Murder at Royale Court

by G. P. Gardner

  “The Colony’s rental rates didn’t go up this year, so if the association fees were properly set last year, they should still be okay. I’ll check that when I can, but I didn’t have a chance today. The Colony also collects a demonstration fee and uses it to benefit Fairhope. It amounts to a lot of money, in the aggregate, but it shows what good government can accomplish. The Colony gave all that waterfront property to the city, plus parks and sidewalks. They support the projects that make the town so attractive.”

  I heard the sneer in his voice. “Sounds like a cross between Santa Claus and nineteenth-century socialism.”

  “You’re showing your age, Travis. Socialism’s not a bad word now. The Colony gives the schools some much-needed funds. It’s a sponsor for this car show we’re about to have.”

  “Speaking of which, I think I’ll come. Save me a ticket for the Saturday night banquet. Better make it two tickets. I may bring a friend.”

  I didn’t have any tickets for Saturday night and didn’t know where to get them.

  “I’ll try.” I transported back twenty-five years and remembered one of the reasons why I’d become the ex-Mrs. McKenzie. “It may be sold out already, from what I hear.”

  “Didn’t you reserve a table for Harbor Village? Jeez, Cleo.”

  I ended the call ASAP and went back to the kitchen, where I set the chili to reheat. Where was I going to get banquet tickets at this late date? Nita might have an idea, but she’d be in bed by now. And Riley Meddors, another of my go-to guys, was still out of town. I supposed I’d be visiting Terry Wozniak again in the morning.

  I watched CNN while I ate and then cleaned up the kitchen.

  Stephanie called right after I finished my shower but sounded as tired as I was, so we didn’t talk long. I forgot to ask her why she wanted to know about the courtyard in town.

  When I got in bed, I tried to work a Sudoku. It went hopelessly wrong right away, and instead of erasing and starting over, I turned the light off and fell asleep immediately.

  Chapter 3

  On Tuesday I went to the gym early. The usual four men were there and I kidded them about wanting me to leave so they could switch the TV back to FOX. Not that it was a joke.

  I waved at Dolly, just leaving the pool when I walked back to my apartment for a quick breakfast, a piece of toast and some fruit. Then I changed into one of the dozen pairs of black pants in my closet, put on a tan sweater set and what Stephanie called an “important” necklace, and walked to the office. It was early and still quiet there and I got some budget work done before other people started showing up.

  At nine I called the Colony office and talked to a nice woman who said she’d check on a table and call me back when she learned more.

  When I walked to the dining room later for a cup of coffee, Carla came out to sit with me for a minute. We talked about weekend lunches.

  She was excited about the idea and already had plans. “I thought we’d do sandwiches and a salad for lunch on Saturday. Maybe soup if the weather’s not too warm.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And on Sunday a chicken and rice casserole with a nice salad and another vegetable. Do you like glazed acorn squash? If we do that, everything’s cooked in the oven. What do you think?”

  Carla’s casseroles were so popular that she made them up for residents to cook at home. I approved all her plans for the weekend and offered to get residents to sign up if they wanted meals on the extra days.

  Carla nodded. “But whatever the number, I’ll prepare for a few extra, just in case. People always forget to put their names on the list.”

  “Yes. I’ll try to do better,” I promised.

  I took my coffee and went by the rental agent’s office, thinking I’d say hi to Wilma. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of days, but like the invisible man, she wasn’t there again. I had been back in my office maybe ten minutes when Patti burst in, closed the door, and plastered her back against it.

  “Oh my god! Did you see that man?”

  Her eyes were wide with horror or fear or another of her dramatic emotions, but a little tingle of alarm shot through me.

  “Who? What’s wrong?”

  She darted across the office and threw herself into a chair in front of my desk, talking so rapidly she was gasping. I could barely understand her and the hair on my neck prickled.

  “Remember that program about Neanderthals on National Geographic? The one that said they interbred with humans? That’s all I could think about.”

  I was halfway to the door by this point. “Where is he?”

  “Gone. Did you see it? That’s exactly what he looks like. Great big eyes, all scary and serious and boring right into me. And big, shaggy brows. Eww!” She shivered convulsively.

  I was alarmed and grabbed her shoulder. “Patti, who are we talking about? Did he touch you?”

  “Oh, no. No!” She was almost shouting. “I would’ve died, right there. It wasn’t—he’s the most—the most intense person I’ve ever seen.”

  “Do you know who he was?”

  She half collapsed against the chair but calmed down and looked at me like I was dense. “The speaker, Cleo. Reg Handleman! Oh my god!” She flopped again, rubbed her arms, and shivered.

  I couldn’t help it; I fell into the chair beside her, laughing with relief. “Forgive me.” I stifled a giggle. “I thought you’d been attacked.”

  “That’s exactly how I felt! Attacked! Just wait until you see him.”

  “You gave him the key to the guest suite?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “He asked about the gym, too. How long is he staying, all week? Do I have any vacation days left?” Her lower lip actually trembled.

  I patted her arm. “Patti, we can’t help how we look.”

  “Oh, Cleo.” She gave me a limp smile and a shrug but thumped the desktop with her palm. “If he comes back, you’re dealing with him.”

  An hour later, Patti insisted we go into town for lunch. It was something we did occasionally, and she didn’t admit that this time was anything out of the ordinary, but I was pretty sure she was avoiding the dining room and another encounter with our visitor.

  We went early, parked in front of Andree’s, and walked to the Colony office so I could follow up on getting a table for the car show banquet. Patti window-shopped along the way and went into the art gallery to pet the cat.

  “We’re calling it a gala,” the Colony office manager told me, “not a banquet. Supposed to sound more festive.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  She laughed and nodded. “About a hundred dollars a ticket. Galas are expensive.”

  Local supporters had signed up for tables a year ago, but I’d given her a sob story about being in town only three months. “Our CEO wants to come from Houston.”

  She was writing up an invoice for an astonishing sum of money. “We can always add another table, even if we have to pack people in.” She warned me it wouldn’t be the best seats in the house. “Those were gone months ago.”

  On the walk back to Andree’s, we met Mary Montgomery, the Fairhope police officer who was recently promoted to lieutenant.

  “Come have lunch with us,” I invited her.

  Mary was six feet tall and always made me think of a pumpkin with long, skinny legs, but she was tough. She’d been difficult to get to know but we’d lunched together a couple of times and always found something to talk about. I thought she probably didn’t have many friends. Maybe that was a hazard of the cop’s job?

  Mary looked at the menu posted outside Andree’s. “What do they have, little froufrou salads?” Turned out, she meant that was what she wanted. There were several to choose among and Patti and I recommended our favorites.

  “I need to lose a few pounds before the holidays.” She tugged at her jacket. “Too much desk work now that I’ve moved up in
the world.”

  Patti ordered a hummus-and-veggie wrap, and Mary and I chose froufrou salads with tart apple slices, cranberries, candied pecans, and feta.

  “Are you working the car show this weekend?” I asked her as we ate.

  She speared a slice of apple. “Yeah. Everybody works this weekend. Are you going?”

  “No way,” Patti answered immediately. “I don’t want anything to do with the car show if that man’s involved.”

  “Who?” Mary Montgomery squinted.

  I told her about Patti’s fright and Montgomery was uncharacteristically sympathetic.

  “Women should pay attention to their intuitions. Your subconscious can keep you out of a whole lotta trouble.” She looked at me. “Don’t you agree?”

  “We’re in Fairhope.” I picked up a glazed pecan with my fingers. “Probably the safest place in the state.”

  Mary shook her head and lowered her voice. “You’d be surprised how much stuff goes on here. You don’t hear about it because it might scare the tourists away, but people aren’t nearly careful enough.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “This is a professional man who’s here to give a series of lectures.”

  She gestured with a wheat cracker. “Well, keep an eye on him until you know him better.”

  Patti gave me an I-told-you-so smirk and seemed much more confident with Montgomery on her side. Travis called while we were eating and I went out to the sidewalk to avoid disturbing others.

  “Any luck on the banquet tickets?”

  “The table’s near the kitchen and you may need opera glasses to see the speakers, but it’s all arranged.” I didn’t mention the cost.

  “Are you playing Mexican Trains Friday night?”

  “Of course. Every Friday.”

  “You wouldn’t want to skip it and have dinner with me?”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. They count on me.” I dodged a baby stroller coming out of Andree’s.

  “Then I’ll ask Jim.”

  The domino game was always at Jim and Nita’s apartment, and while Jim never played, he was always on hand for the sandwiches. I didn’t think he’d abandon us for dinner with Travis, but I didn’t say so.

  “What time’s the lecture tomorrow? And what’s his topic?”

  I told Travis the time but didn’t know the topic. “Something about old cars. The first one’s tonight. Maybe I’ll know more after it.”

  The afternoon passed quickly once we got back to the office. I got a lot of work done and went home soon after five. I brushed the cat and scooped the litter box, walked garbage to the containers beside the garage, then took a hot shower and shampooed my hair. While a thin slice of cheddar melted on a piece of bread, I ran the vacuum over the carpet and Tinkerbelle’s favorite cat nests. Then I had to eat fast to make it to the ballroom before the lecture began. As I locked my apartment, I was hoping attendance wouldn’t be embarrassingly low. I’d hate to discourage Charlie Levine and his committee.

  But I rounded the end of the garage and saw the parking lot full, with more people walking from the lot at the opposite end of the building, near the swimming pool. And the ballroom, when I got there, was already packed, with Harbor Village residents accounting for only about half the crowd.

  Carla dashed by wearing a long skirt and a flustered expression.

  “I had no idea there’d be so many people. We don’t have enough cookies or punch. Lizzie’s gone for soda and Ann’s defrosting all the pastries in the freezer.”

  “I’m bringing chairs out of the lobby.” Stewart passed by with a wicker chair under each arm. “We’ll open the garden doors and let people sit out there if we have to.”

  I went into the ballroom and looked around at a sea of humanity.

  Reg Handleman was easy to spot. He was at the front, surrounded by people, and didn’t look nearly so intimidating as I had imagined from Patti’s description. He’d probably been six feet tall at his prime but he had a bit of a stoop now. His hair was dark and long, worn in sort of a Tarzan cut, and his brows were shaggy with deep creases between them. I slipped between two men and introduced myself.

  When Handleman turned his full attention to me, I realized what had affected Patti so deeply. His eyes were dark blue and absolutely riveting. A natural hypnotist. Instead of shaking hands, he took my hand between his. Would he bend over and kiss it?

  “Thank you, my dear. Charlie says you’re the one who found me a roost.”

  “I’m glad the guest suite was available.” I smiled and pulled my hand back. “And I’m looking forward to your talks.”

  “So am I,” a voice close beside me said. It was Terry Wozniak from the Colony office.

  “Hello, Cleo.” He clapped his hand down on my shoulder and gave me a familiar, one-armed hug, like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while. “Is this our speaker?” He stuck out his right hand and locked into a vigorous shake with Reg Handleman.

  I turned away as Charlie Levine tapped on a microphone, signaling for the crowd to be seated. There was an empty spot in a row of wicker chairs Stewart had placed along the back wall, and I headed for it.

  Usually, when the lights went off for a slideshow, Harbor Village residents fell asleep. Not with Reg Handleman. He went right into his performance, flashing slides rapidly and getting the audience involved in a guessing game. He even seemed to keep score in a rough way and encouraged a rivalry among a few men who shouted out the names of cars or early automobile makers or mechanical milestones like electric starters and automatic transmissions.

  “Windshield wipers!” the man beside me shouted.

  The crowd was laughing as pictures flashed onto the big screen, another of our recent acquisitions. It rolled down at the touch of a button.

  Handleman pointed toward the voice that was quickest to give the answer he wanted.

  “That’s three for you.” He pointed. “This side of the room is falling behind now.”

  Finally, the slideshow was over and the lights came on. He ran through a quick review of what we’d seen.

  “There’s a common belief that Henry Ford invented the assembly line, but that’s wrong. His contribution was setting the line in motion, bringing the car to the parts. And to keep the line moving, those parts had to be standardized, avoiding the common but expensive practice of custom fitting. Now, who knows why Model Ts were black?”

  “Paint!” Terry Wozniak shouted.

  Handleman pointed to him with a flourish. “What about it?”

  “Quick drying!”

  “Right! Black paint dried faster, so cars could move faster through the painting room. Okay, what year did the Model A appear?”

  The answer came from everywhere. “Nineteen twenty-eight!”

  “And who was the stylist?”

  “Edsel!” people shouted.

  “Edsel Ford, Henry’s son. Remember that, because he never gets the credit he deserves. And now that we’ve got all that straight, I want to tell you some big events that preceded Ford.” He looked at his watch. “But I think we’ll take a little break first. Ten minutes, how about that.”

  “How about refreshments?” Jim Bergen called out.

  Reg glanced around the ballroom. “Refreshments? Okay. Help yourselves, but we’ll start again in ten minutes. Take your time—make it twelve, since there’s a crowd.”

  People rushed toward the refreshment table, to the bathrooms, or to Reg Handleman’s side.

  Nita appeared beside me, wearing a frown. She put a hand on my arm and I bent down to hear her. “I’ve got bad news, Cleo. Ann’s meeting was changed to Thursday morning. I don’t suppose you can go then.”

  I looked around the ballroom and thought about three nights of lectures, plus a Saturday night banquet.

  “Yes, I think I can, if you still want me. I need to get away from here occas
ionally.”

  She beamed. “That’s wonderful. I know you’re working too hard. I’ve been so worried you’ll burn out. Shall we say eight thirty? And have you heard from Riley?”

  “No. And I’ve missed him. Is he back?”

  She shook her head and a little crease appeared between her brows. “I thought he was coming for the lectures. I hope everything’s okay. I should’ve called him but I didn’t want to intrude on his family time. And it’s too late to call tonight.”

  I got out my phone to change the reminder for our trip to the yarn shop. “I’ll pick you up Thursday morning, eight thirty, at your apartment, right? Did you try the punch?”

  * * * *

  The next day Ivy, the nurse who ran the Assisted Living program, called to ask if we could have a working lunch. “I want your thoughts about several little things. Maybe Patti can come, too? We’re going to need her help with a resident coming out of the hospital.”

  I told Patti. “We can eat in the dining room or go to the Assisted Living dining room and avoid Reg Handleman.”

  She put her hands over her ears. “Don’t even say his name.”

  The turtles were lined up on her desk again, but today there were only two.

  “What’s the deal with the turtles?”

  Patti shook her head. “Turtles are psychic, you know.”

  “O-kay,” I drew the word out. No point in eliciting TMI.

  My neighbor Ann Slump came rushing out of the main dining room as Patti and I walked toward the exit. “We’re making extra cookies and lemon bars this afternoon, so we’ll have plenty for tonight and tomorrow. And we’re restocking the freezer, too.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you for helping, Ann. I’m looking forward to seeing your shop tomorrow.”

  She leaned against the handrail that ran along both sides of the main hallway. “I appreciate it so much. Prissy and I are meeting with the Grand Hotel people about a knitting retreat in February. Thirty people and three days. It’s the first time we’ve done anything like that, and I’m already a wreck, just thinking about it. But it’s all small potatoes to the hotel people.”