“The police will be able to tell us if she got a call or a text this morning. That might help clear up why she changed her plans and why she was heading to her car. Of course, she could have been meeting someone at the curb where she dropped her phone, before she retrieved whatever was in her car.”
“Well, if she never got to her car, whatever she was going to get should still be in there. The police have it in impound so they can check it out.”
“That’s a good idea. When I find out who’s running the investigation, I’ll ask for an inventory of the items in her car.”
“Okay, Ladies, follow me,” Ruth called out as she zipped past us toward the exit.
Kim retraced our steps, scanning every inch of the ground we had just covered, as I stood with Ruth at the curb where the walkway ended. Kim also poked around in the plants skirting the walkway, even stepping into the beds, her heels crunching on the landscaping pebbles.
“So, if Beverly dropped the phone here, she surely would have heard it when it landed,” I commented, loud enough for Kim to hear her, too. “I wonder why she didn’t just pick it up when it fell?”
“You’re right. That time of day there would have been lots of people coming into the park, but not too many leaving yet, or someone might have said something to her. Maybe Bev was even more preoccupied than I realized or in a rush. Whatever she wanted to get from her car must have been important for her to drop everything and go get it,” Ruth asserted.
“Or, your hunch is right, Jessica, that she met up with someone,” Kim said, her sudden appearance at our side startled Ruth and me. “If she got into a car here at the curb, it’s possible that whoever picked Beverly up forced her to dump her phone or might have kept her from retrieving it when it fell.” I nodded in agreement.
“If she got into a car that could also explain how Beverly ended up out there on the road,” Kim added.
“Why would she get into a car with anyone who made her ditch her phone?” Ruth asked.
“That’s a good question,” I said. “Maybe she left it behind on purpose hoping someone would realize she was in trouble. With access to her phone, the police will at least be able to find out who contacted her this morning.”
“Why didn’t she put up a fight if someone forced her into a car? That would have drawn more attention to the fact that she was in trouble than leaving the phone for someone to find later!”
“We don’t know what we’re saying, Ruth. This is all pure speculation—I’m really just thinking out loud,” I said. “Beverly could have gotten into a car with someone without objecting if it was someone she knew. I suppose with the car engine running and whatever conversation she and the driver were having, Beverly might not have noticed that she dropped her phone.”
“Even if she got into a car at the curb without making a scene, how could someone have dumped her out there on the road without being seen?” Ruth asked.
“I don’t know,” I responded.
“If she dropped her phone because she became ill, and then walked off out there along the roadway before she stumbled and fell, no one saw that either,” Kim offered.
“True. What time was it when the police notified you they’d found her?”
“That must have been getting close to lunch time—less than an hour after we called them. We never thought to search for her outside the park,” Ruth said shaking her head slowly.
“Why would you with her car parked in the lot? The police told Leslie her mother’s keys were in her pocket, so if she’d decided to leave why not take her car? I wonder why the police searched for her out there on the road?” I muttered.
“You’ll have to ask them. I was too busy answering questions to ask any of my own.” Ruth stepped from one foot to the other—like she was ready to bolt.
“I know you want to get out of here, Ruth. Would you mind showing us where Beverly’s car was parked before the police hauled it away?”
“It’s on my way. I saw her car this morning and pulled in next to it on purpose. That way we could walk back to our cars together at the end of the day. Follow me,” she said, as she took off at top speed again. The woman had on more sensible shoes than the ones I had on, but her fleetness of foot was more than that. The docent was in good shape despite her hacking cough!
I need to get back to working out soon, I thought. It had been weeks since I woke up in the ICU with a broken arm, a bruised shoulder and ribs, and sundry other bumps and scrapes. I’d soon have no excuse to sit on my butt on the patio instead of swimming or dragging myself into the home gym. The sooner the better, I thought given the huffing and puffing I was doing to keep up with a woman twice my age. We ended up only a short distance from where I’d parked my car in the lot.
“Beverly’s car was in this space before the police towed it,” Ruth said, as she stood next to her car on the driver’s side. Kim began snooping right away, walking the perimeter of the parking space Beverly’s car had once occupied. Kim snapped photos as she moved along. “She’s kind of like a bloodhound, isn’t she?” Ruth asked as Kim bent to look more closely at an object on the ground. I chuckled and then looked at my watch. An image of the sweet and lovely Anastasia flashed through my mind reminding me that I needed to wrap this up.
“I really should let you go. This has been a grueling day for you. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us. Call me if you think of anything else Beverly might have said or done that strikes you as odd or memorable for one reason or another. Not just today, but anything that might have come up in the past few weeks.” Ruth’s shoulders slumped.
“It’s a zoo out there, too, I guess,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry. What?” I asked.
“Whenever there was a bit of trouble in the park, Bev or I would always say, ‘What do you expect? It’s a zoo in here!’ Trying to make light of whatever mess we were managing at the time. Nothing like this, though. Not the least bit funny.” She didn’t speak, but nodded as she took the business card I handed her. Ruth got into her car and waved. I moved out of the way, so she could back out. Kim stood next to me now that she’d finished scouring the ground. We watched as Ruth maneuvered her Lexis out of its parking space.
“Make sure I ask the police about surveillance cameras, will you? I don’t see any. The lot is gated at night, so maybe they don’t feel they need them. Let’s ask, though, just in case they’re installed somewhere hidden from view.”
“Sure, Jessica, I want to show you something—uh, hang on a second. Whoa, wait, Ruth. Stop!” Kim hollered. As Ruth came to a halt, Kim dashed toward Ruth’s car. A pair of sunglasses lay on the ground. “These look like prescription glasses. Are they yours?”
Ruth had opened the window on the driver side of her car and peered out at the glasses lying on the ground. A few more inches and her front tire would have crushed them as she backed up.
“Nope, I’m wearing my only pair.” She left the engine running, but stepped out of the car and walked over next to Kim. “Those are Bev’s—her favorite pair. She thought they made her look Hollywood hip. We had a good laugh about that.” She bent down, reaching for them. Kim caught her hand.
“If there’s a chance they belonged to Beverly Windsor we shouldn’t touch them,” Kim cautioned. Then she pulled out her cell phone and snapped several photos.
“What would they be doing there?” Ruth asked.
“This is what I was going to show you, Jessica,” Kim said, moving back into the roadway, not too far from where Ruth’s car was still sitting with the motor running—behind the spot where Beverly had parked. “There are a couple coins, a stub for a museum or theater, and a few splotches of makeup or moisturizer or something like that on the ground here. There’s part of a plastic container that shattered and left goop on the ground, too. See?” Ruth and I peered over Kim’s shoulder.
“What you’d see if you had spilled the contents of your purse on the ground,” I said, as I stooped to look more closely at the splatters and fragments strewn along
on the ground.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Kim said.
“Maybe Beverly went to her car after all,” I speculated, standing alongside the other two women and snapped a few photos with my phone.
“How did her glasses get under my car?” Ruth asked.
“I suppose they could have skidded over there when the contents of her purse spilled. Or Beverly Windsor made sure they got there, hoping you’d find them later.”
“What are you saying?” Ruth’s brow was furrowed.
“This is more speculation on my part. Let’s say Beverly got into a car with someone at the curb near the exit,” I said in reply to Ruth’s question.
“Someone she knew,” Kim interjected.
“Yes, most likely, but maybe she was already concerned enough about getting into that car that she left her phone at the curb so someone could track down the person who’d called or messaged her. Then, whoever it was drove Beverly over here to pick up something like she told you she was going to do, Ruth. By then, if she knew she was in trouble, maybe she decided to leave something else behind for you to find. They could have slid that far, I guess. Or she could have tossed or kicked the glasses under your car as she picked up the rest of her stuff if she’d spilled it on purpose.”
“Wow! Like Gretel leaving bread crumbs, right?” Ruth asked.
“Sort of,” I agreed. “Did she have a purse with her when she got to work this morning?”
“No. She had a small fanny pack, as I recall. That held her phone, and probably a comb and her wallet. I’m not sure what else. The police should have asked more questions, huh?”
“The purse must have been out here in her car,” I said. “Maybe that’s what she came out here to get.”
“I think we should call the police back out here, don’t you?” Kim asked.
“Yes. Maybe they already checked out the spilled items on the ground, but they obviously missed the glasses. I’ve got to go pick up Anastasia. She’s going to be desperate to be let out soon. The poor little thing is going to be lost without Beverly. I told Leslie I’d bring her home with me for now.”
“You go, Jessica. I’ll stay here until the police arrive. Unless they hurry, it’s going to be completely dark soon.” Kim was scanning the area again, shaking her head. “Who knows how many feet and cars have tramped through here by now? What a frigging shame. Why don’t you call the police, since Leslie Windsor already gave them your name? Then you can leave, and I’ll deal with them once they get here.”
“How will you get back to your car?”
“I’ll get the police to drop me at my car once they’re done here.”
“You won’t have to do that. I’m staying with you.” Ruth said with determination. “What if there’s some mugger or attacker still on the loose? The lot is well lit, but you can’t stand around in those shoes, Kim. Help me pull out without running over those glasses. Then, get in on the passenger side and we’ll wait together. When the police have things under control I’ll drive you back to your car.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Take care of Bev’s poodle. She loved that dog. I’m ready to sit down for a while, but I’m not looking forward to being alone. It’s going to be a long night. Call the police and get going,” she made little shoving motions and then climbed back into the driver’s seat of her car.
“Did you tell St. Bernadette about Anastasia?” Kim said before doing as Ruth had instructed. “Not that she’ll mind, given her inclination to take in strays.”
“Heck no. I was so rattled when I spoke to her earlier, I forgot to mention it. I’m sure she’ll appreciate a little notice that I’m bringing home an enormous puppy,” I said, sighing deeply. “As often as the woman has rescued me after going astray, she’s a saint all right. Still, I shouldn’t take her good nature for granted.”
“I wasn’t thinking of you as a stray. I meant Betsy, Tommy, Brien and me now, too. She herds us all like a shepherd—or should it be shepherdess?” Kim asked as she stood next to Ruth’s car.
“Pachamma,” I offered as I started to walk past them toward my Bimmer. Kim looked puzzled. Ruth cocked her head, too. I stopped. “That’s what Betsy calls Bernadette—a woman imbued with the spirit of the Great Mother. Betsy got that name from her Cahuilla great-grandmother, even though it’s not Cahuillan in origin. As far as I can tell, it’s closer to goddess than saint in its meaning. Anastasia is one fortunate puppy, isn’t she? Bernadette’s going to love her, and when Bernadette loves you it makes a world of difference, doesn’t it?” Kim nodded in agreement as I found the number for the Palm Desert Police Department.
“Will you apologize to Bernadette for me?” Kim asked a few minutes later when I pulled up alongside Ruth’s car. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it to your house for dinner tonight”
“Dinner?” I asked. Before I could get clarification, a park security vehicle drove up, perhaps doing a routine patrol as the park was closing. Kim got out of Ruth’s car ran over to speak to the guard driving the jeep-like vehicle.
“The police are on the way!” I cried out. Kim waved and then continued speaking to the security guard. Ruth gave me a thumbs-up. Then I called Bernadette for the second time today before I hit the road.
“Hey, it’s me again. I’m on my way home, but I have another stop to make. Leslie asked us to rescue Beverly’s poodle. I don’t want the puppy to be alone, so I’m bringing her home with me. I hope it’s okay. I’ll take care of her. Promise.”
“Stop it! You don’t have to talk to me like you’re twelve asking for a puppy. This is your home.”
“It’s your home, too, and Anastasia is a big puppy,” I said.
“Aw, I can’t wait to see her,” Bernadette said. “You, too. Gotta go! I’ve got something in the oven and a timer’s going off.” She was gone before I could ask her about dinner.
I hung up the phone and tapped my horn. As I pulled out of the lot, I passed the local police who had responded to my call. “Thank goodness, Kim and Ruth are willing to handle the police. I’m not in any mood to deal with Officer Millstone or any other member of the constabulary,” I grumbled out loud as I took off to pick up that poor orphaned poodle. How could the police have missed those sunglasses? Had they rushed to judgment that Beverly’s death was an accident, as Leslie had feared? What else had they overlooked, if that were true?
10 Our Araby
The Araby Oasis Country Club, where Beverly Windsor had lived less than a year, was an older community situated between Palm Springs and Palm Desert. While most people referred to the vintage country club as located in one or the other of those more well-known towns, technically it was in Cathedral City. Lush palms and water features greeted you at the entrance gate, where I stopped to explain where I was headed. The police must not have notified security about Beverly’s death since the guard on duty didn’t ask more questions than he usually did when I visited.
Darkness settles over the valley early in the winter months and the lights were on as I drove through the gates. Lit palm trees lined Araby Way, casting a warm glow along the main thoroughfare leading into the enclave. The enormous Moroccan-themed clubhouse was ablaze in light, too, as I passed by. Through the keyhole-arched windows, I glimpsed residents in the dining room at Scheherazade’s. Despite the exotic name, the menu was more steak-and-potato-oriented than Mediterranean or Middle Eastern. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I turned onto Casbah Way toward Beverly’s home.
Beverly had loved the place, even though she acknowledged that the country club was a bit over the top. The décor inside the clubhouse was a marvel of mosaics, intricate latticework, lush fabrics, ornate fixtures, and archways. Cabanas echoing the Moroccan theme spilled out onto the elaborate arrangement of patios and pools outside the clubhouse, overlooking the golf course.
“Our Araby was a favorite theme among those who moved into the Coachella Valley in the twentieth century—even before gentleman ranchers, mid-Century modernism, Hollywood hi
deout, or any number of others took hold,” Beverly had said once when we were dining at Scheherazade’s. “You have to admit it feels like we’re on the set of one of those old Cecil B. DeMille movies.”
“I understand what you mean,” I’d said, although I only vaguely recalled the movies made by DeMille. My love of old movies didn’t extend quite that far back—not to his silent films anyway. There were some unforgettable scenes, of course, in his 1950s version of The Ten Commandments that Bernadette and I had watched when I was a kid. Who could forget the parting of the Red Sea in that remake of DeMille’s earlier film? The design of the restaurant in which we had dined at the Araby Oasis Clubhouse was outrageous, reminiscent of a palace conjured up out of an Arabian Nights tale.
The entire development bore the mark of that romantic, fairytale vision of Arabia as a land of clever princesses, mysterious pyramids, magic lamps, and genies. With the Middle East more widely known now as a source of terror and a venue for seemingly ceaseless conflict, there’s little room left for magic or romance.
Striking Moroccan or Moorish flourishes marked many of the homes in the community, along with others displaying variants on Mediterranean architecture, more Greek or Tuscan than Moroccan. Beverly’s house was Tuscan by design. The archways simpler, her home was more evocative of an Italian villa than one you’d find in Marrakech.
I parked in the driveway, then pushed through the wrought iron gates, and walked into the comfortable, private courtyard in front of Beverly’s house. I used the key she had given me to unlock the enormous wooden front door and let myself into the house. I reached inside to punch in the code so the alarm wouldn’t go off. It wasn’t armed. Uneasiness hit me.
“Hmm, that’s strange,” I muttered as I peered in through the open door. The foyer was dark and silent. Not too surprising, except that a big, gangly poodle puppy should be greeting me. The house felt much too empty, maybe echoing my distress at Beverly’s permanent absence from the home. It had overflowed with the force of her presence the last time I visited here. That jubilant poodle had pranced at her side.
4 A Dead Mother Page 10
