Tarte Tatin Murder

by Sandi Scott

  On the outskirts of the city of Galveston, Ryan turned into a flower-lined driveway leading to a late-nineteenth century, two-story farmhouse. Its well-kept grounds were inviting, boasting lush lawns and raised beds holding both flowers and what appeared to be vegetable plants. When Ashley commented on the unusual combination, Ryan explained, “Part of the therapy here is working on the edible landscaping. It gets the patients out in the sunshine and working with their hands. And Charlie's doctor explained to me that growing vegetables and then helping prepare them for meals gives the patients a boost of confidence without much risk of failure.”

  A wide covered porch lined the entire front of the house, with tables, chairs and rockers defining several small areas for conversation. They went inside to find a wide, cool entryway with a reception desk on the left. A staff member came through the door behind the desk as they approached.

  “Hi! I'm Maria, one of the nurses. May I help you?”

  “Yes, I'm Ryan Bregar, and this is Ashley Adams. We're here to see Charlie Brady. Dr. Ramirez approved it because of the extenuating circumstances.”

  Maria nodded. “Yes, he told me you would be here, and he explained just enough to be sure I could help as much as possible. Mr. Brady is waiting in the garden for you. I'll show you the way. Would you like some iced tea or coffee while you visit? I can send someone out with it.”

  Ryan looked at Ashley, and she answered, “That would be lovely. We had a bit of a drive, so something cool to drink would be refreshing.” As they passed through a dining room furnished with what appeared to be antiques from the time when the house was built, Maria popped her head into the kitchen.

  “Josh, would you mind bringing a pitcher of tea and three glasses out to the garden? Mr. Brady and his guests will be talking out there.” Whoever was in the kitchen assured her that he would bring it out right away, and they continued through the doors to the back garden area.

  “These stained-glass panels in the door are fantastic,” Ashley remarked. “Are they original to the house?”

  “No,” Maria answered. “One of the first patients here designed and created them. The animals are all symbolic of something important to the healing of our residents, and they are all animals that you might see in Texas. For example, the squirrel represents planning ahead and being prepared, the prairie dog symbolizes community, and the armadillo stands for empathy and personal protection. The birds are special, too; the dove, of course, means peace, the hummingbird is joy, the cardinal is renewed vitality, the eagle shows healing and the owl represents wisdom.”

  “Wow, I'd never heard about those animals in that context. That makes the panels even more beautiful!” Ashley was impressed by the artwork and by Maria's knowledge of its many meanings.

  “Yes, the artist wanted the residents to remember the lessons they learn here whenever they see those animals back home,” Maria agreed.

  As they stepped onto the small back deck, they took in the casual gardens filled with flowers, trees, and more mixed beds. The smells of rosemary and basil combined with the fragrance of the roses, honeysuckle, and gardenias to create an almost overwhelming perfume. Ashley imagined ladies in long dresses enjoying afternoon tea among the plants, listening to the happy birdsong.

  A short bark and a tug on the leash in her hand brought Ashley back to the present as Dizzy spotted Uncle Charlie. She seemed determined to get to him, even though he was a stranger to her. When they were close enough, she looked back at Ashley as if to say, “What are you waiting for? Unhook my leash!” Off-leash, she immediately shoved her head into the man's lap and snuggled in, ducking her nose under his hand to encourage pets. Charlie's shoulders immediately relaxed, although not by much.

  “Ryan! Ashley! Thank you so much for coming. And thank you, Maria, for bringing them out to me. I know you're busy, and I appreciate you taking out the time.” Charlie smiled weakly at the young nurse, obviously sincere but unhappy.

  “Mr. Brady, you know I'll take care of whatever you need! Josh will be out in a minute with some iced tea. You and your friends relax and have your talk. If you need anything, just step into the kitchen and ask Josh to call me.” With that, she smiled, waved and headed back inside.

  “Charlie, I'm sorry for all the trouble you're having, but I'm so glad you've come here,” Ashley tentatively reached out to hug the older man. “Please know we are doing everything we can to get this murder case straightened out, so try not to worry too much about that while you're here.”

  Charlie looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “I don't know what to say. You are so kind to even talk to me, much less to try to help. I've screwed things up so badly. I don't know if they can be fixed or not, and I'm pretty sure I don't deserve it if they can.”

  Ashley squeezed his hand lightly to reassure him. Ryan cleared his throat and shifted in his seat before asking, “Uncle Charlie, will you tell Ashley what you told me last night? What you remembered about the golf tournament?”

  Nodding, Charlie turned to Ashley. “We started around the course, and Oliver was asking me about my finances. It made me nervous; I was sure he knew I'd been skimming from the donations. I kept drinking from my flask; by the time I realized that he was leading up to asking me to invest in his project, that darned thing was nearly empty.”

  But the flask was still full when he came into the clubhouse, Ashley remembered. Before she could say so, Ryan asked, “Did Dr. Green say anything specific about the project?” Ashley wondered if he'd told Charlie about the problems with the results.

  “He wanted money to help get the new medication on the market. He said he probably wouldn't need the cash right away. In fact, he said that the trial success wasn't even a sure thing and that it could be years away.”

  “Did he tell you why? I mean, did he explain what he meant about the trials?”

  “No, Ryan, and I didn't ask. I thought it was odd, because the board understood that the approval was pretty close, but I didn't want to have to admit that I didn’t have the money to invest; I was afraid it would lead to him figuring out I was embezzling from CURE. All I could think was that I needed to finish the round as fast as possible and find another drink.”

  “You said that your flask was empty, but when I saw you at the bar later, it was so full that the alcohol sloshed out. If you drank all of what you brought and the clubhouse bar was dry due to their inventory issue, how could that happen?” It might not be important, but then again it might turn out later to be significant, so Ashley thought they'd better clear it up now.

  “We got to the fifth hole and one of the volunteers, one of Oliver’s lab workers, drove up. He stopped to talk to us. It turned out that he also loves good Scotch whiskey, and he had a bottle with him. Between the three of us, we drained it pretty quickly, which is a shame, because it really was good stuff that should have been sipped and appreciated, not guzzled.” Charlie gave a weak smirk.

  Ryan picked up the questioning again. “Why did you come back to the clubhouse early? Why didn't you stay and finish the game?”

  “I've been thinking about that. It's one of the things I couldn't remember, and that didn't make sense to me. Now that I'm sobering up, it came back to me last night; it's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you about my phone, Ryan. When we were finishing at the sixth hole, I got a call. I don't know who was on the line, but he said that there was an emergency at the clubhouse and that I was needed right away to handle it. Oliver was uncharacteristically generous about it; he told me to go ahead and he'd play through. He said he could use the time to clear his head. That part didn't make much sense then, and I'm still not exactly sure what he meant, but I started back and left him walking toward the seventh hole.”

  So that was the emergency Charlie mentioned, Ashley thought, not his flask. She didn't mention it, but it did clear things a bit.

  “I can't find my phone, so I can't prove there ever was a call. I guess I dropped it somewhere between the sixth hole and the clubhouse. I was hoping, R
yan, that you'd been able to find it.” Charlie looked hopeful.

  “Well, I did track the GPS coordinates on it, and it got back to the clubhouse but a lot faster than you would have been walking. Maybe someone else found it and brought it to the lost-and-found at the club? You know, someone in a golf cart?”

  “If someone turned it in, I haven't heard about it; no one notified me.” He hesitated and then shrugged. “That's probably for the best right now, though. I need to focus on rehab and getting sober; a phone would be a big distraction and probably a temptation as well.”

  Charlie looked like he was tiring fast, and it seemed like he'd shared everything he remembered so far. After exchanging hugs and promises to keep trying to find his phone and to clear his name, Ryan and Ashley wished him well with his treatment and left.

  A little later, as Dizzy chased seagulls on an empty section of beach, Ashley and Ryan talked about what to do next.

  “I think we need to talk to Javier Ortiz, the club manager,” Ashley decided. “His name is on the clinical trial participants list, and his daughter died from cancer recently. Maybe he blamed Green for not saving her. If not, maybe he'll still have something helpful to share. I can go by his house tomorrow before I go to work.”

  “I'll go back to the club and see if I can track down Charlie's phone,” Ryan said. “It won't prove conclusively that he's innocent, but being able to prove he got the call at least will lend credence to his story, and knowing who made the call might be a good lead. In fact, maybe I should talk to Sheriff Mueller and tell him what we've discovered so far.”

  Ashley agreed. Calling Dizzy back to them, they left the beach to return to Seagrass.

  CHAPTER 14

  The house number painted on the mailbox confirmed the address she’d found for Javier Ortiz. Ashley pulled to a stop in front of the house and sat for a minute, taking in her surroundings while thinking how to approach her conversation with a grieving father.

  An older cottage-style home, the house itself looked to be in good repair and had been painted within the last two or three years, but the yard had definitely been neglected. The lawn was overgrown, although not to the jungle level. The window boxes were filled with browned, dried foliage, and the flower beds lining the walkway to the front porch hadn't been replanted in the spring. The pots on the porch made Ashley think that there had once been a lush container garden there, but now the pots held nothing but the dead remnants of plants. It was clear that the residents had been busy with something other than landscaping lately.

  Dreading the discussion she was about to have, Ashley stepped out of her car and started up the walkway, admiring the herringbone pattern of the bricks despite the weeds poking between them. A hand-painted rug design decorated the boards of the porch; obviously, the Ortiz family enjoyed adding personal, DIY touches to their quaint, traditional home. She knocked on the door and waited.

  When no one answered, she knocked again, then walked over to the picture window next to the door. The room was empty except for a hospital bed. Just as she was about to knock again, she heard a short bark and some whining, and the door slowly opened to reveal a Jack Russell terrier bouncing at the feet of a man, deep lines of grief etched into his face.

  “Mr. Ortiz? My name is Ashley Adams. I wonder if you have a minute to talk to me about what happened at the golf club?”

  Eyes full of pain considered her for what seemed like forever before Javier Ortiz stepped back to open the door wider. “Please come in, Ms. Adams. I don't know anything about what happened, but you look pretty determined. I'd bet that, if I don't talk to you now, you'll keep coming back until I do.” He turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to follow.

  “We'll go into the kitchen; we can be comfortable in there. Would you like something to drink?” He didn't seem bothered by Ashley's presence, but he appeared unable to summon enough energy to care whether she followed or not.

  “A glass of water would be fine,” Ashley answered, thinking that it would give him something to do while they talked. “Tap is fine; don't go to any trouble.”

  Ortiz took a pretty blue glass from the neatly organized cabinet and filled it with ice and water before handing it to Ashley. He picked up a World's Best Dad mug from the table and refilled it from a bottle on the counter. Noticing Ashley's glance, he chuckled mirthlessly and said, “It's not booze, although I've dived into a bottle or two lately. This is an herbal concoction my wife swears by for good health, although it tastes vile. Please, have a seat at the table and tell me what brings you to my home.”

  Ashley had been looking at the family photos on the breakfast bar; most of them pictured a cute young girl with beautiful black hair and twinkling brown eyes. In a few of the shots, the girl looked much thinner and paler, but the joy in her eyes still elicited a smile from those who saw it. Before Ashley could sit or ask any questions, he said, “That is my daughter, Gloria. She's—” He choked for a moment. “She was 10 years old. She died six weeks ago from cancer.”

  “I'm so sorry, Mr. Ortiz,” Ashley said. “It's so hard to think of young children being that sick. I'm very sorry for your loss.”

  “Please, call me Javier,” he replied. “It's a cliché, but it's true—no parent should ever outlive his children. She was definitely a daddy's girl—my angel—and there is a hole in my heart and my life that nothing else will ever fill.”

  Ashley hesitated for a moment, knowing her next questions were only going to add to his pain, but she knew that she had to ask if they were going to be able to help Charlie.

  “Mr. Ortiz—Javier—I'm sorry to bother you now, but I believe an innocent man is being blamed for Oliver Green's murder. Can you tell me what you know about what happened that day?”

  “Actually, most of what I know is what others have told me. You may have heard that I left the club early that day. In fact, I slipped out often during the last months of my daughter's life. The day of the tournament was supposed to be my first full day back. I know that two golfers found that man dead on the greens and that the sheriff's office thinks Charles Brady killed him.” The venom in his voice when he said “that man” surprised Ashley.

  “Did you know Dr. Green?” Ashley wondered if Ortiz would admit to being on the clinical trial participants list.

  “Oh, yeah, I knew him, and I won't even pretend that I'm sorry he's dead. He only got what he deserved, and I'd like to congratulate whoever did it!” His eyes flashed with anger and bitterness. “I've never hated anyone before; I always try to find something positive in everyone I meet, but I will always hate that man with everything in me.”

  “He convinced my wife and me to enter Gloria into his drug trials. He promised that it would save her, making it sound like a sure thing. We were desperate, you see. None of the other treatments had been effective, and the doctors told us it was time to bring her home, make her as comfortable as possible, and wait for the end. Green insisted that his drug would do what nothing else had, that Gloria's cancer would be cured and she would become healthy again. Instead, not only did it not cure her, the side effects were horrible. That “miracle drug” of his made her suffer more than the cancer did, and then she died anyway. He was a liar who didn't care about the people he hurt.” He broke down and sobbed. Ashley found a box of tissues on a nearby china cabinet and handed them to him, waiting until he calmed before speaking again.

  “I'm sorry. It's so hard. I think I have my emotions under control, but I get angry all over again every time I think about what that man did to my family. We would have lost our daughter anyway, but it hurts so much to think that she went through so much suffering because I let that man persuade me to try that drug.”

  “Javier, it isn't your fault. You did what any parent would do—you tried everything possible to help your child. But didn't Dr. Green or his staff explain the side effects to you, at all?” Ashley had to ask.

  “Wendy Graham mentioned that the drug had some unpleasant side effects, but Green waved off what she was t
rying to tell us and sent her away. Then he told us that the effects were minimal and asked if it wouldn't be worth a little bit of sickness or minor pain—he emphasized the word when he said it—to save Gloria's life. He knew what he was saying was a lie -- he knew!” Anger flashed across Ortiz's face again, and his hands tightened into fists.

  “Did you ever talk to him about it all?” Ashley asked.

  He dropped his head, looking slightly ashamed. “I was going to confront him at the tournament. I even went out on the course to find him and tell him all of what I thought of him. I found him on the seventh hole, but there was already someone with him, so I left without speaking to him.”

  “Was he with Charlie Brady? They were golfing partners that day,” Charlie said he had left Green at the sixth hole.

  “No. It was one of the volunteers. They were arguing pretty loudly, although I couldn't understand what they were saying. I didn't see Mr. Brady anywhere.”

  “Who was the man? Did you recognize him?” Ashley perked up; this was the first they'd heard of someone else being in the area at the time of the murder. Maybe she'd finally found a viable lead.

  “No, I didn't know him. In fact, I didn't even see his face clearly; he was wearing this goofy, droopy straw hat. I know he was driving around in a golf cart, though. I think there were signs about the fundraiser still in the back of the cart; that's what they looked like, anyway.” Ortiz shrugged.

  Pausing for a moment to consider what she'd heard, Ashley finally asked, “Javier, the bartender told me that your boss sent you home because you were so upset and that you left the club not long before the time the detectives think Green was killed. Where did you go?”

  His eyes filled with tears again. “I went to the cemetery, to Gloria's grave. I wanted to tell her again how sorry I am for putting her through the trial and to promise her that I would confront Green soon. And, before you ask, yes, someone did see me. The gatekeeper can tell you when I arrived and when I left; we've gotten to know each other since my daughter died.”