Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  I honestly felt as if I was about to blush. Talk about feeling uncomfortable. “No. No. Please put that away. It’s not necessary. I’ll get in touch with the management and I’ll let you know what I find out in a few days. Did you need me to call a taxi service for you?”

  “Heavens no,” Gertie said. “We told our residence driver to pick us up in a half hour. His car is probably out front.”

  Sure enough, a sleek white limo was parked a few feet from our entrance. I escorted the sisters to the door and reassured them I’d be in touch.

  Trudy grabbed my arm and whispered, “There’s one more thing.”

  Here it comes. Whatever it is, I can only imagine.

  “Sharon Smyth is beside herself over that clay jar she bought. The woman was in tears.”

  “I know for a fact the clay club is having another sale on June thirtieth,” I said. “That’s coming up pretty soon. She can always buy another jar.”

  “That’s what we thought, too, dear, but Sharon was still distraught.”

  Wait until she sees my mother’s creations. It’ll give a whole new meaning to the word “distraught.”

  “Yes,” Gertie added, “you’d think that silly jar was worth a fortune the way that woman carried on. Wouldn’t you say so, Trudy?”

  “I would. Indeed, I would. She’s still carrying on. And acting strangely, too. Refusing to go out on excursions like shows or shopping. If it keeps up, she’ll be a regular recluse. So, you see, it’s really important, Miss Kimball, that you find out who stole these items.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The two sisters, with their matching teal capris and polka-dotted blouses, went directly to their limo.

  “So, what did you find out?” Augusta asked when they left.

  “Not much. Sounds like the usual stuff that probably happens in college dorms and all sorts of residences where there’s a large population. Petty theft. I mean, if I were to add up all the stuff that was taken, it wouldn’t even equal twenty-five dollars, but that’s not the point. The residents are feeling very uncomfortable and one woman is taking it to the extreme.”

  “Yeesh. So I guess that means you’ll be on the case, so to speak.”

  “Not a case. A favor for two elderly sisters. I’ve got Saturday off. I’ll drop by the Lillian and have a word with their director. See what I can find out.”

  “You’re a good soul, Phee. Just don’t get too deep in the mire. Makes it hard to wipe your boots.”

  Just then the phone rang and Augusta grabbed it. I could hear her customary greeting of “Williams Investigations. How can I help you?” But instead of the usual banter that follows those calls, all I heard was, “Uh-oh. Okay. Okay, I will.”

  I hesitated to return to my office. Something was off.

  “What’s the matter, Augusta? What is it?”

  “Looks like the mud you’re going to be wiping off your feet is waiting for you in Sun City West. That was Nate. I was right all along. It was a homicide the sheriff’s department was investigating. Some guy found dead in his garage.”

  Suddenly the corned beef sandwich I had eaten for lunch wasn’t settling too well. “Not anyone I know?”

  “I don’t think so, but Nate wants you to call your mother and go over to her house.”

  “My mother? Why? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “The guy they found was holding a piece of paper with two names on it. Your mother’s was one of them.”

  “Oh my God! Did he say who the other one was?”

  Augusta shook her head. “No. All he said was for you to call your mother and go directly to her house. If she’s not home, wait there for him.”

  “And here I thought the worst thing I was going to deal with today was a bit of filching.”

  Chapter 2

  I raced to my desk and dialed my mother. It was one of those quick frantic calls that I made without thinking things through.

  “Mom! I’m glad you’re home. Are you alone?”

  “No. Lucinda and Shirley are here. We’re having a cup of coffee. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t have all the details, but I’m on my way over. Don’t go anywhere. In fact, tell Lucinda and Shirley to stay there until I get there. Or until Nate gets there.”

  “Nate? Now I know something’s wrong. What? What is it? Is there a homicidal maniac in the neighborhood? Tell me. Tell me now!”

  “Look, all I know is a man was found dead in his garage, and Nate wants to talk to you about it. I don’t even know the guy’s name.”

  “Then why does your boss want to talk to me?”

  “Um, uh, well, because the dead man was holding a piece of paper with your name on it.”

  “What??? It said ‘Harriet Plunkett’? Hold on a second. Lucinda! Make sure the door’s locked. Shirley, close the shutters. Where’s my Streetman? Oh, there he is, under the coffee table. Phee, are you still on the line?”

  “I haven’t gone anywhere, Mom, but I’m on my way over. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Have another cup of coffee with the ladies and try to relax.”

  I hung up the phone before she got any more hysterical.

  “I’m out the door, Augusta,” I shouted as I raced across the office. “I’ll call you later.”

  All sorts of weird and disturbing thoughts crossed my mind as I made the half-hour drive to Sun City West from our office in Glendale. Thankfully the traffic was light. It wasn’t rush hour yet, with everyone leaving Phoenix for their bedroom communities.

  When I pulled up to my mother’s house, Shirley’s Buick was parked in front and Nate’s car sat directly behind hers.

  Good. Nate’s fielding the first blow.

  “It’s me!” I shouted as I rang the bell.

  My mother opened the front door slowly and then the security door.

  “Hurry up and get inside.”

  “Your house isn’t under siege. Calm down. Did Nate explain what’s going on?”

  “Sure did, kiddo,” came a voice from the kitchen.

  “Great. Because I have no idea what’s happening.”

  By now, I was standing near the kitchen table. Nate, Shirley, and Lucinda were all seated with cups of coffee in front of them and a platter of Pepperidge Farm cookies that may or may not have come from the freezer. Streetman was under the table and poked his head out once to acknowledge my presence.

  “Grab a chair, Phee.” My mother took her spot nearest the window. “This is a nightmare. A veritable nightmare.”

  I looked at each of their faces and only Nate appeared calm and collected. Lucinda, who usually had that frazzled hair thing going for her, was even more disheveled, as if she had been pulling at her hair. Shirley looked as stylish as always, but I swore, even with her dark skin, she was pale. As for my mother, it was hard to say. The combination of drama and genuine fear made it impossible to tell how upset she really was.

  “So, will someone please explain what’s going on? The only thing I know is a man was found dead holding a piece of paper with my mother’s name on it.”

  Suddenly, Lucinda started gasping. “Not dead. He could have been murdered, for all we know. And your mother’s wasn’t the only name on that paper. Mine was there, too.”

  Murdered. The word itself had an ominous sound. I stood up, took a coffee mug from the cabinet, and helped myself to what was left in the coffeemaker.

  “Yeah. Um, that’s what Augusta thought.”

  Nate rolled his eyes and choked back a laugh. “Sorry, it’s not funny, but lately Augusta’s become a wealth of information and innuendo. Here’s the real deal. First off, the news media will start out reporting a death. Then they’ll tell the public the sheriff’s department has evidence pointing to a potential homicide. In a day or so, the homicide will be verified. Law enforcement can’t give away too much information or it will compromise the investigation. You all understand that, right?”

  A collective “uh-huh” followed and Nate went on. “So, what I’m about
to tell you stays in this room. Let me be clear. The only reason I’m sharing this is because two of your names were found at an active crime scene. And your help is needed.”

  Other than the sounds the dog was making from scratching himself under the table, no one made a noise, so Nate continued.

  “Okay. The sheriff’s department got a call midmorning from someone at the clay club who said Quentin Dussler was supposed to teach a clay class at eight in the morning and hadn’t shown up. The caller was insistent something was wrong because Quentin wasn’t answering his home or cell phones. So, since this is a senior community, a deputy was sent over to Quentin’s house on Springdale Drive to do a welfare check. No one answered the door, but the garage door was off the ground by a few feet, so the deputy lifted it up and found the guy leaning back in a chair next to a potter’s wheel. Dead.”

  “Why did they think it was a crime scene? Was he murdered?” Shirley asked. “Maybe he had a heart attack.”

  Nate groaned. “Because people who have heart attacks aren’t usually found with large clay pots stuffed over their heads, waiting to dry. The clay was still moist in spots. The clay pot didn’t smother him. It was an after touch. He was probably smothered by a plastic bag first and then clay was globbed in his nose and mouth.”

  Shirley fanned her neck with both hands. “Lordy! Lordy! That’s the worst way to die. Someone molding the breath out of you.”

  “That is kind of gruesome,” I said, “in a medieval sort of way. And why did he have a piece of paper with Lucinda’s name and my mother’s on it?”

  Nate took a sip of the coffee and reached for a cookie. “That’s what I’d like to know and that’s why I came over here. I was just about to ask your mother and Mrs. Espinoza when you arrived.”

  I looked directly at my mother. “Is it because you’re in the clay club, Mom? Were you and Lucinda in his class and he had to contact you?”

  “No. We took our introductory class at Beardsley Recreation Center weeks ago. Besides, Quentin only teaches, I mean, taught, the advanced classes—specialty glazing and throwing pottery on the wheel instead of simple molds. Lucinda and I are discovering the early stages of our talents.”

  “I hate to say this, but you’re sounding more and more like Aunt Ina.”

  “Hush.”

  I had hit a nerve with my mother. My aunt Ina was still living the hippie dream. A regular artsy-fartsy throwback from Woodstock, but with one difference. Aunt Ina came with a financial portfolio that could rival Donald Trump’s. And that was due to her recent marriage to financier Louis Melinsky.

  “Forget about Aunt Ina for a minute. Why would this Quentin guy have your names?”

  “Oh Lordy!” Shirley said. “Was it a hit list?”

  Lucinda all but exploded in her seat. “A hit list? My God, who’d want to kill us?”

  Nate stretched his arms across the table, palms wide open. “Whoa! Slow down. No one said anything about a hit list. That wasn’t even on the radar. There could be lots of reasons why this guy had your names. His garage was also some sort of studio for his clay projects. In fact, it looked more like a business. He had shipping boxes, those annoying popcorn stuffers, wrapping paper, and mailing labels all over the place. My take is he had a decent reputation for his clay pots or whatever they were and did a mail order business. So, did either of you ladies order anything from him?”

  “I don’t know about you, Lucinda,” my mother said, “but I didn’t. I’ve got enough tchotchkes all over the place. Plus, I’ll be making my own.”

  “Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t order anything from him. I couldn’t afford his stuff if I wanted to. Did you see the prices he charged last year at the clay show? I mean, yeah, his pots were phenomenal but still, who has that kind of money to spend on decorative items?”

  Nate let out a slow breath and ran his fingers through his hair. In his mid-sixties, my boss still looked good. No sign of balding and a decent physique. I’m sure women found him attractive, but he’d been married to his job forever.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s think beyond the clay club. Does Quentin belong to any other clubs, churches, or organizations that either of you are in?”

  My mother and Lucinda shook their heads as Nate scratched his chin. “The sheriff’s deputies searched the house and there was no sign of any pets. Scratch off the dog club. And any other pet clubs.”

  “Not so fast,” my mother said. “Cindy Dolton from the dog park knows everything that’s going on around here. She’s shared lots of information with Phee in the past. If I were you, and I’m not telling you what to do, but, I’d send Phee over to meet with Cindy.” Then, she turned to me. “You can take Streetman for a nice early morning visit.”

  I can also go and jump in the nearest lake, but you don’t see me rushing out to do that.

  I gave Nate the “don’t you dare” look and he winked.

  “All right, Harriet. We’ll consider it. Right now, I guess that’s about it. If you or Lucinda think of anything, give me a call.”

  Shirley reached across the table and grabbed Nate’s wrist. In addition to a gorgeous shade of yellow that accented her dark skin, someone had painted tiny daisies on each of her nails. “You’re sure it wasn’t a hit list?”

  “The sheriff’s department has no reason to believe it was anything of the sort and I tend to concur. They’re checking the handwriting on that piece of paper to see if it was Quentin’s. Maybe someone from the clay club gave him the names for another reason. Fund-raising, events, who knows?”

  “Well, I know one thing,” Lucinda said. “Until they find out who killed Quentin Dussler, I’m not going anywhere without my screamer.”

  Nate flashed me a look and I tried not to laugh. “A while back, Myrna Mittleson purchased some handheld safety devices for the book club ladies. They’re called ‘screamers’ and they emit a powerful scream if someone is being attacked.”

  “Really?” Nate raised his eyebrows. “I suppose if it makes you feel safe, why not?”

  My mother bent down to look at the dog, who was snoring from under the table. “I accidentally bumped into my screamer a few weeks ago. I had it on one of the end tables when I was changing pocketbooks. It went off accidentally and poor Streetman peed all over himself.”

  At that point, Nate turned away from the table and squelched a laugh. “Remember, ladies, if you hear anything, call.”

  I stood up, gave my mother a quick hug, and told Shirley and Lucinda to have a nice day before hightailing it out of the house. I waited until we were at the foot of the driveway before I spoke. “What’s your real take as to why our dead guy had those names?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I was hoping your mother and her friend would know, but all I did was unnerve them.”

  “Don’t worry about it. A change in the TV lineup unnerves them. So now what?”

  “I’ll see if the sheriff’s department has gotten any further with this. I know they were pursuing DNA evidence, but that’ll take weeks. Seems to me we’d move along much more quickly with old-fashioned sleuthing.”

  “Uh-oh. I see that look on your face.”

  “Come on, kiddo. How bad can an early morning trip to the dog park really be?”

  “You haven’t had to pull Streetman out of there when he decides to make amorous advances at the other dogs.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll be worth it if this Cindy Dolton can give us more information.”

  “You’re going to owe me big time, Nate.”

  “I always do.”

  Chapter 3

  I had completely forgotten about my earlier meeting with Gertie and Trudy until later in the day when we were about to lock up. Marshall had just returned from his case in Buckeye and was helping himself to a cup of coffee before turning off the Keurig. Nate, who had been following up with phone calls I assumed were related to the Quentin Dussler murder, stepped out of his office and started to say something to Augusta.

  I interrupted him. “Um, sorry
to break in, but this is important. I need to let you know about something because I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping my bounds. I met with two clients, well, not really clients . . . two elderly women I sort of know from Sun City West. They live in a senior residential resort community and wanted me to look into some petty theft going on in their residence.”

  “It’s true,” Augusta said. “I set up the meeting myself, so don’t blame Phee.”

  “No one’s blaming anyone,” Nate replied. “I’m itching to hear the rest of this.”

  I took a quick breath. “The ladies, Gertie and Trudy, are in their nineties. That seems to be the average age for the people in the Lillian. Anyway, they came to me because I met them on the plane when I first came out here for that idiotic book curse. Anyway, they’re afraid to report these thefts to the management for fear of repercussions. You know, if the staff decided not to treat them as nicely. So, I offered to stop by their residence this weekend and have a general chat with the director without mentioning any names.”

  Marshall gave Nate a quick glance before turning to me. “What kind of stuff was taken? Did they tell you?”

  “They told me and they gave me a list. If I were to total up the monetary value, it would be around twenty-five bucks. Things like cans of tuna, some yarn, an Elks pin, a clay pottery jar, and a five-dollar bill.”

  Nate tried to squelch a laugh, but, unlike earlier in the day, he wasn’t successful. “I don’t mean to come across as callous, but really? A can of tuna?”

  “It’s serious for them,” I said. “They’ve been living there for quite a while and nothing like this has happened.”

  “Maybe not that they’re aware of,” Marshall said. “But pilfering small items isn’t unusual in places like that. Heck, I’ve heard of people stealing lunches from break rooms at businesses and even going so far as rooting through other people’s desks.”

  “So, do either of you have a problem with me looking into it?”

  The men shook their heads.

  “I think it’ll do you good,” Nate said.