Murder and Mega Millions: A High Desert Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  At 11:00 they walked out the door and over to the long table where Lee, Laura, John, and his associate in the food truck business, Max, were already seated. “Here you go. I squeezed the orange juice just a few minutes ago. It doesn’t get much fresher than that,” John said as he took two glass mugs from the tray on the table and handed one to each of them.

  “Cheers, and how are the High Desert socialites this morning? You don’t look any worse for the wear after all your hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Was the party good? More importantly, did you pick up any food ideas for me?”

  “That’s a lot of questions,” Jeff said, taking a sip of his drink. “As a matter of fact, we survived, and Marty was able to get you two appetizer ideas and one dessert, right, Marty?”

  “Sure did. After brunch I’ll give you my notes. I think you should be able to recreate all three without much trouble, and as a taster, I can tell you that your catering clients will love you for these.”

  John beamed. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m always looking for new dishes, but seriously, how was the gala?”

  “It was interesting.” Marty turned to her husband. “Jeff, we were so tired when we got home I never did get around to telling you what happened with the chairwoman.” She told the group about the auction, and how Jeff had given the cashier the two rhinestone dog collars she’d bought, telling her that he’d decided to donate them for next year’s auction.

  “Jeff, I couldn’t agree more with you about the collars. If Patron and Duke were my dogs, there is no way they’d be wearing sissy rhinestone collars. Marty, what were you thinking?” Lee asked.

  “I think I kind of got caught up in the moment,” she answered sheepishly. “Anyway, back to the chairwoman, Tammy Crawford. She and Melissa Ross…”

  Marty was interrupted by Patron’s growling. “What’s wrong, little guy?” she asked, reaching her hand out and petting him.

  “Something’s bothering him about one of the names you just mentioned,” Laura said.

  Jeff and Marty looked at her in astonishment. “What are you talking about?” Jeff asked. “He’s never heard either one of their names.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference. He knows something, and it’s not good.” Laura looked directly at Marty. “Sorry, Sis, I told you last night that this dog is psychic.”

  “You’ve been right about so many things, I almost always trust your judgement, but I do have to say I think you’re wrong on this one. I’m sure he’s just growling to get attention,” Marty said as she continued to pet him.

  “Time will tell,” Laura said cryptically.

  “Anyway, back to the chairwoman,” Laura said. “She was not happy about the donation made by Melissa Ross.” She went on to tell them about Tammy, her husband, and the large donation.

  “Small world,” Laura said. “I think I told you the name of the woman we’re having lunch with tomorrow. Her name is Melissa Ross. Can’t imagine there would be two women in Palm Springs with that name who won the Mega Millions. Should be interesting. Love it when the rich get into catfights.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call their exchange a catfight, but the chairwoman, and out of deference to Patron, I won’t use her name, seemed to be very angry that her title as the number one philanthropist in Palm Springs was being challenged. Evidently it’s quite important to her.”

  “Doesn’t particularly surprise me,” John said. “Remember, Max and I did a cocktail party for her and that was how she described herself. It’s probably pretty upsetting to think the persona you’ve created is starting to tumble down. If she wasn’t so phony, I’d probably feel sorry for her.”

  “Be that as it may, it really doesn’t have anything to do with the appraisal I’ll be doing for the other woman whose name I can’t mention, other than I overheard what I did and saw their interchange. From what I hear, I already like this woman, and I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  *****

  “Marty, I’d like to introduce you to Melissa Ross. Melissa, this is the appraiser our company uses, Marty Morgan. She’s very, very good, but in full disclosure, she is my sister,” Laura said laughing. “I see the hostess is ready to seat us. Melissa, Marty, after you.”

  A few minutes later after they’d given their orders to the waiter, Marty turned to Melissa and said, “Please tell me about your art and antique collections. I was at the Charity for Children event Saturday night, and I want to tell you how wonderful I think it is that in addition to your art and antiques, you’re supporting worthwhile causes like that one. I gathered from what was said about you, your life would make a good story.”

  Marty never suspected when she said those words just how prophetic they would turn out to be.

  Melissa smiled and said, “Yes, my life would probably make a good book or a good movie, but I’m not interested in doing anything in that direction. You may have read that I grew up in Four Corners, which is literally a crossroads for the 395 and 58 highways. We were dirt poor. My father owned a gas station, and we lived in a couple of rooms behind it.”

  “It’s a long jump from being dirt poor to gifting millions to a charity,” Laura said as she picked up her water glass.

  Marty was looking at Laura as she spoke and noticed that Laura had become uncommonly pale, and her hand was trembling slightly as she picked up her glass. She made a mental note to ask Laura what had caused it. Her eyes were open much wider than usual, as well.

  “Yes,” Melissa said, looking at Marty and Laura in turn, her eyes masked with sadness. “The poverty and knowing that she was never going to be able to do the things she wanted to do, help people and surround herself with beautiful things, were what caused my mother to commit suicide when I was twelve years old. My father died of a broken heart shortly thereafter. My uncle took my brother and me in, and we lived in a tarpaper shack on the outskirts of Barstow.”

  Melissa paused. Despite her coiffed silky highlighted hair, manicured nails, and perfectly made up face with sculpted brows, all Marty saw was the pain behind the outwardly carefree mask that Melissa had created for herself.

  “Those are years I try not to think too much about,” Melissa continued. “My brother became a gang member. I don’t know if he’s in prison or dead, and I guess I don’t care. We all have a choice of whether to do good or bad, and I didn’t care for the road he took. So many times, I’ve thought how it would have hurt my parents if they knew what had become of their son, so maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t live to see it. I left my uncle, who was a worthless alcoholic, when I’d saved enough money from my job as a waitress. I’d lied about my age to get the job.”

  “You might want to rethink it. It sounds like it would make a very good movie,” Marty said.

  “I suppose, but I think there are a lot of other girls who left their homes because of an untenable situation, and mine was just one more. I grew to hate my uncle and fear him. One of the happiest days of my life was when I got on the bus to Palm Springs. I had no idea how I was going to support myself, but I knew whatever it was, it would be better than what I’d had.”

  “To look at you now, no one would ever guess that was your background,” Laura said, her hand still trembling slightly.

  “Probably not.” The earlier veil of sorrow had lifted from Melissa’s blue eyes. “I worked as a waitress in Palm Springs and the only thing that kept me going was the word my mother used to say so often. It became my mantra. The word was ‘someday.’ I had faith that someday my life would change for the better, and it did. I had very little money, but I scrimped and saved each week so I could buy a ticket for the Tuesday and Friday Mega Millions Lotto drawings.

  “And my someday came when I won millions. I’ve never looked back. I’m sure a psychiatrist would say the reason I buy art and antiques and give to charities is because I’m trying to recreate a relationship with my mother, and who knows? That might be the reason, but I really don’t care. It’s what makes me happy, and I can well afford to do it.”

&
nbsp; “I couldn’t agree more. It’s kind of like a modern-day fairy tale,” Marty said. “Why don’t you tell me about your art and antiques? What types do you collect?”

  “Growing up in desert areas, I tend to buy paintings that depict desert scenes. I’ve lived in California my whole life, in fact, I’ve never been out of the state, even though I could easily afford to travel wherever I want to go. I guess that’s why I kind of gravitate towards artwork and antiques that are either representative of California or the Southwest. I also have collected a number of Native American artifacts, probably because I can acquire those rather easily in the antique shops here in Palm Springs.”

  “Do you specialize in the artwork of any particular artists?”

  “Not consciously. I’m kind of one of those people who buys what they like, but I do have several paintings by Edgar Payne, William Wendt, and Granville Redmond. As a matter of fact, I just bought a superb painting by Redmond last week. It’s being delivered today. It was kind of a last-minute addition to an auction, but I have a wonderful art consultant who keeps me on top of things like that.”

  “It’s one of my favorite genres as well,” Marty said. “Anything else I should be aware of before I come to your home for the appraisal?”

  Melissa thought for a moment or two. “I have a pretty extensive Catalina pottery collection as well as a number of pieces by Beatrice Wood. As far as furniture, I tend to collect Mission style furniture. As I’m sure you know, the first Mission piece was a chair designed in 1894 for San Francisco’s Swedenborgian Church. After that a manufacturer started making that style of furniture in New York, even though it’s loosely based on the missions in California. I like the sleekness and simplicity of it.”

  “You’re very knowledgeable.” Marty sensed Melissa wasn’t someone who bought blindly based solely on a certain genre or an artist’s name. “Do you study the things that are being offered at auction before you buy?”

  “Of course. I’d be a fool to bid on something without knowing anything about it. I also have a pretty extensive collection of sterling silver that was made here in California, even some belt buckles.”

  “I’m really looking forward to seeing all that you have. It’s not often that I get to do an appraisal when an owner is as knowledgeable as you are.”

  “Thank you. Even though I was just a child, I sat with my mother for hours reading magazines about art and antiques. Every week she’d take me to the Barstow library and she’d check out the maximum number of books she could borrow, all of them dealing with art and antiques. I always went with her. When we got home, we’d spend hours looking at them. There wasn’t much else to do in Kramer Junction, or as I call it, Four Corners. It was pretty much made up of my dad’s gas station and a fast food hamburger stop in the road place,” she said laughing ruefully.

  “As far as the appraisal,” Melissa continued, “why don’t you start Wednesday morning about 9:00? There’s an auction I’ll be attending in Palm Springs tomorrow night, so if I buy anything that doesn’t require a delivery, you can do that as well.” She looked at her watch. “I’d love to stay and have dessert, but I’m the chairwoman of Stamp Out Homelessness in Palm Springs, and I have an important meeting of that organization I have to attend. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the problem has gotten much worse, and a number of the homeless people are drug addicts, which means they need money to support their habit. Panhandling and petty thefts are becoming the norm in this area. I don’t know how much we can do about the problem, but this group is committed to helping that population.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know something about it,” Marty said with a nod. “My husband is a detective with the Palm Springs Police Department, and he’s told me several times that the number of homeless people has risen sharply in the recent past as well as about the drug addiction problem. He also told me he thinks people are drawn here because of the warm climate. Seems to be a lot more attractive to them than the Northern or Midwestern parts of the United States.”

  “Well, I have no idea where this will go, but as I told you, we’re committed to trying to help the homeless,” Melissa said as she reached for her purse before getting up to leave. “Laura, good seeing you, and Marty, I’ll see you Wednesday morning. My maid, Isabella, will be there if I’m not home for any reason. She can show you where everything is.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Marty said. “Seeing beautiful things is definitely one of the advantages of working in my profession.”

  They both watched Melissa as she said goodbye to the staff of Melvyn’s on her way out. From the way she used each of their names, it was obvious she was a regular at the restaurant.

  Marty turned back to Laura as she picked up her cup of coffee. “Want to tell me what’s going on? You didn’t say a word all through lunch.”

  “What do you mean?” Laura asked.

  “Don’t give me that. When Melissa was seated and you introduced me to her, you got pale as a ghost and your hand was shaking. You’ve been trembling ever since. What’s that all about? Are you sick?”

  “I would have told you sooner or later, but I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You know, all my life I’ve had this ability to kind of know things in advance before they happen. I’ve certainly given you enough advice over the years, and I’ve never known where those things came from. They just did.”

  Laura took a sip of her coffee, sighed deeply, and continued, “When Patron came to the compound, I know it sounds silly, but it’s as if all my senses have been heightened. I have no idea why, but it’s one of those things that just is. Anyway, today, when Melissa started talking I saw a blurry female figure standing next to her, and yes, it looked like a ghost.”

  Her face was so pale and earnest, Marty had no choice but to take her seriously. “Okay. If I accept that, can you tell me what the ghost said, if anything?”

  Laura was quiet for a little while then she answered. “She didn’t say anything, it was more like I sensed what she wanted to say.”

  “And that was what?”

  She looked away and then back at Marty. “The ghost-like…being… was telling me that Melissa didn’t have long to live, and there was nothing I could do about it, but we would be involved. She said I would need to draw on all my psychic senses in the next few days.”

  Marty rolled her eyes. “Swell. That’s just swell. You’re telling me the woman I’m going to be meeting with is going to die. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Laura stared back at her. “I’m simply relating what the sense was that she gave me.”

  “Laura, I know you have abilities that the rest of us don’t have, and I fully accept that. I don’t understand it, but I’ll give it to you, but now you’re asking me to believe you saw a ghost and the ghost gave you the sense that my client was going to die? Terrific. Oh, and did Casper the ghost have a name or was it just Casper?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Marty, I’m just telling you what happened. You’re the one who asked and no, it did not have a name, but I got the sense that it was Melissa’s mother.”

  Marty looked at her in astonishment. “Seriously? Melissa’s mother came and stood next to her and told you her daughter was going to die? And you expect me to believe that?”

  Laura looked miserable. “Marty, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with it. It just happened.”

  “Sure. Can’t you close down those senses or do something to control them? I mean, seeing ghosts is just plain weird. Let’s hope it was a one-time thing and won’t ever happen again. More importantly, let’s hope that whatever you sensed was wrong.”

  Marty finished her coffee and put her napkin on the table. “Enough of your woo-woo stuff. I need to go see Carl, and see if Melissa’s one of his clients. He might be able to give me a heads up on some items I’ll be appraising if he sold them to her. Let’s get the check and leave.” She motioned the waiter over to their table.

  “What can I do for you?”
the elderly waiter asked. Marty assumed he had been a waiter at Melvyn’s since the place had opened. It had a reputation for employing waiters who had worked there for decades, spanning their whole careers.

  “We’re ready for the check,” Marty said.

  “It’s already been taken care of by Miss Ross. She said to tell you she hoped you enjoyed your lunch.”

  “We certainly did,” Laura said, “but we didn’t expect her to pay for it.”

  “Miss Ross is one of our most generous patrons. Enjoy the rest of your day,” the waiter said as he walked away from the table.

  CHAPTER 9

  During the past few decades, Palm Springs had spread far south from its original downtown location and now the general Palm Springs area encompassed several sister cities such as Cathedral City, Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, and La Quinta. The Palm Springs Antique Shoppe, owned by Carl Mitchell, had developed a reputation for superb antiques, and his customers had no problem driving from the outlying areas to see what new treasures he’d obtained since they’d last been in his shop. Over the years, Marty and Carl had developed a professional relationship, and they had become good friends.

  Marty had never mentioned it to Carl, but she was pretty sure a lot of his customers came to the shop just to find out the latest tidbit of gossip, which Carl was famous for passing on to his customers. Carl rarely missed a chance to mingle with the who’s who of Palm Springs, thus his endless supply of information about the latest scandals among his rich clientele, along with the best art and antiques for sale in the area.

  The bell above the door of the Palm Springs Antique Shoppe jingled gently as Marty opened it. Even though there were several customers in his shop, Carl acknowledged her by holding up his index finger indicating he’d be with her shortly. She spent the time looking at the prices of the art and antiques he’d added since she’d last been in his shop, always on the lookout to see what price things were selling for. This was simply research for her profession, that of an art and antique appraiser.