Murder at Harbor Village

by GP Gardner

  I parked in my garage and loaded up with all the items in the backseat—my shoulder bag, with the garage remote clipped in the pocket, the laptop, an umbrella, and a leather briefcase containing printouts, budgets and resident lists.

  I juggled things around so I could press the remote and started for the side door. But on an impulse, I detoured to the ballroom, where the door stood open.

  No one was there, but chairs and tables had been arranged for Thursday night. I used my elbow to flip the light switch. The little chandelier, suspended from a low ceiling, was like an inferno in the semi-dark room. I could imagine tablecloths, trays of food and lots of people. The room was going to look quite presentable for the political forum. I turned the light off.

  My next stop was Patti’s desk. “Has Mr. Levine said anything about a program to hand out?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide.

  “Why don’t you draft something and talk with him about it. A list of candidates, plus his name and the committee members. Harbor Village in bold at the top. Add something saying refreshments are complimentary from the dining room. You might give Carla’s name, too, if there’s room. Make it look good and we’ll have it as a model for future events.”

  She perked up. “Does that mean there are going to be lots of events?”

  “I hope so. Start thinking up ideas. We want frequent, tasty, engaging events that aren’t too much work. Maybe we have some musicians living here who would do concerts. Everybody likes games and food, so come up with a competition of some sort. Get the food channel to visit. Or start a dinner club to visit restaurants in the evenings. How many people can you transport in the van?”

  “Depends on how many wheelchairs. Emily brought the kittens.”

  “Oh? Where are they?” I glanced around the reception area and lobby but saw no kittens.

  “She took them to assisted living. They’re awfully cute. You’ll have to go see when you take a break.”

  I headed to my office instead. The new paint job had a wonderful impact when I walked in. I closed the door and worked my way through the budget printouts, made much clearer now by Travis’ notes. When I finished, I had a good idea where we stood financially. Revenue was below projections, but if I added in the seventy thousand dollars siphoned off through bogus rentals, we were a lot closer to expectations.

  Expenses were down, too, attributable in part to staff cuts. I made a list of vacant positions, including business manager, and left it for Patti to double check.

  When I took it out to her, I asked, “No word from Cynthia?”

  “Her door is still closed, but I can hear her talking when I walk by.”

  I smiled, picturing Patti making frequent trips past Cynthia’s door to listen. “On the phone? Or is somebody in there with her?”

  Patti rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Our phone lines have been in use off and on, but I haven’t listened in. She might be using her cell.”

  Hunter showed up mid-morning. He called up the pier cam video on my laptop and somehow, after a lot of work and a little swearing, got the recorded feed set to last Thursday.

  “I got to the pier a few minutes after six.” I pointed to the first few parking spaces on the circle. “We parked somewhere along here, four people in a white Subaru. One of the four was a two-year-old. Can you find us?”

  It took a while, but finally there we were, on the screen. I could identify Stephanie and Barry easily, with Riley on the very edge of the screen. “I was able to move the camera around last night.”

  “Yeah, but that was live action. This is just a recording of what the camera transmitted that night.”

  I watched as an image of the four of us walked from the car to the sidewalk that ran along the bulkhead.

  “Okay, now here’s what I really want. A black Lexus SUV with two women, arriving about the same time, maybe an hour before or a little later than we were. There might be another person with them, maybe two. One of the women was wearing a bright green dress. The sort of woman a man would notice.”

  “The woman who drowned?”

  “I forgot you knew her. Yes, the same woman. The drowned part is being questioned now. It may turn out to be a homicide.”

  “Really? Things like that aren’t supposed to happen in Fairhope.”

  He checked out the cars around the rose garden and manipulated the video for several minutes. Eventually he asked, “Do you see what you want here?”

  I looked and saw Lee and Jamie get out of a dark car. Lee walked off without waiting for Jamie.

  We watched it a couple of times, and I asked about marking the spot so we could find it again. Hunter wrote down a frame reference and showed me where to find it.

  “Okay, can you find them leaving after they had dinner?”

  “How long would they spend eating, an hour? Hour and a half?” He keyed in a command or two and watched closely for a while. He located them returning to the car at the 6:55 mark.

  This time, as we watched, the camera zoomed in on the two of them.

  I caught my breath. “Did you see that?”

  “Somebody was operating the controls,” Hunter said. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “Oh no. It didn’t have to be someone local, did it?”

  “No, could’ve been from anywhere. But if she was murdered, you have to wonder who knew where they were eating. Maybe they wanted to know when to expect her back here, or wherever she went next.”

  Jamie and Lee didn’t appear to talk, didn’t look around at the scenery, just stalked to the car, with Lee’s green dress showing up clearly when she walked under a streetlight. She was carrying a dark shoulder bag, probably the one I found in Jamie’s car last night. They got into the car and drove away, with Jamie in the driver’s seat.

  The controls went back to the default position after a few seconds. We watched for a couple more minutes before I pushed my chair back and got up.

  “How about that lunch,” I proposed, and Hunter and I picked up Patti and went to the dining room.

  Lunch on Wednesday was Mexican food, I learned, and today that meant chicken taco salads served in flat bowls on a layer of brown rice covered with little quadrants of corn, black beans, diced tomatoes and green onions. On top was a thinly sliced, baked chicken breast covered with salsa. It was colorful and quite tasty, and Carla brought Hunter a second serving.

  “We don’t size our portions for young people,” she explained to me.

  And we don’t get many nice young people to cater to. I launched into my own form of pampering. “I need to pay you for this consultation. Come back to the office and Patti will help you submit an invoice.”

  “Oh, yes,” Patti agreed.

  “This is pay.” He indicated the empty bowls in front of him.

  I gave him the lecture about careers and resumes and how consulting would look good to a prospective employer. “Anyway, we may want you to help us with other computer stuff, so we may as well get it set up now.”

  “Is there a job title for Forensic Geek?”

  “You might be surprised.”

  When we finished, I signed the lunch list and we walked out.

  “I hoped we could run over and see the kittens now,” Patti said. “We’re almost there.”

  Hunter looked at me. “Kittens? You have kittens here? That’s neat.”

  So we walked to the Assisted Living building.

  The small sitting room near the entrance was full of people, some of them enjoying an after-lunch nap in recliners, others sitting on the couch or love seat. Kittens were everywhere, sleeping in laps and climbing on the furniture. I petted the one closest to me, and Patti chased down the orange one and handed it to Hunter.

  “This has been the best day of my working life,” Ivy said softly, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “I wish you’d been here this morni
ng to see them. This isn’t just an experiment, is it? They have to stay now.”

  “What about litter boxes and food?”

  She shook her head. “All taken care of for the moment. They’re deciding on names already. We’ve had visitors from the other buildings, too. We’re famous for our kittens!”

  Hunter and I had left my laptop on, continuing to run the video feed from last Thursday night. When we returned to the office, the time showing on the frame was nine, and night had settled in on the screen. There were fewer cars parked around the rose garden and no people in sight. I started to shut the video down, but the shimmer of the pier lights on the water was captivating.

  As I looked at the night view, a single car drove onto the screen and crept slowly around the circular drive. It was bright yellow with a white top, high off the ground, with a boxy shape. I had seen it before, or one like it.

  At the end of the pier, the car stopped, not in a parking space but parallel to the curb, taking up a couple of spaces. A woman got out, walked rapidly to the sidewalk and across the narrow strip of grass. With some effort, she opened the gate in the wooden fence, exposing a row of large garbage containers, the same containers the garbage truck had been emptying a few hours earlier.

  “Look at this,” I said, and Hunter and Patti began watching, too.

  “Wow,” Hunter said.

  “Who is it?”

  “I meant the car. A Toyota Cruiser.”

  “Something special about it?”

  He shrugged like it was too elemental to explain. “It’s awesome. Comes in primary colors, yellow or blue or red, with that white trim. Everybody I know wants one. It’s cool and affordable.”

  Patti moved closer to the screen and squinted. “Cynthia Quarles drives a car like that and she’s not young. Is that her? What’s she doing?”

  Hunter bent for a closer look. “Dumpster diving!”

  The woman threw one of the container tops back and returned to her car.

  She swung the rear door open, removed a large, bulky item and retraced her steps to the garbage corral, where she pitched the item into the open container. She glanced in quickly before lowering the lid back into position then closed the wooden gate and returned to her car. Brake lights flashed before the car moved off slowly, around the rose garden and out of sight.

  “Why would someone take garbage to a restaurant garbage can? You know she’s got her own container at home.”

  “Fish guts,” Hunter said. “She didn’t want them stinking up her garage.”

  “So everybody at the pier gets to smell it?”

  “Oh, no. Of course not. Household garbage gets picked up once or twice a week, but restaurant garbage is picked up every morning. You know our little continental breakfast at the motel? It counts as a restaurant, so we get daily garbage pick-up. I’ll bet you do here, too.”

  Interesting. “Can we watch this again?”

  Chapter 15

  We looked at the critical part of video a couple more times before I walked out to the lobby with my phone and called Chief Boozer.

  “It was recorded Thursday night,” I told him. “Lee and Jamie parked at the pier and walked away then came back to the car an hour later. Then a couple of hours after that, someone drove up and discarded a big bundle.” I looked around to be sure nobody was listening. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I was trying to sound cool and not oversell it.

  Chief Boozer said he’d be there in thirty minutes.

  I went back to the office, told them what I’d learned and asked Hunter, “Can you stay?”

  He waved empty hands, signifying an open schedule. “I’m free until six. What’s this about, exactly?”

  “Probably fish guts, as you said.” I gave him a grin.

  “I think this image can be cleaned up some, but I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

  “I suppose the police department has its own experts for that sort of thing. If they don’t, they may need you.”

  “That’s a real job, you think? Forensic geek? I like the sound of it. Better than desk clerk.”

  “Oh, Hunter.” Patti rolled her eyes and bounced her curls.

  Chief Boozer and Officer Montgomery must have been nearby. They made it to my office in about ten minutes.

  I introduced Hunter, who explained what website we were looking at and the generalities of how he had coaxed it into revealing the past. I was sure the Chief didn’t follow it, but Mary Montgomery was unpredictable.

  Hunted queued up the relevant section, and the three of us moved behind the chairs to give Boozer and Montgomery the best view of the 15-inch screen.

  When they’d watched it multiple times, I said, “Hunter thinks there may be some way of enhancing the image so you can see more clearly who she is and maybe see what she’s discarding.”

  “I’ve seen that car,” the chief said.

  “Cynthia Quarles,” Patti announced with certainty. “The car belonged to her son, but he’s in England. It’s probably parked outside right this minute.” She gestured toward the parking lot.

  Nobody said anything.

  Patti’s voice rose. “You can see in the video it’s her.”

  I spoke up. “Hunter says the vehicle is some special model.”

  “A Toyota FJ Cruiser.” Officer Montgomery spoke without emotion. “We have two yellow ones in town.” She looked at her boss. “One belongs to that kid at the golf course, but he doesn’t have the spare on the back.”

  The chief nodded and stood up, hitching up his gear belt. “I think it’s time for a talk with Ms. Quarles.”

  Montgomery followed him out of the office, but they were back in a couple of minutes. “Has she been here today?” Montgomery was leaning in at the doorway.

  I looked at Patti.

  “She’s been in her office all day with the door closed. Talking to somebody.”

  “I think you’ve been hearing a radio.” Chief Boozer rested a hand high on the doorframe.

  I asked, “A radio? She hasn’t been in at all?”

  Patti and I looked at each other, eyes wide.

  “I think I should call her at home. An employee who skips work and doesn’t call in? The week after we have a murder on the premises? Of course we should check on her.”

  Boozer shrugged laconically but didn’t disagree. He came in and perched on the edge of the worktable, close enough to hear everything.

  Patti showed me the phone number and Cynthia Quarles answered on the third ring. I told her who I was, as if she hadn’t just seen my name on her phone.

  “I wondered if you were okay, since you aren’t at work today.”

  “Just a minute,” she said.

  There was a delay of a minute or more, with muffled sounds of conversation and fumbling. Then I heard a man’s voice, loud and confident.

  “Ms. Mack. This is Dan Vincent.”

  I shifted the phone to speaker so everyone could hear. Boozer and Montgomery glanced at each other and Montgomery muttered in disgust.

  Dan Vincent drawled on. “I’m going to be representing Ms. Quarles in this matter. I’ve advised her not to talk with you or anyone else from Harbor Village. Just as a formality, of course. If you have further business to discuss with her, you’ll need to call my office. I’ll give you the number if you like.” He pronounced the word to rhyme with the dance. Rumba.

  I pulled the legal pad around and wrote down his name and the number he gave, thanked him and hung up.

  Boozer sighed. “Defense attorney. The best money can buy. So she’s expecting us. I’d better get with the prosecutor.”

  * * * *

  Patti and I went to Cynthia’s office after the cops left. The door was unlocked, the key box door standing open. Inside, it looked just as I remembered, keys in place, tagged in a three-color code. Someone on Boozer’s team must hav
e left the radio playing last night. I turned it off and locked up, and we went home just a little late.

  * * * *

  Stephanie called at bedtime to say they were in Houston. “You should see this place.” She was speaking softly because Barry was asleep.

  “Where are you?”

  “At Lee’s house. Is it Dad’s now?”

  I assumed she found it luxurious. “I don’t know anything about it, honey. Don’t jump to conclusions. It may be mortgaged to the hilt. Is your father there?”

  “Somewhere. I think we’re in a guest wing.”

  “Be nice to Travis. He’s having a rough time.”

  “Why did you call him that?”

  “Call him what? I said Travis.”

  “That’s what I mean. You never, ever say Travis. You say ‘your father,’ or ‘your dad.’ Does it have some deep, dark significance?”

  “No, no significance.” Was what she said true? “I hear he has a lovely daughter. G’night, honey.”

  “Night, Mom.”

  * * * *

  Thursday began like a normal workday, or the closest thing to normal since I came to Harbor Village. There were no bodies to be identified, no police cars or detectives in sight, no fire trucks and no yellow tape strung around the building. And there was also no Cynthia, no Michelle and certainly no Jamie. Even the rain seemed to be disappearing.

  I left my umbrella at home and got to the office early, to make a phone call to Houston. I was hoping the offices wouldn’t be closed all day for Lee’s memorial service, and I got lucky. I had a long conversation with the director of HR then opened the laptop and completed a letter I had drafted while eating breakfast. I sent it to Patti with instructions for printing multiple copies.

  Since she wasn’t in yet, I sent Patti another quick note asking her to see if Emily could come in to help us with a special project. “And Stewart, too, if he’s available for a couple of hours.” It wasn’t a scheduled workday for Emily, and I didn’t know if she would be available on short notice. “Tell Stewart we’ll need two extra passkeys,” I added as an afterthought.