Death at Lampier

by Alex Harris

  Chapter 19

  Frances made an appointment for early afternoon with Rod to go out to Crismon to list the ranch. Her plan was to drop by Bear Ranch and pick up Summer and they would go through Joyce’s things and box them up. And then she would write up the listing. Ever efficient, she was killing two birds with one trip.

  “Summer, those boxes may not be enough. Do you know if Rod has anymore? While you sort through Joyce’s clothes, I’ll talk to Rod and get the paperwork done on the ranch. The market is so depressed, I’m not sure how well we’ll do for him. What’s he going to do with the goats and horses?”

  “Last thing he said was that if someone wanted a package deal-all the critters-he’d be willing to make a deal. But, I know some of the 4-H kids are interested in the goats. They are all ribbon winners. If Rod doesn’t have more boxes, I’ll just fold stuff and stack it in the trunk. I was thinking a lot of Joyce’s business clothes could go to Stepping Stones for the shelter. Then women would have something to wear for interviews. What do you think about splitting half for Stepping Stones and half for WNNRS?”

  “Those were two of her favorites. Yeah, that’ll work. You know I had a buyer a few months back who was looking to move here from California. I think I’ll call and see what he’s doing. You never know.”

  Frances drove up the driveway and parked at the rear of the house. Rod came out to greet the friends of his late wife and help unload the boxes. “Think you girls have enough boxes?” Rod smiled at them.

  “We were just talking about that. Got any more out in the barn?” Frances asked.

  “We’ll scare up something, even if it’s wrong.” Rod responded.

  Summer left Rod and Frances at the dining room table with Frances’ laptop to do the listing and went to the bedroom Joyce had shared with her husband for over 30 years. Tears came to her eyes as she surveyed Joyce’s walk in closet of beautiful and serviceable clothes. She began three stacks: one for fancy stuff, one for casual, and one for work stuff. By the time Summer had emptied the closet, the bed groaned under the weight of the stacks.

  She began folding and boxing the best dresses and suits, labeling the box for Stepping Stones and WNNRS. The rest would go to Goodwill. As she closed the last box, she sat on the bed and let the tears flow in her final goodbye to Joyce.

  “Frances, I know we’re not going to get what we could have last year. I’m just ready to let it go to good people who will take care of it like we did. List it for the tax assessment amount and see if we can do a fast turnaround.” Rod signed the listing and handed the fountain pen back to Frances.

  “I understand, Rod, but I have to look out for your best interests too. Let me run some comparables in the area and make a few phone calls before we settle on the amount. Okay?” Frances was concerned Rod might not be using the best judgment.

  “You’re the boss. I’ll listen to what you suggest. But, if some nice kids come along who want a small ranch and are a little short on money, I’ll work with them. Understood?” Rod might have been in mourning, but he held to the principles that had been his and Joyce’s for a lifetime together.

  Summer finished lugging the boxes down to the car and walked out to the barn. For the 30 years Bear Ranch and Crimson shared a common fence, the owners had shared successes and disappointments, helping in times of distress and emergency. Summer said a blessing on the ranch as she moved through the barn and outbuildings, asking for Spirit to find the right buyers for Crimson.

  As she returned to the ranch house, Frances came down the steps to the car. “Ready, Summer? Anything we need to finish up?”

  “Boxes are loaded. I’ll really miss this place. It’s too bad Rod wants to move to Texas to be close to his son and daughter-in-law and that new baby. I understand Crimson has so many memories for him. It does for me too, and for Chalcey. Whenever we were all busy, Chalcey would come here after school and chow down on Macadamia cookies and fresh goat milk. We will all miss the times. I guess that’s what life is about, changes, growth, experiences, and most of all memories. Come on Frances, get me out of here before I become maudlin.” Summer put her arm around Frances’ shoulder and they walked to the SUV.

  “Oriole, let’s go over to the jail and interview Jennifer Tribble.” Fred wanted to tie up one more loose end in the investigation.

  They took the cruiser down 89 to 69 and then to 169 and up I-17 to the Camp Verde Justice Center. A few years before the Prescott Jail had closed in an effort to save the county money. Hindsight being 20/20, of course it didn’t work. Transportation costs over road any savings in closing the jail. All police jurisdictions had to transport prisoners, costing officer time and leaving sectors uncovered. Families had to drive to the Verde to see their incarcerated loved ones. Attorneys and probation officers had to make special appointments to see clients. All-in-all the county suffered from the closure of the Prescott jail, financially and emotionally.

  “Hey, Fred, Oriole, we don’t see much of you anymore. What can I do to help you?” Sergeant Wilkes asked the detectives as they appeared at the glass enclosure.

  “Sarge, good to see you. Been a long time. This glass is new. Is it to keep us out or you in?” Fred teased the shift sergeant.

  “I’m not sure. I keep saying it is to protect us. But after a long day of unhappy visitors, it just might be to protect them from me. Who are you here to see?”

  “You have an inmate doing county time. Her name is Jennifer Tribble. Can we see her in an interview booth?”

  “Let me look her up.” The sergeant consulted a daily printout of inmates. “Looks like she is on work release. She’ll be back by 6:30.”

  “Work release? I heard she was doing time. How can she get work release?” Oriole could not hide her disappointment.

  “A good defense attorney got her released to go to a job and a bleeding heart judge signed off. Jail time doesn’t mean jail anymore.” Clearly the sergeant concurred with the detectives’ opinion about jail time.

  “Does it say where she is working?” Fred asked.

  “Sure. Tell me why you need to know?” Sgt Wilkes was all business.

  “She’s a lead in a case.” Fred responded.

  “Job is downtown Prescott. Let me look it up. Here it is. She works days at the Prescott Brewing Company.”

  Oriole and Fred returned to the SUV. Fred opened the windows and started the air conditioner to cool off the interior. “It’ll be lunch time when we get back. Let’s have lunch at the PBC and see our girl.” Fred was always interested in looking after his stomach.

  The 45 minute drive back to Prescott passed with no events. Highway 169 was the scene of numerous fatalities. The most horrendous was the two car crash that had taken the lives of three detention officers. Everyone familiar with 169’s history took extra heed.

  The detectives parked on Gurley in front of the PBC and went in. Prescott Brewing Company, locally known as PBC, features a bar and dining room, but the real draw is sitting in the atrium of the old building watching what goes on in the three stories of businesses.

  “Good afternoon. How many?” The teeny bopper hostess greeted the detectives.

  “Two. And is Jennifer working today?”

  “Yes. She is assigned to the atrium. Would you like to be seated there?” Teeny asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Fred followed Oriole who followed Teeny to a table in the corner.

  “Here are your menus and Jennifer will be your server.” Teeny hurried back to her station as hostess.

  “How do we know which Jennifer we are getting?” Oriole posited.

  “I have a picture. See. Jennifer’s mug shot.” Fred opened his file folder and showed the picture to his partner.

  “Aren’t you smart?”

  “Hello. May I start you with something to drink?” The owner of the mug shot asked.

  “We’ll both have iced tea.” Fred responded.

  After Mug Shot Jennifer left. “Now listen. Since when do you know my mind. I might have w
anted a diet soda.”

  “First of all, you never drink soda. Second of all, you only drink iced tea. So get over it. I know you like the back of my hand.”

  Mug Shot Jennifer brought the drinks. “Would you like to hear about our specials?”

  “No thanks. I’m having the chili bowl.” Fred answered and started to order for Oriole, who broke in before he could say another word.

  “And for me, I’ll have the veggie burger with a side salad.”

  Jennifer wrote down their orders and left.

  “I’m going to lay her mug shot on the table and see what she does when she comes back.” Fred placed the picture on the table in front of him.

  Jennifer returned 15 minutes later with their lunch orders. As she placed Fred’s chili bowl in front of him, she saw the mug shot and went white. She looked from Fred to Oriole and back to Fred. She then set Oriole’s burger down. “Ah, can I get you anything else?”

  “Jennifer, my name is Detective Fred O’Neil, this is Detective Oriole Wolfe. Do you have a minute. We need to ask you a couple questions?”

  “Where did you get that picture? What do you want with me? I’m doing everything I’m supposed to, working, calling in, dropping UA’s.” It was obvious Jennifer was shaken by the presence of the two detectives.

  “I understand you used to work for American Mortgage and got into some trouble. How did you feel about your boss, Lisa Wood?” Never one to waste time or energy, Fred jumped right in with questions.

  “Lisa? She just died. It was the talk a week or so back. Everyone had an opinion. She was okay. She did what she had to do. You know, things just got out of control. I owed money to everyone. I made some really bad choices, and I took responsibility. Lisa told me she couldn’t hire me back, company policy. I understand that. I mean there wasn’t any hard feelings if that’s what you think. Wait a minute, are you thinking I had anything to do with her death? Get out o’ here. No way. Uhn, uhn.” Mug shot Jenny finally wound down.

  “Jennifer, where were you on the day she died” Oriole asked without providing the exact day.

  “Well, I was at work. I remember ‘cause we were short handed.” Expertly, Jennifer provided an alibi.

  “Would it be okay if we checked with your supervisor?” Fred inquired.

  “Why do you need to do that? Martha will get upset and I might get fired. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a job with a record?” Pity poor me, Mug Shot Jenny whined.

  “Well, how about you get your time card for the day in question and give us a copy? Then we don’t have to bother the boss.”

  “I don’t have a copy. It goes to corporate for payroll. Look I told you I was working. Isn’t that good enough?” Jenny started to tear up.

  “We have to verify everyone’s whereabouts. If you don’t have a time sheet, we’ll have to get it from corporate.” Oriole tried to explain without seeming insensitive.

  “Oh, just go ahead, get me fired. In fact, I might as well just quit right now rather than wait for the inevitable. Thanks for ruining my life.” Mug Shot Jenny turned and stomped off to the kitchen.

  Two minutes later, the manager appeared at the table. “Was there a problem folks?” Martha asked.

  “Detective Wolfe, I’m Detective O’Neil. We were asking some questions on a homicide.”

  “A homicide? But what did you say to Jenny. She just quit right in the middle of the shift. I can’t have that.” Clearly, Martha was beside herself, having been left a server short.

  “Was Jenny working on June 7?” Fred asked looking at his pocket notebook.

  “Well, how would I know? It was days ago. I can’t tell what I was doing on June 7, let alone my servers.”

  “Can you go look at your records and let us know?” Oriole requested.

  “Well, it’ll take a few minutes. Thanks to you, I am a server short and have to fill in.” Martha flounced back to the office.

  “You sure know how to win friends and influence people, Fred.”

  “It isn’t my fault people take me wrong. I didn’t mean to piss ‘em off. What a cluster fuck.” Fred’s chagrin amused Oriole.

  “From now on maybe I should do the talking.”

  As Fred finished the last bite of chili, Martha returned with a time sheet in her hand and seemed much more composed. “How was everything? Can I get you any dessert? Oh, here is a copy of the time sheet. I’ll be your cashier,” as she handed Fred the time sheet and the ticket.

  “Here is my credit card. Thank you, nothing further.” Fred reached across the table to trade the credit card for the time sheet.

  Martha scurried off to process the ticket. “Lookee here.” Fred exclaimed. “June 7, she called in sick. No wonder she didn’t want to give us the copy of her time sheet. Mug Shot Jenny is in hot water. Let’s call the jail work release supervisor and alert him. Then let’s see if she owns her own car and do a BOLO.” Fred was ecstatic. They left the restaurant and returned to the office.

  “Hey, Snoopy, this is my weekend off. You’re on call. I was thinking about asking Marlowe if she wanted to do something. Whadda you think?”

  “Now, as your counselor, I would say that’s an excellent idea. As your partner, I would say, Damn, I have to work. But as your potential daughter, I say go for it,Daddy.” Oriole laughed long and hard.

  “Listen, Smarty Pants. I’m trying to do the right thing here. This is all new to me. I need guidance. I don’t want to screw it up. Quit teasing me, you know I’m sensitive.” The ever tough cowboy blushed.

  “Yes, we all know how sensitive you are. Just look at what you did to those two at the PBC. I say ask Marlowe tonight at dinner. See what her schedule is. I know she was talking about a conference she had on Special Education Issues, but I can’t remember when it is.”

  They finished the day following up on Mug Shot Jenny. Her car was nowhere to be found and she did not turn up at work release. The jail had contacted the County Attorney’s Office and asked for a warrant to be issued. Oriole and Fred searched through programs looking for the next of kin and found a mother listed in Chino Valley. They decided to stop by unannounced before returning to the ranch.

  They arrived at the broken down trailer in the roughest part of Chino Valley. The driveway led to nowhere. You can’t get there from here. The fence completely encircled the lot, without a gate in sight. They backed down the driveway and went down an alley that stopped at the back of the place. The alley provided an entrance to the garbage strewn lot through a tiny gate. Fred opened the gate and called out to the trailer. In Chino, as with many places in Yavapai County, you just did not walk up to a residence without hailing the owner first, unless you wanted to get shot.

  “Mrs. Hattie. Sheriff’s Office. Can we talk with you for a minute?”

  “What the hell you want? I’m an old lady. Leave me alone.” A voice from within the rickety old trailer squawked as the door opened and the largest, most unattractive woman Fred had ever laid eyes on walked out onto the porch. The muumuu she wore must have come from Flint Tent and Awning. Stains on the front had to come from yesterday and the day before. Her gray hair stood out from her head in uneven sections reminiscent of an egg beater having its way with her head. Her feet were clad in bunny rabbit slippers, once pink, now a dirty shade of brown. The arms that stuck out of the sleeves of the muumuu shook like whipped cream on top of a slab of Jell-o as she closed the screen door behind her. She was so ugly; she would have made a freight train take a dirt road.

  “Mrs. Hattie, I’m Fred O’Neil, this is Detective Wolfe. Do you know where your daughter is?”

  “Which one? I got three.” Fred watched her chins wobble up and down with her dialog.

  “We’re looking for Jennifer Tribble.” Oriole said.

  “She’s working and doing time in county. Whadda ya want her for? She’s already paid for her crime. It’s just not right you harassing a poor innocent kid like her.” The chins bounced in time with the extra large boobs as she became more indignant. />
  “She quit her job and did not show up at the jail. We’re trying to track down anyone that might know where she would go.” Oriole’s eyes were trying to adjust to the bouncing body parts.

  “Well, it’s probably your fault she didn’t show up, what with you harassing her and all.” Spittle dropped onto her over sized bosom.

  “Who are some of her friends? Where does she hang out when she isn’t in jail?” Fred looked over Mrs. Hattie’s right shoulder so he wouldn’t have to watch the gelatinous movement of her enormous body.

  “It’s none of your business. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone or I’ll sic my dog on you.” She reached back, opened the screen door and the scroungiest dog Fred had ever seen poked his head out the door and growled deep in his chest. The dog’s shoulders reached the tub of lard’s waist.

  Fred put his hand on his service weapon in preparation. This wasn’t the first time he had encountered an unfriendly animal. The last time it was a pit bull and he shot it through the chest mid jump. Oriole took two steps to the left in order to have a better line of fire should it become necessary. She didn’t want to shoot the old lady if it could be prevented.

  “Ma’am. Put your dog back in the house and shut the door. Now! Or I shoot.” Fred’s voice carried authority and Mrs. Hattie put her dog back inside.

  “Don’t shoot my dog. He’s back in the house. Now get out of here and leave me alone.”

  “We’ll get a warrant and be back.” Oriole backed out of the gate to the waiting SUV while she covered Fred’s back.

  Inside the car, both detectives took a deep breath. They were used to covering each other in tense situations, but the adrenaline still ran high in circumstances like this.

  “Boy, someone beat her with an ugly stick. So Mama wasn’t too cooperative. Wonder why? Tomorrow let’s talk to the probation officer and see if we can find anything more about Mug Shot Jenny. Let’s cut over to Williamson Valley Road off of Outer Loop and head on home.” They left Chino Valley for the ranch.