4 A Dead Mother

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “No. It sure doesn’t seem like it,” I said, marveling at Mom’s openness. Maybe “working the steps” as she had described one part of the rehab program curriculum, or some other aspect of her treatment, was doing some good. Father Martin had something to say about that too when I’d mentioned how much more willing she was to share her thoughts and feelings.

  “Don’t you believe the truth will set you free?” He’d asked. “Your mother is finally free of the burden of secrecy after decades of hiding her addiction from you and everyone else in her life. It’s life-changing. After her close call with death, what’s she got to lose by taking a chance on making a more intimate connection to you?”

  That all seemed possible gazing at my mother seated in a simple robe with a soft smile on her face. I wanted to believe it as much for her as for myself. She’d missed so much by hiding out.

  “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” Bernadette said quietly.

  “I know. So, what’s going on with poodles?” Alexis asked suddenly.

  “Another page in the life’s not easy story I’m afraid. I know you weren’t close, but I wanted to tell you before the news agencies run with it. Beverly Windsor was killed today.”

  “No! What do you mean killed?”

  “We’re not quite sure yet, but I’m fairly certain she was murdered. I don’t know who would do such a thing or why, but I intend to find out.”

  “Oh no! You’re not talking about walking into the crossfire, again are you? You’re still wearing the cast from your last go-round with cutthroats. Can’t you find any normal clients who just want you to help with a nasty divorce or ward off their greedy relatives or something like that?” Alexis was obviously alarmed.

  “Nasty divorces and greedy relatives can be very dangerous. I don’t plan to walk into the middle of anything, and I don’t want Leslie Windsor to do that either. My plan is to have Jerry and Kim check into the backgrounds of some of Beverly’s associates, and I’m going to hound the police investigators to treat this like a homicide. Leslie and I are safer if we can figure out what Beverly was mixed up in that got her killed.”

  “What makes you so convinced she was mixed up in anything?”

  “I don’t know for a fact that she was, but I’m convinced it wasn’t an accident. It’s just a hunch. She was up to her neck in trouble with her HOA and neighbors over the past few months. It’s been one hassle after another since she bought a house in the Araby Oasis Country Club and started renovating it.”

  “That doesn’t seem too unusual. HOAs can be hotbeds of intrigue. In my experience, too many bored, retired people who used to be somebody and have this longing to be important again run them. I got sick of the petty politics years ago. You wouldn’t believe how dirty folks are willing to get to win a seat on the board or get elected Chairperson. I never quite imagined that leading to murder.” Mom shrugged and then reached into her goody bag and pulled out a cookie.

  “You want one, too, so I don’t feel rude eating in front of you?”

  “No, thanks. Bernadette whipped up a feast for me and as many members of the Cat Pack as she could get to the house on short notice since a new mystery is afoot. What you should eat, first, though, is in that little squarish-looking box. Flan!”

  “I’ll bet it’s silky smooth and topped with that caramel sauce, isn’t it?” Mom asked.

  I nodded, and she went for it—pulling the rubber band off, and digging into the flan with the fork Bernadette had provided. I was thrilled to see her eating like that after the way she’d picked at her food the night before she left for her ill-fated trip to the Malibu rehab clinic. I also continued to mull over Mom’s comments about the rancorous nature of infighting among members of HOA boards.

  “Ah, talk about glorioso! Thanks so much. This is scrumptious, as usual.”

  “I’m glad you like it. That other little box is for Giovanni when he gets back from makin’ his calls.” Bernadette smiled as she watched Mom savor another bite of the flan.

  “He’ll be delighted! I’ll bet you know more than I do about the secret lives of HOA members, don’t you, Bernadette? I did my best to stay out of it when I called Mission Hills home, but your friends must give you plenty of dirt about what goes on. Not just in Rancho Mirage but all over the valley.”

  “Yes. One of my friends says the HOA at her place is like a telenovela right now. We don’t need more drama like the ones on those rich housewife reality shows since Cassie and Jim give us plenty of that already. Nothing’s changed much over the years from what I hear, except for fighting about water now because of the drought. You know how we’re all on restrictions about what days we can use the water and how much we can use before they charge more or fine us?”

  “Beverly mentioned it was another sore point among her neighbors since a water feature in her front courtyard and work on her pool were included in her renovations. She was trying to make the pool more efficient to operate, but there were still problems. The fines hanging over everyone’s heads concerned Beverly, too. She was trying to be conscientious, especially when it came to the water her contractors were using to get the work done at her place. I’ll bet those fines aren’t a trivial amount for an HOA with responsibility for all the public areas in a community like Araby Oasis.”

  “Money problems came up occasionally. There were accusations, now and again, about poor planning or the misuse of funds—somebody steering money to a friend or relative to do consulting, renovation, or maintenance,” Mom said.

  “There’s more personal stuff, too, like someone stealing someone’s husband, or rumors being started by one board member about another out of spite. Stupid stuff like so and so got a facelift or more serious like a neighbor got caught drunk-driving. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s even true once it hits the talk circuit. Gossip, gossip, gossip.” Bernadette opened and closed one hand in mock magpie fashion as she spoke about the tittle-tattle.

  “Tell me about it,” I said having experienced the power of the rumor mill to churn out garbage in my own sordid, tabloid-worthy life. “That does sound like one of your telenovelas. It’s absurd, but what do I know? It wouldn’t be the first time that hanky-panky about love or money led to murder. I wonder how often that happens because of rumors that aren’t even true.”

  “You’ve had more experience dealing with the legal aspects of HOA communities. The money they manage, day-to-day or hold in reserve isn’t small change. Occasionally, I’d hear about problems with reserves being raided or funds embezzled, but that was years ago. More precautions have been put into place to prevent that sort of thing, right?”

  “Yes. Araby Oasis has never had money problems as far as I can tell from the research we did before she bought a house there. Beverly wasn’t caught up in the desire to vie for an office, and she never suggested there was any underhanded behavior going on within the HOA. More like personality clashes with committee members who were sticklers for the rules. Some of the board members didn’t seem too-tightly-wrapped given how snippy they got over small matters. Others were at war with each other for reasons that remain unclear and Beverly got in the middle of that once or twice. Maybe I should take all of it more seriously, including the nastiness that can arise from people poking their noses into their neighbors’ love lives.”

  “That’s intriguing. Are you saying Beverly had a temptress side? I could imagine that. She struck me as a woman who knew what she wanted and wouldn’t hesitate to go for it. Not that I knew her well, but I never considered her to be the kind of woman who would make a play for a married man or a man some other woman had already claimed. We can all stumble and fall into trouble, though, can’t we?” Alexis grew silent and pensive. “Life’s not fair, is it? I’m alive and she’s dead.”

  “Come on, Mom. Life isn’t fair, but there’s no reason for you to feel guilty. I’m sorry that Leslie’s lost her mother. That’s not your fault! I’m going to do what I can to support Leslie and sort this out. Forgive me for being the bearer of mor
e bad news. Maybe practicing law isn’t the best thing for a calamity magnet like me.”

  “Oh, stop it. Now who’s feeling guilty? I’m sorry you have more bad news to bear, but your job is important. I was being facetious with that comment about finding clients that don’t bring you trouble! I hope you’ll be careful as you try ‘to sort this out’ as you call it, but you can’t let people get away with murder, can you?”

  “No, I don’t intend to do that,” I responded, smiling at Mom’s surge of enthusiasm and support.

  “Plus, Jessica’s got me and the rest of the Cat Pack watching her back. She’s not going after the bad guys alone.”

  “Great! You’ve had more than your share of close calls, too, Bernadette.” Mom paused and then sighed. “We should all be grateful that we’ve dodged bullets of the literal and metaphorical kind, shouldn’t we?” We all laughed although there was a hint of uneasiness in our laughter.

  “You never did tell me what any of this has to do with poodles.” My mood brightened immediately as I launched into an explanation about the sweet and lovely Anastasia.

  “I’m sure it won’t take long to sort out Anastasia’s situation,” I said. “Once the shock has worn off, Leslie will solve the poodle problems. She’s not the kind of woman to dilly-dally about personal matters any more than professional ones. Anastasia is adorable, so I’m not going to complain. Hardly a bark out of her either, except when she ran around out in the backyard with Tommy and Brien. The cutest thing is that she kept running back to me for reassurance and then she’d dash off again chasing after the Frisbee or retrieving a ball.”

  “Uh oh, you’d better watch out. It sounds like that pretty poodle has already decided you’re Mama. She’s going to have you wrapped around her little paws any time now.”

  “Too late. Bernadette’s putty in her paws, too.”

  “Being a foster mom’s tough, especially when the time comes that you have to return her to her rightful owner.”

  “I hear you. I’m hardly mom material at this point in my life. Not even for a poodle.” I fiddled with the cast on my arm. Foster mom to an orphaned poodle might be as close as I ever get to being a mom. I heard the tick-tock of my biological clock beating in my ears. “Too bad she can’t tell us who broke into Beverly’s house this afternoon. If we could identify the intruder and what was worth burgling the house for in broad daylight, it might help solve the riddle of Beverly’s death.”

  “A break-in at her house? Now, what are you talking about?” I explained the rest of the bad news that had been visited upon the House of Windsor today.

  “That’s unbelievable! It must have been someone close to her, to get into the house without setting off the alarm. Unless, her contractor left the house unprotected,” Mom said as she polished off the last of the flan she’d been eating.

  “Detective Hernandez considered that possibility right away,” I said as I moved to take the empty carton from Mom now that she’d polished off that flan. “He got the General Contractor, Steve Landis, on the phone. The guy’s adamant that when he left early in the afternoon, he set the alarm and locked up. There was a sticky note on a package in the foyer from Dee-somebody who claimed she’d been kicked out, so the General Contractor could do just that—lock up. Whoever Dee is, she must not have had a key of her own or she wouldn’t have been testy about being forced to leave.”

  “If Steve Landis is telling the truth, whoever got in there later had a key and knew how to decode the alarm,” Mom asserted.

  “I told Jessica the same thing when I first heard her story,” Bernadette said.

  “I’m sure that’s where the police will start their investigation. As it happens, I’d already asked Leslie to think about who had copies of her mother’s house keys and knew the alarm code. It just popped into my head, earlier today, when I told Leslie I had one and could let myself into Beverly’s house to rescue Anastasia. I was making a note to myself, so I’d remember to get those keys back as another thing to do to close out Beverly’s estate. Anyway, I must have mumbled something out loud and she rattled off a few names right away. In addition to the General Contractor, she gave me the names of several neighbors, the dog sitter, and Beverly’s security firm, of course. I suppose it’s possible Beverly gave a key to the man she was seeing, but I didn’t know about Cedric Baumgartner until later.”

  “Cedric Baumgartner? That cad? Don’t tell me he’s the man Beverly was involved with before she died.”

  “You know him?”

  “Not very well. I was introduced to him at a party in Cannes, and bumped into him a few times after that. He was with a bunch of jet-setters, and had several different women on his arm when I ran into him at various events. I learned later that he married an old acquaintance of mine who was also running with that crowd. If what she says is true, he had a roving eye that got him into trouble soon after they married. Not as much trouble as Jim’s in, but enough to embarrass him into leaving the Hamptons where he’d settled down with Daisy Guinness. She filed for divorce. The last I heard, he was a walker in Palm Beach.”

  “A walker?” I asked.

  “Yes. That’s what they call men who work as escorts for widows, divorcees, and even some married women whose husbands wouldn’t be caught dead in the ballroom at a charity function.”

  “Are you sure it was infidelity that got him into trouble in his marriage? His decision to become an escort after his divorce seems more like one a man would make who has business on his mind rather than romance, or do I have it wrong?”

  “There’s no money that changes hands per se. He’s more like the extra man that society women used to invite to a dinner party if they ended up with an unaccompanied woman. Sometimes women shower their escorts with tokens of their appreciation. I doubt it was about money for him since I’m sure he settled lucratively when Daisy divorced him. You could ask her if I can remember where she is. I’ll bet she’d have plenty to say about Cedric if you could reach her. I wish I had my rolodex with me because I could even give you a phone number for her. Who knows if it’s any good, though, since I haven’t tried to contact her in years.”

  A rolodex? I hadn’t seen anyone use one of those in years! “Mom, you need to rest. I can have Jerry locate Daisy Guinness if information about her doesn’t show up when he does the background check on Cedric Baumgartner. It would be a stroke of luck if he’s the same man and she can give us the scoop,” I said.

  “Oh, come now. How many Cedric Baumgartners can there be? I take it back—there were at least two others if he’s to be believed. Deceased, most likely, since as I recall, he referred to himself as Cedric Baumgartner the third.” Mom leaned back against her pillow. “You meet up with all kinds at those parties on the French Riviera. There are lots of pretenders to the throne on the Continent, too.”

  “We’ll check him out, making sure to focus on any trouble he might have had in the Hamptons or Palm Beach. In the meantime, I think the safest thing to do is change the locks at Beverly’s house and not let anyone in. Not even the General Contractor, unless there’s some part of the renovation that can’t be put on hold. I’m almost certain the remaining work is going on outside at this point, anyway. Of course, who’s allowed access to the house now that there won’t be anyone living there will be another call Leslie will have to make as soon as she’s able to think straight.” I sighed deeply.

  “I hope you don’t mind too much if I nag you again about being careful. Cedric Baumgartner’s not a shady character like that mob boss you ran into or Mr. P. I never suspected Eric Conroy of having a dark side, though. A wolf in sheep’s clothing—even if it’s bespoke clothing—is still a wolf.”

  “Don’t I know it. I married a wolf like that. I’ve become so paranoid, Mom, people I barely know often look more like wolves than sheep to me now.” In fact, I felt like Beverly was surrounded by a pack of wolves. Not just Cedric, but those snarling members of the HOA who’d hounded her. What was the General Contractor doing inside Beverly’s ho
use after the remodeling had been completed? Who was Dee and what was she doing in there? Had she been the woman who left that whiff of perfume I noticed or was there another woman among the intruders in Beverly’s house in her absence? And, on the same day someone killed her? The wolves howled.

  14 Nurse Versus Purse

  “Jerry, come on in,” I said Wednesday morning when he joined Kim and me at my office.

  “Do you want the door open or shut?” He asked, acknowledging Kim with a nod.

  “Shut it, please. I don’t have any appointments with clients today, but my colleagues may.”

  There were now two other attorneys working in the Palm Desert satellite office that opened last fall. Clive Davis and Jenna Woodruff were both hard-working colleagues aiming to expand their client caseload. Each had come from the LA office with a few clients already in tow.

  Their presence, and the recent events involving my clients at the firm, the misfortunate Van Der Woerts, had created lots of local buzz. It’s too bad the media had sensationalized the news that had attracted so much attention. Family dysfunction among the rich and famous is hardly news, but the lurid details fueled a firestorm of coverage in which the firm’s name was featured again and again for several weeks. Business was brisk, and Paul Worthington was more blasé about the burst of public interest in the firm.

  “Doing good work for our clients will outlast the news cycle,” he’d said after Amy had reported a barrage of phone calls from the news hounds at the Palm Desert office. As Jerry shut the door and slipped into a seat across from my desk, I flipped to a page in Beverly Windsor’s file where I’d made notes.

  “Thanks for making time to meet with us. That sounds rather formal, but I mean it.”

  “I understand your sense of urgency about Beverly Windsor,” Jerry said.