Botched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Do you actually think it could be love interests gone wrong? My mother would be all over this if she knew. And, having never met Marlene Krone, she’d come up with a description that would rival Mata Hari.”

  Marshall laughed. “Let’s say there was a love interest between Milquist and Marlene. She’d have a good motive to get rid of the wife. Milquist is one very wealthy man.”

  “What about Eleanor?”

  “She might have suspected her husband of cheating with Sorrel.”

  “Oh my gosh. It sounds like that horrible Darla Marlinde scorpion killer case. Only with an arrow instead of a stinger.”

  “That woman’s had more TV coverage than most presidents. I’m just glad her case never landed on our laps.”

  He put his arm around my waist and pulled me in closer for a quick kiss. “If we’re going to get any hiking done, we can’t do it sitting on this boulder.”

  I let Darla Marlinde and Sorrel Harlan slip out of my mind once we got back on the trail. In fact, Marshall and I didn’t resume talking about the investigation until dinner and that was only to re-hash what we already knew. Though neither of us were culinary experts, we managed to create a fabulous Chinese stir-fry at my place.

  Phoenix might have a plethora of Chinese restaurants, but none, as far as we were concerned, that made the kind of food we were used to in Minnesota.

  As Marshall put it, “The only sauce they seem to make is black bean sauce, and if that’s the case, we might as well be eating Mexican food.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  * * *

  Monday morning came way too fast, and my wake-up call made it worse. My mother’s voice on the answering machine was loud enough to be heard from the kitchen. I was still in bed and had no desire to pick up the phone, even after four rings. The voice, however, couldn’t be ignored.

  “Phee! You should be up by now. Don’t you have to go in to work? Call me. We don’t have to track down Burton Barre. He’ll be at Sorrel’s memorial service this Wednesday evening. I just read about the service in the morning paper. They’re holding it at the Garden of Perpetual Memories behind one of the funeral parlors on Camino del Sol Boulevard. Call me.”

  It was the “we” in her message that meant trouble for me. I reached over, grabbed the phone, and dialed her back.

  “Nice wake-up call, Mom. You know, some people get to wake up to chirping birds or maybe Westminster chimes, not messages about funeral arrangements.”

  “It’s not the funeral. They already had that. A private affair. This is her memorial service. It’s the perfect place to get information. All of those board members will be there. They would have egg on their faces if they didn’t show up. You and I can unobtrusively mention our concerns about the proposal to Burton. Plain and simple. I’ll let Herb and the book club ladies know about this as well, in case they didn’t read it in the morning paper.”

  “Whoa. Wait a sec. I don’t think it’s such a great idea to have Herb show up at Sorrel’s memorial. Or Myrna either, for that matter. Both of them spoke out quite vehemently at that board meeting. I don’t think their attendance would be appreciated at her service.”

  “Hmm . . . you might have a point. Okay, I’ll let everyone know, and I’ll tell Herb and Myrna not to attend. So, do you want to meet me there or pick me up? It starts at seven. If you come here directly from work, I can take something out of the freezer for us.”

  As soon as I heard the words “I can take something out of the freezer,” my mind went into a tailspin. Food in my mother’s freezer could have been there from the Roman Empire. In an effort to avoid consuming anything she would unearth, I said, “I’ll meet you at the memorial service.” It was a panicked reaction. Now it was too late. I’d agreed to go, and there was no turning back.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe what I did,” I whined to Nate and Marshall when I got to the office. “It’s bad enough I got roped into those imbecilic powwow meetings of Herb’s, but now this? I’ve got to learn to say no. No. No. No.”

  “Take it easy, kiddo,” Nate said. “You just walked us into a goldmine.”

  “Huh?”

  Marshall smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “He’s right. Where else can all those suspects be rounded up? While your mother is busy trying to convince Burton Barre to change his vote, you can quietly listen in on the conversations and see if anything incriminating surfaces.”

  “Ugh. I stink at that. Couldn’t one of you go with me?”

  Marshall shook his head. “Wish I could, but I’ve got a client meeting at six in Phoenix. Possible product thefts at a major company.”

  I glanced at my boss and waited.

  He walked over to Augusta. “Write down memorial service in my appointment book for Wednesday night.” Then he winked at me. “Like I said, we’re about to walk into a goldmine.”

  The only “goldmine” I walked into following that conversation was the profit and loss statement for Nate’s business. While I couldn’t exactly call it a goldmine, his business was doing well. Having a second investigator meant more clients and enough income to balance out the additional costs. I wanted to complete my end of the year preparations early so I would have plenty of time for his tax preparer’s deadline. Not too far off from the countdown for my own Form 1041.

  As I calculated and recalculated the figures, my mind wandered back to the hunch that had been plaguing me all weekend. Other than the homeowners, someone else would lose bigtime on that proposal. And if I was right, it wouldn’t be limited to Sun City West. Once or twice I thought about getting up and tossing my idea in front of Marshall, but the last thing he or Nate needed was some unsubstantiated feeling that came out of nowhere. Instead, I blurted it out to Augusta when I took a break.

  “It’s possible,” she said as she added some milk to her coffee. “Of course, anything is feasible when it comes to murder. I’m thinking this Sorrel woman must have really ticked off someone. My guess is it was personal, not business.”

  “That’s the same thing Jeannine Simone said the other day.”

  “Who?”

  “Jeannine Simone. She’s one of the board members. I ran into her at the dog park when I had to take my mother’s dog over there. It’s a long story.”

  Augusta sighed and shook her head. “It always is when it comes to Sun City West. Too many complications over there. If it wasn’t for the lousy weather, I’d retire up on some mountain in Idaho with a good supply of ammunition and a decent freezer.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, but not likely. Besides, I hear Idaho has its fair share of loonies, too.”

  Chapter 14

  Nate and I left the office at a little past five on Wednesday and stopped at In and Out Burger for a quick meal before heading to the Garden of Perpetual Memories. We had agreed on In and Out Burger because it was on our way, and, in Nate’s mind, unless a hamburger was involved, it wasn’t a meal. It also had a huge parking lot, where I could leave my car and share a ride with Nate. It made more sense than following him all the way to Sun City West. He’d drop me off after the service, and I’d be more than halfway home to Vistancia.

  The funeral parlor was a few blocks down on Camino del Sol, a large street that was the unofficial business district for Sun City West. Either Sorrel was extremely popular or something else was going on in the area. Cars were parked everywhere.

  “Look,” Nate said. “How about if I pull into that medical imaging place and we can park there? It’s closed for the day and a hell of a lot closer than parking down the street. My guess is the funeral parlor parking lot is packed.”

  “Works for me. Oh goodness! Take a look. It’s Herb Garrett and Bill Sanders. They’re crossing the street and heading toward Sorrel’s memorial. My mother said she was going to tell Herb to stay home. This is going to be a nightmare.”

  “Calm down, kiddo. That place is going to be so crowded no one will notice.”

  Nate was right about the place
being crowded, but I wasn’t too sure about the reaction Herb would get from Sorrel’s husband or some of the board members. I bit my lower lip and didn’t say a word as Nate and I walked across the street. The sun was already setting, casting pink and purple hues in the sky. Something I never saw in Mankato.

  The Garden of Perpetual Memories was directly behind the funeral parlor. It was a large, lovely amphitheater that surrounded a giant stone fountain on three sides. The fountain consisted of three brownish spheres ranging in size. They looked like small planets that had escaped from their solar systems. Small boxwood beauty plants and lantanas in shades of yellow and red framed the outer circle. Colored bricks, known as pavers, comprised the floor of the amphitheater. Upon close inspection, I saw the names of deceased carved into the red, tan, and brown bricks. I imagined Sorrel’s would be next.

  The amphitheater offered nothing more than circular stone seating. Hard, cold, stone seating, with torch lighting surrounding the entire place. The glow from the lights was meant to be soothing, but it gave off an eerie effect. If the service ran longer than an hour, most of the attendees would need chiropractic care.

  Nate pulled me aside and whispered, “After we sign the guest book, let’s get a seat on the end of one of those circular benches. Preferably toward the back. That way we can get a good bird’s-eye view of who’s here, and, if we need to move, we can do it easily. Judging from that table behind us, with all those plates and napkins, I’m figuring they’ll have some sort of reception after the service. And remind me, in case I get caught up in a conversation with someone, to use my iPhone to snap pictures of the pages from that guest book.”

  I glanced at the table and then back to the crowd. I immediately recognized Claudia Brinson, who was seated with a few other ladies. Probably the gardening club. I was eyeballing the area for my mother when Nate gave me a nudge.

  “Say, isn’t that your aunt Ina with the long black veil and that strange gauzy dress?”

  “Oh my God. You’re right. She looks like she just walked off the set for a gothic horror movie. Let’s keep our heads low so she doesn’t see us. We’ll never be inconspicuous if she joins us.”

  “Too late. Here she comes.”

  “Phee! I was looking all over for your mother. Don’t tell me that dog of hers made her late again.”

  “I . . . er . . .”

  “Never mind. I see her. She’s with Shirley and Lucinda near the refreshment table. I wonder what the funeral parlor will be serving. Usually something dismal and unappetizing. Oh! Hi, Nate! How rude of me. Good to see you again. Are you here on official business? The murder and all?”

  Nate took her by the elbow and spoke quietly. “I’m here at Harriet’s request. Well, Phee is, anyway.”

  My aunt tossed one of her long braids behind her neck, gave me a funny look, and took off for the refreshment table, where my mother was now joined by Louise and two of the snowbirds, Riva and Marianne.

  “I suppose I should let my mother know I’m here,” I said to Nate. “Although, I’m sure my aunt Ina has already informed her.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll save your seat.”

  The place was beginning to look like a sold-out concert. People were streaming in nonstop. In addition to the board members and the garden club, I imagined friends of Sorrel and Milquist were also here, along with neighbors and possibly distant relatives. Other than the few board members’ faces I recognized from the other night, no one looked familiar.

  Off to the left, near the largest sphere in the fountain, Herb and Cecilia seemed to be having words. I had to pass that way in order to get to my mother, so it was no wonder I heard everything. I also saw Cecilia point a finger at Herb’s chest.

  “Harriet said she told you it was best for you to stay home. You’re a suspect in Sorrel’s murder, you know.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Cecilia. The deputies cleared me. I was only speaking my mind at that board meeting. There’s no law against that. And, by the way, were you able to convince Eloise Frable to nix that proposal?”

  “Not really. She said she’d have to weigh the options.”

  “Maybe I should find her and have a few words with her.”

  “That’s not such a good idea. She might think you’re threatening her. Oh no! Myrna just tromped in. Harriet told her to stay home, too.”

  I turned my head, and, sure enough, Myrna Mittleson walked in and took a seat next to Constance, who must have arrived while I wasn’t looking. One thing for sure, the Booked 4 Murder book club was all in attendance. My mother was finishing up a conversation with Riva when I got to the refreshment table. Louise and Marianne were already at their seats.

  “Save me a seat, Riva,” my mother said. “I need to have a word with Phee.”

  I smiled at Riva, gave her a quick wave, and pulled my mother aside. “This place is beginning to look like a sideshow.”

  “Tell me about it. Did you see Herb over there? I distinctly told him it would be in his best interest to stay home. And Myrna’s here, too.”

  “I know. I know. Don’t worry about it. This place is so crowded, hopefully no one will notice. I had no idea Sorrel was so popular.”

  “Me either,” she said. “Listen, I saw Burton Barre in the fourth row by the middle sphere. Keep an eye on him and catch him when the service is over. Everyone will be heading to the refreshment table. By the way, did you see the memorial photo wall behind the fountain?”

  “Um. No. Nate and I signed in and looked for seats.”

  “Check out that photo wall. It’s near the refreshment table. It could hold important clues. Don’t dwell on Sorrel’s baby pictures and all that nonsense. Look at the ones with other people in them. Maybe one of them is her killer.”

  I had to admit, my mother was pretty sharp when it came to things like that. It made me feel as if I lagged two steps behind.

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll try to snap some of those photos on my phone. Nate’s going to do the same with the sign-in book. So, um, maybe you could talk with Burton Barre. You’d be more convincing.”

  My mother let out a groan as if I had asked her to heave a giant boulder across a stream. “I suppose I’ll have to. Shirley plans to corner Mildred. I hope she gets there before your aunt does. Did you see what Ina’s wearing? This is a memorial service, not tryouts for Wuthering Heights.”

  The soft piped music that was playing in the background got louder.

  I realized that everyone was seated, with the exception of my mother and me. “Well, the service is about to start. Talk to you later.”

  Nate got up from his seat at the end of the row and let me in. “That must be the husband sitting off to the side by the podium. I can’t tell who’s sitting next to him. Wait a minute. Wait a minute . . .”

  He pulled out his phone and did a quick Google search. “Ah-hah. Unbelievable. Look at this picture. It’s from the back cover of that book Milquist coauthored.”

  I bent my head and stared at the screen. Then I stared at the woman seated next to Milquist. “It’s Marlene Krone all right. She looks just like her photo with that Dutch Boy haircut and those round black glasses. I’ll be darned. That’s kind of brazen of her. Don’t you think? Why on earth would she have a seat in a spot that’s normally reserved for next of kin?”

  Nate let out a funny little huff that sounded more like a laugh. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  The music stopped and a tall, white-haired man wearing a gray suit approached the podium. He introduced himself as the nondenominational leader of the Peace in Our Time Church and thanked everyone for their attendance.

  He read a lovely eulogy for Sorrel and invited her guests to speak at the podium. The recreation center board president, Harold Stevens, spoke first, and told everyone how committed to the community Sorrel was and how unfortunate it was to lose such a fine lady so soon. He was followed by Mildred Saperstein from the board who pretty much echoed the same thing.

  Someone by the name of Betty O’Neil from t
he garden club said a few words as well, mostly about Sorrel’s love of nature and her unwavering generosity.

  “I’m ready to nominate her for sainthood, how about you?” Nate whispered.

  One by one, others approached the podium and shared their stories about Sorrel. As they spoke, the funeral parlor staff began to bring the refreshments to the table. I could see two large coffee urns and platters that I imagined held assorted cookies. I also saw something else—Jeannine Simone running out of the place as if her life depended on it.

  Chapter 15

  “Nate! Psst! Nate.” I tried to keep my voice low. “Did you see that woman? It’s Jeannine Simone. She raced out of here as if she was scared to death. Dear God, I hope Herb or Wayne weren’t the ones responsible for triggering her fast exit.”

  Nate sat up and looked around. “Nah. There’s Herb off to the left with a few guys. Is Wayne one of them?”

  I peered over my shoulder and stared. Sure enough, Herb and Wayne were seated next to each other, and I could see the top of Kenny’s head and Bill’s familiar baseball cap.

  “I wonder what spooked her. It didn’t look as if she was being followed.”

  “Maybe she got a phone call and had to rush home.”

  If these were ordinary circumstances, I would have agreed, but something in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise. “When we get out of here, do you mind if we stop by her house? Her address will be in the Sun City West directory. I can pull it up on my phone.”

  “Sure, if it will make you feel any better.”

  While I was Googling Jeannine’s address, I lost track of the speakers. However, the message was always the same—Sorrel Harlan’s unwavering kindness and compassion. The woman who was currently at the podium relayed some anecdote about Sorrel nursing a baby quail before turning it over to the Fallen Feathers Rescue.

  “I don’t know about you,” Nate said, “but my rear end is numb.”

  Just then, the leader of the Peace in Our Time Church returned to the podium and invited the audience to line up and offer their condolences to Sorrel’s husband, Milquist, before proceeding to the refreshments.