by David Bishop
CC roosted his forearms on the edge of the small table. “Summarize what you got out of her files.”
“There were numerous pictures of Mary Alice Phelps’ son, so we know what he looks like. Nothing showed his location. The more recent pictures of him make him look white collar, but nothing more definite on his work. We’ve identified Phelps’ attorney and accountant. We played the murder card and got a quick meeting with each of them—one at six tonight, the other early tomorrow.
“Phelps handled her own investments. After she retired from the brokerage where she worked, she transferred her investment account to Schwab online. Her cabinet gave us her password for Schwab. Her son’s the beneficiary on her Schwab investment account. Schwab shows the son’s name as Carter Phelps. The beneficiary information at Schwab included her son’s social security number, but not his address. Ann’s working on getting the son’s address, shouldn’t take long. What Norma Taylor believed turned out to be true: Mary Alice Phelps did attach to her will, a letter to her son, without his address. The letter included his father’s identity and location. The father’s name is Alec Franklin. The only other interesting tidbit from the will is that her neighbor, Norma Taylor, gets Phelps’ house and car. We’ve confirmed it’s free and clear with an estimated value in excess of four-hundred-thousand.”
Ann took over. “When we interviewed Norma Taylor, she didn’t mention knowing about Phelps bequeathing her the house. We need to find out if Ms. Taylor knew. Could it go to motive? I guess it could, but it’s far from persuasive. We’ll ask Taylor in person. We’ll do the sit-downs with the Phelps woman’s lawyer and accountant before bracing her son and the boy’s father. We found numerous letters and notations of communications between the governor’s deceased sister and the man who fathered her son—this Alec Franklin. It was a contentious relationship. Mary Phelps kept him under threat of exposure. He kept paying. His letters to her were filled with vitriol. Phelps really kept the screws tight on daddy. Some revenge, but, I’d guess, most to keep him off balance and paying. None of the payments appear to be such that they could be labeled blackmail—just a daddy paying for his son’s education. It appears he could easily afford it and so, for him, it was the smoothest course to follow.”
Sheriff Jackson leaned forward, his soft center shaping around the top of his desk. “Could he have killed Mary Alice Phelps?”
“Possible. Although, the boy is old enough now that poppa hasn’t likely been paying for support or education for years. We’ll confirm that when we interview him.”
“So why would this Franklin kill Phelps now?”
“Anger? Revenge? All that may take more shape after we get with him.”
The sheriff looked up. “Is the father local?”
Jack turned a page in his notes. “In Jacksonville. He’s retired or semi anyway. He keeps an office at the company. What law firms might refer to as ‘of counsel.’ Nora and Max will interview Poppa Franklin while Ann and I do a sit-down with Governor Lennox, to work that angle.”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “What angle is that?”
“The usual stuff.” Jack sat back and crossed his legs. “It’s only seems unusual because we’re talking about the governor. But the proper procedure remains. Could her killing be about the governor with the other women killed to obfuscate that fact? Could this be a heavy-handed threat to the governor or punishment of him? Two days ago, the governor’s chief of state couriered over copies of hate and threat letters received by the governor. Florida has its share of crazies.” Jack turned toward Sergeant Wilmer. “CC, fill us in on where the hate mail has taken you.”
CC, who was leaning against the wall with his feet crossed, stood erect. “In one word, nowhere. The governor gets one now and again, all worded in anger. We checked all of them. Regular citizens with an axe to grind or a selfish interest about which they feel the governor failed to do them right. We’ve kept the names in case anything else in the case points back at one of ‘em, but don’t hold your breath.” CC pointed at Jack, who took over.
“We need to ask the governor if he knows he has a nephew. Has he had contact? If so, why didn’t he tell us about his sister’s son when he retained us? I’m guessing that’ll come to nothing, but we need to drive up the road to confirm it’s a dead end.”
Sheriff Jackson dropped his pen on the pad of paper in front of him. “I’ll leave you to ramrod those goings on. Have you talked with Governor Lennox about the cost of flying your two detectives to Jacksonville? I’m assuming they’ll fly.”
“Whether or not we’ll fly or drive hasn’t been worked out. The governor and I resolved all those kinds of issues before we took the case. He’s onboard with whatever’s necessary. While we’re on the subject of interviewing the father, do you want Sergeant Wilmer to go to Jacksonville with Max and Nora for that interview?”
Sheriff Jackson glanced at the sergeant and raised his eyebrows.
“Unless you want me to, Sheriff, I don’t see it’s necessary. Nora and Max are more’n capable and licensed by Florida Law Enforcement. I don’t see my tagging along adds anything all that meaningful. And, I doubt the governor would sit still for being billed for my travel costs seeing his sister’s death is an open murder case in our county. All things considered, let’s save our budget by having me stay local to run down loose ends and ride central.”
Sheriff Jackson slid his hand across the desk and raised his finger, pointing it at Jack. “When do you see this happening—you going to see the governor and your detectives to Jacksonville?”
“Not set, but more than likely, the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll get after sitting down with the six members of the ladies lunch club yet to be interviewed. Somewhere in there we’ll fit in some face time with Norma Taylor to ask if she knew she would get Mary Alice Phelps’ home. And, if she knew, why she didn’t tell us. We’re hoping that when we leave the day after tomorrow, we’ll have gathered everything we can from the neighbors and friends of the victims.”
Sergeant Wilmer filled in the others on his efforts to round up wills and how each of the victims held the titles to their properties. “I’m mostly done, but got a little running around yet to do. So far, there’s nothing that suggests motive. I mean, obviously each of their wills and/or property titles identify people who will be enriched to some extent through the estates of our four dead women, but, so far, I’ve found nothing that screams motive.”
An hour later Ann Reynolds ended a phone conversation and put her personal cell in her purse. An hour later she composed an email to Jack, Nora, Max, CC, and Sheriff Jackson giving them the address of Mary Alice Phelps’s son, Carter Phelps. The young man lived in Tallahassee, Florida.
Jack and Ann arrived at the office of Kevin Wirth, attorney for Mary Alice Phelps. Their appointment was for five-forty-five. Fifteen minutes later, he came out and led them to his office. Jack and Ann showed their badges. Wirth gave them one of his business cards.
After a few minutes of polite conversation, Jack’s questions left the starting gate. “It’s late, Mr. Wirth. We appreciate your making time. Let me get right to it. What can you tell us about Mary Alice Phelps with respect to her will and final disposition of her estate? Please include any matters that were pending at her death that might point toward motive.”
“I prepared her most recent will ten years ago.” He opened a file on his desk. “It remained unchanged until about six months ago. At that time, we prepared one addendum for the purpose of establishing her home and automobile would go to her neighbor and friend, Norma Taylor. Are you aware of that change?”
“Yes. Nothing else?”
“No. Clean. Mary Phelps knew what she wanted. Everything has always been designated to go to her son, Carter Phelps, until the switch to give her house and car to Ms. Taylor. I recall her saying her son couldn’t live in her age-restricted community. She wanted it to go to Ms. Taylor.”
Mr. Wirth raised his eyebrows and gestured in a way that asked, “Is that it?”
“Any other issues remaining open at her death? Any conflicts? Lawsuits? Whatever?”
“Nothing. If all my clients were as uncomplicated as Mary Phelps, my practice would have a lot more free time. Ms. Phelps’ affairs are organized, clean, and uncomplicated.”
“Who’s the executor?”
The attorney smiled. “I am.”
Ann opened a folder and confirmed the address they had in Jacksonville for the father of her son and asked about an address for the son, Carter Phelps.
The attorney had an address for the son in Tallahassee, Florida. It was the same one Ann had located earlier in the day. “How recent is this?”
“I’ve never used it. Mary Alice gave it to me a few months ago when I prepared the addendum regarding the house to Taylor. I remember that she was able to give me her son’s address from memory, including the zip code.”
16
Hello, Ms. Taylor. Thank you for seeing us again so soon.”
“No thanks necessary. Good morning, Mr. McCall, Lieutenant Reynolds.” She pushed open her screen. “Come right in. I just don’t know how I can help any further. … Detective McCall, are you making any progress?”
“We’ve gone through Mary Alice Phelps’ file cabinet.”
Ann cleared her throat. “Ms. Taylor, may I use your restroom?”
“Certainly. The closest one is off my bedroom. Down that short hall.” She pointed. “The second door on your left and through the bedroom.”
When Ann walked down the hall. Jack positioned himself so Norma Taylor’s back was to the hallway Ann walked down. “Thanks again for your help in getting us quick access to that file cabinet.”
“Never you mind. That was Mary Alice’s stuff. Did you find anything in there that helped?”
“We’re still processing much of it. Let me change the subject for a minute. Driving over here, I passed a lot of people out walking. Are morning walks normal around here?”
“Oh, yeah. Lots of my neighbors go walking early, before it gets too hot. We’re an active community. Other people take their dogs for a drive in their golf carts. I would be on my morning walk if you hadn’t called. I do a couple of miles and stop to pick up my mail—mostly junk these days, you know. The walk gets my juices flowing.”
“It’s really nice here. I’m impressed every time I drive into the development.”
Norma reacted when Ann flushed the toilet. “I’ve got a pot of fresh coffee.” She held up the cup in her hand. “Would you like some?”
“No time, but we appreciate the offer.” Ann came into view over Ms. Taylor’s shoulder and asked, “Did you know that Mary Alice left you her home?”
Norma Taylor lowered the coffee cup from her lips and settled it in the palm of her other hand. Her mouth gaped. She looked back and forth between Ann and Jack.
“We made inquiry with the county recorder’s office. There’s no mortgage on the house. You’ll get it free and clear.”
Norma put her hand on the armrest at the end of her couch, and sat. “Are you serious?”
Jack stepped a little closer.
Ann sat next to Norma. “Definitely. We have her last will and testament. Like Jack said, we checked with the county. There’s no mortgage.”
“That’s not right. It should go to her son.”
Ann leaned back in the couch. “In the end, Norma, we all have opinions, but there’s nothing that indicates Mary was not of sound mind. Her things go to those to whom she left them.”
“But her son?”
Jack said, “We can’t discuss the will beyond what relates to you, but, well, you knew Mary Alice was very well off. Her son is a big part of her will. He’ll be fine. You shouldn’t be concerned about that.”
“Shocked as I am, to be plain honest, I’m tickled. I’ve got equity in my house here, but also a mortgage. I always envied Mary having a pool. She let me swim in it anytime I wanted. When my arthritis kicked up, I’d walk in her pool rather than on the road. Of course I haven’t since her death. We have keys to each other’s house, but it didn’t seem right to use it now … since … you know. I’ve always dreamed about having a home with a pool. I’ll probably sell this place to get free of the mortgage, invest the equity, and move into hers. What do I need to do?”
Jack sat in the rocker across from the couch. “We aren’t qualified to give advice on those matters. I can tell you that you’ll be hearing from Mary Alice’s attorney. He’s the executor of her will. You might want to secure your own legal counsel with respect to how you should proceed. That’s up to you.”
“Wow. What do you say when you just got a free home for a surprise?”
“Just what you said, ‘Wow.’”
Ann grinned. “I guess this is your lucky day.”
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
Ann stood up. She and Jack began moving toward the door.
Norma put her cup on the coffee table and stood with them.
“Bless you,” Norma closed her door slowly watching through the narrowing space.
Jack backed out of Norma Taylor’s driveway. “She seemed almost shocked.”
Ann looked over. “For sure.”
“I would be. A free and clear home you never expected. That’s quite a gift from a friend, and we forgot to tell her she’ll also get Phelps’ car.”
“She’ll find out when she hears from the executor. A second surprise.”
“Another wow.” Jack grinned.
“I guess when you’ve got millions and a very small family you can spread it around. … The sixty-four-thousand dollar question is, did Taylor know?”
“I’d say no.” Jack shook his head. “Unless she’s a very good actress. I didn’t see anything that moves her up the suspect list. Assuming she would’ve outlived Phelps she’d end up with the house anyway. Although, with Phelps dead, she’ll get it sooner which is better than getting it later.”
“A lot of murders have been committed for less than the value of that house, and it doesn’t have a mortgage.”
Jack doffed his hand toward Ann. “Plus a car.”
“Plus a car.”
“Did you see anything in her bathroom?”
“Nothing suspicious. I took a quick look around her bedroom and the guest bedroom. I saw nothing that suggests she smokes or that anyone else lives there with her.”
Jack ran his hand across the top of the steering wheel. “The two cigarette butts from her lanai are still in play.”
“Sure. I was speaking of nothing in the house. Maybe she smokes sometimes, but only outside. Or she has a neighbor friend who smokes.”
Jack made a sudden turn to the right, then another, and drove back along the street behind the one where Norma Taylor lived. He stopped in front of a house and got out. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked to the house and knocked. An older man in black Bermuda shorts, a golf shirt, and sandals held snug by a Velcro strap opened the door. Jack showed him his badge and identified himself as investigating the death of Mary Alice Phelps. “What can you tell me about Ms. Phelps?”
“She was a quiet woman. We waved a time or two, but we never chatted, not even once. The only person she really spoke to around here was Norma Taylor who lives right behind me—beside Mary Alice.” He turned and gestured toward the rear of his house. “I think I saw you out on her lanai a day or so ago.”
“Yes. We’ve talked with Ms. Taylor. She was very helpful. So much so, I’d like to give her something to show our thanks. Perhaps a carton of cigarettes. Can you tell me which brand she smokes?”
“I don’t believe Norma smokes. I’ve never seen her anyway.”
“Oh.” Jack gestured back in the direction of the Taylor residence. “I just assumed. While I was there I saw an ashtray out on her lanai with some cigarette butts.”
“That wasn’t her. She had a guy over there quite a bit a few weeks ago. I sleep with my window open and sometimes I’d pick up a whiff of smoke. I’d look and see him out
there alone, sitting in the dark, smoking. The end of his cigarette glowing red with each puff.”
“Another neighbor maybe? I could ask him. He’d know if she was a fellow smoker.”
“He wasn’t any neighbor. One morning, while I was out walking, I saw him leaving Norma’s house heading out to his car.”
“What kind of car was he driving?”
“I don’t know cars anymore. For the past twenty years or so, from the outside, they all look pretty much alike. It was a black two-door sedan.”
“Florida plates?”
“I didn’t notice. We smiled and nodded and I walked on by. That’s Norma’s business, not mine.”
“What time was that?”
“I leave the house at five and walk for about an hour. My route takes me by Norma’s at about the halfway point, so it must’ve been around five-thirty.”
“You’re sure he doesn’t live around here?”
“I got a good look at him. We smiled. He was way too young. We’re a mandatory retirement age community.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I haven’t seen him in over a week. Whatever their relationship was it must be over. He was probably a visiting relative, a nephew or son who’s gone home. That kind of thing happens a lot around here.”
“When you saw him sitting, which direction was he facing?”
“Toward the Phelps residence.”
“Oh, every time you saw him?”
“Yes. That’s no big deal. It’s the direction the furniture on Norma’s lanai faces.”
“I see. Thank you for your time. Oh, please don’t mention the cigarettes to her. Seeing she isn’t a smoker, I wouldn’t want her to think I thought she was. I’ll just get her some flowers. Thank you.”
Jack returned to the car and filled Ann in on what he learned. That the smoker was most likely a relative, a friend, or a younger lover who’d come and gone.
17