Having a loving marriage was definitely not part of his plan, and theirs had become a marriage of convenience. What was convenient for his wife was that Dr. Wesley Taylor was not only a wealthy man in his own right, but he’d inherited a great deal of money from his father, who had been a cardiologist in Palm Springs.
Some contracts require attorneys. Some contracts require in-depth conversations between the parties. The Taylor contract only required a pretense – that the marriage was good. This left both parties free to do whatever they wanted. It had worked out well for many years. Wesley had his lady friends, and Rhonda was the queen of the Palm Springs art world. However, this arrangement was dramatically upset when Melissa Ross arrived on the scene. Not only was Rhonda no longer the foremost art collector in Palm Springs, she’d been humiliated and was certain she was now the laughingstock of the Palm Springs art community.
She was convinced she had to take some sort of dramatic action to regain her coveted position in the local art community. It was obvious she couldn’t outbid her opponent, so she’d have to get rid of her. It was really quite simple.
No one would ever suspect that the leading psychiatrist in Palm Springs was married to a woman who was capable of committing murder, but that was all the better for Rhonda’s plan.
The upcoming art auction in Palm Springs would be the prelude to the main event, Melissa Ross’ murder. The heirs of an elderly Palm Springs couple had decided to place their California art collection with an auction house rather than sell it themselves. Rhonda had been interested in several pieces, and since it was taking place in Palm Springs, Rhonda was sure Melissa would also be attending. Too bad Melissa wouldn’t be able to enjoy the pieces she’d buy at the auction.
As a doctor, Rhonda’s husband often used the phrase “When someone’s time has come, there’s nothing that can be done.” She thought it was rather fitting for Melissa, the only difference being that Melissa just wouldn’t know her time was up.
CHAPTER 3
Christopher Ross slowly got up from the dirty grimy couch he’d been lying on for the past few hours. He walked unsteadily over to the refrigerator, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. The blanket he’d wrapped around him to stave off the cold desert air that seeped in through the cracks of his tarpaper shack dragged along the floor behind him. He couldn’t afford to turn on the small electric space heater, because if he did, it would blow the circuit breaker, and he needed the electricity to keep his beer cold.
He opened the refrigerator to take out a beer, but he couldn’t find one. He usually made sure he’d still have a couple left before he went to the store for his weekly replenishment of cigarettes and beer, but he’d miscalculated. It was hard to see anything in the refrigerator, because he’d never replaced the bulb when it had burned out several months earlier. He stooped down and searched the shelves again, his hand groping along the back, willing a cold can to magically appear. It was not to be. There was only one thing he could do. He just hoped his truck would start, because he desperately needed to go down the hill to the Quick ‘N Go and get more beer, and as long as he was there, more cigarettes.
Ten minutes later, he walked into the store, ignoring the disapproving looks of some customers, as his truck, parked near the entrance of the store, sputtered and expelled black smoke. He had to leave the truck running, because he was afraid he’d never get it started again if he turned off the engine. He didn’t bother to tell the customers giving him the evil eye that he couldn’t afford to get a smog check. Anyway, the only place he ever went in the truck was the Quick ‘N Go to buy his beer, cigarettes, a little food, and cash his monthly check.
He put a carton of cigarettes and two cases of beer on the counter and paid for them. Christopher knew he’d have to make these last, because it would be several more days before he got his next disability check. He picked up the sack the attendant pushed towards him, and as he turned to leave, he saw the Desert Sun newspaper displayed in the news rack. The headline caught his eye.
“Mega Millions Lotto Makes Everything Possible.” All he could think about was what he could do with mega millions. As he walked by the rack, he noticed a photo of a woman named Melissa Ross, and paused to take a closer look.
“What the…” he said to himself, setting the sack and beer down and scratching his temple. He squinted at the photo of the woman and thought it looked a lot like his niece, the ungrateful upstart who’d just walked away from his shack one day without even saying goodbye or ‘thanks for taking care of me for all these years.’ When he’d gotten up from his nap that day to tell her he was ready for her to cook his dinner, she was gone. And the self-centered little brat had never contacted him since.
He knew the chances of the Melissa Ross in the newspaper article being his niece were pretty remote, but he turned back to the cashier and said, “I’ll take this paper.” He put a dollar bill on the counter, and she carefully counted out his change.
When he was back in his battered old brown truck, he could just make out the newspaper print in the dim late afternoon sunlight. He quickly scanned the article for anything that might indicate that the Melissa Ross in the article was his niece. When Christopher read the sentence, “Ms. Ross said she has to be one of the luckiest people in the world. When she was growing up in an area called Four Corners and living behind a gas station, she never could have imagined how her life would turn out. Now, several years after winning millions, she enjoys a life most people can only dream of.” He inhaled sharply and reread the sentence two more times, then headed for his shack, his head spinning with ideas of what he should do with the information.
He hurried to open the screen door on the shack and in doing so, took the part that was still clinging to the rusted hinge completely off of it. He threw it down in disgust, grabbed a beer out of the case he’d just bought, and took the newspaper with him to the dilapidated couch. Christopher read the article several more times, but each time he read it, he became more and more certain that the Melissa Ross in the article was his dead brother’s daughter, his niece. The article talked about the odds of winning something like the Mega Millions Lotto and the changes it had made in her life. The woman was quoted as saying she now considered herself to be a philanthropist and an art and antique connoisseur.
“I’ll bet she is, the smug thankless brat,” Christopher sneered, draining the can of beer and scrunching it in his hand before he tossed it on the floor.
His heart raced as he read how she said her mother had been responsible for teaching her to appreciate the beauty in art and antiques, but she’d never thought she’d be able to afford them. The article went on to say that in the years since she’d won one of the largest payoffs in the history of the Mega Millions Lotto, she had amassed a formidable collection of art and antiques, as well as being referred to as a “doyenne” or “the most respected woman among Palm Springs charitable donors.” The article also outlined how she felt a particular need to help children, since she’d had no help when she was growing up. It concluded by saying she felt she had a responsibility to do something good with the money she’d been so fortunate to win.
Become quite the little saint, haven’t ya’? Now I wonder what I should do about this turn of events, Christopher thought. Sounds like she’s sitting on a ton of money, and I’m her only living relative. The article had said she had no family. Last I heard, her good-for-nothing snot-nosed brother was doin’ time for drug dealin’. The East Side Victoria gang sure didn’t do him no good. Man, would I like to get my hands on some of that money. Course she wouldn’t have nuthin’ to do with the likes of me, now that she’s a hoity-toity rich Palm Springs lah-di-dah lady. I’ll just have to figure out the best way to get it. Ain’t got much else to do and, hey, if she was to die, I’d get it all.
He got up from the couch and popped open another beer, holding it up in a mock toast. “Jes’ like Bob Dylan sang, ‘the times they are a-changin’, and man am I ready for ‘em to. Think my ship finally
done got here. Now I jes’ got to figure out how to get on board.”
CHAPTER 4
“Here, let me help you with your cufflinks,” Marty said to her husband, Detective Jeff Combs. “After all, it’s not every night we get to go to one of the biggest charity events of the year and sit with the chairwoman and her husband. We must be important,” she said as she stepped away from him and smiled.
“Number one, I do not want to go to this thing and wear a monkey suit.” Jeff winced, and ran a finger around the inside of his dress shirt collar, trying to loosen it. “Number two, I’d be much happier sitting out in our courtyard with Laura, Lee, and John,” he said, referring to the other three people who lived in the four-home compound located a few miles outside of Palm Springs in the small community of High Desert.
“And number three, we are definitely not important.”
Marty’s face fell, just a little.
“No, I shouldn’t say that. I am definitely not important,” Jeff continued. “You are, just because you’re you, but I do want to remind you that the only reason we’re going to the Charity for Children’s annual gala is because the police chief has out of town guests and needed someone to substitute for him. Unfortunately, that substitute is me. I hate this type of an event. Everyone’s trying to outdo everyone else, and I think there must be some unwritten law that states if you attend one of these things, you have to be phonier than the next person.”
Marty put her lipstick on and said, “Jeff, it won’t be that bad. We’ll have a good meal, and maybe we can pick something up at the silent auction. After all, there will probably be some pretty fabulous items donated for the auction, given who will be attending the gala. The Desert Sun has been talking it up for weeks as being the, and I quote, ‘premiere event of the season.’” She put her hand on her hip and posed with one foot forward, her knee slightly bent. “I know I’m changing the subject, but how do you like my dress?”
He walked over to her and put his arms around her. “Marty, you make anything you wear look good. Believe me when I tell you later tonight that when people are looking at the head table, they won’t be looking at me or anyone else. You’ll be the focus of their attention, and it’s probably a good thing the chief won’t be attending this event.”
She stepped back and looked up at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re going to stop traffic in that dress, which is a misdemeanor in Palm Springs,” he said, grinning.
“Thanks for the compliment, I guess,” she answered. “I’ve never worn anything quite like this, but then again, I’ve never been to an event quite like tonight’s either.” She walked over to look at herself in the full-length mirror, pleased with the way the long-sleeved peach sheath, with its plunging neckline, hugged her curves and showed them off to their best advantage. The color of the dress was a perfect accompaniment to her hazel eyes and auburn-colored hair which she wore in a soft chignon.
The only jewelry she wore was her wedding ring and diamond stud earrings, a recent gift from herself to herself after she’d completed a large antique appraisal for an East Coast family who wintered in Palm Springs. The three-week appraisal had furnished her with a very large fee, and Jeff was adamant that she use it to do something just for herself.
Jeff looked over at her, “Marty, your eyelid is twitching. Laura told me you only do that when you’re nervous, and other than when you said ‘I do,’ when we got married, I’m not sure I can remember a time when you’ve ever done that before. What are you nervous about?”
“I am not nervous,” she said in a voice that told him that was the end of the conversation. However, her words hung in the air, and a moment later she let out a sigh. “Okay, I admit it. I’m on edge. I’ve never been to something this prestigious, and I’ve never sat at a head table before. What if I do something to embarrass you?”
He walked over to her and put his hand under her chin, drawing her eyes up to his. “Marty, trust me. Every man who sees you tonight will be envious of me. You are my biggest asset. Never forget that.”
She put her arms around his neck drawing him towards her and lightly brushed her lips against his. “Thanks, Jeff. I really needed that. I’m fine now. Honest.”
“Well, if nothing else, your eyelid has stopped twitching, so that’s a good sign. We better go now. If I don’t do my proper duty here, the chief will probably assign the worst cases that come through the station to me.”
Together, they walked outside, followed by Duke, the black Labrador retriever Marty had bought when she’d moved to High Desert following her divorce. Laura, her sister, had insisted she live in one of the homes Laura owned in the four-house compound. Fortunately, Laura worked for an insurance company that specialized in insuring personal property owned by high wealth individuals, and she’d been able to help Marty get clients for her art and antique appraisal business. It had been a huge help to Marty initially, but since then, she’d been able to develop an excellent reputation in the Palm Springs area and now most of her business was through referral from previous clients.
Trailing right behind Duke was the newest addition to Jeff and Marty’s household, Patron, a white six-month-old boxer puppy Jeff had given Marty for helping him solve one of his murder investigations. The two dogs had bonded, and whenever you saw Duke, you knew Patron would be right there as well.
As was their usual practice, every evening the residents of the compound gathered in the common courtyard to share the events of their day, have a glass of wine, and taste-test recipes that John, the owner of The Red Pony food truck, prepared for them in exchange for their honest opinions and a little stipend.
Tonight was no exception, and all of them were sitting at the large picnic table where John served them dinner every night. Lee looked up and let out a wolf whistle as Marty and Jeff walked over to the table and sat down. “Marty, you look fabulous, and Jeff, you clean up okay, but if I were you, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight tonight!”
“Thanks,” Jeff said wryly. “Trust me, I’d much rather be here with all of you than going to some event where I have to wear a monkey suit. This is just not my kind of thing.”
“Where are you going?” John asked.
“To the Charity for Children fundraiser gala. I guess it’s a pretty big deal, and we’re even going to be seated at the head table. My chief had out-of-town guests and suggested, might I say strongly suggested, that it would be in the best interests of my future with the department if I attended it on his behalf.”
“I don’t envy you,” John said with a raised eyebrow. “Max and I recently catered a cocktail party for Tammy Crawford. She’s a big society maven and will probably be there tonight. She’s a real piece of work. Just try not to sit next to her. She has this thing about being the most prominent philanthropist in the Palm Springs area. We couldn’t get her out of the kitchen while we were prepping for the event. All she could talk about was how much she hated, as she put it, that nouveau riche upstart woman, Melissa Ross. Said that real philanthropists came from old money, not upstarts who got their money by picking numbers in a lottery. Her words weren’t very charitable, if you ask me.”
“I’ll keep your words of wisdom in mind, but I’d guess it’s already been arranged where everyone will sit, so rather doubt I have a say in the matter,” Jeff said.
Laura piped up, her face solemn. “Marty, you do look stunning, but you need to be very aware of everything you see tonight. I don’t know why, but I’m getting a very strong message that tonight is going to be a decisive time for what’s going to be happening in the next few days.”
“Laura, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Marty said, turning to her sibling. “We all know you have these psychic abilities, but whenever you say something like that it gives me the heebie-jeebies, and tonight is not a night when I want to experience them. I have enough to cope with already.”
She looked sternly at her sister, and knew that if anyone were to meet Laura, they’d never in a million years take her fo
r a psychic. She didn’t have a crystal ball, she didn’t wear a turban, and she didn’t chant things none of them could understand. Even so, the others had learned they better listen when Laura said something like what she’d just said.
“Laura, you know you’ve made a believer out of me, but can you at least give Marty and me a hint?” Worry was etched across Jeff’s face. “This is going to be bad enough as it is. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder and Marty’s the entire time we’re there without a clue what I’m looking for.”
Laura shrugged apologetically. “Jeff, you’ve been around me long enough to know that when I get a strong feeling like this, I hate to say it, but I’m usually right. I am getting a feeling of feminine energy, if that helps.”
“Well, I suppose eliminating half of the people who will be attending tonight is better than nothing,” he said laughing. He held his arm out to Marty. “Your chariot is waiting, Cinderella.”
“Just one minute.” Marty bent over and gave Patron and Duke a goodbye pat. “Be good for Auntie Laura, and we’ll be back soon.”
They were all taken by surprise when Patron growled. That was the first time the white bundle of fur had ever done that.
“What’s up with that growl, Patron?” Marty asked. “This is a first.” She turned towards Jeff. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“You’re probably not going to like what I’m going to say, but I’m getting a very strong vibe that this dog is psychic,” Laura said. She looked at the others, each of whom was looking at her in disbelief. “I’m just telling you what I’m being told by whatever. And really, it’s not all that unusual. Think about storm-sensing dogs, dogs who can tell when their owner is going to have a bout with epilepsy, or even those who can detect cancer. I don’t know what Patron is sensing, but he’s definitely channeling something, and it’s as if he’s warning you, Marty.”
Murder and Mega Millions: A High Desert Cozy Mystery Page 2
