Botched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “I almost forgot to ask. Do you clean the clothes closets, too?”

  “Just the floors. We vacuum and mop them. You can go back and see how nice Mr. Harlan’s closet looks.”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice, but it wasn’t the floor I was interested in inspecting. It was his wardrobe. What if the guy was a cross-dresser and Sorrel found out? What if she threatened to expose him and he had her killed? I couldn’t get to that closet fast enough.

  Shirts. Men’s shirts. Pants. Men’s pants. Jackets, suits, ties, shoes. No sign of women’s clothing anywhere. I started to leave the room when I realized something. Not every piece of clothing went into a closet. Without wasting a second, I pulled open the first drawer in the oversized dresser. Men’s underwear. But who puts underwear on top of a towel? Someone who had something underneath it.

  Sure enough, I had uncovered two pairs of black extra-large lingerie. Too big for Sorrel and much too big for the petite Marlene Krone, with her Dutch Boy hairdo. This was Milquist’s private little stash, and I’d wager there was more, only I didn’t have time to inspect further. Last thing I needed was Gracie to get suspicious about the length of time it was taking me to observe the housecleaning. I thanked Zia and scurried to the kitchen.

  I had to admit the Happy Housecleaners were doing an amazing job. From dusting plantation shutters to removing grease from the stovetop, they didn’t seem to miss a thing, and I felt guilty for beguiling them. As Gracie turned off the water to the sink, I heard myself asking, “Do you prefer cash, check, or credit cards?”

  Chapter 23

  “You did what?” my mother asked when I got home and gave her the news.

  “I hired the Happy Housecleaners for you and paid for their first two-hour service. Consider it a gift.”

  “I don’t need a housecleaning service. You could perform open heart surgery on my floors.”

  “I felt guilty lying to them. I had to make it right.”

  “Tell you what we’ll do. I’ll call them and change it to your aunt Ina’s house. You know what a discombobulated household she runs. We’ll tell her it’s an early anniversary gift for her and Louis. Once she gets used to the Happy Housecleaners, I’m sure she’ll hire them on a permanent basis.”

  “I paid for two hours. They’ll need more if they’re going to tackle her place.”

  “Fine. I’ll add on an hour. So, what did you find out? Was there a connection between Milquist and Edmund?”

  “None that surfaced. Um, can I call you back later? I’ve got to take care of a few things.”

  “Call me in the evening. Myrna’s team is in the finals, and no one wants her to choke at the last second. I’ll be at the bocce courts this afternoon. You’re sure about Milquist and Edmund?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Part of me was dying to tell my mother about Milquist’s little secret, but that was the last thing I was going to do. One call to Shirley or Lucinda and it would be spread around the community like a virus. Besides, I had a real clue sitting in my pocket, and I was itching to read it.

  Without giving my mother a chance to say anything else, I hung up and took out the indented piece of notepaper. Every amateur sleuth since the discovery of dirt knew how to decipher messages by rubbing a pencil over the indents. I held my breath and rubbed. What emerged on that paper surprised me. It was going to save Marshall a heck of a lot of time, if he didn’t kill me first. I picked up the phone and called him.

  “You’re not going to like this. Well, actually, you are. But maybe not the way I found out. But then again—”

  “Phee, if this is supposed to be some sort of riddle, you’re driving me nuts.”

  “Frank Landrow wasn’t having an affair with Sorrel.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Here’s the part you’re not going to like. I found a note, well not exactly a note, I found the indented paper that was underneath a note Milquist had written to Frank.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask how. Please don’t tell me you did anything that could’ve put you in danger or compromised the investigation.”

  “Technically, no. And taking a piece of paper from someone’s house isn’t exactly theft, is it?”

  “Someone’s house? You were in Frank’s house? Milquist’s house?”

  “Maybe I should just read you the note. Milquist wrote it. And I’m sure the Frank is Frank Landrow.”

  “Phee, I—”

  “Just listen. Here goes: ‘Frank, This should be enough for you to keep her out of my hair. PayPal to Garden Guy like planned. Must get my book finished. Milquist.’ Garden Guy has to be Frank. And Milquist sent him money using Paypal. I’m right, aren’t I? Milquist was paying Frank to keep Sorrel out of the way so he could finish the book he was writing. Frank wasn’t having an affair with Sorrel, he was being paid to keep her company. Unless ... Oh my God. I never thought of it any other way, unless ... unless Milquist paid Frank to kill her. It can’t be, can it? He seemed so broken up at the memorial. Unless it was an act.”

  “Where did you find the note?”

  “Um, this is the part you’re not going to like. It was in Milquist’s nightstand. Not the note itself, the next sheet of paper on the pad.”

  Silence. Too much silence. I held my breath and waited. It seemed to take forever before Marshall spoke.

  “You went into his nightstand? I know your mother and her friends get crazy ideas at times, but I was hoping, praying, you wouldn’t get caught up in them. Especially if it means breaking the law.”

  “No laws were broken. Not really. Taking a piece of notepaper hardly constitutes theft. And I left everything exactly as it was in the drawer.”

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t as bad as rummaging through Louis Melinsky’s underwear drawer when my aunt Ina and I were trying to find clues about his disappearance, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Suppose you tell me what you were doing in Milquist Harlans’s house? How’d you get in there?”

  “You can relax. I was invited.”

  I went on to explain about the Happy Housecleaners and the one golden opportunity I had to scope out the place. “You have to admit, you’d never have gotten a search warrant to do what I did, and that’s not all I found out.”

  “Why stop now? Do tell.”

  “Milquist is a closet cross-dresser. I guess that’s what they call it.”

  This time it wasn’t silence at the other end. Marshall was trying to contain himself and keep from laughing. “Don’t get this wrong. I’m pretty ticked at you for putting yourself in that situation. What if Milquist had walked in? Then what? In case you’ve forgotten, no one’s been removed from the suspect list.”

  “I know. I know.” I tried to sound contrite, but I wasn’t sure I was pulling it off.

  “That note can’t be used as evidence, you know. It was obtained illegally. Your prints are all over it . . .”

  “It’s still a clue. And a damned good one. So, are we still on for tonight or are you really that angry with me?”

  “Angry enough that I get to choose the restaurant. Okay?”

  “Deal. Seven thirty?”

  “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. And, Phee, promise me you’re done snooping for the day.”

  “I promise.”

  My friend Lyndy called a short time later, and I reiterated everything that had transpired. Whiny voice and all. “You don’t think I did anything that awful, do you?”

  “Not at all. You were lucky you didn’t get caught red-handed with that drawer open, but let’s face it, you’ve got a certain ‘in’ with those connections of yours in Sun City West. Think of it like a gift. You’re going to find out stuff those detectives would be hard-pressed to ferret out. Just be careful. Okay? Nate and Marshall carry guns, you don’t.”

  “My gosh. You’re beginning to sound like my mother’s friends.”

  “That bad, huh? I’d better keep my mouth shut then. Call me if you find out anything else. This is better than a Sue Grafton
novel.”

  Lyndy Ellsworth always had a way of making me feel better, and, at that moment, I needed it. We’d met at the Vistancia swimming pool when I first moved here and had been good friends ever since. She was my age and a widow with no children. Her relatives had convinced her Arizona would be a much better place to start over rather than staying in the cold Northeast. The great news was that she and I clicked immediately. I finally had a confidant who understood what life was like with wacky relatives. Lyndy was the soothing voice at the other end of the phone and the purse-guarding savior in dire situations like the one I faced with a murderer at the Stardust Theater not too long ago.

  While Lyndy was on board with my escapades, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure Marshall would be willing to overlook the way I acted on my hunches. I tried not to dwell on it as I threw in a load of laundry and tidied up my house. Spending the morning watching the Happy Housecleaners made me realize my own place desperately needed sprucing up.

  When Marshall rang the bell at quarter past seven, I wasn’t sure what to expect. My first husband, Kalese’s dad, had been moody and unpredictable. I took a deep breath and answered the door. Before I could say a word, Marshall stepped inside and gave me a hug. A long hug. The warmth spread as our necks touched, and I knew I had no reason to worry.

  “I don’t care if it’s two in the morning. The next time your sleuthing goes beyond the usual questions and spying from a distance, would you please let me know?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Since it’s my choice for dinner tonight, we’re going to combine business with pleasure.”

  “Huh?”

  “You can relax. We’re meeting Nate at a Mexican joint in Peoria. Rolo Barnes did his homework when it came to Eleanor Landrow and Marlene Krone. Nate wants to go over everything with me, and, since you’re almost a de facto investigator yourself, not to mention the vested interest you have in the Sun City West community, it wouldn’t be right to exclude you.”

  “Did Nate say that?”

  “Not in so many words. Hey, before I forget, can you show me that note you found?”

  “I typed up the message since it’s hard to read. Hold on. I’ll get both papers for you. They’re right over here on the counter.”

  Marshall took a look at the original and scratched his ear. “Geez, a handwritten note. Don’t these guys know we’re in the twenty-first century? Then again, notes like this can’t be traced like email. I don’t think this was anything more than what it says. Milquist paid Frank to keep Sorrel busy enough so she wouldn’t interfere with the book her husband was writing. The question I have is, what kind of connection do Milquist and Frank have? It wasn’t anything we considered initially. Maybe Nate will have a different take on it when he sees the note.”

  “Think he’ll be really upset with me?”

  “If you keep up this stuff, maybe. He’d feel awful if anything happened to you. Anyway, I’m still perplexed about Milquist and Frank’s relationship.”

  I was dumbfounded, too. I knew from Claudia Brinson that Frank and Sorrel were good buddies from the garden club. As for Milquist? I wasn’t so sure he even liked plants. Maybe Rolo Barnes managed to dig up some info while he had Eleanor and Marlene in his sights. I grabbed a jacket and my bag and we were out the door.

  The restaurant Nate had picked was one I’d never been to—La Mariposa off of Bell Road. It boasted the usual Mexican décor, with papier-mâché animals and multicolored sombreros on the walls and ceilings. The nice thing about the place was the privacy it offered—separate booths that didn’t bump up against each other and large vases with tall plants serving as barriers between the booths. That meant we could hold a conversation without worrying about being overheard.

  Nate was already at the place when we arrived. “This isn’t your ordinary Mexican restaurant. Four different salsas for the complimentary nacho chips.”

  He didn’t mention a word about my little escapade at the Harlan residence, probably figuring Marshall had already said enough to me. As soon as the waiter had taken our orders and left the table, Nate began.

  “I had to listen to Rolo extoling the virtues of eating unprocessed foods before he finally told me what he found out about Eleanor and Marlene. Pretty mundane stuff, when it comes to Marlene. She teaches anthropology at the University of New Mexico and designed a new research program. She and Milquist met online, believe it or not, when he contacted her regarding coauthoring a book.”

  “What about Eleanor?” I asked.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Eleanor’s attributes aren’t limited to . . . how can I put this?”

  “Her sex appeal?” I blurted out.

  “Yeah, that, too. According to Rolo, our dear Mrs. Landrow’s ride to a bachelor’s degree at the University of Southern California was funded in part by an archery scholarship from the National Field Archery Association. Of course, that was quite a few decades ago. Hard to say if she kept up her skills.”

  I gulped the ice water that was in front of me. “Oh my God! It’s probably like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget. She could be our killer. Did you tell Deputy Bowman?”

  “Slow down, Phee,” Nate said. “If Eleanor was jealous of Sorrel and wanted to kill her, why would she wait all this time to contact our office to investigate the possibility of an affair? Why would that matter now? If she was the killer, she already did it. Evidence of an affair or not.”

  Marshall leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head in his fist. “I’m not so sure. She might be covering her ass. Pardon me, Phee. It’s a fairly common ruse for a murderer to pretend to be interested in seeking out the truth when they already know it.”

  “You see,” I said. “She could be our killer. Although, I have to admit, I find it hard to imagine a woman like Eleanor would ever believe her husband capable of having an affair. Especially with someone who was so, well, plain. And I don’t buy Augusta’s theory either. That the guy got sick of being with a gorgeous woman and turned his sights to one who wasn’t.”

  “Augusta’s theory?” Nate said. “Good grief. Who hasn’t rendered an opinion?”

  Just then our waiter arrived with the first course, tortilla soup. Crushed tortillas floating in a chicken broth with chile peppers, onions, and hominy. It smelled out of this world, and, for a moment, we all stopped talking and started eating. When Nate finished his last spoonful, he leaned an elbow on the table, made a fist and propped his head on it. Then he looked directly at Marshall and me.

  “Frankly, I don’t buy it. Unless someone keeps up with those particular archery skills, it would be impossible to land an arrow with that kind of accuracy. I was hoping we’d get somewhere with that employee search from the pesticide company, but that pulled up a whopping zero.”

  “Tell me about it,” Marshall said. “I thought those interviews would never end. And all that the employee records revealed were a few letters of reprimand for minor things like continued tardiness or inability to work well with others. Their background checks came back clean, too. And none of them had any archery skills whatsoever. Even if Sorrel had witnessed the illegal dumping of waste, it would be impossible to prove anyone from the pesticide company was responsible for her death.”

  Nate looked at the table and sighed. “It’s a circle that keeps getting wider and wider. Golf course homeowners, possible witness to a crime, an affair gone wrong ... It’s been my experience that when the list of suspects starts to expand, we’re better off tightening it up.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said.

  “It’s simple. We go back to Sorrel’s closest group of family and friends.”

  I was so engrossed in the conversation, I hadn’t noticed the waiter returning with our food. My order of shrimp chimichangas looked and smelled spectacular, as did the dishes Nate and Marshall ordered. Enormous slices of seared beef and pork, grilled vegetables, and three different kinds of rice to augment the bowls of refried beans and onions. My boss w
as right. This wasn’t ordinary Mexican fare.

  My mouth was watering at the first mouthful of my chimichanga when I heard a voice that made me drop my fork on the plate. “Oh God, no. Do you hear that voice? It’s my aunt Ina!”

  Short of ducking under the table or throwing the cloth napkin over my head, it was too late. My aunt and uncle were being escorted to their table by the hostess and immediately spotted us.

  “Phee! What a nice surprise! Isn’t this place wonderful? We’ve invited your mother to join us numerous times, but, apparently, Louis and I dine too late for her.”

  “Yes, it’s nice seeing—”

  “Nate! I haven’t seen you or your partner in ages. Are you working undercover? Did I spoil your sting or whatever it is you’re doing?”

  “All we’re doing is eating, Ina. Nothing else.”

  “Come on, Ina dear,” Louis said. “We don’t want their food to get cold.”

  “It was good running into both of you,” I said. “Maybe we can all come back here for lunch or something.” I hope she doesn’t take it literally. I’m only being polite.

  “Yes, we will.”

  Louis gave her a nudge. “Come on, Ina dear.”

  Her feathered green boa, along with those two long braids of hers, bounced off her shoulders as she continued to their table.

  When I was sure she was out of earshot, I said, “That could’ve been a lot worse. My uncle Louis was probably hungry.”

  It was bad enough looking up from my meal to discover my flamboyant aunt headed my way, but I was totally unprepared for the interruption that took place over dessert.

  “Whoever thought of frying ice cream?” Marshall said as the waiter placed three giant bowls of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry in front of us.

  I was about to reply when, out of the blue, Herb, Wayne, and Bill appeared in front of our table. All of them talking at once.

  “You didn’t order anything with the Sriracha sauce, did you? You’ll have heartburn all night.”