Ditched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Uh. No. I suppose not.”

  “Well, Miss Kimball, I appreciate you being so obliging. I only wish the same could have been said about that ostentatious restaurant your aunt has catering her dinner. It’s simply an outrage that I have to work with that sniveling Roland LeDoux. The way that man puts on airs is beyond comprehension. Anyway, I am a professional and will conduct myself as such.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me, but my aunt wasn’t too specific. Who is Roland LeDoux?”

  “Roland is that prissy little owner of Saveur de Evangeline. He and I go way back. We both graduated from the same culinary school, Le Cordon Bleu, Paris.”

  “That’s quite impressive,” I said.

  “The school, yes. Roland, no. My staff and I will have to be watching our backs the entire time for fear he might do something to sabotage our desserts.”

  “What? Why on earth would he do that?”

  “Roland was quite distraught upon learning from your aunt that my establishment was chosen to provide the culinary pinnacle to the wedding. He doesn’t take failure well. Like I’ve said, we go way, way back.”

  “But selecting a different pastry chef is hardly failure.”

  “In our business, Miss Kimball, it most certainly is. Well, I must be on my way. It appears as though they have completed clearing the room. Please do not hesitate to call if you have any questions. My staff will be in touch.”

  Then Julien handed me a card that listed his name as well as his assistants’ and their private phone numbers. I thanked him and headed out the main door. I liked the idea of walking through an elegant lobby as if I was really one of the hotel guests.

  Chapter 5

  A small rotisserie chicken was waiting for me back home in the fridge, along with a bag of premade salad. After all the running around with Aunt Ina’s wedding preparations, I envisioned a quiet Thursday night. Relieved that Julien would leave it up to his staff to deal with my aunt’s “pastry aviary,” and satisfied that Shirley seemed to be all set with the idea of a fascinator in lieu of a hat, I was operating under the misguided perception I was home free. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  As soon as I got in the door, the beeping of my answering machine greeted me. Aunt Ina! Did Julien call her as soon as I left the hotel to tell her I wasn’t up to the task of selecting pastry fillings? No, he made it clear he preferred to not deal with her either. And I seriously doubted Shirley would call her without first showing me the designs for fascinators. Besides, it was too soon. No one could sew that fast.

  I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my meal with my aunt’s unanswered call hanging over my head. So I did the only logical thing. I gobbled down a Milky Way and called her back.

  “Phee! Oh, Phee! Everything is spiraling all around me. Thank God for Louis. That man is a saint. At least we don’t have to worry about the music.”

  We? What “we”? She’d better mean her and her future husband.

  “He’s arranged for a string quartet that will play instrumentals from the classic composers.”

  I began to relax and listen. At least she didn’t ask me to pick out the music, since I didn’t know the difference between Chopin and Brahms. Any of my high school music teachers would have been more than happy to attest to that.

  “That’s great, Aunt Ina. So why are you so flustered?”

  “I’m not flustered, I’m inundated. The sheer number of decisions and choices that have to be made would exhaust anyone. That’s why I called you. You can handle these kinds of things, Phee. You’ve got patience and composure. Normally I wouldn’t ask, but if I have to deal with those dreadful tent people one more time, my doctor will need to increase my blood pressure medicine. I swear my heart palpitates every time I think about them.”

  The tent company. The dreadful tent company. I know where this is going. It’s like watching a train wreck and not being able to turn away.

  “Can’t you hire another company? One that doesn’t upset you?”

  My aunt let out a long, long sigh.

  “Oh, Phee. You don’t know the half of it. This is the third tent company I’ve consigned. The third! I canceled contracts with the other two because they were unbearable.”

  “Uh, um . . . It doesn’t sound like this one’s much better.”

  “At this late date, I’m afraid it’s the only one available. So, will you handle it?”

  “Handle it? Handle what?”

  “Why, the arrangements, of course. I thought I made myself clear. I cannot allow those tent people to get me worked up into such a state I’ll be falling apart on my wedding day. All I need you to do, Phee, is to meet with them in order to decide on the exact location of the tent. Of course it will be in Petroglyph Plaza, but where? You have to take into account the horizon, the sunrise, the ruins. . . .”

  “That’s all? Just pick a spot?”

  “For the tent, yes. I’ve already selected the color—a nice chromatic shade of floral white. Then there’s the tables, the chairs.... I haven’t decided between bistro chairs and tables or the round ones. Forget those long rectangular tables. It’s a wedding, not a prison cafeteria.”

  “Aunt Ina, how many people are coming?”

  “A small number. Between sixty and seventy. Louis has many, many connections. Of course, I haven’t heard back from everyone yet.”

  Seventy isn’t a small number and they probably don’t know how to respond to that wedding invitation!

  “Are you sure there’s no one else who can help you with this? I’m sure my mothe—”

  Before I could finish the word, Aunt Ina finished my thought. “Your mother has already agreed to work with the florist.”

  “What? I thought you didn’t want her to get involved with the arrangements.”

  “Oh, not with food or music. Goodness. We’d all wind up listening to the ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ while we eat box lunches from the day-old bread store!”

  Aunt Ina wasn’t far from wrong. My mother was known for her frugality, from reusing aluminum foil and napkins to refusing to use an appliance during peak hours, even if it meant staying up all night to do the laundry or the cooking.

  “So, Aunt Ina, why is Mom working with the florist?”

  “Oh. That. Time constraints. And temperament. I do not have the time to put up with those temperamental people at Budding Over. Your mother would be much better suited for that. Besides, the only thing she has to do is select the table arrangements and the flowers that will be strewn on the pathway from the Petroglyph Plaza to the wedding canopy. Oh, the canopy! I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with that as well. The tent people are in charge of the canopy.”

  “Will the canopy need flowers?” I hoped she didn’t notice my voice cracking. It was bad enough having to juggle pastries, a hat, and now the tents, let alone work with my mother, should the canopy need flowers.

  “Oh, no, no, no. The canopy will be covered in lace and ribbons.”

  The tension in my shoulders started to ease up for a brief second. Then I realized I still wasn’t off the hook regarding the tents.

  “So all I have to do is pick a spot for the tent and finalize the tables and chairs?”

  “That’s all. And don’t let Jake or Everett Felton tell you they cannot acquire a floral white tent and matching canopy.”

  “Jake and Everett Felton?”

  “Yes. The owners of Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings. They’re located in Phoenix. Here’s the number. I’ll hold on while you get a pencil.”

  I wrote down the number and told my aunt this was positively the last thing I could help with, regarding the wedding. “My boss just took on a major case and I’m afraid I’m going to be spending a great deal of time in the office. It’s not only the accounting I handle. I also do the contracts, the billing, payroll, and all sorts of related tasks.”

  “I thought you had an office secretary.”

  “Oh, we do. Augusta. Nice lady from Wisconsin. Grew up on a dairy farm. Bu
t she’s only part-time and handles the daily receptionist stuff, the ordering, and some correspondence.”

  “I see. So, what’s this major case?”

  “Well, we’re not supposed to talk about details, but it has something to do with that man who was found dead on those river rocks at Grandview Golf Course.”

  “Yes, my Louis knew of the victim. Is that the right word? Is he a victim? Anyway, this Theodore Sizemore was quite wealthy. Some sort of investor and restauranteur. Lived in Sun City West on Millionaire’s Row.”

  “Millionaire’s Row? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s not an official name. It’s a nickname for those million-dollar houses near the country club. That poor, poor man. No one deserves to die all sprawled out on a bed of rocks waiting for the coyotes or javelina to get them. And you know what? My Louis had a premonition about it. There was supposed to be some sort of golf tournament that day and Louis was all set to go watch it. Then, for some reason, he said he had a bad feeling about it and decided to stay home.”

  “Uh-huh.” I wanted to get off the phone, but Aunt Ina kept going on and on.

  “My Louis was right. Something bad did happen. You know, Phee, I’m fortunate to be marrying a man who has not only one foot in the physical world but the other in the psychic one as well.”

  At the mere mention of the word “psychic,” I dredged up all sorts of visions from my last experience with one—Vivian Knowlton from the show Psychic Divas. She was as much a psychic as I was a brain surgeon. I didn’t say anything to Aunt Ina, but something about this wasn’t right. And I was no psychic.

  The next morning I hashed this over with Nate as we both made our usual coffees before opening the office door.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He tossed the empty K-cup into the trash. “You think your future uncle might have had something to do with the deceased? Theodore Sizemore?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to make an outright accusation. . . .”

  “That’s a good thing, because you have no evidence whatsoever.”

  “Come on, Nate. Hear me out. My future uncle Louis might have been involved with this guy. My aunt didn’t come right out and say it, but something seems fishy to me. Aunt Ina wasn’t left in poverty when Uncle Harm passed away, but she was never a wealthy woman. Sure, she has the pension and his life insurance, but that isn’t a fortune. Now all of a sudden she has money to blow as if she won the lottery. Seriously. You can’t believe what this wedding is going to cost.”

  Next thing I knew, I was babbling on and on about the one-of-a-kind pastry birds, the fancy French restaurant and chromatic tent colors, pausing between breaths to reiterate my concern about Louis’s relationship with the deceased. The very wealthy deceased. Nate looked at me as if I’d stepped off a spaceship.

  “Yeah, Phee. I can see where this is going. Still, it doesn’t reek of foul play. I mean, her fiancé might be reaping the benefits of good financial planning and some strong investments. Where did you say he worked?”

  “That’s just it. Aunt Ina wasn’t too specific, only that he’s a saxophone player who performed on cruise ships with a number of different bands over the years. Believe it or not, the guy only retired a year ago. Um . . . look, Nate, I wouldn’t ask you this if I thought I was letting my imagination get the best of me, but could you run a background check on the guy? Find out if he had any business dealings with Theodore Sizemore?”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask. Yeah, for you, kiddo, I’ll do it. What’s his name?”

  “Louis Melinsky. Age seventy-six. Married three times, according to my mother. And there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t think Louis Melinsky is his real name. I paid fourteen ninety-five to We Verify and ran a background check late last night. All it gave me was recent information and assurance that he didn’t have a criminal background. No arrests. Nothing. Shouldn’t a report have more than that?”

  Nate started to laugh. “You got the one-size-fits-all version.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first, but I couldn’t get to sleep and thought I could find out where his money was coming from.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t sweat it. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Just then the phone rang and I went to get it. “Thanks, Nate. I owe you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll put it on your tab.”

  Chapter 6

  The next week or so was a blur. Nate was up to his elbows with the Theodore Sizemore investigation, and I was up to my neck with my aunt’s wedding preparations and my mother’s crazed obsession about a lunatic killer stalking the golf courses.

  Meanwhile, Augusta came down with an awful cold, and I wound up doing double time between my workload and handling the receptionist/secretarial duties. By the time Augusta got back to work in the middle of the week, I was exhausted. To make matters worse, Nate simply didn’t have time to run a full background check on Louis Melinsky. It would have to wait.

  I did, however, manage to bask in a few “Aunt Ina” free days, but that was short-lived. It was Wednesday afternoon when I got back from a quick lunch at In-n-Out Burger. No sooner did I step into the office than Augusta broke the blissful bubble I’d been living in.

  “You have two calls, Phee. One from your mother and one from someone named Antoine. Your mother wants you to call her back. Said, and I quote, ‘What’s the point of having a cell phone if you’re going to turn it off?’”

  “Ugh. What about the other call?”

  “That one I don’t understand. I wrote it down. Here it is. He said, ‘Miss Kimball needs to render a decision regarding the bird legs.’ He left you his personal number.”

  Then Augusta leaned forward and stared straight at me. I could tell she was dying to know what that meant but, for the life of me, I wasn’t so sure either.

  “Uh, okay. I’ll call him back.”

  “And your mother. She sounded irritated.”

  “That’s nothing new, Augusta. Thanks.”

  I decided to get it over with and return both calls, starting with the most onerous one.

  “Hi, Mom. I can only talk for a second since I’m at work. What’s up?”

  “The sheriff’s office arranged for an extra deputy to patrol around my block.”

  “That’s great. Now you don’t have to worry.”

  “Of course I do. That’s beside the point. Now listen. I called because I need you to stop by the house after work. Lucinda and I . . . you remember my friend Lucinda Espinoza from the book club? Anyway, Lucinda agreed to help me out with the floral arrangements for your aunt’s wedding and we wanted your opinion about the table arrangements. And the bouquet. And the hand-strewn flowers for the path.”

  Geez! What don’t you want me to do? “I’m sure whatever you and Lucinda pick will be fine. I’m kind of swamped right now with my own stuff.”

  “This will only take a few minutes. You have to pass by here on your way home, anyway. Unless you have other plans. Do you have other plans? Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No, Mother. I don’t have other plans. And I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Fine. Then it’s all settled. See you later, sweetheart.”

  The call was over before I could utter a syllable. I had to think faster next time. Come up with an excuse before she started in. Glancing at the calendar across my desk, I noted that the wedding was only a few weeks away and nothing was close to being finalized.

  Aunt Ina was right about one thing, though. The tent people were dreadful. Her words. Not mine. Mine would have included “rude,” “surly,” “coarse,” “crude,” and “unsavory.” My conversation with them last week didn’t go over too well either.

  “White is white. Lady. You want white. We got white. That don’t work, we’ve got olive green and striped.”

  “The tent needs to be a billowy, formal kind of tent. The canopy, too.”

  “We’ve got canvas.
And we’ve got canvas.”

  “My aunt specifically requested something formal. This is a wedding, not a campout.”

  “You want formal, I’ve got to order it special. Cost you more. Hold on. Let me let you talk to Everett. He’s the one who knows about that stuff.”

  “Fine. Anything.”

  “Yeah, this is Everett. So, I can get you silk, satin, textured, sheer, whatever. You’re paying.”

  “Um, okay. Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Make it quick. Takes three weeks to order it.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Mr. Felton. Oh, and since I’m ordering it special, can you get me the floral white?”

  “Yeah, if they’ve got it. Otherwise, white.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. When did you want to meet me at Petroglyph Plaza to figure out where to put the tent?”

  “I ain’t meeting you. I think Jake is. Hold on. I’ll get him.”

  “Yeah, this is Jake. I heard Everett. I can meet you ’bout a week or two before that wedding. Ain’t such a big deal. The tent’s either going to open up vertical or horizontal.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you a call tomorrow about the texture.”

  “Yeah. Don’t forget. We get busy. Especially this time of year. Graduations, weddings, jamborees.”

  I was so unnerved by the end of the call that I forgot to ask about the canopy. I’d wait until the next day to do that.

  Now, leaning back in my chair, I stretched out my legs and took a deep breath before returning Antoine’s call. He was Julien Rossier’s assistant from La Petite Pâtisserie, and I knew this call wasn’t going to be an easy one either.

  “Ah, Miss Kimball. Delighted to speak with you.”

  Maybe I can get out of this conversation unscathed. He sounds nice.

  “According to my dossier, you have neglected to select the composition for the birds’ legs. Oh dear. Oh dear. I see you have failed to select the beaks as well. No fear. No never minds. We can do that right now, or if you’d prefer, you can stop in for a tasting.”