by B A Trimmer
“OK, as long as you know what you’re doing.”
We pulled into the parking lot of Carolina’s. It’s a south-central Phoenix landmark. The restaurant is housed in a building that had previously been a grocery store and a coin-operated laundromat. As usual, there were two police cars and a fire truck parked nearby on the street. There wasn’t any trouble at the restaurant; Carolina’s is one of the favorite places of the working-people in this part of town.
We walked in the restaurant and Elizabeth looked around. Apprehension was written all over her face.
“Like I said, it’s not the fanciest place in town. But in Arizona, don’t judge a book by its cover. I’ve found the nicer a Mexican place looks on the outside, the worse the food is on the inside. Not everywhere, of course, but more often than not. Let’s go stand in line and figure out what you want. We’ll order then find a place to sit.”
There was a long counter with a menu printed overhead. Behind the counter, three people were taking orders. Back in the kitchen, we could see at least a dozen people working on getting the food out. We got in the shortest of the three lines and made our way up to the counter.
“What are you having?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’m having the foot-long machaca burro, enchilada style with green sauce and a beef taco.”
“That sounds good, but is it spicy?”
“A little, but only enough. Carolina’s is more about flavors than heat. Go ahead and try it. If it’s too much, we can always stop by the McDonald’s on 7th Street.”
We placed our orders, then went to the pop machine and got our drinks. We found a place to sit while we waited for our number to be called out.
“Wait here,” I told Elizabeth. I went over to the dispensers and loaded up several cups of fragrant red salsa. When I got back to the booth, Elizabeth suspiciously eyed the cups.
“I love the food here and they’ve won awards for best tortillas in town,” I said. “But truthfully, I come here for the salsa. I’m not sure what there is about it, but it’s easily the best in town.” Elizabeth started to ask something. “And no,” I said. “It’s not too spicy.”
Within five minutes, they called our number. I got our dinners and brought them back to the table. Elizabeth eyed the Styrofoam containers and the plastic silverware. She again looked at me when I dumped three cups of salsa on the burro.
Bowing to the inevitable and not wanting to seem rude, she cut off a small piece of her burro and delicately put it in her mouth. After a few seconds, her eyes opened wide. She cut off a bigger piece and stuffed it into her mouth.
“This is really good,” she said before she put the next bite in. “You’re right. It’s not too spicy but has tons of flavors.”
“Try some salsa,” I suggested.
She took the next bite of burro, dipped a corner in the salsa, and then tasted it. Again, she seemed to like the flavor and she dumped the rest of the cup on her burro. We then spent the next fifteen minutes eating and getting drink refills. I even had to go up and get more salsa. Elizabeth took everything I hadn’t already used and we needed more for the tacos.
Finally, we were using our plastic forks to scrap the last of the green sauce and salsa from the bottom of our containers.
“OK,” Elizabeth said. “I misjudged this place. Are there more little places like this around town?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be glad to take you to all of them.”
~~~~
After Carolina’s, we drove back up to the house on Camelback. Since it was getting dark, I switched off my lights as we glided by the entrance of the courtyard. We saw that Les, Morningstar, and Magic were in the pool area and it was brightly lit. It looked like Les and Magic were holding shovels. It also appeared they had moved the statue, pried up a slab of concrete decking, and were digging a hole underneath.
We continued along the road. “It looks like they’ll be there all night,” I said. “We’ll need to wait until they aren’t here. Let’s try again tomorrow morning.”
“I have a monthly staff meeting tomorrow at one o’clock Chicago time. Even though I’m on vacation, I can’t miss it. But, it should be over with by two o’clock Arizona time.”
“Alright,” I said. We’ll meet by the queen palm at two.”
~~~~
I dropped Elizabeth off at her hotel then drove down to the office. It had been a couple of days since I’d reviewed the videos of the bedrooms at George Anson’s house and I was starting to feel like I was neglecting the assignment.
I parked in the back and went in through the security door. After I turned on my computer, I saw I had a new collection of video files starting on Thursday afternoon. Since this was Sunday night, I had three days’ worth of videos from five different cameras to review. I went to the break room fridge and pulled out a bottle of Diet Pepsi.
I went through each of the video files starting with the spare bedrooms and ending up at the master. Unfortunately, none of the cameras showed any evidence that George Anson was having an affair. Feeling a little dejected, I erased each of the files and made the proper notations in my logbook.
If I didn’t get anything on video during the upcoming week, I’d need to change tactics and start tracking George. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. I’ve done it that way before and it usually means a week or two of frustration as I follow some guy around. Half the time I’m spotted and the other half the only evidence I can get is a video of the subject leaving a hotel room with his mistress. Compelling evidence, but certainly not as conclusive as having an hour of high definition video of the couple engaged in the act.
While reviewing the videos, I had noticed the video signal from one of the spare bedrooms was starting to pixelate. This usually means the battery is getting weak. I decided I would need to make time in the morning to go back to George and Debbie’s house and change the batteries.
~~~~
The drive back to my apartment was uneventful and it felt strange to be home before ten o’clock. When I walked in the door, Marlowe hopped off the couch and rubbed against my leg. I think he was also surprised that I was again home so early.
I crawled in bed and checked emails until about eleven. I then rolled over and fell asleep.
~~~~
I woke up Monday to the sound of my alarm and I reached over and hit the alarm clock until it stopped. I had left it set for eight, not because I had anywhere I needed to be, but I didn’t want to waste a morning when I could be productive.
I texted Debbie Anson and said I needed to stop by the house and check on things. I needed to know when the house would be empty so I could change the batteries in the cameras. The answer came back that George was going to be at his dealership in Mesa for the day. Debbie also said she had a charity function and would be out of the house from nine-thirty until three-thirty. That gave me several hours to replace the batteries without the client hovering over me.
Although it might sound like a good idea to have the client help with the cameras, it never works out in practice. As soon as the client learns where the cameras are located, they become overly shy or they become an exhibitionist. Either way, the subject of the investigation will tend to notice something is amiss and become suspicious.
I then called up Horace Morningstar. I didn’t want to tell him everything I knew and I also didn’t want to tell him my real plans for finding the treasure. But I felt I needed to feed him progress reports that made sense and were at least sort-of accurate. If not, I risked losing the working relationship.
“Miss Black,” he said as he answered. “I had hoped I would have heard from you last night. What news do you have from Prescott?”
I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped I wouldn’t go to hell for lying.
“We didn’t find a thing. The property Lester’s granddad owned is a bar on Whisky Row. We talked to twenty or thirty people up there yesterday, but the only ones who even knew Lester’s grandfather were a bartender and the manager of the sal
oon. When we talked to her, we found out Les’ granddad only came up to Prescott occasionally and had nothing to do with the day-to-day operations.”
“Yes,” Morningstar said. “That’s what I would have expected, however it is proper to be diligent and methodical. Until the chest is recovered, we must leave no stone unturned, quite literally in some cases.”
“Today I’ll be going over the other properties he owned,” I said. “There are four tracts of undeveloped land scattered through the Valley. There’s one northwest of the McDowell Mountains, one on Scottsdale Road at Jomax, one in Carefree, and one in the town of Queen Creek. Depending on what’s there, it’ll probably take all day and maybe a good part of tomorrow Elizabeth has a work meeting this morning but then she’ll look with me.
“Very well,” He said. “We may return to South Mountain at some point, but I am beginning to feel that may be somewhat of a dead end.”
Of course you do, you already know the coffin rock points straight at the pool.
“More than likely we’ll be here at the house all day,” he said. “
Damn, how are we going to get to the jewelry if you’re always there?
“For some reason,” Morningstar continued, “Magic has convinced himself that the clue may have something to do with the pool, or at least the area around the pool. I’m afraid he’s been quite busy out there, digging holes and breaking things. I’ve let him to continue tilting at windmills since we ourselves are no farther along in the rest of the mansion. I will confess to you I may have snuck into the master bedroom and looked through the vault. But alas, like Magic, I have been able to go no further in my quest.”
After I promised to be better about checking-in with my progress reports, I hung up the phone and tossed it on my kitchen table in frustration. If Les, Morningstar, and Magic were going to be at the house all day, it would be hard to go in and start poking around at a sculpture in the library. Worse, there was always the chance they may randomly go into the library and discover the statue on their own.
Since there was nothing else to do until I could figure out a way to get the crooks out of the house, I took a long hot shower. By the time I got out, I was starting to feel better, but still had no real game plan.
Well, I thought, first things first. Change the batteries in the cameras and then figure out how to get the treasure.
~~~~
It had been a week since I’d installed the spy cameras in George Anson’s house. Each of the cameras ran off a small battery, which provided enough power for the camera to transmit to a repeater, which I had installed in the garage. The repeater then took the video signals and sent them over the internet to the computers back at the office, where they were recorded and stored. The batteries on the cameras were good, but seven or eight days were about all I could get out of them before they needed to be replaced. Since the one camera was already starting to fade, I knew the rest of them would soon follow.
I pulled into George Anson’s neighborhood at ten o’clock and parked two houses down the block. By ten-thirty, I had replaced the batteries in the three cameras in the master bedroom. I was in the process of replacing the batteries in the first guest bedroom when I heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. I then heard the sound of George’s voice talking to a woman as they both came up the stairs.
Shit, not again.
I quietly closed the door to the guest bedroom and turned the ceiling fan to the lowest setting. The fan was a higher end model and it made no noise as the blades sent a cooling breeze throughout the room. Fortunately, the cameras in the master bedroom were now fully functional. All I had to do was wait for them to finish.
As I lay back on the bed, I realized I knew a lot about ceiling fans. I’m sure most Arizona natives do. Almost all houses in Scottsdale have a ceiling fan in every bedroom, along with the dining room, and the living room. I’ve also seen them in garages, back porches, and even in bathrooms. I could look at a ceiling fan and know what brand it was by the shape of the brass nameplate. I also knew which ones ran silently and which ones would hum as the blades turned. Having quiet ceiling fans were a point of pride in the houses of my neighborhood growing up. A noisy ceiling fan showed you didn’t care about your house. At least that’s what my mother always told me.
I was glad this time I didn’t need to listen to every sound George and his mistress made as they spent the next two hours down the hall in the master bedroom. With the exception of about a dozen times when the woman’s moaning penetrated the thin walls of the bedroom, it was completely silent and peaceful as I lay on the bed, watching the blades of the ceiling fan slowly spin.
~~~~
After I heard the sound of the front door closing and heard the car pulling out of the driveway, I quickly replaced the batteries in the cameras in both of the guest bedrooms.
Since I didn’t need to meet with Elizabeth until two o’clock, and it now was only twelve-thirty, I had the house to myself for at least the next hour. I walked down the stairway and took time to look at some of the pictures on the wall. Most of these were of Debbie, George, and their kids as they went on vacations over the years. There were the obligatory pictures of Disneyland, the Grand Canyon, and of being on the beach in Rocky Point. There was also one taken in Paris in front of the Eiffel Tower. They really did look like a nice family.
I had almost gotten to the bottom of the stairs when a picture caught my eye. It was a family gathering with Debbie and her kids, along with Debbie’s younger sister Connie and her kids. Debbie and her children were wearing matching green shirts, while Connie and her kids were wearing matching blue shirts. As I looked closer, it suddenly hit me.
Oh, shit.
I knew George’s mistress had looked familiar. The woman in the picture, Debbie’s sister Connie, had the body type and same brunette hair as Debbie, but she also had a Cindy Crawford mole on the side of her mouth. Even though I had only seen her briefly, when I had opened the closet door, there was no mistake. George was having an affair with Debbie’s sister Connie.
A feeling of sadness and frustration washed over me. Sometimes, when I think I’ve seen it all, something new comes along and I totally have to rethink what I know and what I don’t know about the world.
Thirteen
The drive back to the office didn’t take very long, but I was still upset thinking about George Anson, Connie, and Debbie.
Why do people do this to themselves?
I parked in my covered space and went in through the rear security door. I then walked up to the front reception area and collapsed in one of the big red-leather wing chairs.
Lenny’s door was closed. Sophie and Gina were having a lively discussion about a married guy named Sean Philips. Sophie had dated him several months back but had broken up with him when he canceled three dates in a row to be with his wife. Sophie was relating story after story about how dating a married guy was more of a hassle than it was worth. After about five minutes of talking and waving her arms, Sophie stopped her stories and looked over at me.
“Hey,” she said. “Why are you sitting there looking so glum?”
Gina looked over at me. I saw her eyes give me the police detective’s once-over.
“Did something happen?” Gina asked. “You do look a little shaken.”
“Are you having another shitty day?” Sophie asked. A crease of concern was on her forehead. “Did you get smacked in the head again?”
“I got the video evidence in the George and Debbie Anson assignment,” I said.
“So, why aren’t you happy?” Sophie asked. “You should be all bubbly and dancing around and stuff. You should be saying things like ‘I can eat real food and not have to survive on chicken ramen for the next two weeks’ and stuff.”
“Did something happen?” Gina asked. “Did someone get hurt?”
“No, nothing like that,” I said. “The woman George Anson’s been having his affair with is Debbie’s sister, Connie.”
“Oh no,” Gin
a said.
“Her sister?” Sophie asked. “Holy crap on a cupcake.”
“How are you going to handle that?” Gina asked.
“Well, Debbie’s already going to divorce the creep,” I said. “So that part’s done. But we also need to find a way to break up the affair. Marrying a jerk is something we all can do, but sisters are forever. If Debbie ever finds out, they’ll never speak to each other again.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Sophie asked. “After all, she’s been nailing Debbie’s husband for years.”
“Of course it’s a bad thing,” Gina said.
“Everyone makes a mistake from time to time,” I said. “From what I heard, Connie isn’t getting what she needs at home. Maybe she latched onto the first guy who was sympatric toward her.”
“It’s happened before,” Gina said.
“So, what are you going to do?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t know yet. But we need to think of something. Divorces happen every day, but I don’t want to see Debbie’s life get ruined in the process. When will Lenny schedule the conference with George and opposing council?”
“If you have the video evidence, it will probably be tomorrow morning,” Sophie said. “Both Lenny and opposing council are eager to wrap this up. George hasn’t budged on any of his positions and it’s even frustrating his own attorney. Lenny will use the videos to force a quick settlement.”
I suddenly had an idea. “OK, we’ll need to work fast, but I know how we can make this work for Debbie.”
~~~~
I sent a text to Elizabeth to have her call me after she got out of her meeting. She texted back that she would be done relatively soon.
~~~~
We set up a small editing studio in the main conference room. This was so Sophie could see if a client walked in off the street and get to her desk phone if it rang.
We had worked on the videos for about half an hour. We had the original videos in raw form. These would be the ones we would submit to the court as evidence, in case they were ever needed at a hearing.
