Murder at Harbor Village

by GP Gardner

  “Is it yours?”

  “Never saw it before.”

  “And it was in your pocket?”

  “You saw me take it out.” She began walking again, briskly.

  She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I didn’t want the phone. Since Dolly wasn’t about to take it back, maybe she could shed light on its owner.

  “How did it get there, do you know? Was anyone else out here earlier?”

  “No. I don’t know whose it is.” She raised her other hand, which held a phone. “Here’s mine.”

  “Do you have an old one, one you might’ve left in the pocket?”

  “It’s not mine, I tell you. I wear this robe every day and I’ve never seen that phone. And I don’t want it. You keep it.” She waved her hands. “Give it to your policeman friend. Maybe somebody reported it lost.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged and slid the phone into an empty pocket. It reminded me that I needed to call Travis McKenzie and spoiled what had begun to feel like a pleasant day.

  It was too early to call Travis when I got back to the apartment, or maybe I was just stalling. I made the bed, with the cat clinging to her spot on the duvet, and sorted the laundry and started a load. Stephanie’s sheets were still in the dryer, so I heated them up and remade the guest room bed and crib and opened the blinds.

  At eight I got my phone, selected Travis’ missed call and hit redial. The call woke him up, although he denied it. We agreed to meet in town for breakfast in an hour. I chose the restaurant and gave him directions.

  I changed the laundry from washer to dryer and started it then put a second load, dark colors this time, into the washer. At the last minute, I decided to add my jeans, which were damp from the knees down as a result of my walk through the garden. I changed into black pants and took everything out of the jeans pockets. The phone Dolly had found was small and black, a flip phone with Verizon imprinted on the front. Cheap. Probably old and thrown away, rather than lost. Or maybe one Dolly had forgotten she had. I put it on the dresser, added my jeans to the washer and moved on to the next task, disposing of the moving boxes.

  I got the boxes out to the car by making three trips, and then I drove down to the recycling shed and made another three trips carting them inside.

  I was getting pretty sweaty by then, so I turned the car’s AC to full blast for the drive into town.

  No matter how long ago the marriage ended, no matter how nasty the divorce, there was still a feeling you shouldn’t look like a complete slob when you saw your ex again. I pulled into Walgreens parking lot and stopped the car. The emergency kit in my purse held the basics—lipstick, mascara and blush. I couldn’t get a good view of my hair in the rearview mirror, so I stepped out of the car and used my reflection in the car window, giving my hair a good fluffing. And then I drove into town.

  Travis was sitting in the first booth, facing the door. He was wearing a gray suit—a suit! On Saturday!—and had a few white hairs showing in his dark eyebrows. “Cleo!” He sounded glad to see me and stood to give me a phony kiss on each cheek.

  “You’re looking good.” I slid into the booth across from him.

  It wasn’t true; he looked like crap, like he hadn’t slept in days, with puffy, pale circles around his eyes and gray stubble along his jaw. Why had he needed an hour to get ready if he wasn’t going to shave? Then I remembered he’d just lost his new wife.

  “I’m so sorry about Lee.”

  Travis shook his head, barely moving, like he was numb. “I can’t believe it yet. We were together for two years and married just a few weeks.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  He looked confused. “The wedding? Steffi came, didn’t she tell you?”

  “Yes. But I meant the drowning.”

  He leaned across the table. “Cleo, I think they suspect me.”

  “Of course they do.” I tried not to laugh at his child-like indignation. “Even if it’s an accident, the husband is always suspect number one. Especially, I should think, if the ink isn’t dry on the license yet and he stands to inherit a fortune.”

  “That’s not true.” He scowled, looking a lot like Barry. “Where did you get that idea?”

  I unwrapped the silverware and spread the paper napkin across my lap. “The cops have to rule out any possibility other than an accident. Isn’t that her name on the sponsor list for Masterpiece Theatre?”

  He grimaced. “Thank her first husband for that. He wanted the Ferrells to be known as philanthropists and damn near broke them.”

  His phone buzzed and he looked to see who was calling. “I need to take this.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I asked the server for a cup of decaf.

  While Travis talked, I considered my position. I always insisted that my students learn everything possible about an organization before they interviewed there, and yet here I was beginning a new job and—because it was only part-time, and not part of a long-term career plan, and maybe because it had just fallen into my lap with no effort on my part—I knew almost nothing about the Harbor Village organization. I knew Lee was a Ferrell, and I knew I wrote my rent check to Ferrell & Associates, but I didn’t know exactly how Harbor Village was connected to the Ferrells. For that matter, I didn’t know if Ferrell was her family name or acquired through marriage.

  I decided to learn what I could from Travis, preferably without revealing my ignorance.

  I had plenty of questions. What had Lee’s role been? How could Jamie be reassigned at a time like this? And who was likely to take over this facility, to be my supervisor? Had Patti and Emily possibly been right—would someone try to throw me under that particular bus?

  Travis didn’t go outside to avoid disturbing others with his conversation. He put a hand over one ear and sat right in the booth, saying yes and no and okay a bunch of times.

  Finally he hung up. “The lawyer. Now where were we?”

  “About to have breakfast.”

  When he returned to the main topic, after eggs and bacon and hash browns, he sounded more like a bereaved spouse. “We had a disagreement, Lee and I. An argument. And she walked out.”

  He talked as though he were speaking to a therapist, or perhaps a priest. “She’d done it before but she always came back. Not this time. I have this app on my phone—we both have it, so we can find the phones if they get lost. When I remembered it, it told me she was here.”

  He took a long sip of coffee and signaled for a refill.

  “So I drove seven hours from Houston to apologize, even though it wasn’t really my fault. I went to the motel and waited, but she never came.”

  He closed his eyes momentarily. This was beginning to feel like an act.

  “I even sent flowers that she never saw.”

  He snapped his fingers suddenly and I jumped.

  “Gone, just like that. And I’ll never see her again. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, Travis, I can. I’ve lost a spouse, you know.”

  He scowled at the interruption. “Well, I didn’t die, for God’s sake.”

  “I was thinking of Robert.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

  He had no idea who I was talking about. The most self-centered man I’d ever met had honed his faults in the last twenty-three years. I wanted to laugh.

  He changed the subject. “What do you know about the cops in this town?”

  I’d been there three days and met two cops, Boozer and Montgomery. They seemed to be reasonable people, but I didn’t want to argue. “I haven’t had much contact with them, personally.”

  “Cleo, look. I thought they were going to arrest me last night. If they do, I need you to get me out, okay? I’ve got your phone number now and I’ll give you my attorney’s number. If anything happens, call him. He’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Why would they arre
st you, Travis? Drowning isn’t a crime. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  A big group of people came into the restaurant, talking and laughing while they waited to be seated.

  Travis leaned across the table. “She didn’t drown. Her skull was fractured.”

  I cringed at the way he said it, such cruel ferocity about a loved one. I was picturing the scene and, in my imagination, it was night and the outdoor pool was still under construction, as it had been two months ago, with garden hoses and piles of sand and cement mixers and shovels strewn around inside the fence.

  The hostess swept the crowd of newcomers into a side room.

  “So she tripped.” I clung to my vision. “And hit her head on something. She wasn’t dressed for swimming. She went into the water by accident. If she was conscious, if she tried to swim—she could swim, couldn’t she? But maybe not with wet clothes weighing her down. However it happened, they don’t arrest somebody for an accident.”

  He began nodding. “Right. Right.”

  Inconsistent with drowning, I recalled Officer Montgomery saying. And now Travis’ words: she didn’t drown. I ignored a germ of suspicion and plowed ahead with my scenario. “You know the kind of shoes she was wearing. Walking around a swimming pool in the dark in those things? Anybody could fall.”

  “Right.” He still sounded doubtful. Then he looked at me sharply. “How do you know what she wears? Did she meet with you?”

  “Briefly.”

  “She didn’t tell me.” He rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t have a chance, I guess. I wasn’t sure you’d work with us if you knew. With me, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I would have, if I’d known. I was just taking a job because it was offered and convenient. The one thing Lee told me was she didn’t like working with family, so it must’ve been your idea to hire me.”

  I realized with surprise that the sentiment she expressed might have been directed at him, too. I wished I hadn’t told him. Even more, I wished I hadn’t told Chief Boozer, since it might explain why he gave Travis such a grilling.

  “We didn’t have much opportunity to talk. Just ran into each other in the lobby. What did you mean when you said she didn’t drown?” What I wanted to know was whether Lee Ferrell was murdered, but I couldn’t bring myself to use the word.

  “That’s what they say, based on the preliminary report. But, of course, you’re right. She probably fell and hit her head on something.” His voice grew insistent. “But they need to figure out exactly how that happened. What did she trip on? What caused a skull fracture? Was anybody with her? If so, why didn’t they do something? The cops were out there all day and didn’t even keep the area sealed off. I’m going to talk to them again and this time they’ll do the worrying.”

  “What were they looking for in the main building?”

  He gave me a blank look. “Evidence of some sort, I suppose. I didn’t know they were there. Did they go through files and stuff?”

  I shrugged. “I just know they put the staff out.”

  He glanced around then leaned forward. “There’s something weird going on at this facility, Cleo. That’s what Lee would’ve told you if she’d had a chance. Revenue and expenses don’t match up. Too many people move out, there’s too much staff turnover and too many complaints. Overhead is unpredictable. Things look fine on the surface, but something’s wrong. We needed some fresh eyes here, someone without a ‘corporate’ label pasted on her forehead. Then Stephanie said you might move here.” He tapped the tabletop. “I told Lee you were it.”

  “Stephanie told you?” That answered one question. “And then Jamie ran into me at the restaurant?”

  “According to her, you practically volunteered for a job. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, not with a new wife. But I’m glad you’re here now. Have you started work yet?”

  “Monday,” I answered automatically, wondering just how much influence Travis exerted with Harbor Health Services, or if he only operated through Lee.

  “And another thing,” I said. “What do you know about Jamie Barnes? How can she leave right now? Who will replace her? There doesn’t seem to be anyone on site.”

  Travis’ mouth clenched. “Lee approved her transfer, for some reason. Thursday night. Might’ve been the last decision she made. I’m sure she had her reasons. Lee never did anything without a good reason. Jamie’s her sister, you know. The black sheep of the family.”

  Chapter 6

  I was stunned.

  Jamie and Lee were sisters? Nobody had said anything about that. And they were nothing alike. Lee was polished and intimidating, a winner. Jamie was assertive but scrappy, a survivor, with lots of scars and more than a little disrespect for the system.

  I was about to ask if Jamie had been a Ferrell too, but Travis signaled for the check and got out his wallet. There was something else I needed to settle.

  “This is turning into a big job, Travis. Even before I knew I’d be snooping, too.”

  “Yes, I see that. You have to take over here, Cleo. For the time being, at least. You’re still free of the corporate stamp, since it’s obvious you’re an accidental executive. And if you really want to be part-time, you can scale back later, once things calm down.”

  I was shaking my head all the time he talked, but he ignored me.

  “You’re too young to quit working. If you don’t need the money, you can start a college fund for our grandson.” He laughed ruefully. “Hard to believe, isn’t it, you and me and a grandson.”

  I barely controlled a shiver. “I’m not interested in a full-time job, Travis. I’m interested in a social life, some hobbies. A little travel.”

  “A year, how about that?”

  “I hear this facility was already short-handed, with bad food and unhappy employees. What could I do about that if I’m busy learning the ropes and snooping? You need to get a good person in here ASAP. That’s how you deal with problems.”

  He grinned and stood up. “See? You’re figuring things out already. Anyway, there’s nobody else. It won’t be as bad as you’re imagining. You’ll have full authority and you’ll find things well organized, except for losing Lee and now Jamie. Lee was a good manager, Cleo. You’re about to find that out.”

  “Then why is this facility off track?”

  He didn’t take that well but turned it on me. “That’s what you’re going to find out. Better get going. I need to light a fire under some cops.”

  “One month. That’s it.”

  He continued to talk while we waited in line at the register. “I’m leaving this afternoon, making a round of all the places Lee managed personally. Then I’ll go back to Houston. I’ll be back here in ten days or so, after the memorial service. Oh, yes. Here’s the card with my cell number and the office number in Houston. I put my attorney’s number on the back, although now that I think about it, you probably won’t need it.”

  We were going out the door, Travis turning right, me going left, when he thought of something else and called for me to wait. He trotted back, looking a bit like a movie star.

  He got near enough for me to hear him. “See if you can find a nurse for next week. We’re supposed to have one on the premises during the week and Jamie’s gone already. There’s probably a temp service in Mobile if not here.”

  “Okay.” That should be a simple job. Nursing services operated 24/7 and responded on short notice.

  “I’ll call tomorrow night. If you haven’t found someone, I’ll pull a nurse from another facility. But that gets expensive, you know.”

  He acted like I would be paying for it. And I supposed I would, in one way or another.

  I walked back to my car in a funk, thinking I’d just thrown my lot in with a faltering facility, a bullying, self-centered ex-husband and added to that a full-time job I didn’t want that required me to find the pro
blems and fix them. What a mess. To top it off, I had imposed a one-month time limit on myself. How dumb was that?

  When I backed out of the parking slot, I realized I was aimed toward the bay. Just the place for a pity party.

  It was midmorning already and shoppers were strolling the streets, mixed in with dog walkers, teenagers, tourists and senior citizens. There were more people and cars at the pier and not a single parking space. I drove around the rose garden in a slow train of cars. An Italian ice cart was set up near the pier, doing a good business. The car ahead of me, with two kayaks strapped on top, got lucky and pulled into a space as soon as it was vacated, but most of us made it all the way around the circle without finding an empty spot.

  I did see someone I recognized. The desk clerk from the motel was standing near the fountain with a young woman. Both of them were looking up the hill, waving and acting silly. They faced each other and began to dance like marionettes, arms up and jerky.

  I drove back up the hill and turned right. The parking strip on the bluff was only half full. I pulled into the end space and got out. It was shady there, with a breeze. I walked across the grass, past some bronze statuary of children, a teacher in a long skirt holding a book. I sat on one of the wooden benches and stared out at the water.

  So Travis and Lee had been together for two years. I assumed he lived in Houston now, since that was where Harbor Village’s headquarters were. And what did he do, work for his wife? He’d been a grad student in social work when we were together, one of the few males in a program that concentrated on public policy. The faculty had assumed that male students were on a different career trajectory, that they would become college professors or agency administrators of some sort, perhaps in Washington. The women, it was presumed, would go into human service delivery, working in health care, in counseling, at schools, with the courts, or in children’s agencies. It wasn’t that a woman couldn’t work in a major university—I was proof of that—it was that the males shouldn’t go to lesser positions. And all the classmates I’d kept up with after graduation had pretty much followed those expectations, or else given up their careers for motherhood.