Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Oh. One more thing. Your mother called.”

  “Aargh. Did she leave a message?”

  “I’m pretty good about taking messages, Phee. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Truth be told, all I understood was for you to call her and something about a dead woman haunting your mother’s friends. Is this the same dead woman from the catwalk?”

  “Yes and no. Some of my mom’s friends who are on the crew insist they’ve seen Miranda Lee’s ghost. That was the victim. Miranda Lee. As for the ghost . . . I don’t know what to tell you. Anyway, I don’t want to keep Nate waiting.”

  “Sure thing, Phee.”

  I gave a quick knock on the door and let myself into Nate’s office.

  He was sitting at his computer, cup of coffee in hand. “Hey, kiddo! Heard you had a fun night. Marshall sent me a text.”

  “If by fun you mean watching someone check under beds and in closets for ghosts or boogiemen, then I’d say I had a fabulous night. Honestly, Nate, my mother’s friends are unbelievable. I can’t possibly imagine what’s going through Marshall’s head right now.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. Listen, you and Marshall can thank me later, but I’ve got something for you.” Nate reached across his desk and handed me a manila envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “A four-year-old lawsuit that never came to fruition.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I started to do a background check on Miranda Lee, I found this little tidbit of information. It may not amount to much, but then again, I’ve seen weaker motives for murder.”

  “What is it?” My hands were working frantically to open the envelope and see for myself.

  Meanwhile, Nate jumped ahead. “Miranda was suing the local purebred kennel club and its board for refusing to list her dog, Lady Lee, as a purebred Chinese Crested Hairless, whatever the heck those are. But take a good look at who was listed on the kennel club board at the time.”

  “Oh my gosh. Gordon Web. The guy who plays Giles Ralston in the play. Cindy Dolton from the dog park told me he owns a Pomeranian. But that’s not all. Gordon was the one who nearly broke a leg falling through an open trapdoor on the stage. You don’t suppose he did that to himself to throw everyone off? Maybe he killed her.”

  “Like I said, it’s a weak motive, but there may be more to it. I’ve got to head back to Tucson in less than an hour, so when Marshall gets back, show him this and see what he thinks. The other information on Miranda is also in there.”

  “Soon as I take a break, I’ll look it over.”

  “Who are you kidding, Phee? You won’t be able to leave that envelope alone for more than ten seconds. Go on. I know you’ll get the accounting done.”

  “You know me too well. Have a good drive to Tucson.” I rushed into my office, booted up my computer and plopped myself in front of my desk. I felt like a ten-year-old kid who’d ditched school to read comic books in the john, but instead of reading about Archie and Veronica, I was prying into Miranda’s life and savoring every last detail.

  The envelope contained computerized records, a few handwritten notes (from Nate presumably), and some photocopies from various places of employment.

  Paula Darren was right. According to verification of employment, Miranda had been a registered nurse at the Brookridge Rehabilitation Center in Phoenix. It was one of a long series of nursing positions she’d held since first starting out in her home state of Rhode Island. I thought Paula had mentioned that, too. Something about cremation and a niece being the only living relative. But the mention of Rhode Island plagued me. Where had I heard it before in reference to the play?

  Systematically, I went through each of the cast members and tried to remember what I’d heard about them. Finally, it dawned on me, but it wasn’t specific. Something Myrna had told my mother about Randolph Tilden Jr. being a retired theater professor from back east, possibly Rhode Island.

  I jumped out of my seat and headed back to Nate’s office. Did he or Marshall do a background check on Randolph?

  “If you’re looking for Mr. Williams, he left a few minutes ago.”

  “Drat. Thanks, Augusta.”

  “Anything I can get for you?”

  “I don’t think so. I was hoping Nate or Marshall had done a background check on one of the cast members.”

  “Can’t help you with that, but Marshall should be in any minute.”

  “Okay.”

  I walked back to my desk and tried to remember what else I’d heard about Randolph. Midway through a spreadsheet update, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Louise. She, too, knew Randolph had prior theater experience, but there was something else. A feeling Louise had, and it wasn’t a good one. If Randolph was the type who was capable of “tearing the wings off of flies,” would he also be the type to commit murder? Especially if his path and Miranda’s crossed way back in Rhode Island.

  I had to get that background information on Randolph or I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything. Poor Marshall. The minute I heard him say hello to Augusta, I was out of my office and standing directly in front of him. He couldn’t make a move without bumping into me.

  “Hey, Phee. Get any sleep last night?”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “Uh, no. Just asking because I had barely closed my eyes when the alarm went off. Your mother’s friends are quite the trip.”

  “Yeah. Um. Sorry about that.”

  “Like I said last night, it was kind of amusing. Certainly more amusing than the conversation I had with Stanley Krumpmeyer first thing this morning. Boy, what a jerk! Forget about rage being a motive for him killing Miranda. Seems to me the guy gets off on arguing. Said his verbal altercations with her kept his mind sharp and focused. Was sorry he lost a sparring partner. Can you imagine? And as far as information goes, all he gave me was a rehash of what we already knew. Nothing useful.”

  “I may have something useful. I mean, I need to find something out that might be useful. Did you or Nate conduct a background check on Randolph? He’s the one who supposedly had an earache the day Miranda’s body was found.”

  “Not yet. At least I didn’t, and if Nate did, then he would have shared it with me. Don’t look so distressed. I can get going on it right away. Why is it so important?”

  “I think there might have been a connection between him and Miranda. But only if he taught in some college in Rhode Island. If that state doesn’t show up, don’t waste your time with the rest.”

  “Fair enough. I think we can rule out Stanley as a suspect, but let me see about churning up something on our infamous Mr. Tilden before my first appointment arrives.”

  “Thanks, Marshall. Really.”

  He shrugged and smiled at the same time before turning toward his office.

  “Psst!” Augusta motioned for me to move in closer to her desk.

  “I’m telling you, Phee,” she said once Marshall was out of earshot, “he likes you.”

  My face warmed. “That may change once he gets a closer look at the family tree. By the way, are you calling out for lunch?”

  “I was thinking about it. Why?”

  “I’ve got so much to catch up on and don’t feel like leaving the office.”

  “Then it’s settled. Pizza or deli? Let me know.”

  I thanked her and trotted back to my desk, where I spent the next forty-five minutes going over some bills. I heard Augusta speaking with Marshall’s first appointment of the day and knew I’d have to wait until he found the time to complete that background check on Randolph.

  At a little past eleven, I informed Augusta I’d be fine with a ham and Swiss on rye or any kind of pizza. Her choice.

  “You must be sick of pizza, Phee. Let’s order deli sandwiches.”

  As she picked up the phone to place our orders, Marshall stepped out of his office.

  “Oh good, Phee. You’re here. Well, for your information, Randolph taught theater in Massachusetts. Boston to be precis
e. Emerson College to be even more specific.”

  “Darn it. It was such a possibility.”

  “Don’t look so downtrodden. I uncovered another little morsel that might just lead to something. Guess who else is from Rhode Island?”

  Augusta slapped some papers on her desk and leaned in to listen.

  I could barely contain myself. “Who? Who? Not Gordon? Not Chuck? Kevin? Was it Kevin? You’re not about to make me go through the entire cast and crew are you?”

  “Do I look like the kind of person who would do a thing like that?”

  Augusta picked up the papers she had stacked and thrust them down again on her desk. This time harder. “I don’t have all day. I need to place our lunch orders. Who is it?”

  Marshall jumped back with a wide grin. “Whoa, Augusta. This detective business must be rubbing off on you.”

  “Only the drama Phee brings in. Make it snappy and tell us who it is.”

  He let out a quick laugh along with three words—“Sue Ellen Blair.”

  I was dumbfounded. “What? Sue Ellen Blair? Sweet little Sue Ellen from Wisconsin? I thought she told everyone she moved here from Wisconsin.”

  Augusta chuckled and shook her head. “She probably did. Maybe she got sick of the east coast and had a hankering for cheese. Or maybe she committed some horrific heinous crime in Rhode Island and moved to a state where no one would think to look.”

  “You know what I think?” Marshall asked. “I think you should be writing crime novels.”

  “Right now, the only thing I’m going to be writing is our order for the deli so I get it right when I call. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’d better start dialing.”

  Marshall and I stepped away from Augusta’s desk until we were leaning against the copier. I was so frazzled by Marshall’s revelation, I just stood there with my mouth wide open. Finally, a few words spewed out. It would take a seasoned detective or perhaps a linguist to decipher those words, but Marshall took a crack at it anyway.

  “If you’re asking if Miranda and Sue Ellen lived in the same city, I don’t know. Not yet. Only got as far as birth certificates. Miranda was what? In her early sixties? Sue Ellen looks to be a late baby boomer, fifties at most. Still, their paths could have crossed.”

  “Oh my gosh, Marshall. I was so caught up with my own theories I forgot to give you some information Nate turned up. It’s about Gordon Web and a lawsuit regarding Miranda’s Chinese Crested Hairless.”

  “Her what?”

  “Dog. A pedigree dog. Or in this case, maybe not. The Sun City West Purebred Kennel Club, of which Gordon was on the board, refused to recognize Miranda’s dog, and she filed a lawsuit. Um, the dog died a few years ago, and the lawsuit never came to fruition, but maybe Gordon harbored a grudge.”

  “Oh brother. Working this case is like trying to stick a fork into spaghetti to pull out a strand. I’ll see what else I can turn up on Sue Ellen for starters and—”

  “Believe it or not, people are beginning to recognize me at the dog park. As much as I hate running the risk of having one of those ankle biters pee on my leg, I think I’ll drop by after work and see what I can find out about Gordon and Miranda. I’ll keep my fingers crossed no one at the park tells my mother I went without taking Streetman. He’s exhaustive, and I need to talk with Cindy Dolton. Last I knew from her, Gordon and Miranda kept a wide berth from each other. Maybe someone else knows something.”

  “Check that list of kennel club board members again and see if anything pops out at you. And if you do decide to go to that park, I wouldn’t wear open-toed shoes.”

  “Eeew. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow after work, and, in the meantime, I’ll see if my mom or her friends recognize any of the names on the list.”

  “Good idea. I’ll delve deeper into any Rhode Island connections. Anyway, I’ve got a few things to finish up before I head out to lunch with a, um . . . client. Enjoy your deli takeout.”

  Lunch? Client? Why the pause before “client?” Is that a nice way of him saying he has a date?

  Marshall turned and went back to his office while I stood at the copier with a blank look on my face.

  “Everything okay?” Augusta asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

  “The food will be here in twenty minutes.”

  Suddenly I didn’t feel like eating. All I could think of was Marshall’s lunch date. If it was a date.

  I walked over to Augusta and whispered, “Do you know who he’s having lunch with?”

  Augusta grabbed the mouse and changed screens. “He didn’t say?”

  “No. And . . . uh . . . I was wondering . . .”

  “Well, you have nothing to worry about. And you didn’t hear it from me. He’s meeting the deacon from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church. Say, didn’t I read in the paper about some thefts of artwork there? That must be what the meeting is about.”

  Augusta quickly shifted to another screen. “So, as I was saying, lunch should be here shortly.”

  “That’s terrific! I’m famished.”

  Chapter 18

  I made sure my sneakers were tied as I headed out the door and over to the Sun City West dog park the following evening. I had stopped by my house to change after work and grab a snack. It was still daylight but fading fast. I needed to find Cindy Dolton if I expected to get anywhere. Thankfully, she had decided to take Bundles to the dog park in the evenings again. She told me a while back she was convinced the nighttime activity with so many dogs was giving hers diarrhea. She later realized the real cause for the problem, and it had more to do with the “prizes” Bundles ate in the park than with his canine companions.

  The day before, I’d read the list of the kennel club’s board members to my mother. But only after being compelled to listen to the latest rumor fest about Miranda’s ghost. Now it was Sue Ellen who was taking a seat on the loco train, along with Shirley and Cecilia. I kept muttering “uh-huh, uh-huh” until I was able to get my mother focused on the list. There were six names, and she recognized three of them.

  “Well, of course, there’s Gordon. Naturally. Hmm . . . Marletta Mobley’s obituary was just in the papers this week. Long stay in hospice. Poor woman.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Did you know her?”

  “What? No. Only read about it in the paper. She was a long-term board member for that kennel club.”

  “What about the other person? The other one you recognized.”

  “Lester Folson. He used to live around the corner. Moved in with his daughter somewhere in Texas. That was at least two years ago.”

  “None of these other names ring a bell?”

  “I can’t be expected to know everyone here. Talk to Cindy Dolton.”

  The park was its usual frenzy of activity when I pulled up, and I was thankful I didn’t have my mother’s dog with me to make things worse. His penchant for amorous advances, regardless of gender, was well known in the park. People clutched their miniature breeds and hustled off the minute Streetman showed any interest in their pets. It was much easier to eke out information without him.

  Cindy was standing near the side gate watching Bundles as he sniffed around, pausing occasionally to dig in the grass. “Stop that! Bundles! You heard Mommy! Mommy doesn’t want your feet to get all green and dirty.”

  I gave a quick wave and headed right toward her. “Hi, Cindy! I was hoping you’d be here. I’ve got to ask you something.”

  Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the list of board members Nate had uncovered and showed it to her. “Do you happen to know any of these people, other than Gordon?”

  Cindy took the list and read it carefully. “I knew Marletta Mobley. She was a really nice lady. I didn’t know Andrew Clemson, but I heard he was nice, too.”

  “Was?”

  “Oh yeah. He passed away last year.”

  “I see. Any others you know?”

  “Donna Olsen moved back to Nebraska at least two years ago. What a character. Used to dress her dogs up according to the holi
days. Earl Grey and Oolong.”

  “Earl what?”

  “Those were the names of her teacup poodles.”

  If I ever broke down and got a pet, it’d be a cat, and I wouldn’t dress it up. “What about this last name? Samson Harrington.”

  “Um, it sounds familiar. I’m not sure. Hold on a second.” Cindy started to walk toward the benches where at least ten or eleven people were seated.

  I tried to feign interest in the dogs playing and pooping, but all I could think about was getting the information I needed without having to disinfect my shoes.

  “Got it!” Cindy yelled as she walked back to me.

  I tried to stay put, figuring the less ground I tread on, the less chance I had of stepping on something questionable.

  “Samson Harrington is alive and well. Living in The Willington. It’s a senior resort complex for people with dementia or Alzheimer’s. He went downhill fast, according to Brenda and Edith over there.”

  I glanced over at the two zaftig women Cindy pointed out. Each of them appeared to be holding small white dogs.

  “Thanks, Cindy. I appreciate it.”

  “Tell me, why are you interested in who was on the purebred kennel club board four years ago? They’ve got new board members now. Boomers who’ve recently moved into the community from what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s a longshot, I know. But I thought maybe one of them might have had a motive to kill Miranda Lee. I heard there was some fracas over her dog not getting accepted into the club.”

  “Oh that. She threatened to sue everyone in sight, but no one took her seriously. At least I didn’t think so. Most of us figured it was all a bunch of show. Anyway, that was years ago, and, as far as I know, Miranda never took any legal action.”

  I didn’t want to say anything about the lawsuit for fear of starting a new rumor. “Um. That’s kind of what I figured, but I needed to check. Anyway, thanks, Cindy. Have a good evening.”

  I turned and unlatched the gate to the park.

  Behind me, I heard someone shouting a familiar refrain. “POOP ALERT! POOP ALERT!” Yep, if I got a pet, it would be a feline.