by J. C. Eaton
“I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’ll be okay.”
“You’re going to the hospital!” came a voice I didn’t expect. Marshall’s. He was running toward me.
In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed his car pulling up.
“None of this is my fault. I tried to call you. Nate, too.”
“I know. I know.” He put his arms around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him.
I inhaled that crisp apple scent from his aftershave and didn’t budge.
“It’s okay, Phee. Let them take you to the hospital and check you out. I’ll follow the ambulance once it gets here.”
“How did you . . . I mean, when did you . . . ?”
“I was in the shower when you called. And I didn’t check the phone for voice mail. It was only when Augusta called that I saw your message. By then she had already notified the sheriff.”
“What about Nate? Does he know what happened?”
“He’s on his way, but I’m going to call him and have him meet us at the hospital. He was in Glendale on another case when Augusta finally reached him.”
The EMTs were escorting Brent to the first ambulance, and I heard more sirens heading our way.
Marshall put his arm around my waist and pulled me off the car frame. “I’m opening the back door of this car so you can sit down. Come on.”
“I’ll be all right. But my head is killing me.” I touched the base of my skull and the bump scared the daylights out of me. “My God! What did he hit me with?”
“You didn’t say anything about being hit. I thought maybe you had some trauma from the car accident. Oh, Phee, I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be all right. Honest.”
In that instant, another vehicle pulled up. A van this time, and as soon as I read the four letters on its side door, I knew I was in trouble. KPHO—CBS’s Channel Five News. The station my mother always watched before she went to bed.
“My God! How did they get here so fast? Oh no! There’s more of them. I see the ABC 15 van. And NBC 12. Oh crap. There’s Fox 10. What time is it?”
“Five minutes past ten.”
The nausea came back, and this time it wasn’t from my head injury. “Five after ten? They’ll be live with ‘Breaking News.’ Any way we can stop them?”
Marshall shook his head as four reporters, dragging long cables and mics from their vans, approached us. One by one they started with a similar statement “And we’re live from the outskirts of Wittman, where authorities say one woman is lucky to be alive following a foiled abduction.”
I tugged at Marshall’s sleeve and whispered, “Please call my mother and keep her on the line.”
* * *
Sure enough, I was lucky to be alive. I’d suffered a moderate concussion, and, because my nausea wouldn’t quit, I had to remain at the hospital overnight for observation. It turned out Brent Haywood had hit me over the head with a golf club. No wonder I was sick to my stomach.
The sheriff’s department was able to get a full confession out of him once they brought in Edmund Wooster for questioning. And while Brent and Edmund were getting interrogated by the authorities, I had my own version sitting across from me in the hospital. At two-thirty in the morning!
“What did Marshall think? That I couldn’t see the TV screen while I was on the phone? You’re all lucky I didn’t have a heart attack. Imagine seeing your own daughter looking dazed and pale in the backseat of some strange car. You should’ve walked back into Bagels ’N More the minute you were done listening to those men. We all would’ve followed you to Eloise’s house.”
“If Eloise Frable had looked out her front door and saw the entire entourage from Booked 4 Murder standing there, I doubt she would’ve opened the door. Besides, Brent was following me. If he didn’t nab me in front of her house, it would’ve been somewhere else. But it’s over, Mom. I’ll be fine. And the good news is that Sorrel’s killer has been apprehended.”
“Remind me to email your aunt Ina and let her know it’s safe to return from Belize.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know, if it wasn’t for the sheriff’s department being able to track your cell phone and that ONSTAR system, you’d probably still be in the desert. Which got me thinking. What if something happens to Streetman? What if he gets loose? I know he has a tag and a microchip, but still . . .”
Dear Lord! Is she really obsessing over the dog?
“So, I’ve made a decision. I’m buying him one of those GPS trackers for dogs. It goes on his collar and sends the information right to my smartphone.”
“You have a smartphone?”
“I’ll get one.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back on the pillow.
My mother took the hint. “I know you must be tired, sweetheart. If you want me to stay here with you, I will. Otherwise, I’ll be back in the morning.”
“That’s okay. They’ll be releasing me tomorrow. Marshall’s going to pick me up and drive me home. He and Nate have already taken care of driving my car home, and he’ll be bringing me my bag tomorrow when he comes to get me.”
“Well, at least you’ll have a nice weekend to recuperate. I’ll stop by with Streetman so you’ll have some company. We can even stay the weekend with you if you’d like.”
He better not pee on the carpeting, or I’ll lose my security deposit.
Sometime before four, my mother left the room and I fell asleep. I don’t even remember the nurses coming in to check my blood pressure or to make sure I was still breathing. At seven fifteen I made one phone call. To thank Augusta.
“Didn’t think you needed a circus sideshow, so I didn’t go to the hospital last night,” she said.
“Augusta, you saved my life. You absolutely saved my life. I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“You already did. Get some rest. Milk it while you can. I’ll see you on Monday. No, make it Tuesday. Milk it. Understand?”
The hospital released me a little before noon, and Marshall drove me home. The deputies had found my cell phone a few yards away from the crash site by calling the number Marshall had given them. Other than a few scratches on the case, it didn’t appear to have suffered any damage. Unlike Brent’s car, which, according to Marshall, had the whole front end smashed in from that saguaro.
Marshall insisted on staying with me the entire weekend, and I wasn’t about to object. Otherwise, it would’ve been my mother and Streetman. And knowing how she doted on that dog, I might’ve been forced to relinquish my bed to him.
Lyndy dropped by that evening and brought two casseroles. Nate showed up a little while later with submarine sandwiches and chips.
Adhering to my discharge instructions from the hospital, I ate the tiniest of portions while watching everyone else devour the meal. Thanks to some pain meds, my headache was dissipating. And thanks to my decision to join the Booked 4 Murder ladies at Bagels ’N More that Thursday night, the bigger headache, Sorrel’s murder, was solved. Not the way I wanted it to be solved, but solved nevertheless.
As things turned out, Rolo Barnes uncovered some startling information on one Brent Haywood, and if I’d only waited a day, I wouldn’t have wound up with a concussion.
Chapter 33
Marshall was waiting on me hand and foot, and I was beginning to feel guilty. Especially when he had to field the phone calls. I wasn’t sure which ones were worse—the book club ladies, Herb’s pinochle crew, or the news stations requesting interviews.
Meanwhile, Nate and Augusta were at the office dealing with reporters. Once again, Williams Investigations was credited for solving another murder, making it the second one in less than a week. Good news for business.
It was noon, and I was finishing a BLT that Marshall had prepared, when the phone rang. With his hand over the speaker, he whispered, “It’s Shirley Johnson. Do you want to take it?”
“Might as well,” I whispered back, before taking the phone and saying hi to Shirley.
“Lordy, Ph
ee! You had us all scared. I’m so glad you’re alive. The news keeps playing that clip of you being led to the ambulance.”
I’d seen the clip she was talking about on the early news and almost wished I had another concussion so I wouldn’t have to deal with that reality. I looked like one of those washed-up movie stars on her way to rehab for the tenth time. Only my hair looked worse.
“Um, yeah. It was pretty bad, but I’m doing fine.”
“That’s wonderful. I called to tell you Lucinda and I got in touch with all the women, and we coordinated meal service for you. I can stop by today with my sweet potato casserole and beans.”
“That’s very sweet of you and the ladies, Shirley, but—”
“Say no more. I’ll be by around four. I got your address from your mother.”
“Um, I—”
“Till then, hon.”
“Don’t tell me,” Marshall said. “They’re bringing food.”
“Oh yeah. Sweet potato casserole and beans. And we still have Lyndy’s tuna casserole and most of her noodle and raisin one.”
“Hey, what can I say? You’re a popular lady.”
I smiled and finished the last bite of my BLT as Marshall pulled up a chair.
“I’ve got to say, you’ve got some knack for being in the right place at the right time. Well, maybe the wrong place, considering the circumstances, but even with the information Rolo gave us, we would’ve been hard-pressed to get a confession out of Brent Haywood.”
“What exactly did Rolo find out? And when?”
“Believe it or not, he called just as I was getting into the shower Thursday. Talk about timing. Anyway, it turns out Brent Haywood honed his archery skills as a competitive archer in high school. From there, he earned extra money on weekend jobs working the Renaissance Festival in Ir-windale, California. He was so good they gave him top billing at shows. With that money, he was able to put himself through college. He majored in recreation with a concentration in golf course management. Need I say more?”
“Wow. And all this time we hadn’t a clue. In fact, we all dismissed Myrna’s ramblings about the golf course manager poking around the perimeter of the course.”
“Let’s not beat ourselves up too much. As I recall, Myrna was pretty hysterical about almost anything. Listen, before I forget, the sheriff’s department called while you were asleep this morning. They need to take an official statement.”
“I thought I did that already.”
“You gave them a statement, but it was while you were still sitting in the back of Brent’s car, before getting into the ambulance. They need to have you complete and sign one at the posse station, but I told them you were home recuperating. So, they’ll be sending a deputy by today. If we’re lucky, it’ll be at the same time Shirley arrives with the casserole. That should speed things up.”
Unfortunately, the timing was off for that, too. The deputy arrived about an hour later. Deputy Bowman, to be precise. The one Herb said had the personality of a tomato. But I liked Deputy Bowman, even though he was all business. From the minute he arrived at my house, the only thing he talked about was Brent’s arrest.
“Looks like everything adds up. Brent Haywood finally confessed to the kidnapping but insisted all he wanted to do was scare you.”
“Tell him it worked.”
“Don’t worry. He’s been booked on numerous charges ranging from premeditated murder to kidnapping. Oh, and reckless driving resulting in the damage of a protected species. Destroying a saguaro carries a fine in the thousands.”
“Gee,” I said. “Did he feel the least bit bad about killing Sorrel Harlan?”
“I doubt it. It was all about money. The guy had such a lucrative position managing a number of prestigious golf courses, he wasn’t about to let it go. Getting rid of Sorrel was the most expeditious thing he could do.”
“My God! Murder?”
“It was business, as far as he was concerned, and he handled it efficiently and smoothly. Until he got caught. That’s when he panicked and you wound up in the desert. Well, looks like I’ve got everything I need. Try to keep out of trouble, okay?”
I raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You’ve met my mother, haven’t you? I don’t know how you can possibly say that.”
This time Deputy Bowman laughed as he shook my hand and Marshall’s before heading out.
“One down, one to go,” Marshall said, looking at his watch.
“Shirley?”
“Unless your mother decides to stop by.”
“Bite your tongue. Did she say she was coming? Did you talk to her while I was sleeping?”
“No, but she mentioned something while you were in the hospital.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are there any other calls or anything else I should know?”
“The CEO of Golfscapes issued a statement to the media. It was on the local stations early in the morning. The usual stuff. The company was shocked and dismayed at Brent Haywood’s actions, which they insist had nothing to do with their corporation. They offered condolences to Sorrel Harlan’s family and wished a speedy recovery to Sophie Kimball, who remains in their thoughts.”
“I’ll bet. They’re probably scrambling right now to meet with their legal counsel.”
“I’m sure. And Milquist Harlan should be doing the same. Poor guy. To think he was on our top ten suspect list. With the right amount of finagling, a good attorney might be able to secure some sort of settlement for the guy. Although nothing will bring his wife back.”
In spite of her quirks, I imagined Sorrel was a kind and decent human being who didn’t deserve to be killed out of greed. As for Brent? It was up to the justice system, and that would take time.
Marshall stayed at my house until Monday morning and insisted on returning once he got out of work. I wasn’t going back into the office until Tuesday. Doctor’s orders. I had to admit, having Marshall around all weekend was something I could get used to on a permanent basis. I knew he felt the same way. It was only a matter of time, but I wasn’t going to be the one to rush it. No surprise, I felt his absence once he returned to his own place. And he wasn’t the only one who’d returned to the proverbial nest. My aunt Ina and uncle Louis came back a few days later from Belize.
I wasn’t sure what my mother told her sister, but not only did I receive a frantic phone call from Aunt Ina, it was followed by an onslaught of deliveries. Fruit baskets. Muffin baskets. Homemade soup (the restaurant kind) and a fabulous gift certificate for a day spa. Being a celebrity, of sorts, had its perks. At least for a while.
In the week that followed, things were getting back to normal in Sun City West. Well, normal for my mother, the book club ladies, and Herb’s pinochle cronies. No alien sightings. No rumors of serial killers, and, most of all, no mention of the eco-friendly parks. Unfortunately, all of that changed ten days later. On a Wednesday night. With a phone call from my mother.
“The board meeting is this coming Monday. At seven. Will you be going?”
“What? No. Why? Why should I go?”
“They’ll be voting on that cockamamie eco-friendly park idea. Just because Sorrel has been laid to rest, it doesn’t mean her plan was. And now that her killer has been caught, those pro-park board members won’t be afraid to open their mouths.”
“Didn’t you say it was a split vote?”
“A few weeks ago it was. But rumor has it, Mildred Saperstein has been spending a lot of time with Barry Wong.”
“Rumor has it? Rumor? Come on, since when does that count for anything?”
“It always counts for something.”
“I thought you told me Barry was adamantly against that proposal.”
“One look at a fancy skirt passing by, and a man can change his mind in a second.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake! Mildred may have the fancy skirt, but I doubt she’s convincing Barry of anything. For all you know, they’re probably in the same club or something. And wasn’t the board going to appoint another member?�
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“After the vote. Plus, new appointees can’t vote for thirty days. Ugh! That imbecilic proposal has to be voted down. If it goes into a tie, they can bring it up again.”
“And what good will it do if I go?”
“You may get the sympathy vote.”
“Huh? The what?”
“You risked your life to find Sorrel’s killer. Maybe say a few words when they have open comments. Tell them you’re speaking on my behalf since you’re not a resident.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort. Seriously, I can’t fight this battle.”
“Then the least you can do is show up and watch the carnage. I’m afraid even Herb Garrett is giving up. He called this afternoon to tell me if it all goes down, he has a cousin in real estate who lives in The Villages, and it wouldn’t take much for the guy to get us all deals on property there.”
“Property where?”
“The Villages! That’s Florida, for crying out loud. Home of cockroaches the size of most small mammals and worse humidity than the rain forest. Are you listening, Phee?”
“I’m listening, but I’m not agreeing to attend the meeting, let alone speak.”
“Fine. Fine. You don’t have to say anything. Just sit there and look despondent. No, not despondent. Angry. Look angry. Last thing a governing board wants to see is a room full of hostile people. You can look hostile, can’t you?”
“I’m looking hostile right now. I’ll catch you later, Mom.”
Chapter 34
In the four days that followed, not only was I plagued by my mother’s insistence that I attend the board meeting, but some of the book club ladies called as well. Cecilia told me it was the Godly thing to do. Shirley told me it would break my mother’s heart if I didn’t attend. Myrna told me she couldn’t afford to have her property value go down, or she’d never be able to sell the place and move to The Lillian, a prestigious retirement resort, when “the time was right.”
If that wasn’t bad enough, Bill left a message for me at work. Something about World War II, fighting for his country, and the rights that belonged to him. I wasn’t sure where golf courses fit in the Constitution, but I think he mentioned that as well. Finally, when Wayne called to tell me “life will be over as we know it,” I charged into Marshall’s office and threw my hands in the air.
