by J. C. Eaton
At least it gave me something to do while waiting to hear from Marshall that evening. It wasn’t like him not to text or call, and by early evening I was more than worried. I was one step away from letting my imagination run away with every nail-biting crime-show episode I’d ever seen.
At last, somewhere between Clarisse Dennison (sloppy work performance) and Arnell Hammermeyer (poor attitude), the phone rang, and this time it wasn’t my aunt Ina.
“It’s me, hon. Hope you weren’t too worried.” The tension I felt evaporated instantly at the sound of Marshall’s voice. “What a stupid thing to say,” he continued. “I’m sure you were, but Nate and I were literally on the chase since we got to Tucson. Long story short, it’s over. Can’t tell you too much over the phone, just that we’re staying at the Hampton Inn in Marana and we’ll be back tomorrow midmorning. Can you bring a shirt and a pair of pants to the office? I feel as if mine are glued to me.”
“Sure, but if it’s any consolation, my clothes are covered with Streetman’s hair. Another long story, but it can wait. You must be exhausted.”
“Brain-dead is more like it. I’m too tired to even eat. Maybe later, but I intend to take a shower and a long nap that may turn into a night’s sleep. Boy, do I miss you. I’ll call or text you once we’re in earshot of Phoenix. Nate and I want to get into the office as soon as possible. Only I have a better reason than he does.”
My face warmed and I smiled. “Your ‘better reason’ feels the same way. Get a good night’s sleep.”
The next day I learned more about the missing necklace and why it had gone from a simple theft to a matter of national security. The client, it seemed, wasn’t straightforward with Nate at first, but when she realized it was the only way to make sure the necklace didn’t fall into the wrong hands, she had to own up.
Handmade out of eighteen carat gold, the low collar necklace was comprised of a number of leaves, each with its own pattern of veins, creating a stunning design. Upon closer inspection, it was the backside of each leaf that made the necklace irreplaceable and dangerous.
Encrypted into each singular leaf was a binary code that unlocked portions of our defense system’s central computers. What the client had neglected to tell Nate was that her father worked in top security at the Pentagon. He’d had a goldsmith encrypt the code into the necklace in the event the other means of safeguarding the information was destroyed. And he gave the necklace to his daughter for safekeeping. When the goldsmith was found dead in his Arlington, Virginia, condo, the father contacted his daughter to ensure the necklace was still secure. That was when she realized someone had broken into the hidden safe in her Paradise Valley, Arizona, home and immediately sought out help from Williams Investigations.
Nate was able to pick up a strong lead that sent him and Marshall to Tucson, where, for the next two days, the situation played out like a cat-and-mouse game until the thief/possible terrorist was apprehended.
“I’ll give you and Mr. Gregory credit for that,” Augusta said when Nate finished recounting their weekend. “But Phee’s business Friday night in that storage facility was just as exciting.”
“What business? What storage facility?” Nate and Marshall asked at once.
I glared at Augusta and pushed the blue button on the Keurig for my coffee. “I was going to get to that. Once you guys had a chance to settle in.”
“I’m pretty settled,” Nate said. “How about you, Marshall?”
“Settled as they get. Might as well spill it, hon.”
For the next five minutes I explained everything, beginning with Roxanne’s insistence we check Wilbur’s storage units before the deputies got a search warrant and ending with Herb’s rotund stomach rolling over my back like a beach ball in the pitch-black corridor. I wasn’t sure how to gauge the reactions on Nate and Marshall’s faces until they both broke up laughing.
“I’m honestly speechless,” Marshall said. “Stunned and speechless.”
Nate put his hand under his chin and shook his head. “Hell, I’m still trying to get that picture of Herb out of my head.”
“So you’re not upset? At that fiasco I got talked into participating in?”
Marshall took a step closer to me. “Not the best move, to be in a storage facility at night, but considering you were with your mother and that arsenal of self-defense products she keeps in her bag, you were probably safe. But holy cow, please don’t do it again.”
“Unless you come up with better disguises,” Nate added.
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
Augusta sat up at her desk and put her hands on her hips. “Tell them what you found. Go on, Phee. It’s evidence, isn’t it?”
I looked at her and shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it evidence, but it is something.”
I went on to explain about the photos and letters of reprimand we found in folders that were housed in one of the storage units. “Minor stuff if you ask me, like tardiness and petty theft. But one of those people, Thomas Tartantian, may have had a good motive for doing away with Wilbur. Thomas was terminated for intellectual theft. Product piracy. That’s a major big deal and a motive for murder if Wilbur was blackmailing him or something. Of course, those letters date back decades.”
“Tell them the rest, Phee,” Augusta said.
Nate widened his eyes and continued to rub his chin. “There’s more?”
“Uh-huh. I got the Sun City West phone directory and looked up all the names on the off chance one of those people retired here, but no such luck. Still, it’s decent evidence, isn’t it? That someone other than the wife had a burning motive for murder.”
Nate and Marshall exchanged glances before Marshall spoke. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a burning motive, but it could be something. Maybe Wilbur threatened to blackball one of the employees. Why would he have those letters of reprimand in the first place? Wasn’t he a manager or something?”
“A manager and an engineer,” I replied.
“Look, I wouldn’t get my hopes up about those folders if I were you. Or Roxanne. Especially Roxanne.”
By now my coffee had finished brewing and I reached for the cup. “What do you mean?”
“We got a text from Bowman this morning. The Sheriff’s Office has even more reason to believe she was the one who murdered her husband. I was about to tell you when we got off talking about the necklace and then the storage-locker incident. Sorry, hon.”
My hand shook and the coffee almost spilled. “What reason?”
“Oldest one in the book,” Nate said. “They learned Roxanne took out a substantial insurance policy on Wilbur, and she’s the only named beneficiary.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of spouses have insurance policies on each other.”
“Yes, but this one was fairly recent. Less than six months ago.”
I was so flustered I forgot to put milk in my coffee and the first sip burned my lips. “Is that all? The insurance policy?”
Again, Nate and Marshall looked at each other, and Nate continued. “One of those silent-witness tips came into the office. The woman claimed to have overheard a conversation between Roxanne and Wilbur that took place in front of the social hall as Roxanne was on her way to a Rhythm Tappers rehearsal. It was a few days before his body was found.”
“Hurry up with it, Mr. Williams,” Augusta said, “I’m not getting any younger.”
“Hmm, that was pretty much what Roxanne told her husband, but with a different pronoun. According to the silent witness, Roxanne told Wilbur, ‘Keep up your shenanigans and you won’t live to see me tap another dance. In fact, the only tap you’ll see is from the bottom of my shoe on its way to your head.’ ”
I put my cup on Augusta’s desk for fear of dropping it. “Yeesh. That does sound bad, but it could have been anything. People make all sorts of meaningless threats in the heat of the moment. Heck, we overheard her say something about kissing the pavement when she was in this office.”
Augusta moved my cup away fr
om the edge of the desk. “That was before her husband wound up dead. With her tap shoe. You may have to give up the ghost, Phee.”
“Please don’t tell me those deputies are going to arrest her again. The corroborating evidence is hearsay. Okay, and maybe the insurance policy. But still . . .”
“Take a breath,” Marshall said. “We’re dealing with it. Sure, Bowman and Ranston want to move quickly, but Roxanne’s not going anywhere.”
Augusta leaned in the chair and straightened her back. “Unless it’s the Fourth Avenue Jail.”
I gulped. “Tell Bowman and Ranston you have new evidence. Those files. Stall. Please.”
Marshall squeezed my shoulder. “We’re trying.”
“You know,” I said, “the poor woman is in the middle of planning Wilbur’s celebration of life. They can’t put her behind bars until they hold that event. It’s next week. Roughly nine days from now. Depending on getting the Railroad Club room. Those deputies simply can’t lock her up. Not now.”
Nate groaned for what seemed like the longest time. “I’m afraid they can, but we’ll see if we can get them to hold off for a week. No promises. Celebration of life, huh? Sounds like one of those memorial services to me.”
“It is,” I said. “Hopefully without the music and slide show.”
CHAPTER 24
It was slow moving as far as the next few days went. Nate and Marshall continued with their suspect interviews as well as their regular client business, only now they had eleven more names on their list—the ones from those reprimand letters.
I concentrated on my bookwork and managed to dodge my mother’s phone calls until I ran out of excuses. At one point I felt like making a recording that said, “No, they haven’t discovered who the real killer is yet.”
“I can’t keep telling your mother you stepped out of the office, Phee,” Augusta said on Thursday afternoon. “You need to think of something else. And by the way, she said to tell you to turn on your cell phone because she thinks your landline isn’t recording her messages.”
“Ugh. I suppose I’ll have to break down and call her.”
Just then, the office phone rang and I jumped. Not my mother? I mouthed to Augusta.
“Nope. Your aunt Ina. Says she remembered something.”
I rolled my eyes and walked to my desk. “Tell her I’ll pick up in a second.”
Aunt Ina’s voice was at its usual decibel level—bellyaching loud. “Phee! I’m so sorry it took me this long, but Louis and I have had the most hectic schedule this week. Anyway, about that payoff Montrose Lamont witnessed; it happened in the little courtyard in front of the Railroad Club. Not out in the open, mind you, but in one of those tiny alcoves. The only reason Montrose spotted it was because he had just come from the admin building to pay his yearly Rec Center fee. He dropped the receipt on the way out and it blew across the courtyard. When Montrose picked it up he spotted Wilbur and that Big Scootie.”
“Scuttie. And when? Morning or afternoon?”
“Louis didn’t say. It’s a payoff, I tell you. A payoff. That should be more than enough information for Marshall to crank up a notch on the questioning. Didn’t you say he and your boss were interviewing all the suspects?”
“Not all. Deputies Bowman and Ranston are also interviewing a few names from that list.”
“Tell them to take a shortcut and twist Big Scuttie’s arm.”
“I’m sure they’ll—You know what, Aunt Ina? That’s a really good idea. Excellent, in fact. I’ll let Nate and Marshall know right away. And be sure to thank Uncle Louis.”
“Anytime, Phee. We’re always here for you. And your mother. Not so much the dog, but don’t tell her that.”
I chuckled and ended the call. When it came to my aunt Ina I’d learned it was much easier to agree with her than to get into any long discussions. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for my mother. Somehow I always felt the need to prove my point, even if it didn’t matter in the long run.
An exchange of money could have been anything, but maybe Aunt Ina had a point. Marshall was out of the office, but Nate had finished up with a client a few minutes before, and I heard him talking with Augusta. I popped my head out the doorway and called to him. “My aunt Ina has some information about Wilbur Maines.”
“Information or rumor?” Nate asked.
I walked over to Augusta’s desk, where he was standing, and told him about Montrose Lamont’s eyewitness account of money being handed over to Big Scuttie.
“Could’ve been anything,” Nate said. “I already interviewed Walker Scutt, but I don’t have a problem calling him back in and leading with that. He might not be intimidated because I’m not law enforcement.” Then he turned to Augusta. “How does my early morning schedule look?”
“First appointment at nine forty-five.”
“Good. You’ve got the list of those Model Railroad Club members. See if this Big Scuttie is willing to meet with me over coffee tomorrow morning. Say eight fifteen at the Bell Road/Boswell Starbucks between Sun City West and here. Tell him I’m buying.”
Augusta shook her head. “The Dunkin’ Donuts in Surprise is cheaper, you know.”
“I know. And it’s a virtual petri dish for gossip. No one cares at the Starbucks. They’re all too busy with their laptops and cell phones.”
“It’ll be worth it, Augusta,” I said, “if Nate can find out what was going on between them.”
“I’ll give it my best shot.” With that, he returned to his office.
As it turned out, Nate’s “best shot” got him the information he wanted, but it was pretty much useless.
“Whoopee,” Nate announced the next morning when he returned to the office, having met with Big Scuttie. “Ever hear of a Lionel Number Six Empire Express Set?”
I had just finished making copies of some expense sheets when he came through the doorway. “I’ve heard of Lionel trains. They’ve been popular forever. Why?”
Augusta turned away from her computer monitor and faced Nate. “Not to sound snippy, Mr. Williams, but I bet there isn’t a kid who hasn’t.”
Nate brushed what might have been crumbs from his shoulder and leaned his arm against the file cabinet. “For your information, the Lionel Number Six is a built-to-order steam locomotive that sells for upward of two grand. That’s right, ladies, two grand. And the so-called payoff Lamont witnessed was Wilbur sealing the deal with Walker. Seems our Big Scuttie had a connection with someone in the company and was able to purchase that train for a measly sixteen hundred dollars. What a bargain.”
I turned off the copier. “So that was it? Wilbur bought a train set?”
“Uh-huh. And a very pricey one, I might add, bargain or no bargain.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent you on Aunt Ina’s wild-goose chase.”
“No, you did the right thing. We’ve got to follow every stinking little lead until something breaks. That’s how it goes in this business. Besides, the coffee was decent. Anyway, your fiancé and I will take a crack at the names on those reprimand letters. You never know. By the way, is he back yet from meeting with Bowman?”
“Any second now,” Augusta chirped in. “He called a few minutes ago.”
Marshall had driven to the posse station in Sun City West to compare notes with Deputies Bowman and Ranston, but I suspected he really went in order to prevent them from arresting Roxanne. Wilbur’s celebration of life was scheduled for next week, and it would look awful if his grieving widow was behind bars.
All of us in the office knew Deputy Bowman had the strongest need for closure than anyone on the face of the earth, so it was no wonder we were on edge waiting for Marshall to get back. My mother had phoned last night to tell me Grace Svoboda reserved the Railroad Club room for next Wednesday and Florencia’s Pizza would be catering the event.
“That’s only six days away if we count today,” I said. “Certainly Bowman can wait another six days.”
“Look at it this way,” Nate said. “Celeb
rations of life can be held anytime.”
“Not if they find Roxanne guilty and give her fifteen to twenty years.”
“Whoa. Slow down. Even if she is arrested, it doesn’t mean the investigation stops. Face it, the more corroborating evidence the better, and we’re in the business of finding evidence, so who’s to say we won’t find the real killer? Williams Investigations isn’t off the case yet.”
I bit my lower lip and took a breath. “ ‘Yet’ as in this could take a long time or ‘yet’ as in ‘any day now they’ll throw you off the case’?”
The thud from Augusta’s elbow hitting her desk made us turn to face her. Her grin was as wide as the Cheshire cat’s. “ ‘Yet’ as in ‘Look who’s about to come through the door and end this guessing game.’ I caught sight of your soothsayer when I spotted him parking his car across the street.”
The door hadn’t even closed behind Marshall before we barraged him with questions. All at once, so he didn’t seem to know who to answer first.
“Is Roxanne off the hook for a week?”
“Fourth Avenue Jail again?”
“What did you tell Bowman?”
“Any other leads?”
“Don’t tell me they found more incriminating evidence. Did they?”
And finally, Augusta’s final two cents. “Say something already!”
Marshall walked over to the box of tissues on top of the file cabinet, took one, and waved it in the air. “That should answer everyone’s questions.”
All of us groaned at once, including Augusta, but in retrospect, I think she was clearing her throat.
“This is really bad,” I said. “Really, really bad. Maybe we should call Grace Svoboda and cancel the celebration of life. And Florencia’s catering, too.”
Nate looked at Marshall. “Where’s Roxanne? Still in Sun City West or on her way to—”
“Bowman hasn’t placed her under arrest yet, but he plans to do it ASAP. I tried talking him into waiting a few more days, but he refused.”
