Ladies Lunch Club Murders

by David Bishop

  “If he had a key?”

  Ann turned toward Max to reply. “The back door out of the lanai was found unlocked and was locked by CC and myself and by Jack just now. He had to have a key to get in so why didn’t he use it to leave?”

  Max scratched his head while listening. “An alternative killer coming back to leave the nuts, would have found the lanai door out back locked. He would have had a key to the front. Although, if CC’s wrong about having locked the rear screen, the killer could have gotten in and out that way when he dropped off his nuts. But then, Ann says she locked it. It doesn’t figure that both CC and Ann thought they locked it and didn’t. I agree with Ann, whoever returned to stage the bowl of nuts had to have had a key.”

  Nora put a bottle of water back into her purse after taking a drink. “Why would the killer of all these women return?”

  Jack gestured and they all followed him back inside the house. He closed the sliding door from the house out to the lanai. “To leave the bowl of nuts?”

  Once they were all back inside the house, Max spoke in a normal voice. “I can’t buy that we have a killer hung up on the national days of recognition, and then comes killing but forgets his candy. Come on, that’s too stupid to be true.”

  Nora raised her eyebrows. “Does that brings us back to a second killer theory?”

  Jack’s face showed his uncertainty about what he was hearing. “But we haven’t released the information on the items the killer left at the scenes. How would the possible second killer know about the fruitcake and stuff left at the other scenes? Without that knowledge he wouldn’t know to plant the chocolate covered nuts at the scene of his murder.”

  “Maybe these two killers know each other,” Max said. “And the second doofus, who comes without the candy, isn’t smart enough to count his balls twice and get the same answer.”

  9

  The mundane tasks that define so much of criminal detection consumed the rest of the prior afternoon. This included a no-results search of the Fruitcake Murder site for receipts in drawers or file cabinets or wherever. A search was made of all the victims’ credit card accounts. The taskforce carried out the same tedium with respect to the Bubble Gum Murder and the death of Mary Alice Phelps, now known as the Chocolate Covered Nuts Murder. Nothing was found to suggest any of the victims bought the items found at the murder scenes that lined up with the days of recognition.

  From this the taskforce concluded the killer bought and brought those items. Because each murder involved different items, there was no hope of finding a store clerk who remembered a particular customer frequently buying any one of them.

  The next morning was spent in an all-over-the-place discussion by the full taskforce. It ended with a lot of frustration and very little agreement. Like a teeter-totter, the discussion flopped between the items of recognition being seen as decipherable clues, and as meaningless debris the killer scattered at the scenes to derail the investigation with bogus clues.

  Around ten-thirty, Sheriff Jackson came out of his office scratching his belly—through his shirt. He approached Jack and offered his hand. “One thing we know, you were right about Phelps.”

  Jack slid his backside onto the table. “Hey, if I wore your badge, I’d been torqued too. It looked like another example of authority trumping competence. I completely understand. … Always did. I respect you for keeping it together and doing your job.”

  The sheriff’s smile faded when his administrative deputy, the pug-faced Marty Bledsoe, rushed into the squad room where Jack and his team were huddled with CC Wilmer and Sheriff Jackson. Bledsoe grabbed the television remote. “It’s on the news. Wow. It keeps replaying. Listen up.”

  A newscaster appeared on the wall-hung monitor. He held up a single page creased down its middle and spoke in a baritone voice reminiscent of John Carradine. “We received this less than ten minutes ago.”

  Those who walk my path accept the hibernal darkness, the way the rest of you accept family and love. To the police, my congratulations on discovering my little distraction of staging as an accident my killing of Mary Alice Phelps, sister of the Florida Governor, Trey Lennox.

  Good luck, suckers

  The detectives and officers in the room fell silent. They stared, their mouths open, heads shaking.

  The newscaster went on to link the memo to the public record of the reported accidental death of Mary Alice Phelps, a local retired woman. The televised report closed with the promise of more to come as the story of the murder of Governor Trey Lennox’s sister unfolded.

  The channel showed a newscaster ensconced outside the state capital on Monroe Street in Tallahassee, Florida. Another reporter was shown standing outside Governor Lennox’s mansion on Adams Street, less than a mile from the state capitol. A news crawl wormed its way across the bottom of the screen announcing the governor would issue a statement right after lunch.

  The paraphernalia housed in Sergeant Wilmer’s leather officer’s belt creaked as he rushed toward the door. “I’ll call that television station and get a deputy over there. We need to take possession of that memo from the killer.”

  “Tell them to keep their damn hands off it until we get there,” the sheriff hollered. CC stopped and turned back as the sheriff continued. “They’ve already pawed it enough. Get the skinny on their security cameras and cross your fingers. If we’re lucky, they got film of the guy delivering it.”

  Jack sidled up to Max Logan. “What do you think about this turn of events?”

  Max rubbed his forehead. “The killer’s controlling this whole damn thing. He does the killings and leaves his bullshit clues. Now he’s issuing press releases so he can direct the coverage by the media. As for the governor being the brother of Mary Alice Phelps, I’m glad that shit’s out in the open.” Max used his open palm to scrub his eyebrows. The hairs went in different directions leaving Max with an Andy Rooney look. “I feel like the fella watching the shell game who could never pick which cup covered the pea.”

  Jack looked at his Irish friend. “When I was growing up, our neighbor ran the shell game at our annual county carnival. I don’t recall ever getting it right. So, you think we’re picking the wrong cup on this case? The one the killer isn’t under?”

  Max shrugged. “All I’m certain of is that this fella is a cagey bastard. My money says all this stuff about fruitcake, gum, and nuts don’t mean shit. They’re the wrong cups at the carnival. Maybe CC stumbled into a correct call: Phelps died in a stupid accident.

  “Now for the loosy-goosy part: The memo makes it clear the killer knew Phelps was the governor’s sister. She dies in an accident. He hears about her death and, after thinking about it, wants the buzz from the media coverage. He returns to Phelps’s home which, at the time, was not a crime scene, and leaves his calling card, the bowl of nuts. Then he sends the memo to the TV station to get that buzz. That’d explain why he didn’t leave the nuts, but added them later.

  “And how’s this for an additional wrinkle: the killer has an ironclad alibi for when Phelps died accidentally or was murdered by some killer number two. In the end, if we arrest the one killer for four murders, he proves his alibi for Phelps with the hope it’ll either discredit the entire case against him or, at least, point our thinking away from him.”

  “Could be, Maxman.” Jack stood back and leaned against the wall. “Makes as much sense as anything else. Or the second killer adds the nuts and sends the memo to make the first murderer a fall-guy for his homicide.”

  Nora, who had listened without comment, moved near Jack and Max and put one hand on the chest of each man. “Both those theories are possible, but they each have big holes. Under Max’s theory,” she patted his chest, “the killer would need to know Phelps was the governor’s sister in order to send the memo just read on the television news. While under your theory,” she used her hand to pat Jack on the chest, “the second killer you spoke of would need to know there were items of celebration left at the scenes of the other murders. We
hadn’t and still haven’t released to the media anything about the celebration day items being left at the scenes, or disclosed that Governor Lennox was the brother of the Phelps woman. Pick your favorite theory, and the question becomes the same: how did the first or the second killer know what he had to know for either of your theories to work?”

  Jack and Max started to speak at the same time. Max quieted.

  Jack turned to face Nora. “The memo proves that one of the killers knew Phelps was the sister of Governor Lennox. Are you confident Phelps was a murder and not an accident?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say confident, but, yeah, it’s more likely murder than accident.”

  A little before noon, Jack walked by the entrance to Sheriff Jackson’s office. The door was open. He looked in. The sheriff smiled, motioned him inside, and pointed to a chair.

  Jack sat.

  The sheriff billowed his cheeks and blew out. “We’ve never had so many murders in this county at one time. I got nervous-hungry right after I got in this morning and went out for an omelet and coffee. Then, about fifteen minutes ago, my wife, Georgiana, brought me a bacon-lettuce-tomato sandwich on egg bread.” He pulled it out of a bag. After freeing the sandwich from the wrapping, he put half of it on a napkin, palmed it, and offered it to Jack. “I can’t eat this whole thing, not after that omelet.” He gestured for Jack to take it. “Go on. You won’t be sorry. Georgie’s a hell of a cook. Her BLT’s are legend in our neighborhood.”

  “You sure? I saw lust in your eyes when you looked at it.”

  “Absolutely. Go ahead. But I do love her sandwiches. Georgiana likes to say, ‘My husband would step over three naked women to get to one of my sandwiches.’”

  “That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Sort of depends on what kind of sandwich, not to mention which women.”

  They laughed. Jack took the half. “I am hungry. Thanks.”

  “I think if Georgiana wasn’t my wife, CC would marry her. He loves her cooking. One way or another, he ends up having dinner with us a couple of times a month. He was supping with us the night the woman was hanged. He went to the scene from my place. Speaking of CC, how are you two fitting together?”

  “Just fine. Sergeant Wilmer’s a good man. He’s sending a fingerprint guy out to check for prints on the Phelps’ front door knob, the knob of the connecting door from the garage into the house, and the back screen knob and deadbolt, as well as the blue bowl that held the nuts.”

  “Yes he is. It’s good you two are connecting. Not a man to pick as an enemy. He was a sniper in the army with a dozen confirmed kills.”

  Jack put the half of sandwich on the edge of the sheriff’s desk, picked it off the napkin, and took a bite. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be extra careful to stay on his good side.” After a minute of chewing he raised his eyebrows. “I see what you mean. Man, this is good.”

  “I told ya. Legend is no exaggeration.” The sheriff took another bite of his half. “She mixes crunchy peanut butter in with the mayo before spreading it on one side of the bread.” He pointed toward the sidewall of his office. “There’s a few sodas, some waters, maybe even a couple of beers in that half fridge over there. Help yourself.”

  Jack stepped around to the side of the desk and took out a cola. He returned to his chair, popped the top, raised it toward the sheriff, and took a long pull. “Have we heard from the officer CC sent over to the TV station?”

  “Yeah. Oh, before I forget, the officer he sent was the one he stationed at Phelps to wait for the M.E. The officer doesn’t recall seeing a bowl of candied nuts anywhere at the scene.”

  When the sheriff went quiet, Jack asked, “The memo?”

  “We’ve got the memo. It’s with our technician. The station’s security cameras weren’t on so nothing came from that idea, and it wouldn’t have anyway. The station’s producer of the news found the memo in his mailbox at home. CC’s sending a squad car over to talk with the producer’s neighbors, but I wouldn’t call it a hot lead.”

  Governor Lennox came out the front door of the mansion buttoning his dark suit coat. He paused to speak to a staffer who remained in the doorway, then walked to a bank of microphones strapped to a lectern centered on the paver walkway.

  “This will be brief. My sister, Mary Alice Phelps, was a very private person. So much so that she changed her name rather than see my public life complicate her private life. I respected her desire for privacy and ask you, please, to do the same. There is no story in her passion for privacy. The authorities are now treating my sister’s death as a probable homicide. It’s an ongoing investigation. Therefore, I will say only Godspeed to the investigators. On a personal note to this vile and evil killer of our senior citizens: I look forward to sitting at your trial and cheering for the prosecution.”

  The governor creased his one-page statement lengthwise and slid it into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He stood for a moment, gripping the edges of the lectern, his knuckles white, then turned and walked through the herd of reporters and their paraphernalia. He ignored the questions hurled at him and did not look back.

  10

  At six that evening, Jack sat with Sergeant CC Wilmer and the gathered members of the Ladies Lunch Club Murder team. Sergeant Wilmer brought the others current: all but two of the fingerprints found in the home of Mary Alice Phelps were identified as hers, her friends, neighbors, or housekeeper. The two initially unidentified prints were later matched to a repairman brought in to work on Mary Alice Phelps’ computer, and an installer who had disengaged her cable television and hooked her up to stream her television reception. The two repairmen were vetted. They had no criminal records, and their prints were not found at the homes of either of the first two murder suspects, or in the SUV used in the Steak and Knobber Murder.

  The squad admitted it was plausible Phelps bought the chocolate covered nuts, and, though unlikely, still died accidentally. That theory was somewhat discredited when the crime scene team did not find an empty or partial bag of the candy at the Phelps residence.

  The sheriff, CC, and Bledsoe liked the reasoning that the killer of the other three could have later added the chocolate covered nuts. As the sheriff put it, “to frame himself” for Phelps because he had an alibi for his whereabouts when the governor’s sister died. The attraction for them was that the theory supported the department’s original determination that Phelps died in a home accident.

  It remained possible the media release came from some self-aggrandizing crackpot who had nothing to do with any of the four dead women, but was simply injecting himself into the matter for his own aggrandizement buzz. However, it would need to be a crackpot with the knowledge that Phelps and the governor were siblings. Some people had to know, limited as that number might be.

  The decision was made to work Phelps as a homicide.

  The squad decided to conduct a fresh round of full interviews of the friends and neighbors of all four victims. They agreed on the composition of two interview teams: One team would be comprised of Jack McCall and Ann Reynolds, the second staffed with Nora Burke and Max Logan. Sergeant CC Wilmer, who had conducted the early interviews after the first two murders, was invited to accompany whichever team he preferred. He declined, choosing to remain at the station to run the murder books and any research efforts that might be indicated as the interviews progressed. Thusly, CC would function as the hub of the wheel on the overall investigation. For now, the four cases would be assumed to be connected—although that assumption remained fluid.

  Max and Nora would interview the friends and neighbors of the victims of the Fruitcake Toss Murder and the Bubble Gum Murder. Jack and Ann would take the more recent two: the Chocolate Covered Nut Murder, with secondary billing as the case of the governor’s sister, and the Steak and Knobber Murder.

  To date the investigation had identified no motive for any of the killings and no suspects. The expectation of finding suspects through the interviews was unlikely, but, with some go
od fortune, they might discern a motive for the killings. And motive could be the thread that allowed them to unravel the mystery. Maybe even a reason why the killer was choosing his victims from among the members of one ladies lunch club. They took note of the sole message to the media having mentioned only one of the killings: Governor Lennox’s sister, Mary Alice Phelps.

  The various national criminal databases revealed no cases where a celebratory day meant anything specific with respect to a given homicide or other crime of violence. Having no idea how to make use of that element, the taskforce viewed the items as nothing more than their perp having a sick sense of humor. Yet, they remained aware of it.

  Prior to adjourning, Sergeant Wilmer summarized the results of the autopsy on Phelps. “The M.E.’s office has reported no chocolate residue was found on Phelps skin, and she had not eaten any chocolate covered nuts.”

  Jack cleared his throat and spoke toward Deputy Bledsoe, who had accompanied the crime scene team at the home of Mary Alice Phelps. “That means, if Phelps bought those nuts and put them in a bowl she did so without eating any or handling them at all. I find that unlikely, don’t you?”

  “Defintely.” Bledsoe said, shaking his head.

  Sergeant Wilmer retook the lead. “So, none of the autopsies were of any help. The fruitcake at the first scene was whole so none of it was eaten. At the Bubble Gum Murder, well, nobody eats bubble gum, but no loose wrapper was found anywhere in the house. The lack of evidence of semen in the death at the waterfowl reserve has previously been reported. And, as Marty just reported there was no candy bag found at Phelps.”