like starting first grade with no idea what going to school meant.

Stepping into the coffee shop she glanced around. She had arrived a tiny bit early. Checking out the other customers she eliminated the older ladies chatting over coffee, the young man with the laptop, two college students sitting together texting who knows who. Her target was a businessman. No one fit that description. She ordered a latte then took a table for two from where she could observe the door. Having grabbed the nutrition folder at the condiment counter she studied it while waiting, becoming absorbed in the relationship between calorie and protein on the chart.

Mrs. Stevenson?

Evana looked up into a face that made her heart stop. Her breath caught as she stared into the familiar face of her deceased husband. As she stared her brain picked out items for her attention. Jeff wore glasses, but they were rimless, not the bold blue horned rim frames this man wore. Jeff wore his hair close cropped not like this man’s untamed stand-on-end fashion. And yet he looked just like Jeff, the same facial expression, the same chocolate brown eyes, even the same voice.

Evana Stevenson?

Unable to get her voice to cooperate she nodded.

He held out his hand. Tory Wagner.

She raised her hand for him to take, realizing she was making a horrible impression. He’s not Jeff. He’s not Jeff, her brain kept informing her. Tempted to get up and run away, she took a deep breath instead.

He set a leather case in the chair. Let me get some coffee.

Watching his back she worked to separate his image from that of her husband. Jeff was heavier built. He never wore business clothes, if the slacks, leather jacket and stand-up collar white shirt this man wore could be called business attire.

She clasped her hands together and held on tight. It was okay, she could handle it.

Tory returned with a cup, took his chair, and opened the briefcase from which he removed a portfolio. You’re familiar with the high school near here that looks like a castle? His big dark eyes looked straight into hers, radiating an intensity of personality that Jeff had not.

Yes. Evana cleared her throat and made an effort to speak clearly. Overlooking the sound. His frank gaze made her dizzy. What if she fainted? She lifted her regard to a square black box above the door with what appeared to be two unlit spotlights and concentrated.

You’ve heard the school district has given up the building and it’s being turned into a shopping mall? The black bars above his eyes lifted as his gaze drilled her.

I’ve heard that. She realized he sensed her discomfort and didn’t understand. She forced herself to look directly at him and smile.

He smiled too, although his expression remained perplexed. It’s a daring undertaking, especially for Tacoma. The plan is to make it more than just a mall. Malls these days are struggling since so much purchasing is done on the internet. He glanced at his portfolio then at Evana. Do you shop on the internet?

Some. She took a deep breath. I like to shop so I do more in person than online.

He nodded. That’s one principle they’re working with. Some people enjoy shopping. In addition they enjoy meeting friends for lunch or coffee or just to hang out in pleasant atmospheres. Others enjoy exploring interesting places with fascinating things to buy. The principle presupposes people are physical beings and stuck somewhere with a computer isn’t what life is about. His intense expression radiated passionate exuberance.

They might have difficulty convincing some people of that. Evana focused on his portfolio, working to think clearly. Besides they don’t just sit in front of a computer. They carry one around in the form of a phone or tablet.

As I said, it’s a daring undertaking. He lost none of his enthusiasm. But people can bring those with and still enjoy the atmosphere.

She shrugged. That was true. You sound like you’re selling something.

He laughed, displaying the same straight white teeth as Jeff. I think I’m trying to sell myself on the idea I haven’t made a mistake getting involved in this.

She smiled. She felt the same about him.

"I want you to understand the background. I have a luggage store at the mall on 38th but I’ve been invited to open a new and more elite store at this location. My store at the mall is basically a three person operation. My wife used to do the accounting for me, but, he paused and his big eyes flashed away then back, she divorced me. I’ve been handling it all and it hasn’t been too bad, but I couldn’t manage with two stores. His gaze returned to her face. However, I don’t need a full time accountant or even an accounting service. What I need is someone who can handle accounting but would be willing to manage the sales counter and other tasks required at the same time." He paused, giving her a chance to comment.

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

According to your résumé, you work for the YMCA.

Nodding she explained her responsibilities at her current job.

And why would you leave? Suddenly his smile disappeared. He pinned her with analytical scrutiny.

Evana shifted her gaze to the cars traveling Sixth Avenue then back to Tory. My husband was killed. I need to start a new life where everything isn’t a reminder.

That seemed to suck the words out of him. I’m sorry. How long … ? He waved a hand to finish his sentence.

"A little over a year.

Would something like this interest you?

How could she explain? The job would certainly interest her, but working with a replica of her husband would be counterproductive to everything she hoped to accomplish. Inside her head the argument raged while she stared at him wordless. How could she make him understand what it did to her seeing such a stunning likeness of her deceased husband? Could she tell him it wasn’t him she saw, but Jeff? Luckily she couldn’t have gotten the words out. In the end he offered her the job and with no way to explain her apprehension she accepted.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

CHAPTER TWO

Evana parked her compact Toyota in the employee lot then crossed the courtyard in the chilly morning breeze that had banished the marine air, cold for early May. She noticed two boys and a girl dressed for school with jackets and backpacks trotting the opposite direction. Entering the central foyer of Villa Tacoma, she paused for a group of determined walkers charging through the concourse. Still in awe every time she entered the Villa, Evana stood gaping at the dreamy renaissance ceiling mural from which the vibrantly embellished chandelier hung in the main foyer. Recessed lighting coupled with softly lit wall sconces created a golden glow. Moving through the concourse she noted the cleaning crew still grooming the marble floors. A woman with a basket under her arm was testing moisture in one of the numerous pots of philodendron, fig, and schefflera. An older couple was pushing cafe tables together for the morning gathering of elderly hikers who had completed their spin through the corridors.

On reaching Erudite Luggage she used her key card to enter then went to disarm the security system. As she raised the black shade on the door she realized even the shop where she worked left her in awe with its mosaic tiled floor and dark wood shelves displaying the latest in luggage. She even marveled at the travel accessories in four sided columns of hardwood and glass with interior lighting as she learned to describe the purpose of the gadgets exhibited.

Particularly daunted by Tory Wagner, she wondered how he could look so much like Jeff yet be so different. And more important why would anyone look that much like Jeff?

Charming, charismatic, the spark and life of every gathering, Jeff reveled in attention, drawing others to him with his laughter and continual string of banter. Tory was reserved, meditative, and gentle, rarely attracting attention, although at the same time more intense, directive and professional.

While fascinated by Tory, his similarities and differences from Jeff, Evana couldn’t help but question it. People often had lookalikes in one fashion or another. But identical? It plagued her sense of logic. Most appearance similarities were only from a particular perspective as in the way they walked, talked, or dressed. Some seemed to look the same from a distance but up close the resemblance faded. All the usual characteristics making one person appear like another were absent between Jeff and Tory. They didn’t stand alike, talk alike, or dress alike. Nonetheless, they looked the same, exactly the same.

Evana found the whole prospect perplexing. It offended her reason and intuition. Already the anchors holding her life in place had been yanked out. Only married to Jeff a short time when he was killed in a freak incident left her floundering, questioning why God would take him away. She had attached herself to her widowed father and her brother who still lived at home. However, they made it clear they did not wish to be her companions in loneliness. She needed a new start, but felt vulnerable, clinging to a limb waving in the breeze.

In the shop she headed for her desk to set down her handbag. Tory’s partially glass enclosed office sat in the far corner with her accounting desk and the hardwood file cabinet just outside in the opposite corner of the smaller portion of the store. As she set her bag down she glanced into his office and noticed him seated at his desk.

His presence puzzled her since he was scheduled to work noon to closing weekdays. He told her business picked up in the evening after five. Consequently he worked the latter half of the day. Evana handled the sales counter and floor until he came in then retire to her desk with the accounting.

Had some problem brought him in? Stepping around the dividing wall, she said, Good morning. You’re here early.

Her brain took time to register what met her eyes. A large bruise on the side of his head and one near his jaw alerted her doubt. He wore a black tee shirt with a dark spot near the shoulder which sent an instant message she failed to decipher. Leaning slightly to the side, he didn’t move, not just didn’t reply or even appear not to have heard her. He didn’t move … at all. The deafening stillness in the room set off a mental alarm. A stab of fear made her cautious. She approached the desk, placed next to the east wall but with enough space between it and the south wall for his chair. From this position he could monitor the activity on the shop floor.

He appeared to study papers on the desk in front of him. However, when she got closer she could see his eyes fixed in an unblinking stare. Reaching out she touched his shoulder and started to shake him. However, he toppled onto the floor. Screaming she headed for the shop entrance.

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Too late now for second thoughts, Alexander had to make his business successful here or not at all. He stood on the walkway in the pale spring sunshine gazing at the castle, now with artfully carved Old English lettering that read Villa Tacoma over the arched doorway. He had to give Ms. Swensgard credit for the magnificent job of retaining the exterior. Aside from changes allowing display windows for attracting shoppers it remained virtually untouched. Graduates of the high school might get confused expecting to find their old classrooms. Although automatic doors opening as one approached might give the show away. And, as he noted the doors closing behind him, they might have to check exactly what they had entered once they found themselves in the marble foyer with curving stairways on either side to the floor above. Several thousand crystal bobbles hanging in rows from a chandelier pole would surely convince them they were in the wrong place. He wasn’t sure he couldn’t say the same about himself, but he was determined to make it here, one way or the other.

He continued walking the concourse to his dress shop. Flipping on the lights he congratulated himself on the appearance of his business. Brass fixtures created a golden glow on the faux stucco walls. Bookshelves displaying pieces of jewelry, shoes and other accessories flanked a mahogany fireplace. He moved to the built-in wooden closets along the wall opposite and slid open the doors to disclose his outfits. Display mannequins posed in various ensembles here and there. One sat artistically arranged on a high back wooden chair in the window display. He gathered the scattered fashion magazines and clothing sketches, replacing them neatly on the coffee table arranged between a pair of leather loveseats in the rear of the store.

Moving to the corner he climbed a small wooden stair to the floor above. Dodging shipments he still needed to unpack, he made the way to his desk where he unloaded his briefcase and switched on the computer. Coffee, that’s what he needed. It would bring his brain online. He descended the stairs and slipped into the concourse.

The Library Coffee Shop with its black lacquer café tables and upholstered wing-back chairs sat next door to his store. He checked out the shop’s tables located in the concourse. Already a couple techno jocks occupied the table in the corner where built-in leather benches lined the corners of the hall which ended there. The man and woman bent over the computer with intense concentration. A striking woman with red hair, big diamond earrings, and an embroidered leather jacket rummaged in a large Coach bag sitting at a table for two. The mall walkers, even in this excessively upscale atmosphere there were mall walkers, hustled through the arcade like a parade of pigeons, heads thrust forward and silver feathers flattened back.

Hey, Alexander, how’s it going? Day Hong, the Asian barista greeted him from behind the elaborately carved coffee bar with black granite surface.

Well as can be expected before coffee. Alexander produced his credit card. What’s with the computer jocks?

Day wagged his head in the direction of the door. They’ve been there since before I came in this morning.

Strange, Alexander mumbled.

Day shrugged, operating the brass handles on the espresso machine. Did you see the elaborate car trailer at the bottom of the hill?

Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Are they opening a show room here at the mall? Day handed Alexander his cup.

Not that I’ve heard. Where down the hill do you mean? He mentally skirted the Villa’s exterior. The street terminated at the lower end of its property.

On First Street.

I didn’t realize there was a vehicle approach there. What did you see?

A driveway skirts the back of the Villa where delivery trucks have access. On First Street midway down the hill was one of those elaborately decorated trailers they carry a car in being towed by a Ford 250. Day moved on to the next drink.

Alexander took his coffee then in a glance back at the pair at the table noticed something in the glass door of the luggage shop, residing next to where they were seated. He paused and looked again. Someone lay on the mosaic floor.

Jerking the door open Alexander hurried to the figure on the floor. A brief check assured him the girl was alive and breathing. However, emergency services hadn’t climbed onto his list of accomplishments. Shaking her arm he got no response. Attempting to move her into a more comfortable position, he raised her head. This brought her eyes open with a flash of irrational horror as if she stared at the latest incarnation of the Purple People Eater. He held her shoulders while she returned to consciousness.

What’s the problem? He helped her to sit up.

She seemed unable to speak, pointing to the back of the shop.

After making certain she was upright under her own power Alexander headed that direction, stopping just before the opening to a glass cubicle at the back corner. He stared at the scene trying to make sense of it. The man on the floor looked as if he had attempted to take a seat and missed. Bending to touch the body, he realized the man was dead and had been for some time.

He turned to the woman, who had quietly followed him. Who is he? Preparing to catch her, Alexander wasn’t betting she wouldn’t pass out again. She still had the horrified expression on her face.

He looks like my boss, but …

Alexander perceived the tentativeness. But you don’t think he is?

He must be, it’s just that … . Her voice trailed off.

He checked the back pocket where a bulge hinted at a billfold. He drew out a tri-fold wallet and opened it. The driver’s license in the area for identification declared the owner. Travis Wagner. Is that your boss?

The woman shook her head. At least not the name I know him by.

What is it?

Tory Wagner.

It wouldn’t be Travis Tory Wagner or Tory Travis Wagner?

She lifted her shoulders and shook her black hair, shock still registering in her deep blue eyes.

Alexander sighed. What a morning. We’d better call in the officials. He took out his cell phone and put in the 911 number.

Come on, he waved his hand toward the door. Let’s go sit down while we wait for the police. By the way, my name is Alexander LaGuardia, I own the dress shop.

A grimace posing as a smile acknowledged his introduction, Evana Stevenson. I work here.

Alexander put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the concourse where he seated her at the other corner bench. I’ll be back in a minute. Although his store was due to open he figured it would be a while before he could be there. He hung the be back clock on the door and set it for an hour later.

He noted the coffee shop tables crowded with many people he saw on a daily basis, hairdressers from La Coiffure Couturier, sales people from Cotillion Cosmetics, Teletech, Barrons Jewelry, and the young crew from Mandarin.

Well here comes the big gun, he mumbled taking a seat beside Evana. From the main concourse came a very tall man in a business suit.

Lieutenant Sarkis, Evana breathed, alerting Alexander’s curiosity. She was acquainted with Davy Sarkis?

The lieutenant with his auburn hair falling over his forehead, glanced around catching sight of Alexander and Evana which produced a string of expressions, surprise, curiosity, suspicion. And to what do I owe this pleasure?

Alexander cocked his head. I could ask you the same question except I know the answer.

The lieutenant glanced at Evana. You two crime groupies?

I’m insulted, Alexander answered for them. We work here.

Peering over his shoulder, the lieutenant asked, Where?

Alexander explained that he owned the dress shop and Evana pointed next door to the luggage store.

Are you the one who called?

We’ve got a problem.

Sarkis shot him a skeptical glance. You’ve got the body?

Entertaining a series of smart remarks at the insinuation the body belonged to him, Alexander opted in favor of restraint beckoning to the luggage shop door.

Lieutenant Sarkis followed as Alexander led the way with Evana behind. When they reached the opening to the glass enclosure, Alexander stopped, moving aside for the lieutenant.

Sarkis stared at the scene with narrowed eyes then turned a speculative eye on Alexander.

He put his hands in the air. All I did was notice Evana lying on the floor and came to see what was wrong.

Does trouble follow wherever you go? the lieutenant asked her.

Evana’s large eyes filled with tears. Sarkis put his hand on her shoulder. Is he someone you know?

I don’t know.

According to the ID he’s Travis Wagner, Alexander put in. "She said her boss’ name is Tory Wagner.

Evana took a deep unsteady breath. But he looks like Tory.

Alexander picked the wallet off the desk where he had left it and handed it to the lieutenant who scowled as he opened it. After examining it a moment he set it back on the desk. I’m going to shut off this end of the mall for the time being and close the stores. The lieutenant’s stare challenged Alexander to object. I’ll get forensics in here. He waved them toward the entrance.

Evana grabbed the handbag off her desk as they headed for the door to the concourse. Just before reaching it a man in slacks, dress shirt and tie