Obsessions Can Be Murder: The Tenth Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  She paged back through the sheets from the first bank box and found the will, which listed Horton Blythe, his office address and phone number. She got him on the line and asked the question. While she went on to tell Mr. Blythe about yesterday’s events, I stepped out of the car and allowed Rusty to run free. When I got back in she had fresh tears on her face.

  “I guess I better get used to this,” she said. “Everyone’s going to be offering condolences.”

  I waited while she blew her nose again before asking about Earleen.

  “Mr. Blythe didn’t know for sure. No papers were filed yet, but he didn’t know whether Dad had talked to her about it.”

  A woman scorned. I remembered Earleen’s insistence that she was the legal wife and therefore entitled to any insurance money. If she knew that she would soon no longer be the legal wife, would she have decided to do something about that? If she were going to lose the house anyway would she have destroyed it? Maybe—if she’d arranged the fire to kill David before he could finalize the divorce. If he weren’t caught in the explosion she’d have to come up with another way. And maybe she did. Michaela’d said there was no way to tell if the murder happened before or after the fire.

  I had a hard time envisioning slender, blonde Earleen actually whacking David over the head, getting him into his car, and managing to get the car into the lake. For one thing, she struck me as the type who’d worry about breaking a nail. But she had dear Frank Quinn in her life. I wondered how long he’d been part of the picture.

  I also found myself wondering about the ramifications of the multiple identities. I knew I should immediately turn over every piece of paper we’d found this morning to the authorities, but I held onto the stubborn, vaguely macho, idea that I should follow up somehow. That the local authorities would tend to discount them now that they’d found the body and would completely overlook the bigger picture. I caught myself tapping nervously at the steering wheel.

  Rusty returned and I let him into the backseat; Amanda finished her coffee and looked to me for a suggestion.

  “Is there a copy shop in town?” I asked. “I think we have to turn this stuff over, but I also think it would be a good idea to have copies for our own use.”

  She thought about it for a minute. “There’s a CPA who lets people make copies for a few cents each.”

  I followed her directions and we got lucky that the copy machine was in a separate alcove where the office staff couldn’t get a peek at our business. Once we had legible copies of everything, I faced the inevitable.

  “Let’s stop by Michaela’s,” I said.

  The sheriff greeted Amanda with a degree of warmth I’d not seen her show yet, and for that I was grateful.

  “We found some things in David’s safe deposit boxes that may help your investigation,” I said after we’d taken seats across the desk from her, handing over the papers and passports.

  Michaela paged through them, pausing a moment over the fake identities. “We better do a DNA verification on the . . . uh, subject,” she said. She mumbled a bit, thinking aloud about the difficulty of getting hairs or skin cells known to be David’s at this late date.

  “Amanda’s DNA?” I said.

  “Guess we’ll have to do it that way,” she said, groaning as she got up.

  She came back a couple of minutes later with a test kit and quickly took a swab sample from Amanda’s mouth.

  “That’s it,” she said. “State lab’s really backed up, though. Don’t know when we’ll get a result.”

  “I’d appreciate anything you can do,” Amanda told her.

  We started out to the car but I remembered something. “I’ll be right back,” I told Amanda.

  Inside, Michaela had just poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.

  “I meant to ask you, did you have a chance to check out Billy Rodman’s pickup truck?”

  “We did. Billy and Rocko were seen leaving The Owl right before the time of Amanda’s accident. I got a statement from a guy who watched them peel out of the parking lot, driving erratically. That and the paint smear were enough to send them to County jail awaiting arraignment. Now if our ‘three strikes you’re out’ law were to actually apply, we’d be rid of them for awhile.”

  “You think it will?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Any way to know if they hit Amanda on purpose?”

  “They’re not talking. These guys know how to work the system, Charlie.”

  I wanted to smack something, but I knew she’d done all she could.

  I drove Amanda home and wondered which direction to go next. She’d left all the copies of her father’s documents with me and it seemed like a good idea to take some time to go through them. I arrived back at the motel to discover that the room had been cleaned and there was a message from Ron on the phone. I wondered why he hadn’t simply called my cell, but who knew.

  As it turned out he was simply wondering when Drake would be home because he’d gotten baseball tickets. I told him he better find someone else to go; Drake might be gone days or weeks.

  “But while I have you on the phone . . . more background checks.” I gave him the names and data on the four fake names.

  “Are we being paid for all this?” he asked, somewhat gruffly.

  “You’re not over the limit yet,” I assured him. I’d pretty well decided that my own time and expenses weren’t going to be covered by Amanda’s retainer, but we’d get into that later.

  Ron told me he’d get back to me with the results of the checks and we hung up.

  I boiled water with my handy little coil heater and brewed a cup of tea, spreading David’s documents out on the desk. I’d gotten quick glances as we copied them but this was my first chance to read through everything.

  The life insurance policy left Amanda pretty well set. A half million dollars. I got to wondering about David’s frame of mind at the time he died—suicidal?—but it seemed most likely that he’d simply bought the new policy and named Amanda as beneficiary because he knew he was divorcing Earleen.

  The will also seemed to confirm that. It was dated just two weeks before his disappearance and worded carefully to supercede any previous wills. It specifically stated that Earleen Ross Simmons was not to inherit anything. There was also a clause that mentioned a prenuptial agreement, which answered my question about how he was going to get around New Mexico’s community property laws.

  If Earleen had gotten a hint of this, she may have decided to take what she could get when she could get it. She probably didn’t know about the new will or she wanted to act before it went into effect. My money was still on her as the chief suspect.

  David’s set of fake identities was another matter. I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around that and piece together their purpose. On the face of it, and the conclusion the authorities would probably reach, it looked like David planned to torch his own house, make a getaway, and start a new life with a new identity. And maybe it was just that simple. He’d set up the life insurance for Amanda, knowing that eventually he’d be declared legally dead and she’d have a nest egg to retire on.

  But if that were the case, why didn’t he simply drive away, without calling attention to himself by exploding the house? The rest of the plan could have worked anyway. My guess was that it was a spiteful move against his wife. If Earleen made it clear that she would make a divorce difficult and miserable, he may have just decided to skip the formality. Leave her with no place to live and let her straighten out the insurance nightmare. In that sense, he had succeeded.

  My head began to throb and I realized that I’d eaten nothing since early morning. The facts of this case were not untangling themselves but becoming more muddled the more I thought about them. I needed a break.

  I fed Rusty and left him to guard the cabin while I went in search of nourishment for myself. Jo’s Café was all right, but I was beginning to tire of the sameness, so I set my sights on Burger Shak, a couple of blocks farther up Main Street
. I walked there, setting a brisk pace to help clear the cobwebs from my head. I managed to consume a green chile cheeseburger in fairly record time, along with hand-cut fries and a milkshake made with actual ice cream, not a mix. By the time I set out for the motel I realized that there was no way I could settle down until I’d given myself an hour or two to digest everything.

  The tiny bookstore I’d spotted yesterday was still open and I knew it would be easy to while away some time in there. A bell on the door jangled as I went in. Behind the counter a fifty-something guy greeted me distractedly as he fiddled with the tape in his cash register. The place consisted of a series of small rooms with books lining every wall. I bypassed the local history and children’s books to find the paperback fiction. My thriller was nearly finished and if I could clear my head enough to concentrate, I’d be needing new reading material soon. I found a mystery by Susan Slater, one of my favorite New Mexico authors, and grabbed it right away. The store’s selection was terrific and I kept browsing.

  The doorbell made its clinky sound again and I heard the new arrival ask the proprietor if he had any books on winning in Vegas. I wouldn’t have paid any attention except that I recognized the voice—Earleen Simmons. I heard the two of them move into the non-fiction room and I kept my back to the doorway connecting the two, so she wouldn’t see me.

  The store owner suggested a couple of titles and she said she liked the one on winning at craps. “Usually I like blackjack,” she said, loudly enough that it was no secret to anyone in the whole building, “but this time I want to try a new game. Frank’s promised me a long weekend at the Bellagio.”

  I didn’t hear the man’s response but a couple of minutes later the cash register beep-beeped the sale and the door chime signaled her departure.

  Vegas, huh. The grieving widow wasn’t wasting any time getting on with her life, even before David’s funeral. Remembering Michaela’s comment, though, about the backup at the state crime lab delaying the DNA test results, I didn’t imagine there would be a funeral for awhile. What a tangled mess.

  I paid for my books and chatted with the store owner for a few minutes. He turned out to be a friendly guy who knew everyone in town. I filed that for future reference. He’d be a good person to know.

  The late afternoon air had cooled quite a bit. I took my time walking back to the motel, clearing my head and looking forward to talking to Drake later. As it turned out I was nearly asleep by the time he called. The heavy dinner and getting to the final chapter of my book had lulled me. We talked about our respective jobs, but mainly focused on how nice it would be to get back home together.

  As I drifted off to sleep it struck me that Earleen and Frank were certainly planning an expensive getaway for a couple who seemingly had no money.

  Chapter 13

  I slept late and allowed myself the luxury of the warm blankets for a full thirty minutes after my eyes first opened. Eventually, though, my brain zipped through a million thoughts and I couldn’t lie still any longer. I brushed my teeth and dressed and walked out back with Rusty, getting a good dose of invigorating mountain air.

  I debated about going to Jo’s for breakfast. In a lot of ways a muffin from the convenience store and a cup of tea in my room were appealing. Being at home and having a simple breakfast with my neighbor, Elsa, was even more appealing but that was not to be, not just yet. I ended up opting for Jo’s and letting Rusty sit outside on her porch while I went in.

  The place was crowded again, as I suspected was usual. It clearly served as the gathering spot for the locals. I took a small table near the back and watched people come and go while I waited for my pancakes.

  When Earleen and Frank walked in my interest perked. He wore a suit—something that stood out in this town—and he actually cleaned up pretty well. His hair had been freshly cut, and although it was still on the longish side, it now had some style to it. With the tattoos covered, he wasn’t a bad looking man. Earleen wore tight spandex leggings and a leopard-spotted top with a flamboyant orange scarf around her neck. They greeted some of the other customers loudly and soon everyone in the place knew they were on their way to Vegas.

  “By noon I’ll be winning at the craps tables,” she told Jo.

  “Taking that special Vegas flight out of Segundo?” Jo asked.

  “In an hour.” Frank dropped his arm possessively around Earleen’s shoulders.

  They ordered and ate quickly, while I lingered over my short stack and eavesdropped shamelessly. So, where were they getting the money to do this? Earleen might still be under the impression she was going to inherit everything David had, but even if the case went in her favor, she wouldn’t see anything for a long time. And if Frank was treating, where did he get the cash?

  They called out goodbyes to people as they left and drove away with a happy little toot of the horn.

  “Interesting, huh?” said Jo as she refilled my coffee.

  “Sounds like they’re planning to do it up big,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Didn’t think they had that kind of money.”

  I lowered my voice, which always inspires confidentiality. “So, how can they afford it?”

  She correspondingly lowered her voice, too. “My guess, they’re maxing out a new credit card. Earleen has already gone through several—she’s told me that.”

  I nodded sagely and let it go at that.

  My cell phone rang as I was paying my check. Ron. We talked as I walked back toward the motel.

  “Some interesting news about your guy up there,” he said. “First, on the fake identities, I haven’t gotten to all of them yet. But one—name on it was David Franklin—there were a couple of contributions to that Social Security account, twenty-three years ago.”

  “What!”

  “Yeah. I noticed that the corresponding driver’s license had expired way back, so I ran that one first. The others, if you noticed, were all up to date with current information on them.”

  I hadn’t noticed.

  “Looks like David Franklin worked in California for six months or so and made contributions to Social Security. Can’t tell any more than that, and I was lucky to even get that much.”

  “That’s fine.” I muddled through this new knowledge as I unlocked the door to the cabin. “What’s your take on it?”

  “Probably testing the waters,” he said. “Got himself a fake ID and wondered whether it would fly. Would he get caught using it. So he gets a job under the fake name, tries it for a few months, figures out that he’s okay.”

  “And his reason for getting this new identity in the first place would be?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he’d committed a crime, or planned to commit a crime, wanted a way to get his real name out of the system and start over someplace else. Back then you didn’t need identification to buy a plane ticket, but you certainly needed a passport to get out of the country. Could have been something like that in his plans.”

  “I’ll have to do some more digging, see if I can figure out how this ties in,” I said. “Meanwhile, I just found out that David’s wife and her boyfriend have headed out this morning for Vegas. These people live in a dumpy house and seemingly don’t have the extra cash to spend. I want to know how they’re doing this trip.”

  “Breaking news, Charlie, not everyone who goes off to Vegas and blows a bunch of money can actually afford to. I’d bet most of them live in crappy little houses and barely make the rent.”

  “Okay, you’re right. That’s true enough. But I’d sure like to know just how much they’re spending. It’d give me a good idea about Earleen’s position in this whole insurance case up here. I think she thinks she’s about to get a huge settlement. So, you want to go to Vegas and check them out?”

  “Not hardly. Do you?”

  I laughed as I pulled out my keys and let myself into my cabin. “Not hardly. You know how I feel about that place.”

  “Look, I’ve got a buddy who owes me a favor. A PI that I did som
e legwork for here a few months ago. I may be able to get him to find out something.”

  “Good enough. I’d just like to know whether they’re playing the quarter slots or flashing around big money at the tables.”

  “Oh, nearly forgot to tell you. I got a call from Continental Union. A guy I knew ages ago works there now and he recognized my name. He opened up a little more than anybody else there has done. Turns out that there wasn’t going to be any huge settlement to the family on the Simmons property. Place is mortgaged to the hilt and the mortgage company is breathing down their necks even harder than Earleen Simmons is. Place was in hock for two mil, actually more than its appraised value.”

  “Wouldn’t Earleen know about that?”

  “House was in David’s name alone, and he alone arranged the mortgage. Funny thing is, the house was once free and clear. When David built it, right after he moved to New Mexico from Silicon Valley, he paid cash. Mortgaged it later. Guess he needed big money for something, but my buddy didn’t know what.”

  “His and Jake’s invention, I’ll bet.” I tried to remember what Jake had told me the cost of the project would run. “They’re trying to bring a new medical device to market and I guess the costs are enormous. When did you say this mortgage took effect?”

  “Not long before the big boom. January of that same year. The explosion happened in May, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He hung up, promising again that he’d get his Vegas buddy out to keep an eye on Earleen and Frank.

  I caught myself tapping my nails on the desk. Could Earleen have gotten her hands on all or part of that two million dollars? It didn’t seem very likely. In fact, I’d just about bet that she didn’t know anything about it, not by the way she’d been acting recently.

  Maybe I’d underestimated the size of Jake’s research project and the impact of their new device being introduced to the market. It was likely that two million dollars would be a drop in the bucket in that kind of work. I decided that I should ask Jake a few more questions about it.