Miles had gotten jobs playing the piano and singing at a couple of other clubs in the Palm Springs area, but they weren’t just a step below the Red Velvet Lounge, they were a staircase below it. If you performed at the Red Velvet, you were someone. If you performed at any of the other nameless clubs in the area, you were just another down-on-his-luck musician, a nobody.
Miles was a Zen Buddhist and had always practiced non-violence. Mahatma Gandhi, the leader of the Indian independence movement, who had been successful in achieving self-rule for India, was his idol. Miles was so opposed to violence that he even took spiders outside to free them rather than squash them. The only reason he’d chosen to become a Zen Buddhist rather than follow on Gandhi’s path was because there was a Zen temple just a couple of blocks away from his apartment, and he felt Zen and Gandhi’s philosophies were pretty much the same.
A couple of his musician friends commiserated with him and said that since Jimmy had suffered a major heart attack, maybe he’d have another one, and then Miles could star at the Red Velvet Lounge again. However, being such a strong believer in non-violence, he couldn’t justify wishing that Jimmy would die.
Miles had become consumed with Jimmy Joseph. He read everything he could find that had been written about him. He’d even found out where Jimmy lived and had driven by there more times than he cared to count. Miles had never met Jimmy, but he’d seen him walk out to his mailbox several times as he drove by Jimmy’s estate.
Miles preferred to think that what he was doing was not stalking Jimmy, but some would say that being consumed enough by someone to drive by their home almost daily could qualify as stalking.
Tired, discouraged, and nearly broke, Miles walked into his small house and felt more depressed than he’d ever been. He fixed a vegetarian stir fry, sat down on the couch, and turned on the television, aimlessly surfing through channels, when something caught his attention.
The host of the show, the Poison Chronicles, was talking about a Bulgarian dissident, Georgi Markov, who was exiled and lived in London in the 1970’s. In 1978 he was waiting for a bus near Waterloo Bridge when he felt a stinging pain on the back of his right thigh. He looked around and the only thing he saw was a man bending down to pick up his umbrella. He thought nothing of it at the time, but he soon developed a high fever and died three days later.
An autopsy revealed a tiny pellet the size of a pinhead in Markov’s thigh. The pellet contained a small amount of ricin, a deadly poison. There was speculation that the pellet had been fired from an air gun hidden in the umbrella.
The host said that Markov had mentioned the man with the umbrella to the doctor when he was admitted to the hospital, but if that was the man who poisoned him, he escaped. The host had then gone on to talk about the poison, ricin, and how it was obtained from the beans of the castor bean plant, which is a very common plant. The host mentioned that laws regulating the production and use of ricin were very difficult to enforce, because it was so common.
Miles was interrupted from watching the rest of the show by his phone ringing. It was his brother calling to see how his meeting with the owner of the Red Velvet Lounge had gone. Miles told him the owner had made it very clear that Jimmy Joseph would be starring at the Red Velvet Lounge as long as his health permitted, and he was not going to hire Miles to play another night.
His brother, Danny, had said all the appropriate things such as how unfair life was and sometimes you just get dealt a bad hand. Then he went on to say that if it was him, he’d just get rid of Jimmy.
“Miles, I know you don’t believe in violence, but look at it this way. Jimmy’s landing path is pretty short about now, meaning he’s living on borrowed time. That heart attack just about did him in, and with a little help, seems to me it wouldn’t be too hard to make him permanently go away. With him gone, you’d be back in business. Think about it. If you decide to do anything, let me know and I’ll help.”
Miles had ended the call, horrified at what his brother was suggesting, but at 3:00 a.m., after another sleepless night, he began to think there might be some merit in using ricin to get rid of Jimmy. After all, everyone knew Jimmy went out to his mail box at a certain time. Someone could easily drive by at the moment Jimmy was at his mail box, deliver the ricin via an air rifle, and be in one of Palms Springs’ adjoining cities in a matter of minutes.
When the idea occurred to him, he was horrified that his mind could even conceive of such a plan. After all, he’d been a practitioner and proponent of non-violence for a couple of decades. Then he heard a little voice in the back of his brain say, “Miles, this isn’t about non-violence. This is about survival of the fittest.”
Troubled, Miles finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER 4
Marty walked into the courtyard of the communal living area she and her husband, Jeff, a Palm Spring police detective, shared with her sister, Laura, Les, a well-known artist and Laura’s significant other, and John, the owner of the very successful Red Pony food trucks.
“Morning, Laura, everyone take off as early as Jeff did this morning?” Marty asked.
She sat down at the large wooden table where they shared their evening meals prepared by John while he used them as very willing guinea pigs for different recipes he was testing for his food trucks and catering business.
“Les is sleeping. He told me his personal art muse was very busy with him at the moment, and he probably wouldn’t see much of me for the next couple of days.”
“I’ve heard of muses for writing, but I’ve never heard of one for art. Does Les have a name for his?”
“He told me it’s kind of one of those ‘If I tell you I’ll have to kill you’ things. Says he has no idea where his art comes from, and that he has a name he calls his muse, but it’s never to be spoken.”
“Sounds kind of strange to me,” Marty said.
“I agree, but given the fact he has a waiting list for his paintings, and the amount of money he charges for each one he sells, who am I to tell him his muse is a figment of his imagination?”
“True,” Marty said reaching down to pet Duke, her black Labrador, and Patron, her white boxer, who shared Laura’s psychic ability. Sometimes the two of them scared her with their ability to sense things that were going to happen in the future, but when both Jeff and Marty’s lives had been saved because of that ability, Marty had stopped doubting, and now she paid close attention to it.
“I saw Jeff when he left,” Laura said. “He told me he expected to be busy for the next couple of weeks with the big concerts coming to the desert. He said he just hoped the kids left it at drugs and alcohol, and that there wouldn’t be any homicides. Jeff felt the detectives in his department had enough to do with the routine things that went on in Palm Springs.”
“Yes, I remember when we helped John with his food truck at the three-day concert a couple of years ago and we ended up solving a murder. I’m sure Jeff doesn’t want a repeat of that. Speaking of John, how is he? It seems he’s just getting busier and busier,” Marty said.
“He is. I was out here early this morning having coffee and answering emails when Max came in to help him get things ready for the day. They packed up the food trucks and John mentioned they had a catering event this evening, but he’d made a beef stew for us and all we had to do was reheat it. He told me to be sure and serve it with the soda bread he was leaving on the counter for us.”
“Sounds great. That should help me make it through the day. Honest, that guy’s cooking is totally spoiling me. If anything ever happens to him and I have to cook for Jeff, he might leave me. We neglected to put the word ‘cook’ in our marriage vows.”
Laura laughed and said, “If he does ever leave, we’ll all probably be put into the Betty Ford Center to help cure us of our addiction to his food, but fortunately he seems happy here.”
“How could he not be? He has four adults who eagerly await whatever he’s going to serve. He lives up here away from the traffic and plasticity of Palm Springs, h
e’s doing what he loves, and he doesn’t have to answer to anyone. That’s kind of everyone’s dream,” Marty said.
“To change the subject. What’s on your agenda today? Dick mentioned something about you doing an appraisal for that rock star, Jimmy Joseph,” Laura said
“I am. I thought I needed a little help with it, because I’ve never done a music memorabilia appraisal before, so I asked Carl to help me.”
“That was probably smart. I guess some collectors pay huge amounts of money for celebrity’s things. I’ll be curious about what you find. Tell Carl I said hi.”
“Actually, I think I’ll pass. The mere mention of your name sends him into a cold sweat. I honestly don’t think he’ll ever recover from the wig stand event.”
“Speaking of which, Marty…”
“Don’t even think about it, Laura. I can see from that look in your eyes you’re going to say something I don’t want to hear.” She put her hands over her ears and said, “Na na na na na na na,” like a child who was trying to keep out bad news.
Just then Patron began to growl as he backed up to Marty’s leg and pressed against her. Marty took her hands away from her ears, looked at Laura and said, “Okay give it to me straight out. Looks like Patron has picked up on your vibes, and while I don’t like to be in this position, I suppose you better tell me what you’re sensing.”
“Sorry, Sis, but I have no choice. There’s going to be another murder, and unfortunately, I think you’ll be involved. I just want to give you and Carl a heads up.”
Marty was quiet for a few moments and then said, “Because you included Carl in this, does that mean it has something to do with the appraisal we’re going to do today?”
“You know I can only tell you what I’m given, and I don’t know the answer to that, but I think Patron does.”
As soon as Laura had started talking, Patron had resumed growling and the hair all along his back was standing on end. “Laura, I have to go, and we know from past experience, when Patron starts acting like this, it’s hard for me to get away. Would you talk whatever mumbo-jumbo he understands and calm him down, so I can leave?”
“Sorry, Marty, no can do. I’m getting a message that Patron needs to go with you today, and no, I have absolutely no idea why. You better take him.”
“This is just swell. I’m going to call Jeff. Maybe Jimmy Joseph was murdered last night or something.” She picked up her cell phone and pressed in Jeff’s number.
A moment later his deep voice said, “Hi, love. I let you sleep in. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, just wondering if you’ve heard about anything happening to Jimmy Joseph. I was getting ready to pick up Carl and go to our appraisal, but if something’s happened to him, I’ll need to make other arrangements.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for several moments. “Marty, I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about. I’ve heard nothing about Jimmy Joseph lately other than it’s almost impossible to get tickets to his weekly show and that you’re doing an appraisal for him. Why do you ask?”
“Because Laura has some murder premonition and I can’t stop Patron from growling, plus now Laura says I need to take him with me to the appraisal.”
Jeff was quiet for a few moments and then said, “If nothing else is certain in life, Laura’s premonitions are. Take Patron with you. Do you want me to send one of my men to his house and he can stay there during the appraisal?”
“Absolutely, emphatically, no. I mean, I should walk in and say, “Oh hello Mr. Joseph. I’ve brought my psychic dog with me and this is officer whoever. I brought them with me because my sister had a death premonition and my husband insisted I have them with me. That would definitely put poor Carl right over the edge,” she said.
“Yeah, you probably have a point. Okay, let’s compromise. I won’t send an officer over there if you promise me you’ll take Patron with you. Tell Carl and Jimmy Joseph that your husband insists you have a guard dog with you when you’re appraising things that are highly valuable. Tell him it also provides protection for him.”
“All right, Jeff. You and Laura win. I am definitely not happy about this, but I’ll take Patron with me. See you tonight. Even if you are over-protective of me, I love you.” She ended the call and said, “Patron, we’ve got an appraisal to do. So long, Laura.”
“Marty, I see a mailbox. Be careful.”
“Swell, Laura, just swell. Like I’ll only pass a gazillion of them on my way to Jimmy Joseph’s house. Am I supposed to look down every street to see if I can find one without a mailbox?” she asked sarcastically.
“Mark my words,” Laura said enigmatically.
CHAPTER 5
Carla McIntyre walked out on her veranda and couldn’t help but look at the palm trees on the other side of the white stucco fence, the fence that separated her spacious yard from Jimmy Joseph’s yard.
She’d done a lot of research on what she considered to be an abomination against the natural beauty of the desert. A lot of people thought that palm trees were perfect for the Palm Springs area, and Carla agreed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like palm trees, she did. She thought the small ones were beautiful, but not the ones she was looking at.
The five palm trees in Jimmy’s back yard, flanking his pool, were Mexican Fan Palms, a species that reached one hundred feet, and she was sure his were approaching that height.
She hated that the first thing her guests noticed when they stepped into her back yard wasn’t the infinity pool she’d spent a fortune on, or the carefully landscaped yard filled with rare drought-resistant plants, or even the beauty of the San Jacinto Mountains her house backed up to. No, the first thing anyone noticed were the ugly palm trees in Jimmy Joseph’s back yard.
Carla had talked to her attorney about suing Jimmy and getting them removed, but he’d suggested that instead she talk to Jimmy about the trees. First of all, lawsuits could get expensive, particularly when wealthy entertainers were involved. Second, having the trees removed after an amicable discussion would be a far better way to handle the problem when neighbors were involved.
Her attorney had even quoted the Robert Frost poem, Mending Wall, to her which ended with the words, “Good fences make good neighbors.” When he’d finished reciting parts of the poem to her, he told her he’d had to memorize the poem for a college English class, and he’d never been able to use it for anything. And finally, after all these years, he’d had a reason – to save her the cost of a lawsuit.
Several times when Carla had been returning home or going somewhere, she’d noticed that Jimmy Joseph always walked down his long driveway to get the daily mail in the mailbox just outside of his iron gates. It was the only time she ever saw his gates open.
After her conversation with her attorney, she decided to meet Jimmy at his mailbox the following day. That morning, she dressed carefully in her Palm Springs best, because even though they were neighbors, Carla having moved into her home only a year ago, she had never met the legendary Jimmy Joseph.
She carefully picked out a cream colored short-sleeved silk blouse and paired it with silk slacks. She took the large diamond ring she’d inherited from her mother out of her jewelry safe as well as the one carat diamond earrings that had been a gift from her ex-husband.
The earrings gift she now knew was a “guilt money gift,” hoping she’d refrain from posting on YouTube the embarrassing photographs which had become an overnight sensation on social media. Having a high-profile husband was not always a good thing unless you were able to get a hefty divorce settlement, which she had.
Carla looked at herself in the full-length mirror in the dressing area of her bedroom suite and thought she looked exactly how a former movie star should look when she went to meet her famous neighbor. Elegantly casual was the look she was going for, and she thought she’d nailed it.
Her short blond hair feathered around her heart-shaped face made her look like one of the legions of wealthy ex-wives living in Pal
m Springs. Unfortunately, although her face was charming when she’d played ingénue roles, it wasn’t quite the look movie producers wanted for middle-aged women, and thus her current title of “former movie star.”
Carla had often thought the mailman, whose name she’d learned over the last year was Geoffrey, must have some type of syndrome which caused him to deliver the mail at the exact same moment every day. Not a minute earlier. Not a minute later. At 11:42 a.m. each day her mail was delivered. On this particular day she opened her gates and walked down the driveway to get her mail.
She saw Geoffrey out of the corner of her eye as he put the mail in the mailbox of her neighbor to her right. She turned to the left and walked down the street to where Jimmy Joseph’s mailbox was located. She decided that Jimmy Joseph must have the same syndrome as Geoffrey, for true to his character, he was only a few feet from his mailbox when Carla walked over to it.
“Hi, Mr. Joseph, I’m Carla McIntire, your next-door neighbor. We’ve never met, but I often see you getting your mail when I drive by, and I thought it was time for me to introduce myself.”
“Nice to meet ya’, ma’am,” Jimmy said, extending his hand. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you, and I do love this neighborhood. Backing up to the mountains and being a bit away from the hustle and bustle of Palm Springs is divine. Have you lived here very long?”
“Yeah. This has been my base for over thirty years. Matter of fact, when I bought the land, there weren’t a thing on it. Had help, but purty much had a hand in everything that was built and planted here,” he said in a proud tone of voice.
“Even those huge palm trees by the fence?” Carla asked. “They’re about the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, ain’t they jes’ somethin’? I think they’re jes’ about the prettiest things in my yard. Their little green heads up against that blue sky. Man o’ man, jes’ don’t get much better than that.”
Murder in Palm Springs Page 2
