Dressed Up 4 Murder, page 25
“The waitress said that?”
“Uh-huh. And there’s more. Jocelyn was known to have all sorts of dalliances with the men she hired. Maybe one of them killed Cameron.”
Paige should quit her waitressing job and start writing steamy romance novels.
“Hey, Bethany!” Tucker called out. “Are you coming or what? The dog’s getting antsy.”
Bethany looked at me with wide, moist eyes. “I need to go. Are we? I mean, are you . . .”
“I’m the office accountant for Williams Investigations, not law enforcement. I’ll leave that up to you. But if you want my advice, maybe you should call Jocelyn, talk it over with her, and ask if she’d be willing to drop any charges should an arrest be made.”
Bethany nodded twice and mumbled, “Thanks.”
I suppose I should’ve congratulated myself for figuring out who the masked intruder was, but it didn’t feel like much of a victory. Cameron’s killer was still out there, and if he or she wasn’t the same person who poisoned Elaine, then two very dangerous individuals were at large.
My mother and her friends had left the knoll and were now standing in a clump near the dog park. Streetman was still in costume, sans the crown. I imagined the women were trying to console my mother, and as much as it was one conversation I didn’t feel like joining, I had no choice but to walk over there.
“Can you believe it?” Myrna asked. “I can’t believe those judges pulled a stunt like that.”
Lucinda pulled out a floral kerchief from her pocket and put it on her head. “They should be ashamed. That’s what. Totally unprofessional.”
“I’ll be fine,” my mother said as if she had been told of an impending flood or famine. “Streetman will be fine, too.”
Streetman doesn’t know what the heck is happening except that he’s in an uncomfortable outfit and probably wants to roll around on the grass.
As if my mother could read my mind, she bent down and undid the Velcro that held the outfit together. “No sense in getting this dirty. It’s too priceless.” Then she looked at me. “The ladies and I are going back to my place for coffee and desserts. Why don’t you join us?”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I’ve got to get home. Marshall will be there soon. He’s at the posse station. We took two cars. While you were talking with the judges, the sheriff ’s deputies arrived to make an arrest. Marshall got a confession out of the man who broke into Elaine’s place. It was also the same man you saw that night behind the house. You know, the flashlight.”
“I thought someone fell in the parking lot and that’s why we heard sirens. An arrest? Who? Who? And why were they in Elaine’s house?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal any names, but we have reason to believe it was the same person who was running that sex-for-rental business in the snowbird homes. Actually, the flash drive Streetman found belonged to the alleged perpetrator.”
Suddenly my mother stood up straight and beamed. “My Streetman solved the case. My Streetman is a little hero. Is that sex-for-rental man the one who killed Cameron Tully and hid his body at the Galbraiths’?”
“Um, no. That part of the investigation is still underway.”
A long-drawn-out sigh emanated from my mother’s mouth. “Well, you can’t expect the dog to solve all of these crimes.”
“I, um, er . . .”
“Call me later.”
I said good-bye to the women and thanked Shirley again for her amazing costumes. Then I headed home, but not before stopping at Kentucky Fried Chicken for takeout.
* * *
Marshall had a similar idea to mine, only he stopped for Italian subs. We had enough food to last the next day and possibly for a snack on Sunday. I told him about Bethany’s admission of guilt and he wasn’t about to rat her out. We both thought she’d do the right thing.
“So,” I asked, “how’d it go with Alender?”
“It went well. I mean, as well as a confession can go. I gave Nate a call and he had the same reaction I did—glad that part of the mystery is solved but stymied over the murder. It’s like putting Band-Aids on a bunch of little cuts but ignoring the giant flesh wound.”
“Ugh. That’s getting too graphic for me. At least the murder wasn’t a gory one. Not as if we’re dealing with blood and all that.”
“Believe it or not, the ‘all that’ makes it easier for forensics. Poisonings are tough. Especially when it’s a substance that can take days to kill. That’s why we’re better off looking at motive.”
“Bethany said something that got me thinking. Tucker and Cameron weren’t the only men in Jocelyn’s world. My gosh, I’m sounding like a fourth-grade tattletale.”
“Tattle away. I’m listening.”
“All of this comes secondhand from Paige. Figured I’d better make that clear first. Anyhow, Jocelyn was rumored to have had relationships with the men she hired at La Mar Maravillosa.”
“We talked to all of the employees and didn’t get a sense of anything personal.”
“I did. I didn’t catch it at first. It wasn’t what was said. It was how.”
“Go on.”
“That bartender I spoke with seemed to have a thing for her. A romanticized crush of sorts. Tucker wouldn’t pose a threat because he was reeled back in by his wife. But Cameron . . . That’s a different story. Suppose the bartender wanted to get Cameron out of the picture for good?”
“By poisoning him?”
“Uh-huh.”
Marshall crossed his arms in front and took a breath. “It would take some knowledge of plants to know how to do it. To know what parts of the sago palm were the most toxic and how to get the victim to ingest them.”
“The bartender would have that information. He used to work for Happy Valley Nurseries. Motive and means right there. He could’ve easily ground up some of the crushed leaves or the seeds and put them in one of Cameron’s drinks.”
“When? When was the opportunity?”
“Up until today, I didn’t even realize there was an opportunity. Then I remembered the conversation I had with the bartender. He told me Cameron was in the restaurant a few days before his body was found. He was having a tête-à-tête with Alender. Long story, but the bartender had to bring Cameron another drink—dark ale from the tap. Real easy to add some crushed seeds to the mix. Especially if they were in one of those small plastic pill packets people carry. The bartender must’ve planned this all along and needed the right moment.”
Marshall’s mouth opened wide, but he didn’t say anything. Not at first. Then it was as if he couldn’t stop talking. “Real easy to do. Real easy. Alender left. Cameron was alone. The only one drinking. Real easy for the bartender to rinse out the glass and then put it in the dishwasher. Those temperatures get so hot the evidence would be erased. Motive—jealousy. Means—any greenhouse or big-box store. Opportunity—slip it in his drink. My God, Phee! You may have nailed this murder!”
“How do we prove it? The restaurant doesn’t have indoor surveillance.”
“The bartender doesn’t know that. Ever hear of a nanny cam? I think I can get Jocelyn to tell the bartender she was thinking of installing another one in the kitchen along with the hidden one in the bar.”
“But there is no hidden—”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s the point. The bartender doesn’t know that. Jocelyn will say she’s still freaked out about being held at gunpoint and needs to review all the past recordings. He’s bound to believe that.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll catch the culprit in his own act. He’ll be hell-bent for leather to find that thing once she has the conversation with him. Since the bartender doesn’t know Nate, he’ll be the perfect undercover detective. Besides, he loves bar snacks.”
“Nate. That’s perfect. He can get anyone to crack. I can hear him now. ‘Looking for something? Surveillance perhaps?’ Oh my gosh. That’s ingenious.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ve got a zillion calls to make.”
By eleven that night, a plan was in place and we sat down to watch the evening news. No sooner did I lean back and relax on the couch when the human-interest segment came on. I all but had a coronary. “Oh no! Oh no! I can’t believe it. That’s me. On my butt. In the snow. What the heck?”
It was footage from today’s event at Sun City West’s Precious Pooches Holiday Extravaganza. I never even knew someone was filming it.
“I’m afraid to change the channel,” I said. “More than one station could’ve been there.”
Marshall was laughing so hard he almost choked.
“Don’t say anything to anyone. Those retirees go to bed earlier. Chances are no one will see it. Unless—Oh no! Herb probably archived it to his digital video recorder.”
I switched channels to the weather station and buried my head in my hands.
On Monday morning, Augusta told me she never would’ve thought I’d be one for winter antics in the snow. I was used to it by then. My mother and the book club ladies had all watched the news. There was no escaping it.
Marshall called it the Tumbling Tower after some board game he used to play as a kid. I called it Strategic Planning and it involved the deputies and the Tempe police. Thank goodness Jocelyn cooperated and the plan to catch a killer went off without a hitch a few days later.
The bartender was no match for Nate and confessed to putting crushed sago palm seeds into Cameron’s drink. Years of obsessing over Jocelyn had pushed the guy over the proverbial edge. It had nothing to do with the seafood industry, the fraud, or Alender’s desire to keep his side business hush-hush. Unfortunately, it still didn’t solve the other part of the equation—Elaine Meschow’s bout with the same toxin. The bartender was off the hook on that one. Since the actual crime took place in Tempe, their police department got the credit. And, to make matters worse, Ranston and Bowman were also credited in the arrest.
Nate and Marshall took it in stride.
“A paycheck’s a paycheck,” Nate said, “and our consulting fees pay well. Don’t sweat it.”
I didn’t. I had other things on my mind. Kalese was set to arrive the day before Christmas Eve and the first day of Hanukkah. That was only four days away. My mother was ecstatic her granddaughter would be staying at her house, even though I felt a tad guilty. And Marshall felt much worse. Maybe next year my daughter would stay with us.
“Darn it,” Augusta said the day before Christmas Eve. “What a way to start the morning. I’ve got toner ink all over me. I hate when that happens. That stuff flies all over the place. Worse than those grass clippings that get all over shoes and socks.”
I had just popped in a K-cup of eggnog-flavored coffee and was waiting for the blue light on the machine. The image of grass clippings made me stop in my tracks. “What did you say? About the grass?”
“Huh? You’re from back east. You know. When you’re done mowing the lawn your shoes and socks are green.”
“The clippings. Oh my gosh. Clippings.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“It was a long time ago. I met a guy in the dog park who lives next door to Phyllis Gruber. She clipped off his sago palm near her driveway. And I remember something else. Geez! I think I know who poisoned Elaine Meschow.”
The eggnog coffee began to pour, but my mind was elsewhere. “He didn’t mean to do it. He had no idea.”
Augusta gave me a strange look. “Who didn’t mean to do what? Honestly, you’re getting as bad as Nate. Half sentences and all.”
“Alender. The delivery guy from The Bountiful Life. The one who was running that illicit brothel business. Jocelyn’s brother. He was the one who poisoned Elaine.”
“I’m confused.”
“Okay, I’ll try to slow down. Phyllis and Elaine both ordered flash-frozen fish, fresh fish products, and health supplements from that company. Alender delivered Phyllis’s order first and then went to Elaine’s. Only once was the schedule switched, and Phyllis put up such a fuss it never happened again. Anyway, Alender cleaned up the sago palm clippings on Phyllis’s driveway before he went to Elaine’s house a few days before that Halloween pet parade. He had the remnants on his hands and that stuff got all over the food he delivered.”
“I don’t understand how. Shouldn’t the food be wrapped?”
“Normal stuff, yes, but, according to the directions on some of those things, they had to be soaked in water first and then put in the fridge. I remember hearing him tell Phyllis that. He also offered to do it for her. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time. Quick! Where’s the nearest phone?”
“On my desk. Where it’s always been.”
If I sounded incoherent with Augusta, I must’ve really sounded as if I’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer when I got Elaine on the line. I asked her a series of questions that made sense to me but confused the daylights out of her.
“Soaking salmon roe? Yes, yes. It was something the delivery guy did. An extra service. Why? What are you getting at?”
When I finally explained, she shrieked so loud I thought my eardrums would burst.
“Prince! My little Prince! He could’ve been poisoned to death. Thank goodness I was the only one who ate that stuff. Usually I give him table snacks, but not fish. It’s a good thing that would-be murderer is locked up or I’d make it a point to have him put behind bars for life.”
I told Elaine it was only a theory, but in my gut, I knew I was right. Marshall and Nate believed it was probable, too, and insisted that Ranston and Bowman have Elaine’s freezer tested for any remnants of sago palm toxin. Something, in my opinion, that should’ve been done months ago.
The results arrived two weeks later. Kalese was already back home in Minnesota. Three degrees below zero as usual. She and Marshall had hit it off and she said she’d love to stay at our place next year if we’d have her. My mother looked as if she’d lost her best friend, so we agreed to split the time.
It was Saturday morning, and I was wedged between Cecilia and Lucinda at Bagels ’N More for the monthly Booked 4 Murder brunch. My iPhone vibrated and I checked to see who it was. Marshall.
“Excuse me. I need to take this.” I listened carefully and then let out a “whoop.” Not the best thing to do under the circumstances.
My shout of glee was met with, “What happened?” “What’s going on?” “Did you win something?” and “Did Marshall propose?”
“I’ll ignore the last question,” I said, “but I do have good news. Very good news. We found out who poisoned Elaine.”
My mother all but jumped from her seat when I told them who was responsible. “Can’t they arrest Phyllis Gruber? If she hadn’t clipped those palms, Elaine wouldn’t have gotten so sick.”
“That’s really stretching it. It was unintentional. It’s up to Elaine if she wants to press matters further, but I doubt it. And, getting back to that last question, Marshall and I are quite happy the way things are.”
“I guess that means he didn’t propose.”
Shirley immediately came to my defense. “Lordy, Harriet, that daughter of yours is the best darn investigator in the valley, even if she’s employed as an accountant. And if and when her boyfriend does propose, I’ll make the wedding gown.”
“Um, er, uh . . . all of you are moving way too fast. No talk about weddings. Or gowns. Or anything. Thank you, Shirley, but I think you’ll be plenty busy making costumes for next year’s doggie extravaganza.”
Lucinda put her hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. “Oh dear. I guess no one told you. The committee decided not to hold another extravaganza. Something about liability. But that won’t deter your mother’s little show-stopper from taking first place in the St. Patrick’s Day Doggie Leprechaun Look-Alike Costume Contest. The Irish club is sponsoring it. Isn’t that right, Shirley? You’ll be up to your eyeballs with that green fabric.”
Shirley nodded as if someone had presented her with front seats to an execution.
Then Myrna spoke. “Tell her the good news, Harriet. Go on, tell her.”
I know. The St. Patrick’s Day prize is better than a pot of gold. “Tell me what?”
“I was waiting until dessert, but you might as well know. Streetman and I got an anonymous gift certificate for three nights and four days at the JW Marriott resort and spa. It was signed by a fan, who said Streetman was the real winner. And they sent a gift certificate for Shirley, too. Looks like the three of us will be enjoying that spa vacation after all.”
“That’s wonderful! Absolutely wonderful.” And I’d better thank Nate the minute I get out of here.
Epilogue
The hiatus between the last of the fall pet parade contests and the St. Patrick’s Day Doggie Leprechaun Look-Alike competition was a short one. Thanks to the genius of Shirley Johnson’s imagination, Streetman was decked out in the fanciest, most extravagant leprechaun outfit anyone could have imagined. Glittered belt, sparkling green Swarovski crystals that formed shamrocks on his vest, and black pantaloons with ruffles. It was surprising he didn’t bite my mother when she dressed him.
The contest was held the week before the actual Sun City West St. Patrick’s Day Parade in March. The winner and his owner were to celebrate the victory on a special float that was the jewel of the parade. Secretly, I prayed Sir Breckenthall the Third would win so that I could be spared another agonizing event in my mother’s retirement community. I should have known better.
No one could match Shirley’s mastery with a needle, and Streetman won the pot of gold. Or in this case, enough gift certificates from local merchants so that my mother could dine out for the rest of the year and pamper the dog as well.
Streetman’s winning status meant Marshall and I would be coerced into not only attending the parade but riding on the float, too.
