“Who found him?” I asked.
“Garcia. He was so distraught I thought they’d have to sedate him.”
“Where’s Fiona and her camera crew when you need her?” I asked. The woman had seemingly been everywhere and was now nowhere.
“I don’t know,” Val said. “The last time I saw her was as you were being arrested.”
Puddle dropped the knife and looked at me. “You got arrested?”
“Yes, your boring little tax-preparing sister got arrested. Now, I want to hear this.” I turned back to Juniper. “What happened at the board meeting?”
“Garcia called me before I got there and said Dick was dead but come anyway. We went into the board meeting, and the police were already there interviewing everybody.”
“They sure seem to have a hard-on for that museum,” Mitzi said.
“They do, don’t they?” I said. “Did Detective Putz show up?”
“No,” Juniper said with an evil smile. “I think he’s out writing traffic tickets about now.” We all laughed.
“Linda, who had the nerve to show up, was in tears. The rest of the board is somewhat in disarray. We’ll meet again in a couple of days. The good news is, I guess I’m not fired.”
“Yay?” Mitzi said tentatively. “After all that’s happened, do you still want to work there?”
Juniper paused. “I love that museum and the chance to put on exhibits in such a beautiful setting. The grounds alone are so rare—beach-front property that’s for the people of Merryville, not cut off in a gated community.”
“I’m surprised no one has snapped it up and turned it into a condo complex,” I said. My observation hit a nerve.
A dot connected with another dot for me. “Maybe that’s why so much attention is focused there.”
“Sounds like a Scooby Doo episode.” Puddle plopped down with her breakfast fruit, pleased with herself. “Evil developers want the property so they say it’s haunted.”
“Life isn’t a cartoon, Puddle.” I sounded like the aunt who raised us.
Juniper looked at her, puzzled, then back to me. I never really explained our family dynamics to her. “Anyway, how would you prove it? We have no way of knowing who’s pulling the strings.”
Just then, Elsa came to the door of the kitchen with our beloved cat. Brutus was looking much better and meowing. We crowded around, and Ekk said, “Can’t you hear him? He’s starving.”
Nothing like a wounded kitty to get a room full of feline lovers moving. Val got his bowl refreshed; I went to haul in another purple sack of his favorite food; and Mitzi, Juniper, and, yes, Puddle, started petting his head. Ekk cracked up. “Brutus said something to the effect of, ‘That’s more like it.’”
Chapter Eleven
CHARLIE POTTS SAT back in his chair and thought. He had an erasable board in front of him and started diagramming all the info he had. He got into this mess by responding to a call for a welfare check on a slow day. He was the only one in the squad room available to follow up.
1.
The Fiona fiasco at the museum. What country is she from?
2.
Orig. welfare check call - Inside or outside the precinct?
3.
9-1-1 call, Panda didn’t know where Mitzi was?
4.
Fowler goes to neighbors and asks if they know where Mitzi is.
5.
Fowler and J. Gooden leave for Germany, right after Fowler makes the 9-1-1 call.
6. V. Gooden interview, hiding something, what?
7.
Gail Furrows — neighbor - related to Councilman Smithers, connection to mayor?
8.
$$$$ defense attorney hired, who is paying retainer?
9.
Valerie serving dolls tea???
10.
Valerie tries to leave the country for Germany.
11.
Warrant, based on call from inside the precinct. Nothing in the Fowler yard. (He almost added “career over.”)
12.
Museum chairman of the board found the day after the weird thing involving the Fowlers and Goodens at the museum.
13. Museum, museum, museum.
He wrote, abstractedly
There was that, whatever it was, last night at the museum, which resulted in the arrest of Fowler and the missing wife, Mitzi, who Alex Stephanovsky got released. Museum, museum, museum, museum! That was the thread that ran through this whole thing.
A light went on in his brain. The surprise visit. Defense attorney, Alexandra, Alex, flirts her ass off and basically says, “Look over there,” and points him to his superiors and away from her clients, and whatever they were up to. He had no clue, but Charlie hated having the wool pulled over his eyes and being played. He’d be damned if he went charging into the power floor with nothing but a schoolboy crush for a pretty defense attorney. A man was dead, and Charlie was a good cop. He pushed back his chair and erased everything on the board.
Charlie had his own agenda now and didn’t trust anybody. He grabbed his keys, opened the drawer for another pack of American Spirit, and headed out the door. He was off duty and in his own car, the decommissioned Crown Vic. He lit a cigarette and drove, smoking and thinking. It was his best thinking time. What a damn fool he was. Of course a woman like Stephanovsky wouldn’t look twice at him, much less have a drink with him. This made him sad and angry. Well, he was tired of being a fool, and his anger pointed him like a laser. Potts accelerated and headed for the one he considered a weak link in the chain of whatever was going on, Fowler’s secretary, Barbara. Then he would head for the museum.
A MAN IN security at the police building sat before several blinking monitors. He’d been told to watch Detective Potts and to record anything unusual. He backed up the video feed to before the list Potts had been writing was erased. He took a still photo, emailed it to himself, then to an encrypted address. He didn’t know what it meant, but better safe than sorry. His real boss was someone you didn’t want to piss off.
Nanoseconds later, a computer on a modest desk at the museum pinged softly, and the encrypted message was delivered.
WHEN DETECTIVE POTTS arrived at the home address for Barbara, Panda Fowler’s secretary, no one answered the door at first. He knocked again. Through the door he could hear the TV on loud, then an old man said, “Hold your horses.”
A man opened the door with his walker in front of him, saw the detective, and started to close it again. “We don’t want any.”
Potts put his foot in the door and showed his badge through the opening. The man sighed. “You might as well come on in.”
“Are you here alone, sir?”
“What?” It was hard to be heard over the television, which was playing the local news.
Charlie Potts went to the TV and manually turned it down. “Mind if I sit?”
“Suit yourself.” The man settled back in his Barcalounger and adjusted his suspenders. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and squinted at the detective.
“Sir, I’m here to speak with Barbara.” Potts’s eyes traveled to a picture of the old man with the woman he interviewed at Fowler Tax
Services. “Is she your daughter?”
“Babs? Of course she’s my daughter. I’m Henry.”
“Yes.” He spoke a little louder. “Is she here?”
“She went to pick up thingamawhumpy, you know, that small girl.” He lifted an aged hand to show a distance of about two feet.
“Who is that?”
“My new caregiver, Elsie”¦something like that. She’s German.” At that he wheezed and spit into a cup. “My own daughter hardly lets me be alone, like I’m decrepit.”
“Your daughter works for Panda Fowler at the tax place?”
“Yep. Has for nigh on seven years or so. She’s a good girl, my Babs. What does the po-lice want with her?”
Potts had to smile. “Actually, I—”
He was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening. Babs
rushed in, both arms filled with grocery bags. “Pops, sorry I’m late. Elsa and I—” She stopped dead upon seeing the detective in her living room. “We stopped by the store.” She looked nervous. “You’re that cop.”
“Yes, Detective Charles Potts. I came and asked you some questions at your work.” He forgot what he was going to say because, right behind Babs, it appeared a grocery bag walked in by itself. All three heads turned, and a tiny woman, with great effort, set the bag on the floor.
The old man laughed out loud. “See what I mean? Never seen a girl so little, but she’s all grown.” He slapped his knee and knocked over the TV remote.
Charlie Potts closed his mouth and gathered himself. This was one of the dolls he’d seen at the Fowler house. He started again, something he did when he didn’t know what to say. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Charlie Potts, and you are?”
The small woman stepped forward and gave him her most charming smile, saying, “I know.” The faint scent of roses filled the room. “Elsa Gephardt. I’m Henry’s nurse.”
Charlie started laughing and felt calmer than he had in days. Babs laughed, too. Elsa said to Potts, without the question being asked, “No, you’re not crazy.”
Meanwhile...
BRUTUS CONTINUED GETTING better, and I suspected him of milking the sympathy for all it was worth. I was sitting with him on our couch. Puddle had gone out for “supplies,” whatever that was. Seeing how she was getting ready for Peru, it could be just about anything. Brutus rolled over on his back and showed me his spotty belly. Okay, I rubbed it and tried not to wonder what would happen next. The cat therapy was helping. Mitzi walked into the room with her cell phone to her ear, wrapping up a phone call. “Okay, Mom, love you, too.”
I lifted my eyebrows, and Mitzi smoozled on the couch on the other side of our four-legged baby. “Is your mom back?”
“Yes, living in Stockton, just like normal.”
“Wow. Your mom.”
“Yeah, your mother-in-law.”
I patted her thigh. A beat passed.
“Are you pissed at her?”
“I don’t know how I feel.” She rubbed her face, tired.
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s call Dr. Tina. We both need to process this.” Mitzi started to laugh.
“Oh sure.” She mimicked making a call. “Hi, Dr. Tina, my mother let me be kidnapped and brought to an evil kingdom in Germany. Uh-huh, there were unicorns, and by the way, I have wings that sprout when trouble is around.” She looked deep into my eyes. “You can visit me in Bellevue Mental Hospital.” She took both my hands. Brutus looked hurt that he was no longer the center of our universe. “Baby, we can’t talk about this to anybody.”
I counted off on my fingers. “Except for Puddle, Ekk, Elsa, your mother, and, I guess, your, um, father, Ehren.”
She dropped one of my hands, leaned back into the couch, and stared off into the distance. “It’s too much to deal with right now. Ekk said I can make a recording like when we got that one from Heloisa, but there’s no direct dial to the Hercynian Garden.”
“Imagine that.” I kissed her on the forehead. Brutus was tired of all our movement and jumped off the couch. We snuggled closer and just held each other.
After a while I said, “Did you ask your mom about the pendant?”
“No, I will though. Did you find it?”
I shook my head no.
JUNIPER WAS ALSO getting her head around all that had happened. She and Mrs. Charlotte Windingle were having lunch. The elder woman had invited her to the Yacht Club, and they sat at an outside table to enjoy the ocean view.
“How’s Beatrice?”
“Mourning is hard.” Charlotte took a long sip of her Bloody Mary and fixed her eyes on Juniper. “That woman can cry.”
“I can imagine.” Juniper picked up her menu. “I’m surprised you wanted to eat here. Wasn’t Dick Mortimer a member?”
“And Bea, and me, and a lot of other important people. It’s exactly why I wanted to eat here.” A lovely woman stopped by the table, and pleasantries were exchanged. Charlotte turned back to Juniper. “My family built this club, and Beatrice and I have known each other since we were children. I didn’t really like Dick from the beginning, but he made her so happy—at first.”
Juniper looked around the room. There were almost enough city officials to hold a council meeting. “What happened?”
The diamonds in Charlotte’s ears sparkled when she laughed, a practiced gesture. “Linda the homewrecker, who is on the board at the museum. At events, she and Dick always were off together talking. It was only for a couple of minutes, but you could tell they had a secret, some special bond.”
Juniper started to speak, but another couple came by to pay homage to the grande dame. After they left, Charlotte said, sotto voce, “I’m rehabilitating you, darling. They’re all so afraid of my money, they wouldn’t dare go against you.”
“I thought my job was safe,” Juniper said.
Another musical laugh. “Oh, honey, for the moment. And I wish it was just about one job. That property has been in jeopardy for years, and it’s why I donate so much to the museum. It’s the last undeveloped beachfront in Merryville.”
Juniper felt dense. She had focused so much energy on what went into the museum, she rarely, if ever, thought about the actual land it sat upon. “But you’re a developer.” She was sure she looked as puzzled as she felt.
“Yes, an ethical one. We Windingles know when enough is enough. Cities need open spaces, art, and pretty views to stay flourishing, in addition to condo complexes. A city on the ocean can be developed out of existence if you let it.”
Juniper looked at Charlotte with a renewed sense of appreciation. “I see.” They waited as servers placed plates of melon and heirloom tomato in front of them. “Who wants to develop it, if not your company?”
“I’m glad you’re better at art than social politics, my dear.”
She shook her head. “Any number of developers, including the mayor and that Linda woman. That’s why she got on the museum board in the first place. She probably snared that weak husband of Bea’s into an affair.” Another sip on her Bloody Mary. She held it up, and a staffer quickly removed it, presumably to go make another.
“Boy, did that backfire.”
Juniper felt lost at sea. Her focus had been on getting another installation at the museum that would electrify the crowds. She felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. What if there was no museum at all?
Juniper excused herself to go to the women’s room. She forced herself to smile. She nodded to several acquaintances on the way, and one stopped her, smiling through red lips. “Ms. Gooden. How interesting to see you here.” The woman’s face was familiar, but her name escaped Juniper. She put her tan hand on Juniper’s arm. “Be smart. You may have fooled that old Charlotte, but we don’t want you and your bad press tainting our club or the museum. Why don’t you just quit? You’re not fit to lead this community.”
Someone said, “Jennie!” and the woman waved and smiled.
She said, “I’ll be right there!” and gave Juniper’s arm a fierce squeeze. “Think about it.”
Shaken, Juniper went into the nautical-themed bathroom, entered a stall, and silently cried. By the time she returned her face to presentable and went back to her table, Charlotte was sitting there chatting with a young man who probably sought to be seen with one of the pillars of society.
After he left, and after Juniper took a long drink of water, she said, “Wow, apparently my rehabilitation is going to be harder than I thought.” She told Charlotte what had happened.
“Dick Mortimer had some friends and some enemies. Some of these people are angry their little lives of lunching, brunching, sailing, and shopping have been making it into the paper. It doesn’t look good next to the homeless problem we still have.”
Juniper chewed silently on a piece of ahi tuna. “Charlotte, what do you
think would happen if I invited Fiona back to do a new show? We could expose whoever is behind this other developer’s agenda and stir things up.”
Charlotte looked at Juniper as if she were a true innocent. “Timing is everything. Fiona did light a match, Juniper. Having her again so soon would stir things up all right, but right now everyone wants to go back to normal. I hope you’ll start paying more attention to the way the wind is blowing.”
Juniper sighed, tired of metaphors. “After the last month, I’m not even sure what normal is. With enough attention, the powers that be might back off from the museum.”
“Or, it could accelerate the sale of the place.” Charlotte again gave her a sympathetic look and patted Juniper’s hand. “I think that your Fiona idea is coming from your hurt and desire to strike back. Let’s put our heads together and think of something smart, and I do have some ideas. Besides, I told Bea you and I would figure out who killed Dick.” Juniper almost choked on her dish of Eggs Benedict, but she leaned in to hear Charlotte’s plan.
MITZI WENT TO the library to research griffins and the Winters family, her true birth name, and I had some precious alone time—for about five minutes. I went into the backyard and started filling in holes, part of my quest to return to normalcy. There was a large cat house in the corner that Brutus never used, and other things that needed to go. Ekk joined me, sandwich in hand, apparently at home now in my kitchen. “Need help, Panda?”
I looked around at the mess in the yard. “Sure.” My spirits were low, probably a natural reaction to this sudden cessation of wild activity. Ekk grabbed a spade and, in magic elf fashion, filled five holes to my every one.
The borders we left upturned, hopeful of planting, but the yard was at least level after our exertions. Brutus inspected our work then lay down in one of the remaining holes. Afterwards, we, and the cat, sat on the back porch, looking at the not perfect but hugely better yard. I had gotten us lemonade. “I thought you weren’t supposed to use magic here.”
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