Ditched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  I later found out the trek to Jerome had nothing to do with sightseeing. Apparently the director from the Musical Instrument Museum sent my aunt to Jerome to locate the only harpist within a hundred-mile radius of Phoenix.

  As Fridays went, that one was one of the worst. It seemed as if I was being interrupted at work every five minutes by someone in my aunt’s “entourage,” for lack of a better word. If Nate was in the office, he’d probably say, “Why don’t you just go home and come back on Monday when the wedding’s over.” Unfortunately, Nate wasn’t in the office, so I muddled through as best I could.

  Augusta kept her usual composure as she welcomed new clients, consoled others on the phone, and made sure we didn’t have any more appointment mix-ups. It was a day that seemed to stretch on and on with no relief in sight.

  “It’s a Shirley Johnson on the phone for you, Phee. The poor woman can’t seem to catch her breath.”

  I counted to ten, took a long, slow breath the way I was taught in Tai Chi, and picked up the phone.

  Sure enough, Shirley was frantic. “Lordy, Phee. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Your aunt wants to know if the fascinator hat will pick up the early morning sunbeams and reflect them in the air. Something about the material I used.”

  “Tell her YES! Tell her anything! How the heck will she know? She’s not the one who’ll have to look at it!”

  “Honestly, honey, I don’t know how you do this. My nerves are in a frazzle. By the way, did Loralee Burrell call you?”

  “Who? I don’t know a Loralee Burrell.”

  “She’s the lady your aunt hired to create the zodiac seating chart.”

  “The what???”

  “Instead of place cards. Your aunt thought a giant circular zodiac with everyone’s table number on it would be a better alternative to individual seating cards.”

  Of course she did. Who wouldn’t?

  My pulse quickened. “Um . . . is there a problem? Is Loralee having a problem?”

  “Oh, not with the zodiac chart. She’s a marvelous artist. It’s just that . . .”

  “That what? What?”

  “Your aunt insisted on an eight-by-eight chart. Feet, not inches. Two pieces of plywood had to be hammered together with a two-by-four. Anyway, Loralee is stressing about the setup once she brings it to the location. It seems your aunt didn’t tell her how she wanted it set up and Loralee couldn’t reach her all day yesterday.”

  “That’s because they were tracking down a harpist. Don’t ask. Uh . . . if you talk to Loralee, tell her to bring the chart and we’ll find someplace to stick it. I mean . . . put it. Oh, what the heck!”

  “Now, don’t you go getting yourself in a tizzy, honey. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  This, coming from someone who was close to a breakdown only minutes ago.

  I knew better. This wasn’t going to be fine. No matter what Shirley or anyone said at the moment. This wedding had all the classic earmarks of a disaster. And some even I hadn’t counted on.

  That night, Kirk drove us to the Cactus Wren and we all checked in. Earlier in the day, Lyndy did me a favor and followed me to the place in her car so I could leave my vehicle there in case of an emergency. Or in case I had to get the heck out of there before I lost my mind.

  “It looked like a nice, cozy place, Phee,” she said. “In a strange, sort of avant-garde way. I’m sure your family will enjoy the atmosphere.”

  It was supposed to be a delightful respite in preparation for Sunday’s celebration of bliss. It wasn’t. My mother fretted the entire time about Streetman, beginning with our drive over there in the rental van. She had booked the dog into the Pet Resort in Sun City at a cost that rivaled most four-star hotels. If that wasn’t enough, she spent endless hours filling out his “activity form” and reviewing it with me.

  “So, what do you think? A half hour of playtime four times a day followed by another half hour of ‘love, cuddles, and story time’? That sounds good to me. They have swimming, too, in those small kiddie pools, but Streetman hates water. I suppose I could add on additional playtime.”

  “My God! He’s not selecting his freshmen courses. And what on earth is ‘love, cuddles, and story time’? I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “Honestly, Phee. Someone sits with the dog, pets him, kisses him, and reads him stories.”

  “He wouldn’t know a story from the stock report.”

  “Don’t be absurd. Streetman knows certain words. And he needs the attention. I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned him.”

  While the rest of us were enjoying the desert scenery as we got closer to the White Tanks, my mother was still going on and on about the dog.

  “I hope he’s not too nervous to eat. He has a sensitive stomach, you know. I boiled him some white meat chicken and added it to the ground beef I fried up. They can put it in his kibble. I also hard-boiled some eggs for him.”

  I was flabbergasted. “You cooked him dinner? You cooked the dog’s dinner? You don’t even cook for yourself or for me, or for anyone else, for that matter.”

  “That’s a different thing entirely.”

  “Next thing I know you’re going to tell me you cleaned and ironed his dog blanket.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I bought him three different fleece throws for his doggie bed so he’ll be comfortable at night.”

  “More comfortable than we’ll be,” Kirk announced as we approached the entrance to the place. My mother ignored his comment, and his irritation, for that matter. She continued rambling about the dog as if nothing else mattered.

  The “quaint little B and B nestled in the foothills of the White Tank Mountains” was actually a series of small, multicolored pie-shaped buildings, each one distinguished by a hand-painted wooden bird on the door. Cardinals. Woodpeckers. Mockingbirds. Kingfishers. Hummingbirds. Plovers. The only exception was something called “the Roadrunner,” which looked like a combination of three or four of the smaller units that had been fused into one larger structure. That was where my aunt Ina stayed. The rest of us were each four or five yards away in our own minuscule “slice” of the pie.

  The main building housed the reception area, a dining room, and a patio that overlooked the mountains. There was also a gathering area with books, puzzles, and maps of the regional park. Safety brochures with ominous photos of rattlesnakes were piled everywhere. A stone slab fireplace stood in the middle of the room but looked as if it had never been used.

  Kirk was right about one thing—the beds. Mine bowed in the middle, and even with its adorable chenille bedspread, I could tell it was going to be a nightmare sleeping in it. My mother was right on the other two counts—no microwave and no mini-fridge. At least we had televisions in our rooms, even though they predated flat screens.

  Breakfast was served daily and lunches were available upon request.

  The misery began the moment I started to unpack the few things I’d brought with me. My mother gave a quick knock on the door and walked right in.

  “I hope you don’t plan on wearing anything too loose or too tight, for that matter. You never know who you’re going to meet at something like this.”

  “I already know—Ina and Louis’s friends, the book club ladies, and whomever Louis had on his list.”

  “Ah-hah! That could be anyone. You don’t want to ruin your chances of meeting someone nice. Try to emulate one of the guests at the royal wedding.”

  “Sure. Why not? Maybe I can borrow Princess Beatrice’s giant sculpted bow. It was beige, if my memory serves me right. A nice neutral color.”

  “I can do without the sarcasm. Besides, I’m only looking out for your own good.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. I have a lovely blue sheath dress. Very stylish.”

  My mother let out a sigh. Not one of her usual torturous ones, so I figured I’d be off the hook for a while.

  When she left, Judy knocked on my door. “I don’t think I can take much more of this, Phee, and Kirk’s about to reach h
is breaking point. We spent all day today trying to find that harpist in Jerome. My hands are still shaking from the ride. When I get back to Boston, I intend to write a letter to the Arizona Department of Transportation and demand they install guardrails on the roads. We almost fell to our deaths trying to avoid a mule deer!”

  “Um . . . why don’t you sit down on the bed and make yourself comfortable. Wait! On second thought, use the chair by the desk.”

  Judy took a seat. “Do you know how we found that harpist? Do you have any idea?”

  I shook my head.

  “The people in town said ‘follow the smell of weed and that’s where you’ll find Seth.’ That’s his name—Seth. Well, we found him all right, but he was too out of it to commit to a performance on Sunday. All that time wasted driving up there. Not to mention I nearly had a panic attack.”

  “So . . . uh . . . no harpist, huh?”

  “If only it was that easy. Your aunt called the museum director and got another recommendation. This time a guy by the name of Leon who lives somewhere in the Catalina Mountains, by Tucson. Tucson, for heaven’s sake. And that’s where Kirk and I are headed tomorrow. Tucson.”

  “Can’t you just call this Leon?”

  “On what? He doesn’t have a phone. He doesn’t have e-mail. And from what your aunt said, he doesn’t have electricity. I doubt he even has a car. If he does agree to play, then Kirk and I will have to drive him and his harp up here tomorrow and find a place for him to stay. Thank God we rented a van at the airport.”

  I was ready to offer up my room for Leon. At least I’d be assured of getting a good night’s sleep back home in my own bed.

  “So you and Kirk will be gone all day tomorrow?”

  “It looks that way. Kirk doesn’t want to disappoint his mother, and I don’t want to disappoint him, so . . . Tucson it is.”

  It was dark when Judy left my room, and the only nightlife in the area was the kind that either swooped down on you or attacked in packs of three or more. Walking through Boston’s notorious Combat Zone sounded safer. Resigned to the fact I was stuck in my room, I took a hot shower and got into bed. The mattress had absolutely no support, making it impossible to turn on my side without jabbing an elbow into the material and hoisting myself up a bit to complete the maneuver.

  I must have done that at least twenty times, because I felt as if I was participating in a sadistic exercise class. Finally, I began to nod off. That was when I heard someone knocking on my door. As I reached for my robe, I recognized the voice—my cousin Kirk.

  “Phee! Open up! I know you’re awake. No one can sleep on these mattresses. I need to talk to you.”

  “Quick! Get inside before anyone hears you.”

  “Why? It’s not like they’re asleep. Trust me. Look, I wanted to speak with you about something, but I needed to do it without our mothers listening in.”

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “We need to have a contingency plan in case that jerk of a fiancé doesn’t show up for the wedding.”

  By now, Kirk had seated himself in the wobbly desk chair and I sat on the foot of the bed.

  “Why do we need a contingency plan? If Louis doesn’t show up, the wedding is canceled.”

  “The wedding may be canceled, but the aftermath will be historic. My mother will go into histrionics, and next thing you know we’ll have a full-blown disaster on our hands.”

  “So what are you proposing we do?”

  “Okay. Judy and I gave this some thought. Speaking of which, she can’t sleep either, so she decided to take another hot shower. Anyway, once it becomes clear the guy isn’t going to show, Judy and I will escort my mother to our van and drive her back to her room. Then we’ll help her get her things and take her home. I don’t suppose you have a Xanax or Valium on you.”

  “Um, no. My mother has some dog tranquilizers, though, but I think she left them at the kennel in case Streetman has an anxiety attack.”

  Kirk tried not to laugh, but he was grimacing. “It doesn’t matter. While we’re getting my mother out of there, you’ll need to make an announcement the reception is still on. I mean, what the hell? It’s not like we’re paying for it. No sense wasting all that expensive food.”

  “What about my mother? Do you want her to go with you?”

  “Are you nuts? That’s the last thing I want. The two of them will be impossible. Your mother won’t be able to stop saying, ‘I told you, Ina. I told you, Ina,’ and then my mother will sob uncontrollably the whole way back. Nope, please keep my aunt Harriet at the reception. If, for some reason, you can’t drive her home, call me and I’ll come back later. Good thing you made arrangements to get your car over here.”

  “Hopefully my boss will be able to track down Louis in LA. I have no idea what’s going on but, believe me, if anyone can find your future father-in-law, it’s Nate Williams.”

  “Let’s pray for everyone’s sake you’re right.”

  Kirk left a few minutes later and I returned to the instrument of torture known as my bed. By morning, I felt as if I had gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel. My body ached everywhere.

  Kirk and Judy had already left for Tucson by the time I walked into the dining room. My mother and my aunt were putting their napkins on the table, having just finished eating. Both of them started to stand up.

  “Order the blueberry pancakes, Phee. They’re delicious. Ina and I are going to take a walk to look at her wedding spot before the big day tomorrow. We don’t mind waiting if you want to join us.”

  My aunt quickly sat down again. “We’re not in a hurry. We can wait for you, dear.”

  “No, no. Look at the spot. I’ll be fine. I’m still half asleep. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  And take your time. I’ll need at least two cups of coffee. Black.

  Out of habit, I turned on my cell phone and scanned for messages. One text about a great deal on a new KIA and another from Officer McClure. I deleted the “deal” and went right to McClure’s message.

  “Found pebbles. Not sure if glass. Need your samples.”

  Drat.

  I texted back.

  “Will be at the police department by noon.”

  I spent the next forty-five minutes stuffing down pancakes and trying to figure out how to explain that I didn’t exactly follow protocol regarding the reflective glass samples. The B and B’s coffee woke up more than my brain, and I gave homage to the Cactus Wren for having indoor plumbing. Thank you, Aunt Ina, for choosing cozy over rustic. At least you did something right.

  Unfortunately, the caffeine didn’t bring me any nearer to an explanation if Officer McClure got picky. I’d worry about it as I got closer to Surprise. I left my mother a message at the reception desk, explaining I had some last-minute details to take care of and would be back later in the day.

  Hurray. You get to deal with Aunt Ina, Mom.

  It took me almost two hours to get to Williams Investigations in Glendale, pick up the samples from the file cabinet, and drive back to Surprise. I made it by noon. And I had finally figured out a plan. A plan that Agatha Christie introduced in her second novel, the one that made her famous. A plan known simply as “withholding information.”

  Chapter 26

  The Surprise Police Department was located adjacent to city hall in a large structure shared with the fire department. I identified myself at the glass window and was asked to wait in the lobby, a small beige enclave with paintings of agaves and cacti. A minute or so later, Officer McClure appeared and ushered me inside to a shared office. In lieu of cacti paintings on the walls, posters decrying drug and alcohol use were plastered all over the place.

  Under the fluorescent lights, Officer McClure looked more like a Boy Scout than someone in law enforcement. What was he? Barely twenty-one?

  He gave me a quick smile as we moved farther into the office. “Thanks for coming. Another officer, Melinda Vanner, and I went over to Melinsky’s house this morning and checked the car. Good news is
the guy didn’t vacuum the floor of the driver’s side. Or anywhere else, for that matter. We took samples and plan on sending them to the lab, but that’s going to take a few weeks. So . . . thought we’d do a quick compare with your sample and see what we’ve got.”

  I nodded and muttered “uh-huh,” figuring the sample from Wanda and Dolores’s yard couldn’t be all that contaminated. Not like the one from the restaurant floor. All Officer McClure had to do was compare what he’d found in Louis’s car with the glass pebbles from the yard.

  “If you don’t mind”—I handed him the envelope marked “Wanda and Dolores”—“my boss would want to know if it appears to be a match.”

  “No problem.”

  Officer McClure motioned for another officer to come over to the desk. Then we all walked to a counter in back that held a printer and binding machine. It also had a fluorescent light under the cabinets so we’d get a really good look at the samples.

  The stuff from Wanda and Dolores’s yard was like glitter. Big glitter. You couldn’t get away from it. It picked up the light and nearly blinded us. The debris, for lack of a better word, from Louis’s car had lots of pebbles and dirt, but nothing that gave off a shine. Not the least bit. Not at all like those decorative glass pebbles.

  Officer McClure shook his head. “We’ll still send these two samples to the lab, but it doesn’t look like a match. Whoever was driving that car, and I’m presuming it was Mr. Melinsky, didn’t go traipsing through anyone’s garden.”

  I was hesitant to offer up the evidence I found at Saveur de Evangeline without explaining how I got it. I mean, even though it was technically dirt and dust from the floor, I’d seen enough episodes of Law & Order to know I would have needed a search warrant. Besides, all I wanted to do at that point was eliminate Louis as a suspect, and that was exactly what I’d done. Well . . . at least for the Sizemore murder. As for Roland . . . it was still anyone’s guess.

  “Okay. Thank you. I really appreciate your time. My boss does, too.”