by J. C. Eaton
“If I were one of those board members, I’d either change my vote or abstain. If some nutcase was responsible for killing Sorrel over property values, those other guys are sitting ducks. When your mother called, I half expected her to tell me someone else was murdered.”
“Bite your tongue. But come to think of it, not all of the board members were at the parade last night.”
For the life of me, I tried to visualize who I’d seen seated behind Harold Stevens. Definitely Jeannine Simone. She was hard to miss. Barry Wong was there, too, and so was Clarence McAdams. All of them were adamantly against converting the golf courses. So that left the “yes” votes, or the sitting ducks, as Augusta pointed out. Maybe that was why they weren’t there. After all, who wanted to be a sitting target? Then again, it didn’t seem to faze the board president.
I dreaded another evening listening to people argue over whether or not mayonnaise belonged on a bagel or if the tax got counted into the tip. Still, my mother’s book club friends and those pinochle men were a wealth of information. It was simply a matter of asking them the right questions, and I planned to do just that.
Instead of chitchatting with Augusta or surfing the Internet during my afternoon break, I wrote down the names of all the suspects, coupled with the key motives for Sorrel’s murder. Then I plotted them on what best could be described as my own “Richter Scale,” only instead of using words like “minor” or “massive,” I used terms ranging from “lukewarm” to “boiling.” By the time I finished, it was like looking at a treasure map with too many pieces missing. I read it over three times before getting back to my real work.
At the lukewarm end of the scale, I had written “jealous lover.” Next to it, I wrote Frank and Eleanor Landrow’s names along with Bethany Gillmore, whose nasty look in that Heard Museum photo still plagued me. Moving further up the scale to “warm,” I added Hawaiian shirt guy, Russell (Spuds) Baxter, with the notation “et al.” for the golf course homeowners. Using that Latin abbreviation somehow gave credence to my list. I went on with “pesticide company pollution” for the Agua Fria dumping that Sorrel might have witnessed. To me, they seemed to have the most at stake. I made a mental note to ask Nate and Marshall what, if anything, they were able to learn about those employees and their archery skills.
At some point in the afternoon, Nate headed out on business and Marshall returned for less than a half hour. He, too, was mired under with interviews and promised to call me later that night after the soiree at Bagels ’N More.
I had more than enough time to go home, change into comfortable jeans, and check my mail before driving over to the restaurant. I also had a few minutes to reread my Richter Scale list. This time, I added Jeannine Simone’s name under “tepid,” a new category. That was because she owned a bow and arrow, decorative or not. It was beginning to seem as if everyone in creation was on that list, yet I had the nagging feeling I had forgotten something.
The parking lot at Bagels ’N More seemed to have more cars than it did the prior Thursday. Either my mother or Herb had managed to commandeer more people to attend the powwow, or there was some weekly special going on that attracted more customers. One step through the door and I got my answer. That bowling tournament had brought in crowds from the neighboring retirement communities, and, with the late games, it seemed as if those lawn bowling and bocce leagues wound up here.
The T-shirts gave them away. DESERT PALM ROLLERS, LA LOMA LAWN BOWLING LEAGUE, and CHAPARRAL VILLAGE BOCCERETTES.
Bill was muttering about it as I got closer to the middle table, where my mother’s crew had set up camp. “Darn it. We should’ve worn our T-shirts.”
“Hi, everyone!” I plunked myself down between Myrna and my mother. “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” Herb said, “but you’ll have to keep your voice low. Bad enough we have to worry about the Sun City West tongue waggers. Now we’ve got ’em from all over the place.”
He waved his arm in the air to further illustrate the point he was making, but the waitress mistook it as a sign we were ready to order.
“Not yet,” Myrna said. “We’re not done with the menus.”
This crew had been coming to Bagels ’N More long before the first George Bush was in office. I had no doubt they could recite the menu from breakfast bagels to early bird specials without pausing for air. Besides, how many ways could bagels be prepared? I didn’t say a word and waited while they studied the selections. My aunt Ina couldn’t make the meeting because she and my uncle Louis had tickets to a ballet in Phoenix, and Riva was home with a sore throat. Other than that, the rest of the book club was there—my mother, Shirley, Lucinda, Cecilia, Louise, Myrna, Constance, and Marianne. As for the men, they weren’t about to miss a night out either. Even Kenny decided to forgo his wife’s cooking in order to be here. I later learned she planned on making liver and onions, not one of his favorites.
Kevin, who was sitting on the other side of Myrna, gave her a poke on the arm. “Heard you didn’t botch things up at today’s game.”
“Keep it that way, will you?” Bill added before Myrna had a chance to reply.
My mother gave both men a searing glance and cleared her throat. “We came here to discuss that other matter, not the tournament. But before we do, does anyone here know why Edmund Wooster would be paying a visit to Milquist Harlan?”
Then she looked at me. “Sorry, Phee. I didn’t have time to make those calls.”
“Don’t know about that,” Wayne said, “but I do know one thing. He didn’t resign from the board for personal reasons. He resigned due to a conflict of interest.”
A collective “huh?” followed as Wayne continued, “Yeah. And too damn bad. At least he was against that ridiculous proposal. None of this would’ve happened if he’d stayed on the board.”
“Forget that,” my mother said. “What was the conflict of interest? Spit it out, Wayne, we haven’t got all night.”
“I was at the podiatrist’s office this morning. Lousy bunion won’t go away. They were really backed up in there and somehow I got into a conversation with a guy who happens to be Wooster’s neighbor. Seems our old board president got offered a job with Golfscapes.”
“That mega, golf course maintenance company?” Myrna asked. “Oh, and before I forget, the other day I thought their manager might’ve been the killer because of the way he was snooping around by the fence near where Sorrel’s body was found. But guess what? They were measuring for a new fence and got it installed in time for the tournament.”
I whispered to my mother. “Didn’t I tell you it was going to turn out to be something like that?”
“Shh. Yes, you did. Enough already.”
Herb sat up in his chair and gave the table a quick pound with his fist. “Can we please get this meeting back on track?”
The waitress appeared at that moment, and it took another ten minutes for her to get the orders straight. I was sure she was real thrilled with all those separate checks, too.
“Okay,” Herb continued, “where did we leave off? That’s right, we were just getting started. So, um, Harriet, would you like to take over?”
My mother didn’t wait to be asked twice. She immediately scrambled for a list she had stuffed into her pocketbook. “We crossed off the four no votes—Bethany, Clarence, Jeannine, and Barry. And yes, Wayne, Edmund Wooster would’ve been the fifth if he’d stayed on the board. So, that leaves Harold, Eloise, Mildred, and Burton. I can tell you right now that Burton was tight-lipped. Said he’d consider it. Big deal. I say that all the time. And if I’m not mistaken, that’s what Harold told Kevin and Kenny, right?”
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Kevin said.
Cecilia looked up from her cup of coffee and made a soft tsk sound. “Eloise was pretty noncommittal, too. Rambled on about the good old days when everyone met at her neighborhood park in Brooklyn. I reminded her this was Sun City West, and she said she knew perfectly well this was a golf community and that people would go to
extremes to keep it that way.”
“What about you, Shirley?” my mother asked. “Did you and Ina have any better luck with Mildred Saperstein?”
“I don’t think she’s going to cast a vote. Lordy, no. Poor thing’s afraid to leave the house. Said she didn’t want to be the next victim. Apparently, she thought Sorrel’s plan was a good one. Then Ina went and told her to stand up for her rights. Good grief! Talk about shooting oneself in the foot. What on earth was your sister thinking?”
I shot my mother a look. We both knew what my crazy aunt was thinking. Women’s rights, self-expression, women’s empowerment, ban-the-bra, and anything and everything that had to do with the women’s movement since the first suffragettes.
“Did anyone ever figure out what happens if it’s a tie vote?” Herb asked.
Kenny and Kevin both said “yep” at the same time, and Kevin explained. “Yeah, we asked Harold when we spoke to him. If the vote is tied, the proposal doesn’t pass. It’s put on hold until they decide to reintroduce it. And a new appointee is ineligible to vote for thirty days.”
Bill slammed down his coffee cup, nearly spilling it all over the table. “Oh hell no! This damn thing could go on indefinitely. I was hoping for some good news.”
“Well, I’ve got good news,” Louise announced. So loud, in fact, people from the other tables turned to listen. “This afternoon I got a message on my answering machine from the Maricopa County Office of the Jury Commissioner. My case was settled out of court. I don’t have to appear for jury duty. And, I’ll be excused for the next eighteen months. If that’s not good news, I don’t know what is.”
That left two cases going to jury trials. The highly publicized Darla Marlinde scorpion killer case and the Agua Fria River pollution one. Marshall was pretty certain Sorrel was the witness for the pollution case, but he was still gathering information. His workload and Nate’s had seemed to escalate with this murder. Too many loose ends. This past week both investigators were knocking themselves out reviewing employee records from that pesticide company to see if anyone had archery skills. Since the company was housed in Maricopa County, the sheriff’s department had no problem getting a subpoena to review the records and including Williams Investigations as partners in the process.
“Good news for you, Louise,” Herb said, “but we’re still far from it regarding those eco-friendly parks. Hey, getting back to Wooster, why on earth would Golfscapes hire him? That kind of came out of the blue, don’t you think? And what’s taking so long with our food?”
“The food’s on its way,” Myrna said. “And just because Golfscapes didn’t confer with you first doesn’t mean it came out of the blue. For all we know, Edmund Wooster could’ve had his eye on a job with them for months.”
“Doing what? What does he know about golf course maintenance?” Cecilia unwrapped the silverware from the paper napkin and proceeded to polish it, all but tearing the napkin apart.
Wayne seemed anxious to explain. “More than you think. According to that neighbor of his, Wooster used to be a bigwig for a similar company in California. That company went belly-up in the recession, taking a huge chunk out of Wooster’s pension. Guess he needed the money. Boy, I bet it must’ve really rubbed him the wrong way when little miss eco-friendly got appointed to the board.”
Cecilia gave her teaspoon a final wipe with her napkin and looked up. “It’s not nice to speak of the dead that way.”
“What way? I didn’t say anything wrong. It’s not like I called her a four-letter word.”
At that moment, the waitress arrived with the first tray of food, and, as if on cue, everyone stopped talking. When the woman left to get the next tray, my mother went back to her original question.
“So, no one knows why Edmund would’ve paid a visit to Milquist?”
“Probably went to offer his condolences,” Marianne said. “If he hadn’t resigned from the board, Sorrel might still be alive. Maybe he had a guilty conscience.”
Herb bit into his bagel sandwich and tried to talk at the same time. “Doubt it. The guy must’ve had another reason.”
The rest of the food arrived, and, for a good five or six minutes, all I heard was chomping, slurping, and chewing.
“Hey, Myrna,” Kevin broke the silence. “Did they ever find the car that ran your golf cart off the road?”
Myrna shook her head. “No. We don’t have traffic cams in Sun City West, and all I saw was a beige blur.”
“Yeah, a beige blur that wasn’t mine.” Bill leaned in to face Myrna.
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
Lucinda wiped a smudge of cream cheese from her lip. “Beige? You said beige? The Sun City West maintenance vehicles are beige. Beige with our new logo plastered on the sides.”
Suddenly, the table went quiet, and I felt someone kick my ankle.
“Maybe they weren’t just measuring fences that day.” My mother leaned over toward Myrna. “What if that arrow really was intended for you?”
Myrna gasped.
Shirley let out a “Lordy, Lordy” that got everyone’s attention, and the table erupted in absolute verbal chaos.
I grabbed my mother by the wrist and whispered, “Now look what you’ve done.”
To which she replied, “I was only thinking out loud.”
I tried to prevent her from saying another word by offering her some of my bagel crisps, but she brushed them aside and continued, “That shooter could’ve been aiming for Myrna. No offense, Myrna, but you’re a fairly large target, and the bocce court is what, a few yards away from where Bill found Sorrel’s body? For all we know, Sorrel could’ve been bent over, looking at something. That little stream ... wildflowers . . . she was in the garden club, after all. When she stood up, she deflected the arrow, and it went right into her neck.”
“My God, Harriet,” Herb shouted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? Then how do you explain the other attempt on Myrna’s life? The golf cart incident?”
Myrna’s face had turned a sickly greenish color, and, for a second, I thought she was going to pass out on the table. Much as I didn’t want to share Marshall’s findings regarding the golf cart, I felt I had no choice.
“It might have been a case of mistaken identity. At least that’s what Nate and Marshall think. Look, don’t go sharing what I’m about to tell you with anyone. It could compromise the murder investigation. I mean it! Milquist Harlan has a golf cart that looks exactly like Myrna’s. Red and white stripes. According to the golf cart shops, that model was never popular and the style was discontinued. So, whoever killed Sorrel might be gunning for Milquist as well.”
The color started to come back to Myrna’s cheeks, and she took a sip of coffee. “It still doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t think I’d better play in tomorrow’s match.”
“You can’t do that,” Bill said. “It’s too late to find anyone else, and we’d have to forfeit the game. Heck, there’ll be a big enough crowd around the courts. No one’s going to try anything stupid.”
As things turned out, the only one trying anything stupid was me.
Chapter 21
Our office order for toner hadn’t arrived yet, and, in spite of shaking and re-shaking the cartridge, it gave out before I left work yesterday. I offered to stop by Office Max on Friday morning and pick up another one on my way in. I thought it would only take me a few minutes, but the place was packed. That was why, when I arrived forty minutes later than usual, I had missed Nate, who was out on a case, and learned from Augusta that Marshall was behind closed doors with a “cougar.” So much for getting a chance to tell him about last night’s debacle at Bagels ’N More.
“Marshall’s with a cougar? He’s in his forties,” I said. “I thought cougars only pertained to women who went after younger men.”
Augusta didn’t flinch. “He is younger, compared to her. And let me tell you about her. If her clothes were any tighter, she’d pass out. And that perfume . . . do you smell it
? I’ll have to fumigate the office later.”
“Um, yeah. I thought maybe the cleaning service used a new floral cleanser, heavy on the floral. Guess you’ll have to give his office a real airing out when she leaves.”
“I’ve opened the front windows already.”
As I started for my desk, Augusta stopped me. “Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“Why? Do I know her?”
I usually didn’t get involved in Nate’s or Marshall’s cases outside of Sun City West, and the only reason I got roped into those was because my mother seemed to have a grip on the cord. I studied Augusta’s face and knew it was bad news. She couldn’t hide that wicked smile that was getting bigger and bigger.
“The cougar behind the door is Eleanor Landrow. Wife of Frank Landrow. Thought you might be interested.”
“Eleanor Landrow? What on earth does she want with Marshall?”
“I think she got him by default. Nate was already out the door when she arrived.”
“No appointment?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Geez, I’m dying to know what’s going on.”
“Shh. You won’t have to wait long. His office door’s opening.”
I immediately raced to the copier and started to install the new toner, but it was difficult keeping my eyes off of her. Augusta was right. The woman was wearing tight, black leggings with an equally tight, low-cut, black tank top and a sheer, white, open tunic. It was a wonder she could breathe. If that wasn’t suff icient, she wore dangling gold earrings and a gold choker chain. The perfume, that had started to fade with the open windows, came back full force.
Eleanor had draped herself over Marshall’s arm as he walked her to the door. I tried not to make eye contact with Augusta for fear one of us would burst out laughing and undermine the professionalism Nate and Marshall worked so hard to attain. I all but stuck my head into the copier as I listened to Eleanor.
“I can’t possibly thank you enough. That Deputy Bowman was no help whatsoever, and I need to know the truth about my husband and that woman. Frank is being very tight-lipped about the whole thing. But like I explained, I had my suspicions. I don’t need Sorrel Harlan’s ghost hanging over my head, if you know what I mean.”