The Stardust Readers Retreat #7
Eric continued scrolling. The content shifted. Fewer people were dancing, more were sitting, and the line for the bar grew longer. The camera panned past tables, past the bar, past the far wall.
Eric paused.
Jo leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Hold on.” He rewound a few seconds and slowed the video.
In the background, partially obscured by a floral centerpiece, someone moved with purpose. Not dancing. Not mingling.
Walking.
Clipboard in hand.
Jo’s stomach tightened. “That’s—”
“Eleanor,” Eric said softly.
They watched as Eleanor walked fully into the frame. She stopped to speak to a staff member, pointing once toward the service corridor. The staff member nodded and hurried off.
“I wonder what she said to send him scurrying off in such a hurry?” Jo asked, leaning closer as the video continued.
Eric shrugged. “I wish Lola had been close enough to catch conversations.”
They both grew quiet as Victor entered the edge of the frame moments later.
He looked irritated, gesturing sharply as he approached Eleanor.
Whatever she said made him stiffen. They verbally sparred for a few moments.
Then Eleanor turned and walked away. Victor followed. Straight through the service door.
Eric froze the frame.
The room felt suddenly very still.
Aspen lifted her head, ears pricked, gaze locked on the screen.
Jo swallowed. “She walked away from him after the fight.”
“She did,” Eric said. “And he followed her through the service door.”
Jo leaned back against the headboard, heart pounding. “Did she send the staff away? And she knew that door wasn’t locked.”
Eric nodded slowly. “She was also nearby when we found the body.”
Jo closed her eyes briefly, the shape forming in her mind. “She could have acted out of anger, or in self-defense.”
Eric looked at her. “That’s a possibility.”
Jo opened her eyes. “Not one that you believe, though.”
They sat in silence, the weight of what they saw settling between them.
Aspen let out a low, thoughtful sound and rested her chin back on Jo’s leg, warm and steady.
Jo reached down, stroking her fur. “Good girl.”
Eric glanced at Jo, something gentler cutting through the tension. “We should tell Ruiz.”
Jo nodded. “I agree.”
A beat passed.
Then she added quietly, “But maybe we should talk to Eleanor first.”
Eric didn’t argue. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as the phone went dark, the image of Eleanor and Victor disappearing.
Jo and Eric stood inside Eleanor’s office.
Although calling it an office was generous.
It wasn’t much larger than a service closet.
Cramped with mismatched furniture pushed just slightly too close together, as if it had been rearranged in a hurry just for this event and this woman.
Clipboards covered every surface. Schedules.
Seating charts. Revised timelines with notes written in three different pen colors.
It was obvious to Jo that the woman in front of her wanted control, or at least the semblance of it, more than anything else.
Eleanor looked up from her desk. “I wondered how long it would take before you two were at my door.”
Jo closed the door behind them. Aspen sat immediately, posture alert.
“We’re here to listen, not accuse,” Jo said.
Eleanor’s laugh was harsh. “Something different for a change. Most people come with accusations first, refusing to listen.”
“We saw a video, of you and Victor.” Eric didn’t mince words.
The air left Eleanor’s lungs in one swoosh. “What do you think you saw?”
Jo swallowed. “An argument between you and Victor. Then you walked away. Victor followed you through the service door.”
“Of course he followed me.” Eleanor’s words landed flat. “That’s what he does. If he thought he was losing control, he chased after it until he thought he gained the upper hand.”
“And the service door . . . you knew it was unlocked?” Eric asked.
Eleanor nodded. “I knew catering would be in and out all day, keeping it locked would have caused delays. Victor hated delays.”
The silence that followed said more than words ever could, but it didn’t mean the words weren’t necessary.
“You walked away from Victor. Through the unlocked service door.” Jo wasn’t really asking a question. After all, this was the part that was recorded.
Eleanor nodded once, sharp, decisive. “Yes.”
Eric leaned in. “Victor followed.”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Eleanor’s response.
Jo’s next question was quiet, but insistent. “What happened next? After the door closed.”
Eleanor didn’t respond right away. The tension caused by her delay was about to snap when she finally spoke. “He grabbed my arm. Not enough to leave a mark. Just enough to stop me.”
She straightened the already organized items on her desk.
“I turned to respond, but he was right there in my face, yelling about champagne, schedules—he shouted that if I didn’t fix it and make him look good I would never work again, not as an event planner, or anything else.”
“But you had already fixed the problems,” Eric said.
Eleanor’s laughter was brittle, hollow even. “I had, but he didn’t like that he wasn’t involved in the solution, or that I’d refused to seek out his approval before making a decision.”
She swallowed. “I told him to let go of me.”
Aspen’s ears flattened.
Jo’s stomach dropped. “He didn’t listen, did he?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Of course not, he moved closer, got louder. Like volume would make a difference.”
“Then what happened?” Jo pushed.
Eric sat next to her, quiet.
“I was done. Done with his bullying. Done with his anger. Done with everything.” Eleanor slammed her fist down on her desk.
“You pushed him off.” Again, Jo’s words were a statement, not a question.
Eleanor sighed. “I did. Not hard. I just wanted him to let go, treat me with basic human decency. I thought he would stumble back. Curse me. Storm off.” Her voice wavered. “But when I pushed him off, he slipped, stumbled backwards, and there was this sound. It was awful.”
“He hit his head.” Eric’s words were quiet.
“Yes.” Eleanor picked up her pens, lining them up in the exact same way. “I didn’t run. I just stood there. I couldn’t believe this was how it was going to end.”
She rolled her shoulders back and looked up.
“I went and called for help.” She slipped her mask of composure back into place. “You two were there, and your dog. Starla was screaming. There was chaos. I needed to control it.”
An ache Jo couldn’t stop bloomed behind her ribs. The kind of ache that came from knowing a story wasn’t going to turn out the way it should.
“You didn’t intend to kill him.” Jo reached out to comfort Eleanor, stopping before they actually touched.
“No.” Eleanor shook her head. “But he’s still dead because of me.”
“Ruiz is going to figure it out,” Eric said. His words were quiet, not cruel.
Eleanor stood. “I should have told her last night. I just couldn’t.”
Aspen rose and walked over to Eleanor, sniffed her once, then sat at her feet.
Eleanor looked down, startled.
“Well,” she murmured. “I suppose I deserve that.”
Aspen wagged her tail once. Not forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.
Eric opened the door. “We’ll get Ruiz.”
Eleanor nodded, straightening her shoulders. “I’ll be here. I promise.”
When they stepped back into the hallway, Jo exhaled a breath she felt like she’d been holding since the night before.
“That wasn’t murder,” she whispered. “Not really.”
“No,” Eric agreed. “It was a tragic accident controlled by gravity.”
Detective Ruiz listened to the confession without interrupting. Eleanor sat across from her in the small office, hands folded so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Jo stood near the door with Eric, Aspen pressed against her calf, the room heavy with the weight of truth now spoken aloud.
Ruiz didn’t write at first. She didn’t pace. She simply watched Eleanor the way she did everything else; carefully, patiently, without assumption.
When Eleanor finished, the silence stretched.
Then Ruiz nodded once. “That aligns with what we’ve found.”
Eleanor’s shoulders sagged, the smallest release. “It does?”
“The head injury was consistent with a backward fall,” Ruiz continued. “No defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle beyond what you described.” She paused. “And the timeline matches.”
Eleanor closed her eyes. Her relief was palpable.
Ruiz finally opened her notebook. “I’ll be recommending this be ruled an accidental death.” She met Eleanor’s gaze. “But the decision will be made by the DA. They may see things differently. I wouldn’t make any plans to leave just yet.”
Eleanor swallowed. “I never meant . . .”
“I know,” Ruiz said, not unkindly. “I don’t want to make any promises, but intent matters.”
She glanced briefly at Jo and Eric. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”
Jo nodded, relief and sadness tangled together as Victor’s death was resolved. Eric squeezed her hand once.
Ruiz turned back to Eleanor. “I’ll need you to write out a formal statement. And you’ll want a lawyer.” Her tone remained even. “You are not under arrest at this time.”
Eleanor let out a breath that sounded like it hurt. “I won’t run.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Ruiz stood, signaling it was over for now. “This event is over. My officers will handle the rest.”
As Ruiz stepped out to speak to her team, Eleanor remained seated, staring at the wall. Aspen rose and padded forward, stopping just short of Eleanor’s knees. She sat, solid and quiet.
Eleanor looked down at her, a sad smile tugging at her mouth. “You found him,” she murmured.
Aspen wagged her tail once.
Jo crouched beside her dog, rubbing behind her ears. “She finds a lot of things,” she said softly. “Sometimes they’re just . . . harder than others.”
Eleanor nodded. “I loved this retreat. I wanted it to be perfect.”
Eric spoke gently. “It was. Until it wasn’t.”
That earned a faint, wry breath of laughter from Eleanor.
Jo stood, slipping her arm through Eric’s. “We should go.”