Murder at Royale Court

by G. P. Gardner

  “You’ve got a good memory. That was probably Mr. Barnwell. He died last spring. I never met him.”

  “Big talker. Came by himself at first but then Todd started having lunch with him. Todd’s the one who was riding Devon’s bike the next day.”

  “What day was that?”

  “Last Thursday. After Devon was dead.”

  That was news to me. I supposed the bike had been located by now. But did the cops know Todd had been riding it? Or was it true?

  “Did Devon handle investments for the old man?”

  Usher shrugged. “They talked business sometimes, but World War II was the old man’s thing. Every time I saw him, he’d tell some long story. His ship got caught in a typhoon or they shot Japs down in a friendly fashion after the cease-fire. Bor-ing.”

  We scrolled through a dozen photos before he picked another one.

  “Him.” It was Handleman.

  He remembered Handleman’s visit to Royale Court very clearly and pretty much as Handleman had described it.

  “A big guy, came in late one day, by himself. Looked like an investor. You get so you can tell. He asked for Devon and I showed him where the office was and told him to come back, that Devon was out. I didn’t say Devon was off on a bike ride. We all knew not to tell anybody that, in case he’d forgotten an appointment. This guy walked around back and I went along. Just talking, keeping an eye on him. He didn’t stay.”

  I scrolled on slowly.

  He signaled. “Wait a minute. Back up.”

  I scrolled back.

  Usher pointed. “Yep, saw him two or three times last week and before that, too, weeks ago. I got the idea he was looking for Devon but he didn’t say. Didn’t look like a shopper. Maybe here for the car show. We had a lot of extra traffic, you know, but this guy was around before.”

  “That’s Travis McKenzie. Our CEO.” The photograph was the one where he looked like a movie star.

  “Oh, yeah? I think Ann knows him.”

  He scanned more photos, picking out the same people multiple times. Lots of the photographs showed women or couples. We got to Devon Wheat and he grunted.

  “Hmph. The late, great Devon Wheat. Guess we won’t be going to Europe after all.”

  “You were going to Europe?” I asked.

  He laughed. “He told me all that crap about a family fortune and some Nazi car he was going to sell for multimillions. Wanted me to invest. Said we’d go look at it.”

  “Slump. Is that their name? Is it your family?”

  Usher shook his head. “Sounded like it, but not really. A German name. Sloop? Sleuth? I don’t remember.”

  “I don’t suppose he gave you any written information about the car? Maybe a printed invitation to invest?”

  “How’d you know?”

  My pulse rate spiked. “Can I see it?”

  “Well, sure, if I’ve still got it. You can have it. But why do you care?”

  “Just looking for information that might explain his death.”

  Usher smiled. “Maybe my wealthy German relatives came to Fairhope and strangled him.”

  He glanced at the computer screen and tapped another photo. “Wozniak’s in there all the damn time, pardon my French. Not just last week, pretty much every day. Meeting people, planning the car show, eating at Boudreau’s. He used to hang out with Devon but not so much lately. They had a spat, I think. He brought a stack of car posters and wanted me to put them up. I told him, ‘Put ’em up yourself.’ Jackass.”

  I was excited at the prospect of another investment invitation. Had Usher told the cops? Why had Wozniak quarreled with Wheat? Two promising leads—had the cops followed up?

  “What was their spat about?”

  He shrugged. “Money, probably. What else.”

  “Devon Wheat was Wozniak’s financial advisor?”

  Usher shook his head. “I don’t think so. Wozniak was into real estate. They had a contest going—which was a better investment, real estate or the stock market? They were going to settle up at the end of the year. I guess Wozniak wins now.”

  He picked out a couple more photos and called them regulars at Royale Court. One was Jim Bergen. “He’s a regular. Buys candy and sits in the courtyard, talking to everybody while his wife visits Ann. Done it for years.”

  Yep, that was Jim.

  “Sometimes his wife comes by herself.”

  “You know she was with me when we found Devon.”

  He was solemn. “I’m really sorry about that. Were you upset?”

  I shrugged. “Some, naturally. But we didn’t know him.”

  We reached the end of the photos. I closed the laptop and thanked Usher for his help. “Any other strange men last week? Someone who wasn’t in the photos?”

  He shrugged. “Nobody special. There’s always people I don’t know.”

  “Who knits those vests for Terry Wozniak?”

  He looked at me, surprised. “He buys Ann’s samples. How’d you know?”

  “I didn’t. Just thought they looked nice.”

  “She used to give them to me but I only need so many. It’s never cold enough to wear them.” He got up. “Maybe we can talk again sometime. You’re a good listener.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to call that broker now, and then I’m going to work on my sisters. Maybe I’ll see Evie, get her on my side.”

  He grinned weakly. Confronting Ann had been an ordeal on both sides, I was sure.

  I walked to the porch door with him. “I heard Evie’s sick. Maybe the flu.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll call. Thank you, Cleo.”

  He shuffled down the sidewalk toward the garages, and I went inside and learned very quickly that Vickie was there to quiz me about Todd Barnwell. How old was he? Did he have a guardian? Or somebody who could sign legal documents with him? Could I do it, as a Harbor Village official?

  I shook my head. “He’s twenty, Vickie. That’s the age of majority in Alabama.”

  “Yeah, but how often does a twenty-year-old sell a house? I’ve never handled a sale for somebody so young, with no family, only legal by a couple of months. I’m going to ask for a copy of his birth certificate.”

  I got us 7 Up and she used the napkin to blot her lipstick.

  “I hate lipstick on glasses, don’t you? How’d you like the gala last night?”

  “It was nice. Nice venue, nice people, good food.”

  “I saw you dancing with Tasha’s buddy.”

  “Reg Handleman? He’s a good dancer.”

  “That’s a good photo in the paper. Know what that bowl cost? Thirty-five hundred. I brought you my paper, but I see you already have some.”

  The papers were stacked on the bookcase. I wondered what else she’d discovered in my apartment.

  “A friend brought them by earlier,” I said. And that friend was going to a lot of trouble at my request, trying to help Todd. I needed to do my part. I sighed. “You saw the mess in Todd’s house. Where do you think he’s going to find a birth certificate?”

  “That’s his problem. You have any pink paper?”

  “No.”

  She had an apartment in mind for him, too. “A little complex near the amphitheater. But I need a reference to show the owner. Can you write one?”

  “I guess I can, but you’ve known him as long as I have.”

  “Really? I thought he lived in that house on Andrews.”

  “I think he does. But I just met him a few days ago.” I didn’t say he’d been snooping around Patti’s desk the first time I saw him.

  “Are you advising him about the sale of his house?” She had a miniature keyboard and kept her fingers straight as she keyed numbers into an iPad.

  “If he asked anything I knew about. Riley’s helping him, too.”

>   “Oh, no, not Riley. I don’t want Riley dealing with Todd. You do it.”

  I couldn’t believe that. “Why can’t Riley do it? He’s a banker. He knows more about finance than I do.”

  “I can’t answer any questions, Cleo. Ethics, you know. But I really don’t want Riley involved. Now, how much rent can Todd afford? I could give him a little break on this apartment I have in mind if his house weren’t such a pigsty.” Her voice went thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll raise the security deposit enough to cover a deep cleaning when he leaves. The girlfriend seemed reliable, but she’s too old for him, don’t you think?”

  “Are you talking about Patti? She’s not his girlfriend. She’s trying to help him.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Think she’s got a job?”

  I’d had enough.

  “She’s the director of resident services here. And she’s engaged to a wonderful man.” Wishes she were, I meant. I wondered why Vickie hadn’t seen Patti and Stewart at last night’s gala. Maybe her radar just kicked in at a certain income level?

  She laughed. “What do you plan to tell Todd about the fast versus high question? I can sell it this week if he’ll accept a low offer from an investor, or I can sell it for ten or fifteen percent more if he’s willing to wait a few months. The season really begins about March, when the snowbirds start thinking about how cold it is at home.”

  “I’m sure he wants both fast and high.” I sighed. “Maybe he should get a second opinion.”

  Vickie rolled her eyes. “Anybody else will ask the exact same questions. And he likes me. I’ve already got the estate sale woman tied up. No pink paper? What colors do you have?”

  I didn’t have any colored paper, just white.

  “I guess I’ll have to run to the office. I thought everybody had pink paper.”

  I walked to her car with her. “Vickie, I’m curious.” She got in and I was about to close the door. “Do you really know something about Riley Meddors?”

  “Nothing bad.” She smiled at me. “You two aren’t a couple, are you?”

  I gave my head a maybe shake and shrugged. “Too early to say.”

  “He’s cute, with that little beard. Thanks for the contact last night. I thought Dr. Handleman might be interested in Todd’s house but sounds like he’s thinking bay front. We’ve been out looking this morning.” She grinned and grabbed for the car door. “I’d better go. Lots to do and I hate to be late.”

  Dr. Handleman. It was the first time I’d heard that. A PhD in engineering, I supposed. Two days ago, he’d been thinking of renting a Harbor Village apartment, but after a few hours with Vickie, he was thinking bay front. Or somebody was. I smiled to myself.

  Ann was backing out of her garage. I waved to Vickie and turned to see Ann’s window going down. She stuck her head out.

  “You’re missing lunch in the dining room. I didn’t eat, either. Looks like Carla might set a new record, even without us. I’m going to the grocery store and then to Evie’s.”

  “Usher came by. We had a nice talk.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “I really don’t know. Vickie came before he left. I haven’t had time to think yet.”

  I went back to the apartment, picked up glasses and dirty napkins, and took them to the kitchen. One glass had lipstick all over it. “Don’t you just hate that?” I asked the cat. I cleaned it off before putting the glass into the dishwasher.

  I wasn’t hungry, but I made a cup of tea. Then I took a few sheets of paper—white—out of the printer tray and stretched out on the couch. It was pretty much the first free minute I’d had all week, and it felt heavenly. I could feel myself winding down, like a feather floating to earth. Tinkerbelle came in and sniffed around, then hopped up beside my feet. Now, what had I learned in the last few hours? And was I finally ready to accept Handleman as one of the good guys?

  I raised my head and stretched to reach a book on the coffee table and stuck it under the papers for a make-do desk. Then I began writing down the names of men Usher had noticed in Royale Court this week, men with the strength to strangle someone: Handleman, Todd Barnwell, Terry Wozniak, Travis, and Jim. Could the murderer be someone I’d never heard of? Certainly, and I sincerely hoped that would be the case. I wrote a big X on the list to denote those unknown individuals. Then I added another name. Usher Slump had been in Royale Court, with ample opportunity to commit murder. Did he have the physical ability? I might’ve doubted it before I saw him crush a can with his hands yesterday. But there was someone else I’d wanted there, too. Who was it?

  I closed my eyes, thinking. My pencil slipped and drew a curved line that dribbled off to nothing before it reached the edge of the paper. I heard the phone ringing at some point, but I didn’t bother waking up to answer it.

  An hour later Vickie called, rousing me from the first nap I’d had all week. I was freezing and needed to pee.

  “Just thought I’d let you know, all Todd’s paperwork is signed. I’m putting a sale sign in the yard right now, and I’ll run some flyers off for Wilma in case she knows somebody looking for a house. Help me spread the word, okay?”

  “Okay,” I muttered, dropping my feet to the floor and struggling to a vertical position.

  “I’ve got two prospects already. Neither one’s jumping at it yet, even though Terry’s been hounding me for months to get him a house or a condo at Harbor Village. I’ll give him a few days to get over this stupid car show and try again. We’re going to do the estate sale next weekend. Can you distribute notices to all your residents if I send you the text? It’s really short notice, but I want to be ready if things move fast.”

  “Did you get his birth certificate?”

  “Naw. I think he’s safe.” She laughed. “Sweet little Todd’s not going to sue me. Can you believe he asked me out?”

  Yes, I could believe it. I could even believe she’d encouraged it.

  We hung up and I raced to the bathroom. When I got back to the living room, I noticed my list of names still on the couch. I picked it up and added a note.

  Vickie had clearly said that Terry had hounded her for months. It wasn’t a common name, and Wozniak was definitely the hounding type. I wrote under his name: interested in Todd’s house? Usher had just told me Wozniak invested in real estate and was engaged in some kind of investment competition with Devon Wheat. Why would he stall around when Vickie called him about Todd Barnwell’s house?

  Handleman’s name was on the list, too. I thought about striking it but remembered his claim that Travis sent him to see Wheat.

  How likely was that?

  Perhaps he’d masterminded the scam with Devon Wheat’s assistance.

  Then why warn us against it?

  I went back and forth. Scams went wrong sometimes. If law enforcement was hot on the trail, guilty people might look for scapegoats, and dead men didn’t defend themselves.

  I wavered but left Handleman’s name on the list and took my cup of tea to the kitchen.

  While it nuked for a minute, I checked phone messages.

  Nita had called, inviting me to dinner. “Just the four of us. Come about five thirty and we’ll eat at six.”

  She didn’t say who the fourth was, but I guessed Riley and I were now officially a couple in her view. She didn’t even ask for a confirmation call, but with the lecture series squeezing out our usual visits last week, and with a murder now in our midst, we did have a lot to talk about.

  The microwave beeped and I removed my cup, walked back to the living room, sat at the computer, and changed my Wi-Fi password. When I looked up, Riley was coming up the sidewalk. We reached the porch at the same time.

  He stepped inside and, without saying a word, presented a plastic bag with one of the printed announcements in it. I put my cup down and he handed over another bag holding the envelope.

  “On the desk,” he
said. “Both of them.”

  The blank line on the invitation had a name written in pretty script. Wheat Wealth Management.

  “No phone number, no address.” I looked at Riley. “Which wouldn’t be necessary if the recipient was in frequent contact. Like Todd’s grandfather.”

  He nodded.

  There was a third item, too, in its own bag: a thin little pamphlet titled Prospectus. “The old man didn’t bite on many offers, but he kept everything.”

  Riley put his hands on my waist and we kissed, once and then again. Nice. I could get used to that. I was smiling when I pulled away and looked back at the invitation.

  “Usher Slump says he got one, too, but he might’ve thrown it away. And a Birmingham business broker he’s dealing with got one. Devon Wheat was squeezing people for funds, and I think I know why. Want a cup of tea?”

  “I was thinking about lunch. Does Usher Slump have money? Enough for a share of a Royale?”

  “Good question. He doesn’t have a big salary, I know. And he tried to sell Royale Court without Ann’s knowledge. Unfortunately, the buyer he found was Devon Wheat.”

  Riley’s brows went up and he whistled softly. “Do you know what a Fairhope retail shop sells for?”

  “How about a dozen shops?” I looked at the time. “Nita’s invited us at five thirty. Can you wait until then to eat? Or I can fix you something.”

  “I’ve got another surprise for you. Guess what’s under that blue tarp in Todd’s garage.”

  “What?”

  “A yellow bicycle.”

  A shiver of dread slithered down my spine. “Really? Devon Wheat’s bike? In Todd’s garage?”

  He held up a finger, cautioning me. “I don’t know that it’s Wheat’s. I do know it’s a yellow bicycle.”

  “Well, what do we do about it? Call the cops again?”

  “Are they looking for a yellow bicycle?”

  “I suppose. They were.”