Murder at Royale Court

by G. P. Gardner

“Isn’t Wednesday the day he came here?” Nita asked.

  Jim nodded. “Yes, Wednesday afternoon. Had tea and cookies and left about four thirty.”

  “I was here,” Dolly said.

  “He told us he left here and went to Royale Court,” I said, “and someone steered him around back to Wheat’s office. I think Patti made me suspicious by reacting to him so negatively.”

  Jim chuckled. “Looked like they were buddies last night. But the police should be informed. Mary’ll be here soon. We’ll find out if there’s anything new.”

  I remembered something else. “Here’s something you can think about. Handleman told Montgomery he learned about Wheat from Travis. Do you believe that?” I was looking at Jim. “Why would Travis know anything about a Fairhope financial advisor?”

  Jim shook his head. “No telling. But they’ll find out.” He scooped up the final bit of steak and cheese.

  “His sister-in-law lived here,” Nita thought out loud. “Wasn’t she about Devon’s age? Jim, did she ever say anything about that restaurant, the Bistro?”

  His answer was muffled. “Don’t know.”

  Nita looked at me. “What’s wrong with Usher, Cleo? You said Ann’s busy with him.”

  I had finished eating. I dabbed at my lips and put the crumpled napkin on my empty plate. “The cops interviewed him for hours last night, with Ann there, waiting.”

  “Interesting,” Jim nodded.

  Nita frowned at him.

  “They’ve got to talk to everybody, honey. Don’t draw any conclusions. Not yet.”

  She glanced over his shoulder, to the big wall clock, just as it clicked to seven. “I’m drawing a conclusion about our game. We should get back to it.”

  The clock began to chime and we moved the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Jim set my chair against the wall and when I returned from the kitchen, I took his spot at the end of the table. We spread the tiles out again, mixed them up, and drew out fifteen each.

  “Where’s the double-eight?” Dolly asked.

  Nita handed it over.

  At eight thirty-five we finished the threes. It’d been one of our faster games. Riley totaled up the scores while Nita and Dolly watched over his shoulders.

  Dolly swatted him when it was apparent that he’d won, as usual. “How do you always do that?”

  Nita went out of the room while Dolly and Riley packed up the dominoes and stored them away. I went to the kitchen to rinse dishes and then arranged them in the dishwasher, following her routine. After a minute, Nita came back from the bedroom and held up my apartment key.

  “Thank you! I’ll bring it back tomorrow. I’d hate to have to call security to let me in. It seems so unprofessional.”

  Jim carried a little black flashlight when he came out of his office. He went to the front closet, took out our jackets and his windbreaker, and called to Nita. “I’m going to walk home with Cleo and take a look at this invitation.” He reached up to the shelf and took down a Navy Veteran cap.

  “Jim.” Nita followed me out of the kitchen, still drying her hands. “Let Mary take care of it.”

  He seemed determined. “I’m going to have a look. Riley, if you’re not interested, you can go on home.”

  “Jim!” Nita’s voice had developed a real edge.

  Riley grinned at her. “Did he ever send you home with another man, Nita? I can imagine what my mama would think of that.”

  Jim grinned sheepishly. “Have you seen these new tactical lights? Fits in a pocket. Rechargeable.”

  “Listen to your mama,” Nita told Riley and gave each of us a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Cleo. Sleep late tomorrow, okay?”

  The doorbell rang.

  Jim, already standing with his hand on the knob, jerked the door open, surprising Lieutenant Mary Montgomery.

  “Whoa!” she said, starting in. “You trying to get shot?”

  “Let me outta here!” Dolly charged forward with only one arm in her jacket. “G’night, everybody, I enjoyed it. Jim, here’s eight dollars.” She stuck some bills in his hand as she went by. “Don’t shoot, Mary. I’m just going home.”

  Chapter 13

  The four of us walked to my apartment—Lieutenant Montgomery, Jim Bergen, Riley, and me. Jim flashed his new light here and there as we walked between buildings to my screened porch, but the main discussion was about the moon.

  “Don’t really need a flashlight tonight,” Mary said.

  “Do you find in police work, Mary, that the full moon brings out lunacy?” Jim asked.

  “Maybe so,” she answered. “Now explain what causes it the rest of the month.”

  There was a note taped to the glass again. I took it down and glanced at it as I inserted the key. “Ann wants to feed me breakfast again. Wonder what’s up. I’m going to get fat if this keeps up.”

  “Don’t you always try the knob before you unlock it?” Jim asked. “You saw how Nita does it. Might be a good idea, isolated back here like this.”

  I could see the back doors of several houses across the short fence, plus windows of a number of apartments on my side of the fence. It always felt perfectly safe to me, but Jim meant well.

  “Maybe I’ll start doing that when I’m alone.” Actually, the inside entry to the apartment was of more concern to me than this one, out in the open as it was, with plenty of eyes around to monitor it. Sometimes I felt too exposed.

  Tinkerbelle was waiting inside but was overwhelmed when so many people came in at once. She retreated to the kitchen to guard her food dish and watch me turn on lamps.

  “Have a seat, everybody. Can I get something to drink? Make coffee?”

  “A cup of coffee? That’d be good,” Jim said.

  I went to the kitchen, put in a filter, added the aromatic grounds with hazelnut flavor, and poured in water.

  Riley joined me. “Can I help? Where are the cups?”

  I showed him and poured some milk into a cream pitcher. Jim was prowling around the apartment and Mary sat on the couch with her head thrown back.

  “I could go to sleep right here.”

  “There’s sweetener and sugar up there, too,” I told Riley, and got out a package of almond thins. By the time we were ready, the coffee was, too. I poured, and we moved to the living room and passed the goodies around.

  The plastic bag was on the coffee table.

  “Everything’s been handled,” I said, “so the plastic bag’s probably pointless. Any fingerprints would be ruined.”

  I unzipped the bag and allowed the invitation to slide out onto the tabletop. Montgomery took the Sudoku book, still in the bag, and read the note.

  “I tore out all the used pages Monday, so this note was added after that. Handleman moved in Tuesday.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  I continued. “When Riley and I told him Wheat was dead, he seemed genuinely surprised. He said he’d looked for him but didn’t find him.”

  She asked where the guest suite was located and what Handleman’s car looked like, then pointed to the invitation. “And what’s this? Somebody getting married?”

  “You’ve heard about the Type Forty-One scam?” I asked.

  She hadn’t, so we filled her in while she examined the invitation without touching it. Then she summarized the details.

  “Somebody went to a lot of trouble, printing up formal offers to participate in a fraud. Ann Slump found this one, she’s not sure where. It’s not addressed to her and she doesn’t know where it came from, but she wants you to find out and return the evidence to the perpetrator.”

  She looked at me. “Is that about it?”

  Jim chuckled. “When you put it like that…”

  It was an unflattering view but not exactly wrong.

  Riley had been standing at the door, looking out through the screened porch. He joined us at
that point, seeming displeased. “Cleo realized the invitation might indicate someone was attempting to defraud a Harbor Village resident. She thought the police department ought to look into it.”

  Montgomery widened her eyes. “Oh, I got it. I got it.” She poked at the envelope. “That gold stuff looks like it might hold a print. You got any rubber gloves?”

  I didn’t, but I went to the kitchen and returned with another plastic bag.

  Montgomery was sitting on the edge of the couch when I got back, holding the envelope by pressing her fingers against each side. She flexed it, shook a couple of times, and the card slid out and landed flat on the coffee table.

  Montgomery and Jim bent over to read but Jim backed away immediately. “Cleo, read it out loud. The print’s too small.”

  I bent over the invitation and read aloud. And then I went back and read part of it silently, attempting to commit it to memory while the others speculated about print shops and mail fraud.

  Exclusive Offering

  The Royale Consortium

  Type 41

  A confidential invitation to

  Select Investors

  interested in protecting

  the prototype of the world’s

  rarest and most valuable

  classic automobile.

  If you belong to this exclusive group

  and are interested in making

  a significant investment in

  anticipation of commensurate return,

  please request a complete prospectus from

  ______________________________

  “Engraved,” Jim said. “What does something like that cost? And how many went out?”

  “Bag it up,” Mary Montgomery said.

  We watched her lift the card and then the envelope, pressing just the tips of her fingers against the paper edges. Jim held the bag and, when both pieces were inside, zipped it shut.

  “Good day’s work,” he told her, handing the bag over.

  “A night’s work.” She drank the last of her coffee. “The good part remains to be seen.” She got up. “Ann Slump’s one of Wheat’s clients. Maybe he gave it to her. We’ll ask if any other client got one. Or maybe Wheat himself is the select investor. You got any ideas, Mr. Federal Reserve?”

  I winced at what seemed like a snide remark, but Riley didn’t seem to mind.

  He sounded thoughtful. “It’s an attempt to appear exclusive, so I’d expect the investment to be steep. If multiple brokers are involved, that explains the blank line—everyone uses the same card and writes in their own name. That allows the scam to be widespread, as Handleman thought. Not just in Fairhope. Maybe Wheat was involved in a dispute with some other broker.”

  Jim had another idea. “I’d talk to people at the hotel since that’s where Ann got it. See if they’re giving them out to their guests. And talk with Handleman. He’s the car expert. He said last night he’s heard something since he got here.”

  Montgomery nodded and got up to go. “Ready, Jim? I’ll walk back with you since my car’s over there.”

  Jim looked at Riley. “You coming?”

  “I won’t go back with you. Good night, Jim. Good night, Lieutenant.” He put our dirty cups on the tray and took it to the kitchen while I walked out with them.

  “Sorry it took all day to make connections, Mary. I went to the car show and my phone didn’t work down there. Then I left it at home tonight.”

  “Well, stuff happens.” She called back, “’Night, Riley. Let’s go, Jim.”

  I had another thought. “I don’t suppose you’d like a ticket to the banquet tomorrow night. Jim and Nita and a few of us are going. I’ve got two tickets left.”

  She shook her head. “I’m working. But if they’re going to waste, Chief Boozer might want them. His wife wants to go.”

  “Can you deliver the tickets? Let me get them.” I ran to the bedroom for my bag and came back with two tickets. Jim was telling her our table would be near the kitchen.

  “We’ll look forward to meeting Chief Boozer’s wife,” I said.

  “She’s fun,” Montgomery said. “He’s a wet blanket at a party, but she’s good.”

  Jim had his new flashlight out. “This might interest you, Mary,” I heard him telling Montgomery as they walked away. “This little flashlight is actually a defensive tool.”

  “I’m going, too.” Riley was right behind me. “I wanted to say good night in private.”

  We shared a hug and a kiss but then he left. I’ve never been quick about hopping into bed with a new guy, and I didn’t intend to start at this point in life, but the thought did occur to me. To him, too, if I was any judge. Once again, I found myself wondering why such a nice guy was available. Was I missing something?

  I smiled as I locked up and closed the blinds. But I wouldn’t be sleeping late on Saturday. Ann’s note had said breakfast would be ready at seven. I thought cooking was probably a therapeutic task for her right now, but my to-do list for Saturday was twice as long as usual, after this busy week. At least breakfast shouldn’t take much time.

  Stephanie called while I was in the shower. I called her back once I got into bed.

  She answered, giggling. “Guess where I am.”

  Her voice sounded odd, like she was in a metal barrel. I was never going to get used to cell phones. “Birmingham?”

  “Halfway to Houston. That sounds like a country song, don’t you think? Boyd and Barry and Dad and I are taking a mini vacation.”

  Travis hadn’t said anything about going through Birmingham. What about his plans to spend the weekend in the office, catching up on work? What about Stephanie’s shop?

  “Well, that’s wonderful. But what about work? I thought you were super busy right now.”

  Stephanie talked fast. “I told Amy if she can’t hold the fort tomorrow, she can just put up a closed sign. I’m taking a mental health day. We’ll fly home Sunday afternoon. How was the car show? And Mexican Trains? Did I tell you about my friend’s husband having a business for sale down there?”

  “Umm, I think so.”

  “Well, let me tell you this. This same guy’s mother lives in the Harbor Village in Tampa and she told him it’s a hotbed of geriatric romance. Her words. Don’t you love it? A hotbed of geriatric romance? I told Dad he needs to use that in all the marketing brochures.”

  “Have a safe trip, honey. Give Barry a kiss for me.”

  * * * *

  I got up at the usual time Saturday morning, put on old jeans and a faded cotton sweater, fed the cat, made a pot of decaf in case Ann didn’t have any, and went next door exactly at seven.

  A man opened Ann’s door and reached for the coffee. “I’m Usher Slump.” He ended with a little smack of the tongue. “Let me take that.”

  I didn’t know what I’d expected Ann’s brother to be like. He was younger than Ann, late fifties, maybe, with the skin of a nocturnal creature, someone who never saw the sun. His voice was theatrical and he had an oversized, Charlie Brown head. I tried to recall what the young Truman Capote had looked like and decided the link wasn’t appearance or sexual orientation, but a certain exaggerated Southern-ness.

  “You’re Cleo, I take it. And you’re the head of Harbor Village?” He sniffed. “Just be glad you don’t work for my sister. Ann would shoot me if I showed up for work in blue jeans.” Smack.

  I looked down. My jeans looked fine. Faded, but no rips, no stains, and breakfast with a neighbor wasn’t exactly work. What did Usher Slump wear for Saturday breakfast with his sister? I took inventory: dark corduroy trousers, tassel loafers, an untucked polo shirt in maroon and gray stripes. He had thin, pale hair, black-framed glasses, and none of Ann’s spritely energy.

  “Come right this way while I put this carafe in the kitchen to stay warm. Ann, your neighbor’s here.”

  An
n came out of the kitchen wearing quilted oven mitts that came almost to her elbows and carrying a sausage and egg casserole. She leaned across the circular table and put the ceramic dish on a cork trivet. The tablescape looked like a magazine photograph. There was a white tablecloth with stitchery-filled cutouts around its edge, bright yellow place mats with ruffles, blue and white dishes, and a bright blue vase of yellow asters.

  “Good morning, Cleo. Did Usher introduce himself? Evie’s here, too. Evie, come out.”

  Evie followed Ann from the kitchen. She was smiling and balancing two cups of coffee on saucers, looking like a walking accident. “Hello, Cleo. I’m glad to see you in a happy situation this time.”

  I grabbed one of the cups and looked for a place to put it down.

  “Sit down, everybody.” Ann seemed tense, or peeved. She assigned seats. “Usher, you sit against the wall. Push the table out if you need to. Before Evie puts the coffee down, please. I don’t want it sloshing. Cleo, you can sit beside him. I’ll take the seat by the kitchen. The jump seat, I call it, so I can jump and run. Evie, you sit here. Move the flowers so Cleo can see them.”

  The menu was totally different from Friday’s breakfast but equally extravagant. There were pancakes with a choice of two warm compotes, blueberry or citrus with walnut, and whipped cream. Conecuh sausages and, in keeping with the color palette, a sausage and egg casserole covered with melted yellow cheese. Ann and Evie made more trips to and from the kitchen while Usher raved, addressing me with frequent eye rolls and smacks.

  “And you moved here from Atlanta, Cleo? Why would any sane person do that? Are you married? I’m single. Ah-gain. Maybe I’d have better luck in Atlanta. But I can’t leave my dear old sisters alone, can I? I thought when Ann moved to a retirement home we’d be able to relax some, but no, it’s worse than ever. Busy, busy, busy. And now, tragedy.”

  “Pass the pancakes, Usher,” Ann told him.

  “Are these our kumquats?” I spooned the citrus-walnut sauce over a perfectly browned pancake.

  Ann nodded. “They’re the sweet variety. There’s a sour kumquat, too, sort of oblong. Usher, pass the whipped cream. Cleo, won’t you have more than one pancake? That’s not enough to sustain anybody.”