Booked 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  Herb Garrett’s garage door was wide open, and the sheriff’s posse was now knocking on his front door. I stood like a mannequin, trying to process what was going on. Herb came out a few seconds later and walked over to the garage. Then he and the posse volunteer went inside the garage. Then the posse volunteer left, the garage door went down, and the house lights went out.

  Herb didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would be so forgetful as to leave his garage door open all night. It was certainly closed when my mother and I got back from Bingo, but that was in the late afternoon. Then again, Jeanette didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be careless either. As least no one had started Herb’s car.

  I turned the overhead light back on and studied my carefully written chart, this time focusing on the miscellaneous information I’d gleaned in the past three days. I wasn’t really looking forward to playing I Spy at the library in a matter of hours, but I wasn’t about to argue with my mother.

  One thing troubled me as I reviewed my notes, and it was the conversation I overheard behind me at the Stardust Theater. I was certain it was Jeanette. And then, like a thunderbolt, it hit me—Jeanette said she and her friend arrived late and had to sit in front, but when my mother and I got there, all of the front seats were taken, and we didn’t arrive late. We were on time. So Jeanette had lied! It was her admitting to some sort of involvement regarding Edna Mae Langford’s death, but was she the person who was afraid that someone had seen them, or was she the other one? The woman who said not to worry about it.

  A slow surge of adrenaline was making its way through my body as I tiptoed back to my bedroom to grab my iPhone for a Safari search. The library would have to wait until later in the day. I intended to find some very, very needed mortgage advice from the West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions.

  Chapter 20

  At four-thirty, I crept back into bed and managed to doze lightly until seven. That was when a call from Nate interrupted any further chance I had of sleeping.

  “I didn’t wake you again, did I, Phee? The sun’s been up for hours in Arizona.”

  Yeah, the sun may be up, but not from the inside of my eyelids.

  “No, it’s fine, Nate. Really. I should be up. I was. I mean, I was up really late last night and then went back to bed.”

  “Oh, that explains why you sound so tired. Listen, I won’t keep you, but I wasn’t sure if you saw the article in yesterday’s USA Today.”

  “Article? USA Today? No, I didn’t.”

  “It’s just a short release from the Associated Press, but it’s about Sun City West’s book curse.”

  “WHAT?” Now I was wide awake.

  “Yep, seems they picked up the story almost overnight from that local TV station. The article pretty much says what everyone already knows—four unexpected deaths, a possible attempt at murder, and everyone thinking they’ve got some sort of cursed book on their hands.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Not really. Rolo did a little more data tracking on The Twelfth Arrondissement and guess what?”

  He answered before I formed a syllable.

  “Book sales are going up, up, up!”

  “I didn’t think people had that many enemies.”

  “Listen, kiddo, someone is using this publicity to sell their book. The question remains, are they merely opportunistic or is there something more sinister taking place?”

  “You mean you think people would actually kill someone just so their book would become a best-seller?”

  “It sounds like every cliché you’ve ever heard, but yes, I’ve seen people kill for less. So, did you dredge up any new information since we last spoke on Friday?”

  “Not really. Went to a Bingo game yesterday, where my mother’s friend overheard a very telling conversation between the librarian and the guy who went berserk at the pool. I got to hear it thirdhand, but it substantiated part of the theory I’m working on.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “That Gretchen Morin is behind all of this. Do you think Rolo can check her out?”

  For a moment the line went quiet and then Nate said, “Not only can he, but he’s already on it. The guy reminds me of one of those spinning tops. Let’s pray he doesn’t run out of energy. Go back to sleep. I’ll catch you later.”

  Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. I threw on some clothes, left my mother a quick note, and drove to the nearby convenience store to get coffee and a copy of yesterday’s USA Today.

  I was back in less than twenty minutes with two cups of coffee and the paper. My mother had just stepped out of her bedroom, every hair on her head perfectly in place, when I walked in. I couldn’t seem to remember if I’d bothered to run a comb through mine when I left the house. It didn’t matter.

  “Goodness, Phee. Don’t you use mousse or anything on that head of yours? You didn’t go out in public like that, did you?”

  “I, um, yeah, I did. I got you some coffee and yesterday’s USA Today. The cashier at the convenience store didn’t seem to notice my hair.”

  “Thin, elderly man with frizzy eyebrows?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s Martin Chomwitzer, and it wouldn’t be your hair he’d be staring at.”

  “Eeew. That’s unsettling. Next time I’ll go to the drive-through at a fast-food chain. Anyway, here’s USA Today from yesterday.”

  “Huh? I don’t read that paper. And why would I read yesterday’s news? I watch CNN, the networks, and the local news. And I read the local paper.”

  “Well, the local paper didn’t print the Associated Press article about The Twelfth Arrondissement like USA Today did yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “Nate called me a little while ago to tell me, and I drove to the convenience store to get a copy. I knew they’d have some left. Those stores always do.”

  “Let me see the article. What does it say?”

  “Nothing we don’t already know, but now the whole world does. Imagine that.”

  The article was brief and to the point, but it left lots of room for interpretation. “Are you thinking what I am, Mom? That all these deaths were somehow connected to making that book popular?”

  “I knew it. It’s that miserable librarian. I bet she wrote the book in the first place and used a pen-name. This never would have happened if Barbara Schnell was still running the library.”

  “Look, we don’t know if Gretchen actually orchestrated some of these unexpected deaths, or if she wrote the book under the name of Lily Margot Gerald, but one thing’s for sure, she wanted that book to get read. And more than that, she wanted it to get popular real fast. If Cecilia Flanagan overheard that conversation right, then Gretchen used Jerry White as her “stool pigeon” to create a stir on local TV. Anyway, I’ve got one more lead to check out this morning before I go to the library.”

  “Where? Who? What lead?”

  “The only person we haven’t yet identified—the driver of the beige SUV. I’m going to check out the West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions to see what I can find out.”

  My mother shook her head and bit her lip at the same time. “Other than that sign on the SUV, I’ve never heard of them. They could be anywhere in the West Valley. Anywhere. Make sure you fill up that rental car with plenty of gas.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed the address was one piece of information she couldn’t provide me with, or if she was really worried I’d wind up lost in the desert somewhere.

  “It’s okay. I know where they are, thanks to the search engine on my iPhone. They’ve got an office, or at least an address, in Peoria on Happy Valley Road. That’s not too far from here.”

  The relief on my mother’s face was obvious. “What are you going to say when you get there?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll think of something on the drive over there. I’m sure it will rival my prior performances.”

  “You’re really starting to enjoy this, aren’t you, Phee?”

  I
shrugged.

  “You know, I’m really glad you came out here, and I think you’re doing a yeoman’s job of figuring out this book curse. The truth of the matter is that all of us in the book club were getting rattled. I mean, which one of us was going to be next? You don’t think that there’s going to be another death just so that book gets on the best-seller list, do you?”

  “Uh, gee. I hadn’t considered that. But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re starting to take the logical approach and not buy in to the cursed book hysteria. If nothing else, that was worth a flight out here. And by the way, who says ‘yeoman’s job’?”

  Before she could answer, the doorbell rang and my mother immediately headed to the bedroom. Streetman was already under the couch.

  “Get that, will you, Phee. I’m not dressed. But don’t open the security door. Just the regular door.”

  “Shouldn’t the dog bark when someone comes to the door?”

  “The dog should do a lot of things, but I don’t want to pressure him.”

  No, no. Just pressure the rest of us.

  I opened the front door and was staring directly at Herb Garrett.

  “Hey, good-looking, sorry to bother you so early, but I wanted to let your mother know someone is driving around the neighborhood with one of those devices that automatically opens your garage door unless you push on the garage door Lock feature when you go inside the house. It happened to me late last night. Sheriff’s posse woke me up from a dead sleep.”

  Good-looking? The guy is trying to make a pass at me. I ignored the remark and acted as if this was the first I’d heard of the incident, even though I had a bird’s-eye view last night.

  “Gee, that’s awful. Burglars?”

  “Yep, that’s what the sheriff’s posse seemed to think. Burglars scoping things out. They apparently open your garage door, drive around, and come back. If it’s still open, they go in and help themselves.”

  “So maybe that’s what happened to Jeanette?”

  “I don’t know. Why would they start her car and leave? Especially if they had to hotwire it. I mean, if they were going to steal it, they’d steal it. Not leave it running with the garage door shut. And if they were going to break in, they would have done so. Nah, I think that was something entirely different. Anyway, tell your mother to push the garage door Lock button at night. And you can always call me in an emergency.”

  Yeah, right. After I call the coroner and the U.S. Marshals. “I will. Thanks, Herb. Glad they didn’t steal anything.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Herb went back across the street, only he didn’t stop at his house. He went to his other next-door neighbors’ and knocked on their door. I figured he was alerting the neighborhood and we were first on the list.”

  “It was Herb Garrett, Mom,” I shouted. “I’ll tell you about it when you get dressed.”

  “Tell me now. I threw on some clothes as soon as I heard someone at the door.”

  I stood in the hallway by her bedroom and proceeded to tell her about Herb’s open garage door and his subsequent visit from the sheriff’s posse. “Herb didn’t think it was related to Jeanette’s incident with the carbon monoxide. Her garage door was shut and the car was running.”

  Oddly enough, my mother didn’t seem too concerned about the garage door.

  “So what did he think?”

  “Herb and the posse volunteer believe it might have been burglars. With a garage door opener that can circumvent the codes.”

  “Oh brother. That tops the cake. Want to know what I’m thinking?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “I’ll bet Herb was sleepwalking and opened his own garage door. I watch the commercials about those prescription drugs for insomnia. They make people do all sorts of ridiculous things. In fact, only a month ago when I was at the dentist’s office, I met a lady who told me about her neighbor who took one of those sleep aides. Do you know what the neighbor lady did?”

  I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t care to know.

  “What? What did she do?”

  “She got up in the middle of the night, opened her freezer, and took out two pork chops. Then she put them in the toaster and pushed the button down.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Next, the woman went into her garage and sat in her car. Fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the next morning.”

  “What about the pork chops?”

  “Oh. She never bothered to plug in the toaster.”

  “That’s a really strange story, Mom. I’m on Herb’s side with this one. Maybe from now on you should push the Lock button when you go to sleep.”

  “I always push the Lock button. And I use the deadbolt for the side door into the kitchen. Plus, now I have Streetman.”

  I looked at the dog. He was sitting under the kitchen table, head bent down, trying to clean his belly. At least I thought it was his belly.

  “Yeah, uh, that’s a relief.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I was sitting once again behind the wheel of my car, this time trying to find out who was driving the beige SUV. I took the highway to Happy Valley Road, avoiding the stop-and-go traffic on Bell Road. The scenario for my unscheduled meeting at West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions was well played out in my mind. Information gathering. That’s all I would be doing. Nothing wrong with that. Everyone wants to know about mortgages. And mortgage solutions.

  The GPS brought me directly to the spot. There was a Home Depot across the street and a glut of chain restaurants as well. On the “mortgage solutions” side of the road, a number of small businesses shared the long, rectangular building. West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions was the farthest from me as I pulled into the lot.

  The place was dotted with cars, but no sign of the beige SUV. Drat. I hated the thought of a wasted trip. Still, I could always go inside and find out who the driver of the car was. Luckily, I didn’t have to. As I approached the corner of the lot, a few cars lined up on the other side came into view. The beige SUV was one of them.

  I was miles from Sun City West, making it easier to assume a different persona without having it come back to bite me. Yep, a regular Meryl Streep. I opened the door slowly, allowing myself a few seconds to study the office. It wasn’t too far removed from Nolan and Nolan Realty, with one exception. There was no receptionist. Four separate desk/office areas, two on each side, filled the room. In front was a small credenza with water, fruit, and a coffeemaker. At least I didn’t have to go rooting through the trash.

  Two agents were at their desks, one on the phone, and the other had just ended a call as I took a few steps farther inside. She appeared to be in her fifties with short highlighted blond hair and a medium build.

  “Hi! Can I help you? Leslie Sackler.”

  “Hi! I’m Sophie, and maybe you can.”

  “Come on over and have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine. But thank you.”

  “So, how can West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions help you?”

  Good question, since I don’t own a home in Arizona and my current mortgage back in Minnesota is as stable as they get.

  “Um . . . er . . . actually, I saw your SUV driving around my neighborhood (please, dear God, let it be her SUV), and that’s when I noticed the sign on the back of it. I looked up the address on the Internet.”

  “Which neighborhood was that? I drive through so many.”

  Take a deep breath. At least I got the right person. “In Sun City West.”

  “Ohh.”

  There was a slight change in her voice, as if I’d said something inappropriate.

  “Is there something wrong? I mean, that was your SUV in Sun City West.”

  “No, no, nothing. It’s just that Sun City West isn’t really an area I deal with. I just happen to have a good friend who lives there. But that doesn’t mean anything. West Valley Home Mortgage Solutions can work with anyone in the valley. Or Arizona
, for that matter. We’re fully licensed.”

  “So you must be from Arizona, I imagine.”

  “I’m originally from Wisconsin,” she said. “Most of my family still lives there, but when I found out snow was optional, I moved out here.”

  My mind didn’t process anything more than the word “Wisconsin.” The last time I heard it was when my mother was relaying funeral arrangements for the recently deceased members of the Booked 4 Murder book club.

  “Edna Mae’s family was having her body shipped back to Wisconsin, the last I knew. I haven’t heard anything about Thelmalee. . . .”

  Wisconsin. Granted, lots of people were from Wisconsin, but when you narrowed it down to how many of them were associated with that book club, the numbers dropped significantly. Connect the dots. Jeanette and Leslie were good friends. Leslie was from Wisconsin. Edna Mae was from Wisconsin. Oh my gosh, this sounded like one of those god-awful math logic problems I hated to death. Death. That was the other thing . . .

  “Are you all right? You look shocked I chose to move here,” Leslie said.

  “Oh no, not at all. I was just thinking about all that snow and, uh . . . why wouldn’t anyone want to move here?”

  “Exactly. So, how can we help you? Are you looking to refinance?”

  “Well, I might be. Can you give me some information? Rates and all. And the process. The process for refinancing . . .”

  I babbled on and on. It was as if each of my words was sinking me deeper and deeper into some pit where I’d never be able to get out. I had to think fast. I jumped in with a Grand Canyon leap that would either bring me one step closer to what I needed or one step closer to the door. Don’t let it hit me on the way out.

  “An information packet that I could look over would be great and then I could get back to you. I’m one of those people who really needs to study things over. You know, like the people from Missouri, the ‘Show Me’ state. Does Wisconsin have a slogan, too? Oh, come to think of it, one of the ladies I know from the library book club is from Wisconsin—Jeanette Tomilson. You wouldn’t know her, would you? Of course, that’s so silly, there are a million people out here from Wisconsin.”