Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “And what about our end?”

  “That’s a two-prong nightmare. Tomorrow, you’ll make the call to Dean Carlington and set that in motion for Friday. Just think, if we hadn’t come here tonight, we never would’ve realized who ‘MOM’ was. I’m telling you, those women are a wealth of information.”

  “If you can sift through the hearsay, rumor, and gossip.”

  “Who do you suppose is the other diamond buyer? The one Kimberlynn alluded to when Gertie overheard her speaking with the bartender?”

  “Not sure. And Nate and I aren’t sure if that conversation was about the diamonds. It could’ve been something else. We’ll only know on Friday when all of this is set in motion.”

  “So, you and Nate are going up to Punkin Center?”

  “One of us will. Nate has a feeling something may happen at the Lillian. I think it had to do with that conversation of Kimberlynn’s. So, one lucky party gets to stay in town.”

  “I wonder what kind of plan the sheriffs’ departments have in store for Friday.”

  “Me too. And we’re supposed to be in the loop. Meanwhile, I’d rather think about our plans for tonight. How about a warm swim before getting under some cool sheets?”

  “You’ve got it backward but count me in.”

  Chapter 33

  “You sure that’s all you want for lunch?” Augusta asked. “A toasted bagel from the deli?”

  “I’m not that hungry. My stomach’s all in knots wondering about tomorrow. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something, but I don’t know what.”

  “Relax. Nate and Marshall know what they’re doing, even if they’re dealing with your least favorite deputies. Be thankful the FBI hasn’t shown up yet with some doofus from Interpol.”

  “I suppose you’re right. As soon as the men get back to the office, I’m supposed to call Dean Carlington and finalize the arrangement.”

  “Looks like that’ll be sooner than you think. Here comes the boss now. He’s crossing the street. Parking’s impossible this time of day. Sure you don’t want me to pick up anything else for you to eat? I’m on my way out now.”

  “No, a bagel’s fine.”

  Nate had filled his stomach before returning to the office from an early meeting in Sun City West. Marshall was with a new client in Peoria and wouldn’t be back for a bit. Augusta grabbed her bag, walked to the door, and muttered a few words to Nate before taking off for the deli.

  “How’d the morning go?” I asked him.

  “Everything looked good on paper.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Who the hell knows? I’m going to need something stronger than Rolaids to deal with all those protocols. It’s almost one. Ready to place that call?”

  “Sure. Let me get the number Eric gave us. I left it on my desk.”

  “Might as well sit at your own desk and be comfortable. I’ll be right in.”

  I lifted the candy wrapper from underneath my pink flying pig paperweight and stared at the number. Nate walked in, handed me a new burner phone, leaned against the wall, and gave me a thumbs-up. I bit my lower lip. “What if Dean Carlington didn’t break the jar and call the insurance company?”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. He did. I guarantee he wouldn’t risk losing a million-dollar diamond. Go ahead. Call him.”

  I closed my eyes and pretended I was calling about a delinquent account. Dean Carlington picked up on the second ring.

  “Mr. Carlington, you may proceed as planned. We shall deliver the package to the designated location by nine tomorrow morning. I trust that’s satisfactory for you.”

  “Yes. Yes. I’ve taken care of everything. Um, how long will the package remain before it’s too late for pick-up?”

  I started adding up the amount of time it would take to fly from Palm Springs International Airport to Sky Harbor in Phoenix. Then the drive up north. I didn’t want to make it too easy, but I certainly didn’t want the plan to crash and burn before it began. “Five and a half hours. I’d plan for an early start, if I were you. Good luck, Mr. Carlington. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

  My fingers hit the end button before I could take a breath.

  “That was wonderful, Phee,” Nate said. “Tomorrow’s going to turn out to be one hell of a day.”

  The plan was clear-cut. In less than twenty-four hours, Marshall would meet with a team of Maricopa County deputies at their station in Fountain Hills. From there, the crew would connect with the Gila County deputies at Jake’s Corner, a tiny dot on the map near Punkin Center. According to Nate, the deputies were going to stash a fake gem and fan out in the high desert. They’d be close enough to the outcrop to zoom in on whoever showed up for the prize. My money was on Dean Carlington, but the sheriff’s department was certain he wasn’t the only buyer. At least with Dean in play, they’d have someone to bring in for questioning. Thank goodness I managed to be so convincing on the phone with the guy when I spoke with him today.

  “Will Ranston and Bowman be part of the sting tomorrow?” I asked.

  Nate shook his head. “Not directly. They’ve got to have deputies who can ride dirt bikes without killing themselves. Ranston and Bowman, along with some Gila County deputies, will be stationed along the road once the operation gets underway.”

  “You mean they’ll show up once Dean Carlington is already on the footpath.”

  “Exactly. But there’s one glitch.”

  “What?”

  “Like we talked about before, there may be another player. And, we don’t know if any of these buyers are armed. Let’s face it, we’re dealing with a bizarre diamond heist that may or may not have something to do with the Lillian. I’m still not comfortable with that conversation Gertie overheard between Kimberlynn and that bartender.”

  “So you believe that woman was the bartender?”

  “I believe you. That, and the fact the signed postcard from Antwerp had the same name, ‘MOM,’ as that signature from the stolen urn. The bartender had to have known Mary Melhorn.”

  “Speaking of which, why can’t the sheriff’s department search Mary’s house?”

  “Not enough evidence for a warrant. But don’t fret. If my suspicions are right, Mary Melhorn may be paying a visit to Punkin Center tomorrow as well.”

  “What about the Lillian? Do you really think something’s going to happen there tomorrow?”

  “Wish I knew. I can’t seem to get that expression out of my mind. ‘Feds crawling all over the place.’ Only thing I can do is plant myself over there tomorrow. Got it all set. I’ll be with a deputy, and we’ll ask the residents some follow-up questions regarding Sharon Smyth. It should appear seamless.”

  No sooner did I finish discussing tomorrow’s rendezvous with Nate than Rolo called to tell him the astonishing news. Mary Olsen had indeed been in Belgium, Antwerp to be exact. She’d arrived ten days after Quentin Dussler left the country. And she didn’t arrive alone. She was accompanied by her daughter, Carolyn Olsen, a former gymnast.

  “Holy cow!” I said.

  “Oh, it gets better. Rolo’s e-mailing me Carolyn’s passport photo. I don’t know how he does this stuff, but I’m not stopping to ask. Heck, that photo’s probably in my in-box by now. Hold on.”

  “I got your bagel, Phee,” Augusta announced. “It was a zoo at the deli. You’d think they were giving food away. And I picked up one for you, too, Mr. Williams, in case you’re still hungry. Toasted with cream cheese.”

  “Thanks. I’ll know how hungry I am as soon as I check my e-mail.”

  Nate rushed into his office with Augusta and me on his heels. We charged over to his computer monitor as if it was about to deliver the holy grail. As Nate scrolled through his messages, I held my breath.

  “Yep, here it is,” he said. “Under ‘Vacation Photos.’”

  The picture was somewhat pixilated but absolutely recognizable.

  “That’s her!” I shouted. “Carolyn Olsen. The bartender.”

  Nate looked away from the
screen. “Where’d you say you put that bagel?”

  Augusta handed him a small brown deli bag.

  “Excuse me, ladies. I’ve got to place a few calls. And, Phee, you were right all along.”

  Rolo’s revelation forced the office into a tailspin. It meant Nate would have to accompany Marshall tomorrow to Punkin Center in order to “have a chat” with Carolyn. Assuming she was still tending bar. A clever scheme to cover up her real intentions. The deputies, according to Nate, weren’t able to “switch gears” without “hours of planning and copious notes.”

  “I’m not comfortable with this change in plans,” he told me when he had finished delivering Rolo’s information to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. “I’ve got an uneasy feeling about the Lillian. Nothing definitive. Nothing that would warrant having an officer on duty. To make matters worse, the deputy who was going to join me there tomorrow had a change in his schedule.”

  “I don’t mind stopping by in the afternoon. I could say I’m there to see Gertie and Trudy. What do you say?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Honestly, Nate, it’ll be fine. Sounds like all the action will be in the high desert by Punkin Center. You’re the ones who have to be worried.”

  “Yeah, but we’re armed. Look, go ahead and stop by, but if anything, and I mean anything whatsoever, strikes you as odd or uncomfortable, get out of there and call the posse. Got it?”

  “Sure. But first you’ll have to define ‘odd.’”

  “Very funny.”

  Marshall returned to the office a little while later and caught up with the latest series of events. Due to tomorrow’s schedule, he decided to sleep in his own place tonight. “No sense in both of us losing sleep.”

  I tried to hide how nervous I was feeling.

  “You have nothing to worry about, hon,” he said. “Everything will go off without a hitch tomorrow. Sure, they’ve got big guns blazing, but that’s for show. We’re dealing with diamond thieves. Not wackos.”

  I thought back to that awful hostage situation in Casa Grande where Marshall was lucky he wasn’t ambushed. “Call me as soon as they take Dean Carlington into custody. And Carolyn. And maybe her mother, if she’s there, too.”

  “It’ll be okay. You be careful at the Lillian. And don’t go into anyone’s apartment. Even Gertie and Trudy’s. And especially not Mario Aquilino’s. No matter what they may want to show you.”

  “What about Kimberlynn Warren? Shouldn’t someone be taking her into custody?”

  “She’s not going anywhere. Once the operation in Punkin Center is completed, I’m sure the sheriff’s department will have lots of questions for her. Meanwhile, the less she suspects the better.”

  Marshall called me twice that evening. Both times to reassure me. That made me even more nervous. All I could picture was one of those god-awful Westerns with men shooting guns all over the place. Then I remembered something. That day we trekked up to the high desert, my aunt insisted I was being followed by a man with a gun.

  More than likely it was her imagination. But what if, in addition to the diamond heist gang, there was a real wacko traipsing about? I called Marshall back, but it went to voice mail and I fell asleep before trying again.

  Chapter 34

  I got into the office earlier than usual. I didn’t mind working every other Saturday and, frankly, as worried as I was about the situation, it gave me something to do other than housework. Besides, I’d had a lousy night’s sleep and I was really edgy. I hadn’t had a miserable night like that in months. I fell asleep without a problem but woke up a few hours later unable to get back to sleep. No matter what I did, my mind wouldn’t shut off.

  There were so many tentacles to the case it made it impossible for me to rest. In retrospect, I should’ve gotten up, written down my thoughts, and gone back to bed. But instead, I let my mind weave a complicated spiderweb, beginning with Mary Olsen Melhorn.

  If she wasn’t the mastermind, she was certainly a key player. I was positive it was her greenware urn that was used to hide the stolen diamonds. And, she’d been in Antwerp at the time of the theft. Then there was her daughter, the bartender. Why on earth would someone stick around an isolated place like Punkin Center unless she had other motives? Obviously, she knew about the drop-off spot in the high desert. And what about that text message she sent when Aunt Ina and I were in the bar? Carolyn must have been alerting those off-roaders to our presence.

  Then there was Quentin Dussler. His clay jar “road maps” led buyers to a secret location where they could obtain a stolen diamond or diamonds. I imagined every time a buyer contacted him, he notified Mary. She would then go into the clay club, presumably to check on her piece of greenware, but, in reality, to remove one or more of the stones. Didn’t my mother tell me some of the members kept their greenware wet so if they wanted to alter it in any way, they could do so before it dried?

  The three of them, Mary, Carolyn, and Quentin, had to have been in cahoots. But maybe one of them got greedy and decided it was time to get Quentin out of the picture. If Mary and her daughter were working together, they could have easily killed Quentin. The same way Sharon Smyth was murdered. A plastic bag over the head. In her case, they removed the bag and stuffed linens and towels around her. In Quentin’s case, it was clay. Clay that molded to his face.

  Quentin’s murder was the first and the killers must have been really careful to remove the evidence. Their plastic bag. They weren’t so fortunate with Sharon. And why Sharon? She had nothing to do with the diamonds. And her clay jar “road map” was long gone before she was.

  I leaned my elbows on my desk, bent my head down, and ran my fingers through my hair. The sound of Augusta unlocking the office door made me jump.

  “I’m in here,” I shouted. “Got in real early so I kept the door locked.”

  Augusta marched inside my office. “You doing all right? I’ve seen old photos of refugees coming through Ellis Island who looked better than you do. And that was after crossing the Atlantic.”

  “If you must know, I probably didn’t get more than two or three hours of sleep last night. I don’t know how Nate and Marshall deal with this stuff all the time. I like things to be clear-cut and simple. You know, like a balance sheet.”

  Augusta rolled her eyes and trounced over to the coffeemaker. “So, did you come up with a theory yet?”

  The words spewed out of my mouth. “Quentin. Mary. Carolyn. Sharon. Diamonds. Clay.”

  “Uh-huh, got it so far,” she said. “What about that Kimberlynn woman? The one whose conversation with Carolyn, the bartender, got Nate to thinking the Lillian might be involved.”

  “I’m not sure. That’s where it gets all murky for me. There’s nothing that links her to Quentin, the clay club, or those Antwerp diamonds. Still, she and Carolyn were having more than a tête-à-tête.”

  “But Sharon Smyth was one of her residents. And Sharon had suspicions about the markings on that stolen clay jar of hers.”

  “True. Hey, you don’t suppose—”

  “That Kimberlynn stole Sharon’s clay jar? It wouldn’t have done her any good. Sounds as if the diamonds get put into circulation, so to speak, once the jar is destroyed and the insurance company is notified. Then the buyer goes and picks up his or her treasure. The map’s good for one round only. And Sharon’s jar wasn’t insured.”

  “So, what do you think’s going on between Kimberlynn and Carolyn?” I asked.

  “Whatever it is, I wager it has to do with those resort retirement places. Don’t you think it’s awfully fishy that the diamond buyers seem to have connections with those places? And if any of my relatives decide to stick me in one of those, they’ll have to get past Mr. Wesson and Mr. Glock.”

  “Your lawyers?”

  “My guns.”

  I helped myself to a cup of coffee, too, a new K-cup flavor I’d been meaning to try. Chicory blend. “Hey, before I forget, I promised Nate I’d drop by the Lillian today. Like you said, he had a
feeling something is in the wind over there. I’ll scope things out with the Gertrudes.”

  “I keep bear spray in my desk if you need it.”

  “I’m visiting a retirement place, not Yellowstone National Park.”

  I went back to my desk and pulled up last month’s billing. Augusta had a ton of work, too. She was revising the new client contract agreements for Nate and had some tax records to look up. With the exception of a few sporadic phone calls, it was a quiet morning. At one point I asked her if any of those calls were Nate or Marshall, but I knew better. She would have yelled for me if they were.

  Five and a half hours was a long window for Dean Carlington and I wondered if I shouldn’t have made it three or four. The wait was making me anxious. I figured the Lillian might take my mind off Punkin Center and whatever impending disaster might be out in that high desert.

  “I think I’ll head over to Sun City West. I’ll stop at a hamburger place for an early lunch on the way. Call me if anything comes up. I’ll keep my ringtone on high.”

  “You got it,” Augusta said. “See you later.”

  Everything looked normal at the Lillian when I pulled up a short while later. The May heat made it uncomfortable for people to be out and about at midday, but I spied a few ladies heading to their cars. I nabbed a spot in the side lot and went straight to the front door. A blue Toyota RAV4 was parked near the delivery vehicles. A magnetic sign on the driver’s side door read GREATER PHOENIX MOBILE NOTARY SERVICES. Yep, the Lillian provided for everything.

  No one was in the lobby when I walked inside the building. Then I remembered it was lunchtime and the residents would be in the dining room. I stepped over to the reception desk, expecting to see the blondes, but instead, Taylor was there.

  “Hi! I was so used to seeing the blondes I forgot you worked on Saturdays,” I said.

  She looked up from the computer screen and smiled. “Yeah, those two are going boonie cruising today. It’s always something with them.”

  “Boonie cruising?”

  “You know, off-roading. It’s a passion of theirs. Along with kayaking, target shooting, and snowboarding. Their lives totally revolve around entertaining themselves. That’s when they’re not being pampered at a spa or paying an obscene amount of money for a manicure. Tina called me to ask about something, and while I was on the phone with her, I heard Tanya shouting, ‘I’ll need a massage and an herbal wrap when we’re done riding.’ Can you imagine?”