by J. C. Eaton
“Calm down. It’s his case, but he’s not inside.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he just called me from one of the deputy vans. Apparently, the woman he was tracking down was somehow involved with a known drug trafficker. When she realized what was going on, it was too late. The guy abducted her. Luckily your boyfriend is such a bloodhound. He was able to piece things together with no loose ends. The sheriff’s department had no choice but to act on Marshall’s lead.”
“He told me he had to speak with one of the negotiators. You don’t think they’re going to send him in there, do you?”
“Hell no. Marshall had information that can be used to get the perpetrator to reconsider. He’s working with the SWAT team, but in an advisory capacity.”
No sooner did Nate finish his sentence than the TV scene switched again to Casa Grande and the same commentator continued to speak. “If you’ve just turned on your TV set, we’ve got a hostage situation unfolding in Casa Grande. The Pinal County Tactical Response Team, in cooperation with the county sheriff’s department, has surrounded the suspect’s house. Negotiators are pressing for release of the hostage.”
My gaze never left the screen. “Advisory capacity? That’s Marshall walking toward the front door. Why’s he the one they’re sending in?”
The pause at the other end of the line told me more than anything Nate could say.
My voice got squeaky and I kept repeating, “Why Marshall? Why Marshall?”
“Take a close look, Phee,” Nate finally said. “There are two armed responders on either side of Marshall, who, by the way, has his hand on a gun, as well. My take is this—the suspect didn’t want to speak with anyone from the sheriff’s department or their response team. Marshall was privy to some information that he could use as leverage. Sit tight.”
Again, stupid commercials. Last thing I needed to see were people dancing around because they liked their cholesterol medicine. I didn’t remember what I said to Nate, but he was now insistent that he drive over to my place.
“No, no. I’ll be fine. If something happens in the next five minutes, I won’t be able to speak with you. Can you please stay on the line?”
“Sure thing, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.”
Everything on the TV screen seemed to happen in slow motion. More commentary. More snapshots of the area, only this time from different angles. I figured they sent in additional camera crews.
THE UNFOLDING SITUATION IN CASA GRANDE oscillated back and forth against a lineup of irritating commercials. I leaned back and turned my head to the kitchen. Seven fifteen, according to the clock on the microwave. It had been well over an hour since I’d called Nate.
“Hey, kiddo. I don’t want to upset you, but my cell battery is getting low. I need to charge it for a few minutes and I’ll call back. Promise.”
“All right. You know where I am.”
I put the receiver back in the cradle, relieved I had still kept my landline. Less than five minutes passed when the phone rang. It couldn’t be Nate. Not so soon.
“Phee! It’s your mother. I thought you were going to call me. What did Cindy Dolton know about Quentin Dussler?”
“I, um, er . . . listen, Mom, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Shirley’s going to be here any minute. We’re going to the fish fry at Putter’s Paradise. I know it’s late, but on Fridays they drop the price after seven. Call me after nine. I’ll still be up.”
“Yeah, sure. Fine.”
“Are you all right? You sound a little distracted.”
A little distracted? My boyfriend’s head could be blown off any second by some lunatic. Yeah, I’m distracted all right.
“It’s fine. Like I said, I’m in the middle of something. Paperwork. Talk to you later.”
Whoever invented the word “paperwork” needed to be congratulated. It served as the perfect excuse, any time, night or day, to hide whatever it was people were really doing. And the one thing I was doing, besides going out of my mind with worry, was hiding the situation from my mother. Last thing I needed was for her to traipse over to my house to offer moral support. And if Shirley Johnson came along with her, I’d be in double jeopardy. I could close my eyes and hear the both of them.
“Oh Lordy, those hostage situations never work out well. Crazy man back in the Carolinas wound up killing the entire family and their guinea hens.”
“What about that nutcase on the roof back in Mankato? Oh, never mind, Phee’s too young to remember.”
Yep. The best thing I did was not say a word to my mother. Nothing changed on the TV regarding the matter. The same loop was playing over and over again. I switched to three other channels and it was no different. Rolling my neck back and forth, I tried to relax my muscles. Just then, the phone rang again.
Nate’s voice. “Only me. We should be good for a while. Battery’s at eighty percent.”
A commercial coaxing customers to switch their cell phone coverage ended and the news flashed back to Casa Grande. Only this time something had changed. Changed during the commercial. A man was being escorted out of the house, his hands behind his back, presumably in handcuffs. A woman, whose head was bent down, was also escorted out of the place. Off to the side stood Marshall and a response team member.
“So, there you have it, viewers. The standoff in Casa Grande has just ended with no casualties. More details on our ten o’clock report.”
Although Nate had worked hard at keeping his voice steady and calm the entire time, I knew it was a practiced effort. I could tell the difference immediately.
“You can breathe again, Phee. Phee? You there?”
It was as if a hand had reached into my throat and grabbed it. “Yeah, uh . . . I’m fine. Really, I am. I’d better get off the line in case Marshall calls.”
“I can guess what you must be thinking, but it’s not like this all the time. You know that. Mostly interviews and boring stuff.”
“I know. Um, before I forget . . . thanks, Nate, for being there. And next time, can you please send him to find a missing dog or something?”
“I’ll take that under advisement. See you on Monday. It’s the weekend. Try to have some fun.”
Fun. It was the last thing on my mind. I was so mentally exhausted from the last two hours I felt like throwing myself on the couch and calling it a night. It was horrible watching some nail-biting scene play out in front of me, knowing there was nothing I could do. Then it dawned on me. That was exactly how Marshall must’ve felt those times when I put myself in similar situations. At least I was certain of one thing—the Lillian wouldn’t be one of them.
I was moving a few pillows to the side of the couch when Marshall called. “I hope you weren’t watching the TV.”
“From the minute I got home from work. Nate too. Thank God you’re all right. I was scared out of my mind. Why did they send you in there? They should’ve sent armored guards or something.”
“I offered to go. With what I knew about the case, I could leverage the suspect.”
I gasped and didn’t say a word.
“Don’t be upset, Phee. Everything was under control.”
“It sure didn’t look that way on TV.”
“You know the news media, they always blow things out of proportion to keep the viewers glued to the set. Honestly, I wasn’t about to get myself killed.”
“So, now what?”
“The suspect is in custody and the parents of the missing woman are driving to the sheriff’s station in Casa Grande to pick up their daughter.”
“What about you?”
“I’m drained. Completely fatigued. I’m going to check in to a motel in Casa Grande and head home tomorrow. Can I see you then?”
“You’d better. I have a short meeting with the residence director at the Lillian, but I’ll be back by noon the latest. I’ll pick up something for us to eat. You have a key. I gave it to you in case of an emergency.”
�
��What’s the emergency?”
“You’ll find out when you get here.”
Marshall might have been wiped out from all that drama, but once it was over, I was restless and edgy. Not to mention famished. I put together a tuna salad sandwich and complemented it with enough potato chips to keep Lays in business indefinitely. It was only later, when I started pacing around my casita, I realized I needed to keep occupied.
Unable to concentrate on anything that would tax my brain, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I made cookies. Sugar cookies, to be exact, because I had the ingredients in my pantry and the recipe was as simple as could be.
Two hours later, I had dozens of sugar thumb cookies with jelly middles ready for consumption. Marshall wouldn’t starve when he finally got here.
As I started to put away the last of the bowls, the phone rang and I nearly knocked over a Pyrex baking pan to get it.
“You should’ve told me Marshall was one of those hostage negotiators. It’s on the late night news right now. Is he all right? That kind of thing can give someone PTSD. You should have called me. Shirley and I could’ve driven to your house.”
“Thanks, Mom, but Marshall’s fine. He’s been trained for that sort of thing, and Nate was on the line with me until it ended. We didn’t want to worry you.”
“Next time, and I hope to God there is no next time, but if there is, you call me. Understand?”
“Uh-huh. Listen, it’s getting late so—”
“So, tell me. What did you learn about Quentin Dussler?”
“Here’s the abridged version, so listen carefully. Widower. Has a globe-trotting niece. Was a big shot at the clay club. Temperamental. I might have a lead on some people who knew him.”
“That’s all?”
“I’m afraid so. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted. I don’t know about you, but I intend to get some sleep.”
“Make sure your door’s locked.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Chapter 6
Elegant topiaries lined the circular driveway leading into the Lillian. Off to one side was a designated parking area for guests and another for residents. In addition, there was valet parking, should the resident opt for that amenity. A large waterfall and decorative pool stood in the center of the circle.
As I drove past the waterfall toward the parking area, I glanced at the main entrance. It rivaled most small castles and palaces. Ornate pillars, elegant scrollwork, and beveled glass doors. Fancy resort chairs and benches were tastefully placed on either side of the entrance. No wonder Gertie and Trudy raved about the place. I hadn’t even walked inside and I was in awe.
It was a little past ten as I approached the doors. They slid open automatically and I stepped inside. No need to visit Versailles. It was right in front of me. Off to my right stood a marble reception desk that was manned by two young women. Blondes. Again, another waterfall feature in the center of the room, this one smaller and enhanced by flickering colored lights. Comfortable chairs and couches filled the welcome area. The flower arrangements were the freshly cut ones, and I stopped for a moment to inhale the sweet scent of roses.
I could see another room off to my left. A giant flat-screen TV was tuned to one of the local channels. A few residents, who were seated in overstuffed couches and chairs, appeared to be mesmerized by the program. On the adjacent wall stood another flat-screen TV that scrolled a continuous list of daily and weekly activities. Shopping trips. Casino trips. Restaurant trips. Day spas. The list was endless and I couldn’t pull myself away from it.
“You look like you just fell off the turnip truck,” came a man’s voice from behind me.
I turned and stared at a white-haired octogenarian who was wearing a white button-down shirt and gray slacks. “Are you lost or something? You’re too young to live here and too old to work here.”
Too old to work here. Who’s he kidding?
I started to say something but didn’t get the chance.
“Now, don’t go taking this the wrong way. You’re damn good looking and probably not a day over forty, but they seem to hire twenty-year-olds who can’t find their way out of a paper bag if you give them directions.”
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to compliment me or simply set me straight. “I, um . . . have an appointment with your residence director. Kimberlynn Warren.”
“Hmmph. She’d need directions and a compass. They’ll help you at the reception desk. By the way, I’m Vernon McWellan. I’m on my way to catch the morning movie. It starts at eleven. They make good popcorn. If your meeting turns out to be a snoozer, the movie theater is down the hall on your left.”
“Uh, thanks. Oh, and nice to meet you, Mr. Mc Wellan.”
I immediately walked over to the reception desk. Vernon McWellan was right. The receptionists looked to be in their late teens or early twenties at most. They were both wearing uniform white tops and black slacks. They were sporting small drop earrings but, on close inspection, they had many more pierced holes that weren’t currently in use.
“Hi! I’m Sophie Kimball. Phee, actually. I have an appointment with your residence director for ten thirty.”
The blonde with the short-cropped hair looked up from her computer. “I’ll let her know you’re here. Meanwhile, you can help yourself to some coffee and snacks in the smaller reception area right behind me.”
She ushered me into an elegant waiting room and returned to the front desk. Obviously, someone went to a lot of trouble to maintain their motto—elegant resort living. I had just started to peruse the cupcakes and assorted crackers when Kimberlynn Warren approached me. She was pretty much everything I expected. Tall, slender, and thirties, with a brunette bob that didn’t have a single hair out of place.
“Miss Kimball? I’m Kimberlynn Warren. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Frankly, I was expecting someone a bit—”
“Older?”
“Well, yes.”
“Tell me”—I followed her out of the waiting area and into her office—“what’s the average age for the residents at the Lillian?”
“I’d say in their late eighties, although we have people from their late seventies to their early hundreds. Each year we celebrate at least three or four birthdays for the folks who turn one hundred. The Lillian is graceful living at its best.”
“I can see that.”
“Please, take a seat. Can I offer you anything? Water maybe?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks. Listen, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. As you’ve probably surmised, I’m not here about acquiring a residence for myself or for anyone else. I’m here on an entirely different matter.”
“Mmm. Now I’m curious.” She seated herself behind a white oak desk. “The message I received regarding your appointment was a bit vague.”
“I work for Williams Investigations in Glendale, but I’m not here on official business. In fact, I’m not—”
“Oh my goodness. That was on the news last night. This morning, too. That long hostage standoff in Casa Grande. I’m glad no one was killed.”
I took a quick breath. Last thing I needed was to be reminded of what I’d been through. “Yeah, me too. Anyway, I’m here on behalf of some of your residents who wish to remain anonymous at this juncture in time.”
“Sounds serious. If something’s wrong, we have a procedure for filing complaints, although we get very few of them.”
“I don’t think this would fall under anything procedural. The residents I’m in contact with are all quite contented with the Lillian. But recently, they’ve experienced some minor pilfering and it’s upset them terribly.”
“Minor pilfering? You mean petty theft?”
“Yeah. Petty theft.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t they report that directly to me? And what exactly was stolen?”
“Small stuff. Like cans of tuna, knitting yarn, a commemorative pin, and a clay jar.”
“That’s it? Any money?”
“A five-dollar bill. Worth five do
llars. Not a rare bill. These were all things the residents had laying around their apartments. It’s not the monetary value, it’s about privacy and respect. They feel violated.”
“That’s understandable, but what I don’t get is why they went to you and not to our management.”
“Because they were worried about retaliation.”
“Retaliation? Good grief. From whom? Certainly not the management.”
“They believe the management would’ve discussed the subject with the staff and they didn’t want to create any ill will. They also didn’t want staff members to treat them differently.”
Kimberlynn absently tore at a small piece of paper on her desk as she tapped her teeth together. “In a roundabout way, I can see their point.”
“These incidents started a few months ago. Were any new staff members added since then?”
“No, the last hire was for a prep cook in the kitchen.” Kimberlynn shook her head. “That was over a year ago. The staff who work at the Lillian have been here longer than that.”
“Gee, the two receptionists out front look as if they’re still in high school.”
Kimberlynn laughed. “I wish I looked that good. Believe it or not, they’re in their mid-twenties. Sisters. Lots of spa time on their days off and no kids to wear them out. They’re both single. They’ve been with us a little over two years.”
“What about new residents? Could a new resident, with say, a tendency to kleptomania, have moved in recently?”
“I’m afraid not. The only time we receive new residents is when one of our patrons needs assisted living, skilled nursing, or . . . well, there’s no way to sugarcoat it, hospice and afterlife care.”
“Afterlife care? That’s a term I haven’t heard of.”
“Polite for burial or cremation.”
I swallowed and nodded. “What about security? Do you have cameras in the hallways?”
“The entrances and common windows are alarmed and we do have security cameras on the outside of the building. But this is a residential hotel, not an institution. We’re not a school or a hospital. So, to answer your question, no. Our hallways don’t have security cameras. Besides, the residents would really consider that an invasion of their privacy. We do have security guards, though, but they patrol the perimeter.”