Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  * * *

  Nothing came up between Thursday morning and Saturday, except the unending interviews, each one more tortuous than the one before, according to Marshall. He was on his way to Sun City West for a few more rounds, and I had less than three minutes to speak with him. He popped in my office for a quick “see you later” but apparently really needed to vent.

  “My God, Phee. Those clay people are something else. One of them gets murdered and they all suspect each other.”

  “I suppose that’s not so unusual, is it?”

  “Not if there’s real evidence or any evidence, for that matter, but it’s like sifting through river muck to catch a fish.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bear with me for a second while I read you some of my notes.”

  He took out a small pad, rolled his eyes, and spoke. “Morris was sick of Quentin commandeering the new Olympic kiln, Sue Ann said Quentin hogged the work area, crowding her out, Marty was getting tired of Quentin signing up for the best work times. I’m telling you, the list goes on and on and on.”

  “Yeesh. I wonder if Nate’s list is as bad.”

  “Worse, I think. Look, unless someone really lost it in a fit of rage, I doubt any of these characters were responsible for the guy’s murder. And the way in which Quentin was killed doesn’t fit the criteria for an act of rage. It seemed too deliberate. Frankly, I can’t wait for Saturday to get here. That north county air will clear out my brain, if nothing else.”

  “Is that all?”

  Marshall gave a quick wink. “It’s a start.”

  Chapter 12

  While I was buried in book work on Friday, Nate and Marshall were vigorously pursuing the Dussler murder. Other than a quick text from Marshall telling me he’d be at my place around one on Saturday, it was a relatively quiet prelude to the weekend.

  That changed at Bagels ’N More Saturday when I arrived for brunch at a little past ten.

  Herb Garrett, my mother’s neighbor and the unofficial eyes and ears of her street, was at the cash register when I walked in. He sucked in his stomach the minute he saw me and ran his fingers through his semi-balding head. “Hey, cutie! Long time no see. The hens are clucking at the middle table. What’s this about a hit list? Harriet said she and Lucinda are on some sort of list.”

  “It’s not a hit list. Well, we don’t know it’s not a hit list, but I doubt it. And the sheriff’s department doubts it, too. Apparently when they discovered Quentin Dussler’s body, he was holding a piece of paper with their names on it. Most likely something to do with the clay club since they both joined recently.”

  Herb made some sort of guttural sound. “I told your mother not to worry. I’m right across the street if she needs me.”

  Across the street and sacked out in front of the TV with a bowl of potato chips in his lap. “Thanks. I’m sure she appreciated that.”

  “No problem. Hey, looks like the ladies are waving you over. I’d better get going.”

  “Sounds good. Nice running into you.”

  I walked directly to the middle table and took a seat next to my mother. The waitress was just coming around with coffee, and everyone was preoccupied making sure their cups got filled. It was the usual crew—Cecilia, Myrna, Louise, Lucinda, and Shirley. And the usual shouting.

  “Mine’s decaf.”

  “Same here.”

  “Regular for me. Is it fresh?”

  My mother gave me a nudge. “Hold out your coffee cup. God knows when she’ll be back. I can’t believe how crowded it is in here today. I swear, those snowbirds are staying longer and longer.”

  “Um, sure. Regular.”

  “I’ll be back to take your orders in a few minutes.” The waitress scurried off before anyone could bombard her with questions. Obviously, she knew this table.

  Cecilia, who was seated two chairs away from me, leaned forward. “I saw you at the Lillian last week. I was visiting an elderly gentleman from my church. Lost his wife not too long ago. Thought he’d enjoy some company.”

  “Phee was on business,” my mother said. “Investigative business. She had to see the director.”

  Cecilia looked as if someone had slapped her wrist. “I didn’t say anything.”

  My mother went on. “Before any of you get any ideas, I’m not moving into the Lillian. Not for another two decades at least. And certainly not with all the problems they’re having.”

  “What problems?” Myrna asked. “Does it have anything to do with bedbugs? Because I heard it was a problem in hotels and residential resorts. And why was Phee investigating? I thought she was the bookkeeper.”

  “She is the bookkeeper. I mean, I am the bookkeeper.” Two minutes at the table and I was already flustered.

  Cecilia clapped her hands twice as if she was calling a few preschoolers to attention. “I know what the problem is and it’s very upsetting. Mr. Aquilino told me all about it. Someone’s been stealing things from the residents. He wasn’t missing anything, but when he came back from lunch the week before, his two small paintings on the wall had been rearranged. Their positions had been reversed.”

  Shirley let out a gasp. “Lordy, it’s a ghost. One of those mischievous kinds. What do they call them?”

  “Nonsense is what they call them,” Louise said. “That man probably imagined it.”

  Cecilia dismissed Louise with a wave of the hand. “I’ll tell you what’s not imaginary. A missing Snickers bar. That’s right. You all heard me. Mr. Aquilino’s neighbor bought three candy bars and put them in his cupboard. When he went to get one, there were only two. So, it’s the thefts, isn’t it, Phee? That’s why you were there. Did your boss decide to make you a detective?”

  “What? No. You can’t make someone a detective. And Williams Investigations didn’t send me. I went as a favor to two nice ladies I met when I first came out here.”

  Everyone seemed to quiet down. I thought it was because of what I had said, but I realized it had nothing to do with me. The waitress was standing over our table waiting to take our orders. By the time she had finished, we moved from thefts to theories. The most notable included disgruntled employees, residents with kleptomaniac tendencies, or my personal favorite, gaslighting. Shirley couldn’t wait to introduce that one.

  “They’re making the residents believe they’re going crazy. Just like that movie with Ingrid Bergman.”

  Lucinda was indignant. “How can you say that, Shirley? People’s things are really missing. It’s not like they’re showing up elsewhere. And don’t start telling me it was a ghost.”

  “Sometimes people don’t consider petty theft a crime,” I said. “They think it’s no big deal to take something that doesn’t have a lot of monetary value or something they don’t think is worth much, even though it might really be valuable. And so far, that’s only two objects as far as I know. An Elks Club pin and a handmade clay jar by Quentin Dussler.”

  Shirley and Lucinda continued their own conversation while the rest of us sat there like mutes.

  “The murder victim? The dead man? That Quentin Dussler? Lordy, it could be his ghost.”

  “Don’t start that nonsense, Shirley. Besides, what would he want with one of his own clay jars in the afterlife? It’s not as if he was decorating his house.”

  “How do you know what gets decorated in the afterlife?”

  I felt like pulling every strand of hair out of my head, but instead, I tried to get the ladies to focus. “I’m sure the management is taking this seriously. True, it’s unsettling, but it’s minor. It’s not as if the residents are in any real danger.”

  In retrospect, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Our meals arrived a few minutes later and the conversation shifted to calorie counting, gluten, and genetically modified organisms. Something that didn’t give me indigestion.

  It was a quarter to twelve and I needed to drive home and wait for Marshall. I had already packed a small overnight bag. At least I was walking away with one new piece of information. A name. May
be this Mr. Aquilino knew more about the thefts than he cared to share with Cecilia. I could always check.

  “Well, ladies,” I said, “it’s been nice visiting with you, but I’ve got to get going. Lots of things on my docket today.” And some that I’m not sharing with my mother.

  Just then, my phone rang. I had actually remembered to charge it and keep it turned on.

  “Excuse me a sec. I’ve got a text message.”

  I turned away from the table, fully expecting to see a text from Marshall. I was right. Only it wasn’t what I expected. The message was short and disturbing.

  Murder at the Lillian, plans cancelled. Call u later. XXs

  It was the first time I ever got a text with the word “murder” and “kisses” in the same message.

  “What’s the matter, Phee?” my mother asked. “Don’t tell me you have to go back to work?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Something just came up. I’ll give you a call later.”

  Marshall and Nate might’ve been called to consult on the latest homicide, but nothing prevented me from paying a visit to two very dear sisters. At least I hoped there were still the two of them. I had no idea who the latest victim was. Or if it had anything to do with Quentin Dussler.

  I paid my bill at the cash register and headed across the parking lot to my car. An ear-piercing shriek, which I recognized immediately, made me stop dead in my tracks.

  My aunt Ina had just slammed the door to her car and was waving frantically at me. “Phee! Have they all left? I would’ve been here forty minutes ago if they didn’t have half the streets in Sun City West closed down. Everything was fine when I went into the nail salon this morning, but as soon as I stepped out the door, I saw a zillion deputies rerouting traffic from the strip mall. I thought maybe there was a fire or something, but I didn’t smell anything. Then, sirens. Enough of them for an air raid. It’s either something at the Lillian or maybe even at the Camino del Sol Plaza.”

  “You’re fine, Aunt Ina. The ladies are still talking. Chances are they’ll be in there for at least another hour. No one seems to be in any hurry.”

  “Good. Because all I had to eat this morning was a croissant. So, tell me. Were you able to figure out those markings on that pottery jar?”

  “Not yet, though you’ve been a tremendous help. But I don’t want to keep you. Something came up at work. I’ve got to go. Say hi to Louis for me.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer. I hurried off, got into my car, and headed in the general direction of the Lillian. My aunt had confirmed what I already knew. The sheriff’s department would have the major intersections blocked off. I meandered all over the place until I found myself directly behind the residential resort on a small side street. Fortunately, the Lillian was in the opposite direction from my mother’s house. At least she wouldn’t be driving past a barrage of emergency vehicles. Plus, I was banking on the fact my aunt would keep those book club ladies pretty steeped in conversation for quite a while. I could hear it now. Aunt Ina insistent that they read another one of her deadly European tomes and my mother ready to shove a bagel in my aunt’s mouth.

  I knew what I would be facing at the Lillian, but I couldn’t help laughing when I thought about the table conversation. I parked my car in front of a small beige house and walked around the block until I reached the front of the building. Marshall’s text had said “murder” but, given the number of response vehicles, it looked more like a massacre.

  Telling the deputy sheriffs who were manning the main entrance that I was with Williams Investigations wasn’t going to work this time. Marshall was already on the scene and, for all I knew, so was Nate. I decided to try another tactic.

  “Hi! I can see there’s some sort of emergency here, but Gertie and Trudy Madison are expecting me. They’d be very distraught if they knew I wasn’t allowed inside.”

  “Go to the front desk and have one of the receptionists call them. We’ve blocked one of the corridors on the second floor, but if their apartment isn’t in that area, you should be okay.”

  “Um, do you mind telling me what’s going on? I mean, are you at liberty to tell me?”

  “All I know is our department was called to respond to an emergency.”

  Judging from the look on his face and his no-nonsense demeanor, the heavyset deputy wasn’t about to divulge anything.

  “Thanks.”

  I did as he said and had the receptionist phone Gertie. It was a different receptionist from my last visit. Not one of the two blondes from the other day. This lady was also young, probably early twenties, but with shoulder-length dark hair. Like the blondes, she was tall and slender. Same black and white ensemble.

  “This must be very upsetting for the residents.” I leaned over the counter. “Especially the witnesses.” Then I did something not quite kosher. I flashed my Williams Investigations card and covered my name as well as the part that read “bookkeeper.”

  The woman looked up from the computer and opened her mouth slightly. I could see the bronze name tag she wore. It read “Taylor.”

  “I didn’t think there were any witnesses. I thought Mrs. Smyth was already dead when the housekeeper found her in the second-floor laundry room. My God. Those screams. You could hear Marie, that’s the housekeeper, all over the building.”

  Oh my gosh. Sharon Smyth?

  The receptionist whispered and I kept my voice low, too. Gertie was going to be at the front desk any minute now. I had to make the most of my conversation while I could.

  “Sharon Smyth? How? Shot? Stabbed?”

  “Suffocated. They found a pile of linens over her. And towels. I overheard one of the deputies saying something about a towel stuffed in her mouth, but that’s not what she was suffocated with. It was a plastic bag. Not the kind from the grocery stores. More like a boutique bag. The housekeeper found a torn part of it. I guess the murderer didn’t realize a piece of it had ripped off.”

  “When did the murder take place?”

  “I’m not sure. When the housekeeper went into the second-floor laundry room this morning, that’s when she saw Mrs. Smyth.”

  “Is that laundry room for the residents?”

  “No. Only the staff. Linen and towel service are provided for all the residents. Clothing too, if they wish to pay for it. We do have a laundry facility on the ground floor for resident use. And not the coin-operated kind, either. There’s a laundry chute on every floor. Huge. You could stuff a person in it. So much easier with one of those things. The residents can drop their dirty wash right downstairs. The whole operation is automated, sort of like a conveyer belt so, once the laundry lands in a bin downstairs, the bin moves forward. Otherwise you’d get stuck with someone else’s dirty things. Once the laundry is done, residents can roll the bins into the elevators. They think of everything here. It’s definitely an inclusive residence.”

  Yeah, including murder. “Poor Sharon Smyth. I imagine the director, Ms. Warren, must be extremely upset.”

  The woman glanced at the office behind her as if to verify what she already knew. “Ms. Warren isn’t in today. She doesn’t work every Saturday. Neither do Tina and Tanya.”

  “The other receptionists?”

  “Uh-huh. The L’Oréal mascots. Oops. I really shouldn’t’ve said that. It’s so catty of me.”

  I was beginning to like this new receptionist more and more. “Sounds like you know the staff pretty well. How long have you been working here?”

  “A little over three years. The hours are great, it pays well, and the residents are really nice. Well, most of them.”

  “What about Mrs. Smyth? Naughty or nice?”

  “Definitely a sweet lady. I don’t know why anyone would have killed her. Shh. I’m not supposed to know it was murder, but honestly, with a population of octogenarians and nonagenarians, it’s not a shock to find a deceased person in their bed or living room. And the housekeepers don’t scream their brains out when they encounter someone who’s died.”

 
“Um, er, you wouldn’t have any idea who would’ve wanted to kill her, would you?”

  “None whatsoever. I imagine those deputies will be questioning the staff, but right now, the crew is upstairs, along with two other private detectives.”

  So Nate did go with Marshall. “Are you sure about the private detectives?”

  “Oh yeah. They were the only ones who weren’t in uniform.”

  Just then, Gertie approached the desk. She grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me toward her. “Trudy’s on her way. Slow as molasses. I would’ve been here sooner but that darned elevator wouldn’t budge. Come on, we can talk in the garden area.”

  Then, as if she suddenly realized I wasn’t standing by myself, she greeted Taylor and asked her to let Trudy know we were in the garden area.

  Taylor smiled and nodded. “Certainly, Miss Madison. And it was nice chatting with you, Miss . . . ?”

  “Kimball. Sophie Kimball. I should’ve introduced myself. And it was nice talking with you as well.”

  Chapter 13

  Gertie hustled me off to a large atrium with a koi pond and lounge seating. Bougainvillea and oleander seemed to fill every corner. Oddly enough, we were the only ones in the garden area.

  “No one comes here,” Gertie said. “They complain about pollen, but I don’t think there’s any pollen. What did Taylor tell you about the murder? I know someone was murdered. The sheriff’s department doesn’t show up with the cavalry for nothing. Or did you know about the murder ahead of time? Is that why you came? To warn us?”

  “To warn you?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you listening? In case there’s a serial killer loose. It’s not bad enough we have some lunatic thief running around; now we have a psychopathic killer.”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Slow down. No psychopathic killer. We don’t even know if someone was murdered or if it was natural causes.”

  “But someone’s dead, aren’t they? And they don’t send the sheriff’s department out in full force if one of us kicks the bucket. So, who died?”

  “I, um . . .”