4 A Dead Mother

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, although Jessica and her Cat Pack pals have been on the case, too.” Rikki slipped the envelope and papers into an evidence bag she must also have been carrying around for just such a murder investigation emergency.

  “After you speak to Rikki, let me know if you have questions and I’ll tell you what we’ve learned. I’ve tried to keep Rikki in the loop on everything we’ve done so far.”

  “Someone else must already be in the loop on what you and the Cat Pack have been doing. Otherwise, why leave this on your car?”

  “I wish I knew. At least there wasn’t a warning or a threat left for me. That’s a pleasant change of pace.”

  “Please don’t let your guard down, Jessica. Someone’s keeping an eye on you.” I gulped. Paul only paused for a second before addressing Rikki. “If you’ve got time for a cup of coffee, Detective Havens, I’d like to make sure I understand where you are with your investigation and what it means for Leslie.”

  “The story I would have had for you ten or twenty minutes ago would have been a different one. I’m not sure what this latest wrinkle means for your client, her dead mother, or our investigation. Coffee sounds good as soon as I get someone working on this. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’s a fingerprint on these documents that will lead us back to the person who left them for Jessica to find.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later at the clinic, Jessica, if you’re going to be there for a while.”

  “Sure. I’ll tell Mom to expect you.” As I drove to rehab, I kept wondering who had left that surprise for me. Someone knew that I was at the funeral today, and which car was mine. I searched behind me, but no one appeared to be tailing me. My poor brain was struggling to come up with a story that explained Beverly Windsor’s death, the break-in at her home, and the sick scene at Lucy Daniels’ house. Those words, ‘why she died,’ could be taken in so many ways. Not one of them was any more reasonable than another. I tried not to lose sight of the fact that whoever murdered Beverly Windsor had done so in a fit of unbridled fury. That was hardly the act of a stranger or a cold, calculating con artist. Was there a dark, violent side to Cedric Baumgartner’s Mr. Hyde? Was there a connection we’d missed between Beverly Windsor, Cedric Baumgartner, and Susan Whitaker?

  35 Bunny Hop Takedown

  The next morning, when I drove through the gates of the Araby Oasis Country Club, Anastasia grew excited. Her tail wagged, and she whined excitedly. My heart went out to her realizing that this must still be “home” to the poor orphaned puppy. Did she expect Beverly Windsor to welcome her home?

  “Aw, what a good girl,” I said. Anastasia woofed. Her tail thumped against the backseat. I felt uneasy, and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Leslie. Why did she even want Anastasia back if she was afraid of dogs? Until I pulled up to Beverly Windsor’s house and saw Leslie’s car parked in the driveway, I’d hoped she wouldn’t show.

  “Maybe I should take her to court and sue for custody. That would get me some tabloid headlines, wouldn’t it?” Anastasia had adopted that puzzled stance that befuddled dogs take—her head cocked to one side.

  “Let’s go get this over, okay?” She tilted her head to the other side. When I hooked the leash to her collar, Anastasia dove from the car and pulled me toward the courtyard. Once inside, we were almost at the door when she came to a halt. She sniffed the ground, whined, and then backed up, taking a stand behind me. A guttural growl issued from her throat that made the hair on my neck stand up.

  “It’s okay, Anastasia.” Was it? I searched the courtyard and was about to step closer to the door when it sprang open.

  “I thought I heard someone out here. Why didn’t you knock or ring the bell?” Leslie asked.

  “I planned to, but…” Before I could say another word, Anastasia growled and then barked, loudly. As she did that, Leslie flinched and stepped back away from the door.

  “Take her around to the backyard. I’ve set up her kennel out there. This is ridiculous. I don’t have time to deal with that moody beast right now.”

  “Bernadette and I don’t mind keeping her a little longer. She can stay with us, permanently, if that’s what you want.” Leslie grew angrier.

  “What I want is for you to deliver my property to me as you are legally obligated to do. Take her around to the back, and put her into her kennel, please. Then we can take a moment to arrange a date and time to meet, so you can tell me how we can get closure on my mother’s estate. This has been the worst couple weeks of my life. I’m going to leave the desert and never come back.”

  I was shocked at Leslie’s tone of voice. Not to mention the words she’d used to describe a living creature. Her property? Technically, she was correct, but I couldn’t conceive of the lovely, delightful Anastasia as a piece of property. Not that she was the least bit delightful now. She’d started growling again as Leslie’s rant had grown louder.

  “I can understand what you’re saying. You’ve been through a lot.” I said, but to be honest, I was struggling to make sense of the version of Leslie Windsor standing before me.

  “You have no idea.” Then she stopped speaking and pointed. “Around to the back. Then we’ll talk.” I did as she said, trying to figure out what my options were. I could leave, but I wasn’t prepared to abandon Anastasia. If I took her with me, in her current state of anger and distress, Leslie would have the police after me for theft before I could get home with the poodle.

  When I turned to leave the courtyard, Anastasia stopped barking and growling. She was obedient as I took her around the side of the house. Barbara Stoddard saw us and waved. I returned the wave but not her smile. The gate was unlocked. Anastasia was fine until we got into the backyard and she spotted Leslie again. She whimpered and pulled at her leash. I tried to lead her to her kennel on the patio. She wasn’t going to do that.

  Leslie opened the sliders and Anastasia charged her. Leslie stepped back, closing the screen door. Anastasia barked and even snapped as though she might bite Leslie if she came within range! That behavior stunned me until I remembered what Lucy Daniels had said about someone mistreating Anastasia. It must have been Leslie who had hurt her.

  “Is the side gate closed?” Leslie asked from inside.

  “Yes.”

  “Just leave her out there. She’ll settle down. If not, let’s get our business taken care of and then you can do whatever you want with that dog. Keep her. Dump her at the pound. I don’t care.”

  Mixed emotions raged through me. On the one hand, hearing that Anastasia wasn’t ever going to have to see this woman again made my heart sing. On the other hand, I was rapidly approaching the point at which I wanted to growl and snap at Leslie myself. I hated to cause more trouble for Paul, but I also wanted to tell Leslie Windsor to find someone else to wrap up her mother’s estate for her.

  “Anastasia, I’m going to be right back, okay?” I said as I walked her back toward the side of the house, double-checked to make sure the gate was closed, and then unhooked her leash. She retreated into a far corner of the yard. I followed her, bent down, and held the dog’s muzzle in both hands. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” After nuzzling me, she flopped down onto the ground. Not only can dogs smile and express anger, but they can get down and depressed too. I vowed never to let that happen again.

  “Mom spoiled her just like that,” Leslie complained as I stepped into the family room and followed her into the kitchen. “Why not? She loved that dog more than me.”

  “That can’t be true. Your mother loved you very much. She told me that when we were picking out that Christmas gift for you at the jewelers.”

  “Mom was just playing up to you. She liked to steal my friends from me, too. You and I were friends first, remember?”

  The conversation had taken another remarkably strange twist. How did we get to Beverly “playing up to me,” whatever that means, by talking about how much she loved her daughter?

  Is Leslie drunk or on drugs? I wonde
red. I hadn’t smelled alcohol and there weren’t any telltale glasses or bottles sitting around, but my mother had hidden drug and alcohol problems from me for decades.

  “Hang on a second while I retrieve my tablet so we can set a date for our meeting. You need to tell me how much time to schedule and what I need to do to come to the meeting prepared.” The longer she spoke, the more composed she became. The old Leslie—the only version I’d ever known before the last few days—was almost back in control.

  “It must not be drugs,” I muttered as Leslie left the kitchen. I stood there not wanting to sit down for fear that would create the impression I was prepared to stay. I wasn’t going to stick around a minute longer than necessary. I pulled out my cell phone to access my calendar. When I did that, I dropped a gum wrapper on the floor. I picked it up, took a couple of steps around to the end of the kitchen island, and pressed the foot pedal opening the lid on the garbage can. As I tossed the wrapper into the can, something caught my eye. I used my phone to take a picture.

  Before I could stop myself, I dug into that garbage can and pulled out a blank front page to a Durable Power of Attorney Form. Several other sheets of paper were in the garbage, too. “WHO KILLED BEVERLY WINDSOR?” was emblazoned on one sheet I retrieved. “WHY SHE HAD TO DIE” on another. I was about to fish out a third one when I froze.

  “I’ll take those.” I turned to find Donald Herndon standing there pointing a gun at me.

  “Donald, what’s going on?” Leslie asked as she returned to the kitchen.

  “Your lawyer is picking through the garbage. That’s dirty work even for a lawyer, isn’t it?” He asked. Leslie paled and swayed. She grabbed hold of the edge of the counter to steady herself.

  “Now what are we going to do?”

  Before he could say anything else, Anastasia began barking. “Is that dog loose?”

  “She’s locked in the backyard. My lawyer didn’t have the heart to shove her into the kennel.”

  Leslie might have had more to say, but the doorbell rang. Leslie and Donald looked at each other trying to decide what to do. The doorbell rang a second time. Anastasia was barking wildly, just outside on the patio. She scratched at the door.

  “I’d better answer it or one of the neighbors is going to call the police,” Leslie said.

  “Go ahead.” Then, he spoke to me. “You go play dog whisperer and shut that dog up. No tricky lawyer stuff either or I might have to shut up the real dog whisperer, permanently.” Donald kind of nodded his head toward the wing of the house where the bedrooms were located.

  “What? Does that mean Matthew Whitaker’s here?”

  “Yes. He’s indisposed. We don’t want him speaking out of turn loudly or in a whisper. Now go shut that dog up. Leave the purse on the counter.”

  I dashed out the back door wondering what was going on, although this wasn’t the time to sort it out. My only goal was to get us all out of this alive—me, Anastasia, and Matthew Whitaker.

  When Donald Herndon had made his presence known, gun in hand, I’d slipped my cell phone up my sleeve. As I bent down to calm the poodle, I hit speed dial and called Peter. When I heard someone say “Hello,” I continued to speak in soothing tones to Anastasia. She hushed up as if listening to me. I hoped Peter was doing the same.

  “It’s going to be okay, Anastasia. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Not in Beverly’s house. This used to be your home. I know it’s not okay, but it will be.” That phrase: “It’s not okay” was one I’d used previously as a call to action when I was caught in a trap. As I ended the call and slid the phone up my sleeve again, I prayed it would work once more.

  Anastasia whimpered, but didn’t bark. I thought about trying to make a run for it. What if Matthew Whitaker was the key to unraveling this whole despicable escapade? I wasn’t sure what role he’d played, but he didn’t deserve to die. Who knew how far away Peter was from Araby Oasis. His best bet was to call Rikki Havens and get the police to meet him at the guard gates so they could get in here without answering a ton of questions.

  How can I stall for time? I wondered. Whoever was at the front door probably wouldn’t stick around for long. Anastasia was wired. Maybe I could get her to run. “Fetch,” I commanded and sent a hunk of wood I found lying nearby, sailing. She ran. I ran after her, as if playing. No way was Donald Herndon going to follow me out into the bright morning sun toting that gun.

  Minutes passed in what seemed like hours. Then I heard the sliders open. “Jessica, I’m free now. We can have our meeting. You want me to make tea?”

  “No, thanks,” I replied from the opposite side of the empty pool.

  “Well, I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary, so let’s get this done. Matthew wants to say hello.” Standing next to her was the young man I’d seen in that poster hanging on the wall in a treatment room at Lucy Daniels’ clinic. He wasn’t wearing the same charismatic smile, however, as he stood in the doorway of Beverly Windsor’s kitchen.

  “Call the dog,” I heard Donald Herndon say. Leslie instinctively backed up.

  “Anastasia, come!” Matthew called out. She ran before I could stop her, apparently eager to see her old pal, or responding in a conditioned way to his command. I followed Anastasia at a slower pace. When I’d almost reached the patio again, Donald Herndon slid the screen door open.

  “Get in here,” he said. I’m pretty sure that order was directed at me. As he spoke, he shoved Matthew a little out of the way and Leslie came back into view. Anastasia spotted her, backed away, growling, and then woofed before releasing a mournful wail.

  “Leslie, will you get out of sight, please? Matthew, the lawyer appears unable to control the dog. Do something.” Matthew Whitaker did something all right. He elbowed Donald Herndon and then dashed out the door. Donald recovered quickly and then dashed after him—gun and all! Anastasia had come back to where I stood just beyond the patio next to the pool. She pressed up against me as Matthew and then, Donald, flew past us.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot,” Donald said. Matthew stopped and so did Donald. Standing there with his back to me, he was only a few inches from the empty pool. I turned toward him.

  “Anastasia! Bunny hop!” I commanded. You don’t have to ask that girl to dance twice. She sprang into action, jumped up, and put both paws on Donald Herndon’s back. That threw him off balance. As he fought to keep from falling, I rushed forward and gave him another shove. Into the pool he went, landing hard and shouting out in pain. I recognized the sound a gun makes when it skids on a solid surface. Leslie cried out from the kitchen.

  “No! Donald, no!”

  “Go, Matthew! Let’s get out of here.” Matthew took off again, stumbling as he fled. I yanked him by the arm to keep him up on his feet. “Come, Anastasia,” he commanded. She did as she was told, picking up her pace as we ran around the side of the house and through the gates.

  “Barbara,” I shouted, running across the neighbor’s lawn. “Call 911!” As she opened her front door, sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Come in,” she said. Anastasia, Matthew, and I stepped inside. Barbara Stoddard slammed and locked the door. “I knew something was wrong. That’s why I went over there to check. Leslie said everything was fine, but she didn’t look like she meant it. When I got back home, and Anastasia started barking again, I called 911. They told me the police were already on their way.”

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to comfy chairs nearby. All three of us did as she told us to do. Barbara stood watch at the window. Two minutes later, Peter and the police arrived.

  “Over here!” She cried out as the cars arrived. I walked out the front door with Matthew in tow.

  “Another one?” Rikki Havens asked, looking the well-built young man standing behind me up and down.

  “Detective Havens, meet Matthew Whitaker. I believe he’s got a story to tell us. Leslie Windsor’s next door and you’ll probably find Donald Herndon at the bottom of the pool. He’s got a gun.” I explained the situati
on as quickly as I could.

  “A bunny hop takedown.” She declared. “That’s a new one.” Rikki Havens stared at me as she processed what I was saying. Peter, who had also joined us by then, didn’t hesitate to act.

  “We’ll go in through the back. You take the front!” Peter shouted as he and the two men he’d brought with him ran along the side of house to the gate leading into the backyard. Two uniformed officers dashed into the front courtyard just as a gunshot rang out from behind the house.

  “Barbara, hang onto Anastasia, please?” I shouted.

  “Cuff him,” Rikki shouted to another uniformed officer who had stepped up beside her just as Peter took off. Matthew didn’t resist, but held both arms out in front of him.

  I heard Peter shouting, “Drop it! Put the gun down!” as Rikki and I ran for it. When we got around to the backyard, Leslie stood there with a gun. Donald was lying on the ground near where he must have climbed out of the pool before Leslie shot him. Peter, and his two security associates had their guns drawn. Then I heard motion from inside the house. The two uniformed officers had entered the house and stood at the sliders pointing their guns at Leslie. Tears were streaming down Leslie’s face. She was ashen and unsteady on her feet.

  “Thank God this is finally over, Leslie,” I said in a calm voice. “You’ve done all you can do.”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Cedric Baumgartner was a bad man, but she wouldn’t believe me, Jessica.” She looked at me perhaps trying to gauge my reaction. “Mom was going to marry him and he’d take the money—all Dad’s money that was meant for me some day. I couldn’t let her do that. I loved her so much. All I wanted was for her to listen to me for once. I had to make her hear me before it was too late. She just made me so angry.” As she said that, Leslie gestured with that gun as if she were striking out at her mother again. The men around us with their guns drawn, flinched, ready to shoot. I held up a hand and spoke in a softer voice.