by J. C. Eaton
“So you think it might have been the person responsible for Theodore Sizemore’s death?”
“Given the time frame of when those perennials were planted and when the ladies discovered the damage, it certainly fits.”
“Whoa. So now what?”
“Now I’m really stuck. Closer, but stuck. It was right before dawn and no one heard or saw anything. Even if someone noticed a car going down the block, it wouldn’t provide me with much information. The only recourse I have is to keep talking with people like Herb to drum up information and make connections. And, of course, I’ll need to see the sheriff’s reports for late that night and early the next morning. In fact, I put a call in and someone’s going to meet with me in a little while.”
“Lucky you.”
“Only if I get somewhere with this. Hey, before I forget, I lucked out with the deadbeat dad case I was working and found the guy less than twenty miles from here in Goodyear. Wish they were all that easy. Anyway, I’ve got some infidelity surveillance to do later in the day, so I won’t be back in the office until tomorrow. If anything comes up, call my cell.”
“No problem. Augusta and I will be fine.”
We were. A few walk-ins inquired about our services and someone actually mistook me for an investigator. The woman started to give me an entire history about her jealous ex-boyfriend and her drained bank account when I finally explained it was Nate Williams she needed to see.
“Really?” the woman asked. “I assumed you were a detective. You have that look about you.”
“That look?”
“You know. Confident. Capable.”
Practically beaming, I pushed my shoulders back, until the blades of my back pinched together.
The woman went on. “Plus, you have your own office.”
So that was it. The real reason. I was hoping she’d say I reminded her of Kate Beckett or even Jane Rizzoli but no, it was because I had my own office. I took the woman’s information and told her Nate would call her in the morning.
“Rest assured,” I said. “My boss has plenty of training, experience, and motivation.”
As she left the office, I thought about what I had on my docket and felt nauseous. My “client” list consisted of a hysterical woman with a fast-approaching wedding, a meddlesome mother, and a dead master chef. Worse yet, none of those were paying clients.
Chapter 12
The heat was really starting to climb in the valley and I couldn’t wait to get into a bathing suit and head over to the pool as soon as I got home from work. What I didn’t expect were two phone calls within five minutes of each other as Augusta and I were closing up for the day.
The first was from Shirley Johnson, who had turned on the late afternoon news to see a photo of Roland LeDoux across the screen as the announcer explained who the man was and why the authorities believed he had been murdered.
“Oh Lordy, Phee! I hate to call you at work, but I saw the most dreadful news. Dreadful, I tell you. Your aunt’s chef didn’t accidently die of a snakebite. I mean, he did succumb to a snakebite, but someone forced him down into that ditch. The same ditch we’re all going to be looking at during your aunt’s wedding.”
“Is that what they said on the news? That they think someone forced him into the ditch?”
“Not in so many words, mind you, but they don’t believe he was walking around down there on his own and asked if anyone had any information to call Silent Witness.”
“Was that all they said?”
“There’s more. They have no idea how he got there. Do you think he was kidnapped and forced into the ditch at gunpoint?”
“Um . . . that sounds a little extreme, don’t you think?”
Then again, Shirley might have been on to something. Roland’s car was at his condo and there was no sign of his Ducati. At first I thought it might have been a theft, but why would the motorcycle keys be lying a few inches from his body? A thief would certainly need those to steal the bike. So, where was it? Plus, no one could explain what the guy was doing there at such an ungodly hour in the morning.
“Your poor aunt Ina. She must be beside herself.”
“Don’t worry. She’s managing. She’s got everyone doing her bidding and enjoying every minute of it. Speaking of which, how’s that fascinator coming along?”
“That was the other reason I called. I finished it last night and I think it’ll be perfect. You can see it for yourself if you want to stop by after work today.”
“Gee, I, er . . . I had other plans, Shirley. How about if I give you a call this week and we can set something up.”
“That’ll be fine, sweetie. Just fine. Oh, and one more thing. You don’t think whoever killed that chef is trying to sabotage the wedding, do you? I know I’m letting my imagination get the best of me, but I don’t need anyone coming after me because I designed the wedding hat. Lord Almighty, I don’t need that.”
Shirley wasn’t merely “going off the deep end,” she was jumping into a mile-long abyss. I tried not to laugh, but honestly, sabotage my aunt’s wedding? Who on earth would want to do that? Who would care if a seventy-four-year-old woman has found her “eternal bliss”?
“No, Shirley, I really, really don’t think anyone’s trying to thwart the wedding. And besides, other than my aunt and my mother, no one knows you’re making that hat.”
“Ohh . . . what a relief. It’s good talking with you, Phee. You take the worry out of everything. Now you have a good evening. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I felt as if I’d just run the half marathon after that call when the next one came in. Compared to the first, I was now in the triathlon.
“Phee! It’s me. Your mother.”
“I know who you are, Mom. You sound frantic. What’s going on?”
“The sheriff’s deputies picked up Cecilia and Myrna again for more questioning. They’re at the sheriff’s posse station in Sun City West. I don’t care what plans you have for this evening. You need to drive straight over there the minute you get out of work. It must be really bad this time.”
“Mother, the deputies probably have more questions that they didn’t think of the first time around. That happens in these investigations. Your friends haven’t been arrested. Right? They didn’t say they were arrested, did they?”
“Myrna called. Cecilia was too hysterical. Myrna said no one read them their rights, so she figured they weren’t under arrest.”
“Good. Very good. Look, I’ll be out of here in a few minutes and I’ll head over to the posse station. Okay?”
“Call me the minute you hear anything.”
So much for a leisurely swim and nice salad. I pictured myself stuck at the posse station with nothing but a vending machine. I wasn’t far from wrong.
I told Augusta I had more wedding dilemmas and raced out of the place, leaving her to lock up. Technically, I was telling the truth, even if I was stretching it a bit. It all started with my aunt Ina getting the book club ladies involved in wedding preparations.
With the bulk of the snowbirds out of the area, traffic was light, and I made it to the Sun City West posse station in less than a half hour. The large beige building that occupied the entire corner of a community strip mall looked to be the only place open. The Foundation Center and resale shop had already closed. Only two sheriff’s deputy cars were in the lot. A quiet evening, I assumed.
Cecilia and Myrna were sitting in the back of the room in what looked like a small waiting area. The air-conditioning was on full tilt. Cecilia had her black cardigan buttoned up to the neck, and Myrna, who was wearing a short-sleeved blouse, was rubbing her forearms to keep warm. A heavyset deputy with thinning hair was seated at the computer desk by the front windows. He gave me a nod as I walked in and announced I was here to see my friends.
Immediately, Cecilia stood up and waved me over. “Phee! Thank God you made it! I think they’re going to interrogate us. Myrna and I told the deputy on duty we weren’t going to say anything until you got her
e.”
“Um, Cecilia . . . Does he think I’m your legal counsel?”
The sheepish look on her face gave me the answer.
“Geez, ladies. I can’t pass myself off as your lawyer. I can be arrested. Look, let me speak to the deputy on duty and see what I can find out.”
Myrna pointed to a small office behind us and I knocked on the door.
“Remember what I said—stay seated and wait for me to come out. Okay?”
Both of them nodded and then began whispering to each other. I could have sworn I saw Cecilia take a rosary out of her purse, but I could have been mistaken. It was at that very second the deputy opened the door and motioned for me to step inside.
“You must be Miss Kimball. Ms. Flanagan and Mrs. Mittleson refused to say a word until you got here. It’s not as if they’re in any kind of trouble whatsoever, but neither of them would give me a chance to explain. As soon as they were called and informed that a deputy was going to bring them to the station, the only thing they kept repeating was, and I quote, ‘We have rights. We’re citizens.’ Then one of them started talking about the Geneva Convention. They’re not wartime criminals. They’re not even criminals. Listen, maybe you can explain to them they didn’t need to retain counsel.”
“I’m so sorry, sir, but I’m not their lawyer. They happen to be friends of my mother. I’m Phee Kimball with Williams Investigations, in Glendale. Actually, Peoria. We’re on the border of the two cities. Oh, and I’m not a private investigator either.” I was babbling. “I’m their bookkeeper. Not the ladies’, the investigative firm’s.”
The sheriff’s deputy rubbed his eyes and moved his hands down his cheeks before clasping his palms together in an audible clap. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe you can explain to those two ladies we have some follow-up questions regarding the night they saw Mr. LeDoux. We understand they arrived as the restaurant was closing, but anything they might have overheard between Mr. LeDoux and his staff or customers would be quite helpful.”
“I’m sure they’ll be willing to tell you. That is, if they heard anything or if they can remember what they heard.”
I swear the deputy was about to laugh, but he quickly turned the other way.
“Give me a minute,” I said. “We’ll be right in.”
Sitting upright on those industrial chairs, Cecilia and Myrna looked like two schoolgirls caught cheating on a test.
I rushed over to tell them the truth. “It’s okay! It’s okay. The sheriff’s deputies called you in because they want to know if you overheard anything—that’s all. Honestly, you’re not suspects.”
“Well, your mother said—”
“Never mind what my mother said.” At that point I was ready to have an official gag order placed on my mother. “She’s been known to overreact. That doesn’t mean both of you need to do that, too. Come on. This should only take a minute or two, and I can drive you home.”
Cecilia and Myrna walked into the deputy’s office and took a seat in front of his desk. The man immediately grabbed a folding chair that was against the wall and offered it to me before speaking.
“My apologies, ladies, if the request for your presence here has caused you undue concern. As you’ve surmised, we’re working with the Surprise Police and looking into every detail, no matter how small or insignificant you may think it is, in order to shed some light on Mr. LeDoux’s death. That being said, I need to ask if you remember anyone who might have spoken with him while you were at the restaurant.”
Cecilia and Myrna looked at each other first and shook their heads.
“We got there right as the place was closing,” Myrna said. “As soon as we walked in, the hostess was shutting off the lights. I assume it was the hostess. Young thing with a clingy black dress and heels. She called out to Mr. LeDoux that we were there and then she left. I heard her locking the front door.”
“That’s right,” Cecilia added. “Mr. LeDoux came out and brought us directly into the kitchen to taste the hollandaise sauce, which, by the way, was really good, although I have a pretty decent recipe for a mayonnaise sauce you can make in the blender.”
I rolled my eyes when she wasn’t looking, but the deputy apparently saw me and smiled.
Cecilia went on. “Like I was saying, no one else was there.”
Myrna nudged her and waited.
“What? What are you poking me for, Myrna?”
“Should we tell them about the phone call?”
The deputy looked as if someone had jabbed him with a stick.
“The phone call? What phone call?”
“Mr. LeDoux’s cell phone went off,” Myrna said. “One of those annoying ring tones. He excused himself and told us he had to take the call. Then he walked over to the doorway and talked to whoever called him.”
Cecilia motioned for Myrna to continue. “Tell them what you heard, Myrna. Tell them.”
Myrna took a deep breath, as if she was about to deliver the Gettysburg Address. “All I heard him say was . . . It was bad language. I’m not sure I can—”
By now I was getting really exasperated. I was tired, hungry, and livid that I’d lost out on my evening swim for this.
“For goodness sake, Myrna, just spit it out! No one cares about the bad words. It’s not like you’re going to get detention!”
I must have rattled her, because she closed her eyes, leaned forward, and reiterated Roland LeDoux’s side of the conversation. “Christ Almighty. You had to pick a freaking mountain. Yeah. Yeah. This damn well better be the end of it. Emeril’s turning out to be a real pain in the ass.”
Like a well-rehearsed duo, the deputy and I spoke at once: “Emeril?”
“Yes,” Myrna replied. “Emeril. I didn’t know Roland LeDoux knew someone as famous as Emeril Lagasse.”
Then Cecilia started in. “You don’t know that it’s Emeril Lagasse. It could be another Emeril.”
“Well, how many Emerils do you know? We’re talking a fancy chef here. They probably all know each other.”
Cecilia was just about to say something when the deputy interrupted her.
“Was there anything else either of you heard?”
“Yes,” Myrna added. “When he was done swearing about Emeril, he mentioned something about the Seafood Louie. What was it? Oh yes. He said ‘Damn it. What about Seafood Louie?’ Is that on your aunt’s menu?”
“That’s the one thing I can vouch for,” I said. “I know for a fact it’s on the menu. The catering chef told me. They were probably talking about some sort of banquet they had to do.”
The deputy went on to ask Cecilia and Myrna if they’d heard anything else that night. Both ladies shook their heads. He thanked them, apologized again for upsetting them, and asked them to wait outside for a minute while he had a word or two with me.
“I’ll be right there.” I closed the door and turned toward the deputy. “You don’t seriously think it was Emeril Lagasse, do you?”
“I don’t know much about famous chefs, but I doubt it.”
“Want to know what I think? Maybe Roland LeDoux owed some guy named Emeril money and maybe, just maybe, Roland was at the White Tank Mountains the next day for the payoff. Then again, they could have been talking about a demanding menu.”
“Well, whatever it is, your friends got us a bit closer.”
Either that or back to the starting point.
* * *
All Cecilia and Myrna could talk about on the way back to their respective houses was how that “awful interrogation at the sheriff’s station had taken years off their lives.” No matter what I said, it only made matters worse, so I drove them home in silence, taking in all of their grumbling and complaining. The last straw was when Myrna said that sitting in the hard chair in the posse waiting area was going to cause irreversible damage to her sciatic nerve, and Cecilia had to top that with a diatribe about hemorrhoids.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I felt as if irreversible damage had been done to every nerve in my body. At
least as far as my mother was concerned, I had followed through. I’d bailed out her friends, in a manner of speaking, and thanks to the deputy, found out why Roland LeDoux was at the White Tank Mountains at the crack of dawn the following day. I still couldn’t figure out a motive for his murder—or were they still referring to it as an “unexplained death”?—but what the heck. Neither could the trained professionals.
Just as I thought my evening couldn’t get any worse, my aunt Ina called to invite me to dinner with her and her soon-to-be husband, Louis Melinsky.
“I’ve already invited your mother. The four of us will have a splendid time. Oh, and Louis took the liberty of making the reservations at the Brazilian Steakhouse downtown. It’s for this Saturday night.”
“Night? You made dinner reservations for an evening meal? Downtown? What did my mother say?”
“Oh, how should I know? I left a message on her answering machine.”
A slight pounding began on both sides of my temple and a sudden dryness erupted in my mouth.
“Aunt Ina, Mom doesn’t like to eat after five-thirty, and she really hates driving into Phoenix.”
“Don’t be silly. Louis will send a car for you.”
“Huh?” I was momentarily stunned.
“A car. With a driver. He’ll arrange for a limousine to pick up you and your mother. You don’t think we’d expect both of you to be driving downtown on a Saturday night. Normally I’d have Louis drive us, but his car is brand new and he doesn’t trust those valets. So . . . we’ll use a limo service for all of us.”
“That’s really very generous of you, Aunt Ina, but hold off for a bit until I see how Mom’s going to react. Maybe we could get a bite around here.”
I left everything open-ended with my aunt and spent the remainder of the evening eating cold chicken salad and watching reruns of NCIS. Maybe it was the dialogue, but just as I started to doze off on the couch, something jolted me awake and every part of my body seemed electrified. It wasn’t “Seafood Louie.” That wasn’t what Myrna overheard. It was separate words. “Sea.” “Food.” “Louie.” And it wasn’t “food.” It was “fool.” It was “See that fool, Louie.” Roland LeDoux had a meeting with someone named Louie. Oh my God! Please don’t tell me it’s Louis Melinsky, my aunt’s fiancé.
