“I have a list of names. I need background checks, including one that is deceased.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know, but I’m back to adding names to the Childs’ case. We keep his three wives off the list of suspects. Everyone else is fair game. Everyone.”
“For one hit and run?”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Schlep, but I think this case will turn out to be one of our biggest, yet.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE CALL CAME in at four in the morning. Luckily, I had called it an early night with no surveillance crap scheduled.
“Yes. Cassidy Clark,” I answered with my croaky night voice.
“It’s me,” said the timid voice.
“Stacie?”
“I just got the call. I don’t know much, but there was a fire at Manny’s home. He and his wife are both dead, Cassidy.”
I MET WITH STACIE CHILDS that morning in my office courtyard. Private and comfortable surroundings seemed like a good idea. The fountain dripped slowly, the chair cushions were thick and the Italian coffee proved to be strong.
She had already seated herself at the outdoor patio table where I greeted her, holding two sealed CD’s in one hand as she extended the other to shake my hand. With a bad makeup job and oily hair falling down onto the shoulders of a wrinkled cotton dress, she didn’t look like the same well-groomed woman that hired me.
“They were a belated birthday present for Manny. You see? They’re collectibles. Originals in the original packaging. Manny loved the sitar. And he has a huge collection of CD’s but not these. A long lost track of Ravi Shankar’s, and here,” she pointed to the CD with George Harrison on the cover. “Most people don’t know it, but George Harrison once said that his favorite instrument was the sitar. He produced his own album. And I bought them both for Manny,” Stacie said. Tears overflowed as her mascara began snaking its way down her full cheeks as if tributaries of the Black Sea.
“I’m truly sorry,” I said. I sat down across from her and placed a small recorder on the table before passing the cream and sugar for iced-coffees already present, thanks to Schlep.
I explained to Stacie why I didn’t go to the crime scene. On the five o’clock morning news I heard that a home on the west side had burned to the ground. There was no mention of the homeowner’s name and nothing about the home being occupied with casualties. I had placed calls into a couple of my first responder buddies. Only two hours after the incident, they were both on the scene. After the danger of remaining embers flaring up had past, investigators will arrive at the scene to begin their processing. It’s a brutal job as particulates will still be floating in the air. Toxic or not, they’d breathe in nasty odors that would cause severe choking. Their eyes would burn and because of the particulates, vision may be obscured. My friend and the captain of fire investigations told me that there were no signs of accelerants as usually indicated by alligator charring. Burnt wood, with the use of any accelerants, would appear to look like charred alligator skin. The scene was absent of the indicator. I knew all too well the fire investigators wouldn’t find much beyond the recognizable human remains they had already discovered. The ashes could take months to sift through in an attempt to find any hard evidence.
Stacie thanked me for the water and asked for hot coffee. As I stood to brew her a cup she immediately tilted her head to the side. “Do I know you, but not as an investigator?” She rolled her already curly blonde hair around her fingers to tighten a greasy coil.
“I don’t believe so,” I said. “We’ve only just met.”
“Your face. A photo. I’ve seen it. I’ve read your books, Ms. Clark.”
“It’s Cassidy, and thank you, I’m glad you aren’t heading for the front door,” I laughed. “We have more to discuss than my books.”
“Yes. I knew it was coming. Two more suspicious deaths. This morning’s fire killed my stepbrother and his beautiful wife. Mark my words, it will only be a quick investigation that will be conducted. My brother’s name was Manual. Everyone called him Manny. We all got along as equal siblings. Manny was amazing. He graduated with an MBA from Vanderbilt. He loved everything football and he was a major player on my Dad’s staff. His aspirations were as high as any other Vince Lombardi. He was that remarkable. He couldn’t wait to take a higher rank on the Scorpion’s roster of management. Manny was invested in the team, just as Nick had been, heart and soul. And now, they’re both gone. Manny and his wife were trying to get pregnant. Maybe three lives were taken this morning.”
It occurred to me that she called it a suspicious fire with no reason. My senses told me something was missing, as those damn hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. My red flag warning. Glad to have my intuitive vibrations back intact. It was my memory that came into action. With an initial interview, Stacie had called Manny’s wife a bitch.
“What makes you think this was foul play?”
“When I first met with you I told you of my fear the list of heirs was being reduced. Now, two are dead along with Manny’s wife. Nick and Manny were so into football and Dad’s team. In my mind they both deserved to own the Scorpions.”
“The initial report isn’t in, but so far no obvious accelerants have been found,” I said. “I do have confirmation that two bodies were found in the master bedroom.”
Stacie reached for a tissue and dabbed at the mascara that trickled down her face in little black tributaries.
“Don’t you think it’s time that the police should be apprised of your concerns?” I said.
“I love my mother and she doesn’t even believe me. She’s the one that called me this morning and I jumped to what she called a ridiculous conclusion. As you said, accidents happen. Our name is golden in this city, and I know the press would go crazy if they got hint of my suspicions, even with limited information being leaked. And, what if I’m wrong? My mother? Are we being honest? Still off the record?”
“Nothing leaves our little outdoor room. It’s just us. The recorder is only for my ears and my crappy memory.”
“Dear Mother Claudia. I rarely call her mom, that’s for sure. Claudia Childs is a gold digger that has a penchant for Monkey 47 gin, chased by a water pipe filled with her marijuana du jour. She can’t help it. She married four times, and I never knew my real dad. I told you Claudia prefers designer clothes and galas to football, and she’s been set up for life. She knows it. She’s happy. The good news is that she did marry a man, my father, with a heart of gold that just happened to have a pot of the gold in his pantry. Case in point, I do call him Dad. I love my family, with all of the warts. This is one messed up family and we don’t need any press if we can avoid it. You are the police for me, for now.”
I noticed the different attitude. It seemed that Stacie loathed the family secrets, and now I heard her say, in agreement with her mother, that she wanted no police involvement. No press. I was bored with the coffee and turned to the water. It gave me time to think. I should feel things, but I couldn’t get a pulse on this conversation. I usually sense danger or know when someone is lying. I was not communicating with my feelings. Nothing.
“You have explained that two heirs apparent are now deceased. Is that correct?”
She wailed, “ I won’t proceed if you’re going to make this out like a police interview, asking the same stupid questions over and over again. You damn well know two possible heirs are dead.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette, nodded to confirm the conversations could continue.
Damn. My Achilles heel. I found an old clay planter tray and put it in front of her. Soon, I bummed one from my new client. Stupid. I tried to convince myself that I was just making her feel more comfortable, but I enjoyed every puff.
“Stacie, were there women or men involved with either Nick or Manny?”
“A stable of them, for both, but now Manny is married. Was married. Nick divorced years ago and there were a slew of bimbos proba
bly after the family name and fame and bank account. I don’t know of any serious relationship Nick might have entered.”
I said, “This is where we get to why you are here. You have your own feelings but, outside of the family trust, you don’t know why.”
“What I have are two dead siblings.”
I had to make some early deductions. That’s two kids out of the flock of Childs that went after education and presented their passions and intentions to earn the coveted franchise, and they both healthy one day, and now dead. Not good, my gut and my brain told me, along with that rush through my body thing I became aware of, but I would not tell Stacie this.
“Stacie, I have to ask you what qualifications you possess to win the golden ticket. The ownership of the Tucson Scorpions.”
“I just want to survive, but I’m in the game. I know that game as well as any of my siblings, and I don’t think my being a woman is a detriment, if that’s what you’re thinking.
“I’m loyal and I’m smart. Hunter is a jerk and Taylor is a bimbo. Mason is a free spirit, A.K.A. a loose cannon that over the years has expressed no interest in football. That leaves Seth, who has forged out his own successful life on Wall Street. Truthfully, just maybe I might be the best candidate at this point.”
I’d have to look at my notes but I believe this was a change in her attitude. I remember Stacie telling me she wasn’t in the running.
By her very words, her odds had changed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHILE OUR OFFICES are generally locked, I’d been the one to hurry back from lunch and must have returned to the office without locking the door. Something had my craw up but I couldn’t understand the spectrum of my feelings, my intuitions, and the ramblings in my head. It drove me nuts as if flying squirrels and bouncing ping pong balls scrambled my brain.
We had a receptionist desk but no receptionist. Often one of us would plop down there to get some quick work done or to greet clients we were expecting.
Not the case, as the man stormed through our lobby and into my back office.
“We have to speak, Ms. Clark.”
“Maybe. It depends on whom I’m speaking to and also, I might add, one without an appointment.” My hand was already deep into the desk drawer and my fingers had laced the trigger.
The man crossed his arms and thrust his head high. His nostrils flared. “My name is Bill Michaels. I’m here on official business representing the Tucson Scorpions.”
That peaked my interest. “And why would this concern you, or me for that matter?”
“I’m the general manager of the franchise and it’s come to my attention that you are attempting to cast dark clouds over our team.”
I pointed to the seat and offered him water. He declined on both counts.
He glanced around my office and he looked me over. My two teacup Yorkies were growling and he bared his teeth at them. Then, I suppose, he thought better of his action and began to scratch his shiny bald head.
“I’ll cut to the proverbial chase. You have been investigating family matters that may or may not affect this entire NFL franchise. That may affect the entire NFL organization. That adds up to a whole lot of anger.”
“Mr. Michaels, I assure you I have been properly hired and my investigations of the hit and run that killed Nick Childs is being conducted discreetly. I can continue to assure you that the same is true of my investigation of the suspicious fire that claimed the lives of Manny Childs and his wife.”
“Suspicious? The hit and run case is closed to hell and gone, and the fire investigation will run the same short course. You and I both know that is what the family wants.”
“That’s to be determined between me and my client. We operate under a strict confidentiality agreement, Mr. Michaels. As for the police cases, maybe the department is satisfied to close their investigations, but that’s not true will prove to be true of me. If you’re on the hunt for dirt you won’t find it here. I have a cleaning lady.”
Now both of his hands were scratching at his head as he shook it and mumbled something inaudible. He looked up at me. Maybe for the first time he actually looked into my eyes rather than my boobs. My waistline. My crotch.
He became vituperative and his nostrils flared again. “This is a family matter. Who the devil hired you?”
I remained calm, even flicking my red ponytail to one side. “My client list, too, is confidential unless you want to come in here accompanied by the police or your lawyer, along with the necessary subpoenas or warrants. Frankly, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that you seem to not care that Claudia Childs has lost three of her family members in rapid succession. As his general manager, I would have thought the two of you would have formed a friendship that extended off of the football field.”
Now the man cranked his neck. I could hear it pop. “Back down, Ms. Clark.”
“I get it. It’s about the money and your position, isn’t it, Mr. Michaels? Do you think you should be in the game and get your hands on a real piece of the prize?”
The man dropped his hands and shoved them deep into his trouser pockets. He took a step forward.
“You’re playing with fire.”
Fire? As in arson? I shrugged. Did that automatic turtle thing. “I’m just trying to adlib an expression of my position after you stormed in here, uninvited. See yourself to the door, Billy, and if you are compelled to meet with me again please make an appointment. You bring the lattes.”
As he huffed and puffed and let himself out a great relief came over me.
I yelled back, “And trim your nose hairs. Those puppies have lives!”
If I was on top of my game something would have gotten my craw up. I would have recognized what would have been a warning of an unwelcome guest entering my space.
Now, the question became, did I have another player that wanted to dig into the pot of gold, even with the solid legal document in place?
I locked the front door and Finnegan and Phoebe ran out to our courtyard with me following at their paws. They did not like this man before I knew I didn’t like him. Dogs always have their game-on when it comes to instincts.
The gardenias were in bloom along with the plantings of wisteria I so far had failed at training over a small pergola. Schlep’s fountain trickled and between the sound of water and the fragrant scents, I allowed myself to slump into one of our chairs and closed my eyes.
The arising sound of the familiar drumming noise interrupted my peace. A warning sign I would appreciate this time.
THE WALLS CLOSED IN on her, even though Stacie Childs lived in a large home her father had gifted her. She had carte blanch on anything she wanted. Her mother, Claudia, had other ideas. She insisted on using the new star of interior design, Yarmu, to decorate the home. He claimed to be from Yarmu, Papua New Guinea. Stacie thought he might be from Cleveland. Or Toledo. He seemed to know a lot about Ohio for an islander.
It didn’t matter. Mother Claudia saw to all of the home appointments. Stacie had little say. The furnishings were largely unseasoned woods from Malaysia and likely to crack and split in the arid desert. The colors, for Stacie, were matched by a madman. Whatever. The large property suited her. Her animals had plenty of room and that’s what mattered most.
Even though the house was hers, Stacie’s mother still managed to rule with all the final words.
Stacie checked and double-checked every window and door lock. She then set the alarm. On edge, she pulled her blinds and security shutters.
She headed back to her bar, pulled a chunk of ice out of freezer and placed it on the counter’s granite slab. She grabbed the ice pick and thrust it through the brick of ice, stabbing again and again until it was shaved. Only then did she pour herself a drink. She didn’t really know what to pour but that she wanted alcohol to numb her mind. The internal feud had to be squelched. She had loved her father, but loathed his decision to say a final goodbye in a manner that would divide the siblings in rivalry, a
nd she knew it had even proven to be lethal.
She grabbed her drink and headed to her prison of a bedroom, sweltering under the desert heat and with no will to turn on the air conditioner.
Two of her siblings were dead. Maybe a coincidence.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHILE I SKIPPED the church service, I elected to go to the Friday morning graveside service for Manuel ‘Manny’ Childs and his wife, Sheri. Like the police detectives in the movies, I stood at the perimeter of those that grieved and paid their final respects.
Unlike the movies, I wore my Farah Fawcett wig with a long black pencil skirt and a black plain top. Dark glasses and flats completed my disguise.
Conspicuous by their absence were any police detectives. The chief of police and not my favorite person walked right by me to stand closer to Claudia. Stacie had told me she was friends with Claudia, which made me wonder why the police weren’t more aggressive in their investigation.
Also noticeably absent were Stacie and Hunter Childs.
The family plot had held my interest ever since hearing about it. I now knew its location, obscured on a parcel of dense desert land on the west side of town near the Sonoran Desert Museum. Although secured by a gate lock, I’d return to pick it and wander around while taking video of each grave and using audio to record names, dates, and any random plots.
The brief service provided time for the gatherers to walk by the casket and say their final goodbyes. Once lowered into the ground, the family members gathered next to the site as each bent down to pick up a handful of soil and scatter it on the top of the coffin.
Claudia went first, with Seth and his wife, Chloe, to follow. I noticed Claudia hugged her family members and whispered something into their ears, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge Chloe.
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