MURDER AT THE POLO CLUB
By
Dianne Harman
(A High Desert Cozy Mystery - Book 4)
Copyright © 2016 Dianne Harman
www.dianneharman.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Website, Interior & Cover design by Vivek Rajan (Rewire Your DNA)
Paperback ISBN: 978-1539480082
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are three people I want to thank for making my incredible journey as an author possible: my husband, Tom, Vivek Rajan, and you, my reader.
Tom for helping me every step of the way from advice on plots, to elaborate charts showing me what people like best about my books, to a critical eye when it comes time to edit.
Vivek Rajan for his sound advice, his beautiful covers, and his unfailing ability to format my books and make them look good.
And last, but certainly not least, you, dear reader. Without you I wouldn’t be a successful author. I so appreciate your taking the time to read my books, review them, and make them bestsellers!
Without the three of you, none of this would have happened, so, from the bottom of my heart, I sincerely thank you!
As you read this book, you may wonder why I’ve chosen to write about the appraisal of antique and fine art objects. For many years I owned an antique and fine art appraisal business. I was fortunate to be hired by the IRS, judges, lawyers, insurance companies, and high wealth private individuals to place values on items of personal property. It was and is a fascinating business. Many of the antique and fine art objects described in my High Desert series of books are of the same type and value as the ones I actually appraised. Thought you might like to know that the descriptions of those objects in my books are not fiction.
Free Paperbacks
I'm giving away FREE Paperbacks. Find out more at www.dianneharman.com/freepaperback.html
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
Recipes!
ABOUT DIANNE
PROLOGUE
I know I promised Jack I’d quit smoking, but I’m a nervous wreck meeting all of these polo bigwigs. One cigarette can’t hurt me, and I’ll go behind the barn so no one will see me.
Pia Marshall looked around the barn where the guests were walking from stall to stall admiring Jack’s polo ponies while carrying drinks from the two bars set up at either end of the barn. She glanced out at the expanse of carefully landscaped grounds separating Jack’s huge desert home from the barn and saw people already lined up at the tables where the caterers had set out massive trays of hot and cold appetizers. The grounds and the barn were swathed in a beautiful blaze of color. It looked like the pictures she’d seen of English manor gardens. Everything was perfect.
Most of the guests were dressed in white pants or slacks imitating what the polo players wore as well as shirts and blouses which reflected the colors of Jack’s team, a combination of red, white, and blue. Jack was very patriotic, and he’d adopted the colors of the United States flag when he’d formed his team. Even though he’d explained the game of polo to her a number of times, she’d never seen a live polo game, so she was eagerly looking forward to the beginning of the season. In keeping with his team colors, she wore white silk pants, a blue and white striped blouse, and a red and white Parisian scarf carefully tied in a French knot.
Pia had put one cigarette and some matches in the small red, white, and blue handbag that hung from her shoulder by its gold chain before she’d left for the barn, anticipating the need for an emergency smoke break. She told Marty she’d be back in a few minutes, slipped out the wide barn door, and walked behind the barn where she’d be out of sight of the guests. She lit the cigarette and inhaled, feeling better almost immediately. It was the last time she’d feel good.
Suddenly a hand reached from behind her and slapped a cloth against her mouth. She dropped the cigarette and tried to fight off her assailant. She was terrified and breathing deeply which only made the chloroform act faster. Unconscious in moments and with a pre-existing heart condition, death came swiftly. Her attacker released her and her lifeless body slid to the ground. The killer bent down and put out her cigarette, not wanting the lit cigarette to draw anyone’s attention, but it was too late. Voices were coming closer. It was time to leave.
CHAPTER 1
“I suppose it’s time for me to get back to reality. Between the wedding and the honeymoon in Hawaii, my thoughts have definitely not been focused on conducting detective work for the Palm Springs Police Department,” Jeff said as he grinned at his bride of two weeks. Smiling back at him, Marty (formerly) Morgan, now Combs, heaped some lox and cream cheese on the bagel she was about to eat. Sitting at her feet was Marty’s faithful black Lab, Duke, who was hoping she’d drop a scrap of the lox. With Duke’s affinity for fish, Marty often wondered if he’d been a cat in a previous life.
“I thought the wedding was fabulous,” Marty’s sister, Laura, said as the residents of the compound owned by Laura sat in the courtyard sharing a light breakfast before leaving for work.
Laura’s significant other of many years, Les, a well-known local artist, reached down and petted Duke. “You have to admit that even though I did a superb job as best man, I think having Duke stand next to the two of you when you said your vows was the highlight of the wedding. I suppose the only thing that would have made it better is if I’d put his pink booties on him, but since he wasn’t going outside, I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“I still can’t believe how much food the guests went through at the reception,” John, the owner of the popular Red Pony food truck, said. “Max and I worked for two days getting everything ready, and we really thought we’d fixed way too much. As it was, we barely had enough. Given the size of our courtyard, I think having an open house type of reception was much better than having it at a set time. That part worked well, actually, it all worked well.”
John looked at his watch and said, “Max and I are catering a big cocktail party at the Rutledge Polo Club tonight. Evidently the owner wants to spark some interest for the upcoming season, so he’s invited a lot of the horse owners and big supporters of the sport. I understand it’s not only the polo people from around the Palm Springs area who will be attending, but they’re coming from as far away as Florida and New York, maybe even farther. Should be an interesting evening.”
“Small world,” Marty said. “When we came home last night there was a message for me from Laura’s boss, Dick, at the insurance company where they work, asking me to appraise two different collections. One is art glass and the other one is art pottery.
Here’s the coincidence. The owner of the polo club, Jack Rutledge, is getting married in a couple of weeks. His bride-to-be just moved into his huge estate-size home.
“Evidently Jack Rutledge has collected American Art Pottery for years, and his bride-to-be has a huge collection of French and American Art Glass she inherited from her parents. Jack asked Dick’s insurance company to insure both collections, but they have to be appraised before the company will issue an insurance policy on them, although they already insure the contents of the house. I have an appointment with them at ten this morning.”
“Marty, as much as I’d like to stay here and continue our honeymoon, duty calls, but believe me, although my body may be at the police station the rest of the day, my mind will be back in Hawaii with you!” Jeff said as he leaned over, kissed her goodbye, and headed for the gate leading to the parking area. “See you all tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m in the middle of a painting that’s captured my attention, so I better get back at it before I lose my momentum,” Les said.
“As much as you’re getting paid for your artwork these days, I think that’s a good idea,” Laura said grinning at him. “Anyway, I need to go hold Dick’s hand and see what problems his insureds are having today.” She stood up and walked over to her home, one of the four houses that surrounded the common courtyard. When Marty’s husband decided to divorce her so he could marry his lover over a year ago, Laura insisted she leave her home in the Midwest, come to California, and live in one of the houses in the compound. Considering it had resulted in Marty meeting Jeff, it had been a very good decision!
CHAPTER 2
Frank Marshall looked at himself in the bathroom mirror of the small apartment he’d rented two days earlier. He was glad his brother had loaned him some money, because there was no way he could have rented an apartment with the token money the state of California had given him when it released him from prison. They even subtracted out the cost of the clothes he’d worn on the bus ride back to Los Angeles.
He’d called his old friend Louie when he’d gotten back in town and asked him for a job. Frank knew he’d have to be careful, since he was on parole. He thought it was kind of funny that the only thing he’d learned in the ten years he’d been in prison was how to sell the drugs smarter, so he wouldn’t get caught next time. He also thought how ironic it was that it was easier to buy drugs in prison than it was to buy them on the street. What was a convicted felon with no skills supposed to do to earn money?
When Frank had filled out the application for the apartment, he’d listed a phony home address and told the landlord he’d been taking care of his elderly father who had Alzheimer’s for the last few years, and he hadn’t been able to work. He said when his father had died he needed to make a fresh start. It hadn’t hurt that Frank had seen an elderly man who appeared to be suffering from dementia in the landlord’s living room who bore a strong resemblance to the landlord. The landlord gave him the key to the seedy apartment, no questions asked.
He’d met with Louie the night before and still couldn’t believe what he’d told him. When Frank suspected he was going to be arrested and probably go to prison he told Louie he wouldn’t tell the police where he’d gotten the drugs he distributed. In return, he asked Louie to keep an eye on his wife, Pia, and let him know what she was doing. When he’d been sentenced to ten years in prison for selling methamphetamines and possessing an illegal firearm, she’d told him she was going to divorce him. True to her word, a few weeks later a process server had come to the California prison where he was incarcerated and served him with divorce papers.
He sighed deeply, thinking about how lonely the last few years had been. Pia was the only person he’d ever loved. When his parents had died from drug overdoses while only in their mid-thirties, he’d supported himself from the time he was sixteen doing the one thing he knew how to do, sell drugs. One day when he’d made a lot of money from sales, he decided to treat himself to a nice pair of shoes. He went to an upscale department store in the mall near where he’d been selling the drugs and was waited on by Pia. He still remembered how she looked that day. Her long dark hair and big brown eyes had left him almost breathless. He bought the shoes, and he convinced her to have a drink with him after she got off work at 9:00 that night.
He fell deeply in love with her, but he was smart enough to know that if she found out what he did for a living, he’d never see her again. Frank reinvented himself for Pia. He told her he was employed as a personal assistant for a man who worked erratic hours which explained why sometimes he had to work at night. A few months after he first met her they were married at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas. No one attended the wedding. Pia’s family met him once when they came to Los Angeles on a vacation. It was obvious they didn’t approve of the marriage. In fact, Pia and her parents had become estranged soon afterwards.
True to his word, Louie had kept Frank up to date on what Pia was doing. He knew her parents had died, and that she’d made a trip back to their home in New Jersey. Louie had also told him she’d driven a U-Haul truck back to Los Angeles, but he hadn’t been able to find out what was in it. Louie told him about the men she’d gone out with over the years, but there didn’t seem to be a favorite, since she went from one to another. A year ago he told Frank that Pia had been steadily seeing a wealthy Italian, Roberto Battisto, who owned a restaurant in Beverly Hills which catered to the stars. He also told Frank the word on the street was that although Roberto was very discreet, he had strong ties to the Mafia.
A month ago he told Frank that Pia was no longer seeing Roberto, but instead she’d started seeing a wealthy man who owned a polo club in Palm Springs and who’d made his money investing in high tech start-ups in Northern California. Although the man lived in Palm Springs, he drove to Los Angeles several times a week to see Pia.
When Frank arrived in Los Angeles, the first thing he’d done when he got off the bus was call Pia, but her number had been disconnected. He’d taken a cab and gone to her apartment, but she no longer lived there, and no one could give him any information about her. When Frank met Louie last night, he’d asked Louie if he knew where Pia was. Louie had hemmed and hawed and seemed very reluctant to tell Frank anything. Finally, Frank had threatened Louie by telling him it wasn’t too late for him to go to the police and tell them about Louie’s involvement in drug trafficking.
Just thinking about what Louie had told him the night before caused a fresh wave of red rage to wash over Frank. The angry eyes that looked back at him from the mirror were red with fury. He thought going to prison was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. That was before Pia told him she was divorcing him. He was sure that was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. Now he knew the worst thing that could ever happen to him was to find out the only person he’d ever loved was going to marry one of the wealthiest men in Palm Springs, maybe even in California.
The dream he’d kept alive for all those years while he was in prison had instantly become a nightmare. He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, there was no way Pia would ever be his again. No, Pia would be the wife of some wealthy Palm Springs man who owned a string of polo ponies. Although he wouldn’t let himself think it consciously, on some level he knew he’d rather see Pia dead than be married to someone else. A plan began to form in his mind. He wasn’t sure exactly how it would come about, but he knew he was capable of doing whatever was necessary to make sure Pia never married the rich polo man from Palm Springs.
Frank walked out of the tiny bathroom and in three strides crossed the room the landlord had referred to as a living room. He picked up his cell phone from the kitchen counter and pressed in some numbers.
“Yeah, it’s me. Louie, I need ya’ to get somethin’ for me. I know ya’ got ties all over this city. Ya’ do this fer me, and I’ll consider us even. No talkin’ to the cops, ever. Here’s what I need…”
CHAPTER 3
When Marty had returned Dick’s call the evening before, he’d g
iven her directions to the Polo House, Jack Rutledge’s home. He explained that the home and grounds were among the most spectacular in the Palm Springs area. The insurance company where Dick and Laura worked specialized in providing coverage for very high-end clients. Marty had been in a number of wealthy client’s homes since she’d relocated to Palm Springs, but nothing prepared her for what she saw when she turned into the driveway of the Polo House.
The estate was situated on five acres which, for privacy and security reasons, was entirely enclosed by an eight-foot-high stone and brick wall. The entrance gate led to a security shack where a uniformed guard was on duty 24/7. After passing through the security checkpoint, the lane split in two, one section leading to the main house, barn, and Jack’s son’s home. The other section led to the polo field which could be seen off in the distance.
Palm trees lined the lane which led to the huge Southwestern style one-story red tiled roof home. The lane ended in a semicircular driveway in front of the massive house. Marty pulled to the far side of it and walked back to the large beveled glass doors which were located in the center of the house. The house appeared to have a main center section and a wing on each side. Even though she’d become somewhat familiar with succulents and cacti from living in the Palm Springs area, she couldn’t believe the landscaping of the estate. Huge brightly colored plants were set among different types of grasses. She’d never seen most of the plants and imagined they were as rare and expensive as the collections she was about to appraise.
She rang the doorbell, and the door was quickly opened by a beautiful Mexican woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She wore a tan uniform with a white collar and belt. “May I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Marty Morgan, er, Combs. Sorry, I just got married, and I haven’t gotten used to my new name yet. I’m an antique appraiser, and I have a meeting at ten this morning with Jack Rutledge and Pia Marshall.”
Murder at the Polo Club Page 1
