Murder & The Monkey Band: High Desert Cozy Mystery Series

by Dianne Harman

  She removed her purse from the car and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Yes, I understand. You don’t need to worry. I’m so ashamed of what I’m doing I wouldn’t want anyone to know about it,” she said tearfully. Rosa turned away from his car, walked back to the bus stop, and sat down on the bench to wait for the bus. Lou eased his car back into traffic.

  Naturally Lou Powell wasn’t his real name. He’d been involved in the murky world of crime for a long time, and one of the first things anyone did when they became a player in that arena was to use an alias, or two, or three. Sometimes he wore a beard, other times he shaved his head. He had different colored contact lenses and fake mustaches and had become a master at reinventing himself. Many years ago he’d discovered how much collectors of art and antiques were willing to pay in order to complete a collection or own a certain piece of art they coveted. From that time on, he’d become a specialist in stealing pieces of art from an owner and selling it to a desperate buyer so they could get what he or she wanted. He often thought how much easier this type of crime was than the small crimes he’d committed for years that barely left him enough to survive on.

  When I decided to specialize in stolen art and antiques, it was the best decision I ever made. The buyers will pay practically anything to own some art object they’re determined to have, and there’s always someone close to the owner who’s desperate for money and finds a way for me to have access to it so I can steal it. If I have a willing buyer, I can find the piece they want, and I can also find a way to get it. It’s really not all that difficult.

  The buyers he was dealing with were almost always collectors who never intended for their collections to be featured in a magazine or on a television show. It was enough for them to simply possess the item. There was no way they would jeopardize having an item they had coveted be confiscated as evidence by the police. Their lips were sealed. Lou only took cash and always got it. A great deal of it. It had allowed him to buy a condominium on Seven Mile Beach on the western end of Grand Cayman Island. He also had an offshore bank account there so he could keep his money out of the United States and safe from the eyes of the IRS.

  One of the things that had been critical to Lou’s success was being able to find out who collected what and what pieces they desperately wanted for their collections. He attended auctions regularly and frequented the galleries in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Occasionally it involved him being in a foreign country to get what his client needed. It was a small world where gossip reigned as king. Identifying the collectors who had “pickers” looking for pieces at the different auctions had made it that much easier. Over time he’d learned there was a collector for everything, and they would pay astronomical figures to complete their collections and feed their egos. It was simply a matter of finding out who wanted what and then locating the what. He didn’t like to dwell on the collateral damage that had sometimes occurred over the years when he’d matched up buyers with the objects they coveted. He regarded it as a necessary part of his profession.

  Occasionally he’d found it necessary to injure someone when he was stealing the objects he needed. Once it had even resulted in death. No one would ever link the brown-eyed mustached intruder who had to shoot the owner of the netsuke collection with the grey-haired, blue-eyed man who walked with a limp and relied on a cane. The intricate netsuke ivory carvings from Japan were safe in the hands of the buyer by the time Lou boarded the plane for Grand Cayman. Unfortunately, the owner of the netsuke collection hadn’t been quite as lucky. He’d died three days later in the hospital after his maid had found him the morning following the theft.

  I really don’t see a problem with this one. As soon as I get the pieces I’ll contact Henry Siegelman about them. From everything I’ve heard, he’ll pay whatever I ask for them. The maid, Rosa, will turn off the alarm system, and I’ll go into the house, grab the Meissen Monkey Band set and be on my way. I’ll sell the pieces of the set that Siegelman doesn’t want to other buyers, so it won’t look like he had anything to do with it.

  According to my research, Pam Jensen spends almost every evening with the man who was a partner in her late husband’s restaurant, Mai Tai Mama’s. I’ll be in and out before they even get back from dinner. She can collect the insurance on the stolen pieces, and in a day or so I’ll be on my way to Grand Cayman. Win-win for everyone. Devan, my brown-skinned Cayman Island beauty, will be waiting for me with an island drink and that glorious body I’ll lose myself in for the next couple of weeks. Yeah, time to get this one over with. Grand Cayman is calling to me.

  CHAPTER 6

  George Ellis, the owner of Mai Tai Mama’s, and the former business partner of Brian Jensen, drove his silver BMW the short distance to Pam Jensen’s home and parked in the driveway. Brian had been deceased for several months, and George had treated Pam to dinner a number of times.

  He remembered the first time he’d met Pam, which also happened to be the same date he’d fallen in love with her. Brian had brought her into the restaurant to introduce her to George. He was stunned by her beauty and charm. She was short with ash blond hair which had been professionally highlighted. The skin around her eyes crinkled when she smiled, making her large grey eyes seem even larger. Her complexion was flawless, and her hourglass figure spoke to hours spent in the gym. George couldn’t believe the jealous feelings that immediately overwhelmed him– jealous that his partner was going to marry this beautiful prize of a woman.

  I wonder if she has any idea how I feel about her. No, actually how I’ve felt about her all these years. She asked me once why I’d never married. I answered by telling her I’d never found the right woman. That wasn’t quite true. I’d found the right woman I wanted to marry, but there was a little problem. She was married to my business partner and best friend. Sounds like some sleazy romance book. Sure, there were a lot of women over the years. People always kidded me about my “flavor of the month,” but they didn’t know that there had only been one woman for me from the moment I met her. Pam. I never even considered marrying anyone else

  He thought about the ring he had in his pocket. At their age, what was the point of waiting? Although she’d never given him a reason to think she’d marry him, on the other hand she’d never not given him a reason. He’d respected her too much to try and take the relationship beyond a kiss on the cheek when he took her home after one of their regular dinner dates. He opened his car door, feeling the butterfly wings in his stomach fluttering against each other.

  No matter how many times he visited the Jensen home located in an affluent area of Palm Springs, he still marveled at the difference between the outside and the inside of the home. While the inside of the house was filled with Pam’s antiques including her renowned 18th century Meissen china collection, the outside of the white block style house was pure mid-20th century desert style. Its U-shape surrounded a large courtyard which was filled with pots and brightly colored flowering plants hanging in baskets from a large tree in the center of the courtyard. A gate led into the courtyard, and he could see the desert hills behind the house, turning to gorgeous shades of mauves and pinks at this time of early evening. While the infinity pool and pool house weren’t visible from the street, the overall effect of the house was understated desert elegance at its best.

  This could end up to be the best night of my life or the worst, he thought wryly. Well, I’ll know one way or another in a few hours. He rang the doorbell, and the door was immediately opened by Pam.

  “You are so prompt, George, far more so than Brian, and I love it. It used to drive me nuts waiting for him to always do just one more thing,” she said walking out the door and pulling it closed behind her. “Oops, I forget to set the alarm. Just be a sec.” She unlocked the door and walked back into the house, returning a minute later.

  “Don’t you get tired of trying to remember to turn that thing on and off?” George asked as he steered his car towards Mai Tai Mama’s. “That’s why I bought a German shephe
rd. I tried a security system for a while, but I never could remember the code, and the Palm Springs police paid me more than one visit. Eventually they started sending me bills when my security system alerted them there was a problem only to find out it was a false alarm.”

  “No,” she said, “I just use my birthday, 5-30-60. That makes it simple.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a common thing to do? I remember reading somewhere that birthdays and pets’ names are the most frequently used security codes and passwords. If someone knew your birthdate, they could easily disarm the system and gain access to your home.”

  “Oh George, quit being such a worry wart. Other than my children and now you, I don’t think many people know my birthdate, and I rather doubt if either one of my children even remembers it.”

  “Pam, I worry about you living alone in that big house. Plus, you’ve got some pretty valuable paintings and antiques. I’d feel much better if you’d let me give you a trained guard dog.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve thought about it and decided not to. My security system works just fine, and I don’t want to even think what one swipe of a dog’s tail could do to some of my antiques, like the glass paperweight collection on the coffee table. No, I think I’ll just continue to use my birthdate.”

  “Well, the offer holds. Let me know if you change your mind. Wow, I love to see lots of cars already here at the restaurant. Looks like it’s going to be a good night for Mai Tai Mama’s. I know you’ve eaten here more times than you can count, but I still think we have the best food in Palm Springs. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Are you kidding? Where else can I go that they know exactly how I like my steak cooked, that I like a salad very lightly dressed with just three croutons, and that I prefer chives on my baked potato rather than the standard green onions. And I can’t forget about the bottles of Silver Oak cabernet sauvignon below the bar they keep primarily for me. No, George, you never need to apologize for bringing me here. I’m just glad Brian sold you his share of the restaurant rather than willing it to me. I love eating here, but I never had any desire to try and run it. You do a very good job.”

  “Thanks.” As soon as the hostess saw George she stepped out from behind the host stand and guided them to their table. It never varied – it was the corner table in the main room so George could wave to people and keep an eye on what was happening in the restaurant.

  Pam always ordered the same thing every time she came to the restaurant, a pan fried rib eye steak medium rare with a wine and mushroom reduction sauce. Years ago she’d gotten the recipe from the chef, and she’d often made it for Brian on special occasions. Since his death she hadn’t felt like making it for just herself, but whenever she came to Mai Tai Mama’s that was what she ordered, and she was never disappointed.

  “George, I’m so glad this is still on the menu. I know with the name of the restaurant you and Brian put a lot of Asian dishes on the menu, but there are a lot of people like me who still love a good steak, and this sauce makes it. Even after all these years, it’s still my favorite thing to eat. Thanks.”

  Dinner was superb as always, but when the present owner and the past half-owner’s wife were the diners, that might have had something to do with the food and the service. Pam and George had known each other for over twenty-five years and had shared a lot of each other’s lives, so the conversation between the two of them was always easy and periods of silence were rare. Tonight was an exception. George seemed ill-at-ease, and finally Pam felt she had to say something.

  “George, is anything wrong? You seem distracted and quite unlike your normal self. Want to tell me about it?”

  He swallowed several times, looked around, and began to speak. “Pam, this is harder than I thought it would be. You see, I’ve been in love with you from the moment Brian brought you to the restaurant to meet me. That’s why I never got married.” He stopped and took a drink of water. “Pam, I want to marry you. I know Brian has only been gone a few months, but at our age I don’t see much of a reason to wait.” George reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small velvet box. He opened it, revealing a large diamond solitaire engagement ring. “Pam, will you marry me?”

  Pam looked at him in horror. Her mouth was dry, and she felt like she was watching a scene from a bad movie. Finally she spoke. “George, I consider you to be one of my closest friends, but I’m sorry, that’s all it is, friendship. I don’t love you, and I never will. Brian was the only man I ever loved, and I have no plans to ever marry again. If I let you think otherwise, I’m truly sorry. I’d like to forget this whole conversation ever happened and go back to the way we were. If what I’m saying causes you pain, I am so sorry.”

  George’s face was ashen as he stood up and called the waiter over. “Tell the valet to bring my car around.” He strode out of the restaurant with Pam trying to keep up with him.

  When he hadn’t spoken for several minutes on the way home, Pam said, “George, I apologize again if I ever gave you cause to think our relationship would turn into something else. I’m truly sorry. Please, tell me we can go back to the way it was.”

  He turned and looked at her. “For the last twenty-five years I’ve wanted you, and when Brian died I thought I could finally have you as my wife. Obviously from what you said earlier, I was wrong. Given that, I don’t think we can remain friends any longer. After tonight I never want to see you again,” he said as he pulled into her driveway. She looked at him and opened the car door, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of the car and open it for her.

  “Goodnight George. I wish you the best, I really do, and I’m very, very sorry if I’ve hurt you.” She closed the door and walked up the walkway to her home. A moment later George threw the car in reverse, reached the street and accelerated as fast as he could. All the wanted to do was put as much distance as he could between Pam Jensen and himself.

  I can’t believe this. This is a nightmare. I thought she’d take the ring and we’d get married. That’s what I’ve wanted and thought would happen all these years. Now it’s over. I really don’t have anything to live for. I might as well be dead.

  Slowly his sense of disbelief gave way to an intense feeling of rage. His cheeks became hot and a ball of fury started to burn in his stomach. George still couldn’t believe what she had just told him.

  Nobody does this to George Ellis, not after I’ve put my life on hold for her. I’d rather see her dead than with someone else. Maybe that’s what I’ll do, kill her. That way, if I can’t have her, no one else will either.

  The code on Pam’s security system popped into his mind, and he began to consider how he would take his revenge out on Pam Jensen. For the first time in almost an hour, he smiled as a plan began to form in his mind.

  CHAPTER 7

  There was a soft knock on Marty’s door the next morning, and she heard her sister saying, “Marty, it’s time. We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.”

  Marty picked up her keys, gave Duke a pat on the head, and walked out the door. “Let’s take my car,” Marty said, “I can write it off.”

  “Not much to write off. It’s only a thirty minute drive to town,” Laura said, “but that’s fine with me. I drive enough as it is. Do you realize in all these years I’ve never been on an appraisal with you? I’m excited about it. Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure I do,” Marty said. “The most important thing is my magnifying glass. I’ve got a really good one that’s incorporated into a beautiful piece of jewelry. Years ago, while we were still married, Scott gave me a magnifying glass set in gold with little diamonds around it and attached it to a long heavy gold chain which I wear around my neck. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, even if he did give it to me, but it’s also very functional. I have my camera, my tape recorder, a pad of paper, a pen, and a tape measure, all the things I’ll need to do the appraisal.”

  “So what specifically will you do?” Laura asked.

  “Well, first
of all I’ll go from room to room to get a general idea what’s in the home. With antique and art items, I’ll photograph each item, measure it, dictate what it looks like, look for specific identifiable marks, and things of that nature. You’ll also see me do some other things such as running my finger around the rim of a glass or art glass piece. Often the eye won’t see a chip or a nick, but the finger will feel it, and it really diminishes the value. I do the same thing with cut glass items. Items that look like cut glass but are knock-offs have a different feel than those that are true cut glass. That’s the type of stuff you learn after years of appraising. I’ve never seen those kinds of tips in the books about how to appraise antique art objects. I’ve just picked them up over the years.

  “Anyway, depending on what the client wants, in estate appraisals I usually lump the non-antique and art items into several groups such as appliances, kitchen items, towels, blankets, etcetera and assign a value to them. If the client wants each one individually appraised, it can increase the cost of the appraisal by thousands. I mean I’m not complaining if that’s what the client wants, but it seems like a waste of money, and usually it’s completely unnecessary.

  “I remember one time I was doing an appraisal for the Resolution Trust Corporation when a lot of the savings and loan companies went bankrupt in the 1980’s. I was appraising the items in a savings and loan branch office, and the only things that had any monetary value in a fair market value appraisal were the potted plants. I always felt a bit guilty about that appraisal. My fee was more than the value of all of the items in the building. There were over two dozen supposedly fine art paintings hanging on the walls of the building. In order to inflate the value of the savings and loan assets, they had placed the value of the paintings, on their books, at five hundred thousand dollars. They were actually cheap paper prints worth no more than two hundred dollars in total. I always wondered what the interior decorator had originally charged the savings and loan company.”