by Rayna Morgan
"Beth came to Helen's house one afternoon when we were trying rug samples on the floors. She's as lovely in person as the pictures five years ago when she won the title of Miss Buena Viaje."
Maddy paused momentarily while the waiter delivered their drink order. "It was around the time Beth was engaged to be married to Neal Henderson. She was gushing on to her mother and me about furnishing the new house she and Neal would be building soon after the wedding. A marriage, you'll recall, which never took place."
"The fact Neal called off the wedding days before the big event was scheduled to take place is why Beth is on Tom's list of suspects."
Maddy voiced her doubts. "Are the police implying revenge as a motive?"
"Obviously. Any woman would be mortified to be treated that way."
"The young woman I met at Helen's home didn't seem capable of anything but joy and happiness."
Maddy paused, remembering how she had changed after her own marriage ended in divorce. A shadow of pain flitted across her face as she continued. "But I know bitter disappointment can change a person completely."
Lea tried to offer reassurance. "Hopefully for her sake, it's more a matter of eliminating her from the list rather than the police seriously suspecting her capable of such a terrible act."
Maddy's face lit up. "We might be able to get information from Beth that could help remove her from the suspect list."
"How do you propose we do that?"
"By giving her an opportunity to open up about her feelings. She'll talk to us more easily than to Tom using his brusque interrogation style in the environment of the police station."
"Maybe so. But where or when will we have a chance to talk with her?"
"Tomorrow morning at the office where I have an appointment to have my teeth cleaned. Beth is the receptionist for my dentist. She may not go to work today so soon after learning of Neal's death, but I'm sure by tomorrow she'll be back at work."
Maddy flashed a dazzling smile. "You can come with me and try to talk with her while the hygienist works on these pearly whites. I'm sure if you offer her a sympathetic shoulder, she'll be more than happy to cry on it."
Lea hesitated momentarily. "Neither Paul nor Tom would approve."
"If nothing comes of it, they never need to know," her sister reasoned.
"I'll admit, it does seem like your having an appointment tomorrow is fate providing an opportunity we would be lax to ignore."
"My sentiments exactly." The sisters tapped their wine glasses.
• • •
Tom flashed his badge as he pulled up to the security gate at the condominium complex where Neal had lived. "Any unusual activity?" he asked the guard.
"No, sir. It's been quiet ever since the police finished with Mr. Henderson's unit. There have only been a couple of non-residents to the complex the last two days. A Federal Express delivery and a guy with a pest control company."
"Good luck if he's spraying for ants in the common areas. No one can get rid of them this year because of the drought."
"Told me he was responding to a call from one of the residents complaining about bees."
Tom paused. "Which unit did he go to?"
"Let me check the log." Moments later, a red-faced guard returned. "The guy signed in, but his handwriting is illegible. I remember him, though. He was wearing a uniform with an emblem of a bug on the front, and he had a backpack sprayer. Looked like a pest company alright."
Tom's eyes squinted, and his jaw jutted out, the usual sign of the Detective's displeasure. "I'm going to unit 302 if any officers come looking for me."
Located adjacent to the boardwalk, the complex afforded most of the units an ocean view. The building was Spanish Colonial architecture complete with orange tile roofs and whitewashed walls. The grounds were well maintained with plush green grass, palm trees, and colorful rose bushes on either side of a stone walkway leading to the front entrance.
But Tom was in no mood to be impressed by the beauty of the building. By the time he parked his car and rode the elevator to the third floor, he was quite certain of what he would find.
It should have been easy to spot unit 302 with crime scene tape crisscrossed across the door, except the crime scene tape had been torn off, and the lock had been jimmied. Walking through the rooms, it was obvious to Tom someone had been desperately searching for something. Desk drawers in the study were pulled out and turned upside down. Papers were strewn over the floor and books were torn off the shelves. In the kitchen, cereal boxes, cans, and jars had been pulled out of the cupboards. Clothes had been ripped out of drawers in the bedroom and pulled off hangers in the closet.
Tom wasted no time calling his squad with news of his discovery. He gave instructions for a technician to be sent to dust for fingerprints.
"It could be someone trying to destroy evidence of a connection to the murder victim. Which means it could be the burglars, or it could be the murderer, unless they’re one and the same."
"Has the safe been broken into?" asked the detective on the other end of the call.
Neal glanced at the floor safe. "From the scratches around the latch, it looks like someone tried. If it was the burglars, they could have been looking for Henderson's take from the burglaries. They'll need plenty of money if they have to stay on the run. We'll find out when the tech runs the prints if they match those we got from the van."
"Or it could have been Neal Henderson's murderer?"
"Exactly. That makes running prints even more compelling."
Tom hung up and finished his inspection on the balcony. Complete with hot tub. Boy, this guy had it all.
He looked at the beach and listened to the pounding of the breaking surf. Must be nice to sit in your spa enjoying a beer and a view of the ocean at the end of the day. It would almost be enough to wish you had a job where you could come home at night.
Shaking his head, Tom took a last glance at the brilliant orange and red of the setting sun reflected in the ocean. And this jerk lost everything, including his life, trying to get more.
Returning to the living room to wait for the fingerprint tech, his eyes came to rest on a picture frame on the floor. The glass was broken. Tom picked up a jaggedly torn picture lying next to it. What was left of the picture showed the victim wearing a tuxedo standing in front of a red Mercedes-Benz. He was attending some fancy bash from the look of the other people in the picture, all dressed to the hilt including women laden with expensive jewelry. Tom didn't recognize any of the people shown walking into a building with their backs to the camera. The setting looked familiar, but he couldn't immediately place it.
Who's in the part of the picture torn away? Did someone worry enough about being seen with Neal to go to this much trouble? Or was destroying it an act of jealousy?
As he started to replace the frame on the table, he noticed the hinge on the back. His pulse skipped a beat as he opened it. Behind the mat board was a scrap of paper with numbers written on it and another picture. Is this the combination to a safe or a locker? He quickly tried the numbers on the floor safe with no luck.
The picture was of an attractive woman smiling at the victim. Tom understood why Neal may have been reluctant to display a picture of himself embracing this woman so soon after his broken nuptials. The woman in the picture was decidedly not Beth Owens.
CHAPTER FIVE
"First burglary, then murder," Paul muttered, arriving for a meeting with the client whose project had been the springboard to Lea's discovery of a dead body. Parking in an unpaved lot, he opened the door of a mobile trailer that served as the construction office.
One of two men bent over a drawing board looked up as Paul entered. "Come in, Paul. Give me a moment."
Paul looked out the window at the flurry of activity on the nearly completed project. It was one of the things he loved about the development business. All the pieces coming together to turn an architect's renderings into reality.
He watched as his client rolled up a se
t of plans and dropped it into a storage tube, dismissing the man next to him with a slap on the back. "Good work, Bill. On schedule and under budget. I can't ask for more."
Paul’s client waved him through to one of the offices in the trailer. "There’s table and chairs in here where we can talk."
Jim Mitchell was of the same athletic build as Paul, but the older man looked taller and leaner in the confined space of the construction trailer. Paul usually saw his client at his more lavish showroom offices downtown.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on the site."
"No problem, Jim. I know how busy you are." Paul lowered his own six-foot frame into one of the metal chairs. "How are you holding up? The burglary at Two Palms Sunday night was bad enough. Have you been able to get back on track since the robbery at the residential site yesterday?"
"Yeah, I've got a great foreman and two good crews." Jim pushed his chair back from the table to give himself more leg room. "They're used to working through unexpected on-site problems. Biggest distraction at the residential project has been the news van hovering most of the day."
"I'm afraid you have my wife to thank for bringing so much attention since the news media linked the burglary and the murder."
"I'm just sorry she went through the experience of finding a dead body."
"It was none of your doing. Full responsibility for Lea being in a position to find a dead body rests with our overly zealous border collie."
Paul reached for the bottled water Jim offered. "But why are the media people still pursuing the case? I thought the police had pretty much determined the burglary on your site and the body found at the Pier aren't linked."
"That's what Detective Elliot told me during our interview about the burglary. But once the television station reported the crimes as being linked, it was hard to get them to change their angle," Jim complained. "I even had people asking me if the body was found on our construction site. We sure don't need that kind of bad publicity for future sales purposes."
"I hear you, Jim, but I'm sure you didn't call me today about a public relations issue."
"No." He walked over to close the office door.
"Part of your consulting service for my real estate business has been to help me with personnel issues like screening job candidates. In this case, I’m hoping you can provide a needed third party perspective on another kind of staff issue."
"Glad to help any way I can."
"I have an employee I'd like you to speak with. I don't think this young man will open up to me as his boss, but I'm hoping he might be more forthcoming with a neutral third party."
"What's the problem?"
"One of our young construction workers got in a bit of trouble last week. Right now, it sort of boils down to helping me clear any doubts I, or anyone on the crew, has about his character."
"Why is his character in question?"
"I need to make sure he didn't have anything to do with the burglaries which have been going on."
Paul's jaw dropped. "You better give me all the details. What kind of trouble did this young man get into?"
"Our site manager noticed small tools disappearing from one of our projects. Gloves, hammers, screwdrivers, safety glasses, basically, small stuff it's hard to keep track of. He didn't bring it to my attention until a couple of power drills were reported missing."
"How do you keep track of your equipment?"
"I'll admit, we're a little outdated in that department. Our equipment is always moving from our central warehouse to multiple job sites as needed. Frankly, it gets lost or stolen all too often.
Basically, we use sign out sheets at the main warehouse to keep track of which construction worker has what piece of equipment, at which location, and for how long. A paper trail isn't available in the field until the clerical staff has the time to transfer the information into a spreadsheet the site managers can then access on their computer."
"If your site manager didn't have access to the inventory list at the job site, how did he find out about the power drills?"
"From crew members complaining about equipment not being available. When he went to the warehouse and cross checked inventory checked out against inventory checked in, he discovered the smaller items, plus the drills, missing."
"Does your site manager have any ideas about who might have taken the missing items?"
"He does, in fact. He suspects the young man in question, Juan Martinez."
"Can't you confront Juan with your suspicions?"
"Typically, I would, but that's why I've asked for your intercession. John, my site manager, is good at what he does but he sometimes demonstrates a bit of a bias against young Hispanics."
"Awkward, considering the large proportion of Hispanics working on your projects."
"Yes, it can be. From what I know of Juan's background, he never finished high school, another strike in John's estimation. I want to make sure there's adequate reason to suspect Juan before I cause him undue embarrassment by accusing him."
"I understand your position. I think you're right; it could be unfair to the young man. It could also expose you to a claim of wrongful termination if the situation gets out of hand. Hopefully, it won't come to that if I can get Juan to be open enough to decide if there's any merit in John's suspicion."
"I appreciate it, Paul. Take whatever time you need with Juan and bill me." Jim lowered his voice as he opened the door. "I sincerely hope you'll find no reason to pursue this further. I've seen Juan on the job and know him to be a hard-working, personable young man."
"I hope the results of my interview are favorable to Juan as well, but I’ll be giving you an honest evaluation."
"I'd expect no less." Jim put on his sunglasses. "Juan's working on this site today. I'll have his supervisor radio him to come to the trailer. Want to grab lunch when you’re finished?”
“Thanks, but Lea has reservations at The Apex. I’m going to meet her at twelve.”
“Can’t imagine you turning me down for that beautiful wife of yours. Send me your report.”
• • •
To prevent undue suspicion being cast on Juan, Jim and Paul had agreed the interview would be camouflaged as screening to select a construction crew for an upcoming new project. The foreman hadn't been informed of the real purpose of the meeting and expressed skepticism about Juan being considered for the new crew. Jim had dismissed John's concerns.
The worker who entered the construction trailer was tall and lanky. He was a handsome young man with black hair, a high forehead, and bushy eyebrows framing dark luminous eyes. He walked toward Paul with his hand outstretched, flashing a broad smile exposing teeth that could have been in a toothpaste commercial.
"Juan Martinez, sir. I'm glad to meet you."
"Likewise, Juan." Paul gestured to the other chair. "Please, call me Paul. Would you like something cold to drink?"
"Thank you. It's heating up pretty good out there." He held the soda can against his forehead for a moment.
"Construction work can be grueling," Paul suggested, hoping to get a read on whether Juan liked his job.
"Yeah, but it pays well. And it's outdoors. I could never work in an office all day." Juan took a long gulp of the frosty beverage, flashing another broad smile.
"What did you study in school?"
"I didn't make it to college. I had to drop out of high school before I got my diploma." Juan stared at the floor.
"Trouble at school?" Paul asked casually. He watched the young man's face and hands carefully.
Juan fidgeted slightly in his chair, taking a moment before responding as if making up his mind about how to answer. He lifted his head to make eye contact with Paul. His response was blunt; his countenance determined and confident. "I had plans to go to junior college here in town. I was saving money to go to State University and get a degree in business."
"What stopped you from getting your diploma?"
"My Mom has bad back problems. She used to work i
n a laundry, standing all day. After that, she had a job working for a house cleaning service in town. She started taking pills for the pain and to help her sleep. The last couple months of my senior year, the drugs she was taking got out of hand. A dealer was supplying her with narcotics, and she got addicted. She ended up at the hospital on an overdose. I had to drop out of school to take care of my little brothers and sisters. When she came home from the hospital, she was sick from the withdrawal for weeks and couldn't start working again. I was the only one old enough to earn money."
"That’s tough. Where was your father while all this was going on?"
Juan snickered, shifting his long legs under the table. "Haven't seen the dude since I was four years old. He took off after my younger brother was born. My other brother and two sisters have different fathers. Not one stuck around. My Mom's done it all on her own," he said, adding softly, "with the help of welfare, and me."
"Quite a load for a young man to carry, helping your mom with the finances." Paul needed to figure out if the need to support his mother and provide for his siblings was pushing him to steal materials he could resell.
"It's taught me one thing for sure,” he snapped. "When I have a family someday, I'll never desert them. It's a coward's way of living. I'll teach my kids to accept the responsibility that comes with having children. I see too many of my friends having babies way too early before they have a way to support them."
"It sounds like you used everything you learned from a difficult situation to turn yourself into an outstanding young man."
"I hope so. It's why I need to keep working construction right now. It pays me enough so I can help my mom and still save money to get my high school diploma and enroll at the junior college. I'm planning to take night classes and still work during the day."
"That’s an ambitious program, young man, but one I believe you're capable of accomplishing."
Paul stood to bring the conversation to a close. Putting his arm around Juan's shoulder as they walked to the door, he asked casually, "By the way, do you have any ideas on who’s been pulling off the burglaries in the last couple of weeks?"