by J. C. Eaton
The night desk assistant from Marc Yost’s condo in Paradise Valley had seen Darla and Marc enter the place on a Friday evening, and he was certain he’d seen her leave sometime before dawn the next morning. Alone. With a large designer bag. DNA evidence indicated she’d been in the bedroom. The bed, to be exact. That didn’t raise a red flag, where I was concerned, since the two of them were dating. But somehow, she became the prime suspect in his murder, accused of planting more than one bark scorpion in Marc’s bed. The nagging question I had was how Sorrel Harlan figured into any of this. What had she seen? What did she know? If I could answer that, I’d know how she wound up with an arrow through the neck.
As tempting as it was, I waited until the next morning before blurting everything out to Nate and Marshall as they were fixing their coffee.
“Good morning. Where’s Augusta? I don’t want to repeat this. Never mind. Myrna’s team lost. The goose poop threw her off. Long story. Listen, I think Sorrel may have been a key witness in the Darla Marlinde case, and that’s what got her killed. Not the pesticide dumping. Not the golf course homeowners. Not some affair she might or might not have been having. It’s the Darla Marlinde thing. I just know it.”
Nate set his coffee cup on the counter and walked toward me. “Whoa, kiddo. Did you put a triple shot of espresso in your coffee? Slow down.”
“Who brought in espresso?” Augusta walked through the doorway.
“No one,” we all seemed to reply collectively, at which point Marshall took over.
“Phee’s all worked up because she’s convinced Sorrel Harlan was a key witness in that scorpion killer case.”
Augusta’s mouth opened slightly as she gave me a funny look. “Really? What makes you think that? What did you find out?”
I slowed down long enough to reiterate the entire scenario from yesterday, which really had nothing to do with the scorpion case except for the fact Myrna had mentioned why she thought the trial was being postponed. Nate wasn’t that convinced.
“It could be anything, kiddo. Delayed forensic reports. Witnesses recanting their original statements. Change of attorneys. Anything.”
I wasn’t about to give up. “Listen, Louise definitely overheard that comment. ‘An arrow to the neck, and boom. There goes our case.’ Sure, it made much more sense for it to be the one involving the pesticide company, but that didn’t pan out. Maybe Darla Marlinde was framed by someone who knew how to shoot an arrow.”
“Talk about walking into a mess,” Marshall said.
I kept looking back and forth at Nate and Marshall. “But you will do it. Won’t you?”
The corners of Nate’s mouth formed a small grin. “Augusta, get Deputy Bowman on the line for me, will you? And one more thing. Phee, whatever you do, do not go chasing after anything that has to do with Darla Marlinde. Understand?”
As if Nate’s directive wasn’t enough, Marshall had to add his two cents. “This is serious. Darla Marlinde has all sorts of questionable and dangerous connections. Promise me you’ll leave this alone.”
“Okay, fine.” I grabbed a K-Cup of Coffee House Coffee and put it in the machine as the men proceeded to their offices.
“You’re not really going to leave it alone, are you?” Augusta whispered.
“For now. Besides, I’ve got some other loose ends I need to figure out.”
“Like?”
“Like what happened at the Heard Museum. If Bethany Gillmore wasn’t giving Sorrel the evil eye in that photo, I don’t know what she was doing. And what about the relationship between Milquist and Frank? And what was Edmund Wooster really doing at Milquist’s house?”
“You’ve got the common denominator, Milquist. Now all you need is to figure out the equation. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.”
“I work in accounting, not algebra.”
“It’s all math, isn’t it?”
I sighed and headed to my off ice, where I buried myself in work until lunch. Nate and Marshall had taken off, but I wasn’t sure if they were following leads on Sorrel’s murder or the other cases they had. With only Augusta and me in the office, I decided it would be a good time for me to order lunch in and do a little sleuthing on my own.
When I last spoke with her, Claudia Brinson from the garden club couldn’t give me much information on that photo taken at the Heard Museum. There was no sense calling her again. I’d be much better off going directly to the source—Bethany Gillmore. I placed the call before I had time to think it through. As soon as I mentioned where I worked, Bethany made an assumption I was an investigator. I didn’t bother to correct her.
“I really don’t want to talk about this over the phone,” Bethany said. “Could we meet someplace? Maybe a coffee shop?”
We agreed to meet at a Starbucks in Sun City West as soon as I got out of work. Actually, I had intended to call Bethany when I first saw that photo of her at the Heard Museum, but I’d never gotten around to it. Now, it seemed even more pressing, and, for some reason, I felt compelled to let Augusta know.
“Should I wait until she tells me what was going on that day at the Heard before I tell her I’m not an investigator?”
“Way I see it, information gathering is information gathering.”
“Well, I intend to tell Bethany the truth. That I handle the bookkeeping. That my mother and her friends are unnerved about the murder and need to feel safe again.”
“You said you’re meeting her at Starbucks?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Starbucks is a good choice. Very public. Very busy. You should be fine.”
“What do you mean?”
“For all you know, Bethany’s the killer. Wasn’t she going to be a ‘no’ vote on the golf course proposal?”
“The sheriff’s department was supposed to do their homework regarding the board members. I mean, if any of those people had a background in archery, wouldn’t those deputies know about it?”
“Depends how thorough they are. Like I said, you should be fine. Just don’t order a double shot of espresso or you’ll be all twitchy.”
Nate and Marshall were in and out for most of the afternoon, pausing to meet with a few clients in between. I gave no indication of my plans for coffee with Bethany, and I knew Augusta wouldn’t say anything either. If I turned up anything, I’d let them know later.
At a little past five, we headed for the door and turned off the lights. At that moment, the phone rang.
“Want me to take it, Mr. Williams?” Augusta asked.
“Hold on a sec. Let the machine get it. If it’s important, I’ll pick up.”
The four of us stood there like mannequins listening to a voice I hadn’t heard in quite a while, Deputy Bowman’s rather unpleasant partner, Deputy Ranston. The man reminded me of a Sonoran Desert toad. In both looks and personality.
“Nate or Marshall, give me a call when you get in. A stolen car just turned up in El Mirage. A beige Chevy Equinox that looks like it collided with something red. That golf cart maybe? Call me.”
“Oh my gosh! The beige blur! They found the car that ran Myrna’s golf cart off the road. It has to be that car,” I said.
Nate motioned for us to head out the door. “I’ll give Ranston a call from my cell. No sense all of us hanging around.”
Marshall could probably see the look on my face and would know what it meant. I had to give him credit. The guy was really getting to know me.
“I’ll call you this evening, Phee, okay? And please don’t say anything to Myrna. Or your mother. Or anyone in that book club for that matter.” Marshall stared at me.
“Mums the word,” I replied. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Augusta kicked the edge of my shoe as we stepped out the door. It wasn’t accidental.
Chapter 26
With a soft lavender and purple hat, a vivid purple scarf, and a muted bluish-purple sweater, Bethany Gillmore was easy to recognize. I remembered Shirley mentioning something about Bethany overdoing it on th
e pansy purple when we attended that first recreation center meeting.
I walked over to the corner table and introduced myself.
Bethany was already sipping some sort of foamed drink. “Why don’t you get some coffee and we can talk? It’s pretty quiet here this evening.”
It took me all of three or four minutes to place my order and return to the table. I thought Bethany might be nervous or uncomfortable, but she seemed relaxed and eager to chat.
“I suppose your office wants to know what I know about Sorrel, since we both served on the same board. Is that it?”
I squirmed in my seat, hoping she didn’t notice. “Sort of. It has more to do with the garden club.”
“Oh, that. I’m no longer in the garden club.”
“But you were in the club the day you all visited the Heard Museum.”
Bethany put her coffee cup down and didn’t say a word, forcing me to keep talking.
“At Sorrel’s memorial, a photo from that day at the museum was on display, and—”
“Oh dear Lord, you might as well know, I despised that woman. She was so self-righteous, it made me nauseous. But I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve never held a bow and arrow, and I don’t know anyone who has.”
“Um, er, no. I’m not thinking . . . I mean, my office isn’t thinking that. Not at all. But something was going on, and it might be important.”
Bethany looked around the room and waited until all of the customers were a good distance from us before she spoke. “I’ve known Frank Landrow since he first joined the garden club. A kind, considerate man, who happens to adore his wife, even if she’s a bit of a flirt with really expensive taste. Then along came Sorrel, and, somehow, he got caught up in her tree-hugging causes.”
“Huh?”
“Sorrel was always into some environmental effort to save the world. Anyway, it got worse. She dragged Frank into her peace and tie-dye schemes to the point where he was practically tethered to her. He stopped participating on our garden club committees and wouldn’t even take part in our annual plant sale, except for distributing flyers. Too busy, he told us. But it was Sorrel. I knew it. I finally couldn’t take it any longer, and, when she went to use the ladies’ room at the Heard, I had it out with her.”
“Oh my gosh. I bet that didn’t go well.”
“You bet right. She told me that Frank, and I quote, ‘had more idealistic goals than to burden himself with the trivialities of your garden club.’ That photo was taken a few minutes after we left the ladies’ room, and I was still steaming.”
“I can imagine.”
“There’s more. I finally was able to corner Frank alone. And that’s when I learned the truth. It was a business arrangement of sorts. Eleanor’s extravagant spending was putting a major strain on the Landrow finances. Somehow, Milquist got wind of it and was paying Frank to keep Sorrel occupied. I figured her own husband couldn’t stand her, so he had to pay someone else to put up with her. Guess he was too old-fashioned for a divorce, huh?”
Wow! Guess my discovery in Milquist’s drawer is right on the money.
“Bethany,” I said, and stood up to retrieve my coffee from the counter. “Do you know how Milquist and Frank knew each other?”
“Don’t you know? Oh, I suppose not if you’re asking me. They belonged to the same country club. Not the same membership status, but the same club.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Landrows are social members. The Harlans were, I mean, he still is, a proprietary member. Big difference.”
On my gosh. This is beginning to sound like Downton Abbey with the upstairs-downstairs classes.
Two men, who looked to be in their thirties, brushed by our table, and Bethany stopped talking momentarily.
When they started to place their orders, she continued, “I suppose you’re wondering how I know all of this. From Frank. That’s how. When he started telling me about the arrangement he had with Milquist, he unloaded everything. After losing an undisclosed amount of money at one of the country club’s card games, Frank was approached by Milquist with a proposition to buddy up with Sorrel, so to speak. And, since Eleanor was so preoccupied with her own activities, it seemed a relatively harmless thing for Frank to do. Until it got out of hand.”
I took another sip of my coffee and almost wished it was something stronger. “Out of hand?”
“I believe so. That’s what Frank was starting to tell me at the Heard when Sorrel reappeared. Then he clammed up, and I walked away.”
“Do you have any idea what he might’ve been referring to?”
“Wish I did. It might shed some light on who killed Sorrel.”
“What about Eleanor? Didn’t she resent all the time her husband spent with Sorrel?”
“I don’t think so. At least Frank didn’t think so when we spoke. Eleanor’s schedule was always jam-packed. Clothes shopping. Spa days. Workout days. Beauty parlor days. The only time she wasn’t indulging herself was when she went to visit her brother.”
For a split second, I wondered if that could’ve been the man she was with at La Mariposa’s the other night. “Her brother?”
“Yeah, according to Frank, the guy’s had all sorts of jobs around the valley. Some more embellished than others. He’s a prima donna like his sister. Frank’s not too impressed.”
“Do you know what the brother’s doing now?”
“Concierge services for a high-class condo in Paradise Valley. Frank has as little to do with him as possible. Let’s face it, Paradise Valley is the Mercedes of neighborhoods in the Phoenix area, and Eleanor’s brother is probably raking it in. Meanwhile, Frank’s struggling to keep his wife happy.”
“What an awful situation. I really feel bad for him. At least I can understand why he took Milquist up on that offer.”
Bethany stared into her coffee. “I suppose.”
“Oh, and one more thing. If you do find out what Frank meant when he said things were getting out of hand, would you call me?”
“Sure. Have you got a card?”
A card. A business card. Of course I had one. It said WILLIAMS INVESTIGATIONS, SOPHIE KIMBALL, ACCOUNTANT.
I reached in my bag and handed her my card. “There’s something you should know. I’m not an official investigator, but I do help out on their cases. I handle their accounting.”
Bethany gave me the oddest smile. “Then you probably know more than any of them. Nice meeting you, Phee.”
I was off the proverbial hook. Stretching the truth always made me uncomfortable. We’d only been at Starbucks a little while, but I was famished and couldn’t wait to get home. Funny, but I kept going over Augusta’s words the entire drive back to my house. “Common denominator.”
At least I knew for certain what the relationship between Milquist and Frank was all about. Still, I needed to find out how Edmund Wooster fit into the mix. If he fit in. Then there was the little cliffhanger Bethany tossed my way. What had gotten out of hand?
The blinking light on my answering machine was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the kitchen.
I’m not dealing with that now. I’m going to change into sweats, make myself a sandwich, and then press the message button.
A half hour later I looked at the caller ID to see if it was my mother plaguing me about something, or Marshall calling me, like he said he would. It was a fifty-fifty crap shoot and thankfully, Marshall won out. His message was short and to the point.
“Are you in the mood for company tonight? Give me a call.”
I had already washed off my makeup and put on my rattiest pair of sweats. The ones with holes in places I’d rather not mention. Technically, it wouldn’t be as if Marshall hadn’t seen me dressed down, so to speak, but I’d seen homeless people in downtown Phoenix who looked better than I did. Still, I was dying to know what he found out about the beige blur that nearly killed Myrna. I pushed the redial button and waited.
“Hey, Phee. When you didn’t re
turn my call right away, I figured you’d made plans for the evening.”
“Uh, not really. I just stopped for coffee on my way home.”
“Coffee? You must have the caffeine jitters by now.”
“Fine. I’m going to wind up telling you anyway, so I might as well tell you now. I was having coffee with—”
“Please tell me it was with a friend of yours and not a suspect.”
“I don’t have a list of suspects in front of me, so I really couldn’t say for sure.”
“Just spit it out already, will you?”
“Bethany Gillmore. From the rec center board. I was curious about that photo from the Heard Museum. Anyway, you knew I was going to call her. I decided to see her in person, that’s all.”
“And? Did you find out anything?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. That is, if you still feel like coming over.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Just a sandwich. A small one.”
“Well, don’t eat anything else. I’ll pick up something and see you in a little bit.”
The “something” turned out to be a double order of chicken wings, Arizona style with all the fixings from jalapeños to melted queso. In the forty or so minutes between the end of the call and the time Marshall arrived, I had changed into jeans and a decent shirt. I’d also reapplied a tad of makeup, mainly blush.
We dove into the meal as soon as he got here and didn’t talk about the case.
When we were left staring at a pile of chicken bones, Marshall finally said something. “Okay, now that we’ve made history of those wings, suppose you tell me about your meeting with Bethany Gillmore.”
I wasted no time. “I was right all along. That note from Milquist’s nightstand? She confirmed it. He was paying Frank. Kindred spirits, my you-know-what. But big deal. This isn’t getting anyone any closer to finding out who killed Sorrel. What did Nate learn about that Chevy Equinox? Did they catch the car thief ?”
“Oh, they caught him all right, and it had nothing to do with Myrna, Milquist, or Sorrel, for that matter. Seems it was some sort of gang initiation and Sun City West was a prime area for stealing a vehicle. Myrna was just the unlucky one who happened to get run off the road. The theft took place a while ago, but the owner didn’t know it. The owner was an eighty-year-old woman who was visiting relatives in Palm Springs. The woman lives in an apartment complex where they have carports, not garages. An easy spot for a would-be gang member to steal a car. And that’s exactly what happened.”
