Botched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “What?” Marshall beat me to it.

  “I did a little more digging on the Harlan family. Did you know Milquist is a published author? He wrote two books on indigenous cultures of the Southwest. The second book was coauthored by a Marlene Krone. I was able to pull up the back cover of their book on Amazon and saw their photos. He’s at least twice her age.”

  I tried not to laugh. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother. He wrote a book with her. It’s not like he’s dating her.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said. “If I were those deputies, I’d be tracking down Milquist’s whereabouts on the day of the murder. And that young coauthor of his. For your information, Milquist Harlan is the grandson of Lionel Harlan. The Lionel Harlan from the timber industry. Milquist’s late father ran that company until it was sold for beaucoup bucks in the late 1980s. Maybe our Marlene Krone is a little old gold digger who wanted Sorrel out of the way.”

  “Find out if she knows how to shoot a bow and arrow and get back to me,” Marshall said as Nate came in the door.

  “Who knows how to shoot a bow and arrow?” my boss asked.

  Augusta immediately spouted off her research findings, only this time the response was more than lukewarm. Nate didn’t exactly dismiss her theory. Of course, he wasn’t wild about it either, but, still, it gave Augusta all the encouragement she needed.

  “I’ll see what else I can find, Mr. Williams. In case you get a call from the county sheriff’s department.”

  “Hold your hats, ladies. You, too, Marshall. I already got the call. I forgot I had given my cell number to the sheriff’s deputy on the scene yesterday. It’s official. They’re going to contract with us to consult on the investigation. They knew we were familiar with the Sun City West community, and since they’re spread so thin, they figure we can expedite this investigation.”

  “Oh dear God, no. If my mother gets wind of this, she’ll be impossible. First, it will be lists of people to see. Then questions to ask. Then crazy theories that always seem to involve a love triangle. She and that book club are practically glued to Telemundo in the afternoons.”

  “Relax, kiddo,” Nate said. “We’ll take it one step at a time like we always do. And, by the way, the sheriff ’s department has already ruled out the husband as a suspect. Turns out he was attending a writers’ conference in San Francisco, and his plane didn’t arrive back to Phoenix until midmorning yesterday. What a crummy welcome back, huh? And before anyone says anything else, I’ll find out if his coauthor was at the conference as well.”

  Augusta gave me a quick smile and walked to her desk.

  “Guess that’s my cue to get back to work,” I said. “Good luck, guys.”

  I thought I was home free for the rest of the day and could devote my time to the accounts. I was wrong. At precisely eleven fifty-three, my mother called.

  “Gloria Wong’s niece works for the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department. You remember Gloria, don’t you? She was at the Stardust Theater the night we saw Showboat. Anyway, I ran into her this morning at the gas station. She told me your boss was hired to consult on the case. Her niece had to fax over a contract first thing in the morning. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I only found out about it myself. And I can’t stop work and call you over every little thing.”

  “This isn’t a little thing. We could either be dealing with a psychopathic maniac out to hunt people down like wild game, a cold, calculated killer, a desperate, revenge-seeking murderer, or a jealous lover.”

  “My vote is the jealous lover. Let’s go there.”

  “I’m serious, Phee. And if it wasn’t one of the above-mentioned individuals, then it has to be someone who wanted Sorrel out of the picture because of her eco-friendly park idea. You heard them at the meeting Monday night. While your boss and his partner follow protocol and all that stuff, you can get ahead of the game and find out who really had it in for Sorrel.”

  Terrific. Just what I want—lists, names, questions, and nagging.

  “For the zillionth time, I’m not the detective around here,” I said.

  “I’m not asking you to be the detective. I’m asking you to simply stop by the dog park and have a nice chat with Cindy Dolton. She’s got more info on the goings-on in Sun City West than a national database. And you won’t have to get up too early. It’s winter now. She doesn’t get there until seven in the morning. That gives you plenty of time to find out what she knows before you have to be at work. You can take that information and unobtrusively slip it into the actual investigation your boss will be conducting. That’s simple. I would go myself but Streetman hates to get up early, and, besides, you’re the one working for a private investigator.”

  Unbelievable. That neurotic dog of hers doesn’t like to get up early. What about me? And it’s not that simple. I have to find a pair of old shoes because I’m bound to step in something gross, and I have to be on my guard that no dogs pee on me.

  “Look. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Do it tomorrow morning. Don’t wait.”

  Chapter 6

  With the exception of the winter grass that appeared thicker and more vibrant, the dog park, adjacent to the tennis courts and across from the main recreation center, looked exactly the same as it did the last time I was there months ago.

  At least nine or ten people were huddled on or near the benches under the large yellow awning. A few people were following their dogs around the park as the canines peed on the tall palms and smaller trees. Arctic explorers, dressed for the most strenuous expeditions, didn’t have the layering of clothing the people in the park were wearing. I felt out of place with only slacks and a blazer.

  Cindy Dolton was standing in her usual spot near the fence. Bundles, her small white dog, was sniffing the ground a few feet away.

  Cindy waved as soon as I approached. “Another murder investigation? I’ll bet I know who. It’s been all over the news. Sorrel Harlan, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Were you at the meeting on Monday night? It was impossible to tell. Such a huge turnout.”

  “I was there all right. I live on a corner with a peekaboo view of the golf course. Still, I don’t want anyone peeking around my house. It’s a horrible idea.”

  “Listen, I was wondering if you might know who the guy in the Hawaiian shirt was. He commented at the start of the meeting,” I said.

  “Only a nickname—Spuds. But I happen to know his dog’s name. It’s Dooley. A poodle-Maltese mix. Small, white. The guy usually arrives when I’m about ready to leave. But hey, wait a minute. The canine club directory lists the owner by the dog’s name as well as the owner’s. I can call your office later today and get you that name, if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “You know, he wasn’t the only one who was ranting. Do you think someone from the community killed her because of that idiotic proposal of hers?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I’ve got news for you. Sorrel wasn’t exactly the best-loved person on the community gardens committee either. She wanted the garden club to give small plots of land to the homeless so they could grow their own food. Talk about idealistic. And who, pray tell, was going to bus the homeless to Sun City West and provide them with gardening tools? They all but threw her out of the club. My neighbor’s a member and, boy, did she have stories to tell.”

  “Would you mind giving me your neighbor’s name? We may need to speak with her.”

  “Sure. Claudia Brinson. Lovely lady. Has an amazing green thumb.”

  I was about to thank Cindy when I heard someone shouting.

  “Whose brown terrier is that? Who owns the brown terrier? He’s leaving a load by the back fence!”

  Another voice shouted even louder. “I’m on it. For cripes sake, the pile hasn’t even hit the ground yet!”

  Cindy rolled her eyes and laughed. “It’s the same every morning.
Too bad your mom comes so late in the day. She misses all the fun. Oh, tell her to watch out for the benches. The geese have been pooping all over them. It’s that time of year, I guess.”

  “Ugh. I’ll let her know. Anyway, thanks for the info. I appreciate you taking the time to look up Dooley’s owner.”

  “No problem. Have a great day! I’ll call your office later.”

  Even though I had slipped into my worst pair of shoes, I looked down and gingerly took one step at a time. No need to bring any prizes to the office. What I was bringing was prize enough—a whole new set of people who had it in for Sorrel.

  Augusta was already at her desk when I walked in. “Coffee machine’s warmed up. How’s it going?”

  “If you mean how do I like sleuthing at the dog park first thing in the morning, then it’s going great.”

  Suddenly I remembered I hadn’t changed shoes. “Drat. I left my good shoes in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  I hadn’t made it to the door when Nate and Marshall walked in. So much for changing shoes. I figured it could wait until I shared Cindy’s choice piece of information with them. “Hi! Don’t go rushing into your offices yet. I found out the golf course homeowners aren’t the only ones who had an issue with Sorrel. She wanted to bus homeless people into the development to use the community gardens and grow their own food. According to my mom’s contact from the dog park, the garden club was ready to toss Sorrel out.”

  “Got that, Marshall? Put it on the list,” Nate said.

  Marshall gave me a quick wink, looked at Augusta, and went straight to the coffeemaker. “Nate and I have news of our own, too. The sheriff ’s posse did a complete search of the area and found another arrow. It was a few feet away from where Sorrel’s body was found. If it wasn’t for the fact that someone from the posse noticed a feather that seemed out of place, they never would have found that arrow. It was partially covered by brush and leaves. The fletching, or feather, gave it away. You know what that information means, don’t you?”

  “Um, no.” I motioned for him to hurry up.

  “It means whoever managed to hit Sorrel with that arrow took more than one try. At least we’re not dealing with some modern-day Robin Hood. Still, whoever it was had pretty good aim.”

  “That’s not all,” Nate said. “The arrow that was removed from the body was an outdoor, carbon, thirty-inch, fiberglass one with a draw weight of forty to sixty pounds.”

  Augusta practically leapt from her seat. “Hells bells! Anyone could shoot one of those things. Even Phee, who probably never held a bow and arrow in her life.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I forgot for a moment that Augusta came from a family of outdoorsmen, and anyone who couldn’t shoot a gun, spear a fish, or set a trap was probably a sissy in her book.

  Nate continued, “Too bad they couldn’t pull any prints. I seriously doubt the killer ran all those yards to wipe them off. Most likely they were wearing the kind of archery gloves that cover all the fingers and not those tactical ones. Anyway, the sheriff’s department will be busy concentrating on the golfers who were on the course at the time, as well as the rec center board members who were opposed to Sorrel’s proposal. Deputy Bowman, that’s right, the same Deputy Bowman from the last murder, asked us to look into the archery club. Find out if anyone there might have had a motive to kill Sorrel. Other than the motive we already know about.”

  The second I heard the words “archery club,” I immediately remembered the last time we had to track down a killer. Archery was one of his pastimes, too.

  “The archery club? Oh my gosh. You-know-who was in the archery club. And we all know how that turned out. The guy’s probably still in the Fourth Avenue Jail. So, who’s the lucky person who gets to interview those card-carrying archery club members?”

  “That would be me,” Nate said. “Seems our office will be doing a tad more than consulting. The sheriff ’s department is faxing us a list of the folks in attendance at Monday’s meeting, and Marshall will be running it against the archery club list and a list of golf course homes. Apparently, all the local realtors have those. I’ll be starting with the club and your buddy over there will be contacting homeowners.”

  I cleared my throat, but I wound up sounding like a frog in distress. “And don’t forget the community gardens. Someone might have been really freaked out about homeless people planting vegetable gardens a few feet away from the residents’ homes.”

  “I’m sure, by the time we’re done, we’ll have talked to enough residents to qualify us as telemarketers,” Marshall said. “So, uh, you got this info from your mother’s friend? Please don’t tell me you had to start the day at the dog park.”

  I pointed to my shoes and all Marshall could say was “oh.”

  “I’ll have more information, too. Remember the big guy in the Hawaiian shirt who sort of threatened Sorrel with his ‘over your dead body’ remark? Well, he goes by the nickname of Spuds, and his dog is Dooley. Sometime today Cindy from the dog park will be calling here with the guy’s full name. It’s a start, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s a start.” Nate turned to Augusta. “As soon as that name comes in, let me know, okay?”

  Then he took a step closer to me. “Good work, kiddo. Anytime you want to trade spreadsheets for a magnifying glass, let me know.”

  “Very funny. And speaking of which, I’ll be fast at work on my computer should any of you need me.” I wanted to mention Claudia Brinson’s name in case anyone from the garden club might have threatened Sorrel, but I figured Nate and Marshall were inundated already and perhaps I could check out that possibility on my own. Stopping by a garden club meeting was bound to be more pleasant than the dog park.

  We all headed to our respective offices, with the exception of Augusta, who was already going through some paperwork at her desk. It wasn’t until early afternoon when Augusta got Cindy’s call. Nate and Marshall had already left the office, presumably to start interviewing contacts, so Augusta took down the name and address of the Hawaiian shirt guy.

  Russell “Spuds” Baxter lived on the prestigious “millionaire’s row” overlooking Briarwood Golf Course. No wonder the thought of an eco-friendly park caused him to explode the other night. Cindy didn’t provide any more information than that, but it was enough.

  “Marshall will probably get stuck with that interview,” I said as soon as Augusta gave me the guy’s name. “I figure Nate will have enough to do with the archery club.”

  “And what about you? And don’t tell me you’re going to sit this one out because I know better.”

  “Fine. Please don’t say anything to Nate or Marshall. And I’m not investigating. All I plan on doing is having a nice conversation with a lady who happens to be a good gardener.”

  “Just be careful. Those gardening tools can double as weapons, you know. A good slam to the head with a shovel, and bam!”

  “A sweet lady from the gardening club is not going to heave a shovel at me,” I said. Of course, the same could have been said for another darling lady who thought nothing of holding a gun to my head. I tried not to think about it. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Not wanting to get my mother any more worked up than she already was about Sorrel’s murder, I decided to look up Claudia Brinson myself and see if she would agree to meet with me. As luck turned out, I found her number without any problem and gave her a call. Cindy was right. The woman was delightful. We agreed to meet over coffee at Bagels ’N More on Saturday morning. Early in the morning. Before my mother and her book club ladies arrived for their weekly brunch. I didn’t say a word to my boss or to Marshall. I figured if I uncovered anything remotely related to Sorrel’s demise, I’d let them know. Augusta kept her word, too. I knew she would.

  The remainder of the week was fairly uneventful as far as work was concerned. The sheriff’s department informed our office we’d get a copy of Sorrel’s toxicology report as soon as it was available. Nate was able to meet with the archery club’s president who t
old him that the club members felt as if targets were being emblazoned on their backs. According to their president, “None of the members had a grudge against Sorrel, and more than half of them had no clue who she was.” Still, Nate wasn’t convinced.

  Marshall’s luck wasn’t much better. Spuds Baxter kept evoking the Fifth Amendment during their conversation on Friday, even though Marshall kept telling him he wasn’t under arrest.

  “My God! The guy actually slammed the phone down on me,” he said later that night while we were having dinner at the Arrowhead Grill. “Maybe your mother’s got the right idea after all.”

  “What’s that? Nag them to death?”

  “Nah. Although that’s a pretty tried and true practice. I mean snooping around.”

  A piece of steak all but caught in my throat. Snooping around was exactly what I planned on doing with Claudia tomorrow morning.

  “You okay, Phee? You look as if something’s wrong,” he said.

  “What? Um, no. I’m fine. I was thinking about Spuds Baxter, that’s all. Somehow he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would be proficient with a bow and arrow.”

  Marshall laughed. “No kidding. I’m not sure where he’d put the bow so that his stomach wouldn’t get in the way.”

  “That’s awful. Giggling about someone’s physique.”

  “Hey, you were the one who mentioned it in the first place.”

  “True, but I was politically correct and unassuming.”

  “That’s what I love about you,” he said.

  “My political correctness?”

  “No. Your diplomacy. Listen, I’ll be on the case tomorrow, so why don’t we plan on getting together Sunday? Maybe a late brunch and a hike?”

  “Sounds terrific.”

  I made up my mind that if I wound up with a significant lead as a result of my appointment with Claudia in the morning, I would let Marshall know. I hated keeping secrets, even if my intentions were good.