by J. C. Eaton
“Yeah. The real perpetrator in some case that’s going to a jury.”
“Huh? What case?”
“That’s just the thing. Louise doesn’t know.”
I went on to tell Marshall exactly what Louise told me, expecting him to register a fair amount of frustration, but his reaction was quite the opposite.
“It’s not going to be too difficult for me to find out what cases are going to the jury in the next few weeks. Of course, it will have to wait till Monday when I can place some calls. Someone might have a stronger motive than property values for doing away with Sorrel. Meantime, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on. I’ll lock up everything after you and Augusta head out. How about if I pick you up at seven thirty for dinner?”
“Works for me.”
I headed back to my desk when the phone rang, and Augusta shouted a familiar clarion call. “Phee, your mother’s on the phone!”
Don’t tell me Louise called her the minute she left this office.
“Hey, Mom, I was about to head out. Can I call you later?”
“This will only take a minute. I have a very important favor to ask you. I meant to speak with you about it last night, but we were all so caught up in that meeting.”
“Okay. What favor?”
“Shirley, Lucinda, and I are going to the chocolate festival in Glendale tomorrow and then out to lunch.”
Do not invite me. Do not invite me. Just get on with the favor.
“Anyway, I’ll be gone from the house for most of the day, and Streetman needs to go for his midday walk. Can you do it? Can you stop by and let him out? I know you work some Saturday mornings, but you can swing by here afterward.”
I tried not to groan. “Yeah. I’ll take him out. I’m not working tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful. When can you stop by to get a map of the neighborhood?”
“What? A map? I don’t need a map. I can walk him around the block without getting lost.”
“It’s not that kind of a map. I printed off the neighborhood map from Google and made important notes about which houses and lawns to avoid. Some people don’t want dogs to pee on their property. In fact, there’s a crazy woman around the corner who runs out of her house screaming whenever we approach. I have to drag poor Streetman into the road. Also, the dog has his favorite spots, and I marked those as well. The big jacaranda tree directly across the street, the two small olive trees three doors down, the large red boulder—”
“Seriously?”
“Unless, of course, you’d rather take him to the dog park. His probation’s been over for a while, and no one has registered any complaints. He rides like a perfect little gentleman in the car. Put him on your passenger seat. Use a towel if you’re worried about shedding.”
Given my choices, I opted for the dog park. Last thing I needed was a crazy woman to start screaming at me. I told my mother I’d pick up the dog around one, because I wanted to get some early-morning shopping done.
“That’s a good time for the park. It’s practically deserted at that time. Doesn’t start filling up until three.”
She thanked me and asked if I wanted her to bring me back chocolates from the festival. I politely declined. By the time I got off the phone, Augusta had already shut the lights off in the main office and was waiting for me by the door.
We shouted “Good-bye” to Marshall and closed the locked door behind us.
Augusta shook her head as we walked down the block to our cars. “No real leads on the Sorrel case, huh?”
“Too many leads. And they seem to be growing exponentially.”
“I figured as much when that nice Mrs. Munson from your mother’s book club came in.”
“She overheard something at the courthouse when she went there for jury selection,” I said.
“The Darla Marlinde case? The scorpion sorceress? That’s what the tabloids are calling that woman.”
“No, nothing that exciting. Anyway, I’m sure Nate and Marshall will figure it out.”
“Just you be careful, Phee. Seems to me, an arrow to the back of someone’s neck is just as bad as a deadly scorpion in their bed.”
Chapter 12
I didn’t want my Friday night date with Marshall to end. A fantastic meal at Firebirds followed by some cozy time at my place. It was tough saying good night, but both of us had full Saturdays ahead. We were still at the kissing stage of our relationship and taking it slow. When I was younger and started dating, I remembered my mother warning me, “Too fast, too soon and it’s over.” I think I actually used the same line with my daughter. But now, in my mid-forties, I kind of wanted to speed things up.
Saturday morning was a whirlwind of grocery shopping and a quick jaunt to Walmart for replacement toothbrush heads and some bath towels. Mine had that ratty, frayed look about them, and I figured if Marshall was ever going to spend the night, I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t afford decent towels.
At a few minutes past one, I pulled up to my mother’s house and got the dog. It wasn’t easy. Most dogs come running to the door playfully or barking. Streetman ran under the couch. I had to resort to the only tactic that I knew worked. String cheese. The second he heard me removing the plastic from the tube, he was right in front of me by the refrigerator.
I gave him a tiny piece, clasped his leash to the collar, and we were off. My mother was right. The dog was a wonderful passenger. He liked being in the passenger seat, even though he was too short to look out the window. She was also right about the dog park. No one was there. We had the whole place to ourselves.
Streetman immediately took care of business as soon as I let him in the gate. He then proceeded to sniff around and claim every rock, bush, and tree in the place. I decided to sit for a few minutes on one of the benches and let the dog mill about. A few seconds later, the gate opened and a stylishly dressed, slender woman with short dark hair rushed over and sat next to me. She was too well dressed for the dog park and arrived without a canine companion.
“I think I’m being followed. Do you mind if I sit here with you for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Um, sure.”
I looked at the parking lot, and the only cars that came in were headed to the tennis courts, the bocce and lawn bowling, or the fitness center. “I don’t see anyone. Are you sure?”
The woman appeared to be visibly shaken and kept staring at the parking lot. She appeared to be in her early fifties, with flawless skin and deep blue eyes.
“I’m pretty sure.” She was still staring at the lot. “It started this morning when I went into Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee on my way to the nail salon. Two men were behind me in the line. A short, stocky man, balding. He kept sucking in his stomach. The other man was short and stocky, too, but with brown flyaway hair and a round face. He was wearing a golf shirt with an insignia for the Sun City West Footlighters. You know, the theater group.
Oh my God. Herb and Wayne.
The woman went on before I could say a word. “When I left with my coffee and drove to the salon, they followed me. I figured they’d be gone by the time my appointment was done, but, somehow, they reappeared when I went to fill up my car. I didn’t want to drive home, and I didn’t want to go to the sheriff’s posse station. I was afraid the deputies would think I was overreacting. So, since the dog park is so close to the gas station, I thought I’d be safe here. By the way, I’m Jeannine. Jeannine Simone.”
“I know. You’re on the recreation center board of directors.”
“That’s right. You must have seen my picture in the monthly newsletter they send. It’s a horrible photo. I look like I blew in from a windstorm. Is that where you recognize me from?”
I doubted Jeannine could ever look horrible under any conditions. No wonder Herb insisted on speaking with her instead of another board member. “Actually, no. But I do know, or I have a very good suspicion, as to who those men are who are following you. And don’t worry. They’re harmless. Idiotic, but harmless.”
I went on to explain everything about my mother’s book club and Herb’s pinochle cronies and how they wanted to sway the board into a “no” vote for Sorrel’s golf course conversion plan. “Honestly, I think those two bumbleheads were working up the courage to speak with you. Unfortunately, finesse and manners don’t appear to be their strong suit.”
Jeannine had all she could do to stop laughing. “I’m so glad I came here instead of going to the posse station. I can’t understand why they didn’t simply say something to me. Anyway, if you must know, I’m totally against that ridiculous proposal. I don’t own a golf course home, but I live directly across from one of the golf courses. Last thing I need to see are cars parked all along the street. There are only a few entrances to the golf courses. That means people will be cutting across homeowners’ yards to get into the park. They’re not going to feel like walking all the way down a block if they can find a shortcut. It’d be a nightmare.”
“Tell me, do most of the board members feel the same about it as you do?”
“About half. That means a tie vote until another member is appointed. I doubt anyone will change his or her mind. Sorrel was able to convince Mildred Saperstein, Burton Barre, Eloise Frable, and our own president, Harold Stevens, to see it her way.”
“What about the other members? The ones who were against the proposal? Do you think any of them could have murdered her?”
“With a bow and arrow? Clarence and Barry probably have twenty/eighty vision between the two of them, and Bethany isn’t much better.”
“They could have hired someone.”
“You mean a hitman? I only know about those things from TV shows and pulp fiction. And hypothetically, even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to afford it.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s such a baffling case.”
“That proposal of Sorrel’s was insane. I’ll grant you that. But to kill her over it? If you ask me, it seems a bit more, well, personal. She must have really rubbed someone the wrong way or knew something incriminating. Whatever it is, I hope it gets solved before the next board meeting. I’d like to put this thing to rest. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Even if the board decided to convert one or more of the golf courses to an eco-friendly neighborhood park, they couldn’t do it for at least two years. We have a signed contract with Golfscapes. They’re the largest golf course management company in the Southwest. They manage all the big courses, like Pebble Brooke in California and The Boulders in Arizona, plus a number of retirement community golf courses like ours.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that.”
“It’s public knowledge. We have to disclose that sort of information on our financial reports to the community. So, even if Sorrel had her way, she’d still be two years off.”
“Did you know her personally? I mean, outside of sitting on the same board of directors.”
“No. Not at all. And from the little I saw at the meetings, I’d venture to say she was ... well ... different. In an earth mother, hippy sort of way, but you’re probably too young to visualize what I’m trying to say.”
“Oh, I get it. I have an aunt like that. Sort of.”
The gate swung open, and a small apricot poodle ran in. Streetman was at her side in a nanosecond. So far, so good. All he was doing was sniffing her. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances. Somehow, if he messed up, it would be my fault.
“I don’t think Herb and Wayne are going to make their way over here,” I said. “You should be fine. Anyway, I’ve got to get my mother’s dog home.” Before he winds up on probation again.
Jeannine walked with me to the gate. Once Streetman was safely on his leash, we headed out.
“It was nice talking with you,” she said.
“Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Phee Kimball, official dog sitter for my mother, Harriet Plunkett. She’s the resident here.”
“Harriet Plunkett? Seems to me I’ve heard that name before.”
Of course you have. It’s probably plastered on a billboard somewhere ...
“Wait a sec. Now I know. She was in that play a few months ago. The Mousetrap. Wonderful performance. Be sure to tell her.”
“I sure will. And nice meeting you, Jeannine.”
* * *
As soon as I got inside my mother’s house, I gave Streetman some kibble and left a note on the table:
The dog was fine. Met Jeannine Simone at the dog park. Tell Herb and Wayne to quit following her. She thinks they’re stalking her. Found out the only ones who support Sorrel’s plan are Harold, Eloise, Mildred, and Burton (our guy). No sense having anyone waste time with the others. I’ll talk to you this weekend. xx’s, Phee
P.S. Do you have the yearly financial report for the Sun City West Recreation Centers? I’m curious about something.
The rest of my day was pretty routine. I decided to make use of the cooler weather and prepared a lasagna for the freezer. Only a few months a year were suitable for indoor cooking as far as I was concerned, and February was one of them. Marshall and I were going to take advantage of the weather as well, with an early morning hike tomorrow at the Hassayampa Water Preserve in Wickenburg, a short drive from Sun City West.
As I opened the oven door and slid the pan of lasagna onto the rack, the phone rang. Instinctively, I answered it. A quick “hello” and I was bombarded.
“I got your note. Didn’t I tell you Streetman would be well behaved? The ladies and I had a wonderful time at the chocolate festival. I came home with a giant box of white and dark chocolate-coated pretzels. I’ll try to set some aside for you. Oh, about your question. I don’t save those old recreation center financial reports, but I’ll tell you who does. Herb. Herb saves all that stuff until it piles up. Then he sets it out for recycling. I’ll give him a call and see if he still has it. Do you need it right away?”
“Um, not right this minute, but I’d like to take a look at something.”
“Is it about Sorrel’s murder? Do you think the rec center board was embezzling money and Sorrel found out? That’s a real motive for murder, you know.”
I had to say this much. At least my mother wasn’t dwelling on her usual theory that the jealous ex-lover was the culprit. Never mind if the whole world thought the victim was celibate. As far as my mother was concerned, it was always some jealous ex.
“Sort of. But like I said, no big rush.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll speak to Herb. I’ll also let him know he’s lucky Jeannine didn’t have him arrested for stalking. Good grief.”
“Can you ask him to let the others know that Bethany, Clarence, and Barry were against the proposal? No sense in bothering them.”
“When were you planning to run into Burton Barre? I think the library is our best chance. Of course, it’s closed tomorrow, but maybe Monday.”
“Mom, I’m working. Remember? Plus, I have no idea what this guy looks like, and just because Lucinda said he works on the giant jigsaw puzzle in the summer doesn’t mean he’s hanging around there all winter. Talk about wild goose chases.”
“Burton Barre is a distinguished-looking, African-American gentleman. Well built. Grayish hair. Clean shaven. He was sitting next to Jeannine at the board meeting when we all suffered through Sorrel’s proposal.”
“Okay. That narrows it down as far as looks are concerned, but—”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll stop by the library Monday and speak with one of the clerks. I know which ones are more in tune with their patrons.”
“You mean which ones are the busybodies,” I said.
“That’s not a socially correct word.”
“Oh brother.”
“When I find out more about Burton’s schedule, I’ll call you. We only have a few days until Thursday, and we’re not going to be the only ones showing up at Bagels ’N More without having accomplished our mission. It will look especially bad for you, Phee, seeing as you work for an inve
stigative firm.”
“As their bookkeeper!”
Chapter 13
I had a hunch about Sorrel’s murder, and it had nothing to do with angry homeowners or Frank Landrow’s less-than-jealous wife. It was more in line with corporate greed and money. Two strong motives in my book. Still, there was nothing concrete to back up my thinking, so I decided not to mention it to Marshall when we took our early morning hike on Sunday.
“I don’t know. I have this bizarre feeling about your mother’s friends and the way they go about things,” he said as we paused from our hike to sit on a huge boulder and do some bird watching. “I hope they don’t get carried away and start asking questions about Sorrel’s murder. That could complicate the investigation.”
“I know. I know. They all agreed to stick to the original plan of persuading the board to squelch Sorrel’s eco-friendly park idea.”
“What about you? Weren’t you supposed to track someone down?”
“Uh-huh. Burton Barre. I told my mother I had a busy work schedule. Maybe she’ll tackle it on her own. She’s going to ask one of the library clerks about the guy since he’s a regular over there. By the way, how are you and Nate doing with this?”
“Miserably, if you must know. We widened the search for top-notch archers but got nowhere. We’ve had lots of meetings with the sheriff’s deputies to share information, but there are no substantial leads at this point. In fact, Nate got so frustrated that he called Rolo Barnes to look into Marlene Krone and Eleanor Landrow.”
Rolo, who always reminded me of a black Jerry Garcia, was our unofficial cypher and hacking expert. He used to work for the Mankato Police Department but found it far more lucrative to freelance. He had a zillion quirks, and, in addition to his regular fees, he liked to be paid with kitchen gadgetry. The particulars varied depending upon whatever diet he was on. Worst was the juicing diet. That one had cost me a fortune when my mother was convinced a book curse was going to kill her and her friends.