Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery)

by L. J. Parker

  “I can imagine.” Cassie tried to mask her own unsettled feelings. “So, is Phoenix the last place they lived? Stephanie didn’t move anywhere else that you know of?”

  “I haven’t stayed in touch . . .” Suddenly Helen took a deep breath and huffed. “Cassandra, please tell me you’re not planning to bother them about Rosalie!”

  “I am going to find Stephanie, Mom. Do you remember her new last name?”

  “Why in God’s name do you want to upset other people’s lives, Cassandra!”

  Cassie did not want to argue about it, but something inside her said she had to bring Rosalie her missing daughter before it was too late.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. If Stephanie doesn’t want to see her birth mother, that will be her choice and I won’t hassle anyone about it. But I can’t make that choice for her, so I’m going to try to find her. Please don’t hang up – I need to talk to you about something else. Actually, I need to talk to Dad. Is he there?”

  When Nolan came on the phone, Cassie explained why he should have his accountant hold funds away from the Baylin House Charity until she got them a new wire account number. There was no argument about it. Her request was perfectly logical, he told her. “And by the way . . . do you remember what school you and Stephanie attended?”

  “Sure. John S. Park Elementary.”

  “I thought so,” Nolan said in that tone that always tipped her off he was about to say something profound. “I seem to recall the groom had the same last name.”

  Half an hour later Cassie sat down in a back booth at the Deli-Quick with a piece of strawberry cheesecake, her laptop, her cell phone, and a two-line script she’d written so she wouldn’t waste time fumbling for words.

  As soon as she was online, she accessed her bank account in Las Vegas and verified her new balance. Then she pulled up the telephone white pages for Phoenix, and searched on the last name Park. The list was long. Phoenix is a major city and the only way to get what she wanted was to start calling.

  On the fourteenth call, a woman answered and for the fourteenth time Cassie read from her script. “Yes, ma’am, I’m trying to locate a friend from grade school in Las Vegas. Her name was Stephanie Stanwyk, now Stephanie Park. Is this possibly the correct number to reach her?”

  There was a long hesitation. Cassie pressed the phone tight to her ear.

  “And what is your name?” the woman asked.

  Cassie couldn’t hold back the grin even in her voice. “I’m Cassie -- Cassandra Crowley. We used to live close to each other on Curtis Drive, and we went to John S. Park Elementary, and--”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Cassie woke a few minutes after four Monday morning with more energy than she’d had in weeks. By seven-thirty, she had confirmed a plane ticket for Stephanie Park to arrive in Cordell Bay at noon Wednesday, and had written more than half of what she hoped would be the next chapter of Rosalie Baylin’s autobiography.

  She phoned Baylin House to check in.

  Bea answered. “She’s much better this morning, and she already told us you’re handling some errands for her today.”

  “She did? Good, I was hoping she would remember. I’ll be there, but it will be much later than usual. You have my phone number to call if anything changes.”

  Next, Cassie called Margaret and Hortensia to say she would take them out for breakfast in thirty minutes. She thought of them now as her charges; she was responsible for their menial comforts and safety pretty much the same as when Rosalie took over responsibility for the Oakwood men.

  With major differences, of course – two ladies for an overnight stint wasn’t the same as Rosalie’s nine men that she took on for more than thirty years.

  Cassie took her charges to an IHOP she found in the phone book – two blocks from the University. Margaret had seemed a little prickly at first. Cassie reasoned being away from her upper middle-class home was stressful for her. But not too stressful to follow her normal pattern; she picked over the menu, ordered the highest dollar item, and then added a side of strawberry crêpes. Hortensia and Cassie both ordered the Denver Omelet breakfast.

  They were half way through the meal when Cassie’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Crowley, this is Arthur Wright returning your call. I understand from your message that you have urgent need of representation?”

  “Yes sir, thank you so much . . .”

  The attorney held on while she went outside the restaurant and sat in the privacy of her car to explain. He listened to everything, and then made only one request.

  “I’d like to speak privately with Mrs. Frank and her housekeeper before we contact the police if possible . . . can you arrange a meeting?”

  “Yes, please, I’ll have them back in about twenty minutes. It’s room 18 at Treasure Isle Motel near the University.” She gave him the actual street address printed on her keycard, and gave him the phone number as well. Then she went back inside the restaurant.

  Cassie’s plate wasn’t as tasty as it had been before she left, but she ate it anyway, explaining her conversation with Arthur Wright between bites. Margaret vacillated between flight-or-fight a couple times; enough that Cassie wondered if the woman needed to see a doctor as much as she needed to talk to the lawyer, but thank God, that would become Arthur Wright’s responsibility very soon.

  She parked in front of room 16, and then escorted Hortensia and Margaret two doors down and inside their room.

  Hortensia helped Margaret get comfortable, propped on pillows on one of the beds. She tuned the TV to a morning show she said would help Margaret pass the time. Then she assured Cassie they would be fine waiting here for the attorney to arrive, and would follow whatever advice he gave them.

  As Cassie left, she pulled the door closed, and stood listening until she heard Hortensia click the lock. Then she turned toward her own room.

  “I guess you’re awake,” came the unexpected deep bell voice.

  Cassie held up her hand to block sunlight, and spotted Rob leaning against the Expedition parked on the other side of the Santa Fe. He must have parked there while she was in the room with Hortensia and Margaret.

  “I am,” she said, nervously smiling, “up and working already. Did you finally get some decent sleep?”

  He gave a soft rumble of a laugh, walking toward her until they met in front of her door at room 16. “Would have slept better if you’d been there when I got home, but yeah, I’m caught back up now. Everything going okay with you?”

  Cassie swallowed hard and unlocked the door, leading the way inside. “Would have been better if I’d known you’d be awake this early,” she said.

  And she meant it.

  He sat down in the corner chair beside the window. “Who’s your friend in room 18?”

  Cassie flashed him a raised eyebrow, and then took a deep breath and dug into her purse. The audio recorder was already queued to playback where she asked Margaret the first question.

  “I need you to listen to this before I say anything about them.”

  She sat down and pushed PLAY.

  Within the first fifteen seconds, Rob’s jaw clamped and she knew his curiosity had given way to scathing irritation. He sat steel-faced through the rest of it, listening all the way to the end. The last thing he heard was Cassie telling Hortensia to help Margaret gather her things to be away for a few days. Then the tape stopped.

  “What good is this supposed to be? Cassie, this can’t be used as evidence.”

  She flinched at his icy tone, and pushed the rewind button. Might as well throw all the oil on the fire at once and get it over with. . .

  “I know. I’ve already arranged an attorney for them.” She spoke without looking up. “Arthur Wright is on his way here to talk to them alone before you do. I didn’t tell him I have this recording, but I’m sure Margaret will.”

  She watched his jaw move as he rolled that around like a gumball behind his teeth. Some of his anger seemed to subside, but he was definitely chewing
on something he wasn’t going to share with her.

  When the tape stopped, Rob took out his phone and punched in numbers. “Better meet me at Cassie’s room,” he said in a solemn tone. Then he put the phone down and shook his head. “Gorduno’s been working this one for months, so do us both a favor and don’t chop down any more trees for a while.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Gorduno listened to the entire tape without saying a word.

  Cassie sat on the edge of the bed with her head down. She hated that she might have damaged whatever case Gorduno was working on, but she was running out of time to stop the forced closure of Baylin House.

  Her phone rang just before the tape ended. She reached into her purse and turned it off without looking at it.

  “Okay,” Gorduno said after a thoughtful moment. “Get us in there to talk to them.”

  Cassie led the way to room 18, and introduced the detectives to the three people inside.

  Arthur Wright introduced himself, adding, “I have advised my clients Mrs. Frank and her housekeeper Hortensia Sepulveda to answer all questions honestly, Detectives. I feel it’s in their best interest to assist you as much as possible, however I will intervene if any questions are asked that I feel are detrimental to their rights.”

  Gorduno cast a look to Rob, and walked around the attorney to sit in a chair facing Hortensia. He leaned forward, looking into Hortensia’s eyes. “Delavina is your granddaughter?”

  “She is the daughter of my son, Ernesto.”

  Margaret gasped, “Hortensia, you don’t have to talk to them about that.”

  The Latino woman smiled at Gorduno, then at Rob. “They are not here to hurt Delavina.”

  “Or you either,” Rob assured her. He took a few steps to an open spot, and leaned against the wall where Hortensia could watch his face. And he could watch hers.

  “Did Delavina tell you how she knows Mr. Fozzi?” Gorduno asked.

  “She told me he came into the Cantina a few times where she was working. He was just another gringo to her, but she always told the gringo visitors that she was saving to come visit me, and some of them left extra coins on the table afterward. She said Mr. Fozzi left some American dollars on the table the last time he was there.”

  “Enough for her to come here?”

  “I don’t know,” Hortensia said with a shrug. “The owner of the Cantina took most of it away from her. But Senior Buck came later and told Delavina that Mr. Fozzi had paid her way.”

  “Who is Senior Buck?”

  Hortensia’s expression pinched. “Senior Buck is a Coyote who steals from everyone.”

  Gorduno nodded, that was nothing new to him. “So Senior Buck brought Delavina across the border, not Mr. Fozzi?”

  “Si. Delavina said he took her to a house in Brownsville where Mr. Fozzi was waiting.”

  “And then Fozzi brought her to Mrs. Frank’s home . . .” Rob suggested.

  Hortensia grunted and hardened her face again.

  Gorduno studied her as she sat quiet. “Eso no es todo de ella. ¿Qué hizo,” he asked gently; That is not all of it. What did he do to her?

  Hortensia shook her head.

  Gorduno pushed, “She was violated?”

  Hortensia whispered, “Si.”

  “Fozzi did this?” Gorduno asked.

  “Both of the men,” Hortensia spoke with her head down. “Sometimes other men too, with the younger girls.”

  “Oh my God . . .” Margaret breathed in shock. “Those poor girls . . . I knew they were terrified, but I had no idea . . .”

  Cassie hadn’t thought about what the girls went through – she was too busy trying to prove who stole money from Baylin House. She almost lost her breakfast hearing about it now.

  It was a relief when Arthur Wright announced, “I believe we’ve heard enough. Neither of my clients should be held responsible for the crimes committed by Mr. Fozzi. I intend to propose to D.A. Corcoran to accept their testimony in exchange for full dismissal of charges for actions which were clearly coerced with extreme cruelty.”

  Gorduno nodded. Then he leaned toward Hortensia again and asked, “What about Delavina’s parents? Does her father know she is here?”

  Hortensia started to shake her head, but ended with a shrug. “My daughter-in-law doesn’t want to know because she is afraid of Ernesto. My son is turning bad. He likes the money he can spend when he helps the men who hide the drugs.”

  “The Cartel . . .” Gorduno suggested.

  “Si,” Hortensia said in a tight voice.

  Gorduno stood. “Muchas gracias, abuela. Lo ayudará a proteger a las niñas.” Thank you, Grandmother. I will help you protect the girls.

  Then he told Arthur Wright, “I’ll talk to Corcoran with you.”

  Gorduno drove his unmarked police car downtown behind the attorney’s shiny black Jaguar sedan with the ladies inside.

  Rob stayed behind to walk Cassie to her room.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “What else do you have going on today,” Rob asked as he followed Cassie inside.

  He closed the door and leaned against it, hands in his pockets. Was he waiting for an explanation?

  Or an invitation . . ?

  “I’m obviously running late for work today,” she said, leaning against the end of the dresser to maintain the dangerously small space between them. “I have a lot to do if I still want to take the day off Thursday.”

  That was as bold as she was going to make it. If he still wanted to see her on his day off, he would have to say so.

  Rob gave a slow nod, a half smile. “Think you can stay out of trouble until then?”

  She expected that, given the past two days.

  “I guess if you and Gorduno get Fozzi before he--”

  “We have Fozzi. That’s where I was all day yesterday.”

  “He’s been arrested?”

  “He’s dead. Along with two others the Cartel left in a tide pool the other side of the airport.”

  “The Cartel? You think he was trying to step into their drug territory?”

  Rob gave her that look that said she knows he can’t answer that question, and he wished she wouldn’t ask. “The Feds have the case now. We’re out of it.”

  Cassie took a deep breath.

  “What else?” Rob prodded, still watching her.

  “Margaret said arrangements had been made with the state to collect Rosalie’s people into another group home. I need to put a stop to that, but I think I can do it with a few phone calls.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  She wanted to say, ‘more than I should waste time talking about right now’.

  But then it started tumbling out like a flash flood, “Strickland and Yates had no right to scare Rosalie into thinking Brady was charged with murder when he wasn’t. I need to get that phony lien removed. And I hope you don’t let Brent Mitchell get away with helping Skolnik steal Coach Zimmer’s car, and I need to get the Baylin House financials away from Thornton, and find out if someone can replace Margaret as funds manager because even without an embezzlement charge her competence is in question, and I need to--”

  What was Cassie’s joke about her mother being wound up like a Tiffany music box? By the time she got it all out, Cassie was standing knee deep in backwash.

  Rob promised to take care of the Strickland & Yates situation, all of it, in exchange for Cassie promising to leave them alone. “And Thornton, too,” he told her. “He’s not the type to risk what he already has by doing anything illegal. Let me look into that without any side explosions in the way. Okay?”

  She nodded okay, though it took effort not to point out his reference to explosions shouldn’t have been aimed at her.

  The last thing on her list was something he couldn’t help with anyway. “I need to have a face-off with Dorothy Kennelly when I know everything is done. Can you let me know when it’s safe to do that?”

  “Consider it done now.”

  “You sound awfully sure a
bout that.”

  “Because I am.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The cell phone showed three messages recorded while it was turned off; Cassie dialed voicemail and listened.

  “Hi Cassie, it’s Sydney and I have good news. Give me a call when you get this message.”

  Cassie pressed the key to save that one, and went on to the next.

  “Miss Cassie, this is Bea. I’m sorry to bother you, but Miss Dorothy is here and she’s been trying to call you on that number that doesn’t work. I haven’t told her you have a new number, but I thought I’d better let you know--” The message ended; Cassie pressed ‘7’ to delete.

  “Cassie, this is your grandmother. I heard you had a chance to visit with Lawrence Baylin out there in Texas. If you have his phone number, could you please give it to me? I’d like to call him and say hello. Thank you, dear. I love you.”

  Well that certainly was a surprise! Cassie pulled her steno book from the satchel, located the page with Lawrence’s information, and dialed Noreen. When the answering machine picked up, she left the name and number for the assisted living facility, and quickly added the operating hours when Lawrence could be reached. “I’m sorry I missed your call, Grandma. Hope you’re having a wonderful day. I love you, too.”

  Then she returned Sydney’s call.

  “Hey, I’m running late for work and just got your message. Is everything okay up there?”

  “More than okay. I got hold of Andrew Porter in Canada. He’s already calling the county office to void that eviction notice and everything else that Fozzi issued. He’ll take care of the rest when he gets back, but that won’t be for another week. Can you hold everything together until then?”

  “I’ll make sure of it. Thank you so much, Sydney.”

  The digital clock read 11:16 when Cassie pulled the red Santa Fe to the curb in front of Baylin House, right behind the silver Explorer. She didn’t knock when she reached the door, just turned the handle and walked in, announcing, “Hi Bea, it’s just me,” and went straight to the kitchen.