Botched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “But you will look into it, won’t you? I can’t afford to hire your company, but I figure maybe you could put your ear to the ground, so to speak, and see what you dig up.”

  I didn’t have the heart to come right out and say no, so instead, I left it with some sort of noncommittal “we’ll see where it goes.” I stood, stretched, and walked into the front office for a cup of coffee.

  “Another murder in Sun City West?” Augusta asked.

  “Nah. The hysterical voice should have been a dead giveaway, though. It was a friend of my mother’s. The woman got run off the road. She was in a golf cart. Luckily, she’s all right.”

  “Why did she call you?”

  “She thinks someone from her bocce league did it on purpose. Long story.”

  Augusta chuckled. “It always is.”

  By midafternoon, Nate and Marshall had reviewed all of the names on the guest list and made some discreet inquiries. Still nothing definitive. I was totally immersed in my own work and had completely blocked out those photos until Marshall brought up the subject just as we were closing at the end of the day.

  “So, what’s your take on that photo in front of the Heard Museum? I know you looked at it. According to the poster that appears off to the side of the photo, the picture was snapped last year.”

  “How do you know I looked at it? Oh, never mind. I’m wagering it was the garden club, but if you ask me, there was something going on between Sorrel and Frank.”

  “Huh? How’d you get that?”

  “Probably the same way my mother did. Take a close look at the woman seated to Sorrel’s right. If looks could kill, Sorrel’s body would have been found on the museum grounds and not a year later on the Hillcrest Golf Course.”

  “I’ll definitely need to take another look, but it’s getting late and I’m starving. Want to grab a bite to eat and come back here to study that photo again?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I thought you’d say that. This sleuthing is getting under your skin, isn’t it?”

  That, or the guy I’m sleuthing with ...

  Marshall had all he could do to hide the sheepish grin on his face. “Anyway, Nate left early in order to track down some of those guests and have a few words with them. Maybe we can make some headway with the photos.”

  “Um, about making headway, there’s something else going on. Myrna Mittleson called me this morning. Her golf cart was run off the road.”

  Like a daytime drama, I unfolded all of the details, which weren’t many. From the beige blur to Myrna’s conviction that someone in the bocce league was out to get her, words spewed out of my mouth nonstop.

  Marshall looked like he didn’t know what to think. “A beige blur, huh? And she expects you to figure out who did this?”

  I shrugged.

  “We’ll put it on the list. Come on. I’m beyond starving now.”

  We settled for a quick meal at the deli around the corner and returned to Williams Investigations before seven. Marshall ushered me into his office and pulled up another chair so both of us would have access to his computer screen. It took all of three seconds for the image to appear.

  “I never shut the computer off. Somehow I figured I’d be coming back here.” He leaned into the screen. “Okay, I’m looking at the woman on Sorrel’s right, and, yeah, she’s got daggers in her eyes all right. Yikes.”

  “Take another look. Do you recognize her?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “It’s Bethany Gillmore. She’s one of the recreation center board members. The only reason I know is because I remember Shirley commenting about the outfit Bethany was wearing that first night when Sorrel presented the proposal. She had said something about Bethany needing to tone down the purple a bit.”

  “For or against the proposal?”

  “Against. Now possibly with another motive for murder. It’s funny, but Claudia Brinson, the woman I met from a dog park acquaintance, never mentioned Bethany being in the garden club. I think I’ll give her a call and see what else she knows. Um, er, that is if you don’t mind. After all, it’s really your investigation.”

  Marshall stifled a laugh. “Maybe on paper, but we both know otherwise. Sure. Go ahead. I’m up to my neck checking other leads, not to mention the clients whose cases don’t involve Sun City West. Oh, and, before I forget, I’ll place a call to one of the deputies and see what I can learn about Myrna’s accident.”

  “I know she’ll appreciate it. I know I do. Last thing anyone needs is for her to go crazy with this and alienate her entire bocce team. Plus, my mother will get stuck in the middle since she’s friends with Bill and some of the other players. What a mess. I’m not even involved with that tournament, and I can’t wait until it’s over.”

  “When is that thing, anyway?”

  “This coming Wednesday at five. Not the game itself, but the pregame ceremony and introduction of players. They hold a procession that runs from the bocce courts past the dog park and ends in front of the lawn bowling area, where the players will be introduced. The rec center sets up chairs all around the walkway. The actual games begin the next day. It’s quite a big deal, according to Myrna.”

  “I’m not so sure she’ll be playing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Usually, after an accident, even a minor one, the pain sets in. I’m imaging Myrna’s going to feel a heck of a lot worse tomorrow.”

  “I guarantee it won’t stop her. She’s hell-bent for leather she’s going to participate. In fact, my mother is supposed to watch her practice tomorrow morning.”

  “That should be a doozy. Speaking of morning, if we don’t get going, we’ll be sitting right here at dawn.”

  “Great! It’ll give Augusta something to talk about.”

  Chapter 17

  My mother couldn’t wait to give me the rundown on Myrna’s bocce practice, starting with the fact that the two of them arrived at the courts at the ungodly hour of eight. That gave Myrna a full hour to loft balls before her team arrived. It also gave them something else—a new suspect in Sorrel’s murder.

  “Would you listen to me, Phee?” my mother said. “I’m serious. He could be our killer.”

  The “he” she referred to was the golf course manager for Golfscapes, the company that provided all of the maintenance. I gleaned that tidbit during the lunchtime phone call I shouldn’t have taken. Between bites of my ham and cheese sandwich, I listened to my mother’s accounting of what she and Myrna had seen.

  “So, there he was. Whatever his name is. The same man who gave that insipid report at the board meeting. Looked to be in his thirties or maybe forties. Hard to tell with that stubble on his face. Personally, I blame Brad Pitt for that. Ever since he decided to forgo shaving for a few days, every man between eighteen and eighty decided it was stylish. Anyway, this guy was driving around the perimeter of the course and got out of his golf cart to take a closer look at the fence that separates the course from the bocce courts.”

  “Really? The man got out to look at the fence, and you think that incriminates him? He’s in charge of the maintenance.”

  “Myrna and I thought maybe he was making sure there were no other clues.”

  “Forget it, Mom. You’re going off the deep end with this one. Tell me, have Myrna’s ball tosses improved?”

  What followed was something between a groan and a sigh. “Maybe a bit. It doesn’t matter. She’s gotten so rattled about the tournament and getting run off the road she all but took Bill’s head off when he got there. Did I tell you Myrna made a list of her league members and stood in the parking lot to see if any of their cars were beige?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Well, she did. And Bill’s was the only beige car. A Chevy.”

  I took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Myrna raced over to him and started yelling, ‘You’re the one with the beige car. The beige car. It was you!’ And then Bill said, ‘What are you yammering about, you crazy woman? What’s the
matter with a beige car?’ And then Myrna said—”

  “Mom! I’ve got work to do. I don’t need to hear the entire conversation.”

  “Fine. Here’s the long and short of it. It wasn’t Bill who ran her off the road. Turned out he had a dentist’s appointment and hadn’t gone to the bocce practice. He even made Myrna stand there and wait while he called the dentist’s office and had the receptionist speak directly with her.”

  “Oh brother. At least that tournament will be over in a few days.”

  “Yes. And you should take advantage of it.”

  “Huh?”

  “All the board members and bigwigs will be there. You never know what you might overhear. Someone knows something about Sorrel’s murder. Besides, what else are you doing on a Wednesday evening?”

  “Anything but that.”

  “Think about it, Phee. I’m serious.”

  I finished the last bite of my sandwich and washed it down with bottled water as the phone call ended. Much as I hated to admit it, my mother did have a point. Those community events pulled in big crowds and people tended to talk.

  The rest of the afternoon seemed to speed by. I was so engrossed in my accounting that I didn’t even hear Marshall by the door, calling my name.

  “Phee. Thought you’d be interested in what I discovered about those cases going to the jury. It took me longer than I expected to find out, but your mother’s friend Louise might have opened up the case for us.”

  “Really? Wow! Tell me.”

  Marshall plopped himself in the chair next to mine, leaned his elbows on my desk and rested his face in his fists. “Three cases are going to juries. The first one has been making headline news for weeks. The Darla Marlinde case. I half expect that to turn into some blockbuster Hollywood movie, but I seriously doubt Sorrel was a witness. Next is the case I’m sure your mother’s friend will have to sit through. It’s a fraudulent check scheme allegedly perpetrated by the owners of a small grocery store in South Phoenix. Again, not likely for Sorrel to witness anything there. That leaves the third case. And here’s where it gets interesting.”

  I brushed the hair from my face and didn’t say a word.

  “This one is right up Sorrel’s alley, although I don’t know exactly what she could have witnessed. It’s an environmental case that involves the deliberate pollution of the Agua Fria River that feeds into Lake Pleasant. A pesticide company is being accused of dumping raw material into the river. That’s something Sorrel could very well have witnessed, given the fact she was such a nature lover. Maybe she was out hiking and saw something.”

  “This pollution case ... would it have meant a tremendous loss of money for the pesticide company?”

  “To put it mildly, yes. Money and jail time. You name it. And we’re not talking some little mom and pop operation. This pesticide company is part of a giant corporation. That means stockholders and everything that goes with it.”

  “With Sorrel out of the way, the prosecutor might not have had a case.”

  “Yep. I’d say that was a hell of a good motive for knocking her off.”

  “So now what? What do you do next?” I asked.

  “Start researching that company for its local employees and see if any of them are particularly skilled in archery. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the other strong motive coming from the homeowners. One of the things I’ve learned in this business is people can be pretty loose lipped when it comes to divulging information. That’s why opportunities like Sorrel’s memorial service can be really telling.”

  “About those opportunities . . . there’s one next Wednesday.”

  Marshall’s eyes crinkled when I mentioned the tournament parade. “Okay, what do you say we mark our calendars for snooping and dinner? Meanwhile, Nate and I have a few days to track down the other leads.”

  “My mother will be ecstatic. I just hope she doesn’t decide to bring the dog. She’s gotten it into her head that Streetman would be more socialized if he was taken to some of these events.”

  “And?”

  “Last I knew, he peed on three people at a patio pancake-breakfast fund-raiser.”

  “Remind me to steer clear of him, will you?”

  Marshall went back to his office, and I was about to pick up where I left off with my accounting, when I remembered what I had forgotten to do yesterday.

  My God. I’m getting as bad as the book club ladies.

  I’d completely forgotten to call Claudia Brinson and ask her about Bethany Gillmore and the garden club. That photo of Bethany in front of the Heard Museum was disturbing, to say the least. Was she angry at Sorrel? At Frank? I figured Claudia might have an answer, so I dialed her number right away.

  “Goodness, Phee,” she said. “I don’t know why I didn’t mention Bethany to you the other day. She’s no longer in the garden club. Resigned shortly after our trip to the Heard Museum. I had the feeling something happened on that excursion but could never find out what. Sorry I can’t be more help.”

  “That’s okay.” I tried not to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  “The last time we talked you asked if I thought anyone had it in for Sorrel, and I said no. I mean, up until that day at the Heard Museum, no one gave any indication of anything like that. And I figured if something did happen at the museum, it couldn’t’ve been too godawful or I would’ve heard about it. There’s no such thing as keeping a secret around here. Still, something was off, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think so.”

  “Again, sorry I’m not much help.”

  “You’ve been more than helpful. If you think of anything else, please call me. You’ve got my home number and the office.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I thanked her again and switched screens to pull up that picture. Something was off, and it was driving me nuts. It was as if I had the answer to Sorrel’s murder staring me right in the face, but I couldn’t see it. Like one of those old “Magic Eye” pictures, I felt as if I was dealing with an illusion and not the real thing.

  Chapter 18

  With no new evidence and dead-end leads, the investigation moved slowly over the next several days. Thoroughly, according to Nate and Marshall, but slowly. By milling about the tournament parade, I was hoping Marshall and I could pick up information that would move the investigation forward. What we picked up instead muddied everything.

  Marshall and I took our separate cars and left work early in order to get to the parade before five. I worked through my lunch hour to make up the time, even though Nate said it wasn’t necessary. In spite of the snowbird traffic, we made it to Sun City West with fifteen minutes to spare.

  The parking lot that linked the recreation center buildings with the dog park, the lawn bowling area, and the bocce courts was packed, forcing us to park across the street in one of the empty church parking lots. As we walked to the bocce courts, we immediately spotted Shirley and Lucinda, who were headed our way.

  “Better speed up our pace,” I said to Marshall, “before one of those two keels over.”

  A few seconds later, the ladies had caught up. Shirley grabbed me by the arm and pointed to the left side of the dog park near a small greenbelt. “I think that’s your mother over there, isn’t it? Thank the good Lord she left the dog at home. Said something about the event being too stressful for him, but if you ask me, she didn’t want to risk another leg-lifting episode. We should’ve agreed to meet in a designated area. Lordy, this is absolute chaos. Who would think watching people throw balls at pins or at other balls would be so popular? Oh look! The lawn bowling leagues are lining up.”

  To the far right, a few yards from the bocce courts, a sea of white engulfed the entire sidewalk. White shirts, white slacks, white shoes. Green, red, yellow, and blue sashes tied around the waists indicated the leagues. At least I figured as much. There had to be at least fifty players. Behind them, another lineup was taking place. This was less coordinated, and the players were sporting polo shirts and assor
ted slacks in various lengths, ranging from capris and pedal pushers to full length. It was easy to spot Myrna, given her height, coupled with that upswept hairdo of hers and those bejeweled glasses she always wore. I craned my neck to see if I could find Bill, but it was impossible.

  “We’d better make our way over to my mother, or we’ll never hear the end of it,” I said to Shirley.

  “You go ahead, honey. Lucinda and I want to wish Myrna luck.”

  Then, without another word, she and Lucinda elbowed their way toward Myrna.

  “Unbelievable,” Marshall muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “These friends of your mother’s. They don’t stop at anything, do they? Come on. I see an open space. Let’s make a run for it.”

  My mother had managed to secure a prime location, not only to watch the procession but to sneak through the dog park and exit on the other side, close to the board’s seating area for the presentation.

  “You didn’t miss anything,” she said when Marshall and I stood next to her. “They’re just starting the parade.”

  If there was such a thing as organized confusion, this would have been it. The small groups and clumps of players were suddenly in two straight lines, walking steadily ahead as the spectators cheered and applauded. Occasionally someone yelled out something to one of the players, and he or she responded with:

  “Don’t forget we’re having brisket tonight at Tootie’s house,” or

  “I thought that was next week,” or

  “I remembered your clean socks, Dennis,” or

  “I can’t stop now!”

  Marshall leaned over to me and whispered, “If this is what I have to look forward to in the next twenty-five years, I’m moving off the grid.”

  When the lineup was down to the last half dozen people, my mother, Cecilia, Riva, and Constance made a beeline across the dog park, where the other book club ladies were waiting. Marshall and I raced to keep up as the women crowded onto a few small benches that Herb Garrett was apparently guarding.

  “You owe me big time, Harriet,” Herb shouted. “I had all I could do to fend people off! Why didn’t you come here in the first place, like we talked about?”