by J. C. Eaton
“Um, no. I’ve never had that kind of money.”
“They invited me once to go with them to some fancy salon in Fountain Hills, but I couldn’t afford to blow a week’s salary on nails or a facial. Frankly, I don’t know how they do it. I mean, the Lillian pays well, but not that well.”
“Taylor, do you know where they go boonie cruising?”
“Up north. Especially this time of year. You’d have to be insane to go anywhere below Phoenix in this heat. I’m figuring east of the I-Seventeen in the Tonto National Forest. Lots of cool places to check out. What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”
“Um, sorry. I was just thinking, that’s all. By the way, is Kimberlynn in?”
“She was. I mean, she still is, but not in her office. She was in the middle of signing some papers with a mobile notary when Mr. Aquilino from the third floor called the desk. He was insistent she go to his apartment. I don’t think it had anything to do with maintenance or he would have called Tiny Mike. Anyway, the notary’s still back there. She ushered him into the small reception room. Probably didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in her office. At least it’s chocolate chip cupcake day. Want one? They’re the best.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I can always—”
Just then, the man I recognized as Vernon McWellan from one of my earlier visits rushed over to Taylor.
“We’ve got a situation. She said not to call the sheriff. Said she could handle it, but I’m telling you, she’ll be face-down in the laundry room if you don’t do something. Got a whole crowd from the early lunch shift up there, too.”
“Who? What?” Taylor asked.
Vernon leaned over the counter and shouted, “The director of this place. Kimberlynn Warren. She’s being held hostage in front of the laundry chute by that old curmudgeon Mario Aquilino. I had to go back upstairs to my apartment because I forgot my Pepcid AC. The second I opened my door into the corridor, I saw them. Tell you one thing, that Mario sure has guts.”
Taylor leaned forward. “I’m not sure I understand. What’s going on exactly?”
“I’ll make it real easy for you.” Then he turned to me. “And to the nice visitor. Mario’s got Kimberlynn shoved against the laundry chute with his walker. If either of them makes a sudden move, she’ll do a backflip to the basement. Is that clear enough?”
I suddenly remembered about the laundry chutes. In fact, it was Taylor who had explained it to me when we first met. It sounded as if the design was an accident looking for a place to happen, but, in this case, it was a weapon.
“Taylor,” I said, “you’ve got to call the sheriff’s posse.”
“Kimberlynn’s not going to be too happy about that,” Vernon grumbled. “But go ahead. Ain’t me who’ll lose my job.”
I glared at Vernon. “Fine. I’ll make the call.”
“No need,” Taylor said. “I can do it. We’ve got the nonemergency number right here. If I call nine-one-one, they’ll send an ambulance and a fire truck.”
As she placed the call, I asked Vernon if he knew what prompted Mario to corner the residence director against a swinging laundry chute.
“How am I supposed to know? All I can tell you is Mario kept yelling, ‘No buyout. You can’t pull this crap.’”
“Relax, I called the sheriff’s posse,” Taylor said. “They’ll send someone over. Uh, maybe I should call maintenance. Have them go upstairs.”
I gave her a nod. “Good idea. I’ll head there, too.”
Taylor reached for the phone again and froze. Her eyes were glued to the computer monitor in front of her. “Oh no. This is bad. Really, really bad. Someone posted a YouTube video. Someone from here. I didn’t think the residents knew about YouTube. The video’s on Facebook. Wow. That was fast. I never would have seen it if I wasn’t juggling between screens before you got here, Miss Kimball. It makes the time go faster.”
Suddenly my phone rang. It was Augusta. In less than three seconds, I forgot about the video and jumped to Nate and Marshall. I backed away from the counter. “Excuse me a second. I’ve got to take this.”
I couldn’t tell if Augusta was laughing or choking. “What, Augusta? What? Are they okay?”
“I should be asking you that question. Don’t know about them, but you’ve got a hell of a show going on at the Lillian. I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw it. It’s my break time. I don’t scroll when I’m working. Do you need backup?”
My God! Is the whole world on Facebook? “No, no. I think everything will be under control. The sheriff’s posse is sending someone.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Taylor looked out the front door. “I think it’s too late. There’s a news van pulling up. KPHO. They’re downtown. How the heck did they get here so fast?”
Vernon groaned. “For two people who’ve got their noses stuck in those electronic things all day long, I’m surprised you didn’t know about the grand opening across the street. Pet World. Lots of senior discounts. Big hoop-dee-do. KPHO is covering it. It was on last night’s news. The van was right across the street.”
“That still doesn’t explain how they knew what was going on here,” I said.
This time it was Taylor who answered. “KPHO’s on Facebook, too.”
Chapter 35
Elevators could be notoriously slow when you were in a hurry. They could also get stuck. I opted for the stairs. Thank God they were carpeted and wide. I managed to reach the third floor only slightly out of breath. In front of me was a long hallway that was quickly filling up with onlookers.
I tucked my bag under my arm as if it was a football and I was the quarterback. Forcing myself to take long strides, I headed right for the end zone. Or in this case, the laundry chute near the elevators. Kimberlynn Warren had her hands pressed against the wall, inches from the swinging door. Mario had her trapped with that walker of his and wasn’t about to budge.
“Admit it!” he yelled. “You killed Sharon Smyth. Admit it! Admit it! You killed her because she found out you embezzled our money and had to sell this place.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t kill her,” Kimberlynn cried. “I swear.”
Using my elbow, I wedged myself through the growing crowd. “Mr. Aquilino! Stop!”
“I’ll stop when this witch admits what she’s done.”
“Pushing her down a laundry chute isn’t going to get you any answers.”
“Want to bet?”
Mario gave the walker another nudge and Kimberlynn gasped. Unlike traditional laundry chutes, the one at the Lillian was designed to make things easier for senior citizens. It consisted of a rubber door that swung back and forth, not like the kind that resembled a double-hung window. One wrong move and Kimberlynn would go backward. Mario didn’t seem to care.
“I can prove Kimberlynn’s a murderer,” he said. “It’s all in the letter Sharon left me before she was killed.”
So much for him not telling anyone. Maybe Marshall should have gotten that agreement in writing.
Suddenly the hallway got brighter. It was a light from the KPHO camera crew. We were being filmed. Before I could say anything to Mario, I heard the newscaster’s voice. “This is one heck of a day in Arizona, folks. First the wildfire in the Tonto National Forest near Payson, and a bizarre hostage situation, of sorts, playing out at the Lillian, a resort retirement hotel in Sun City West.”
My stomach began to tighten. As if my guts were coiling.
The newscaster went on. “At least the Lillian’s situation is limited to a hallway, not the high desert. We’ll skip to that wildfire video in just a moment but, meantime, let’s find out what’s going on here.”
Thoughts of Nate and Marshall getting trapped by a wildfire flashed through my mind. The newscaster didn’t say where in the Tonto National Forest it was, only that it was near Payson. Lots of places were near Payson. I didn’t have time to dwell on it because the next thing I knew, the newscaster had made his way to the front of the melee and was holding a
microphone in front of Mario Aquilino. “Sir, can you tell us why you’re holding this woman hostage?”
“Holding her hostage? What the hell would I do that for? I’m holding her in contempt. And if she doesn’t admit to what she did, I’m sending her straight down the laundry chute. Anyone make a move toward me and that’s where she’s going.”
The newscaster stood absolutely still. “For the sake of our viewers, can you please give us your name and the name of your hosta—I mean the name of the woman?”
Kimberlynn lifted her head up. “I’m Kimberlynn Warren, the director of the Lillian, and the gentleman is Mario Aquilino, one of our residents. It would appear as if Mr. Aquilino has been under quite a bit of stress lately.”
“Stress my you-know-what,” he went on. “Sharon was wise to your scheme, so you murdered her.”
The conversation, live and on the air for the Greater Phoenix community, continued. And just as I was on the verge of finding out what Kimberlynn was about to say, my phone rang.
“Phee, it’s Augusta again. Rolo faxed us some information. You’ll never guess who used to be on the board at Wolters Stork.”
“Dean Carlington?”
“No. Alonso M—”
“What? I can’t hear you. I’ll have to call you back. It’s a circus over here.”
“A what?”
“Circus!” My voice had gotten louder to compensate for the noise in front of the laundry chute, but as soon as I said the word “circus,” everyone quieted down as if on cue.
Then, two sheriff volunteers from the posse stepped out of the elevator. Taylor didn’t request deputies, only posse volunteers.
“Arrest that man!” someone in the crowd shouted, pointing to Mario. “He’s liable to kill the director.”
Mario looked as if he really was going to give her a shove.
“I mean it,” he said. “Admit you killed her. Time’s up!”
Kimberlynn must have noticed that expression, too. “Wait, Mr. Aquilino. Wait! I didn’t kill Sharon, but I know who did.”
“Damn!” someone shouted from behind me. “We just blew a bulb. Hey, Eddie, got an extra in your bag?”
While the camera crew was fumbling to change light-bulbs, Kimberlynn spoke. “If Mr. Aquilino agrees to give me some breathing space, I’ll explain.”
I put my hand on Mario’s shoulder. “I don’t think she’s going anywhere. At least give her an inch or two.”
Mario took a step back but kept the walker in front of him like a shield of armor.
Kimberlynn caught her breath. “Mr. Aquilino’s partially right. About selling the Lillian. The management and maintenance costs were so high there was no way out. You see, I’m not only the director, I hold the majority of shares in the company. And then a few years ago we were approached with a unique opportunity.”
“Did you get that on film?” I asked, turning to the camera crew.
A man who looked to be in his early thirties answered. “Sorry. We had to shut it down temporarily. The video feed from that wildfire up north is probably on the air. We’re working to change the bulb.”
I detected a slight smile on Kimberlynn’s face. None of this was being recorded.
She continued as if she was giving directions or reciting a recipe. “Other resort retirement hotels were struggling, too. Wolters Stork, a major Dutch enterprise, learned about us and offered to incorporate us into their conglomerate. Not buy us out, as Sharon Smyth might have thought, but merge with us. And add other resort hotels. The only trouble was our bleak financial picture. We couldn’t afford the buy-in price. And that’s when an old friend of mine, Carolyn Olsen, came up with a plan to get us the capital we needed.”
“The Antwerp Diamond Heist?” I asked.
“How did you know?”
“I work for an investigator. And I’m a good listener. So, tell me about Carolyn.”
“She studied architectural design in Italy, art history in Italy and France, and found the time to be a practiced gymnast. All skills needed to mastermind that heist. The only trouble was how to sell those stolen diamonds. And not just any diamonds. Rare blue diamonds.”
That explains the price tag. “And that’s where Quentin Dussler came in?”
“Uh-huh. Carolyn’s mother was one of Quentin’s pro-tégées in the Sun City West clay club.”
“Mary Olsen Melhorn, right?”
“You certainly have done your homework, Miss Kimball.”
Just then Mario interrupted us. “If we don’t get those blunderheads to change that bulb pretty quick, she’ll deny everything.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” I whispered. “Look at all the witnesses behind you. Let her continue.”
“Don’t come complaining to me when she clams up. And my walker and I aren’t moving from this spot until that deputy over there arrests her.”
“He’s a posse volunteer, not a deputy. If he wants her arrested, he’ll have to call for the nearest MCSO deputy.”
“Fine. Fine.” He turned back to Kimberlynn. “What about Mary? Speak up.”
“Mary and Quentin devised a clever plan. Once the diamonds were safely out of Belgium, Mary hid them in an unbaked clay piece. Her work wasn’t as noticeable as Quentin’s, so no one would give her pieces a second look. As each diamond was sold, she removed it, gave it to Quentin for distribution, and returned the clay piece to the storage closet or whatever they call it. The profits were split among all of the parties. The distribution angle was the most ingenious of all.”
“Using GPS coordinates and specialized designs on the finished products?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. How did you know?”
“Let’s just say the staff at Williams Investigations is on top of everything.” Especially Augusta. “But you still haven’t explained who killed Sharon. You said you knew.”
“I’ll get to that. Give me a chance.”
At that moment, the two posse volunteers approached Mario and tried to convince him to put his walker on the ground and let Kimberlynn step away from the laundry chute.
“The hell I will. Not until she admits to killing Sharon or tells me who did. And if you don’t have the authority to arrest her, then I’m not budging.”
Kimberlynn coughed a few times to clear her throat. “If I’m guilty of anything, it’s carelessness. I left a letter from Wolters Stork in plain sight and unfortunately Sharon inadvertently read it. That meant she was privy to information that would have compromised our operation. It was too risky for everyone involved. The diamond buyers, the management at Wolters Stork . . .”
“So one of them killed her?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Um, before you go any further, I’d like to know how those diamond buyers were solicited to purchase the gems in the first place. Not like you could put them on Craigslist.”
Kimberlynn half smiled. “That was the easy part. Ever hear of the Darknet market? It’s the Internet mecca for illegal goods. In this case, we stuck to buyers who had interests in senior resort residences. It made it cleaner that way.”
“I’m sure the residents at the Lillian will be glad to hear that,” I said.
“And we’re back live from the Lillian,” came a voice from KPHO, “where one of the residents has cornered the director and is refusing to let her go.”
One of the posse volunteers, a stout man in his late sixties or early seventies, sucked in his stomach and stood directly in front of the camera. “We made a call. The sheriff’s office is sending over a deputy who has the authority to make arrests.”
I tapped Mario on the arm again. “It’s not worth getting arrested for creating a disturbance or kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but why take a chance? Put the walker down and go back to your apartment. She’ll have enough to answer for. I can assure you.”
My God! “I can assure you?” Why on earth do I say those things? I can�
��t assure anyone of anything.
“You’d better keep your word. I know where you work,” he said.
Then, as if he was simply out for a little stroll down the corridor, Mario Aquilino stepped away from the laundry chute and walked the ten or twelve feet back to his apartment. No one tried to stop him. The “hostage scene” at the Lillian fizzled in front of the cameras.
“Looks like the hostage situation is over at the Lillian,” one of newscasters announced. “We’ll be sure to follow the story and keep you apprised of any new developments. Meanwhile, we’ll go back to the station for that ongoing wildfire coverage up north. Who says life in the desert isn’t interesting?”
One of the crew members shut off the light and wound the cord around his shoulder. They walked to the elevators.
“We were trying to save this place.” Kimberlynn was now leaning against the wall, a good five or six feet from the laundry chute.
I took a step forward. “You know who did it, don’t you?”
“I’m not saying a word without speaking to my lawyer.”
Meanwhile, the crowd dissipated. One by one, they walked to the elevators or back to their apartments on the third floor. I heard snippets of their conversations.
“I hope the murderer isn’t anyone we know.”
“How many diamond thieves do you know?”
“If this place is sinking, I’m moving to the Monte Carlo.”
“If they can refund your investment money.”
“Someone needs to call Sixty Minutes.”
“Too bad he didn’t give her a shove down that chute. We’d be on every channel.”
“You’ll need to go downstairs,” one of the posse volunteers said to Kimberlynn. “The deputy should be here any minute.”
Kimberlynn walked to the elevator, flanked by the two men. Then I took the stairs to the lobby, pausing to send texts to Nate and Marshall.
