MURDER AT THE PIER (A Sister Sleuths Mystery Book 1)

by Rayna Morgan

  "It sounds like you used everything you learned from a difficult situation to turn yourself into an outstanding young man."

  "I hope so. It's why I need to keep working construction right now. It pays me enough so I can help my mom and still save money to get my high school diploma and enroll at the junior college. I'm planning to take night classes and still work during the day."

  "Ambitious program, young man. One I believe you're capable of accomplishing."

  Paul stood to bring the conversation to a close. Putting his arm over Juan's shoulder as they walked to the door, he asked casually: "By the way, do you have any ideas on who has been pulling off the burglaries in the last couple of weeks?"

  Juan turned to face Paul. Paul's heart was in his throat, afraid he might hear a response from Juan that could implicate him.

  "Hey, man, those burglaries are bad business. Personally, I think it has to be an inside job." He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. "I mean, it seems like these guys know which sites are the easiest to hit. They hit at exactly the right time when the security guard is away from the front gate doing his rounds. It's like they know the schedule."

  "Do guards follow a definite routine?"

  "Oh, yeah. In fact, there's a machine on the site where the guards log their inspections. It's the boss' way to make sure the guard makes his rounds when he's supposed to and covers the whole property." Juan grinned. "Without the logging machine, the guy could just stand out in back somewhere having a smoke."

  An alarm sounded in the back of Paul's mind. "You seem to know quite a bit about the routine."

  "I've worked as a security guard. I know exactly how it works. I've also worked at a car wash, flipping burgers at a drive-through, and parking cars at the country club." Juan patted his chest. "I'm a man of all trades, you might say."

  "How do you like working for Jim Mitchell's company?"

  "I respect Mr. Mitchell a lot. His foreman is strict but fair; he knows how to treat us guys in the field right so we want to do a good job for him."

  Paul sensed Juan's sincerity and liked the young man more and more as the conversation progressed. But his next statement made Paul catch his breath. "Believe me, it's a lot better than working for Neal Henderson."

  "When did you work for Neal, Juan?"

  "Right before I came over here. I was only on Mr. Henderson's job for a month or so when he suddenly let me go for no reason. Man, I was upset. I needed the money, and I was doing a good job."

  "What reason did he give for terminating you?"

  "He talked about tools gone missing on the site. He never accused me of stealing, but he said stuff started being reported right after I was hired and it was making me look bad." His eyebrows squeezed together and his jaw jutted out. "It was all a big misunderstanding. I swear I'd never do anything like that no matter how bad I needed money. I'm not dumb enough to do something stupid so I end up in jail when I've got my family to take care of. It was all unfair."

  "Did you have any trouble finding another job after you were let go?"

  "That was the strange part. Mr. Henderson told me he would show on my personnel records I was terminated because the job was winding down so I'd be able to find other work. In fact, he was the one who told me they needed construction workers here on Mr. Mitchell's project."

  Paul relaxed. Juan's candor and honesty were hardly synonymous with someone trying to cover up criminal activities. But before he concluded the interview, he took the opportunity to dispel one last lingering doubt.

  His next question was not aimed at anything Jim Mitchell had asked him to pursue but something he needed to know for his own peace of mind. "I guess working a full-time job and helping your Mom take care of your siblings, you don't have much time to yourself," Paul suggested.

  "Yeah, I keep pretty busy. But don't worry; I find time for the important stuff like watching the Lakers game against the Spurs with my buddies Monday night. I still can't believe they won the game. One of their best comebacks ever."

  "Unfortunately, I missed a lot of the game. At least I saw the final minutes when the Lakers made a run of a dozen points." Paul didn't bother to tell Juan the reason he was unable to watch much of the game was because his wife was busy discovering a dead body at the Pier. He was relieved to have assured himself that even though Juan Martinez may have had a possible motive in being unfairly terminated by the victim, he had a solid alibi for the time of the murder.

  "I wish you the best, Juan. You're a godsend to your mother and you're on the right path with your life. Keep working hard. I'm sure you'll get a diploma and whatever else you set your sights on." Paul shook Juan's hand, clapping him on the shoulder.

  "Thank you. It means a lot to have people believe in me."

  As Juan headed back to work, Paul hoped what he had learned would be enough to convince Tom that Juan Martinez was not the one who killed Neal Henderson.

  Chapter Six

  Lea entered the Carson Building and walked over to the snack stand. The twenty-one story building was the tallest structure in town. The front entrance boasted a circular drive with a water fountain. Across the parking lot was a small retail center hosting a Starbucks, sandwich shop, copy store, and FedEx.

  The first floor of the office building included a bank, an insurance company, and an employment agency. Don Carson housed the divisions of his development company on floors eighteen through twenty. The top floor included a penthouse reserved for Don and his assistants, and The Apex, the County’s premier members club known for its outstanding cuisine, sky lounge, and banquet facilities. With a breathtaking view of the ocean, The Apex was the meeting place of choice for business, political, and social leaders.

  “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?” She pulled a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and picked up a package of breath mints from the counter.

  “I’m wonderful, Miss Lea.” The owner of the kiosk was on a first name basis with everyone who walked into the building except the owner, whom he always called Mr. Carson out of respect. “Another sunny day in paradise. My grandkids coming for a visit. Everything is good.”

  “How long will they stay?”

  “Two weeks. Plenty of time for me to talk my daughter and son-in-law into moving here. “

  Lea laughed. “Or for them to talk you into moving back to the Philippines. We’d hate to lose you.”

  His broad smile exposed broken teeth. “Don’t worry. My wife would never hear of it. Besides, how could Mr. Carson keep this big building running smoothly without me?”

  “Things probably aren’t running too smoothly today with the news about Neal Henderson.”

  “It’s terrible. All the tenants are buzzing. The police and reporters were here earlier. Mr. Carson was out of town, but I saw his helicopter landing on the helipad when I came in at seven o’clock. “

  “Neal was his right-hand man. He’ll have a lot to take on.”

  “Maybe Adam will come home now. It’s too bad such a terrible thing should be the reason, but everyone would be happy to see that happen.”

  “I’m sure Adam will do what he thinks is best for all concerned. From what I hear, he has a girlfriend on the East Coast to consider.”

  “Rumor is she’s from an old school, old money family. She may not be ready to settle down in a small laid back West Coast town.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “If she’s worried about that, she doesn’t know how Mr. Carson lives.”

  “I’m sure you could give her the lowdown, Bobby,” Lea laughed. “I’ve got to run.”

  “Which of your clients are you here to see?”

  “Going to The Apex. Angelo needs brochures for the next Food Fest.”

  “I’ve heard about his cooking competitions. The people who go the last day sample the winner’s dishes. Dishes fit for a king.”

  “Maybe I can get you a ticket.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Lea, but don’t bother. It would be too rich for my stomach. I’m
used to my wife’s simple Filipino fare. She doesn’t let me eat fancy stuff. Says it will clog my arteries.”

  “She’s a smart woman, Bobby. You listen to her.”

  “Don’t worry. I have no choice.” He turned to help his next customer.

  * * *

  It was only eleven o’clock, but the restaurant was bustling. “Busy day, Angelo?” Lea asked the handsome, stylishly dressed owner of The Apex when he appeared from the kitchen.

  “Both lunch seatings are booked.”

  “I’m glad I made reservations yesterday. I talked my husband into treating me to lunch after you and I finish. I may have forgotten to call today with all the excitement of the murder.”

  “We’ve had a number of last minute reservations. I think people are coming to gossip.”

  “Neal must have been a regular at your restaurant. Did you know him well?”

  “As well as I wanted to. The thing that happened was terrible, but I don’t think anyone who knew him is shedding tears. He wasn’t a pleasant young man. His arrogance was offensive and he could be childishly petty.”

  “Surely he would never have been rude to you, knowing what a close friend of Don Carson you are.”

  “That didn’t stop him one night a few weeks ago. It was a Tuesday, typically a slow night for us. Neal and a lady friend were here for dinner. Everyone knows we close at ten o’clock during the week. It was obvious he and the woman were wrapped up in each other at closing time. Neal wanted me to accommodate them. Acting like a big shot by having the restaurant stay open. No way was I going to cater to him. The only person I stay open for after hours is Don Carson.

  The waiter had closed out their dinner ticket. I told Neal he needed to leave. When he didn’t, I turned out the lights. The woman laughed and told Neal it was time to go. She was quite nice about the whole thing but Neal was livid.

  The next day half way through the lunch hour, the building had a fire drill. It was not a big deal for the other tenants. Most of them were taking their lunch break. For me, it was a disaster. Many of my customers had to leave hot meals. By the time they returned, their food was cold. I offered to reheat plates for people with hot entrees, but most of them didn’t have time. They left with their food half eaten. I’m sure he did it to spite me for what happened the night before.”

  Lea cocked her head. “Don’t worry, Lea. Italians are known for our fiery tempers, but he didn’t get under my skin enough for me to kill him. I can’t speak for some of the others he offended.”

  “What about the woman he was with that night? Do you know if that was a serious relationship?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. At least, I wouldn’t think so. She’s older and married.”

  “I assumed it was a date from the way you described their intimacy.”

  “Their exchange was more intense than intimate. But if what you assumed is correct, that would, indeed, make for juicy gossip.”

  “Why, Angelo?”

  “Neal was with City Councilwoman, Margaret Patton.”

  * * *

  Seated at a table next to the picture window, Lea waited impatiently for Paul.

  Scheduling a meeting with Angelo while lunch was being prepared had not been smart. The chef dedicated each day of the week to a different kind of cuisine. Today, barbecue was featured. Her taste buds were salivating from the tantalizing smells of brisket cooking: chili powder, garlic, onion, peppers, and bay leaf.

  Her meeting with Angelo had gone well. She was sketching ideas for the brochure on her notepad when a hand moving across her back sent chills up her neck.

  “Could this gorgeous red-head be my lunch date?”

  “Don’t tell your wife. I hear she’s slaving away making a living. She’d envy you frittering your time away over martinis in this magnificent setting.”

  “Does that mean you’ve already ordered?”

  “It was a no-brainer. After smelling the lunch special for the last hour, I had no choice but to order it.”

  By the time the entrée arrived, they had finished their drinks and discussed morning activities.

  Paul lifted a large forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth. “Gordon Parks was in the elevator when I came up. Asked if I was ready to join his firm.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “I gave him the same no I give him each time he asks.”

  She let out the breath she was holding. “You have to give him credit. He’s persistent.”

  “He’s persisting in a losing cause. I’ve told him I have no interest in becoming a broker.”

  “Doesn’t he do leasing for several of your clients?”

  “Yep, and that’s the way I like it. He contracts with my clients to take care of their major leasing needs. I take care of their development and management needs. I do renewals for existing tenants, but that’s all I want of leasing. The brokerage business is too competitive for me. Too cut-throat.”

  “Gordon isn’t that way, is he?”

  “Not particularly. But a couple of the brokers working for him have no qualms about cutting other brokers out so they don’t have to share commissions. One, in particular, has earned the nickname Trickster for the number of deals he’s cheated other brokers on.”

  “Why doesn’t Gordon stop it?”

  “He takes a hands-off attitude. Expects brokers to negotiate commissions on their own.”

  “But isn’t the payment of commissions one of the terms in the listing agreement?”

  “Much of the language in a contract is subject to interpretation. The Trickster has ways of spinning the interpretation so he ends up with the biggest slice of the pie.”

  “I can easily see why you couldn’t work in that kind of environment. You always look for the win-win in every deal.”

  “I’ve never been willing to push the boundaries on honest business practices. I never got over the developer I worked for when we lived in San Diego. Remember him?”

  “How could I forget? The one who wanted you to represent to a lender that a project would yield a higher return than was possible.”

  “That’s the one. Tried to convince me a slight fudging of the numbers wouldn’t hurt anyone. Promised me a bonus when the loan got approved.”

  “You asked how you could sleep at night if you started cheating to line your own pockets. He insisted bankers were just as bad.”

  “Unfortunately, he was right. But other people’s greed and corruption isn’t an excuse. It’s a personal choice. A decision to go down that road is usually made without consideration for how innocent people may be affected. The greed of big business and the attitude that corruption is acceptable because everyone’s doing it led to the economic collapse.”

  “From what I’m hearing, greed and ego were qualities that may have led to Neal Henderson’s downfall.”

  Lea started to recap her conversation with Angelo but decided not to risk ruining a perfect lunch by alerting Paul to her interest in the murder victim.

  * * *

  Tom was at the Carson Building to talk with Don’s Property Manager, Brad Johnson. The management office on the eighteenth floor was modestly but tastefully furnished. Presenting his credentials at the front desk, Tom was ushered into an office containing a desk littered with files.

  “I paged Brad,” the secretary informed him. “He’s with an electrician, but he’s on his way. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The Property Manager arrived before the coffee. The secretary returned with two cups, one which she placed in front of the harried young man. He dropped a pager, clipboard, and sunglasses on top of the papers on his desk.

  “Thanks, Ann. No calls, please. I don’t care what emergency someone tells you they’re having.”

  Tom leaned across the desk with his card. “Thanks for seeing me without an appointment, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Please, call me Brad. No thanks needed. Appointments are for the bigwigs upstairs. Everyone barges in our office unannounced. I’m glad
of the chance to take an uninterrupted break,” he said, exhaling a deep breath.

  “I’m investigating the death of Neal Henderson. Did you and Mr. Henderson work together?”

  “No. Neal handled the construction side of Don’s business. I’m strictly Property Management, taking care of the tenants and the maintenance on all the properties. I saw him at the company meetings once a week. Other than that, I made it a point to steer clear of him.”

  “You didn’t like him?”

  “I don’t know many people who did. He was a jackass. Arrogant. Always throwing his weight around. Meddling in things outside his department.”

  “Such as?”

  “Telling my security guards or maintenance crew how to do their jobs. He couldn’t walk through the building without having a few choice words about windows needing to be washed or a car in the parking lot without a permit that security should tag. Other department heads would never do that. They know better. I don’t tell the leasing guys how to do their jobs and I would never butt in with a general contractor.”

  “Why do you think Don Carson thought highly of him if other people, yourself included, had a bad opinion of him?”

  “Henderson was a brown-noser. He made sure Mr. Carson always saw him at his best. Acted like everyone’s bosom buddy when the boss was around. Tried to give the impression he was well liked by the employees. Dished out accolades in front of Carson, then turned around and chewed out the same person the next day.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell Carson the employees didn’t like him?”

  “Nobody wanted to hurt the boss. They knew Neal was a substitute son while his own son was back East. We all figured Neal would leave once Adam came back and he realized he was never going to take over Don’s business.”

  “Did you have any run-ins with Neal?”

  “I saw him in his car in the parking garage after hours one night making out with one of the secretaries who works at the insurance company.”

  “That was hardly company business. Why did you care?”

  His voice got louder. “Because he was engaged to Beth Owens at the time. He had no right to be doing what he was doing.”