Murder at the Polo Club

by Dianne Harman

  While she changed out of her maid’s uniform and into a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, she thought back to the years following her escape from Mexico. She’d made her way to San Diego without food or water. For several days she lived on what she could find on the streets and in garbage cans. She couldn’t remember how she’d done it, only that she had. Aimlessly walking the streets after several nights of sleeping in doorways, she’d seen a Catholic Church. She’d knocked on the door, and it had been opened by a nun as round as she was tall with a glorious sunny smile on her face.

  The nun had called Lupe “Nina,” and gently pulled her into the church. She spoke perfect Spanish and wanted to know how Lupe had come to the church. Lupe told her everything that had happened since she’d left her small village in Mexico. Shortly, Lupe was sitting at a table with more food in front of her than she’d had in days. She gulped the food down and drank three glasses of milk. When she was finished the nun led her to small room with a bed in it, told her to sleep, and that she’d be back for her in the morning.

  For the first time in days Lupe felt safe. She had no idea what the future held for her, but she knew it couldn’t be any worse that what had happened since she’d left the village. The next morning the nun told her she was going to ride in a bus to a town called Palm Springs. The nun had said there was a Catholic home there for Mexican children who needed a place to live in the United States. She’d told Lupe she’d be safe there with plenty of food and a bed of her own.

  Thirty-three children had lived with her in the Catholic home in Palm Springs whose funding came from a diocese in Los Angeles. She was taught to read and write in the small school maintained in the home. When she was eighteen she went to work as a live-in maid for a wealthy donor to the Catholic home. Lupe worked for her for five years. About that time the woman decided to move back to Los Angeles, having grown to intensely dislike the hot desert summers.

  The woman was very wealthy, and when Jack Rutledge had come to Palm Springs to build his home and start his polo club, he was introduced to the woman. She liked him and had invested money in his polo team. Since she was getting ready to leave Palm Springs, she asked him if he would hire Lupe. She said she could personally vouch for her because Lupe had worked for her for five years. That was ten years ago. She’d loved being the maid at the Polo House and thought she was the luckiest person in the world to work for Jack Rutledge.

  She sat down at the kitchen table and booted up the computer Jack had given her several years ago for Christmas. She’d learned how to use it and now she pulled up the names and phone numbers of different places that might be interested in taking some of the floral arrangements that had been sent to the home. At the last count there were over fifty of them scattered throughout the house. Jack had asked her to find a place for them, and she’d instructed the guards to take them down to the security guard shack so vans from the various retirement homes and other similar places could pick them up.

  Lupe fixed a bowl of soup and a sandwich for dinner and thought again how nice it would be to have the funeral out of the way tomorrow. Hopefully Jack would feel better once that was behind him.

  She washed her dishes and then prepared for her favorite time of day. Several years earlier Lupe had read about the benefit of meditation, and it had fascinated her. She’d tried it as a way to escape the almost crippling headaches she’d started to have. At first she’d only have a few headaches a year, but lately they’d become more intense and more frequent. When she was meditating in her special room with the shrine she’d made, she escaped them. She opened the door and walked into the small room she used when she meditated and lit three candles, one for her, one for the spirit, and one that she wished on. She sat down on her small decorative pillow and looked around the room, smiling at the secret place she’d created, knowing for a few hours she’d have relief from her headaches.

  CHAPTER 19

  Promptly at ten Marty knocked on the front door of the Polo House and it was quickly opened by Lupe. “Buenos Dias,” Marty said as she walked in. “Don’t be concerned if you see me going from room to room today. Mr. Rutledge wants me to appraise the rest of the items in the house that I think need to be evaluated. I’m sure I won’t be able to finish today, so I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine. Mr. Rutledge told me to tell you if you need anything to let me know. I think it will be a little easier to work today, because I have arranged for the floral arrangements to be given to some retirement homes and other places that might enjoy them. I imagine it would be difficult for you to try and concentrate on the different pieces when there are so many floral arrangements causing distractions.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you,” Marty said.

  “It was Mr. Rutledge’s idea. He is so wonderful. He is with Father Stevenson now. They are burying Ms. Marshall. I hope he will be happier when that’s over with.”

  You hope he’ll be happier when that’s over with? What a strange thing to say, Marty thought.

  “Taffy will serve you lunch. Is there anything I can do for you?” Lupe asked.

  “No. I think I’ll start in the living room. He has some very fine Arts and Crafts furniture and decorative items in there. Thanks anyway.” Marty walked into the living room and slowly began to make her way from piece to piece, photographing, measuring, and assessing the condition of each item. It was a time-consuming process, but one that couldn’t be hurried.

  Marty was aware that Jack, Father Stevenson, and Jensen had returned to the house. She heard them go into Jack’s study and close the door. She blocked out the sounds of the phone and doorbell ringing as more floral arrangements were delivered. She heard Lupe tell one of the guards who brought the arrangements to the house to keep any future ones at the guard shack and give the cards on them to Jack’s administrative assistant, Nicky, so she could properly acknowledge them.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Combs. It’s 12:30, and I thought you might like some lunch,” Taffy said.

  “I would love some, thank you. I need to take a measurement of this painting, and then I’ll be through in this room. Be there in a minute.”

  When Marty walked into the kitchen the table had been set with coral linens the color the desert sky sometimes gets at dusk. Several vases were filled with brightly colored flowers giving the room a cheery ambiance. A bowl of what looked like chilled cucumber soup was on the table with a loaf of warm sourdough bread next to it. Butter had been softened in a white ramekin dish and a glass of iced tea had been placed directly in front of her knife.

  “Taffy, this looks wonderful. Thank you so much. You wouldn’t think someone could get hungry just looking at beautiful things and taking photographs, but I seem to always be starving when I’m appraising.” She took a spoonful of the soup and said, “This is wonderful. I know you gave me a recipe yesterday, but I’m wondering if I would be wearing out my welcome if I asked you for this one as well.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Combs. I’ll copy it right now for you.” She left and returned a few moments later with the recipe and handed it to Marty. She seemed distracted and nervous, moving from one side of the kitchen to the other. She washed and dried a few dishes. Marty watched her, unsure of what she should do. It was quite apparent to her that the Taffy she was with today was not the same woman she’d been with yesterday.

  Finally, Marty couldn’t stand it any longer. She set her spoon down and the piece of bread she had in her hand and said, “Taffy, I may be overstepping my bounds here, but is something wrong? You seem really nervous and agitated.”

  Taffy turned around and faced her. “I found something today, and I don’t know what I should do about it.”

  “All right. Why don’t you tell me about it, and perhaps I can help?”

  “I know your husband’s the detective who’s trying to find out who killed Mrs. Marshall. He talked to all of us here at the house yesterday. He said to call him if we thought of anything that might be tied to the murder. I found someth
ing today, but I don’t want to bother him if it’s nothing. It scares me.”

  “What is it, Taffy? Do you have it?” Marty asked.

  Taffy pulled what looked like a newspaper clipping out of her pocket and handed it to Marty. Marty looked at it and audibly gasped. “Taffy, where did you find this?” she asked.

  Taffy told her about the small servant’s room down the hall and how it was sometimes used as a backup pantry for duplicate kitchen items. She paused and took a sip of water. “When I couldn’t find the coffee that I know is Mr. Rutledge’s favorite, I looked for some in the servant’s room. I found the clipping you’re looking at in there. I took the newspaper clipping from the room and put it in my purse, and then I went to the store and bought his coffee. Well, actually I didn’t buy it. I put it on the charge account the Polo House has there. When I got back here an hour ago I didn’t know what to do. I thought about showing it to Mr. Rutledge, but he was in his office with his son and Father Stevenson. That’s all I know.”

  “Taffy, you don’t need to worry about it. I think it would be wise not to mention what you found to Mr. Rutledge. It would only upset him. My husband’s police station isn’t too far from here. I want to run this over to him. If anyone asks where I am, just tell them I needed to get a battery for my camera. I’ll be back shortly, and thanks again for lunch. It was fabulous.”

  Marty pushed her chair back and walked to the living room where she’d left her equipment. She put her camera in her case, grabbed her purse, and walked out the front door to her car.

  CHAPTER 20

  As soon as Marty got in her car she called Jeff to tell him she was on her way to the police station and needed to talk to him. She heard his voicemail pick up and his familiar voice saying, “This is Detective Combs. I can’t take your call right now. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911, otherwise, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  She left a message and hoped he was at the station. A few minutes later she parked in the visitor’s parking lot and hurried into the lobby. She stopped at the reception desk and said, “I’m Marty Combs, Detective Combs’ wife. If he’s in, I’d like to talk to him for a few minutes.”

  “Please have a seat, Mrs. Combs, and I’ll see if he’s available.” She picked up her phone while Marty walked over to a nearby bench and sat down. Moments later the receptionist motioned to her and said, “He’ll be with you in a moment. He’s on another phone call and asked you to wait here.”

  Five minutes later the door behind the receptionist opened and Jeff walked out and over to Marty. “This is a surprise. I’m not sure you’ve ever dropped into the station like this. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Jeff. I left a voicemail for you, but you probably haven’t had time to check your phone for messages. I have something I need to show you, and I think it might be important to Pia’s murder case.”

  “Sounds interesting. Follow me to my office. It’s quieter in there.” They walked down a hall, and he motioned for her to go into the office with the words “Detective Combs” on the door. He closed it behind him and pointed for her to sit in the chair opposite his desk.

  “So, my love, what’s so important that you’d leave an appraisal to come to my office? Somehow I don’t think it’s just because you missed me.”

  “Well, I do miss you, but there’s more to it than that.” She spent the next few minutes telling him about Taffy and the newspaper clipping she’d found and given to Marty.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He took the piece of paper from her and let out a low whistle. “So she found this attached to the back of a cupboard door in the room that’s known as the servant’s room, but she has no idea how it got there or who it belongs to. Is that right?”

  “Yes. I’m wondering if it has something to do with the murder. What do you think?” Marty asked.

  “The one thing I’ve learned in all of my years of police investigations is not to assume anything or take anything at face value, however this is the first solid clue we’ve had in the case. I assume you and Taffy both handled this.”

  “Yes. She gave it to me, and I took it from her. Why?”

  “I want to see if I can lift some fingerprints off of it and then run it through the fingerprint databank. Are you going back to the Polo House?”

  “Yes, I told Taffy if anyone asked where I was to tell them that I needed to get a battery for my camera. Why?”

  “I don’t think you’re in the fingerprint system, and I have no idea if Taffy is. I’d like to fingerprint both of you, so we can eliminate your fingerprints. The fingerprints of the murderer could very well be on this newspaper clipping. Are you on your way back there now?”

  “Yes. What reason will you use for fingerprinting us at the house in case someone sees you doing it?”

  “If anyone walks in while I’m doing it I’ll just say I’ve decided to fingerprint everyone at the house in order to eliminate prints, and then I’ll take a print of that person. Actually it’s a pretty standard procedure, so I doubt if anyone would question it. Go on back to the house. I need to get a portable fingerprint kit from the crime lab, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  When Marty got back to the Polo House it was quiet. She rang the doorbell, but Lupe didn’t answer. After a moment, she tried the door, and finding it unlocked, she let herself in and walked to the kitchen. Taffy was listening to the television while she was stirring something in a large bowl.

  “I’m back, Taffy. I rang the doorbell, but no one answered, so I let myself in.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Combs. When Lupe isn’t in the house, I’m supposed to answer the door. I was nervous, so I decided to turn on the television to distract me, and when I get nervous I like to cook. It calms me down. Mr. Rutledge loves peanut butter cookies, so I thought I’d make a batch for him. It’s not much, but maybe it will help him a little.”

  “I’m a huge fan of peanut butter cookies myself, so if you have a couple of extra ones, I’d love to have them. I took the newspaper clipping you gave me to my husband, and he’s on his way here to fingerprint both of us. He wants to see if he can pick up any fingerprints off the newspaper clipping, and he needs our fingerprints, so we can be eliminated, since both of us touched it.”

  “Does he think it has something to do with the murder?” Taffy asked, her eyes wide with the knowledge she might have found something that could lead to the murderer.

  “He said it was the first solid clue they’d had in the case, so I assume the answer is yes. I hear the doorbell. It’s probably Jeff. Do you want me to get it for you?”

  “Yes, thanks. I don’t like to walk away when I’m in the middle of combining the ingredients in a recipe. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve doubled an ingredient or assumed I’d already added an ingredient and left it out. Not a good thing for a person who’s a cook to do.”

  Marty walked to the front door and let Jeff in. “Taffy’s in the kitchen making peanut butter cookies. I’ve already claimed a couple for later on today. No one else seems to be around, so I don’t think you’ll have to explain anything. I’ve already told Taffy what you’ll be doing, and she’s expecting you.”

  “This should only take a few minutes. On my way here there was a message from my friend in Los Angeles. I told him I’d call him when I got back to the station. I’m anxious to see what he’s found out.”

  “So am I. I haven’t seen Jack since I got back, so I’m hoping he’s feeling well enough to take care of some of his business affairs. He mentioned that the time leading up to the polo season was far more work than the actual season. He said once the season began it was kind of like everything was on cruise control, but even so it has to be hard for him to deal with work related matters right now.”

  “Marty, I’ve seen enough of death to know that it’s never easy, no matter what the circumstances. I’ve never decided whether knowing someone was going to die from say, a long illness, was easier than
a quick death, which is like a punch to the stomach and knowing your life will never be the same. No, it’s never easy,” he said as he followed her to the kitchen.

  Jeff walked over to Taffy and said, “It’s good to see you again, Taffy. Thanks for giving that newspaper clipping to Marty. I think it could be a very important piece of evidence. Marty mentioned she told you I’d be fingerprinting you. All you have to do is put the five fingers of your right hand on this scanner, hold them there for a few seconds, and then repeat it with your left hand. It will automatically record your fingerprints. I’ll give this to the police crime lab personnel, and they’ll take it from there. It’s really very easy.”

  Taffy put her fingers on the pad and held them where Jeff had indicated. “That’s good, Taffy, thanks. Marty, you’re next.” She did the same. When she was finished Jeff put the small machine back in its case and said, “Thanks, ladies. Marty, I’ll see you at home this evening. Taffy, thanks for cooperating, and if you have any extra cookies, you could give a couple to Marty for me,” he said grinning, as he walked down the hall to the front door.

  CHAPTER 21

  Marty went into the library and started appraising the furniture in that room. She looked at the antique roll-top desk, the Morris chairs, and the other pieces, noting how perfectly the Rookwood lamp she’d seen the first day went with them. She’d been in a lot of antique shops over the years that specialized in furniture from the Arts and Crafts period, but she’d never seen pieces as good as the ones in this room. She knew there was no way she could finish the appraisal today, or possibly even tomorrow. She still had the dining room, Pia’s suite, Jack’s suite, and his office to appraise. Although she hadn’t been in Jack’s suite or the dining room, she was certain that the quality of the items in those rooms would be every bit as good as what she’d seen so far.