by David Bishop
“Tell us about your relationship with Carter Phelps.”
“What?”
“Come on. Mary Alice’s son, Carter Phelps. We’re no longer buying your sweet, innocent, good neighbor routine. Tell us. Here and now.”
“Are you daffy? I’m as old as his mother. Sure, I met him. He came by a couple times to see his mother. Twice I know of. His relationship was with his mother, not … God forbid what you are implying. … I’m just a neighbor.”
“Okay. You’ve confessed to lie number one. You failed to mention Carter Phelps during any of our prior visits with you. When we discussed her son, we didn’t even have his name. You chose to not say you’d met him or tell us his name, or that you knew he’d come here to visit his mother. You urged us to find who killed the ladies in your lunch club while, at the same time, you impeded our investigation.”
“The two things have nothing to do with each other—Mary Alice’s death and the killings of my lunch club sisters.”
Jack continued his manner. “Oh? And you know this how?”
Ann stood next to Jack. Her feet at shoulders width. Her thumbs tucked behind the top of her skirt. “I looked into your background. You had one child, a son. He was a career soldier who died in Iraq. Mary Alice shared her son with you. Was that it?”
“No. Of course not.” Her eyes wide, Norma looked up at Ann. “He was Mary Alice’s son. I met him a time or two, that’s all.”
“All you said was you saw Carter’s pictures one time when his mother accidentally dropped them when bringing them back to lock in her cabinet.” Jack scowled. “You’ve lied to us from the beginning.”
“Have a heart. I didn’t want to cause the boy any trouble. Gee whiz, his mother had just died. He didn’t need to be confronted by the police.”
“If you lay it out straight and honest, and it’s the way I’ve got it sized up, I’ll write a report. That can’t be avoided, and nothing more may come of it. If not, I’ll need to take you in for a formal interrogation. … Your decision.”
Jack and Ann Reynolds stood still and straight-faced, staring at Norma Taylor, neighbor and heir to Mary Alice Phelps’ home.
For a moment, Norma closed her eyes. When she opened them, she reached back and dragged a green throw off the backrest of her couch. She left it folded and pulled it across her lap. After a minute she raised a quivering hand and wiped her eyes.
Lieutenant Ann Reynolds handed her a box of facial tissues from the end table next to the couch. Other than that, she and Jack remained quiet.
“All right. Okay. Stop the silent treatment.” Her hand bunched the throw inside her frail fist. “The first time I knew her son came, I happened to be at Mary Alice’s. She encouraged me to stay. After a while they started to argue. I couldn’t make any sense as to why. It got heated and I left. About fifteen minutes later, Carter came to my door. He said he was sorry for making me feel uncomfortable. I invited him in. We talked. He offered to take me to dinner to apologize. I told him he should take his mother out to dinner. He said, ‘no way.’ After a while, I accepted. His coming over was, well, respectful. Good manners is something lacking in so many young people today. I appreciated his doing it. He seemed very mature. We talked over dinner and drinks.”
“Dinner and drinks … and then pillow talk?”
“No, Detective McCall. What a disgusting thing for you to suggest.” She lowered her head. “God, no.”
“We’ve run out of patience. We need the entire story and, apparently, you’ve decided you’d rather not tell it quietly here in the privacy of your home. So, let’s go. At the sheriff’s office, you’ll be detained as a murder suspect. You’ll be given the speech about your right to have legal representation before being questioned.”
“No pillow talk.” Her hands kneaded the throw. “No … not then.”
“Do you want to talk now, without legal counsel? If not, don’t say anything else until we’re at the sheriff’s office.”
“No. Let’s talk here … now. I had nothing to do with Mary Alice’s death—I loved that woman like a sister.”
“Okay. No pillow talk, that first time. What about the second time?”
“No. Not until he visited the third time. … He so much wanted the love of his mother. I’m afraid, I became a surrogate for that. I didn’t see it that way … not right then. My son was gone. Mary’s was here and she was wasting that blessing. Me … I was a foolish woman. I’d listened to Red Rider’s escapades with younger men and … it’s my own fault. I was fantasizing—stupid, stupid.”
Ann sat next to Norma. “Did he murder his mother?”
“No. He didn’t … murder her. They argued. He angrily kicked her radio. It flew into the spa. I swear, it was an accident.”
“You were there? You saw it?”
“No.” She looked up at Jack, then at Ann. “Carter came over afterwards and told me. He was a mess. Distraught, I guess is better than saying a mess, but he was … a real mess.”
“Then you don’t know how it went down.”
She swiped at her eyes again and wiped her fingers on the throw. “He wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose. He was angry, volatile. His mother had kept him at a distance all his life. Her feelings for him were a confused jumble. She loved him, but, in a way, I guess, Carter reminded her of having lost the chance to marry the man she loved so many years before—because she was pregnant. Like his mother, Carter longed for love and never got it. … He was afraid no one would believe him. That he’d spend his life in prison for murdering his mother. He talked about suicide … the dear, sweet boy.”
“And you did what?”
“I calmed him. He spent the night and left in the very early morning—it was still dark.”
“And you did what?”
Norma’s sitting posture slumped. Her shoulder sagged. Her chin hinged down to rest against her chest. “It’s so sad. Carter’s so unfortunate. He never got the love he deserved.” After briefly being quiet, Norma narrowed her eyes. “He hasn’t returned my calls. He’ll get his mother’s millions. I guess he no longer needs anything from me. I’m been such a … silly old witch.”
Ann reached over and touched Norma’s arm. “Tell the rest of it. You’ve kept it bottled up. Now’s the time to let it go.”
Norma took a big breath and sat up straight. Her face reflected her angst. “Carter told me what happened: He angrily kicked the radio. It ended up in the spa. That killed his mother. Such a horrid accident. Anger never leads to anything good.
Later that night, I saw Sergeant Wilmer. I don’t know how long he’d been there before I saw him. He took a few pictures of Mary Alice in her spa. … Oh, he also used the cord to fish out the radio and put it on the decking. He waited there until a van of some kind came. They took away Mary Alice’s body.”
“And?”
“I had a key to her house. I went over there and sat for at least an hour. While I was there, in Mary Alice’s home, she spoke to me. ‘Help my boy, Norma, save my son.’ I heard her plain as day. I knew her voice. I couldn’t save my son, but maybe I could save Mary Alice’s. At that time, the deaths of Gayle Ash and Carrie Douglas was all the ladies in the lunch club were talking about. Several of them heard about the fruitcake and the bubble gum left in their homes. Those two died before Red Rider. Anyway, I got the idea. On the internet I learned that the date Mary Alice died was national chocolate covered nut day. I drove twenty miles to a big truck stop, went in and bought a small bag of the candy. I drove the opposite direction to Mount Dora and bought the blue bowl from some antique-type shop. At home I put the candy in the bowl, took it over and left it in Mary Alice’s house.”
Jack stayed quiet and let Ann lead the questioning.
“How many blue bowls did you buy?”
“Just the one.”
“Why only one?”
“If I’d gotten the set and put the rest in Mary Alice’s cabinet it would have looked like the bowls were hers and that she’d bought the candy. I wanted her de
ath to be seen as the same killer. He’d already killed two women so he deserved whatever came his way. I wanted to direct suspicion away from Carter.”
Ann turned her sitting position to face directly at Norma. “Where did you leave the bowl of candy?”
“On the counter out on the lanai next to her barbeque.”
“Which store in Mount Dora did you go in to buy the bowl?”
“Oh, golly. I don’t know. I went in several. I was all but in a daze, you know. That cute little shopping area downtown Mount Dora has several of those shops. They’re all pretty much alike.”
“What did you do with the rest of the bag of chocolate covered nuts?”
“It was a small bag. I emptied it all into the bowl.”
“What about the empty bag?”
“I brought it home and put it in my garbage. It was picked up the next day by the refuse truck.”
Jack now went on the offensive. “The cigarette butts on your lanai were Carter’s, right?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know they were there until you asked about them. This time of year I hardly ever go out on my lanai.”
“They were his.”
“He did mention not sleeping well on either of the two nights he stayed here. He could have gone out and smoked after I was asleep.”
Jack moved closer. His legs almost touching Norma’s knees. He glared down at her. “What else?”
“Do you think I killed Mary Alice?”
“Did you?”
“Absolutely not. She was my best friend. She was a true sister. It was my responsibility to save her son from being punished for an accident.”
“Oh, sure. I get it. You two were so close that you slept with her son.”
“Her son is close to forty years old, Detective McCall. It’s not like I took his virginity. Could I be charged with killing Mary Alice to inherit her house?”
“That’s up to the state attorney. All I know is you snooped in Mary Alice’s file cabinet. In it you found out you would inherit her house. You went over a lot of her records. Then you used a sophisticated method to remove your prints from her documents. That also removed the prints of everyone else who’d handled them. Where did you learn to do that?”
“Reading mystery stories.”
“Whatever else you haven’t told us, now’s the time.”
“That’s it. That’s the whole story.”
“If that’s the whole truth, having told it will work to your favor. Now, Lieutenant Reynolds’ll accompany you to your bedroom while you get a coat of some kind, change your shoes, whatever. You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“For now, obstruction of justice. You lied to us. You withheld evidence. You interfered in an investigation. That’s obstruction. We’ll tell your story to the state attorney. He’ll decide which specific charges apply.”
On the way to her bedroom, she turned back. “May I ask a question?”
Jack nodded.
“Will I still get Mary Alice house?”
32
That afternoon the Florida State Attorney’s office decided not to charge Norma Taylor with any criminal conduct. She’d lied to the investigators and, by so doing, had impeded the investigation. But her actions had not directly aided or abetted any specific criminal activity.
A logic chain could be constructed claiming that had Ms. Taylor told the truth about Carter when first interviewed by Jack and Lieutenant Reynolds, the department could have charged Carter Phelps with, perhaps, involuntary manslaughter. By so doing, it’s possible his murder could have been prevented.
In the end, the State Attorney reasoned it was a fool’s errand to try and make a maybe-case against Norma Taylor, an always law-abiding citizen in her mid-seventies—a senior who would make jury members think of their own grandmothers.
He admitted one could argue that Norma Taylor had booted the radio into the spa killing Mary Alice Phelps. That way she would get the home with the pool without having to wait for Phelps to die of natural causes. However, there was nothing supporting that argument other than it could’ve happened.
Mary Alice Phelps was dead. Her son, Carter Phelps, was dead. There was nothing challenging the veracity of Norma Taylor’s hearsay story as to how Carter had caused the death of his mother. The state’s attorney’s decision to not charge Norma Taylor, at this time, did not prevent a later charge, should facts come to light that materially refuted Ms. Taylor’s sworn statement. Her statement was primarily a retelling of what the dead Carter Phelps told her, the exception being her act of adding the bowl of chocolate covered nuts to stage the scene as another of the days-of-recognition murders. A final finding of accidental death for Mary Alice Phelps was anticipated, but hadn’t been officially rendered. The death of Carter Phelps remained an open homicide case.
By six, Jack was sitting in an Irish pub having drinks with his two detectives.
Max Logan’s hairy hands circled a mug of Smithwick’s Irish Red Ale. He raised it toward his mouth and paused to look at Jack. “Accepting Norma Taylor’s telling of it, eliminates the serial killer angle.”
Nora Burke lowered her glass of Riesling. “There’s really no basis for any other explanation of Phelps’ death.”
“It fits.” Jack motioned with his hands. “We never bought into the serial killer theory and, as you said, laying the Phelps’ death on the doorstep of the developer doesn’t really hold water. Right after the sheriff and the state attorney accepted Norma Taylor’s accounting of how Mary Alice died, I called Governor Lennox.”
“And?” Nora and Max asked in duet.
“And, after I explained how it went down, the governor requested we stay on it. He wants us to continue helping the sheriff’s office on the murders of the other three women. He said he wants to be damn sure the story of how his sister died doesn’t change.”
“So,” Nora began, “he’s bought into the caution Ms. Johnson expressed that first day when we met with them in our office.”
Max opened his hands in support of his puzzled expression.
“You remember,” Nora clarified, “Miss Johnson warned the governor of this chain of events: His sister’s death is ruled an accident. We leave. The governor’s opponent’s trot out the story that the governor cared about the death of his sister, while remaining callously indifferent with respect to the other murdered women.”
“We’re discussing the governor’s reason, but—” Jack paused to signal the bartender for another round. “That doesn’t change his request. He wants us to stay on the case, at least for now. He’s paying, so, why not? That’s the business we’re in.”
“He’s worried about his image. That seals it. He’s already running for president, he just hasn’t announced yet.”
Jack looked at Nora. “It can be read that way. He didn’t justify his request. Bottom line: I agreed we’d stay.”
“It’ll give us more time to finish my puzzle.”
Nora nodded. “Okay by me. Unsolved cases happen, but I hate working a case that ends up that way.”
When the barmaid brought over their second round, Jack ordered two appetizers, mozzarella cheese sticks and potato skins.
Max crossed his arms. “This leaves us with either the governor knocked off his sister and nephew to get her millions, or it went down the way Norma Taylor claimed in her statement.”
Nora said, “Both the sheriff and the State’s attorney has bought her story. It seems plausible.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “So, let’s focus on the developer’s desire to buy the movie theater property. Millions has been spent already buying access to other properties in that city block. If they don’t get the theater space, the whole project turns to mush. Red Rider was opposed and she was killed. That fits.”
“Janet Davis remains in favor of selling. So, if we’re right about this theory, she’s in no danger.”
Nora took Max’s comment further. “I don’t think any of the ladies are in any further danger.” She
took a bite of a cheese stick. “The developer is closing in on getting the sale so why kill any of the others?”
Max stopped quartering a potato skin, pursed his lips, and nodded in agreement.
“But, if we’re wrong,” Jack went quiet until the other two stopped fussing with their appetizers and looked at him, “that reasoning could suggest Maria Welz is in danger. She’s the remaining owner who is firm about keeping the theater. Does this put a target on her back?”
Max leaned forward. “Nah. Right now the situation’s set just fine. Knocking off Welz would aim all the suspicions directly at the developer. It looks like the ladies will soon decide to sell and, with that, the developer gets what he’s after.”
“I agree. Welz’s opposition to the sale will be neutralized when Shirley Germaine stands with Janet Davis in favor of selling. That’ll make it two votes to sell against Welz’s single vote not to. With the bull about a serial killer discredited, I doubt the developer will risk another day-of-recognition murder.”
Nora swallowed and licked her lips. “If I were the mastermind behind this, I’d have one more lady killed. One from the lunch club who is not a partner in the theater property. Strategically, that would separate the days of recognitions murders from the developer’s acquisition of the theater property. I’d do it after the sale goes through.”
Max gently swirled the small amount of ale left in his mug.
Nora looked at Jack, then Max. “We need to monitor the anticipated closing of that sale to the developer. If it’s delayed, then Welz could be in danger.”
Jack set his beer down and turned to Nora. “Before we left to come over here, I asked Sergeant Wilmer to post a car outside the homes of the three remaining partners in the theater ownership. As for the possibility that the other lunch club members could be at risk after the sale—your idea about killing one more to reset the serial killer theory—not too sure what we can do. The sheriff simply lacks the resources to provide 24-7 protection to ten women for God knows how long.”