Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “What do you mean?”

  Augusta stood up, grabbed her pocketbook, and turned off the copy machine as she headed to the door. “He means it will keep you out of his hair while he’s investigating that murder. And if you ask me, that’s a good thing, because the last time you got involved with a murderer, you were nearly killed.”

  I tried not to think about that horrific night a few months ago when a deranged person tried to silence me because I knew too much.

  “This is different. The only thing I’m doing in relation to the murder investigation is snooping around the dog park to pick up the local gossip from a lady who happens to be a wealth of information. Besides, Nate’s the one who thought it would be a good idea.”

  Marshall gave my boss a quick look. “Really?”

  “Underneath all that gossip and hearsay are some real facts. All Phee’s going to do is ferret them out.” Then he chuckled. “The worst that can happen is she’ll step into something unsavory.”

  I locked gazes with Nate and didn’t budge. “If I do step into something unsavory, you’ll owe me a new pair of shoes.”

  The four of us left the office at the same time and Marshall walked me to my car. I told him a bit more about Gertie and Trudy, as well as the visit Nate and I had with my mother and her friends. Nothing seemed to surprise him.

  “Hit list, huh? I can only imagine what’s going through their minds. If I wasn’t so inundated with that missing person’s case, I’d jump right into this one, along with Nate. Seems we’re picking up more and more of the retirement community crimes since the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office is stressed with drug-related killings, kidnappings, and arson. And here I thought the job would be a walk in the park, so to speak.”

  “Admit it, you’re loving every minute,” I said as he reached for my hand.

  “I’m loving every minute we’re together, but it seems as if I haven’t seen you in ages. Since the weekend. That missing person’s case has tentacles. First one lead, then another. I’ll be heading south tomorrow to Maricopa and take it from there. I expect to be on the road for a day or so and will hopefully get this thing wrapped up. The family gets more panicked each day, and I don’t blame them. Granted, their daughter’s in her early twenties, so she’s not a minor, but still. . . .”

  “You don’t have to say anything. My daughter’s in her early twenties, and if she disappeared out of the blue, I’d be a basket case. So, you think you have some decent leads?”

  “Yeah, I really do. Hey, getting back to us, how about if we take an overnight to Sedona this weekend? I’ve got some paperwork to wrap up Saturday morning, but we could take off around noon, check in to one of those spa hotels, and come back late Sunday afternoon. If not Sedona, then maybe Prescott. It’s not even June and the heat’s getting to me.”

  “Give it time. Your blood will thin. Actually, I think it has more to do with capillary action than actual thinning, but who cares. Hot’s hot.”

  “So, is it a go? A weekend getaway?”

  I looked at the impish grin on his face and smiled. “Sure. It sounds fabulous. It’ll also give me time on Saturday to chat with the director of the Lillian regarding those thefts.”

  “Speaking of which, you might want to ask him or her if there were any changes in staff during the past few months or if any new residents moved in. Not that I’m telling you how to go about an investigation. You seem to have gotten that down pat.”

  My car was only a few yards away and I slowed my pace. I was still holding Marshall’s hand and he pulled me closer for a quick kiss.

  “I’ll call or text you tomorrow. Same deal with the office.”

  “Wow. Hope I rank first.”

  “You do.”

  I closed the car door, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb. My thoughts bounced from one thing to another without lingering in any one place for long. One second I was wondering how I’d handle my conversation with the residence manager at the Lillian and the next I was thinking about the grueling schedule Marshall would have as he tracked down that missing woman. Then, out of nowhere, images of Streetman came to mind and I realized I’d better let my mother know when I planned to take him to the park. Not if, but when.

  Much as I hated to admit it, I did have an “in” regarding the Quentin Dussler investigation, and to not capitalize on it would be downright stupid. I called my mother the minute I got home and told her I’d be picking up the dog on Friday.

  “Friday? Why are you waiting until Friday? What’s wrong with tomorrow morning? Or Thursday?”

  “The talk about Quentin’s death is going to escalate over the next two days, and I want to give Cindy Dolton enough time to hone in on all the buzz. Kind of like waiting for something to marinate.”

  “You’re not barbequing a steak, Phee.”

  “No, but I’ll be the one stuck serving the meal. I’ll be by around six fifteen to get the dog.”

  “You’ll let me know if your boss discovers anything new, won’t you?”

  “Relax. I doubt your name will turn up at any other crime scenes.”

  Unfortunately, I was wrong.

  Chapter 4

  Nate was right about one thing. In a span of three days, the news media went from reporting a suspicious death to confirming it was a homicide. The only detail they divulged was possible suffocation. The name wasn’t released until the second day, but everyone in earshot of Sun City West knew who it was.

  Meanwhile, Marshall’s lead on the missing woman turned out to be a solid one, but as luck would have it, the situation was complicated. I didn’t know any of the details, nor would I. All I knew was Marshall needed to involve the Pinal County Sheriff’s Office. I just hoped they’d move fast enough so that he’d be back here for our weekend getaway.

  The Friday morning bags under my eyes said it all. No one should have to get up at the break of dawn unless they were duck hunting. Or unless Harriet Plunkett was their mother. She had Streetman on his leash and “at the ready” by the time I arrived. That little Chiweenie was pacing back and forth by the foyer, one leg-lift away from creating a puddle. I’d barely said hi to my mom when she shoved the leash in my hand.

  “Here, hold it tight. Loop your hand through the leash first and then grab it. Much safer. He pulls. Once you get to the park, don’t let him chew grass. He throws up. And keep him away from that large gray schnauzer. They don’t get along.”

  “Fine. Fine. I’m only going to be a few minutes in there. Long enough to ask Cindy some questions and get out. I’ve got to be at work before nine, and I planned to stop and grab a coffee.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time.”

  Then she bent down and patted the dog on his head. “Go with your sister and be a good little man.”

  Your sister? Since when did I become the dog’s sister?

  I groaned and made a beeline for my car. Streetman was a decent passenger, provided he got to sit in the front. I once tried putting him on the backseat, and it was a disaster. He made all sorts of horrific noises until he finally managed to wedge himself through the middle console and onto the front passenger seat.

  At six twenty in the morning, the dog park was bustling with at least nine or ten poodle mixes and one Boston Terrier. Streetman was like a maniac the second I released him from his leash. He charged over to the large date palms and began to irrigate them. Cindy Dolton was standing in her usual spot near the side fence. Bundles, her small white dog, was sniffing the ground a few yards away.

  Cindy waved as soon as she saw me enter. “Don’t tell me. It’s about Quentin Dussler’s murder. Am I right? Your office should put me on the payroll.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I was hoping, since you seem to have a good handle on what’s going on in this community, you could tell me what you know about the guy and why you think someone killed him.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Seriously?”

  Cindy raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Quentin
Dussler’s been a fixture in Sun City West for years. Taught art at some college in New York City and retired here when his wife passed away.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “He ran for the board a few years back and they printed his bio. It’s probably still on file somewhere in the rec center office.”

  “I take it he wasn’t elected.”

  “You take it right. According to the scuttlebutt around here, he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Artistic temperament and all that.”

  “Um, can you be more specific?”

  “A few dog owners were also in the clay club for a while. Quentin was a real bigwig over there. Supervised the workroom, the kilns, the pottery wheels . . . Anyway, if things weren’t done to his specifications, he made life hell for those people. I once heard someone complain that Quentin read him the riot act because he didn’t put the glazes back in the proper order. Takes all the fun out of a club, huh?”

  “Could he have upset someone to the point where that someone wanted to kill him?”

  “Nah. If people get pissed they usually leave one club and join another one. Besides, Quentin used to take off on long trips. Club members would mark their calendars and work on their clay projects when he wasn’t around.”

  A few yards away, Streetman was still peeing or at least lifting his leg on various palms. So far so good. No interactions with other dogs. I turned my attention back to Cindy.

  “What about family? Other than his deceased wife. Did he have children?”

  “No children. At least not according to the board articles I’ve read. But I heard somewhere he has a niece who’s a freelance writer. Some sort of ‘Gypsy journalist’ who bounces from one country to the next—India, Israel, Belgium, China. Don’t ask me where I heard that because I can’t remember. Anyway, it was a strange mix of countries, huh?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose you go wherever the story takes you. I don’t imagine you know where she lives or what her name is?”

  “Sorry. No clue. I did hear some scuttlebutt about her living in New York City at one time, but I’m not sure. Say, you might want to check with the Melhorns—Lon and Mary. They used to come to this park when their dog was still alive. They knew Quentin. Their names are still listed in the dog club directory. You know, come to think of it, maybe it was Mary who told me about Quentin’s niece. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s more than I knew when I came here today. Listen, if you hear anything whatsoever about the guy, please call me. You’ve got our number. Williams Investigations.”

  “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. These unsolved murders have a way of making all of us feel vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable in your case, hysterical in my mother’s, so yeah, please give me a buzz if you hear the slightest thing because—”

  “POOP ALERT! POOP ALERT! Brown Chiweenie near the date palm!”

  “Oh no, Cindy. That’s Streetman. Someone’s pitching a fit. I’d better get to it quick.”

  Reaching for a plastic doggie bag from my pocket, I charged over to the dog and tidied up after him before the screamer went berserk again. Streetman glanced at me and proceeded to sniff around.

  “You’d better appreciate what I do for you, little buddy.” I clasped his leash to his collar. “Come on. If I don’t get a cup of coffee soon, I’ll be as on-edge as that screaming man over there.”

  The dog literally dragged me back to the car and jumped in the front seat, where he sat like a statue until I dropped him off at my mother’s.

  She must have been standing by the front window because the minute I pulled up, she was at the door. “There’s my little Streetman. Go inside and Momma will get you a treat.”

  The dog was out of sight in five seconds.

  “So,” my mother said, “was I right? Did Cindy know anything? Did she have any idea why Quentin Dussler would be holding a piece of paper with my name on it?”

  “Um, er, we didn’t talk about that. But I found out lots of other things. I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Does she have any idea who killed him?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have any idea if he was into some shady business?”

  “No.”

  “Well, good grief. I hope she gave you something to go on. Like witnesses. I can’t live every second in fear. What if Shirley was right? What if it really was a hit list?”

  “If it was a hit list, the person holding it would still be alive. I’ll call you later. Oh, and by the way, your dog did his business in the park. If you need witnesses for that, I can procure them.”

  “Very funny. Talk to you later.”

  I was out the door when it occurred to me I needed a copy of that darned dog park directory. Drat. I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as asking. My mother would insist on knowing why and I didn’t want to waste an additional thirty minutes when I could be wrapping my hands around a cup of hot coffee. Granted, the canine directory listed names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses, but so what? All I needed was a phone number, and if the Melhorns still had a landline, like most of the retirees in Sun City West, they’d be listed in the white pages. Easy to procure since Augusta kept one of those large tomes near her desk.

  Nate was with a client when I walked in the door, and Augusta had only arrived minutes before me.

  “You have that dog park look on your face. Am I right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, did you find out what you needed to?”

  “Sort of. I’ve got to look up a phone number first. Oh, and I almost forgot. I’ve got to confirm my appointment tomorrow at the Lillian with a Miss Kimberlynn Warren. The desk clerk at the residence penciled it in but told me to call back and make sure.”

  “Wow. Fancy-dancy.”

  “That’s my take. I’d better hustle. I hate having so many early morning distractions. By the way, any word from Marshall?”

  “I thought if anyone had heard anything, it would be you.”

  “Not since last night. I have this real uneasy feeling about that missing woman. Like it’s not going to be as simple as locating her and driving her back to Maricopa. Marshall had to contact the Pinal County Sheriff’s Office, so that could mean anything.”

  “Marshall’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll hear from him before the day’s out.”

  “It’s not that I couldn’t call or text him myself, but I don’t want to interrupt his investigation or take his mind off what he really needs to do. My gosh, that sounds so grown up, doesn’t it?”

  “It sounds sensible. That’s a good trait to have. Got too many senseless folks wandering around here.”

  I chuckled as I opened my office door and booted up the computer. Kimberlynn Warren confirmed my appointment for ten thirty and told me she looked forward to meeting me. I felt a tad guilty. It wasn’t as if I’d told a bold-faced lie, but I wasn’t exactly specific with her, either. I had simply said I wanted to speak with her regarding the quality of life at the Lillian. I’m sure she thought I was a potential resident and therefore scheduled the appointment. Had she known I was the amateur sleuth/snoop acquaintance of two existing tenants, she might have felt differently.

  The day seemed to drag with Nate in and out and no news on Quentin Dussler. I did manage to find the Melhorns’ phone number and jotted it down on the “to-do list” for the office. I was tempted to call them myself, but if ever the expression “muddy the waters” came to mind, I would be the one knee deep in the muck. It was bad enough I kept finding myself sleuthing at the dog park. I really didn’t need to spearhead the investigations.

  Finally, at four fifty-three, I heard from Marshall.

  “The woman I’m tracking is being held against her will. The sheriff’s department is responding with their regional SWAT team. I’m meeting in a few minutes with one of their negotiators. Look, I hate to say this, but our holiday weekend is about to be postponed. I’m
so sorry, hon.”

  “Oh my God. That’s the last thing you should be worried about. Sedona and Prescott aren’t going anywhere. We’ll do it another time. Call me as soon as you’re able. And be careful.”

  “You too. You know what I mean.”

  Marshall, and Nate, too, for that matter, were still rattled about how my sleuthing a few months ago almost got me killed. I promised them I wouldn’t do anything as stupid again, and I swore I would keep them informed. Somehow, having a chat with the director of the Lillian didn’t seem to fit into the category of “Danger Ahead,” unlike Marshall, who was walking into God-knows-what.

  Chapter 5

  No sooner had I kicked off my shoes, turned on the TV, and helped myself to a glass of iced tea than I heard, “This just in from Casa Grande. Standoff in a residential neighborhood. Residents told to lock their doors and stay inside.”

  I immediately raced for the living room and jacked up the volume. Casa Grande. That wasn’t too far from Maricopa, where Marshall was embroiled in that missing person’s situation. He’d said something about a SWAT negotiator since the victim was being held against her will. Was this his case? It sure sounded like it. My right foot tapped automatically and a slight tremor shook my hands.

  The camera zoomed to a close-up of a single-story beige stucco house with a SWAT vehicle off to the side. A few tactical responders approached the building, all of them hunched over and moving slowly. The only sound was the news commentator, but one of the responders held a megaphone.

  My gaze panned the entire scene for Marshall, but, in a flash, the segment ended. “Disturbing scenario in Casa Grande” were the commentator’s final words before reassuring the viewers they’d be kept up to date on “that changing situation.” Rolling commercials for prescription medicines, acne treatments, and investment options filled the airspace as I reached for the phone.

  Nate must’ve been expecting a call because he picked up on the first ring. “Hey, kiddo, you beat me to it. I take it you turned on the news when you got home.”

  “Casa Grande. Is that Marshall’s case? He said something about a regional response team and meeting with negotiators. Oh my God. Please don’t tell me he’s in there.”