by GP Gardner
The chief grimaced. “You said Quarles? She’s a big fish in town.”
“She’s a difficult person. And you can pretend I said allegedly, too.”
“Have you talked with her about this?”
I nodded. “She’s supposed to be preparing a report on rentals for me right now. Which units are rented, which ones are available to rent and which ones are out of the rental loop. She knows I’m onto the scheme.”
“But you didn’t say anything specifically about—”
“Yes, I did. I told her to be sure she includes the units the Ukraine students are in, and it looked for a minute like she might jump me. She came down to the office later, an hour ago, saying she didn’t report anything because there was no chain of command, or something like that. But her routine doesn’t work when she’s talking to a woman. Her charms were wasted.”
The chief had been looking through the receipts. “Looks like seventy-five thousand, give-or-take, and that’s for eight months. At that rate, in a year it could exceed a hundred thousand. Not peanuts. And we don’t know how long it’s gone on?”
I shook my head.
“But divided two ways,” Jim said. “Not much when you think about ruining your career.”
“Divided three ways, if Jamie and Cynthia and Michelle are all involved. Or four, if Lee Ferrell was in it.”
Boozer stared. “Lee Ferrell? Why would you suspect her?”
I reflected. “I don’t, not really. But the name on the account is Ferrell and she’s the only one who uses that name. And while you’re adding up the take, don’t forget the missing pills. Might all be one big operation.”
Boozer slid sideways in his chair and looked out the window. After a minute, he said, “I don’t think the drugs are related. Probably somebody uses, maybe a boyfriend or a husband. Might even be somebody with a legal prescription they can’t afford. But embezzlement…that could be just what we’re looking for.”
Jim was fidgeting. “Talking about a motive, a hundred thousand a year gets anybody’s attention.”
They ignored me and talked back and forth, posing questions to each other.
“Do any federal funds come in here?”
“What difference?”
“If Ms. Ferrell found out and threatened somebody with federal charges….”
Jim nodded. “You don’t know if it’s a disagreement among thieves or if she found out and they killed her. But tell me this, is this the sort of thing a woman would do?”
Boozer looked at me and smiled. “It’s an equal opportunity world today, Jim.”
I asked, “Who do you think killed her? I can’t see Jamie doing it, not to her own sister. Not putting the body in the water, just to throw off investigators. Regardless of how they got along. And Cynthia Quarles is upper crust. Although, she clearly wanted to assault me this afternoon. Michelle…I don’t know about Michelle. She may not be involved at all. So who does that leave?”
Boozer looked at me, not speaking.
“Travis?”
He shrugged. “He was here.”
Jim disagreed. “I’m a good judge of character, you know. The only point against him is he’s the husband. That, and opportunity.”
The ohmygod chorus began warming up.
Boozer interrupted it. “The Ferrell name on the bank account. Is that the only reason to think Lee Ferrell might be involved?”
I nodded. “I guess. It’s a habit of mine, considering every possibility. The money wouldn’t have meant much to Lee. She had a big salary and a husband who makes even more. Surely she wouldn’t risk everything for a small amount of money.”
Jim raised one eyebrow. “She’s got more than one facility. Was there monkey business at the other places?”
I didn’t know.
Boozer didn’t rule out the possibility. “Some people need a thrill more than money. Jamie’s her sister. Was she well-fixed, too?”
I shook my head. “Jamie’s a nurse. She makes good money but she’s not a top executive. Not yet.”
Jim nodded. “She’s a little rough, I recognize that.”
Boozer said, “But her sister promoted her just before she died. I have a little problem with that, I don’t mind saying. Why at this time? Was she being blackmailed, maybe because someone had found out about the scam? If that’s the case, we have to consider other people, even the ones who rent those apartments.”
“Okay,” I said, “that was my line of thinking, too. I wondered if Jamie’s promotion might’ve been a payoff of some sort. If the scam was Lee’s project and Jamie suddenly found out how it worked, or if she was about to, then Lee might want to get her out of here. In that case the move to Charleston makes sense. It throws Jamie off the trail, or sends her out to start her own bogus rental project. Otherwise, I don’t get it.”
“Jamie’s name is on the receipts.” Chief Boozer twisted the pad around so Jim could see the signature. “I guess that’s her signature.”
“Anybody could write that.” Jim waived it away. “Lee Ferrell is here once a month. She could write the receipts and sign Jamie’s name. And Lee was here when you turned your checks in last week.”
I reflected. “Yes, she was. And a few hours later, she was dead.”
Boozer turned on Jim. “Why are you so supportive of Jamie? Is she a friend of yours?”
There might have been a little accent on the word friend.
Jim seemed troubled when he answered. “I saw her at night sometimes, out at the pool. She smoked a little marijuana and drank a beer on the job sometimes, but she’s basically a sensible girl.”
I cringed at the word girl, but what could I say, he was eighty-something. “There’s another thing that troubles me. How did Lee’s body get from the lobby to the swimming pool? Could one person acting alone manage that?”
“That’s nothing,” Jim said.
The chief and I looked at him.
“This place is full of walkers and wheelchairs. I’d have no trouble putting a body in a wheelchair and rolling it out there. Any reasonably fit person could do it. Even you.” He nodded at me.
I had a sudden image of Jamie, the day we first met and lunched, down by the bay. “Jamie has a strong handshake, and her arms look like she works out.”
“Oh, she did.” Jim nodded his head. “Went to the gym right here, three times a week. But she’s not a bad person.”
He certainly knew a lot about her. But then Jim knew a lot about everybody.
Chapter 13
“Let’s see how hard it is to find a wheelchair,” Chief Boozer shoved his chair back and stood. “Thank you, ladies! The cookies were exceptional.” He threw some bills on the table and said to me, “I’ll keep this receipt book, if you don’t mind.” He wedged it into one of the pouches on his belt.
We made a sweep of the big house, starting with the Physical Therapy department. Tiko, the PT, was out at the pool house with a client, but her office manager, a woman named Cassidy Gee, showed us around and answered questions.
“We have a lot of clients with mobility problems, and we always have a few wheelchairs in the department. These two get daily use, I’d say.” She pointed to two wheelchairs in a little corral off the main hallway. “They’re a little narrower than some, with a tight turn radius, which makes it easier to get around between stations in here. And there are one or two more in an equipment closet back here.” She showed us to a large storage room in back of a treatment room. It was full of treatment equipment or medieval torture devices. Two wheelchairs were almost covered up by bolsters, exercise balls and pulleys; I would’ve needed ten minutes to get one out of the closet.
“You’ve shown us just what we wanted to see,” Chief Boozer told her.
Cassidy Gee knew Jim and chatted with him about his knee replacement. He’d had therapy at her clinic.
“We’ll l
et ourselves out where we came in,” I told Cassidy, “but I want to try my key as we go, to see if it works in that door. I’ll leave it unlocked.”
She followed us back to watch what we did.
My new passkey operated the lock without difficulty. “Now I know.”
When we were out in the hallway, I said to Chief Boozer and Jim, “Anyone with a passkey could get in there. I’ll find out how many people have them.”
Just to be compulsive about it, we looked in at the Hair Salon, but the stylist, who stopped in the middle of a haircut, assured us there were no wheelchairs there.
The big haul was in an unlocked storage room behind the kitchen. There were three wheelchairs lined up, one of them electric. Two had “HV” in large black letters on the back, and one had “TH,” which Jim said meant it came from Thomas Hospital.
“So there are at least five wheelchairs between the lobby and the pool.” Chief Boozer called off the search and we walked together toward the lobby.
“What about access?” I stopped to look down the hallway, ten feet wide, running past the elevator, between the dining room and the hair salon, to double glass doors that opened to the wrap-around porch at the end of the building. “There’s a ramp at that end of the building?”
“Right,” Jim said. “Two actually, if you count the one for the PT office.”
“And the gate in the fence is wide enough to get a wheelchair through?”
“Oh, yes. Everything here is handicapped accessible. It’s the law now. ADA, you know.”
“They had to cross a wide-open space, where anybody could see them.” I was thinking aloud and looking at the parking lot.
“Do you know how many people I see when I make my patrol at night? Sometimes Ms. Perkins is out walking her dog. That’s about it. You could march a naked brass band through here at ten and nobody would know.”
Chief Boozer said, “There’s a lot of strength and skill required to move a body. They’re heavy and limp and there’s nothing to hold to.”
“Dead weight.” Jim ignored the literal wording. “But prison is a big motivator.”
I stopped behind the rattan couch and looked around the lobby. “And what was the weapon, Chief? Is that why you took the lamp?”
He was annoyed. “What is this about a lamp? I don’t remember any lamps in here.”
“It was striking. No, bad choice of words. I mean, you wouldn’t forget it. Two-and-a-half feet tall, at least, with a square red shade.”
Boozer shook his head.
I turned to Jim. “You remember the lamp, don’t you? Shaped like a parrot? Patti says it was always left on at night.”
“Well, yes, that’s right. There was always a light on in the lobby. I might recognize a lamp if I saw it.”
I looked down. An electrical outlet was recessed into the floor beneath the end table. “This is where it would have been plugged in.” I rubbed my shoe across the bronze plate.
“Thursday night, when we got back after dinner, the chandelier and all the ceiling spots were on.” I gestured toward the ceiling. “Lee was sitting right here, leaning back and looking up.” I looked toward the chandelier and then made a sweeping gesture to the parking lot at the end of the building. “Then we parked, got a two-year-old out of his car seat and walked around this corner of the building. Not more than three or four minutes later, I’d think. When we could see the windows, the lobby was totally dark.”
“Was the lamp on the floor? I can’t imagine somebody hanging around to pick up the pieces, not even if it was dark in here. And we didn’t find any.”
“It wasn’t pottery. It was metal. Look, I’ve got a photo I took a few weeks ago. I thought the lamp was attractive. Actually, it was the shade I liked.” I scrolled through my phone’s photo file. “Here it is. And the shade is still here, in the supply closet, but the lamp’s been gone for days.”
I showed them the photo I’d taken back in June, when I wanted to show Stephanie what Harbor Village looked like. This shot was a close-up, showing the upholstery fabric and part of the couches. The parrot lamp was on the table between them. I could see its metal surface, overlaid in spots by colorful stains rubbed into feather-shaped crevasses.
Jim bent forward and took a good look. “Um-hmm, Um-hmm, that’s bronze, isn’t it? Must weigh five or six pounds. You think that could be your weapon, Chief?”
Boozer stared at the photo for several seconds then handed the phone back. “You say the shade’s still here? Let’s take a look.”
He lagged behind Jim and me, talking to his office while we walked across the lobby. I heard him giving directions for testing the wheelchairs.
Patti was ready to leave for the day, purse and umbrella already in hand, but she was waiting to give me a message. “Cynthia had to leave early.” She rolled her eyes and wobbled her head merrily. “Her daughter got sick, poor thing. Cynthia had to rush home, or to school, or someplace.” She grinned.
“So no rental report today. Well, I’ve got Emily’s roster. I can begin working from it.”
Jim, Chief Boozer and I continued down the hallway and turned right at the cross hall. At the last minute, it occurred to me the shade might not be there, but I opened the closet door and it was still sitting on the floor.
“Don’t touch it.” Chief Boozer stretched out one arm to keep Jim and me away from the closet. He produced a flashlight from his belt and got down on one knee for a close look. He leaned against the doorframe while he ran the beam of light up and down the shade, inside and out.
Jim bent in for a closer look over the chief’s shoulder. “See any blood stains?”
“Might be prints on these metal rods,” Boozer said.
I couldn’t see anything from my position. “Does this mean your people are going to be in the building again tonight?”
“You won’t have to stay.”
“Then I think I’ll go now. I’m expecting guests tonight.” I looked at Jim. “Nita and Dolly are supposed to come. Do you think they will, in the rain?”
“Am I invited, too?”
What snacks did I have on hand? “Of course. Oh, Chief Boozer. Do you want to see the key box in Cynthia Quarles’ office? I’d hate for her to disassemble it before you have a look at it.”
“You’ve informed me of an apparent crime—embezzlement, I mean—and you’re the local representative of the owner. Do you give us permission to search her office?”
“I do. Is that all you need? No warrant?”
He got up. “We have to investigate, to keep any evidence from disappearing. Which office is hers?”
All three of us walked down the hall.
“I have a passkey that should work on the door, but I can’t open the key box. And I imagine it’s locked up tight tonight.”
Boozer took my key and used it. The door swung open, showing a dark office with a window view of the garden behind the building. The night lighting had come on, illuminating big leaves of a banana plant from underneath. I had a close-up view of bananas developing there.
“Nice,” Jim commented. “I think I’ll put a couple of bananas in my courtyard.”
“Just leave the door unlocked,” Boozer said. “I’ve get some help on the way, and we’ll take a good look. And I’ll give you a receipt for the lampshade and receipt book, plus anything else we take. That way there’s no miscommunication about who has what.”
I was duly chastised for assuming the police had taken the missing lamp.
I walked across the street and up the sidewalk and clicked the corner lamp on as I passed through the screened porch. The glow created a snug little sanctuary, protected from the rain. I shook raindrops off my umbrella and left it open in a corner.
I called to Tinkerbelle as soon as I entered the apartment, and she came blinking out of the bedroom. “Tinkerbelle,” I said a few times, testing it out. �
��Did you sleep all day, Tinkerbelle? Do you sleep better in the rain, too? Tinkerbelle. What a pretty name you have.”
She twined around my legs and made her little brrrp sound, but I couldn’t say she appreciated all the trouble I’d gone to in finding her name. Maybe she had enjoyed living incognito. Wouldn’t that be just like a cat?
I stopped at the computer and checked e-mail, looking especially for messages from Yolanda, Travis’ PA. There were four. I cued them up to print while I went to the kitchen and toasted two slices of bread and made myself a tuna salad sandwich. Yolanda’s messages were ready to read while I ate. Tinkerbelle was in the kitchen, crunching away on the dry food in her dish.
The budget for Fairhope’s Harbor Village was a two-page numerical quagmire and would take some analysis, so I put it aside for later. There was a note saying Yolanda couldn’t find any incentive programs for employees, for any purpose whatever. The letter of appointment was straightforward, scanned and attached, but Travis’ signature looked like a rubber stamp, which it probably was, unless he’d gotten to Houston already. Was a banker going to accept something so phony looking? The fourth item was Lee’s text message, a one-sentence note directed to Travis and Jamie and the head of the HR Department at Harbor Health Services: I hereby appoint Jamie Barnes administrator of Harbor Village in Charleston, effective immediately, with profit sharing and all other benefits.
The message was transmitted Thursday night at 10:34 P.M. I read it three times while I ate and nothing jumped out at me, except the time. Chief Boozer would have to revise his estimate of the time of death.
I put my plate into the dishwasher, wiped off the counter and toaster oven and set out all the necessary items to make a pot of tea when my guests arrived. I found cheese and a few grapes in the refrigerator and crisp sesame crackers in the cabinet. I angled a fringed, red-checked dishtowel across the wooden serving tray, added a stack of paper napkins and got out dishes.