She smiled thinking about Duke’s earlier refusal to put his paws on the desert floor. She’d read on the internet that some dogs needed to be fitted with booties before they’d step on certain surface areas, and she’d bought him a set of four. The problem with that, according to the males in the compound, was the only ones she could find were hot pink. And so, the big black Lab made his way out onto the desert floor several times a day wearing his cute pink booties.
When Jeff and Marty had gone to Hawaii on their honeymoon, Les had taken it upon himself to break Duke of the habit, and he’d been successful. When they returned, Les demonstrated that Duke was now a normal dog, and Jeff could feel secure in his manliness by not having to walk a dog with pink booties. Marty felt like he’d given them a belated wedding present!
After the dogs decided they’d done everything they were going to do on this particular excursion into the desert, Marty called Carl on her cell phone.
“Palm Springs Antique Shoppe,” the young woman answering the phone said.
Marty had met Carl’s part-time employee a few months earlier. “Hi, this is Marty Morgan. May I speak with Carl?”
“Certainly. He’s just finishing up with a customer. He’ll be with you shortly.”
A moment later Marty heard Carl’s warm voice. “How’s my favorite private investigator that pretends she’s an appraiser. Any new murders you care to discuss?” he asked with a laugh.
“’Fraid not. No, I shouldn’t say that because that would almost imply I wanted one to happen. Answer is no, no new murders. I’m calling strictly to ask if you would like a job.”
“If it means I can make some money, then the answer is probably yes. If it means that I’ll have to be around your scary sister who knows in advance everything that’s about to happen, then I’ll probably have to think about it,” he said referring to the first appraisal he had helped Marty with.
The son of the murdered decedent had been certain that his mother had owned a very large diamond ring, but Marty, Carl, and the son couldn’t find it anywhere. Laura had been assisting Marty when suddenly she appeared in the dead woman’s bathroom with a knife in her hand and slashed open a Styrofoam wig stand and pulled out the diamond ring. It had shaken Carl to the core, and he still mentioned it every time he talked to Marty.
“I can assure you that Laura won’t be anywhere near the appraisal, if that will help you make your decision.”
“Sure does. Count me in. What will I be appraising?”
Marty ran through what information she had. “Dick, my insurance company contact, did a walk-through of the woman’s pieces, and she has an extensive collection of western things like guns and arrowheads. I know nothing about that area of collecting, but I know you have a collection of those items. Thought it would be interesting for you, plus you could pick up some money for just doing what you love.”
“That’s great. Thanks for thinking of me. Whose collection will we be appraising?” Carl asked. “Anyone I know?”
“Considering you know everyone who’s anyone in the Palm Springs area, it probably is. Her name is Camille Borden. Ring a bell?”
“Oh yeah.” Carl sounded triumphant. “Like a loud carillon of bells. You’ve moved up into the nosebleed range with that appraisal. I mean, she is definitely one of the wealthiest people in the Palm Springs area, and that’s saying a lot given the amount of disposable income that’s available in this neck of the woods.
“Matter of fact,” he went on, “there was an article about her in the paper a couple of days ago. Guess she’s building some museum and that’s where she’s going to house her collection. Would I be right?”
“That you are, and although there probably won’t be a name on the room in the museum where the western art is to be housed, you and I can privately refer to it as the Carl Mitchell room,” Marty said in a teasing manner.
“Marty, I like the way you think. When do you want me to make myself available?”
She considered the question. “I don’t know yet. I’m going to do a walk-through with her at 4:00 this afternoon. I’ll call you after I meet with her. My understanding is the collection is really underinsured, so I would think she’d want us to get started as soon as possible, but that’s just a guess on my part.”
“Gotta go, Marty. I see one of my better customers getting out of her car. Talk to you later. By the way, try to keep this client from getting murdered. Be a nice change of pace for me to do an appraisal with you for a living client.” With that, he ended the call.
CHAPTER 8
Marty had just finished getting dressed for her appointment with Camille Borden when her cell phone rang. She saw that it was Jeff.
“Hi, love. How’s my favorite detective?” she asked playfully.
“Marty,” he began, and she could tell from his somber tone of voice that this was a serious call. He continued, “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Camille Borden has been murdered. Apparently, it happened early this afternoon. Her housekeeper found her. She told me she’d taken the morning off to take care of some personal business, and when she pulled into Camille’s driveway, her boss was lying next to her car, dead.”
Marty involuntarily raised a hand to her chest. “Oh, Jeff, no. I’m beginning to think I’m the angel of death. I mean whenever I’m scheduled to do an appraisal or I’m in the middle of one, it seems like someone gets murdered. I hope word doesn’t get around, or I’ll never work in this industry again.”
“Sweetheart, you had nothing to do with this murder, but I have to tell you, it’s a strange one.”
“What makes this one any stranger than the rest of them?” Marty asked.
“Well, in talking to the housekeeper, she couldn’t come up with any possible suspects. She said everything in Camille’s life was going well. She was really excited about the museum she was going to build and didn’t seem to have any enemies that the housekeeper knew about.”
“Obviously she had one enemy,” Marty said.
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Anyway, didn’t want you to make the trip down here to Palm Springs for nothing.”
“Thanks, but I’ll bet her stuff will still need to be appraised. From what I understand, it’s really underinsured. I’ll give Dick a call and see if he can tell me anything. If he wants me to go ahead and do it, when can I access the property?”
“The investigation is going to take quite a while, Marty. The rooms are packed with antiques, art, and just lots of other valuable stuff. We need to look for anything that might help with our investigation. By the way, I’m going to be at her house for a couple more hours and then I need to go to the station and file a report. Tell the group at the compound I won’t be home until around eight. Ask John if he’ll save me something for dinner.”
“Will do. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
*****
Marty called Carl’s antique shop, and he picked up the phone on the second ring. “Carl, I’ve got some bad news. Jeff just called me and Camille Borden has been murdered. I can’t believe it.”
The other end of the line was silent for several long moments and then Carl let out a low whistle. “Marty, this is kind of a déjà vu thing. Remind me if I ever need to hire an appraiser, not to hire you. I’m too young to die, and when I do, I don’t want it to be by being murdered.”
“Unfortunately, I know what you mean. Maybe it’s something about the wealthy. I don’t know.”
“Does this mean the appraisal is on or off?” Carl asked.
“It’s definitely off for a few days. The house is presently a crime scene, and Jeff said given the amount of stuff she had in the house, it’s going to be a few days before the police finish going through everything as part of their investigation. I need to talk to Dick at the insurance company and see what he wants done, but I probably won’t know anything for a day or so.
“I imagine he’ll have to talk to her accountant as well as a
n attorney,” she added. “Camille must have had one what with all the legal stuff that goes with buying the land and building a museum. I’ll give Dick a call and get back to you when I know something.”
“Okay. I’ll wait to hear from you, and Marty, I am sorry that you find yourself involved in these murders. Maybe it goes with being the wife of a detective. On the bright side, you probably should talk to your sister and see what she knows.”
Marty smiled. At times like these, Laura’s insight could be invaluable. She remembered the conversation with her sister the previous evening. “Carl, that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
CHAPTER 9
Marty heard voices in the courtyard and realized the other residents were beginning their nightly ritual of a glass of wine before one of John’s taste-testing dinners. She fed the dogs, brushed her hair, put on some lipstick, and walked out to the table where John, Max, Laura, and Les were sitting. John saw her coming, poured a glass of wine for her, and handed it to her as she sat down.
“I figure you could use this. I saw the early news while I was prepping dinner, and it looks like our mutual client, Camille Borden, was murdered earlier today,” he said.
Laura’s head shot up from where she’d been looking at her texts and said, “Did I hear you correctly, John? Did you say Camille Borden was murdered today?”
“I’m just telling you what was on the news, but I imagine that’s why Jeff isn’t here. Would I be right, Marty?”
Marty nodded. “Yes. He called me earlier and told me about it. He also asked if you would please save him some dinner, because he wasn’t sure when he’d be home.”
Just as she was telling John about Jeff’s request, they heard the sound of a car in the driveway and then the front gate opening. “Hey everyone, I made it out of the station earlier than I thought I would. Give me a couple of minutes. I need to change my clothes and get rid of my gun. Back in a few, and John, would you please pour me a glass of wine?”
“You got it, Jeff,” John said as he picked up a wine glass and set it next to where Marty was seated.
A few minutes later Jeff joined the assembled group. “Thanks, John,” he said, accepting the wine with a grateful smile. “It’s been a rough day.” Everyone looked at him expectantly, curious as to what he would say about the murder of Camille Bordon.
“I’m sure Marty told you that Camille Borden was murdered today.” He took a sip of his wine and continued, “What I didn’t tell Marty was there were two other murders committed today as well. A birthday party got out of hand and two people were killed. We have the killers in custody, but there’s a lot of work that goes into something like this, so investigating three murders in one day is not real easy to handle.”
“Jeff, what can you tell us about Camille’s murder?” Laura asked. “Was the land where she was going to build the museum an issue?”
Jeff turned to face his sister-in-law. “Why are you asking me that, Laura?”
Laura shivered, despite the warmth of the evening. “I had a sense that something was going to happen to her, although I didn’t know she would be murdered. The sense I had was that there were problems with the land where she was going to build her museum.”
“Laura, you know I respect your special gift to be able to look into the future, but I’m unaware of any problems with her land.” Jeff rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Down the road we’ll have to take a long look at everything that’s connected to her, but right now I have no idea where there would be a connection between the land and her murder. However, if you think it bears looking at closely, I’ll make it a priority.”
“Jeff, how was she murdered?” John asked. “The news broadcast I saw didn’t say.”
“That’s probably because we’re not sure. Some type of sharp object was shoved into her back that made a deep incision and pierced her heart, but the coroner didn’t seem to think it was made by a knife. I agree with him, based on the other victims I’ve seen who were murdered with a knife. We’re waiting for the preliminary autopsy results from the coroner to see if there is some indication of exactly what type of murder weapon was used by the killer.”
“What’s your gut reaction?” Les asked.
“I don’t have one, which in a case like this is very unusual. On the surface, to someone who hasn’t seen a lot of knife wounds like I have, it might look like one, but if it is, it’s from a different knife than any I’ve ever seen.” He looked around the table, where all eyes were fixed on him. “At this point I honestly don’t know what to think.”
“Jeff, what about suspects? Anyone surfaced?” John asked.
“So far, no. I told Marty earlier that the housekeeper didn’t think Camille had an enemy in the world. She said she’d never seen her have words with anyone, and a quick check on her computer and phone didn’t indicate any problems.”
“Jeff, what about relatives? You always tell me to look for the money angle. Any children who will inherit? Who gets her estate, which I assume must be huge?” Marty asked.
“That’s kind of interesting. We were able to get in touch with the attorney who was handling the property she was buying and the construction of the museum complex, but that’s all he was handling. He said that Camille had never indicated she had an attorney who was handling a will or a trust for her.”
“Well, from what I read about her when I was doing my initial work-up, she was married several times,” Marty said. “Would she have had an attorney who handled her divorce cases as well as prepared a will for her?”
Jeff shrugged. “Possibly, but at this point we just don’t know. The first thing on my to-do list for tomorrow is to contact the attorneys who handled her divorces and see if one of them did a will or trust for her. If I can’t find anything out from them, I’ll have one of my staff start to cold call attorneys in the area and see if we can get lucky. We did find out some family history, though,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his wine.
“As far as being married and having children,” he continued, “here’s what we found out. She was married three times and according to her housekeeper, had a very good relationship with all of her ex-husbands. In fact, two of them live in Palm Springs, and they often came to her home for dinner.”
The group listened in earnest while Jeff went on, “Her third husband lives in Los Angeles. From what the housekeeper said, he would come to her home for dinner when he and his friends came to Palm Springs to play golf. Before she filled the guest house with art work and antiques, he and his friends stayed in Camille’s large guest house. Evidently, he’s a scratch golfer and belongs to that really exclusive golf club in Los Angeles, the Riviera Country Club.”
“That takes care of her exes. What about children?” Marty asked. “When I was doing some research on her earlier today, I remember seeing a reference to a son, but there wasn’t much information on him.”
“I can clarify that. Austin Phillips, son of husband number two, lives in Palm Springs,” Jeff said. “Kind of a loser, if you read between the lines. The housekeeper said he and his mother didn’t particularly have a good relationship. It seems Camille felt he married a gold digger who wanted to get her hands on the trust fund his father had set up for him. I sent one of my officers to tell him about Camille’s murder, but no one was home. I also left a message on his answerphone to call the station, and I gave him my cell number as well. So far, I haven’t heard from him.”
“Jeff, it would seem to me that if an attorney had prepared a will or a trust for her, they would have called the police as soon as they heard, because her estate would probably have to go to probate. Would I be right?” Laura asked.
“I don’t know. It depends on whether she has a will or a trust, but I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with a murder or death where an attorney hasn’t come forward and produced a will or a trust if there was one. Since nothing has happened on that front, I’m wondering if perhaps she didn’t have one, although for someone that wealthy it would be unusual.” Jeff grimaced.
“Plus, if she thought her daughter-in-law was a gold digger, I would think that would be one of the first things she would do once her son married a woman she didn’t approve of.”
“Jeff, you should follow that line of thought. It will help.” Laura said, raising a finger cryptically.
“Laura, that sounds ominous. What do you mean?” Jeff asked, as he took another gulp of his wine.
She raised a hand to her forehead. “I wish I could tell you, but in addition to the land, I think there may be a problem with an inheritance. I’d look in the house and see if there was a will. Who knows, maybe the attorney who drew it up, if there is one, is dead and that’s why you haven’t been contacted.”
“I suppose that’s a possibility.”
“On that note,” John said, “I think dinner needs to be served. Looks like Jeff’s day is going to be a long one tomorrow, and I’m sure today wasn’t a walk in the park. Max and I will be back in a minute.”
After several trips back and forth between John’s house and the courtyard, the table was filled with a make-it-yourself Mexican style dinner. Tortillas, pulled pork, sliced onions, guacamole, chopped tomatoes, cilantro, Mexican rice, and two kinds of salsa, mild and hot, were passed around as everyone made their own soft tacos with what they liked on them.
“Well, since everything is gone,” John said fifteen minutes later, “I’ll take that as thumbs up. By the way, I bought a smoker recently and although I made this pork in a slow cooker, I’ll be trying some other things pretty soon. Obviously, I can’t take the smoker in the Red Pony with me, so this is an alternative method. Judging from the fact there’s none left, I think this will definitely be a hit with my lunchtime customers.”
“John, that was delicious. I’ve got a question. Seems like I tasted a bit of mustard. Were my taste buds lying to me?” Les asked.
Murder and the Museum Page 4
