by James Ross
There was a reason for that, and Shari was about to find out.
The customary way Lisa did things was in the process of being discarded. The old Lisa had a few cocktails and ate at home, and then had her limo driver shuttle her to be seen with the in crowd. It was different now. Lisa still enjoyed happy hour at home as her well-stocked bar gave testimony; however, the meal at home had been scrapped. She was more health conscious now. That was somewhat due—actuality, totally due to—Maggie, a late-in-life addition to her social calendar.
Maggie DiCarlo was a local plumber.
She was tall and weighed in at 165, so she was no runway model. She looked plain. There were no distinguishing physical features other than her being braless in sleeveless tank tops with a tuft of visible underarm hair. She wore too much product in her short hair and too few accessories: none, in fact. Her face was Ivory soap clean and advertised no makeup. Maggie tended toward skepticism, and the flat line of her lips resembled a heart monitor signifying death. There were too few smiles in her life.
Maggie had managed to squeeze into Lisa Boudreau’s social circle through a leaky toilet. It was a weekend service call when Lisa was in from Washington, D.C. The service van remained parked outside for three hours after the toilet was repaired. Their liaison would be kept quiet but it went a long way to explaining why Lisa got back to St. Louis more frequently.
The pair was enjoying a cocktail at Lisa’s bar when the intercom was activated. Enter Shari Daniels-Donnelly. She came with the look that would attract men and was a perfect cover for the Congresswoman and her plumber lover. Shari also had enough social standing to get the trio a stage-side table at The Robin’s Nest, a chic, off-the-beaten-path, alternative night spot that was known for attracting trendy new performers.
That was strange in itself. Why would Lisa come to St. Louis for that sort of music when hot spots existed all around Georgetown?
The answer was on stage. With a folk guitar and throaty, sultry Southern accent, Meredith (from Meridian, Mississippi) captivated the crowd. When out one night, Maggie discovered Meredith’s fascinating voice. The word was delivered to Washington via Lisa’s private line. On her next visit to town Lisa instructed her limo driver to pick up Maggie. The twosome fell in love with Meredith’s suggestive body language and hot performance. They became regulars at her show. Now it was time to include Shari, who was a magnet for men, for no other reason but to provide a cover for their sexuality.
As Meredith drew the crowd in with her mix of Southern folk and pop in her ballads, the trio of Shari, Lisa and Maggie chatted and schmoosed. Lisa looked like an aging Cardinal sports fan with her hair pulled back and her identity sufficiently hidden under a red ball cap. Dressed in jeans and a redbird t-shirt she could easily blend in with any one of a thousand baseball fans that followed the Cardinals. Maggie let her dark roots dominate the blonde highlights. There was no need for augmentation. Her sufficient chest was tucked snuggly behind a baby blue tank top. Shari stood out in that the men in the crowd craved her attention.
“It’s the words,” Maggie said as a waitress delivered another round of drinks.
“I love her lyrics,” Lisa followed as the crowd recognized Meredith’s latest effort. She gave an “opera clap” and nodded as Meredith glanced in her direction with a subtle smile.
“It’s such an intimate setting,” Shari said as thoughts of Raul danced through her mind. She took a final puff off of a cigarette and ground it into an ashtray that was nearly full of butts. “How did you find this place?”
Maggie’s flat line facial expression challenged Shari’s naïveté. “We’re in the alternative lifestyle part of town. This is where a lot of artists hang.”
“I’ve never been here. I’ve only read about it.” Shari sipped her Chardonnay. “I’ll have to make it a point to get here more often.”
“When I’m in town you can count on it,” Lisa added.
The night continued. The alcohol flowed. Meredith’s ballads entertained. When the lights came on the trio turned quartet headed back to Lisa’s townhome. Meredith accepted the invite to join an after-hours party.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Shari was back at Prairie Winds the following Tuesday. She and Ashlyn found a spot in the clubhouse for a sandwich after their round of golf.
“Where have I been?” Shari confided to her girlfriend as Julie brought sandwiches to the table. “I never knew The Robin’s Nest could be so fun. Meredith was outstanding.”
“I’ve played Laughs, Gaffes & More across the street and down a few doors,” Trot, the resident vaudeville performer revealed. “It’s a cool part of town.”
BowTye aka Peel It Backe overheard the chatter from his perch in the far corner. He played the casino circuit all around the Midwest. “The Robin’s Nest is happenin’.” His rich, baritone voice boomed. “I played it before it got as popular as it is now.”
“Maybe BowTye an’ Meredith play dere as a duet some night,” YouWho suggested.
“Good thought, but not gonna happen,” BowTye confirmed. He was busy buffing a pair of shoes.
J Dub and Curt were standing behind the counter. “So what is the latest on 2Dix?” Fred barked from the far corner.
“Unsolved murder to this point,” J Dub said. “Once they figure out why it happened they might be able to figure out who did it.”
“Have you talked to the other guys he plays with?”
“Yeah, they were in on Sunday, but didn’t play. You guys were out on the course.”
“What did they say?”
“It was just like any other golfing day. They always carpooled and met in the commuter parking lot. 2Dix was supposed to buy breakfast sandwiches. It was his turn so he ran through a fast food joint and picked up sandwiches for the rest of them,” J Dub said. “With the sun the way it is now he got to the lot before it came up. It was still dark out but starting to lighten up. Knuckles was the first one to get there. He said the driver’s door was open and Richie was slumped over. He used his cell phone to call 911 right away.”
“Did he see anybody getting away?” Captain Jer asked.
“No, but he had talked to 2Dix maybe ten minutes before he got there. Whoever snuck up on him got there, did their business, and moved out.”
“Did they take anything?”
“Evidently robbery wasn’t a motive. All his money was in his wallet. His golf clubs and shoes were outside the trunk.”
“What are the cops doing?”
“Trying to figure out who shot him and why I guess. Knuckles said that he was interviewed and was at the scene answering questions for a while that morning. I’m sure they talked to other people that 2Dix knew too.”
“Did he screw somebody over in a business deal?” The guys were cackling like women at a bridge table.
“That’s always a possibility with 2Dix,” J Dub answered, “but Knuckles didn’t say that 2Dix had talked about a bad business deal.”
“Maybe he pissed somebody off driving to the commuter lot,” Fred said.
“You never know,” J Dub replied. “We all knew he had a temper. Maybe he flipped somebody off in a road rage moment and the guy followed him to the lot and pulled the trigger.”
“Nah,” Captain Jer disagreed. “Somebody was waiting for him or knew that he’d be there. Everything that I’ve read in the papers sounds like a hit.” The ex-pilot turned to Shari. “Have you had a chance to talk to his wife?”
Shari took a bite of her sandwich. She waved her hand in his direction as she chewed her food. More importantly she heeded the advice of her lawyer. She did not utter a word. She simply shook her head from side to side.
“Evidently the cops don’t have any clues,” Fred said. “How do you solve something like that?”
“I’m glad I’m not a cop,” Curt said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Where do you start?” Pork Chop asked.
“I guess all you can do is start interviewing people to find out about the
guy,” Fred volunteered.
“You would have to if you don’t have any evidence,” Curt agreed. “You watch those television shows and all the detectives take a look at the hard evidence, but if you don’t have that they have to get somebody to talk and squeeze their you-know-what a little.”
Shari finished her sandwich and wiped her mouth. Immediately she started fingering through her purse. She turned to Ashlyn, “I’ve got to get outside and have a smoke.” She got up abruptly, not waiting for Ashlyn to finish.
“Go ahead. I’ve got a few bites left.”
Shari turned to Julie. “Figure my tab. I’ll pay you after I finish smoking.” A cigarette went into her mouth and she was out the door.
“I guess she didn’t want to talk about her friend,” Fred said.
“It’s been a stressful week for her,” Ashlyn said in Shari’s defense.
The guys continued their chatter. A deck of cards was shuffled. A game of gin began as did a game of backgammon. Julie wiped down the counter and served Captain Jer and Trot another round.
Shari stood alone outside, puffing away. After six or seven minutes she returned and walked to Julie. “Do you have my check?”
Julie produced the tab and Shari examined it. “Mine is $11.47,” Shari said as she turned to Ashlyn, “and yours is $13.61.”
“Why don’t you split it down the middle?” Captain Jer blurted.
“Because I don’t owe as much as she does,” Shari answered.
“Who cares?” the retired pilot argued. “Make it easy on your girlfriend and Julie.”
“No,” Shari said indignantly, “I’m not going to pay for something that I didn’t buy.” She reached into her purse, grabbed her pocketbook, pulled out some bills and counted out the exact change.
“How are you going to handle the tip?” Captain Jer said.
“Why does it matter so much to you?”
“Because Jules is my favorite bartender. I want to make sure she is well taken care of.”
“Mind your own business,” Shari said as she placed a one dollar bill on the counter. “Let’s go Ashlyn. I’ll get the car.” Shari hurried out the door.
“I think it’s true,” Captain Jer said.
“What’s true?” Julie asked.
“I heard that the more rings you have on your fingers is inversely proportionate to the brain cells in your head.”
“Meaning please,” Julie asked.
“That broad is a borderline idiot.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
It was Tindra Svahnstrom’s turn to meet Lester J and Bazz. The pair of detectives drove to her home in Kirkwood. It was located in an area that stood for strong family values and healthy, stable relationships. The old oaks provided plenty of shade. Kids on bicycles roamed the sidewalks. White picket fences identified property lines. The duo had been to far worse places in search of criminal information.
The bubbly blonde answered the door after a series of knocks. Dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a blouse that was tied in a knot several ribs above the navel she made a memorable first impression. Any hot blooded male would have an urge to make a play for her.
The good cop opened the conversation. “Good morning, I’m Lester Mullen with the St. Louis County Police Department and this is my partner, M. T. Basnahan. If you don’t mind we’d like to ask you some questions.”
“What about?” Tindra’s mood went from friendly and outgoing to quizzical and skeptical.
“Do you mind if we come in?”
She was caught with her guard down, a wonderful trick from a nosy sleuth. “Ah, well, the house is a mess you know. I haven’t picked up after the kids yet today.”
Bazz pulled out his notepad. “Then do you mind if we ask you some questions here?”
“I suppose I can help, but I have to take the kids swimming in ten minutes or so.”
“That’s fine,” Lester J said.
“We’ll make it quick,” Bazz added.
“We haven’t met before,” Lester J started, “but we know that you have been to the department and seeking protection. Can you tell us about that?”
“Someone has been threatening my life,” Tindra said bluntly.
“Who is that person?” Bazz asked.
“I think that you know. It is well documented.”
Bazz flipped through his notes. “It seems as if you’ve been in to file over twenty complaints against a Ms. Shari Daniels-Donnelly. Is that correct?”
“Yes. If you say it is over twenty then I guess that it is,” Tindra smiled.
“We are here trying to find out how she is making these threats.”
Tindra took a second before answering. “She’s been sending the threats to my boyfriend.”
“How?”
“Through text messages to his phone.”
Bazz had done his homework. He had found out the day before the information was true, but he scribbled notes in his notepad anyway. “And what do these threats claim?”
“That she hates me and wants me done away with and that I’m a bitch and that she wants him to kill me and that if he doesn’t do it then she will and things like that.” She gasped for air.
“So you don’t receive these threats directly. Is that correct?” A wise cop knows the answer to a question before he asks it. Bazz had turned up something new.
Tindra took a while and then nodded. “Yes.”
“So your boyfriend gets these messages.” Bazz wrote some more notes. “When does he receive these threatening texts?”
“At all hours of the day, but usually at night.” Tindra was hasty in volunteering the information. “He’s told me what she says and has showed all of them to me.” She quickly glanced over their shoulder to check on her kids who were playing in the front yard.
Lester J stepped in. “We’re the officers who served the order of protection to Ms. Daniels-Donnelly and, as you may or may not know, she has been arrested and jailed.”
“My attorney mentioned that to me.”
“However, we’d like to get some more information from you about her,” Bazz followed. “Can you tell us how you know her? Why does she want you killed?”
“I knew it!” Tindra exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have answered the door!” The detectives shared a look. “I don’t have time for this! It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time,” Bazz declared.
“But I don’t! I have to get the kids to the pool!” Tindra had soured in an instant.
“We’re just trying to connect the dots,” Bazz said as he pressed for more information. “How do you know her?”
“I told you! It’s a long story!”
“Tell us.”
“She knows my boyfriend!” After the outburst Tindra retracted somewhat. “She’s been dating him.”
Lester J and Bazz took a second to digest that. They had learned a few days ago that Shari Daniels-Donnelly had been dating Richard W. Richards. “How do you know that?” Bazz asked.
“I may be a blonde and I may be from another country, but I’m not stupid! Women can tell these kinds of things!”
“Okay. Let’s stop and backtrack a little,” Bazz said, knowing that no boyfriend had been mentioned in any of the complaints that Tindra had filed. “Who is your boyfriend?” Both the detectives wondered if Richard W. Richards had been dating Tindra Svahnstrom too. If he had, then the guy was doing a pretty good job of getting around town.
“Raul!” Tindra barked.
“Who is Raul?”
“I just told you!” Tindra noticed her kids. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Okay. Okay. Just another question or two,” Lester J said as he tried to diffuse the situation. “What is Raul’s last name?”
“Where does he live?” Bazz followed.
“Where does he work?” Lester J added.
Tindra sighed. “Raul’s last name is Mendez. He lives here. He owns Raul’s Massage Therapy. He met her at the country club.”
Bazz was writing as fast
as he could. “Good. Good. Good. That’s the information we needed to hear.”
“Then why didn’t you just come out and ask for it?” Tindra was out of patience. “Are you done?”
“We’d like to ask you more.”
“Some other day. I’ve got to go.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
The detectives retreated to their car. Before they had reached the first stop sign Bazz yapped. “Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”
“What?”
“For every question she answered two more questions popped up.” Bazz flipped through his notes. “I thought for sure she was going to say that she had been dating Richard W. Richards.”
“You and me both.”
“So who is this Raul character?”
“The guy that is sleeping with one of the nicest pieces of….”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I agree, but we need to find this guy.” Bazz was busy on his cell phone finding the address for Raul’s Massage Therapy. “It looks like his store is toward Webster Groves. It can’t be more than six to eight minutes away.”
Lester J pointed the car in that direction. “We need to get his cell phone.”
The detectives sped toward Webster Groves and pulled into the strip mall where Raul’s Massage Therapy was located. There weren’t many businesses there. Several of the storefronts had FOR LEASE signs in the window and the parking lot was virtually empty.
Hanging from the interior of the front door of Raul’s business was a smiley face that indicated when he was to return. The big hand was on 12. The small hand was on 4.
“Any bets that Shari shows up sometime after four?” Bazz asked.
“Not sure about her, but if we want to get his phone I would say that one of us ought to be back here around then.”
“Should I stake out the place, see what he drives, get his license plate number and look for her?”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get over here a little early.” Lester J eased the car past the store front. “There’s nothing we can do here now. We might as well head back to the office and see if a tip has come in.”