Obsessions Can Be Murder: The Tenth Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  When I arrived at their house, I found Amanda looking better and seeming a bit brighter than yesterday. She’d been doing dishes and I followed her into the kitchen.

  “I guess I have to start getting out, doing a little more,” she said. “It’s just so hard, until we know for sure about the—” she took a deep breath “—the body. If it’s Dad there’s a funeral to plan, and I just don’t know if I’m up to that yet. The school has been good, though. I’m on paid leave through the end of the term if I want it.”

  I’d taken a seat at the table while she wiped the counter tops and I just let her talk.

  “I’m sure it’s him,” she said. “I’m bracing myself for that, anyway. I mean, the car’s his, the jewelry, the wallet. It’s him.”

  “Twenty-three years ago one of the fake IDs was used. Someone—most likely your father—worked for six months under the name David Franklin. Do you know anything about that? Where he worked, why he might have used another name?”

  She stopped cleaning and leaned against the counter. “Twenty-three years ago?” Her face registered absolute confusion. “I would have been seven. I don’t know . . .” She struggled to remember. “Second grade. Yeah, I do remember going to a different school in the second grade. We moved from Sacramento to Pasadena. Dad took a new job, but I don’t remember anything about it. You know kids, we don’t pay attention to much.”

  I could testify to that. I’d blocked out huge chunks about my parents’ lives when I was a teenager, only to have to discover all of it again recently.

  “I don’t think we lived in Pasadena very long,” she said. “We moved to the Silicon Valley after that and Dad did some kind of work in the computer industry. Of course, everyone did. That’s what it was all about out there.”

  I thanked her for the recollections. They fit with the little we knew, although they didn’t exactly answer my questions. We still didn’t know why David used another name and made such a quick move and change in careers.

  “I really wanted to ask Jake a couple of questions about his work,” I told Amanda. “Is he available?”

  She almost laughed. “That’s really a relative term, isn’t it? He’s here.” The laugh turned harsh. “Available? Jake’s not really an ‘available’ kind of man.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, but I didn’t have to. She turned to the intercom, buzzed the lab and spoke. “Charlie’s here and she wants to ask you a couple of questions. Can she come out?”

  A fuzzy affirmative came through.

  “I have to go to the grocery,” she said. “Just go on out there.”

  At the door, I went through the same procedure of removing my shoes and wearing the paper booties. Jake greeted me from one of the long work tables, busy over some small gadget. He clearly wasn’t pleased to be interrupted in the middle of his work day so I got right to the point.

  “How much money did David put into all this?” I asked.

  He sent me a puzzled look. “Gosh, I think initially it was fifty. Fifty thousand start-up money. Some grant money from back east covered the construction of the building and equipping the lab.”

  “And was there a big influx later? Say, something around two million?”

  “I guess it was about that. Maybe five, six years ago. Just about the time we were really getting the prototype done. Had a lot of legal fees when we began researching and filing all the patent paperwork.”

  It was more like four years and four months, but I didn’t quibble.

  “Did David say where that money came from?”

  He shrugged. “He might have. Money’s not my thing and I don’t remember now.”

  Observing him at the table, shaggy head bent over his work, clearly absorbed in the moment of what he was doing, I could believe it. Amanda’s comment about his unavailability seemed to confirm it as well. He looked up at me, questioning, as if to say ‘anything else?’ and I couldn’t really come up with a response. I thanked him, unsure what I’d just learned, except that David really did spend the money here. It wasn’t squirreled away somewhere to be hidden from Earleen or to account for a double life somewhere.

  Amanda wasn’t back from the store yet and I felt like an intruder in the empty house. I left, feeling somewhat at loose ends. Everything seemed to point to David as being the one who’d burned down the house but in that case, who killed him? I wondered, again, whether Earleen and Frank had been involved with each other back then, and perhaps getting David out of the way would then leave Earleen a wealthy widow rather than a divorcee with nothing. Frank very well could have decided it was beneficial to get David out of the picture, if he and Earleen had an inkling about the divorce.

  My cell phone rang as I reached the bottom of the hill and I pulled over to take the call.

  “Heard from my guy in Vegas,” Ron said.

  “Already? Wow, he’s good. So, he’s caught up with them.”

  “Yeah, you said they were at the Bellagio, right? Well, they no sooner checked in than Earleen Simmons was at the cashier’s window exchanging big chunks of money for chips. Ten thousand on the first run, then she went back for another twenty.”

  “What?” Being one of those Vegas gamblers who allots myself a hundred bucks for a whole weekend, I could not conceive of those kinds of money. “Where’d she get that kind of cash?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “Do we want our guy to keep watching them? The monetary value of my favor from him is just about used up and it’ll start being cash out of our pockets.”

  I considered it for a moment. “Nah, I doubt anything new will come up. I’m going to check out something else from this end.”

  There was only one small supermarket in town and it had to be where Amanda’d gone. I spotted Jake’s vehicle in the lot and parked beside it. When she came out, five minutes later, with a cart full of groceries I met her at the SUV’s back door.

  “Charlie!”

  “Hey, Amanda. I was hoping I’d catch you. A question came up. Earleen and Frank Quinn have been in Vegas flashing a lot of money around. Any idea where they’d come up with it? I was under the impression they were living on a fairly tight budget.”

  “A lot? Like hundreds?”

  “Like thousands.”

  Her jaw dropped. A small crease formed between her eyebrows as she thought about it. “When Dad left, disappeared, four years ago, there was probably a few thousand in their joint checking account. It couldn’t have lasted long, and I don’t think she had access to his bigger accounts, you know, brokerage and such. I assumed the reason she moved in with Frank was to live off him.”

  “You’re pretty friendly with the manager at the bank. You think we might get some information from her?” I asked.

  She set the last bag of groceries in the back of the car and closed the hatch. “We can try. Now? I can only spend a few minutes, though. My butter might melt.”

  The bank was less than a block away and I followed her. Luckily, Susan was free and able to talk to us right away. She gave me a sideways glance but Amanda reassured her.

  “All we really need to know is whether Earleen withdrew a large amount from any of my father’s accounts in the last few days,” Amanda told her.

  Susan sat at her computer terminal and was able to bring up the account information simply using David’s name.

  “Well, it looks like the proceeds from the equity loan, the one we put into their joint checking account on the fifteenth, some of that’s been drawn out.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “What loan?” Amanda demanded.

  “The property on Viejo Road was valued at a hundred fifty thousand. Earleen applied for an equity loan against it, for seventy five thousand. It was approved and the money deposited to the account a week ago,” Susan said.

  “She borrowed against the land?” Amanda’s face had gone white.

  “It’s legal. Usually on vacant land we can’t extend a mortgage for th
e full value, but she only wanted half. It’s prime real estate that would sell quickly if need be.”

  Amanda turned to me. “But my father was planning to . . .” She realized maybe she shouldn’t be quite so forthcoming in front of the banker.

  “Thank you for the information,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  I walked Amanda back out to the cars and asked for directions to the property. It was probably time I took a look at the actual scene of the crime, although I felt pretty sure the police would have removed everything that might resemble a clue in the case.

  I followed the main highway through town, made a right turn on County Road D-4 where she’d told me to, and found Viejo Road. It roughly followed the lake shore, winding closer at times, farther at others, climbing in altitude all the while. I passed one other house, a large chalet style place with half-timbered walls and stone embellishments. A little farther along stood an elaborate entry to another place, with No Trespassing signs on either side of a heavy wrought iron gate. Amanda had told me to go just past this one, watch the right hand side of the road and I’d see a similar gate with ‘Simmons’ done in tile over the entry. The gate would be unlocked and I could drive in. And so it was.

  The drive wound for perhaps two hundred yards and ended at a turn-around. The remains of two stone pillars stood, jagged and weathered, beside it. Beyond those, some charred concrete footings outlined the foundation and a deeper spot where the basement or garage would have been. I could envision the sight of the huge house as one drove up to this spot, to be greeted at the front door by the lord of the manor who would probably have a couple of hunting dogs at his side. The walls would have risen in majestic display, impressing the visitor with Simmons’s wealth and prestige. I got out of my Jeep and walked between the two pillars and up a set of flagstone steps that were now covered in a litter of pine needles and a skiff of dirt.

  Rusty dashed about, nose to the ground, following what was probably the scent of some rabbit or squirrel. I crossed the threshold, which was about the only thing left of the house itself.

  Between the explosion and the fire the gas had done its job in obliterating the structure. Plenty of charred boards lay around, disintegrating now in the aftermath of four years of rain, wind and snow. Hard evidence, anything that might be considered a clue, had long since been removed. I knew the kitchen stove had been found with the knobs turned to the On positions, and two propane tanks in the garage were also located with the valves open. Those items had surely gone to a lab somewhere for testing, photography, and whatever else the state did to build a case.

  Remains of anything valuable—furnishings, a safe, jewelry—were long since gone. As Michaela had told me, the investigators took anything that could lead them to a suspect and Earleen then had the chance to retrieve any of her personal effects that survived. Probably not much. I stood at the spot where the front door would have been but dared not venture farther.

  The flooring had burned through in many places and the rest of it was so severely charred that it would be impossible to trust its stability. I could see, through some of the holes, that a crawl space of three or four foot depth lay beneath. I turned away and decided to circle the perimeter instead.

  Rusty, by this time, had given up on rabbits and was nonchalantly working his way into the woods. I called to him and he changed course, not raising his nose from the ground.

  At the back of the property, the ground dropped away and I could see the appeal of the place, why this particular plot would be worth so much. The forest, which spread out on both sides, opened up here to reveal the lake below. Like a brilliant blue opal in the sunlight, it sparkled up at me, and the mountains beyond—still capped in snow—made the perfect backdrop. An artist could go orgasmic up here.

  I could imagine the effect from a second- or third-story deck and allowed myself the fantasy of being up there with Drake, champagne glasses in hand, watching a sunset. I could imagine Earleen wanting this for herself if she’d known David was about to give her the boot. But I couldn’t imagine her willfully destroying it. And David? What motive could he have for wanting to tear down something so lovely?

  I sat on a flat stone and watched the lake for awhile. The value, clearly, was in the location; the view was spectacular and the sense of peace, high above the lake, pervaded even amidst the burned out ruins. Eventually, Rusty came over and lay down beside me, panting heavily from his run through the forest.

  “What do you think, kid?” I asked, scratching his ears. “Who did this? Why did they do it?”

  I realized that I’d been looking at everything through present-day reasoning. It was probably time that I went back to the past. The day David left. Everyone subscribed to the idea that he’d simply driven away, but why? Where had he gone and when did he come back, only to end up in the lake?

  I tossed a pebble, and it skittered down the hillside, nowhere near the water’s edge.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I told Rusty. “I feel like I’m spinning my wheels.”

  I drove down the mountainside, back to the Horseshoe. I decided to keep the room—I would return and it might be difficult to get accommodations if the popularity of the fishing derby proved true. But right now I thought I might accomplish more back in Albuquerque where I had access to my computer and Ron’s expertise in finding out about people’s backgrounds. Something about this whole case went a lot deeper than mere jealousy over a woman like Earleen or an argument in a bar. I needed to know what, from David’s past, had come back to haunt him.

  I phoned Amanda to let her know I was going home for a few days.

  “I heard that Earleen and Frank are running through the mortgage money like it was water,” she said. “Isn’t there something we can do to stop them?”

  “I don’t know what it would be,” I admitted. “She obtained the loan and can spend it as she sees fit.”

  “Well, a spree in Vegas just isn’t right. My father would just d—” Her voice cracked and I could sympathize with her. In her situation, I’d feel the same way.

  “I’ve called Dad’s lawyer and am going to meet with him on Monday. We’re going to present the new will and see if we can’t stop Earleen from getting her hands on anything more.”

  I wished her luck, although I wasn’t sure that Amanda, herself, would get anything until the whole mess was straightened out. Until David’s murder was solved everyone would be a suspect.

  Chapter 15

  The drive home was uneventful, but as I neared the city and became swept up in the traffic and noise and glare of headlights I found myself contrasting it with the natural beauty I’d just left up north. I’d lived in a city all my life, had never thought much about it. You know where everything is, you get around, you live your life. But where’s the magic? Something about sitting on that mountainside, staring down at that crystal blue lake, had pulled at me with a strange and unknown allure.

  The vision burst like a bubble as a pickup truck switched lanes in front of me and I had to hit my brakes. I blew out a breath of frustration as I backed off to give him some space. Maybe Drake and I should talk about this, our lifestyle choices.

  By the time I reached the center of town and negotiated the streets toward our office, I’d become thoroughly caught up again in the city experience and the lake in the mountains faded from my thoughts. I turned onto our quiet side street and into the drive of the gray and white Victorian that serves as RJP Investigations’ headquarters. Ron’s car sat in the parking area behind the house and I pulled in beside it.

  Rusty pranced excitedly in the back seat, eager to make the rounds of the yard and find out what he’d missed. Surely some errant squirrel or a neighbor’s dog would have trespassed by now. I let him out and went inside while he checked everything.

  “Hey,” said Ron, “you’re back?” He stood at the kitchen sink with a coffee carafe in his hand, looking at it as though he had no clue why the sludge in the bottom was not drinkable.

  “I
t works better if you actually wash the pot at least once a day and make fresh coffee,” I said with a nod toward the pot.

  “You came back to tell me that?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. There are some brother-sister interactions that will never change, no matter our ages.

  “I came back to see what more we might dig up from David Simmons’s past.” I quickly filled him in on the newest information. “There are all these witnesses who saw him drive out of town that day. No one heard a word from him again, and he turns up dead four years later, less than a mile from home. It’s just too weird. And there’s the money, lots of money, between the mortgage on the big house, the value of the land, his life insurance.”

  “Follow the money, I say.” He’d set the unwashed coffee pot back on its stand.

  I trailed along as he went upstairs to his office, which is just across the hall from mine.

  “But right now,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m leaving for the day. Going home, cleaning up, and seeing a nice lady for dinner tonight.”

  “A date?” I stopped in my tracks. Aside from one narrow brush with love, I’d not known my brother to actually go out on a date in years. Not after his nasty divorce from Bernadette.

  “Yes, smarty, a date.” He plucked his Stetson from the coat rack in his office, switched off the light, and strode past me while I just stood there with my mouth open.

  He was down the stairs and out the back door before the dozens of questions actually had the chance to form in my mind. I damped them back. Not my business.

  Rusty came trotting up the hall, apparently getting in as Ron went out. I heard his car start up and drive away.

  “Well, that was interesting,” I told the dog. “Can you believe it?”

  Apparently he had no problem with the news because he went straight into my office and positioned himself in front of the bookcase, pointing directly at the tin of dog biscuits we keep there. I tossed him one of the cookies and sat at my desk. The pile of mail awaiting me looked pretty intimidating. Sally, our part-time receptionist, sorts it each day, giving Ron only the stuff that pertains directly to him. Everything else comes to me because Sally wisely knows that any piece of paper entering Ron’s chaotic domain is likely to never see the light of day again. At least she knows I’ll handle it and file it correctly including the junk. I began by filing about four pounds of catalogs and advertisements in the circular file. The rest consisted of bills to pay, customer payments to post, and letters to answer—none of which looked appealing at the moment. I stacked them by topic and decided that dinner was in order.