Murder at High Tide

by Lee Strauss

  Gloria cackled as they sped into town. “This car is Clarence’s favorite. He’ll fume when he sees it’s gone, but serves him right for—” She tilted her head towards the backseat where little Julie played with a View Master toy. “—dodging his responsibilities.”

  Rosa held on to the hand strap attached to the car’s ceiling and cast a concerned look at little Julie in the back seat. The small girl with neatly-styled blond ringlets tied with blue ribbons and wearing a sweet little sailor dress seemed unperturbed at her aunt’s carefree driving and flashed her a chubby-faced smile.

  In town, Gloria parked in front of an establishment Rosa hadn’t seen before. A diamond-shaped, white-and-red checker sign had a white banner with the words “Tastee Freeze” written in blue. It was instantly cooler as they stepped into the air-conditioned shop where a small lineup of smiling people waited to order. Some were sitting on vinyl-covered bar stools eating their treats.

  Over the counter, a large menu hung on the wall, depicting various treats that could be bought there. Some Rosa had never heard of before, such as the Banana Royale or the Dip Top Cone.

  The Dip Top Cone turned out to be soft ice cream dipped into melted chocolate that dried to a shell as it cooled. Rosa and Julie both ordered one of those while Gloria ordered a hot caramel sundae. Rosa practically inhaled her soft cone. She’d never experienced ice cream like it before.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead,” Gloria said after a while. “The stores are just down the street. Julie and I will catch up.”

  Rather than watch Julie’s face become increasingly covered in melted ice cream, Rosa took Gloria up on her offer. A couple of blocks down Main Street, she came across a shop called Pacific Trends with some lovely designs for beach and casual wear. Rosa picked out a daring black two-piece bathing suit and the exact pair of sunglasses she had wanted.

  Just as she was leaving the store, she spotted Shirley Philpott walking down the opposite sidewalk.

  “Mrs. Philpott!”

  Mrs. Philpott jerked toward Rosa’s voice, then waved back, a quick, furtive gesture.

  “Stay right there, I’ll come over,” Rosa called out, but the traffic was heavy. By the time she crossed the busy street, Shirley Philpott had disappeared. “Well, that is strange,” Rosa muttered. She’d hoped to ask how the poor lady was faring after losing her cousin.

  And perhaps a question or two about the dead woman.

  6

  Rosa sat at the antique dressing table in her bedroom and stared back at her reflection in the oval mirror. She’d placed a wide, pink satin headband over her chestnut-colored hair—styled with tight curls pushed behind her ears—and held a tube of red lipstick. Her gaze latched on to the green eyes in the reflection of the oval mirror, and suddenly, it wasn’t her mature, modern face looking back, but a rounder, youthful version, with long hair swooped into a fishnet hairpiece at the back of her head. The deep V of her neckline became a schoolgirl’s outfit, but the blush on her cheeks was for the same boy.

  Miguel Belmonte.

  If she’d known he’d moved back to Santa Bonita, Rosa was sure she’d have chosen another destination to run away to. There was always the south of France, for instance—they had family friends there—or Boston, where Mum had acquaintances, or even to Canada.

  Rosa let out a long breath. She knew no one in Canada, though she’d heard it was lovely, and indeed, was part of the Commonwealth, so she’d quite likely feel at home there.

  But Rosa wasn’t in those places. She was here, and so was Miguel. She’d just have to make the best of it.

  Placing the lipstick pad on her lips, Rosa began to draw. The young lady she used to be no longer looked back at her. She was well and truly gone.

  The local American Legion Hall was a large, nicely painted wooden building that featured a large open room with oak parquet flooring. A very American look, Rosa thought. Not a single stone was used in its construction or any material over a hundred years old. Rows of foldable chairs were set out in front of a raised wooden stage area, and along one wall was a restaurant bar with round tables and booths. Hanging prominently on the wooden walls were black and white photographs of army battalions from both world wars, along with plaques commemorating various charities for which the organization had raised money.

  After paying for their tickets at the entrance, Rosa and Gloria took a booth not far from the stage and ordered drinks. Rosa’s only interest was to see one particular person’s face, and though she tried to keep her search from looking obvious, Gloria was quick to notice her unrest.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “No one. Just enjoying everyone’s outfits.”

  The place quickly filled with people of all ages, but the majority were young people like Rosa and Gloria. Some young men sported pompadours. Others wore generously oiled ‘duck tail’ haircuts, while the ladies wore various styles of bouffant or waved coiffure styles.

  But no Miguel.

  Which was fine. No, good. Rosa told herself she hadn’t come to see him anyway. She was only there at Gloria’s request. Nothing more.

  Various performers took the stage—a juggler, a folk music trio, and a young comedian. The crowd filled with laughter then applauded after the comedian Don Rickles finished his jokes.

  “He’s great!” Gloria said.

  The ‘headline’ act, as everyone in the room knew, was Miguel’s band, and yet Rosa still hadn’t spotted him. Was he hiding out in a back room?

  Her question was answered when the host took the microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the advertised band for tonight is a local favorite, Mick and the Beat Boys. However, most of you know that Mick, otherwise known as local Detective Belmonte, was called away on important police business and couldn’t make it tonight.”

  A groan went up from the crowd, and Gloria blew a loud raspberry through her full lips. “Figures.”

  Rosa felt a disarming mix of disappointment and relief. Not seeing Miguel again, ever, would be the best thing for her. Oh dear, what would Winston think if he knew how her emotions were stirring? Here, after three years with a man she had professed to love, she was pining for someone new?

  No, not new. Someone else.

  Someone with a fiancée.

  “However,” the announcer continued, “the band will carry on with Terence Knowles, the band’s piano player and manager. He will take over for Detective Belmonte tonight.”

  A half-hearted round of applause rose from the crowd as the tuxedo-clad musicians bravely jumped into a rendition of “Ain’t that a Shame”. Mr. Knowles’ singing was adequate, but obviously lacked the strong voice of a lead singer. About a dozen young people jumped up and danced in front of the stage, and the crowd seemed to settle in and enjoy the entertainment despite themselves.

  “I much prefer Miguel’s voice,” Gloria remarked. “He reminds me of Elvis Presley or Carl Perkins.”

  For Rosa’s part, she continued to embrace the news. Instead of an evening of conflicting emotions, she could now just have a drink and enjoy herself. She recognized Raul Mendez, the accountant for the California Polio Research Foundation, playing bass guitar for the band. He looked unsteady, and Rosa wondered if he had been drinking. Her suspicion was confirmed when, after playing a thirty-minute set, he wandered over to them during the break carrying a drink in his right hand and a cigarette in his left.

  “Well, well, well,” Mr. Mendez said without introduction. “Nice to see you young ladies again, ya know? Can I sit here? I only have ten minutes, so I promise not to bore you too much.” He loosened his bow tie, pushed his half-rimmed glasses up on his nose, and without waiting for an answer, sat down next to Rosa on the padded bench seat. He pulled out a red and white pack of cigarettes and offered it to the ladies. “Delicados brand. I buy them in Mexico. Much cheaper, ya know? Menthol helps freshen the breath.”

  It wasn’t working, Rosa thought as she leaned back and declined.

  “I know what you’re th-th-inking. That I’ve ha
d too much.” He grinned boyishly as he lifted the near-empty glass into the air. “I don’t usually, but I’m afraid the free tequila that was offered to the band was too tempting.” He chuckled dryly, and the smile quickly faded.

  “Do you know why Detective Belmonte was called away at such short notice?” Rosa asked. Even though she now refused to think of Miguel, the man, she couldn’t stop thinking about the case. Perhaps Aunt Louisa was right that Rosa wasn’t happy unless she had a big puzzle to solve.

  “It’s not like he confides in me,” Mr. Mendez slurred. “Not a big man like De-detective Bel-elmonte. I’m not good enough for the likes of him. But I’m pretty sure it’s because of that broad who bit the dust last night.”

  “I wonder if they got the results back from the pathologist,” Rosa said. Tests usually took time, but Santa Bonita was a small town. The labs here were probably slower than most.

  Gloria shrugged. “That could be.”

  “If foul play was indicated in the postmortem, the investigation would kick into high gear. There’d likely be a shuffling of personnel at the police department to ensure enough officers were assigned to the case.”

  “Whoa!” Raul Mendez regarded Rosa with tequila-glazed eyes. “You seem to know a lot about that.”

  “Rosa is also a police officer,” Gloria said proudly. “In London.”

  Raul Mendez blinked slowly and said, “Oh.” He seemed confused and opened his mouth to say more but seemed to think better of it.

  “Who on earth would want harm to come to poor Florence Adams?” Gloria asked.

  “Well, if you ask me. . .” Raul leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “I think Shirley Philpott did it.”

  Rosa stared back in shock. “The Chief Medical Examiner’s wife?”

  “Exactly.” Mr. Mendez nodded his head one time more than necessary.

  “That seems hard to believe.” Gloria sounded aghast. “She’s such a nice lady and very devoted to the charity. What does she have against Florence Adams that would make her want to kill her?”

  “What always brings the worst out in people?” Mr. Mendez sneered as he pushed up on his glasses. “Money, ya know, that’s what.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rosa said. “Does Shirley Philpott have financial troubles?”

  “Well, . . .” Raul Mendez seemed to forget his earlier distrust of Rosa. “You know that Florence Adams and Shirley Philpott are cousins, right? Just happens there’s a wealthy uncle in the picture who owns two huge estates in Palos Verdes. William Lawrence is the man’s name.”

  He leaned in to whisper in Rosa’s ear. “I happen to be the bookkeeper for that account. I can tell you this; William Lawrence is an exceedingly wealthy man who made his money in California real estate. He is now eighty-six years old and very ill. He has no children of his own, his wife died ten years ago, and the only real heirs are his two nieces.”

  Rosa doubted that Mr. Lawrence would be impressed by Mr. Mendez’s loose lips, but was happy to have been given the information. Mr. Mendez attempted to straighten, lost his balance, but saved himself by grabbing on to the table. As if he hadn’t just fallen over in front of a group of strangers, he continued, more loudly than was called for. “It is well known to acquaintances of the cousins that Florence Adams was Mr. Lawrence’s favorite because Shirley married Melvin Philpott.” He stabbed the air with his finger as if to make a stronger point. “And he doesn’t like Philpott.”

  “What does he have against the medical examiner?” Rosa asked.

  “Gettin’ to that.” Raul Mendez belched into his hand, and Rosa and Gloria shared a grimace.

  “When William Lawrence’s wife died, he was convinced it was murder. God only knows why. He’s a bit of an odd old codger. Philpott ruled it death by suicide. Well, the old man was in incen . . . incens . . . furious! He thought the ruling brought shame to his marriage and beeeesmirched his reputation, not to mention that suicide canceled any benefits from life insurance. Anyway, he railed against the police for months, ya know, wrote to the editor of the local paper, and sent Philpott nasty letters.”

  As if in slow motion, Mr. Mendez checked his wristwatch. “Anyways, rumor has it that he made Florence Adams the main beneficiary of his estate. She would get eighty-five percent of all his assets, with the other fifteen going to Shirley. I gotta go.”

  “Wait,” Rosa said. “How do you know all of this?”

  He stared back with a sloppy grin and glassy eyes. “Lovely Flo and I once dated. A long, long time ago, still in high school. She liked her rum and cokes already back then, and apparently I was a big drunken mistake.” He fiddled with his lips and chuckled. “I’m not the only one who talks too much when I’ve been drinking.” Mr. Mendez pushed up his glasses, smiled wanly, and after almost stumbling over an empty chair, wandered over to the stage.

  “That’s very interesting,” Gloria mused. “But still . . . it seems a rather weak motive for murdering your cousin.”

  “Perhaps,” Rosa said. Anyone in police work knew that people killed for less. “There could be a provision in the will stating if Florence Adams dies first, Shirley Philpott becomes the sole beneficiary. That’s a lot of money and some prime real estate.”

  And an excellent motive for murder.

  7

  When Rosa and Gloria returned to the Forrester mansion, they were surprised to find Aunt Louisa still awake. Perched on the aqua-blue section couch in the living room, a glass of sherry in hand, Louisa set her drink on the glass-topped coffee table that sat in the center of a yellow area rug.

  “The police have officially declared this case a suspicious death,” she said simply when Rosa and Gloria walked in. “Shirley Philpott is being held for questioning.”

  “How did you find out?” Gloria plopped into a matching, slender Scandinavian-style chair.

  “I spoke to the mayor and demanded to know if Dr. Rayburn, the acting pathologist, had submitted a report yet.”

  Rosa expected that an absence of seawater in Miss Adams’ lungs had been confirmed, which would rule out accidental drowning. It could explain why Mrs. Philpott had been in such a hurry earlier that day. She might’ve heard her husband’s suspicions and figured she’d be picked up by the police for questioning.

  Rosa lowered herself onto the opposite end of the couch. “And the cause of death?”

  “Not determined, only that drowning has been officially ruled out.” Aunt Louisa crossed her legs dramatically. “I have no idea why they suspect Shirley Philpott. The idea is absurd! The police are off on the wrong trail, just like I thought they would be.” She looked directly at Rosa, “I hope you’ll consider what we talked about earlier. In my opinion, you’re the better choice.”

  Rosa suddenly felt bone-weary and would much rather have gone to bed than continue this conversation.

  “The police must have their reasons for suspecting Mrs. Philpott, Aunt Louisa. Perhaps it’s better to let Detective Belmonte do his job.”

  Gloria squinted, her eyes moving from Rosa to her mother and back again. “What are you both talking about?”

  Lips pinching as if she was rather put out at the question, Aunt Louisa cast a glance at her daughter. She must’ve decided that Gloria wouldn’t stay out of the conversation anyway, so gave her a straight answer.

  “I want Rosa involved in this case. Someone with her background and training could help get the police on track instead of their wild goose chases that will cause dissension and ill will all over this town.”

  Gloria tilted her head. “But Rosa’s a visitor.”

  “She’s also unbiased,” Aunt Louisa said. “You know how entwined small towns can be, everyone covering for the other. Rosa’s our best chance of getting to the truth.”

  Rosa couldn’t help but feel flattered and a little unnerved by her aunt’s high expectations of her. She did not, however, like being talked about like she wasn’t in the room.

  “I’m rather unfamiliar with how things are done in America
,” Rosa protested.

  “Oh, nonsense. You lived here for years. It’s like riding a bike. Before you know it, you’ll forget you even left.” There was a sparkle of mirth in Aunt Louisa’s eyes, but also a challenge.

  Would Rosa back down or accept?

  Grandma Sally shuffled into the room and sat upright in one of the chairs.

  “What are you still doing up?” Aunt Louisa said.

  “I’m not so old that I fall asleep right after dinner. I heard you chattering.”

  Aunt Louisa scoffed. “You’re afraid of missing out on the gossip.”

  Grandma Sally didn’t deny it. Instead, she looked at Rosa. “I'm afraid I have to agree with Louisa on this one, Rosa. There’s no way that Shirley Philpott murdered her cousin Florence. I think you should get involved.”

  “But she’s on vacation!” Gloria complained. “And besides, she just can’t go headlong into a police investigation without authorization.”

  Although thankful that Gloria was sticking up for her, Rosa knew her Aunt Louisa was an influential woman who wouldn’t give up once she decided she wanted something.

  “Mayor Phillips is in total agreement that Rosa should be invited into this case to help the Santa Bonita Police Department—especially after I explained Rosa’s credentials and that she had more experience in murder cases than Officer Belmonte.”

  Rosa’s scalp prickled with humiliation. “You didn’t say that! Aunt Louisa! I’ll be hated and despised by every member of the force! And it’s Detective Belmonte!” Rosa could only imagine what Miguel would think of her now.

  Not that she cared.

  That much.

  Aunt Louisa didn’t seem troubled by Rosa’s outburst. “Didn’t you just solve a murder case in London?”

  Before her wedding, Rosa had been part of an investigative team in an open-and-shut case. However, it was the cases she hadn’t solved that stayed with her, and there was one investigation in particular that often kept her awake a night.

  Vivien Eveleigh, Rosa’s close childhood friend, had been murdered in 1951, and despite the combined talents of Rosa’s parents and other skilled members of Scotland Yard, the trail had gone cold.