Fireworks in Paradise Page 16

  I remembered there being a comment in Judge Harper’s notes suggesting Reinhold had possibly been set up.

  “Walk us through your train of thought,” I said.

  Clarissa leaned forward and glanced at both Kyle and me. She met our eyes before she began. “First of all, if Steven was guilty, why would he report Jennifer missing at all? I know he waited three weeks, which on the surface seems like a long time, but he explained that his wife had a history of taking off for extended periods. He wasn’t worried until the statement came in the mail and he realized she hadn’t used her credit card since she’d been gone. Keep in mind no one knew she was missing, so no one had been looking for her. If Steven had killed her, why would he call the sheriff? Why wouldn’t he just leave town?”

  She had a point.

  “The reality is,” she continued, “if Steven hadn’t called the sheriff and reported Jennifer missing, no one would have started looking for her and her body might not have been found.”

  “Maybe he figured someone would eventually find the body and it would make him look guilty if he never told anyone she was missing,” Kyle suggested. “She was, after all, buried in a shallow grave in the middle of a populated area. Eventually someone would have stumbled onto her.”

  “That’s true. Which leads to my next argument. Why would Steven bury his wife’s body in a shallow grave behind his own home? If he’d killed Jennifer, he had three weeks to dispose of the body. He had money and resources available to him. Why wouldn’t he at least move the body to another location before he called the sheriff? It makes no sense, and Steven seemed like a smart man.”

  “And then there was the other evidence that was found,” Clarissa added. “Bloody sheets just wadded up and tossed into the closet, gloves with Jennifer’s blood on them stashed in the bottom of the clothes hamper, muddy clothes in the garage. After three weeks he hadn’t cleaned any of that up? If Steven killed his wife, he had to be the dumbest murderer in the world.”

  I remembered the sheriff’s report had said they hadn’t found any evidence of forced entry and the alarm hadn’t been tampered with, so the killer had to have been someone with access to the house. And Reinhold had testified that there were a lot of people with both the key and alarm code, including Jennifer’s sister, some of her friends, the maid service, and the contractors who had recently worked on the house.

  “I just had a thought,” I said. “The Reinholds employed a maid service. I wonder why the maids didn’t find the sheets in the closet or the gloves in the hamper.”

  Halloran shrugged. “I don’t know. The service I use doesn’t do laundry. Maybe the Reinholds had a similar setup. Like I said earlier, I don’t know who killed Jennifer or why, and I don’t know when the sheets, gloves, and muddy clothes were left. Maybe whoever set Steven up planted the stuff later, after the maids had already cleaned the room. What I do know is I’ve felt all along that Steven was innocent.”

  “You’ve made good arguments,” I acknowledged. “I’m surprised the jury convicted him. Unless they had something else.”

  “I always felt the public defender Steven was assigned was an idiot who did nothing to counter the case the prosecution presented.”

  “Reinhold was represented by a public defender?” Kyle interrupted.

  “Steve’s wife kept her money in an account only she had access to. After she died, he was left with ten thousand dollars and whatever savings he had—not nearly enough to hire a private defense attorney.”

  Kyle frowned but encouraged Halloran to continue with her story.

  “Like I said, the defense attorney was clueless, and the prosecution did a decent job of creating a case out of what they had. They argued that Steven flew into a fit of rage during one of their infamous fights and stabbed his wife seven times. Then he buried her in the field behind the house and waited. When you coupled that with the physical evidence, the history of domestic disturbance calls, and the fact that there didn’t appear to be any other suspects, the jury was swayed.”

  “What did you say to Judge Harper to get him to take a second look at the case?” Kyle asked. “It doesn’t seem as if you provided any new information that would warrant reopening an investigation.”

  “I asked him if he felt the defense attorney who represented Steven had done an adequate job of offering the jury an alternative to the prosecution’s theory, and he admitted he hadn’t. I asked him if anyone else had been given serious consideration, or if the prosecution just jumped on the husband-as-killer bandwagon without bothering to consider other suspects. He said I had brought up some good points and he’d look into it.”

  “Have you spoken or in any way communicated with Steven Reinhold since he’s been in prison?” I asked.

  “No. Like I said, we weren’t that close. We were just jogging partners. It’s not like I’m on a mission to set Steven free. I just remembered I found the trial unfair at the time, and when I met Judge Harper by chance I finally had the opportunity to voice my opinion.”

  I sat forward and rested my elbows against my knees, then looked Halloran in the eye. “I asked this before, but I’m going to ask it again. If Reinhold didn’t kill his wife, in your opinion, who would make the best suspect?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know who did it, but if I was investigating, I’d look for someone who had access to and familiarity with the house. The killer knew where to stash the bloody sheets and muddy clothes to cast suspicion on Steven and had both a key and the alarm code. I suppose it could have been Jennifer’s sister or one of the maids, but my money would be on whoever inherited Jennifer’s money. Find that out and I bet you find the killer.”

  It was clear she’d already thought this through. It was likely Judge Harper had already found out who had inherited the money; all we needed to do was take another look at his file and notes. If the judge’s death was the result of this investigation, he must have had the opportunity to speak to the killer or someone close to them.

  “What do you think?” I asked Kyle after we returned to the car.

  “I think the answer to who killed Jennifer Reinhold is a complicated one that may not be solvable after all these years. It’s possible Steven Reinhold is guilty despite the fact that it does seem all the evidence is circumstantial. If he’s innocent, why hasn’t he sought an appeal?”

  “Yeah, that occurred to me as well. Although maybe he had sought an appeal and it was denied. We should look through Harper’s notes again, keeping in mind who he spoke to and what sort of a conclusion he was coming to.” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I need to get back to the resort for the bikini competition, but let’s stop by your place to look at Harper’s file on the way. Now that I have this mystery in my mind, I’m going to have a hard time letting it go.”

  Chapter 16

  At Kyle’s we spread out the individual pages of the Reinhold file over the top of his dining table. Judge Harper had gathered quite a bit of information. He had a copy of the original sheriff’s report, the coroner’s report, the crime scene unit’s report, and the trial transcript, as well as the notes he’d kept during the trial. Since he’d been approached by Clarissa Halloran, he’d also interviewed several of the Reinholds’ closest contacts: the victim’s sister—who, according to financial records Judge Harper had dug up, had inherited Jennifer’s money—one of the maids, who still lived in Paradise Lake, the contractor who’d been in charge of the remodel, and Steven Reinhold himself. Reading through everything was going to take more time than we had, so we planned to simply skim the documents and get back to them after the bikini contest.

  Kyle picked up a stack of pages and sorted through them. “Let’s see if we can whittle the suspect list down a bit if we consider only individuals who both could have killed Jennifer Reinhold and could have tampered with Harper’s car. The sister, for example. She had access to the Reinhold house and would have been familiar with where th
ings were stored, as well as the daily routine. She did inherit the money, which may have provided enough motive to kill Mrs. Reinhold. The problem is, according to Harper’s notes, she moved out of state shortly after Jennifer Reinhold’s death, so it’s unlikely she’s the one who tampered with Judge Harper’s car.”

  “Unless she had someone do it for her,” I pointed out.

  “I suppose that’s a possibility. But if she was going to hire someone to kill Judge Harper, why use the car as the murder weapon? Why not just shoot him or stab him or put poison in his drink? Tampering with the brakes is too uncertain. There are too many variables to make it an effective method of killing someone.”

  I picked up one of the files and sorted through the notes and photographs Judge Harper had gathered. It looked like he’d put a lot of time into the case since speaking to Clarissa Halloran, which, to my mind, indicated that he believed Steven Reinhold might very well be innocent. “It says here Judge Harper interviewed Sam Wilson regarding Mrs. Reinhold’s death. Do you remember seeing an actual interview?”

  Kyle picked up a pile of papers and began to sort through it while I turned my attention to another pile to my right.

  “I found something,” Kyle said. He pulled out a small stack of notepaper that was secured with a staple on the top right corner. I waited while he began to read. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “At the time of Jennifer Reinhold’s death, Sam Wilson was dating her sister—whose name is Kendra, by the way.”

  “Sam?” I was having a hard time with that one. Sam had always seemed too attached to his mother to have any other intimate relationship, though he’d told me yesterday that his girlfriend was a contestant in the bikini contest. Now, if Judge Harper’s notes were correct, eight years ago he’d been sleeping with the sister of his rich beautiful neighbor. Maybe my feelings of pity toward him had been misplaced. “Are you suggesting Sam helped Kendra kill Jennifer?”

  Kyle continued to read. “It looks like Harper considered Sam a suspect at one point but later changed his mind. He doesn’t say why, but it looks like he dropped the whole thing. He’d known Sam since he was a child, and by then he was involved in an intimate relationship with the guy’s mother. Maybe he realized pursuing Sam as a suspect would get too messy.”

  “Maybe. Still, I wonder if Sam knows anything about what was going on at the time of the murder. I know he’s going to be at the bikini contest today. Maybe we can slip a few questions into casual conversation.”

  “How are you going to slip the subject of his relationship with the sister of a dead woman into casual conversation?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe we’ll have to ask him outright what he knows about Jennifer Reinhold’s death. But I’m curious. Aren’t you?”

  “Totally.”

  The annual bikini contest was one of the largest and best-attended events held at Maggie’s Hideaway, sponsored by a national tanning company that used it as a means of selecting the spokesmodel for the upcoming year. My dad had portable bleachers and portable toilets brought in for the entire Star-Spangled Spectacular, so a large and boisterous crowd was already gathered as Kyle and I made our way through a traffic jam toward the house and the private parking area for our family and our guests.

  “I should have remembered the traffic was going to be a nightmare and started back earlier,” I commented.

  “If you want I can drop you off near the bleachers and then come back to park.”

  “Thanks. That would really help. I’m sure Grandpa and Noah have everything under control, but I should be available if they need me.”

  “It’s no problem at all. After I park I’ll make my way back to find you.”

  “I have my cell. Text me if you can’t find me in the crowd.”

  I leaned over, kissed Kyle, and hopped out of his car. I could jog over to the event faster than he was able to drive. Although maneuvering a vehicle through the crowd was a nightmare, the crowd was upbeat and enthusiastic. I’d forgotten how much I loved the energy associated with the bikini contest. Sure, there were drunks whistling and hollering inappropriate comments at the contestants, who were just beginning to arrive, but there were also supportive boyfriends and families who had come out to cheer on their favorite model between the age of eighteen and twenty-four.

  “Have you seen my grandpa?” I asked one of the busboys from the Lakeside Bar and Grill, who had been recruited to take tickets and help with crowd control.

  “Last time I saw him he was backstage with Noah. The audio system was giving them fits.”

  I glanced toward the staging area and the makeshift dressing rooms. “Okay, thanks. Do you know my friend Kyle?”

  “Yeah, I know him.”

  “He went to park, but he’ll be here after that. Send him back when you see him. Oh, and save a row of seats for Rosalie, Grandpa and his friends, Jenna, and the girls.” I did a quick calculation. “Maybe fifteen seats in all. They don’t have to be in the front, but I know they’ll want to sit together when everyone gets here.”

  “I’ll rope off two rows in section D.”

  “That’d be perfect. Thanks.”

  I jogged around the perimeter of the temporary seating to the makeshift stage and backstage area constructed for the event. It really made for an awesome venue. The bleachers faced the lake, so guests who arrived early could sit and look out over the beauty of the water while they waited for the contest to begin.

  “Oh good, you’re here,” Grandpa greeted me. “Kyle with you?”

  “He’s parking. I just texted to tell him to hurry. There’s a problem with the sound system?”

  “There’s background noise we can’t get rid of,” Grandpa explained. “Whenever we turn on the speakers there’s a very distinct humming.”

  “Probably a loose wire. Kyle is a whiz with that sort of thing. I’m sure he’ll find the problem and get it fixed in no time. Are all the contestants here?”

  “As far as I know. There are a bunch of them in the back getting ready. I recruited Doc to emcee the event. He was more than happy to do it, and he does have a way of keeping folks entertained.”

  Doc would be perfect to fill in for Dad. He had a booming voice and a jolly disposition that others found appealing.

  “Do you know if Jenna and the girls are here?”

  “I haven’t seen them.”

  “I saved a group of seats in section D for the family and any friends who show up. I think I’m going to watch from backstage in case something comes up or one of the girls needs help changing. Kyle should be here any moment, so I’m going to go ahead and head backstage. Text me if you need me.”

  “Will do, darlin’.”

  There were twenty-five girls entered in the contest, all of whom had won preliminary competitions to get to this point. As far as I was concerned, every girl was gorgeous and any one of them would make an awesome spokesmodel. I knew they took the competition seriously, and more often than not I’d settle on a favorite I hoped would win before the finals. This year, however, I hadn’t gotten the chance to get to know any of the contestants, so I was completely neutral about the outcome.

  “Can you help me tape my bottoms into place?” a girl with long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, a perfect body, and a golden tan asked.

  “Sure,” I said and got to work applying two-sided tape to her backside. “I watched part of the rehearsal yesterday. The song you plan to do for the talent portion was really good. I think you have a real shot.”

  “I hope the judges agree. I could really use the scholarship. How’s my side boob?” She turned to show me. “Too much? Should I tape it as well?”

  “Maybe, if you’re going to be doing anything active. Your swimsuit is beautiful, but it’s really teeny tiny.”

  “Teeny-tiny tops are what get the judges’ attention, and like I said, I could really
use that scholarship.”

  The winner of the bikini contest was awarded her choice of a cash prize or a four-year scholarship to any university on the list provided when the girls first signed up. Most of the winners chose the cash even though its value was half that of the scholarship. I was surprised to meet a contestant who was after the education that being a spokesmodel for the tanning company could provide.

  “What are you hoping to study?” I asked as I helped her tape her assets into her bathing suit.

  “Law. The scholarship won’t pay for my entire education, but it’ll get me started. To be honest, if I don’t win, I probably won’t be able to go to college.”

  “Have you applied for other scholarships or financial aid?”

  The girl turned around in a circle in front of the mirror, checking for coverage. “I’ve been looking, but I’m not sure the financial aid thing will be an option. If I have to borrow money to cover my entire education, I’ll be so deep in debt when I graduate that I’ll never see the light of day. What I hope is that I can find a way to have my undergrad work paid for, and then maybe borrow money for law school if I have to.”

  “That makes sense. And you look great. Everything that should be covered is covered.”

  The girl smiled at me. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m happy to help, and good luck. I really hope you win.”

  She turned and hugged me. “Thank you. You’ve been great. By the way, before you go, there was a man in here earlier taking photos. He said he was with one of the models, but everyone was getting changed and he seemed sort of creepy. He’s gone now, but maybe you should assign someone to watch the stairs leading up to the backstage area. I’m obviously used to being gawked at, but this guy was unsettling.”