Scottsdale Heat: a romantic light-hearted murder mystery (Laura Black Mysteries Book 1)

by B A Trimmer

  “Yeah,” Lenny said. “I asked her about that. Apparently, there has been a falling out between the two of them. She didn’t say what it was, but I take it they no longer communicate.”

  Great, nothing I hate more than getting in the middle of a family squabble.

  I kept my mouth shut as Lenny went on.

  “If it turns out drugs or other illegal activities are involved, Alexander’s grandmother wants to be informed. All the details.”

  “If Alexander is picked up by the police in the meantime, we’ll be representing him?” I asked.

  “Most likely, so use your judgment on how closely you dig into any criminal activity. If something starts to smell ugly, back off and let me know right away. I’d rather the DA didn’t call you to the stand to testify against Alexander. It’s not the sort of thing a wealthy client appreciates.”

  Not that it would ever come to that. One of the reasons people come to Lenny is his clients almost never go to trial. By using his well-paid connections, things were usually settled out of court. Money can still do that, even in Scottsdale.

  “Mrs. Sternwood is expecting you at noon,” Lenny said, as way of my dismissal. “Sophie has the address.”

  I looked down at my watch. It was 11:19.

  Damn.

  I went out to Sophie’s desk and asked her for Mrs. Sternwood’s address. She wrote it out and handed it to me. When I looked at it, I realized Sophie was right. She was rich.

  ~~~~

  I left the office and headed up Scottsdale road to Lincoln. I shoved Fall Out Boy into the CD player and turned it up loud.

  As I drove, I began to reflect on my love life. So OK, maybe it was a mistake to think about that. Since my divorce, I’ve had a pathetic love life. Not that it was so great while I was married, but at least the sheer quantity of sex somehow made up for the crappy quality. Maybe there’s something wrong with me? I think about men all the time. Maybe I’m a nymphomaniac? Of course if I am, then I’m a pretty lousy nymphomaniac. The last time I was with a man was just over six months ago and that was with a lowlife golf pro named Dusty. But, several months before, I had dated a cop named Jackson Reno. We had really gotten along great. He was warm, funny, and a terrific lover. I thought the relationship could take off. Unfortunately, the whole thing had ended badly. More unfortunately, it was mostly my fault. By the time I tried to set things straight, he was with someone new. So, that’s where I am now. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Reno and maybe it’s for the best. I just wish I’d stop dreaming about him.

  ~~~~

  Margaret Sternwood lived in Paradise Valley, which is the mile-wide valley between Camelback Mountain, Mummy Mountain, and Peistewa Peak. Paradise Valley is wealthy, even by Scottsdale standards. High walls and iron gates protect most of the homes in the valley. Many of the gates also have guards to further discourage people who don’t belong.

  From her address, I knew Mrs. Sternwood lived in a cluster of old money estates on the south side of Mummy Mountain. I took Lincoln to Desert Fairways, then went north to Mummy Mountain Road. Here, both a gate and a guard blocked the road.

  As I pulled up, a guard stepped out of his shack and held up a hand to stop me. I told him my name and he went back in the booth and typed it into a computer. I guess I was on the list of good people, because he hit a button and the gate slowly swung open.

  As I drove through the gate, I was aware of being vaguely disappointed. Having someone let you into a secure area kind of took the fun out of being there.

  ~~~~

  I drove along a narrow lane winding up the side of the mountain. High hedges of pink and white flowering oleanders lined the sides of the road. Every hundred yards, or so, I’d pass by the driveway of some beautiful house. Each house had a large tropical or floral display on either side of the driveway entrance. Occasionally, I could catch a glimpse of one of the houses at the end of the driveway. Each was unique and magnificent. Each house said the owner had money and wasn’t afraid to spend it.

  After half a mile, I passed through a large open gate and into a wide cobblestone courtyard was in front of either a huge house or a small hotel. On the far side of the courtyard was an eight-car garage. I checked the address, which was on a plaque near the front door, and confirmed I was at the right place.

  I rang the bell and after several moments a butler answered. He was medium height and bone thin. I guessed his age at about a hundred and fifty.

  “I’m Laura Black,” I said. “I have an appointment with Mrs. Sternwood.”

  “Yes, Miss Black,” he said. His voice was wheezy and came out in gasps. “Mrs. Sternwood is expecting you. She is having cocktails by the pool and asks if you would join her.” He then turned and shuffled down the hall. I followed him. Going through the Sternwood house made me again realize in Scottsdale there are the rich and the rest of us. Unfortunately, I was definitely not among the rich.

  ~~~~

  Mrs. Sternwood was reclining on a chaise lounge by the side of a sparkling blue tropical-lagoon style pool. She was wearing a white jogging suit with a royal blue scarf and white sneakers. She had on an oversize straw hat and large white-rimmed sunglasses.

  As I walked toward her she stood up. The butler announced me and she motioned me to a poolside table. As I got closer, she held out her hand and we shook.

  “I’m Margaret Sternwood,” she said, “but call me Muffy. All my friends call me Muffy. You’re Laura Black. Leonard told me all about you. Says you’re pretty good.”

  As we sat, the butler asked me what I’d like to drink. Mrs. Sternwood was drinking white wine, her glass half full.

  I hesitated. “Go ahead,” Muffy said. “Have a belt. It’s past noon and I hate to drink alone.”

  “OK,” I said to the butler. “Scotch, one ice cube.” The butler gave a little bow and turned to shuffle back to the house. I usually don’t start drinking until later in the day, but since Muffy was drinking, I thought I should too. I tend to get better answers when the other person has a drink in their hands. Alcohol has always been the poor man’s truth serum.

  Muffy took off her sunglasses and I was able to get a look at her. She was a small, thin woman of about 75 years. On her fingers and wrists she wore about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold and diamond jewelry. Her dark blue eyes sparkled as she spoke to me.

  “Thanks for coming over,” Muffy said. “As I’m sure Leonard told you, I’m afraid my grandson, Alexander, has gotten mixed up in something again. I don’t have any real evidence yet, but I know something’s not right.”

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “Well, I wish I could just call it a grandmother’s intuition. But, combine my intuition with Alexander quitting his job and spending money he couldn’t possibly have? I just know he’s somehow gotten himself in a deep pile of crap.”

  My grandmother never talked like that.

  The butler brought my Scotch and I had a sip. It was wonderful. Chivas perhaps, but smoother. Maybe the 18-year-old stuff? I guess there are advantages to being rich.

  “Alexander’s parents died while he was still quite young,” she said. “I’ve raised him since he was a pup. Even as a child, he was a hell-raiser. He was arrested for the first time when he was fourteen. He broke into the Wentworth’s house, just down the hill, while they were skiing in Colorado. Alexander tripped the silent alarm and was caught red-handed by the police. We hushed it up, of course, but it was terribly embarrassing. The Wentworths haven’t had us over since. That wasn’t such a big loss, but it’s never good to be known as the neighborhood thieves. He was arrested three more times over the next few years. Twice for shoplifting and once for stealing a car. Finally, just after he turned twenty-one, there was the business of the internet auction. Back then the idea of selling expensive items on the internet was still relatively new. I suppose Alexander thought he could somehow get away with it. When I heard about his arrest I became so upset I almost threw a clot. I told myself it was
high time my grandson learned to live with the consequences of his actions. Alexander had been scheduled to receive a considerable trust fund when he turned twenty-five. I let him know he won’t receive a dime until he turned thirty, and that’s assuming he stops being a crook. I told him if anything else happens, then I’m done with him. He’s out, completely.”

  “But instead of understanding or appreciating what you were doing, he just became angry?” I asked.

  “Oh, he was furious. He blames me for everything that’s happened to him. Since his release from prison, he’s refused to see me or even speak with me on the phone. Of course, I don’t know if I could have done anything to have prevented the outcome of the trial. Given his previous problems with the law, the judge threw the book at him. After he was released from prison he began working at an Audi dealership. Work was a mandatory part of his probation, you see. From what I understand, he enjoyed it and was good at it. A few weeks ago, I even spotted Alexander having dinner with a young lady. They seemed to be very fond of each other. His probation ended last month without incident. Things seemed to have turned around for him.”

  Muffy saw my glass was almost empty and motioned the butler over.

  “Do we still have any Balvenie Cask 191 Scotch? You remember, the stuff we had when that actor was over here last month? Get her three fingers of that.” The butler didn’t respond, he just gave a little bow and turned to shuffle back to the house.

  “But, then Alexander quit his job?” I prompted.

  “I first heard about it when his parole officer, David Rasmussen, called me. David had called the Audi dealership last week to see how Alexander was doing. He and Alexander had apparently developed some sort of friendship. Alexander’s supervisor at work, a man named William Martin, told David that Alexander had quit without giving a reason. David called me to ask if I knew what had happened. You know the rest.”

  She sighed and watched a gardener trim a honeysuckle bush for a moment. She then turned and looked directly at me. “I can’t believe Alexander would return to crime after all the nonsense he’s been through. Nevertheless, there’s something wrong. I’d like to find out what it is and I’d like you to help me.”

  I looked back into her eyes. “Muffy, I’ll do my best.”

  The butler walked back to the table. He set down the Scotch, along with another glass of wine for Muffy.

  I took a sip of the Scotch. It took a second for my brain to realize what was happening in my mouth. The Scotch seemed to melt on my tongue, dissolving down my throat in a wave of hot pleasure.

  Damn.

  A small shudder of pleasure went down my spine and I felt a smooth warmth creep through me. I took another sip and glanced over at Muffy. She had a sly smile on her face.

  “Do you like it?” she asked. “I’m not much of a Scotch drinker, but hells-bells, that stuff’s expensive, so it had better be good. If I remember it right, that Scotch is older than you are.”

  “Ooooh,” I moaned. “It’s like liquid sex.”

  “Sex in a bottle, huh? Now that’s something that would sell.”

  ~~~~

  We talked for almost two hours. Muffy ended up giving me the names, phone numbers, and addresses of Alexander’s friends. She also gave me the places he had worked, and the places she thought he hung out. By the time I left, I felt like Alexander and I were old friends.

  ~~~~

  As I drove back to my side of town, I gave Sophie a call on my cell phone.

  “Hey chica, looks like it’s going to be a couple of busy days, again. Do you want to do something before things get too crazy? I'm thinking dinner.”

  “Sure, swing by about 6:00,” Sophie said. “Lenny has me working on a deposition until then.”

  “Do you have the file on Alexander Sternwood yet?”

  “I’m pulling it together now. I’ll have it for you tonight.”

  TWO

  I drove east on McDonald to Miller, then south to my apartment. I parked in my space in the lot behind the building.

  My apartment building was originally built as a small hotel in the 1970’s. The interior of the building is hollow, constructed as an enormous atrium. Standing on the atrium floor you can look up and see the walkways circling each of the five floors. On the ground level in the back corner is a 60-inch TV, surrounded by a cluster of chairs and couches. You can usually find six or seven residents here watching TV, playing cards, or just chatting. In my apartment building gossip tends to flow freely.

  The combination of time and spotty maintenance has caused the building to show its age, but it has a unique style. Besides, it’s close to downtown and the rent is cheap. Cheap for Scottsdale, that is.

  I walked into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. The elevator is slow and makes a lot of noise, but it always makes it to my floor. I got out of the elevator, walked down the hall, and opened the door to my apartment.

  Marlowe heard me and came in off the balcony. I share a bedroom balcony with my next-door neighbor, Grandma Peckham. We’ve both installed cat doors in our windows so Marlowe may come and go as he pleases. Marlowe spends most of his day with Grandma and his nights with me. I think we both feed him. It could explain why he’s gotten so fat.

  I put on a fresh pot of coffee. The Scotch had made me feel warm and tingly all over, but now I needed to perk back up. Sitting at the kitchen table, I organized what I had so far on Alexander. I then went into the bedroom, stripped off my skirt and blouse, laying them on a stack of clothes on the bed. Marlowe followed me into the bedroom. He jumped up on the bed lay down on the blouse.

  I pulled out a short black skirt that hangs just above my knee. It is made of a silky miracle fabric that never wrinkles, or keeps a stain, perfect for me. I also like it because it has little silver sparkles that flash and twinkle as I move. It makes me feel special whenever I wear it. I then found my favorite red knit top, the one with the plunging neckline. Sophie had given it to me a couple of weeks before, for Christmas, and I really love the way I look in it.

  What the hell, it’s after five.

  Mug of coffee by my side, I spent about fifteen minutes doing an OK job with the make-up. Eyes, cheeks, and lips, all passable. I brushed out my hair and left it just a little fluffy. I then put on a pair of black medium heeled sandals I hadn’t worn in a while. I was set.

  ~~~~

  Traffic was heavy as I drove back to the office. I parked in my spot and went in. I found Sophie at her desk, talking to Gina. The Black Eyed Peas were playing over the office audio system. Lenny must have already gone home for the night.

  “Hey Laura,” Sophie said. “Look who came wandering back.”

  “Hey Gina,” I said. “How was Vegas?”

  “Dull,” Gina said. “It doesn’t matter how old the baby is, I hate babysitting. He kept trying to get laid by picking up women at the Bellagio pool. He became so annoying the manager threatened to kick him out. Then, he had the great idea of going to Circus-Circus. For some reason, he thought the women would be easier there. When that didn’t work, he started hitting on me. I was afraid he’d start dry humping my leg, like a dog. I had to threaten to cut off his balls before he would leave me alone.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, never missing a chance to tease Gina. “Maybe you missed out. An eighteen-year-old would have a lot of stamina. He could pleasure you all night.”

  “Yuck,” said Sophie, puckering her lips.

  “Eighteen? That’s so gross,” Gina said, “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “You ready for dinner?” I asked.

  “Starving,” Sophie answered.

  “So am I,” Gina said. “I haven’t eaten anything today except for the peanuts on the plane.”

  We walked across and down the street to Dos Gringos, a small Baja restaurant in the middle of the Arts District. The place has always has a charm to it. The tables are mostly located outside on a patio. Each table has a large umbrella or is underneath one of several trees.
Colorful strands of lights are strung everywhere. Alternative and popular music was pumping out of speakers hung throughout the restaurant. As usual, the place was packed with twenty-something’s dressed in trendy casual.

  We found an open table near the front, next to the low brick wall that divides the seating area from the sidewalk. This location was perfect for us. We liked watching the guys as they strolled by on foot or cruised by in expensive convertibles.

  After a minute, our waitress came by. We ordered dinners along with Gringorita Margaritas for Gina and me. Sophie ordered a Top Dropper.

  “How’d it go with Mrs. Sternwood?” Sophie asked. “What’d her house look like? Was it fabulous?”

  “Her house is more than I could ever dream of,” I said, “and that’s even if I win the lottery.”

  Our waitress brought the margaritas and Sophie’s Top Dropper. We then munched on chips and salsa until she brought over our dinners. I hadn’t realized I was so hungry until I took the first bite. Maybe it’s just the cilantro, but I love Baja cuisine. I dumped half a bowl of the hot salsa on my burrito and dug in.

  “Gina and I were talking about Alexander before you showed up,” Sophie mumbled, her mouth half full. “What’s the big deal? So the guy has some money and he quit his job. From what I understand, that family has piles of money lying around. Maybe Alex just found a way to tap into some of it without his grandmother knowing about it. I know if I found a way to get my hands on a couple hundred thousand dollars, I’d quit my job too. Only then I’d disappear for a while. Too many people would want a cut.”

  “It’s not like that,” I mumbled back, my mouth half full of carne asada and green chilies. “All Alex has to do is keep his nose clean for a few years and then he’s mega rich. He wouldn’t blow that on something stupid. If he goes to jail again his grandmother will cut him off, like completely.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Gina said. “Guys can be pretty stupid. Where are you going to start?”