Saddled Up 4 Murder Read online

  “No, about that deli-witch. Someone should dress as Quasimodo and stand at the top of the tower by the bells. That would teach her a lesson.”

  I shoved my chair into the table and took off. Then, I spun around and winked. “It wouldn’t work. She’d just get on her broomstick and take off. Like I’m about to do.”

  With that, I figured I’d heard enough about the deli-witch, but boy, was I ever wrong.

  Chapter 2

  No sooner had I left the table and arrived at the register than Herb walked in. “Hey, cutie, don’t tell me I missed all the fun.”

  “Trust me. The ladies are just getting started.”

  He sucked in his stomach and stood straight up. “Quick. Fill me in so I can catch up.”

  I sighed. “The deli-witch, the Bye Bye Birdie event, and the dog’s outfit for my wedding. Don’t ask.”

  “Billie C.? That deli-witch?”

  “How many are there?”

  “Oh, it’s her, all right. If you want my opinion, what that woman needs is a―”

  Please tell me a good swift kick in the butt and not something obscene.

  “I know. I know. Don’t say a word. I already got the lowdown on her. Anyway, I should be going.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stick around for another cup of coffee? I just got an email from the Broadcast club. They’ve chosen the announcers for the Bye Bye Birdie send-off. Last year my pinochle crew had the honors. This year it will be your mother along with Myrna Mittleson and Paul Schmidt. Their combination murder mystery/fishing show is a big hit. Go figure.”

  Go figure indeed. It’s a disaster if anyone asks me.

  My mother, along with Myrna, host a murder mystery radio show once a week on KSCW, the voice of Sun City West. She figured if Herb could have his own pinochle pointers show, she and Myrna could discuss cozy mysteries. Guess the radio station management agreed. And then Paul Schmidt came along with his own show―Lake Fishing with Paul. Apparently Minnesota wasn’t the only state with lots of lakes. Arizona was on the list, too. Unfortunately, sometime last year they got the schedule wrong and the three of them showed up to do their shows at the same time.

  The result was a hodgepodge of fishing and bait tips coupled with recent murder mysteries because neither was willing to give up the spot to the other person. Anyway, the radio audience, including Williams Investigations secretary Augusta Hatch, loved it. From that point on, my mother and Myrna got to do a combined show with Paul a couple of times a month.

  “Um, I’m sure my mother will give me all the details.” And a whole lot more . . .

  I paid my bill and headed for the door. “Nice seeing you,” I said. “Enjoy your brunch.” Then I bolted for my car.

  The remainder of the weekend was everything I loved about living in Arizona―a late afternoon swim with my friend Lyndy, an early Sunday morning hike with Marshall, who endured another recap of my conversation with the book club ladies, and warm, balmy weather that wouldn’t turn into an inferno for a few more weeks. Too bad it was short-lived. The easygoing weekend pace had shifted to the Monday morning rush before I realized it. As usual, Marshall and I took our own cars to the office since he was constantly on the move with his cases.

  According to Augusta, who kept me apprised of Nate and Marshall’s caseloads, usually before they were aware of them, nothing looked to be out of the ordinary that morning. But everything changed when their nine thirty appointment arrived. Even the static in the air, according to Augusta. I had just left my office to grab another cup of coffee out front when Augusta ran her thumb across her neck and said, “Got a bad feeling about this one.”

  “Is the client in Nate’s office or Marshall’s? And what does he look like? It’s a he, isn’t it? I thought I heard a man’s voice. Older guy? Younger guy?” I leaned over Augusta’s desk and kept my voice low.

  “You’re getting as bad as those book club ladies. Middle-aged. I’m guessing early fifties. Tall, lean, salt-and-pepper hair, clean-shaven, cleft chin. No visible tattoos but he does have a scar that runs from his right elbow to the wrist. Did I cover all the bases, Miss Marple?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good. Then now maybe you’ll let me get back to work.”

  I walked to the Keurig and popped in a cup of McCafé medium roast. “Did he give you his name or the reason for the appointment?”

  “It wasn’t an appointment we had on the schedule. The client left a message last night insisting he meet with both detectives this morning. Said he contacted the sheriff’s office but wasn’t satisfied.”

  I rolled my eyes. No surprise there if he wound up talking with Deputy Bowman or Ranston. “Who’s the client? Did he leave a name?”

  “Perry Gaynes from Wickenburg. Owner of the Dancing Caballeros Stable.”

  “The Dancing Caballeros? I’ve been dying for a weekend at that posh dude ranch. They’ve been featured in Phoenix magazine and there was a segment about them on HGTV not too long ago. It’s a five-star resort with every possible amenity imaginable.”

  Augusta patted her high bouffant hairdo and went back to her computer. “Five-star or no star, a horse is a horse and your butt’s going to smell like one when you’re done riding. No amenity in the world’s going to change that.”

  “Shh. I think I hear chairs moving. The meeting must be over. I don’t want to appear like a busybody.”

  “Too late for that.”

  I immediately removed my coffee cup from the machine and busied myself with the creamer.

  “You’re not fooling anyone, “Augusta whispered.

  Sure enough, Augusta’s description of Perry Gaynes was right on the money. As was her thumb-across-the-neck gesture. Given the expression on Perry’s face and the somber looks on Nate and Marshall’s, it didn’t take a soothsayer to figure out this wasn’t the usual fare for us.

  Nate walked Perry to the door and told him Augusta would fax a contract to him within the hour. Marshall, who stood a few feet back, gave the guy a wave and a nod. Not a happy smiley nod, but more like the kind I’d seen funeral directors use at viewings.

  The minute the door closed behind Perry, I walked toward Nate and Marshall. “What was that about? It’s as if the temperature dropped by twenty degrees in here.”

  The men looked at each other before Nate spoke. “The client is Perry Gaynes, owner of the Dancing Caballeros Stable in Wickenburg, but I’m sure Augusta provided you with those salient details.” He crinkled his nose at Augusta, who in turn shrugged. Then he continued. “Sometime yesterday afternoon, three horses were stolen from one of their stables―two were quarter horse geldings and the other a sorrel Arabian mare.”

  Augusta sat bolt upright in her chair. “I knew it was only a matter of time before our office wound up investigating horse thieves. Too bad they don’t hang them anymore in this state.”

  “Too bad they don’t have the resources,” Marshall said. “That’s why the client came to us.”

  I took a sip of coffee and eyeballed both men. “What about the sheriff’s office? Augusta mentioned―”

  Nate tried not to laugh. “Good grief. What hasn’t Augusta mentioned?” Then he went on. “Perry called the Maricopa Sheriff’s Office and after a grueling conversation with one of their deputies, his words, not mine, the deputy referred him to the Arizona Department of Agriculture since horse theft comes under their jurisdiction.”

  I bit my lip. “Uh-oh. I can see where this is going.”

  Marshall walked toward me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve got that right. That’s when he knew he was in trouble and left a message with our agency last night. Still, he did contact the Department of Agriculture first thing this morning and was referred to their livestock field office.”

  “Moving him further down the dungeon, Mr. Gregory,” Augusta said. “No wonder the guy looked like a corpse when he walked in.”

  Marshall sighed. “The livestock field office is the one responsible for investigating horse theft, which, by the w
ay, is considered to be a property crime.”

  I put my coffee cup on the edge of Augusta’s desk and widened my eyes. “A property crime? How can it be a property crime? Horses are live animals.”

  “Hurrump.” Augusta crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “That’s the same thing my uncle Roscoe said when his prize bovine got snatched during the Wisconsin State Fair back in 1978. They caught the thief, but let me tell you, it was one hell of a night.”

  “Good to know,” Marshall said to Augusta before turning his attention back my way. “That’s just how it is. Horse theft is deemed a property crime and the factors that determine the value of the animal are mind-boggling. Was the horse a racing horse? A breeding horse? Age and condition? Then there are the circumstances surrounding the theft. Was a weapon used? Was there any sign of forced entry? I could go on but you get the idea.”

  I swallowed. “I get it, all right. You and Nate are the guy’s last chance to ever see those horses again.”

  “You know what the awful thing is?” Nate asked. “No one can remember prosecuting a horse theft in this county for at least fifty years. But right now, all I’m concerned with is finding those horses before they wind up in another state.”

  Augusta edged her chair closer to where Nate stood. “Do you want me to reschedule your appointments today, Mr. Williams? And Mr. Gregory’s?”

  “The cases on our docket aren’t time-sensitive, with one exception―the cheating wife. So, yeah, go ahead but keep her appointment with me. It’s not until forty thirty so Marshall and I can get started.”

  “What about the contract?”

  “Oh,” Nate replied, “I think Perry Gaynes is good for his word. Right now, we’re on our way to Wickenburg to review his surveillance tapes and interview the employees. From there, we’ll see if anyone from the neighboring ranches noticed anything unusual.”

  Marshall gave me a peck on the cheek and mumbled something about cold cut sandwiches for dinner.

  Five minutes later they were out the door and I was back at my desk. I never really pictured our office handling horse theft, but then again, it was surprising the kinds of cases that wafted our way. I thanked my lucky stars it wasn’t another murder case, but in retrospect, I should have held off.

  At a little past ten, Augusta and I were both hankering for a donut so I volunteered for a quick run to the nearest Dunkin’. When I got back and handed her the two French crullers she’d requested, she pointed to the bag and winced. “You might want to eat your donut now before you return your mother’s call. I’ve got to admit, her messages rival the Navajo Code Talkers.”

  “Why? What did she say?”

  “And I quote, ‘Tell Phee the witch is dead and the tower is off limits.’ Guess that beats ‘The crow flies at midnight.’ Please don’t tell me your mother is trying out for a local production of The Wizard of Oz.”

  “No, but horse theft may wind up taking a second seat to whatever nightmare is about to unfold in Sun City West. Geez, I hope I’m wrong.”

  Chapter 3

  I never demolished a donut so fast in my life. Less than a minute later, I dialed my mother and prayed the witch in question had died of natural causes, like too much sodium from all that deli meat.

  My mother’s voice was strained and scratchy. “Oh, good. You called. Augusta said you were out on an errand. I just got off the phone with Shirley, who’s stuck at the library because they’ve got the place on lockdown. Someone found the deli-witch at the bottom of the tower stairwell. Dead. It must be foul play or they wouldn’t have locked the library to speak with the patrons. Same deal with the computer room. Shirley said she’d call me back as soon as she hears anything.”

  “Maybe the woman had a stroke or heart attack and the deputies are merely covering their bases.”

  “I don’t think so. About an hour before Shirley called, I was on the phone with Gloria Wong and she stopped in mid-sentence because she heard the tower chimes ringing like crazy. I immediately thought about what Myrna said on Saturday but didn’t say a word to Gloria. Is that what you think it was? Someone murdered that witch and her body got shoved into the bells before the killer rolled it down the stairwell?”

  “Whoa. Slow down. You don’t know she was murdered. For all anyone knows, someone from maintenance might have been up there and accidently bumped into the bell. It wouldn’t be the first time according to Herb.”

  “Herb? What does he know? Oh, never mind. That man’s got his nose into everything. Anyway, I thought you should know about Billie C.’s body being found so you can give your boss and your fiancé a heads-up.”

  “A heads-up? They’re not investigating her death.”

  “Not at the moment, no, but give it time. Listen, I’m going to call Louise and see if she knows anything about it. Louise does her cardio step run every morning. Maybe she saw the killer lurking around before Billie got there.”

  “Good grief. You’re not Lee Child. Let it go. The poor woman probably suffered some sort of medical emergency, lost her balance and fell to her death. Not pleasant, but not exactly screaming murder.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I got off the phone and rubbed my temples for what seemed like ages before returning to the spreadsheet I had been working on. Later on, when I told Augusta about the call, she didn’t seem too surprised. We were in the break room munching on tacos that Door Dash delivered because neither of us felt like sandwiches from Qwik Stop.

  “You know,” she said, “if that woman was as bad as what your mother described, it wouldn’t surprise me if someone did her in. All sorts of unsettling road rage cases around the valley.”

  “This wasn’t road rage. And there’s no such thing as tower rage.”

  Augusta ripped open a packet of hot sauce and doused her taco. “True, but someone might have had a seething rage building up inside them and took advantage of a situation to make it look like an accident.”

  “Oh, brother. Please don’t tell me you landed on the mystery writer home page along with my mother’s looney book club.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m quantifying the evidence and proposing a theory, that’s all.”

  “What evidence?”

  “The dead body.”

  I washed down my taco with a Coke and laughed. “If it turns out you’re right, I’ll buy your tacos for the next month.”

  “Start hoarding your pocket change.”

  It was a good thing I had a dollar eighty-eight at the bottom of my bag because, if Augusta’s words held true, I’d need it. At a little past four, my mother called again and I had to hold the receiver a good five or six inches from my ear.

  “Phee! I finally reached Louise Munson. Poor woman got a surprise visit from that deputy who resembles a desert toad―Ranston. He was by himself and told her he was following up on some information. Turns out, someone in the computer room, which is adjacent to the bell tower entrance, spotted Louise leaving the tower a few minutes before Billie’s body was found. Louise told me Billie arrived shortly after she did and shoved her out of the way just before she reached the first landing. Said Billie called her an old fossil on her way up the stairs.”

  “What was Ranston’s reaction?”

  “He kept asking her if that’s the only thing that happened. Louise got the idea he didn’t believe her. Not about the fossil comment, but the fact that Louise told him nothing else happened.”

  “Heavens. All he had to do was take one look at Louise and he’d realize there’s no way she could have gotten to the top of the tower with the strength and stamina to give Billie a hearty shove down the stairs.”

  “Well, one thing for sure,” my mother said. “The murder had to have happened once Louise left. Face it, she’d have noticed if a body went sailing down those steps while she was doing her cardio thing.”

  “Not a murder. It’s an incident. An unfortunate incident.”

  “Call it what you want, Phee, but a mangled body at the base of a tower
is not an unfortunate incident. It’s a crime scene.”

  “Why don’t we wait until a further determination can be made? And let me clarify, a further, substantiated determination by law enforcement.”

  “If you’re referring to Deputy Ranston and his obnoxious partner, it’ll be a long wait.”

  “Uh-huh. And what did you mean by mangled body? Who said anything about a mangled body?”

  “The woman fell from the tower to the ground. It goes without saying the body would be mangled.”

  I shuddered and took a deep breath. “Fine. Mangled. Did Louise say anything else?”

  “No, but Deputy Ranston did. He told her not to leave town. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Ranston’s now reciting the lines from the late-night TV crime shows.”

  “For your information, Louise was quite shaken up. But I told her not to worry. I reassured her that if anything came of that little talk with the deputy, your boss and your boyfriend would step in and set things straight.”

  “What? How could you make such a statement? What were you thinking?”

  “I had to say something that would put her mind at ease.”

  Terrific. Louise Munson’s mind is now at ease while mine is twisting and contorting all over the place.

  “Don’t make any promises or commitments to anyone, Mom. Nate and Marshall have enough on their plate. For your information, they’re dealing with a highly sensitive equine matter.”

  “You mean a horse theft?”

  “Yeah, a horse theft.”

  “Hmm, that’s a first. I mean, this is the southwest and all, but I haven’t heard of any horse thefts and I’ve been living in the valley for ages.”

  “You’ve been living in a senior community. Cars and golf carts.”

  “And a pending murder.”

  “Arragh.”

  My head was spinning when I got off the phone, and once again, I rubbed my temples. This time because I knew what was coming―endless phone calls back and forth among the book club ladies. Each call embellishing the incident. And while Louise was questioned by Deputy Ranston, I had no reason to believe she’d be a suspect. Getting elbowed in a stairwell was hardly a motive for murder. If it was murder.