Murder and the Museum

by Dianne Harman

  “No,” Violet said, carefully putting Muffy, the woman’s tortoise, back in its carrying cage. “They’re considered to be vulnerable and threatened, but so far they haven’t made the endangered species list.” She pondered the news and wondered if there was any way of preventing it from happening.

  “I had no idea this was being considered. It’s almost my lunch time. I have some friends at City Hall. I’ll call them and see what they have to say about it. Thanks for letting me know, and Muffy should be fine in a couple of days. I removed the balloon from her stomach. That’s why I hate it when people litter. They never think about what it might do to the animals that find and consume their throwaway trash that hasn’t been disposed of properly.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Susie said. “Actually, I think the people I got Muffy from told me she came from that exact area where that woman’s planning on building her museum. I feel sorry for all the tortoises that call that area their home. They’ll either get bulldozed into oblivion or won’t be able to survive when their natural habitat is destroyed. I wish something could be done. It’s not right. Thanks for doing a great job, as always,” Susie said as she walked out of the building with Muffy’s cage in her arms.

  Violet put the “At Lunch – Back at 1:00” sign on the door and locked it. For the next hour she made calls, conducted a computer search for articles about Camille Borden, and generally tried to find some reason why the proposed museum complex should not be built. At the end of the hour, she put her head in her hands and cried. All the work she’d done to help the desert tortoise population in the Palm Springs area was about to come to a grinding halt. No, even worse, the vulnerable tortoise population on that piece of the desert was about to be annihilated because of a wealthy woman’s greed. It just wasn’t right.

  As she was shedding tears about the unfairness of it all, an insidious thought crossed her mind. She willed it to go away, but it came back. If Camille Borden was dead, she couldn’t build a museum. It was really quite simple. And wasn’t one life far less important than possibly hundreds of others, no matter what the species? A decision had to be made, and she had made it. Now it was just a matter of following through on its execution.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Okay, everybody, dinner’s on.” John, the affable resident chef of the compound, grinned as he spoke. “And this is one you’re definitely going to love. A tomato tart, turkey parmigiana over noodles, and, drum roll please, a chocolate cake that is to die for. I mean what is not to like about that?”

  The other residents of the compound stood around the side table and filled their plates. The compound consisted of four homes and was owned by Laura, Marty Morgan’s sister. She lived in one of the homes and rented out the other three. John, the owner of the Red Pony food trucks, and Les, Laura’s significant other and a very well-known artist, had been Laura’s tenants from the time she’d originally bought the property. Max, who helped John prepare the food the locally renowned Red Pony trucks sold, was a frequent guest at the meals, although he lived a few miles away.

  When Marty, an art and antique appraiser, had moved to High Desert after her divorce, she’d rented the fourth home from her sister. A year later Jeff, a Palm Springs police detective, and Marty’s new husband, had joined the group. The communal evening meals they shared in the compound’s courtyard were special to each of them.

  It also allowed Laura to express her green thumb and indulge in her passion for twinkling lights. Every night at dusk the courtyard turned into a fairyland with hundreds of shimmering lights strung among the trees and shrubs. It was a time each of them looked forward to, sharing and catching up with one another about the day’s events.

  “This is delicious, John, as always. I’ve never had it prepared with turkey, and I really like it,” Marty said. She looked down at her white boxer, Patron, who had put a paw on her leg reminding her that he was there, just in case she felt inclined to share a tidbit of food with him. She shook her head at him. “No Patron, we don’t allow beggars at the table. I’ll feed you and Duke in a few minutes,” she said, referencing her other dog, a large black Labrador retriever.

  “Thanks.” John’s smile showed his appreciation of the compliment. “I thought it would be a little different, and it’s probably a little lower in calories. Max and I catered a dinner party a couple of nights ago for a woman named Camille Borden, and we served it to her guests. They all seemed to like it, so I thought you would too.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. She has artwork everywhere in her home, and I mentioned that I was good friends with an appraiser named Marty Morgan. She said your name had been given to her and she was going to call you. She told me she was in the final process of cataloguing her collection.”

  Marty nodded and spoke between bites. “Yes, I talked with her earlier today. As a matter of fact, I’m going to do a walk-through of her collection tomorrow afternoon. I understand she’s setting up a non-profit corporation, since she’s going to build a large museum complex out near the 111 and 10 freeway junction. I’ve never done an appraisal quite like the one she wants me to do.” She rested her fork on the side of the plate while she continued.

  “Her accountant told her she needed to have the appraisal done so her collection could be used as collateral for the bank loan she’ll need to build the museum. She told me she hasn’t had an appraisal done for over twenty years, and the value of her collection has probably increased by tenfold since then. What did you think of her?”

  Max spoke up. “I really liked her. Think she’s undergoin’ treatment for cancer, ‘cause she had a scarf wrapped around her head. I know scarves are the in thing, but I had a sense she was wearin’ it for somethin’ more than jes’ tryin’ to look stylish. Plus, women usually wear them around their necks, not on their heads. Maybe her hair’s just beginnin’ to grow back, ‘cause I did see some white wisps. Anyway, ain’t never seen stuff like she had. I mean there were paintings, Native American things, rugs, and a lot of western stuff like arrowheads, lances, and pottery. Marty, I’m tellin’ ya’ there was a lotta stuff there.”

  “And you, John?” Marty asked as she took a sip of her wine.

  “She’s an interesting woman. We talked a lot while I was getting everything prepped in the kitchen. She told me she grew up in Bakersfield, land poor. Said her dad had inherited about one hundred acres just outside of Bakersfield from his father and although some people did fairly well farming their land, her father must have had a black thumb. She said he grew enough to feed his family and sell some extra produce at farmers’ markets, but that was about it. The family was basically stuck in poverty and couldn’t get out.”

  John thought for a few moments. “I remember I said something like, ‘with what I’m seeing in your home and your home itself, somebody’s luck obviously changed.’ She said when she was in her late teens, oil was discovered on the property. A lot of oil. She said the family instantly became very wealthy, but it was too late for her parents. They’d worked so hard all of their lives that they were both in very poor health, and they died when she was in her early twenties. She told me she’d hated growing up in Bakersfield and being from a poor family.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Jeff said, “but Bakersfield is known for its wealthy citizens who became rich when oil was discovered on their property. I understand there’s even a very exclusive club for them located in downtown Bakersfield called The Petroleum Club.”

  “Could be,” John said, “but I guess Camille didn’t want any part of it. She told me the day her mother died, which was a month to the day after her father had died, she went to the bank, withdrew all the money that was in their account and came to Palm Springs to make a new life for herself. That cash plus the oil royalties that are paid to her by the big oil company that drilled the wells on her Bakersfield property has made her a millionaire many times over. She said she didn’t want to be known any longer as some ‘poor little oil-rich white trash.’ She sounded rather bitter when she
said it.”

  “Can’t say that I blame her,” Laura said. “Going through the teen years is hard enough, but being dirt poor makes it even tougher. I’m glad she’s able to realize some enjoyment from her money.”

  “John, what kind of art does she have?” Les asked.

  “I’m no connoisseur, but it’s quite different from yours. What I saw, in addition to what Max described, was a lot of outdoor scenes, like landscapes and seascapes. She did say most of them were painted in the early 20th century. She mentioned it was some special type of art that was popular at the time, but I forget the name.”

  “Does plein air ring a bell?” Marty asked.

  “That’s it. Yes. Why? Are you familiar with it?”

  “I’ve appraised some pieces from that school of art that have been in collection here in the desert. I remember reading an article a few years ago that the most extensive collection of plein air art was held by a woman who lived in Palm Springs. That was before I moved here, but I wonder if it was hers, and if so, the appraisal may very well be the most interesting one I’ve ever done. Now I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Marty looked over at Laura, who was frowning. “Please sister dearest, do not say you’re getting special vibes about this appraisal,” Marty said to her. “I’ve had about all the drama I can take from your input on past ones.”

  All eyes turned to Laura, and everyone could feel the tension developing between Marty and her sister. Even though Laura and Marty were very close, there were times when Marty became frustrated with Laura’s ability to sense that certain things were going to happen in the future. It’s a condition commonly referred to by researchers as ESP, or extra sensory perception. It had been that way with Laura for as long as Marty could remember.

  When Laura was a student at UCLA, she’d taken part in a paranormal research study. The results proved conclusively that she had a paranormal gift for knowing when danger was going to be present, or being able to accurately predict future events, but none of the researchers had been able to come up with an explanation of why she had this gift. It was one of those things that simply was.

  To deflect the tension, John said brightly, “I think it’s time for dessert. Max, would you help me clear the dishes while I get the chocolate cake?”

  A few minutes later they were all thoroughly enjoying the chocolate torte and ice cream and the talk turned to things of a much lighter nature. “Jeff, how goes the detective life?” Les asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from Laura’s “gift.”

  “For once it’s blessedly slow. I hope it continues. I have a number of cold cases that could use some tender loving care, and just between us, I’m enjoying the lull.”

  Unfortunately, the lull wouldn’t last very long.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Marty, I’m going to turn in, but first I need to check my computer for a couple of things that are going on at the station. Even though it’s relatively quiet, things still happen. Night everyone.” Jeff stood up and walked across the courtyard towards the small house where he and Marty lived.

  “I’m going to do the same. I started a new painting this morning, and I want to play with it a little more tonight. See you tomorrow,” Les said as he leaned down, kissed Laura, and then walked towards his house.

  “Max and I need to clean up the kitchen and do some prep work. We’ve got a breakfast we’re catering in the morning,” John said. “We’ll leave you two lovely ladies out here, along with the dogs.” He looked down and said, “Make that one dog. Looks like Duke went with Jeff. Guess that just leaves Patron.” He bent over and petted the dog and at the same time took a treat from his pocket and gave it to the big white boxer.

  When everyone was gone, Marty looked over at Laura and said, “Okay, might as well tell me what’s on your mind. As much as I don’t want to hear it, I’ve learned from experience that I’ll probably regret it if I don’t know what’s bothering you.”

  Laura was quiet while Patron stood up and moved to her side, as if he was aware of something. He and Laura had some type of a relationship that was beyond the five senses, and Marty had learned to accept it.

  “Well?” Marty asked.

  “I really didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I think this appraisal isn’t going to be anything like what you’re being told,” Laura said.

  “What are you talking about? Do you think the woman lied to me when she called about what she had? John pretty much backed up what she told me.”

  “No, that part is true, but I’m getting all kinds of informational feedback, and it’s more about the land that she wants to build the museum on, than it is about her collection.”

  “Okay, you might as well tell me what kind of things you’re getting,” Marty said.

  “You know I rarely get specifics. It’s more like I get a feeling or an overall sense about the whole.”

  “Well, what is the feeling about the whole, if you’re not getting specifics?”

  Laura looked off into space, as if she could see something in the distance that was not visible to Marty. “Okay, here goes, but you might have trouble with this. I’m seeing acres of desert with all kinds of things on them. People are fighting, because they all want that particular piece of the desert. I see tortoises, lots of them, and Native Americans in loincloths and war paint, Las Vegas casinos, a mega resort, and a man and his wife. At the center of everything is a woman, probably in her early sixties. Her hair is snow white, kind of like those people who go white when they’re in their thirties.”

  “Yeah, kind of like mom did,” Marty said.

  “Yes, exactly. She’s tall, attractive, and surrounded by stuff. I guess you’d call the stuff artifacts, art, and antiques. No one is happy…”

  She was interrupted by a low growl from Patron who had stood up, teeth bared, and the guard hairs along his back were standing on end. Laura leaned down and whispered to him. A moment later he resumed his place at her feet and promptly fell asleep.

  “Oh, swell, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Marty said. “This reminds me of when Patron would forcibly place himself in front of me every time I tried to leave when Jeff and I were involved in the Melissa Ross murder. So, what’s the bottom line?”

  “You’re going to do the appraisal with no problem, but I think there’s a huge problem with the land where the woman wants to build her museum. I also think she may get caught in the crossfire over it.”

  Marty was quiet for several moments and then said, “Thanks, and I’m sorry if I acted like I was angry earlier. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to have a sister who knows things no one else knows, and who is almost always right. It’s even harder when it’s going to affect something I’m involved in.”

  Laura reached across the table and took her hand. “Marty, believe me, there are times I wish I didn’t have this gift. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like a gift at all. The thing is, you’re my only living relative, and I love you. I just don’t want anything to happen to you, and you have to admit, you have found yourself in some pretty dangerous situations.”

  “That’s true, and even though I don’t like it when you have a sense about something I’m going to be doing, it does make me more aware. And I’m always a little more careful.” Marty looked down at Patron. She half-laughed, half-groaned. “The one thing I’m at a loss to explain is why I’m the one who wound up with not only a sister, but also a dog with ESP or whatever you want to call it. Why me?”

  “Because we all just want to keep you safe. Think it might be a good idea if Patron started going with you on your appraisals. I’ll bet Jeff would agree with me.”

  Marty’s brow furrowed. “Probably so, but can you imagine what people will think when I show up with this big guy?”

  “I doubt they’d think anything about it. Look at all the people who fly with dogs these days. Hardly think all of them are taking their dogs on the plane because they’re suffering from anxiety.”

&n
bsp; Laura held her hands up and made two quote marks in the air with her fingers, “I think the name for that is emotional support comfort dog, or some such thing. You could just say something like he keeps you from getting distracted and allows you to fully concentrate on the matter at hand. Bet no one would ever question that, plus, just look at him.” She looked down at Patron with a grin. “You think anyone is going to challenge you when you have a dog as big as him with you?”

  “Probably not. Maybe I’ll try it when I go to Camille’s house tomorrow. Of course, there could be a problem if she’s allergic to dogs.”

  “I don’t think she is. Dick mentioned in our morning meeting the other day that she told him she had several dogs in air-conditioned kennels near her guest house, so I’m guessing not.”

  “Why would she and Dick be discussing that?” Marty asked.

  “Camille’s accountant sends us a lot of business,” Laura explained. “Dick, as manager of the wealth division of the insurance company, usually does a walk-through of the contents of a house to determine if it needs to be appraised by a professional, which is where you come in. Since she’s going to be donating her massive collection to her non-profit museum, her accountant was insistent that she have a certified itemized appraisal. He wants it done not only for tax purposes, but also to verify the value of her collection so she can use it as collateral for a bank loan. Dick was just curious as to the extent of her collection. That’s why he went out there.”

  “How did the subject of dogs come up?” Marty asked.

  “Dick asked her what types of security she had in place for her collection. She told him she had a high-tech security system for the house but had never bothered to get one for the guest house. She said she had a lot of her collection out there, but because of its close proximity to the dog kennels, she was sure they’d let her know if there were any problems. She mentioned to Dick that she always slept with a loaded gun under her pillow.”