Ditched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  Officer McClure took a step and stopped suddenly. “Oh, before I forget. The forensics lab still hasn’t gotten back to us regarding Mr. LeDoux’s motorcycle. Let your boss know, will you? That Phoenix lab can get backed up for weeks. Reduction in staff due to budget cuts. Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Mmm. I’ll let Nate know.”

  It was a quick jaunt back to my car. I couldn’t wait to call Nate and let him know what was going on. As expected, the call went to voice mail. I left a message and told him to get back to me ASAP. The wedding was less than twenty-four hours away, with the strong possibility Louis wouldn’t be making an appearance. All of us knew this, but none of us dared to say a word to my aunt. It was the proverbial “elephant in the room.”

  I never saw anyone avoid a topic like this one. It was as if they were all under a gag order. No one dared broach the subject of Louis. Especially that afternoon when the book club ladies descended upon the Cactus Wren to double-check the fitting of my aunt’s gown. They wanted to see how it looked with the sparkly fascinator Shirley designed.

  Cecilia and Myrna had gotten over their near scare of being questioned by the deputy and were more than happy to talk about food. Louise Munson still insisted that a murderer was driving around Sun City West in a “frightening Lexus meant to scare the likes out of decent people.” Suddenly, Lucinda said she had to call the florist to make sure they would arrive at predawn the next day with the bouquet and the flowers to be strewn on the path.

  As far as the music went, it was anyone’s guess. When I told Kirk about it the night before, all he said was, “Bring a damn boom box and make sure it has batteries.”

  While the ladies were in my aunt’s room discussing everything from pastry birds to hollandaise sauce, I took that opportunity to call Julien at La Petite Pâtisserie, Sebastian at Saveur de Evangeline and, God help me, Jake at Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings. All three assured me everything was in order for the Stangler-Melinsky affair and they would be arriving around four in the morning, with the exception of Jake, who planned to be there by three.

  That was where the assurances stopped.

  Jake said “he’d get the job done if the Scottsdale and Surprise snots stayed out of his way.”

  Sebastian and Julien offered similar comments regarding Feltons’. As I slipped the phone back into my bag, I wondered if Kirk and Judy had had any luck finding and convincing Leon to play “thoughtful music” at sunup.

  This entire wedding was so loosely held together that anything at any moment could make it unravel. Just then, my room phone began to ring. It had to be my mother or my aunt. No one else had the number.

  “Phee!” It was my mother.

  “Herb Garrett just called me on my cell. He has my cell number in case of an emergency with the house.”

  “Is there an emergency with the house?”

  “No. He’s been trying to reach your boss. Left voice mail messages. Wanted me to give you this message.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “One of the men in his club, or whatever you call it, couldn’t go out to dinner that night with your boss.”

  “Get to the point, Mom.”

  “That guy may have a lead about the car Nate was tracking down.”

  “Look, Mom, I don’t know when I’m going to hear from Nate, so call Herb back and tell him to tell his friend to call the sheriff’s office. If it’s out of their jurisdiction, then they’ll redirect him to another law enforcement agency. We have no idea where Herb’s friend saw this car. If he saw a car.”

  “Fine. Fine. Are you coming over here to see Ina’s gown?”

  “Does it look any better than what you described?”

  “Worse.”

  “Don’t say anything, Mother. It’s her wedding. I’ll be right over.”

  My head was beginning to swim, and I felt a pit in the bottom of my stomach. I still hadn’t told my aunt about the red bhurj tent. Maybe in the predawn light it wouldn’t be that noticeable....

  Shirley Johnson agreed to do Ina’s braids with some sort of white and gold tinsel before securing the fascinator. I got all of the last-minute details when I went to my aunt’s room. Shirley would arrive at the Cactus Wren by four in the morning so Ina would be ready for her grand entrance at five-thirty.

  Meanwhile, my mother and Lucinda agreed to help the florists, while Cecilia and Myrna insisted on helping the caterers set up the tables in the pavilion/tent. My aunt would have been better off had she contracted with Ringling Brothers.

  The book club ladies left around five that afternoon, about the same time Kirk and Judy came straggling in from Tucson. We were still in my aunt’s room when the two of them appeared. Frankly, I’d seen old photos of pioneers on wagon trains who looked more rested.

  “What’s that smell?” my aunt shouted. “It’s malodorous.”

  “That smell,” Kirk replied, “is Leon. Apparently your harpist doesn’t believe in bathing. At least not in a shower or bath like a normal person. He prefers to cleanse himself during rainfalls. And like Seth, he, too, is fond of smoking the kind of substances one can’t buy at the supermarket. And I don’t mean marijuana. Oh no. That would be too easy. Leon relaxes himself by what he refers to as ‘herbal smokes.’ Calamus root and mugwort. My God, that stuff sounds straight out of Game of Thrones. And our clothing absorbed everything. Even with the windows open on the drive home, we couldn’t rid ourselves of the stench.”

  “Good God!” my aunt screamed. “We can’t have him stinking up the pathway to the ceremony. What did you tell him?”

  Judy kept sniffing at her clothes while Kirk spoke.

  “Although Leon was quite optimistic it might rain within the next few weeks, he was not willing to immerse himself in any man-made structure.”

  I couldn’t bear to look directly at Kirk because I knew I’d burst out laughing. I kept my head down, pretending to reach for something in one of my pockets. “Couldn’t you just throw him in a lake? Arizona has lots of lakes.”

  Kirk seemed too tired and too frustrated to laugh. “We told Leon we wouldn’t be needing his services. Sorry, Mother. Judy and I are going to shower and change our clothes. I’m also going to see if the office has a can of Lysol they’re willing to let us use for the van. The rental company better not charge us extra for the odor.”

  I turned toward my aunt as Kirk and Judy left the room. “Maybe you can get a flutist, Aunt Ina.”

  The words came out of my mouth like a belch. Once I’d uttered them, there was no turning back. I’d gone temporarily insane at that moment, and I was about to pay for it.

  My aunt clasped her palms together in a steeple. “A flutist. What a wonderful idea. One of the local churches must have someone who plays the flute. If not, you can always try to call the schools. Those places are teeming with marching bands.”

  “It’s the weekend, Aunt Ina. The schools are closed.”

  My aunt pursed her lips and paused. “Churches always have answering machines and contact numbers for emergencies. Be resourceful, Phee. I know you’ll find someone who’ll fill the air with harmonious sounds.”

  Fortunately, the Cactus Wren had a list of local churches. For the next hour and a half I became intimately acquainted with it, leaving more callback requests than I’d ever imagined possible. The chances of finding a flute player who’d be available on such short notice were slim to none. Still, I plodded on with the calls.

  At a little past eight, someone answered my prayers. Ethel Mae Evenston, from the Good Lord Worship Community in Waddell, agreed to show up and play “thoughtful music” at dawn.

  Chapter 27

  I eyed the mattress as if it was a medieval rack. It was past eleven and if I was going to get any sleep, I’d at least have to make an attempt. To compensate, I arranged the pillows so the upper part of my body would have some support. I was about to turn down the sheets when the buzz of my phone went off—a text message.

  Please tell me it’s not the damn tent com
pany.

  It was Nate with a three-word message. No explanation whatsoever. Three words that kept me awake for an hour as I tried to interpret them. All he said was “Hang tight, kiddo.” Was that supposed to mean he’d found Louis and would be at Petroglyph Plaza in time for the ceremony? Or did he mean something more literal like “good luck with this mess”? I had no idea. All I knew was that two murderers associated with my aunt’s wedding were still at large and the groom had vanished. The only good news was there was no evidence indicating Louis might have been the one responsible for Theodore Sizemore’s death. As for Roland’s death . . . well . . . technically, it was the snake. Of course, the snake wasn’t responsible for getting him in the ditch to begin with, but I didn’t want to dwell on that. I had enough disturbing thoughts clogging up my mind and I didn’t need one more.

  Some people count sheep or count backward from a hundred in order to fall asleep. I counted possible murder suspects.

  Rochelle . . .

  Sebastian . . .

  Antoine . . .

  Jake . . .

  Everett . . .

  Julien . . .

  The sous chefs from Saveur de Evangeline whose names I didn’t bother to get because I was a lousy investigator . . .

  The glamour girl hostesses from Saveur de Evangeline. . .

  My mind flipped back and forth among the names as if it were a remote in search of a decent channel. When I finally slipped into oblivion, the alarm app on my phone went off. I was like a zombie. I don’t even remember taking a shower or slipping into shorts and a top, but I must have because my hair was wet and I was fully dressed when I drove to the Petroglyph Plaza to make sure the tent people had arrived.

  Last I knew, unless my aunt had changed something without telling me, the guests were supposed to arrive around five and proceed up the trail between five and five-thirty, where they’d take their seats to watch the ceremony.

  My God! I hope Jake and Everett remembered the chairs.

  At approximately six-thirty, Louis Melinsky would be wed to wife number four and the guests would proceed to the pavilion/tent for the reception. That was, unless Louis was still married to wife number three, in which case, I’d proceed with Kirk’s contingency plan.

  A bizarre thought crossed my mind as I reviewed the plan. I had forgotten to tell Kirk that, above all else, he absolutely had to make sure my aunt’s wedding dress was packed away for storage. Even if she insisted on wearing it home. Last thing our family needed was our own version of a gothic romance gone wrong.

  As I started for the ancient ruins, I kept telling myself all I needed to do was make sure the tent was completely set up and the catering trucks were prepared to deliver the meal. I took slow, deep breaths and tried to cleanse my mind of any disturbing images. Like someone heaving the pastry birds in the air or, worse yet, stabbing the tent with culinary knives. I told myself over and over again, all would be well and I would then be able to go back to the Cactus Wren and dress for the wedding.

  Halfway up the road to the Petroglyph Plaza, a haze of light illuminated the entire area. It was a van from Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings, complete with its own generator. I started to relax. They had arrived on time and were setting up the tent. In addition, I spotted a medium-size moving truck open in the rear, exposing the tables and chairs needed for the setup. Jake’s green Dodge Ram pickup truck was parked a few feet from it. Still filthy and dusty. The tarp, however, looked as if someone had brushed off some of the dirt. It was rolled back, exposing a few small poles and miscellaneous items.

  In the darkness, only the design elements of the bhurj tent were visible. They stood out like a large paisley print left over from the seventies. I half expected George Harrison to appear and start playing a Hare Krishna mantra. I tried not to think about it. Voices echoed across the rocks. Men’s voices shouting orders as well as obscenities. Yep, the Felton brothers had arrived.

  In an odd sort of way, the voices were pretty comforting because they blocked out the creepier sounds of coyotes, toads, and owls. I didn’t have to rely on the light from my cell phone in order to walk over to the wedding spot. Thanks to the Feltons, everything within a five-mile radius was lit up. I’m sure the campers down the road were really appreciative.

  As I got closer, I saw the shadowy outline of someone running across the path and ducking behind one of the large rocks. Instinctively, I froze. All I could think of was Roland’s killer and the fact that maybe they had returned to lure someone else into that ditch.

  I started to tiptoe backward before turning completely around to head for my car. I wasn’t about to get killed because my lunatic aunt wanted a sunrise ceremony. Midmorning would work just as well in my mind. I had taken five or six steps when I heard a female voice.

  “Hey! I hope I didn’t scare you!”

  As I spun my head around, a tall, slender woman dressed in a black top with black knee-length leggings was holding something, and I prayed it wasn’t a gun. Before I could respond, she shouted again. “I’m Sylena, the photographer.”

  My hands were still shaking as I walked toward her. “The photographer? The wedding photographer?”

  “Uh-huh. Ina Spangler hired my company—Sylena’s Stealth Photography. My boyfriend and I specialize in taking behind-the-scenes photos of weddings and special events. We blend the candid shots together along with the recordings we’ve made in order to create a visual montage.”

  What the hell ever happened to sitting and posing for a picture?

  “I’m . . . I’m . . . er . . . Phee Kimball, Ina’s niece, and I’m kind of in charge of making sure everything goes smoothly. Um . . . isn’t this a bit early to start taking pictures?”

  Sylena shrugged as she let the camera rest on the strap over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I suppose. But my boyfriend and I are camping out here for the week and that blasted light from the tent setup woke me. So I figured what the heck. Might as well take some shots of the setup. Boy, those guys have the worst toilet mouths. Have you met them?”

  “I’m afraid I have. In fact, I’m on my way over to make sure they’ve got everything they’re supposed to.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll poke around, take some shots, and come back in a little while. Have you ever camped here?”

  “No.”

  “It’s wonderful. One of Arizona’s best kept secrets. We were here a few weeks ago when they found a body in the Petroglyph ditch. Awful thing, huh?”

  I took a step closer. “You were camping out here that night?”

  “Yeah. Ian, that’s my boyfriend, likes to camp a few times a month. He’s into night photography and makes a pretty decent living freelancing for magazines. The stealth photography is more my thing.”

  “Um, about that body . . . did anyone question you regarding what you might have seen?”

  “Nope. No one. I mean, it wasn’t as if we were hanging around the campsite. And both of us dress completely in black, so we kind of blend in to the rocks and crevices. Even if someone wanted to question us, they’d be hard-pressed to find us. You have to really know the terrain in order to do what we do. It’s downright dangerous hiking in the dark. I imagine that’s what got that guy killed. He probably tripped over something and landed in the ditch. At that point, he became fair game for the wildlife. Like I said, awful thing, huh?”

  “Uh-huh. Really awful.”

  “Anyway, I’d better get going. It’ll be sunrise in no time. Nice to meet you, Phee.”

  Then she glanced at my sandals. Clearly visible, thanks to the Feltons’ lighting. “It’s none of my business, but seriously, you should buy yourself some nice, sturdy hiking boots. The baby scorpions are vicious this time of year.”

  In the blink of an eye, she disappeared. I instinctively shook my feet, just to be safe. A few yards away, I heard the continued barrage of expletives. Getting closer, I saw three men were working on the canopy. The pavilion/tent was already up.

  “HELLO! HELLO! It’s
me, Phee Kimball. How’s it going?” My voice seemed to echo around me.

  “YO! Hang on. I’m coming.” Jake Felton left the other two guys and started to head my way.

  I met him a few yards ahead on the trail. “Hi! I wanted to be sure things were going all right for the setup. They are going all right, aren’t they? I mean, I could hear you arguing.”

  “We weren’t arguing. We were working. And yeah, everything’s good. Got the tables, got the chairs. We’ll be putting them on pallets and rolling them into the tent and the plaza area. Where did you want the setup for the music? I wrote it down somewhere. Seven or eight chairs for musicians, right?”

  “Uh . . . um . . . yeah, seven or eight. I suppose you could place them off to the side of the plaza by the ruins.”

  “Okay. I’ll stick ’em away from the edge.”

  “Good. Good thought. Away from the edge. Oh . . . and I’ll need one chair by the start of the walkway for a flutist.”

  “One chair. Got it. Anything else?”

  “No, I think . . . Oh, look! It’s getting brighter down the hill. Must be the headlights from the food trucks. Good thing we’ve got a great view from up here. That’s got to be one of the caterers driving up the road. I’d better go check.”

  No sooner did I finish speaking than a voice shot through the air like a cannon. “YOU GONNA GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE ANYTIME SOON, JAKE?”

  “That’s not arguing”—he started back to the canopy—“that’s working.”

  I got back to the parking area in time to see the food truck from Saveur de Evangeline pull up. It was immediately followed by the one from La Petite Pâtisserie. Sebastian and one of the sous chefs, whom I recognized from the afternoon when I crawled on their kitchen floor, stepped out and greeted me. Luckily it was rather dark and I doubted the sous chef recognized me.

  A few more employees would be joining them to assist and they would be arriving in their own vehicles. The sous chef took one look at the bhurj tent and asked Sebastian if they’d gotten the menu right. The guy muttered something about “not cooking Indian food” and Sebastian shushed him.