by J. C. Eaton
“Because Myrna needed to know we were here, cheering her on. I didn’t want her to wait until she got into the presentation area.”
I’d never seen anyone roll their eyes and their head at the same time, but Herb did.
“Never mind. It’s about to start. That blowhard, Harold Stevens, is taking the microphone.”
The lawn bowling and bocce league players formed three semicircles around the podium as Harold Stevens welcomed the leagues and the audience to the grand tournament. Beginning with the lawn bowling, he introduced each league’s team captain, who, in turn, introduced their players. Thankfully, the players only waved a hand in the air to acknowledge the recognition. Applause followed.
“At least they’re not having everyone speak,” I whispered to Marshall.
“My God, if they did, we’d be here for the next millennium.”
When the lawn bowling introductions were completed, the bocce ones began. Four or five board members sat dutifully in their chairs. A few of them tried to stifle yawns as the endless list of names was read.
Louise gave me a poke in the arm and gestured to the parking lot. “I guess Myrna got her golf cart back. Surprised they could fix it so soon.”
“Huh? What?”
My mother’s hearing rivaled most species of bats, and she quickly responded. “What are you pointing at, Louise? That’s not Myrna’s golf cart. They won’t have hers fixed for weeks.”
“Well, it sure looks like hers. How many red and white striped carts are there in Sun City West? I thought she had the only one that looks as if Ringling Brothers designed it.”
Marshall looked across the parking lot to where Louise was pointing and told me he’d be right back. Before I could respond, he took off, leaving me stuck listening to the mind-numbing roll call. Then Myrna’s name was read out loud, and, without warning, the woman standing next to me let out a deafening shriek that would rival a varsity cheerleader. Apparently, Myrna had at least one fan.
“Where’d Marshall go?” Louise asked when the next name was read.
“Um, he had to check on something. He’ll be right back.”
Wrong choice of words. Given Sorrel’s bizarre murder, coupled with the tendency for my mother’s friends to overreact, what followed didn’t surprise me.
“Check on what?” Lucinda shouted. “Does he think the murderer is here?”
Cecilia must’ve heard the word “murderer” and filled in the rest. “The murderer is here! Where? Where is he, Phee?”
“He’s not here. I mean, there’s no murderer here.” I tried to shout, but no one heard me because they were louder. Louder and hysterical.
Shirley kept yelling “Lordy, Lordy” while Lucinda kept telling everyone to “keep their heads low.”
Herb, who had left the bench area in order to join his cronies nearer to the podium, returned along with Kevin and Wayne. “What are all of you yammering about? We won’t be able to hear them introduce Bill, and that’s the only reason we came here.”
“Sorrel’s killer is running around loose,” one of the women shouted.
“No!” I yelled. This time really loud. “No killer. No nothing. Everything’s fine.”
Herb shook his head, made a grunting sound, and walked back to the other benches, followed by his buddies.
My mother, who was in the middle of a conversation with Louise, stopped midsentence. “Look what you started, Phee.”
“What? Huh?”
All eyes were on me as if I, somehow, orchestrated the fracas, when, in fact, I did everything to quell it. “I, er, um—”
“Oh, never mind. Here’s Marshall now. We can ask him ourselves.” My mother didn’t wait for a response from anyone. She immediately charged him like a defensive tackle. “Is there anything going on we should be worried about? Out with it!”
“The only thing I’d worry about is if this presentation goes on much longer,” Marshall said.
A few “hmmphs” followed as the ladies turned back toward the podium. Marshall tapped me on the arm and motioned for me to step away from the crowd. We wedged ourselves into a small alcove in the stucco wall that separated the lawn bowling from the dog park.
“What’s going on? Where’d you go?”
“To check out that red and white golf cart. I thought if what Louise said was true, then Myrna’s golf cart might have been mistaken for that other one. I had a feeling the accident was intentional, but she wasn’t the intended victim.”
“And?”
“And I was right. Our buddy Deputy Bowman ran the plates for me. That red and white golf cart is registered to Milquist Harlan.”
“My God! His body’s going to turn up somewhere if we don’t do something.”
“The sheriff’s department is already on it. They’ve notified the deputies who are patrolling this event, and they’re sending someone to the house in case anyone is home.”
“There is no ‘anyone.’ It was just Sorrel and him. And if the golf cart’s here, so is he. Unless that Marlene Krone is still staying with him. I doubt he left her at the house alone but who knows? I hate to think my mother might be right with those far-fetched theories of hers, but, in this case, she might be right. That Marlene seemed a little too close for comfort, if you ask me.”
“Listen, they’re still droning on and on with the list of participants. What do you say we make our way around the perimeter to see if we can find Milquist?”
“I’m game. Anything’s better than this.”
We kept our backs to the stucco wall and scanned the crowd. No sign of a dowdy, middle-aged man with a young gold digger at his side.
“Why do you suppose Milquist would be at this event anyway?” I asked. “I mean, it doesn’t really sound like something he’d be interested in.”
“It’s not something we’re interested in and look at us. He must have a reason. That golf cart is only a few yards from here. It’s not as if he intended to use the swimming pool or the billiards. Those buildings are too far off.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. And he doesn’t own a dog, as far as I know, so that leaves the dog park out of it.”
We skirted around the crowd, first on the right-hand side and then backtracking to the left. There was no way we could get close enough to the podium to look directly at the participants and fans.
“I recognize a lot of people here,” I said, “but no Milquist.”
Marshall took me by the elbow and ushered me toward the sidewalk. “I’ve got a better idea. We should’ve done this to begin with. Let’s wait by his golf cart. This presentation is bound to be over soon, and he’ll need his ride home.”
I barely heard the word “home” because a thunderous applause came out of nowhere, and, the next thing I knew, we were tousled and jostled as the crowd started to disperse.
Marshall let go of my elbow and grasped my hand. “Geez, talk about timing. How fast can you move?”
“Fast enough.”
Is this what Lot’s wife felt like when she was fleeing Sodom and Gomorrah? I figured as long as I didn’t turn back, I would be okay.
“Drat!” Marshall shouted. “Someone’s already in the golf cart.”
We stood there, our mouths wide open, as we watched the golf cart cut diagonally through the parking lot and out to the main road.
“So much for that,” I said. “Now what?”
“Now we walk to the church parking lot and grab my car. I’ve got Milquist’s address programmed into the GPS. Let’s see if he makes it back there.”
“In one piece?”
“At all.”
Chapter 19
“What if it’s not Milquist driving that golf cart?” I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed east on Meeker Boulevard.
Marshall chuckled. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
The Harlans’ house was situated in the middle of a cul-de-sac off Deer Valley Road, the newest phase of the development. And not only that, but they lived in one of the ritziest
sections, known for spacious yards, boulder and waterfall features, and houses that boasted stone veneers. I couldn’t take my eyes off the place. “Guess the family timber industry left them well off, huh?”
“Yep. I suppose. The house even has a separate golf cart garage. If Milquist did drive directly back here, he must’ve arrived only a few minutes before us. I’ll knock on the door and see. No sense both of us getting out of the car.”
Marshall walked to the front door. Sure enough, Milquist was home, and Marshall waved for me to join him. Oddly enough, Sorrel’s husband didn’t seem too surprised to see us.
“The sheriff ’s department left a note on my door asking me to call them. I was about to do that when you rang the bell,” he said. “Does your visit have something to do with their note?”
As soon as Marshall said yes, Milquist invited us in, but not farther than the foyer. Marshall explained the entire incident with Myrna’s golf cart and seemed to study Milquist’s face for a reaction. If he had one, it had to be as subtle as hell.
“So, you understand,” Marshall went on, “that the sheriff’s department and my office are concerned that whoever killed your wife might have you in their sights as well. I’m sure the sheriff’s department will explain further when you call them.”
Milquist proceeded to chew off a piece of fingernail all the while staring at Marshall. “I don’t know what else they can explain, unless they plan to provide me with security. Are they going to do that?”
“Unfortunately, I rather doubt it. I know they had deputies at your wife’s memorial service, but that was a one-time thing. Have you received any verbal or written threats? Anything at all that made you feel as if you were a target?”
“No. Nothing of the sort.”
Marshall took a quick breath while I tried to be discreet about glancing into the rest of Milquist’s house. The foyer opened up into a sitting area, but nothing seemed out of place, and there was no sign of Marlene Krone. Maybe she had already driven back to Albuquerque.
“Mr. Harlan,” I said, “was there a particular reason you went to the lawn bowling and bocce tournament parade today?”
The man looked as if I’d asked him to divulge national security information. “Er, well, it was on Sorrel’s calendar since she was a member of the board, and, well, I don’t know, I guess I figured maybe I’d run into someone who might have information about her death. Stupid thing. I know.”
“Actually, it might’ve been a dangerous thing,” Marshall said. “Crowds and all. Listen, if I were you, I wouldn’t be driving in that red and white golf cart. It’s too obvious if someone does indeed have you in their sights. Use your car. Besides, in case of an accident, cars are safer. Those golf carts can be demolished in a second. Myrna was lucky she only suffered a few scratches.”
Milquist looked down as if he was the culpable one. “I’m sorry that lady got injured. Especially if I was the intended victim. And, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why. It’s not like Sorrel or I had any enemies. Grant you, my wife did have her moments and her causes, but to murder her over something like that? And why come after me? I don’t have anything anyone would want.”
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. Thankfully I didn’t have to.
“We’re working hard to find those answers for you, Mr. Harlan,” Marshall said. “Meantime, keep your doors locked and stay out of crowds. Give the sheriff’s office a call, will you?”
Milquist nodded and closed the door behind us.
I waited until Marshall and I were a few feet from the car before I said anything. “I think he’s hiding something, but what, I don’t know. An affair with that woman? Marlene? Too obvious, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell you what I do think. My mind will be sharper and clearer once I’ve had something to eat. What’ll it be? Pizza? Burgers? Mexican?”
“Honestly, Marshall, I could do all three.”
“What do you say we take both cars and grab a pizza in Surprise? That should be a safe enough spot away from—”
“My mother and her friends?”
“I was about to say ‘the tournament crowd.’”
“I think we’ll be safe. Curley’s will pack in all the men, and Bagels ’N More and the Homey Hut will get the women. As far as the gossip goes, it’ll be a tie.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, that gossip keeps bringing us closer to the clues we need to solve this darn thing. If Louise hadn’t thought the golf cart was Myrna’s, I never would’ve noticed it in that crowded parking lot. Milquist may be our key player after all.”
“Meaning?”
“Nate and I will have to keep tabs on the guy. And if he is a target ... oh geez, I probably should go back in there and warn him about suspicious beige vehicles. I’ll only be a second. You might as well wait for me in the car.”
I made myself comfortable and took out my cell phone to see if I had gotten any calls. To prevent me from getting distracted while driving, I kept it on mute. Sure enough, there was one voice mail. My mother.
“Where’d you disappear to? Thought you and Marshall might join us at Bagels ’N More. Maybe another time. Myrna’s team plays at eleven tomorrow. Too bad you’re working. Call me later.”
Whew. I was off the hook for now. I slipped the phone back into my bag as Marshall got in the car.
“I think I made Milquist even jumpier. He wouldn’t let me inside this time and kept glancing at his watch. I asked if everything was all right, and he said ‘yes.’ Look, I know I’m starving, but ten more minutes isn’t going to make a difference. Let’s drive around for a while and swing back here. I’ll bet anything we’ll find a car parked in front of his house.”
“Marlene’s?”
“That would be too easy. So, shall we take the scenic route?”
Marshall drove past Palm Ridge Recreation Center and the ponds that housed Sun City West’s waterfowl. We paused for a few minutes to watch them and then returned to Milquist’s cul-de-sac.
“My God, you were right. Whose Mercedes is that?”
“We’ll know soon enough. At least it’s not beige. I’ll snap a quick photo of the license plate and hope Bowman is still in a good mood.”
I didn’t say a word as Marshall took the picture and drove out of the cul-de-sac, pulling over farther down the street to make the call. I held my breath while he waited for Deputy Bowman’s answer.
“Edmund Wooster.”
“Edmund Wooster? The guy Sorrel replaced on the board? The one who left for personal reasons?”
“That’s his car, according to Bowman.”
“Wow. I wonder what on earth he would want to see Milquist about?”
“It could be as innocuous as dropping by to offer condolences. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“I genuinely don’t know. Let me put it this way—Edmund Wooster is now on my radar screen. Come on. Let’s get that pizza before something else turns up. I’ll get you back to your car, and we’ll go from there.”
* * *
Nothing turned up between the time we ate our pizza and the next morning. Unless I counted the annoying, late-night phone call from my mother.
“Phee, I thought you were going to call me. Don’t you ever check that cell phone of yours? I even left a message on your landline.”
“Um, sorry about that. I forgot to check them.”
“Why did you and Marshall rush off? Was he on to something?”
I knew the rumor mill would go crazy if I told her Milquist had the same golf cart as Myrna, so I glossed it over. “No, nothing like that. The usual stuff investigators do in those situations.”
“I suppose you want to know why I called. I figured you would’ve forgotten about Herb’s next powwow. It’s tomorrow night at seven. Same place. At least I spoke to Burton Barre about the proposal. Like I told you before, I didn’t get anywhere, but I spoke to him. This meeting’s going to be a big nothing. I’m sure the others got the brush off, too.�
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“Maybe Herb can cancel the meeting. I mean, why waste everyone’s time?”
“Because you never know what someone might’ve found out. The proposal is one thing, Sorrel’s murder is the other.”
“I thought the deal was no one was going to broach that matter with the board members.”
“Not directly, no. So, are you coming?”
“I suppose. But it better not drag out longer than an hour or so. Oh, one more thing. Would you have any idea if Edmund Wooster and Milquist Harlan knew each other?”
“Why? Is it important? Is Edmund a suspect?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. Um, I kind of thought of Edmund, that’s all. Leaving the board so suddenly and then Sorrel being appointed to replace him.”
“Tell you what. I’ll make some calls tomorrow and let you know when I see you at Bagels ’N More. Nate and Marshall are welcome to come, too.”
“Okay, Mom. Have a good night.”
It was a no-brainer in my book. Nate and Marshall might have had the Maricopa County Sheriff ’s Department and hacker extraordinaire Rolo Barnes at their disposal, but my money was on Harriet Plunkett.
Chapter 20
Nothing on paper linked Milquist Harlan to Edmund Wooster, at least according to Nate and Marshall. They’d both been hard at work long before I got in. Marshall had to take off on another case, and Nate was busy with background checks, so I didn’t have much time to speak with either of them.
At a little past noon, when I returned from grabbing a sandwich at the deli, Augusta informed me that my mother had left a message.
“Don’t look so panic-stricken. It’s a good message. She said to tell you Myrna’s team won and they’re up again tomorrow. If they win again, they’ll be in the finals on Saturday.”
“She didn’t insist I be there, did she?”
“No. Guess you’re off the hook.”
“For the bocce tournament. I’m still stuck going to their strategy meeting tonight. You know, their plan to chip away at the remaining board members who still want to go ahead with Sorrel’s eco-friendly park idea.”
