Dressed Up 4 Murder, page 14
The dog was au naturel within seconds and rolling on the grass. While my mother yelled at him, I seized the opportunity to whisper to Marshall. “You really don’t want to get stuck on a Friday night at the Homey Hut, do you?”
He must have seen the look of fear in my eyes and took a step toward my mother. “Thanks so much, Harriet and everyone, but I’ve got an early-morning appointment with the sheriff’s deputies on the Tully case. Can’t afford to miss it. Maybe another time.”
“You still have to eat, don’t you?” she asked.
I immediately chirped up. “We have leftovers and don’t want them to go bad.”
My mother glanced at her watch. “Okay. Okay. Another time.”
Marshall and I tried to say good-bye to the group, but everyone was talking at once.
“Come on, this is our golden opportunity to hightail it out of here.” He put his arm around my waist and hustled me out of the dog park. “Leftovers, huh? How about we get your car, pick up a pizza or wings, and head home?”
“Done. Was that the truth about your meeting tomorrow? On a Saturday?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t get a chance to have a decent conversation with you today. Nate and I are meeting the deputies at ten. Their office. Right now, all we’re doing is spinning theories. I know these things take time, but if we could only catch one little break, it might open up the whole case for us. Of course, there’s still the Cabot connection. If it turns out they’re using Coldwater Seafood as their distributor. Believe it or not, I haven’t had a chance to check. And Nate’s up to his neck finalizing the info on those supermarket chains. Boy, when did I become such a whiner?”
“You’re not whining. You’re unwinding.”
We were less than a yard from his car when he stopped and kissed me. “Thanks for going easy on me.”
* * *
I couldn’t get Phyllis Gruber’s stinging remark out of my mind the next morning. Marshall had left ten minutes ago at a little past nine. He was going to grab some coffee and meet up with Nate at the sheriff’s station in Sun City West. I took the last bite of my chalky fiber bar and looked around our house. No laundry to do, no pets to walk, and no visible signs of dust. Plenty of time for me to conduct a bit of my own sleuthing. If it wasn’t for the fact that Phyllis’s threat hit home, I would’ve dismissed the entire thing as the ranting of a jealous and self-centered woman. But if she had far more sinister intentions, who knew what she could do.
As much as I detested snooping around the dog park, I knew it was Sun City West’s best source of information—real or imaginary. Too bad it was after seven, because that meant Cindy Dolton wouldn’t be there. Still, I was bound to run into someone who knew about the infamous Sir Breckenthall the Third and his owner.
Slipping on my jeans and a sweatshirt, I paused to catch a glimpse of myself in the bedroom mirror. Crow’s-feet under control and no new laugh lines, thank God. I dabbed on some tinted sunblock and lip gloss, gave my hair a quick brush, and walked back to the kitchen for my keys and bag. A half hour later, I opened the fence to the dog park and stepped inside. Unlike the first time I visited the park, no one shouted, “Hey, lady! Did you forget your dog?”
They were all too busy chatting it up on the benches. At least four or five women and three or four men. Small bundles of white fur ran all over the place, while one slightly overweight beagle sat under a tree licking himself.
I didn’t recognize anyone, but that didn’t stop me from taking a seat on one of the benches. A grayish poodle mix immediately jumped into my lap and began licking my face.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” a buxom woman with reddish hair said. “Brodie likes everyone. A bit too much at times.”
“That’s all right. If I could handle the hubbub at the pet parade last night, I can certainly deal with a cuddly pup.”
“Oh, were you there? Which dog is yours?”
She started to look around, and I shook my head. “I was there with my mother. Her dog. He was in the event. In fact, he was the winner.”
“The acorn! The jeweled acorn. I don’t think Catherine the Great wore anything that dazzling. Do you know who made the costume?”
“Um, a friend of my mother’s, I think.” Shirley Johnson has enough on her plate without having to sew more designer dog costumes.
“Next year I’ll enter Brodie in the event. Right now, he’s too young. Only five months and way too rambunctious. I left him home so I could enjoy the event. Didn’t see the awards presentation, though. I wanted to beat the crowd.”
Thank goodness. That means she didn’t witness Streetman’s debacle with the poodle and the blow-up balloon. “Oh, you didn’t miss much.”
“I heard the second-place winner was really bent out of shape her dog didn’t take first place. Someone said she planned to get even. They overheard her talking to whoever would listen. Anyway, it doesn’t involve me.”
The tall man sitting on the other side of her leaned forward and laughed. “Count your lucky stars. That woman happens to be my next-door neighbor. Real pain in the butt, and I don’t mind saying it out loud. Complains that my palm trees, which have been on the property for years, are too close to her yard and the fronds might fall in her pool if it gets windy.”
“Yikes,” I said.
The guy chuckled and grinned. “Oh, that’s not the best part. Want to hear the best part? My wife and I have two decorative sago palms on either side of our driveway. Phyllis—that’s the neighbor’s name—cut off the leaves on the plant closest to her house. Can you believe it? She took a scissors and cut them off. Just like that. Didn’t bother to ask our permission. Told us the leaves hung over onto her property and she didn’t like it. Ridiculous, huh? Now one of those palms looks absolutely anemic. And it wasn’t even that close to her driveway. I would’ve contacted the property owners’ association, but it wasn’t worth the time or trouble.”
I gave Brodie a quick pat and nudged him off my lap. “Sago palms? Is that what you said?”
“Uh-huh. Gorgeous sago palms. Of course, they’re toxic if you ingest them. In fact, wasn’t there a murder around here not too long ago where the guy was poisoned that way? Yes, I’m sure there was. I read it in the papers. Too bad he didn’t share the meal with my neighbor.”
The woman who owned Brodie looked at him as if he’d suggested nuking the nearest mall.
“I’m only kidding. Relax. It’s bad enough we have one nutcase living on Thornhill Drive.”
“Thornhill Drive. Where’s that?” I asked.
The man pointed directly behind him. “On the same street as the country club. Only Thornhill Drive is really a cul-de-sac. Only six houses. And she has to live in one of them. Yeesh.”
At that point, he got up, said it was nice talking to us, and shouted for his dog. As both of them approached the fence, my jaw tightened and I clenched my teeth. My mother was on the other side of the gate with Streetman. It was impossible to run, duck, or hide. She spotted me like a hawk going after a field mouse. Only hawks weren’t loud.
“Phee! What are you doing here?”
“That’s the little acorn without his jewels,” I whispered to Brodie’s owner. “I’d better head over to my mother. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Streetman flew past me and ran around the park. My mother shrugged, holding both palms up. “Well, what are you doing here? What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Yes. I wanted to do some sleuthing without conducting damage control for Streetman.
“No.” I had to think fast. Not my strong suit. “Um, er, I came back here because I left my sunglasses on one of the benches last night. It was getting dark, so I took them off. Then this morning I couldn’t find them and that’s when I remembered where I had last seen them.”
As long as they don’t bring out the lie detector machine, I’ll be all right.
“You could’ve called me. You didn’t have to make a special trip. I would’ve picked them up for you. Then again, had you called, you could have taken Streetman.”
Naturally. “Um, guess I wasn’t thinking. It was only a quick errand. Marshall and Nate are meeting with the deputies and I have the morning to myself.”
Oh hell. What did I just say?
“Oh, it’s too bad this isn’t one of our book club brunches at Bagels ’N More. That’s next Saturday. Today Shirley and I are driving to Holiday World in Scottsdale to check out costume ideas for the final extravaganza. I’m thinking of having Streetman go as one of the characters from The Nutcracker Suite.”
“Yeah, uh, about that . . . um, do you really have to have him compete in the third contest? I mean, why not have him quit while he’s ahead?”
“What?? And have us miss out on the possibility of a spa weekend at the JW Marriott? Are you crazy? Streetman and I need a spa weekend.”
Oh, you’ll get more than that if Phyllis Gruber has her way. “Can’t you just take him to the groomers and call it a day?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Look at him, will you? If he’s not a prizewinner, I don’t know who is.”
“Your prizewinner seems to be leaving you one.”
“Harrumph. I’d better get over there before someone starts yelling. Say, if you don’t have plans, you’re certainly welcome to join Shirley and me.”
“Thanks, but I really have more unpacking and sorting to do. The big items are all in place, but the little stuff is endless.”
“All right. I’ll give you a buzz and let you know how we make out at Holiday World.”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
While my mother went off to tackle the dog’s business, I decided to expand my Phyllis Gruber snooping and cruise down Thornhill Drive. I knew exactly where the country club and elegant cul-de-sac were located. I’d passed them numerous times driving around with my mother. If what the man in the dog park told me was true, Phyllis’s house would be easy to spot. All I had to find was a lopsided sago palm at the foot of a driveway.
A lineup of cars waiting to turn into the parking lot told me I had timed my dog park excursion well. I made a right-hand turn out of the rec center area and headed directly for Phyllis’s residence. Not that I had any plan in mind. Or any idea of what I expected to find, but still, I was curious.
The guy in the park had been right. There were only six houses on that cul-de-sac, and I drove too fast to eyeball the bushes and palms that bordered their driveways. Wasn’t the first time in my life I needed a “do-over.” I drove a few yards past the cul-de-sac and executed a three-point turn on the street. Unlike my first attempt, with absolutely no traffic in sight, I was now directly behind a light blue Lexus with a commercial van in front of it. The Lexus signaled and pulled into the first house in the cul-de-sac. I studied its driveway carefully. No bushes. No palms. Instead, decorative agaves and rock bordered it.
Cross that one off the list.
The commercial van pulled into the third driveway, adjacent to the one with the droopy-looking sago palm. Phyllis had arranged for either dog-grooming services, housecleaning services, or a repair. I couldn’t see the vehicle’s signage clearly, so I pulled off to the side of the street, rolled down my windows, and put the car in park. With it obscured by the van, no one in her house would be able to see my car, but I would have a decent view of whoever was parked in her driveway.
A food delivery van. And not fast food or pizza. Schwan’s and Meals on Wheels were the two main fixtures in Sun City West, but that didn’t mean there weren’t competitors. The van I was staring at was painted teal and white and sported a logo I thought I had seen somewhere before—a strange cloverleaf that seemed to morph into a fish if you stared at it long enough. Above the logo were the words “The Bountiful Life.” I’d never heard of them.
Suddenly a car door slammed and a man walked behind the delivery truck. Youngish, light hair, medium build. I immediately took out my cell phone and pretended to be using it. He opened the back door, pulled out a handcart, and loaded a few large boxes on it. Again, the same logo on the boxes.
Whatever strange diet Phyllis Gruber was on was no concern of mine. Nothing about her really was, except for the fact that she had made a veiled threat against my mother and who-knew-what regarding Elaine Meschow. At this juncture in time, I didn’t even know if the woman was married, divorced, widowed, or a lifelong spinster.
I was about to drive off when I heard the delivery guy. “Good morning, Mrs. Gruber. Do you want these in the same place in your garage?”
“Yes. Hold on. I’ll open it for you.”
“Sorry I’m late. Snowbirds are back. Got a zillion deliveries.”
“By the way, thanks for cleaning up those plant cuttings on the driveway last time. What a mess. I noticed it after you had left. That was nice of you.”
The garage door went up, the voices got muffled, and I figured I’d better get the heck out of there while she was preoccupied. Just then, the delivery guy ran back to the van and grabbed another box. A smaller one.
“Almost forgot this baby!” he yelled out. “Follow the precautions on the labels. Oh, and don’t forget to soak the salmon roe before you freeze it. Unless you want me to do it!”
Precautions? Labels? We’re talking food here, aren’t we?
Again, the voices were muted and there was no way I could make sense of what they were saying. No reason to risk being seen. I signaled left, pulled out, and headed down the block. Once out of sight, I pulled over again. This time to do some genuine research.
My curiosity was piqued and, like an itch that begged to be scratched, I couldn’t wait. I pulled my iPhone from my bag and immediately googled “The Bountiful Life.” I expected the usual cadre of pre-prepared meals, mixes, and health food drinks. What I saw instead made me look twice.
It was food, all right, but that was where the similarity ended. Past the testimonials and usual hype about life-extending products, The Bountiful Life boosted brain-enhancing nutrition based on seafood. Freeze-dried seafood that was converted into all sorts of meals. And while they sounded like the kinds of things I’d put on my dinner plate, they weren’t.
The meatloaf and gravy was a seasoned fish pâté with a kelp-based au jus. The lasagna and cheese was derived from reconstituted salmon roe and pollock. And the chicken casserole was concocted out of reconstituted whitefish and dried vegetables. All meals with a ten-year shelf life.
Maybe that explained why Phyllis Gruber had a perpetual scowl on her face. Nothing a Big Mac wouldn’t cure. And while the first page of menu items was certainly an eye-opener, the second page was the real shocker—the price list. Those menu items didn’t come cheaply. I supposed that would be the case for “organically sourced seafood.”
I scrolled to the next page and scanned a never-ending list of health food supplements and vitamins. Also with big price tags. And most probably with precautions. No wonder the delivery guy made mention of reading the labels. I exited the website and shut the phone, pausing for a second to think about the vulnerable senior citizen population and how they were likely to be scammed by companies like his. At least I didn’t have to worry about my mother or the book club ladies. If they couldn’t shmear it with cream cheese, dip it in greasy sauce, or fry it in a pan, they wouldn’t eat it.
The teal and white van pulled past me and continued down the block as I continued to wonder how many elderly suckers were on his route.
Chapter 16
Nate and Marshall weren’t able to glean too much information from Ranston and Bowman when they met Saturday morning. No new insights regarding Cameron Tully’s connections and nothing that would link Elaine Meschow to him, other than the fact that they both ingested toxins from the sago palm. What was certain was that the sheriff ’s deputies, along with Williams Investigations, had all but exhausted all contacts related to both victims.
Marshall puzzled over the entire matter most of the weekend when he wasn’t conferring with Nate on the phone.
“I can’t believe Thanksgiving is this Thursday and we still haven’t gotten anywhere,” he said as we folded a batch of laundry on Sunday night. “I couldn’t even enjoy spreading out on the couch and watching the football game today.”
A washcloth dropped on the floor and I picked it up. “You made a good stab at it.”
“Yeah, well, a guy’s got to try something. Oh geez, I completely forgot to tell you—I called Bethany Cabot to ask about their distributor. Got to speak with her husband. Tucker, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway, it wasn’t Coldwater Seafood. We can scratch that off our list. Spellbound Naturals has used the same distributor for the past five years. Not a familiar name, but then again, I’m not up on dog food suppliers.”
“Was Tucker as obnoxious as Elaine Meschow says he is?”
“Not really. Not on the phone anyway. I told him what was going on and why we thought there might be a motive for Cameron’s murder if the same distributor was used for dog food as well as gourmet seafood.”
“What was his reaction?”
“Believe it or not, he laughed. Said the food they source is natural, all right, but nothing humans would consume. Gave me the lowdown on Asian carp. Did you know those fish were gradually introduced into our lakes and waterways with an unexpected outcome?”
“Um, no.”
Marshall stopped rolling his socks into neat tubes and let out a breath. “The Asian carp are really aggressive fish. Aggressive and very adaptable. Apparently, those little stinkers outcompete the native fish for food and habitat. And those carp keep growing in size. It wouldn’t pose a problem if they were edible, but those things are boney as hell.”
“Ugh. Sounds horrid.”
“It is. The exploding carp population correlates to a decreasing supply of other freshwater fish and that’s not all.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Oh yeah. Those fish have no natural predators. And they breed faster than rabbits. Although I think the actual word is ‘spawn.’ Tucker gave me the complete run-down.”
