Death of a Prince

by Susan P. Baker

  “Huh. I’m not surprised. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. She seems to be drinking more than ever. Can’t she go to work, Stu? I thought she had a job years ago.”

  “She was a legal secretary. In fact, she was Phil’s legal secretary. At least until they became involved.”

  “Boy, what a cliché. And what a nice way of putting it, too. Well, I guess she’ll have to go back to work. What a joke on her. Really, Phillip could have left her a little more than a hundred thousand dollars and a car.” She wondered why Phillip hadn’t made better arrangements for Lizzie.

  “He did give her a lot of expensive jewelry.”

  “Yeah. I guess she could sell that and the car, if she has to. There are a lot of decent cheaper cars out there.”

  “Phillip was a strange duck,” Stuart said with a quirky smile.

  “Understatement of the century. Imagine him turning out to be a real prince, giving all that money to charity and to his daughter after what he did.”

  “Yes, imagine. Well, now that that’s over, you think we can have a little more time together?”

  “I can’t right now, I’ve got a shitload of work on my desk.” She stroked his cheek. “But did you have something particular in mind?”

  “Tonight? Dinner at DiBella’s?”

  Sandra smiled. He certainly knew the way to her heart. She got up and headed for the door. “Pick me up at six.”

  She headed back to her office to map out her cross-examination of the state’s witnesses for Kitty’s examining trial. She also had two appointments that afternoon. One was to prepare for a divorce trial on Wednesday of the following week. Her client was the husband who was distraught because his wife played bingo seven nights a week. She wrote checks for every bingo session but never deposited any of her winnings. Consequently, they had run into financial problems.

  The other was a first meeting with a juvenile she’d been appointed to represent on a home invasion case. Lucky her. She hoped he didn’t want a jury trial. The sentiment in the country was decidedly against him. But she was jumping the gun. She wasn’t sure the state could tie him to the shooting yet. She needed to file a discovery motion and have a hearing in the next few weeks before the boy’s first trial setting.

  On Fridays, Sandra liked to clean off her desk. She would answer the mail, sign or correct orders, and process other legal paperwork.

  A bit after five, she kicked back for a few minutes rest and then touched up her makeup and perfume. By six-fifteen, Stuart and she and a bottle of white wine nestled in a corner booth. DiBella’s, a small neighborhood restaurant hidden in the middle of the island, had crowded rooms, a short bar, and the best pasta for miles around. Erma might have to have her bourbon, but Sandra had to have a fix of baked artichoke with a garlicky breadcrumb jacket or marinated blue crab claws floating in garlic butter every once in a while. It had been several days since she’d had a good meal, meaningful conversation with a man, or hot sex. Stuart took care of each one that night.

  About seven-thirty the next morning, Stuart rolled off her arm, where he’d been lying for a good half-hour, which enabled her to get out of bed. Sandra preferred his sleeping at her place rather than the reverse. It didn’t take as much effort on her part to get herself together the morning after. He would sleep in. She would get up and get the day started quietly.

  That particular Saturday, after she showered, put on a sundress, and ate breakfast, she set about trying to figure out who had killed Phillip Parker. With her cup of tea and a notebook, she sat at the table and jotted down some notes.

  Was it Lizzie? Had she somehow found out that the S.O.B. intended to use her up and throw her away without taking care of her? Perhaps he had told her in an argument? Or would that have been a better reason to keep him alive? Suppose she had thought that Kitty was going up to Phillip’s room to have an affair and that he might dump her for Kitty. And suppose she had known that his will only left her the car and the hundred thousand dollars cash. And suppose she’d known that for a long time but was kissing-up to him to keep him from dumping her because it was more beneficial to her to keep him alive. And suppose that on Friday a week ago, she figured that Phillip would change his will if he got a new girlfriend and then she, Lizzie, would get nothing after all the years with him and her loss of looks. That would be motive enough for any woman.

  Then there was Bubba. Suppose Bubba had been cheating on the food and/or liquor bills. Suppose Phillip had found out that Bubba had been padding the bills and Bubba knew that Phillip knew. And suppose that when Phillip landed on the ground, they had a nasty argument and Phillip threatened to fire, or did fire, Bubba, and Bubba smashed his face in and took the jewelry to make it look like a robbery.

  Or could it have been a robbery by a stranger? There could have been some sleaze-bag drifter hanging out down the island who heard the music, laughter, and general party atmosphere. He could have wandered by to see if he could mooch some food or a couple of drinks. He could have found Phillip downstairs. Phillip, pissing and moaning, and the slime-ball saw his chance to steal the watch and ring to make some quick bucks. Okay, but where were the cops who were working security? If all of them had gone home except one, where was he? Wouldn’t he have barred the creeps from coming in?

  Sandra needed to find out. She phoned the Galveston Police Department and got Truman on the line. “Hi, Dennis, this is Sandra Salinsky.”

  “Don’t you sleep? It’s Saturday morning.”

  “Yes, well I was wondering whether you could tell me something about that police officer who was still working when Phillip was killed?”

  “You need to get a life, Sandra. All you do is work.”

  “My life’s still asleep, thank you very much.”

  Dennis grunted. “So what do you want to know?”

  “About the cop who was working security at Phillip’s house. Where was he?”

  Dennis cleared his throat. “You mean at the time of the murder?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Wasn’t he there?”

  “Yes, he was there. But he didn’t see or hear anything, or so he says.”

  “He wasn’t there, then. At least you don’t think so?”

  “Let me say this, Sandra. The department’s investigating it, all right? As soon as we make some findings, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Robert Earl Bradshaw. But you can’t talk to him.”

  “Why the hell not?” She hated it when someone told her she couldn’t do something.

  “He’s on a leave of absence. Went out of town for a few weeks.”

  “Oh, sure. Where does he live?”

  “Texas City, but I swear he’s gone till the first of next month.”

  Sandra nodded at the phone. Was there something suspicious about that or was it just her? “Okay, Dennis. Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome. By the way, you might be interested to know that Erma already called yesterday with the same questions.”

  “Oh Holy Mother,” Sandra said. “Thanks anyway.” She hung up and dialed Erma’s number. It wasn’t surprising when she got no answer. She could only hope that Erma hadn’t gone looking for Bradshaw. Perhaps she was at the grocery store or napping. That sounded ridiculous even to Sandra, but, determined to find Bradshaw before the weekend ended, she got out the telephone book. There were just three Bradshaws in Texas City and La Marque, two contiguous towns on the other side of the causeway bridge.

  There was no listing for Robert Earl, Bobby, or Robert. Usually cops have unlisted numbers, but she phoned the numbers anyway, hoping for a relative who would give her his whereabouts. The first person cursed her. The other two simply said there was no such person at that number. She made a note to try the one who cursed her, but she would have to go out there since he’d hung up in her face.

  Back to her list, the next person with a possible motive was Raymond. She outlined her suspicions. Raymond, who gossip said Phillip had p
ublicly humiliated. Raymond, who spoke of Phillip as he would a father. Raymond, who was a Kitty devotee. Could he have killed Phillip after Kitty knocked him off the balcony?

  1.If he suspected that Phillip intended to harm Kitty?

  2.If he suspected that Phillip intended to steal Kitty from him?

  After some contemplation, she could not rule out Raymond.

  Lastly, there was Stuart. She couldn’t ignore the fact that Stuart had been on the premises when Phillip had died. Her stomach turned over at the prospect of Stuart’s being involved in the sordid mess, but still, something could have been going on between them that she didn’t know about. She couldn’t think of a possible motive and, so far, no one had indicated that Stuart was anyplace other than where he was supposed to be when the murder had taken place. Nevertheless, she added Stuart’s name to the list. She was staring down at it when his arms encircled her from behind. She felt a whiskery chin nudge the back of her neck. Closing her notebook, she wondered whether and what he had read over her shoulder.

  Turning in her chair, she returned Stuart’s hug. He smelled of sleep and morning breath. “How about a shower while I fix you some breakfast?”

  Stuart pulled her up and pressed himself against her. “How about a shower together?”

  She laughed. “I can’t believe you have any energy left. Besides, I already had my shower and my breakfast. You go ahead.” She pushed him toward the bathroom. “Food’ll be ready when you come out.”

  He frowned, but playfully, not angrily. She thought she knew him well enough to know that after what had gone on between them during the night, he wouldn’t have the get-up-and-go for more anyway. He headed for the shower and she, for the kitchen. Flipping on the radio, Sandra tuned to some oldies but goodies while she toasted a couple of bagels, brewed some coffee, and poured orange juice. Stuart could have eggs all the time when he was cooking, but at her house he had to eat what she ate. He had yet to complain; besides, he had slept so late that lunchtime wasn’t that far off.

  He still wasn’t out by the time she set a place for him at the table, so she took a glass of orange juice and the metro section of the Houston newspaper she’d gotten from the condo lobby and went out onto the balcony. A calm breeze blew warm air in from the Gulf. It had rained during the night and the sidewalks below glistened in the sun. Whitecaps topped muddy brown waves as they washed over pink granite boulders.

  She contemplated what the day held for her. While it was tempting to lounge around all day with Stuart, she had been spending so much time on Kitty’s defense that she needed to catch up on other things. She had cleaned the easy stuff off her desk the day before but had a lot of other things that required attention. She also needed to begin working on Kitty’s trial notebook. Her notebooks had a section for each part of the trial and at least a page assigned to each witness, whether her witness or the state’s.

  The glass door rumbled behind her. Stuart had put his food on a tray. “Pretty day,” he said, placing the tray on the table. His feet were bare. He had dressed in tan walking shorts and a tan-and-green striped polo shirt. He looked squeaky clean.

  “Um, getting hot though.” She hid behind the newspaper for the next few minutes.

  “Thanks for making breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome.” She could smell the coffee. The aroma was pleasant, even though she didn’t often drink the stuff.

  “May I have some of the paper when you’re through?”

  “Sure. There’s some good Harris County Courthouse smut today.” She turned to the last page of the metro section, finished reading, and handed it to him.

  They sat in silence for a while as Stuart ate and read. It was pleasant, which is why she bought the condo in the first place. She heard one of the neighbors come out on her balcony. Leaning forward so she could see around the separating wall, she waved at her. Cars whizzed by below. People jogged and bladed past. A man stood on the seawall and threw bread up to the seagulls circling overhead. She only hoped the birds didn’t reward him with a surprise package.

  Stuart startled her by breaking the silence. “What were you working on when I got up?”

  Shrugging, Sandra said, “Nothing much. Kitty’s defense.”

  “Was that my name I saw on that sheet of paper?”

  Her breath didn’t come easily as she contemplated how to respond. She looked into his eyes, smiled, and pushed her apprehensiveness aside. “I made a list of everyone who was present when Phillip died.”

  Stuart nodded. “A suspect list. Do you consider me a suspect, Sandy?”

  “Look, Stu . . . you know that I have to develop other possibilities if I’m going to get Kitty off. I don’t have to prove that she’s innocent; I just have to poke holes in the state’s case. Raise reasonable doubt.”

  “Objection, non-responsive.”

  “Well, what kind of question is that to ask?” She could hear her own voice echoing in her ears. It seemed loud and strident. She wondered whether her neighbor could hear them. Whispering, Sandra said, “Would I be sleeping with you if I thought you were a murderer?”

  Stuart grinned. “All right, then. It just startled me to think you thought I’d killed Phillip.” His eyes rested on hers. “But that does mean you’re going to raise my name in Kitty’s defense, doesn’t it?”

  “There’s no getting around it. Could we change the subject, please? It’s only going to make us fight and I don’t want that.”

  “I told you not to take this case,” he said, folding the paper into a small rectangle and throwing it down on his tray. “You can still get out of representing her if you withdraw now.” He reached for the door handle.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Stuart.”

  His face loomed over hers. She could see by his flared nostrils how angry he was. “You’re going to point out each of us who was at Phillip’s house that night and give the judge or jury a reason why Kitty couldn’t have killed Phillip. How the hell do you think that’s going to make me look to the legal community? And what about Raymond? He’s a budding lawyer. This could ruin him.” He jerked the glass door open and stepped inside.

  She followed. “If it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else. Hell, Stuart, with Kitty’s money, she could afford to hire someone with a big name that would attract a lot more publicity. You should be grateful that I took the case. If a big name had it, it would probably be splashed all over the front pages of America. They’d be milking this for all it’s worth. You know how it works.”

  He rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. His jaw muscles flexed. Sandra thought he would have looked very handsome but for the way he snorted like an angry bull. She stood in the doorway and waited for him to make further comment. Stuart dried his hands and headed for the bedroom. She followed.

  “I’m going down to the office,” he said.

  “We’re not going to spend the day together?”

  “Not if I’m going to the office.” He refused to look at her as he bundled up his clothes from the day before.

  “Okay. I have some work to do anyway.” She began to make the bed. He stood on the other side. “Want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

  He stared across the breach at her. “What about tonight?”

  “My daughter’s coming.”

  “When are you going to let me meet her?”

  “We just had one argument. Let’s not have another.”

  Stuart grabbed his gym bag off the floor and stuffed his clothes into it. “Okay, Sandra. But I’m getting tired of only being permitted into part of your life. We’ve been dating for what, a year? When are you going to take our relationship seriously?”

  Dropping the sheet, she went around the bed and slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him. “I don’t know, Stu. I just don’t know. I know I’ve said this before, but please don’t rush me.”

  They stood there for a few minutes, neither of them speaking. He finally pushed her away. “All right. We’ll discuss this later. I
’ve got to get going right now.” He pulled on his deck shoes and picked up his bag.

  He kissed her cheek at the door, unbolted it, and was gone. Sandra stood there wondering how she would feel if her name was spoken aloud in a courtroom in connection with a murder. She wouldn’t much like it either. There but for the grace of God.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Erma had gotten out of bed and immediately decided: a. that it was a nice day for a drive across the causeway, and b. that Sandra wasn’t entitled to have all the fun. After breakfast, she donned lightweight rayon pants and a blouse and headed for Texas City. Bumper-to-bumper traffic moved onto the island, whereas only light traffic flowed to the mainland. She’d lived in the area so long that half the time she drove as if on automatic pilot. Today was no exception.

  A large number of the residents of Texas City were union oil and chemical plant employees whose wages allowed them to live a middle-to upper-middle-class lifestyle. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t still poverty-ridden pockets in the shadows of the plants, but most people lived a fair, if not good, life.

  The Bradshaw house stood in one of the older residential neighborhoods but still middle-class with mostly one-story, single family, frame homes. An elderly man mowed the lawn next door; a couple of kids rode their bikes in the street; sprinklers left puddles on walkways and in the gutters.

  Erma parked in a dry spot and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. The smell of freshly cut grass permeated the air. The neighbor studied her and her car. She had seen a Neighborhood Watch sign posted on the subdivision entrance and stared right back. Leaning on the doorbell, Erma felt relieved when someone opened the door so that she could quit staring at the neighbor.

  A woman about Erma’s age stood behind a screen, her face devoid of makeup. Wisps of gray hair curled about her face. Deep frown lines framed her mouth. The apron tied around her waist partially obscured her T-shirt and polyester pants. They looked each other over for a few moments. Erma realized that she could have been the frumpy one behind the screen except for an accident of birth. Instead, she was the frumpy one on the front porch.