Murder on the Riviera

by Anisa Claire West

  “Who does the house belong to? Is it listed in Gardenia’s name like the credit card?” Charles prodded as I minimized the real estate listing and ran another quick search.

  “It sure is,” I said in amazement as I clicked onto the property’s public records.

  “Obviously this house could be a motive for murder, but how do the women plan on selling it with the owner dead?” Charles wondered.

  “Maybe one of them has power of attorney over Gardenia’s estate. We don’t know if Gardenia had any children. If she didn’t, then it’s likely that her sisters were her next of kin.” I took a long pause, mulling over the various possibilities. In my silkiest voice, I cooed to Charles, “We could sit around in California all day pulling theories out of a hat. Or we could go to Arizona and get concrete answers.”

  Chapter 9

  A 487 mile drive through the desert wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered for my already unromantic honeymoon with Charles. The seven hour drive through California and Arizona catapulted us into a marital bicker that persisted until we stopped during the last leg of the ride for some sodas and onion rings.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Charles groaned then grimaced. “Ah! My leg fell asleep!” He complained as we walked like zombies towards a roadside Burger King.

  “Look at this as an adventure,” I cajoled. “Neither one of us has ever been to Arizona before. We can stay here a few nights, maybe see the Grand Canyon and take a Jeep drive across the beautiful red rock country. And take a bath in some hot springs. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “It does,” Charles admitted with a yawn. “Let’s get this Gardenia Lewis thing out of the way so we can enjoy ourselves.”

  Wolfing down the fried food and guzzling the icy colas, we got back on the road with Charles in the driver’s seat. Ignoring a miserable case of heartburn, I whipped out my phone, clicking on a real estate page and pinpointing the name and contact information for the listing agent.

  “Patsy Rellit is the agent selling the house,” I announced to Charles who was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a Bruce Springsteen song.

  “Huh?” He muttered.

  “Nothing babe. Just keep listening to Tunnel of Love and I’ll take care of this.” I dialed Patsy’s number and held in an expectant breath as the phone rang.

  “Red Rock Realty, Patsy Rellit speaking. How may I serve you?” An overly friendly, efficient voice came on the line.

  “Yes hi Patsy. I was interested in viewing one of your listings in Mesa, the one you call the desert oasis. Would you have any time today? I know it’s getting late…”

  “Not too late for me! I can meet you there in half an hour,” Patsy chirped.

  “Perfect,” I said, hanging up the phone before she could ask my name.

  ***

  Forty five minutes later, grumpy, frumpy and travel-weary, Charles and I arrived at the house and immediately spotted Patsy. Wearing a name tag on her plum blazer, the fifty-ish realtor shuffled over to us as a pile of business cards went flying in the sultry wind.

  “Sorry we’re a little late,” I apologized. “We’re both new to the area.”

  “That’s okay,” she said with a tightness that made me feel we had inconvenienced her. “Before we look at the property, I should ask if you’ve been pre-approved for a mortgage. This estate is very expensive, you know.”

  We must have looked like two dusty country bumpkins to the sharply dressed realtor. Mildly embarrassed, I blew a matted wisp of hair out of my face and evaded her question, “Did you hear about the death of Gardenia Lewis?”

  Genuinely flummoxed, the woman clasped her hand to her heart and turned pale. “Gardenia is dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “But how am I going to sell this house now? She was the sole owner,” the realtor babbled as my ears perked up. “She was a widow without any heirs. I don’t know who she would have left the property to. She had three sisters. Oh my! This is terrible!”

  Patsy was clearly more troubled by the possibility that she may not have a fat, juicy commission check coming her way than she was by the fact that her client had died. But I didn’t care about the realtor’s insensitivity. She had just conveyed a mouthful and if I pounced and asked more questions, she was likely to reveal pertinent details in her state of confusion.

  “Was she close to her sisters?” I feigned ignorance.

  “Yes, they all lived together in this house, Golden Girls style! Gardenia was just like Rose, the sweet one. Her sisters didn’t have the money Gardenia did. Two of them never married and the other one was divorced, if my memory serves. And Gardenia was widowed. Her husband was a heart surgeon and left her sitting pretty. Oh this is a fine mess!” The realtor griped as one of her windswept business cards rose up in a dusty cloud and landed on her head.

  Stifling a giggle, I probed, “So would you say that Gardenia was supporting her sisters?”

  “I don’t know if she was supporting them, but I don’t think any of them could have afforded this place without her,” the realtor said, plucking the offending business card off her heavily styled auburn hairdo.

  “This would be a good time to collaborate with Lieutenant Forrest,” Charles spoke discreetly like a ventriloquist, struggling to keep his lips from moving.

  “Thank you, Patsy. But we’re having second thoughts about the house,” I said politely.

  The woman’s face quickly darkened to an angry red as she said, “You haven’t even seen the house yet! It really is an oasis…”

  “Yes but with the ownership in question, you don’t even know if you have the right to sell the house anymore,” I pointed out, already walking towards the rental car with Charles.

  Leaving Patsy standing indignantly with her hands on her hips, I slid into the passenger seat and dialed the direct line Lieutenant Forrest had given me. The motive for Gardenia’s murder was now as clear as the identity of the perpetrators. All that was left to do was frame the homicidal witches and get them in handcuffs. My stomach dropped as I realized that conquering this final part of the investigation could be the trickiest maneuver of all.

  Chapter 10

  Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport was bustling with sweat-soaked travelers eager to escape the broiling desert. Dotting a drop of perspiration from my brow, I searched around frantically for Lieutenant Forrest who said that he would meet us by the baggage carousels. According to the lieutenant, the three sisters were due any minute on a delayed flight from Los Angeles.

  “How are we going to get them to confess anything?” I asked my husband helplessly.

  He didn’t have a chance to respond because Lieutenant Forrest and his crew came barreling towards us. Organizing an impromptu powwow, the cop spoke loudly above the noise of overhead flight announcements.

  “I think we ought to put you on salary after all this,” he joked. “Anyway, in all seriousness, just follow my lead.” He handed me a recording device and gestured for me to slip it inside my blouse.

  “So I’m going to be the welcome wagon when they get here?” I said awkwardly. “They’re not going to tell me anything.”

  “Sure they will because you’re going to catch them off guard,” Lieutenant Forrest said confidently as he handed a second recording device to Charles. “Their flight has landed and they should be coming round to baggage claim any second now. Keep your eyes peeled for some kooky redheads!”

  I nervously tapped my toes on the linoleum floor for the next several minutes, utterly clueless as to what I would say to the women. There was no time to devise a plan, though, because the sisters soon breezed through the airport. Charles and I took quick strides to hijack the women and hopefully startle a confession out of them.

  “Hello Bertha,” I said sarcastically to the white-haired woman.

  Looking incredulous, the woman stuttered, “B-b-bertha? No, my name is Gardenia.”

  “Can it, Bertha,” I said in my most intimidating tone. “Ga
rdenia is dead. Everyone knows that.”

  “No, Bertha is dead,” the woman insisted as her flame haired sisters stayed mum. “What are you doing here anyway? Are you an undercover cop?”

  Dodging her question, I demanded, “Which one of you killed Gardenia?”

  “None of us,” Yvonne said coldly.

  “You’re not going to be able to sell her house now, you know,” I said provocatively, touching on their cornerstone of greed.

  “Sell her house?” Bertha mumbled.

  “Yes, we spoke with your real estate agent, Patsy Rellit. She can’t sell the house now that Gardenia is dead,” Charles informed robotically, unnerving the women even more with his cool demeanor.

  “But Gardenia isn’t dead! Bertha is!” Yvette said unconvincingly as the final detail of their evil plan finally came to light.

  Slowly working over the logic in my mind, I accused, “You were going to try to steal Gardenia’s identity, weren’t you Bertha? That was the plan! To steal her identity and sell the house on your own. Then the three of you would split the profit! It makes perfect sense now why you keep introducing yourself to everyone as Gardenia,” I took a long pause. “Everyone except for the cops, that is. You slipped up, didn’t you? You were so nervous about your evil plot working out that you got sloppy and told the cops your real name. You confused yourself! You couldn’t even keep track of your own plan!” I felt triumphant, as though I had just assembled the 999th piece in a thousand part jigsaw puzzle.

  “How did you kill her? Poison?” Charles conjectured. “Ah, but I guess the autopsy will tell the story, won’t it?”

  “Gardenia was so damn greedy!” Bertha exploded in a sudden fury. “She was going to sell the house and move to Santa Barbara without us. That silly vacation was meant as some sort of consolation prize for abandoning us and putting us out on the street like dogs!”

  I smirked knowingly, recalling the luxury Ventura County real estate brochure. Bertha had all but confessed to her crime. But she had certainly implicated herself. “It was Gardenia’s money and her house too. She was free to do with it whatever she wanted,” I pointed out softly as Lieutenant Forrest and a trio of police officers surrounded us.

  Sensing that my work was done, I slipped the recording device out of my blouse and handed it to the lieutenant. Charles followed suit, shaking the officer’s hand and then exhaling heavily as we made our way out of the stuffy airport.

  ***

  As we dined at yet another roadside greasy spoon, my heartburn raged out of control like a wildfire. Groaning, I said, “I think I need a vacation from this vacation.”

  Dipping a fry in a tub of ketchup, Charles laughed and replied, “Tell me about it. It’s been nonstop stress since we got married!”

  “Hey!” I yelped, poking him in the arm. “I have to follow my hunches, you know that sweetie.”

  “Yes, I do,” he sighed. “And I promise I won’t try to fight them anymore.”

  “Good,” I smiled sweetly. “Because I have a hunch that a second honeymoon is in our near future.”

  “You do?” Charles seductively lifted an eyebrow. “A second honeymoon in California?”

  Feeling a layer of sweat soak my clothes, I pushed a moist lock of hair out of my face. Closing my eyes, I imagined the most cool, refreshing place, somewhere that was the complete opposite of the unbearable desert sauna we were stuck in. Images of glaciers, mountains, and snow glided through my imagination as I replied breathily, “How does an Alaskan cruise sound?”

  Charles placed his hand on top of mine and smiled. “It sounds amazing.”

  “I had a hunch you would say that.” We laughed, tossed the remaining junk food in the garbage, and walked hand in hand towards our future.

  ***

  *BONUS SECTION*

  California-inspired Recipes!

  California Kale & Strawberry Salad

  1 package fresh kale leaves

  1 cup fresh strawberries, sliced

  ½ cup raw slivered almonds

  ½ cup plum tomatoes

  Your favorite salad dressing

  Toss all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. This salad tastes delicious with balsamic vinaigrette or a creamy buttermilk dressing. Makes a light and sweet meal!

  Belgian Waffles with Berry Medley

  (Breakfast in Bed Idea!)

  Box of buttermilk waffles

  1 carton fresh strawberries

  1 carton fresh blueberries

  Butter to spread

  Whipped cream or vanilla ice cream

  Strawberry sauce or maple syrup (optional)

  Toast the waffles until they’re golden brown. Then spread on some butter and pile the waffles high with fresh berries. Spray on some whipped cream or spoon a scoop of vanilla ice cream onto each waffle. If you still want an extra dollop of sweetness, then drench with strawberry sauce of maple syrup. These waffles can be served a special dessert or breakfast for dinner. Either way, they’re sure to put a berry bright smile on your face!

  Santa Barbara Spinach Salad

  1 bag fresh organic spinach leaves

  1 container of Gorgonzola cheese crumbles

  1 cup grape tomatoes

  2 sliced cucumbers

  Olive oil & vinegar

  Sunflower seeds (optional)

  Toss all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Sprinkle sunflower seeds on top if you want a nutty crunch added to your salad. Oil and vinegar can be substituted with French dressing.

  Spicy Shrimp with Coconut

  ½ pound fresh cooked domestic shrimp

  ½ cup mayonnaise

  2 tablespoons sweet or spicy chili sauce

  Zest of 1 lemon

  Zest of 1 lime

  ½ cup coconut flakes

  Lemon and lime wedges

  To make the chili dip, mix half the mayo with the sweet chili sauce in a bowl. Chop the zest of the lemon and lime and mix with the remaining mayo and coconut flakes. Arrange shrimp on a platter, place dips next to shrimp and garnish with lemon and lime wedges. Serve with a giant tossed salad for a healthy, protein-packed meal.

  Coconut & Macadamia Pie

  7 eggs, beaten

  3/4 cups of melted butter

  3/4 cups of honey

  3/4 cups of granulated sugar

  1 cup of flaked coconut

  1 (9 inch) pie shell

  1 1/2 cups of chopped macadamia nuts

  1 cup of heavy cream, whipped

  Sliced fresh pineapple

  Mix eggs, butter, honey and sugar until smooth. Sprinkle coconut over pie shell; top with egg mixture. Sprinkle macadamia nuts over filling. Bake in preheated 325 degree oven for 50 to 60 minutes or until toothpick inserted comes out clean. Garnish with whipped cream and sliced pineapples.

  WHILE YOU’RE ENJOYING A CALIFORNIA-INSPIRED TREAT

  TURN THE PAGE

  & GET LOST IN AN EXOTIC WORLD OF TANGO, ROMANCE, & MYSTERY!

  Island Tango

  Silver Goddess Series

  Book One

  Anisa Claire West

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  Dawn of a new Goddess, what color shall she be?

  Ruby red or royal blue

  Glittering gold or sterling silver

  The Goddess shall choose the paint of her eternity

  On Vinova she resides, over the island she presides

  Land of fruit orchards and sun-kissed skies

  Addicted to the wine, she thirsts for one sip more

  Banishing the one she loved, on joy she slams the door.

  ---Verse One of The Immortality Abyss

  Prologue

  Island of Vinova

  An Uncountable Hour of

  The Immortality Abyss

  She stared at the empty goblet on the table and stomped one foot
on the porcelain floor. Where was the man? He was infuriating. But, she must remember that he had only recently attained immortality and was still entrenched in the ways of the world. He might have become lost offshore, perhaps tangled in some overgrown vegetation. Or maybe he was exhausted from the rising solar energy of midday. She had trained him to embrace the dusk, and he could no longer cope with the stresses of diurnal life.

  Bedazzling in metallic shine from the tip of her crown to the heels of her shoes, the Silver Goddess paced restlessly in her castle. When would that oaf return with her elixir? She hadn’t sipped a drop of red wine all day, and she could not drink it virgin. She needed that precise mixture of herbs and spices to infuse the wine with a palate that no one on the island could resist. One taste of the magical wine and she would drift into blissful oblivion. The blinding sun outside would darken and cool. One of her virile manservants would fan her, as she sank gracefully onto the silver bedspread of the canopy to be lifted into a hallucinatory sleep.

  Glancing in the heart shaped mirror affixed to the dining room wall, the Silver Goddess smiled, her mood instantly brightened by the hauntingly beautiful reflection that greeted her. A lushly curvaceous woman with shiny dark hair streaked with a single stripe of silver, the sorceress knew how captivating she was. Her eyes were the color of green fire, blazing like an emerald prism when she felt passionate, and darkening almost to onyx when she felt angry.

  At this moment, as the clock struck one on the silver mantelpiece, her eyes became cold and deep as charcoal. He had been gone for three full hours, she fumed. And she had not had a morsel of nourishment all day. There was no refrigerator in her castle, no freezer, no cabinets. Just a silver wine rack standing up against the wall, holding countless bottles of the finest Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, and Syrah. She licked her lips, yearning for the taste of her herb-tinged wine. Opening the humidor on the counter, she pulled out a cigar and lit it up.