Broadcast 4 Murder Read online

  “I don’t have a statement,” I said to Deputy Ranston. “I drove here and walked in seconds before you arrived.”

  “Anything could happen in a matter of seconds.”

  “Oh brother.” I tried not to roll my eyes and instead wound up grimacing. “I’ll make my statement clear and succinct. ‘I thought something might have gone wrong at the radio station when Mother’s show went off the air. I drove here from my place of work at Williams Investigations and saw my mother, her friend Myrna, and the posse member standing in front of the closet. End of story.’”

  “Not so fast,” Deputy Ranston said. “You indicated you saw your mother and her friend standing in front of the closet. What I’d like to know is why they were there to begin with.”

  “I can answer that,” Myrna said. “I was about to talk when I got a frog in my throat. I remembered George Fowler telling us there were cartons of water in the closet if we got thirsty. So, I got up while Harriet was talking and went to get myself a bottle of water. I don’t drink tap water. God knows what’s in it. Anyway, when I opened the door, that’s when I saw the body. And that’s when I said to Harriet, ‘Do something! Someone’s been murdered. ’”

  “She’s right,” my mother added. “Myrna did say that. I thought she was getting carried away with our broadcast, but then she opened the closet door wide and stepped aside. That’s when I saw those feet sticking straight out. I jumped up to get a better look and knocked into the transmitter or whatever they call that thing. I don’t know how long we were staring at the body, but all of sudden, a posse volunteer came inside. Said someone called nine-one-one. You don’t suppose it was the killer, do you? I’ve heard those crazed people do things like that.”

  Yep. And equally crazy people announce to the world that a killer could be inside the local radio station. I’m surprised this place isn’t teeming with curiosity seekers.

  I looked directly at my mother. “Augusta called nine-one-one and I drove right over here. Frankly, we weren’t about to take any chances.”

  Just then, Deputy Bowman’s phone rang and he shushed us. All I could hear was his end of the conversation.

  “Fifteen or twenty people outside? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He rubbed his chin and shuddered. “What? No, I don’t need crowd control.”

  Then he glared at my mother and Myrna. “On second thought, yes. Send the posse volunteers. And the marked cars. Don’t know what to expect.”

  At that instant, the forensics crew entered the room, followed by a pencil-thin woman sporting a jacket that read “coroner.” Deputies Bowman and Ranston spoke briefly with them before turning their attention back to us.

  “Is there another room around here we can use for questioning?” Deputy Bowman asked.

  George Fowler looked at his wrist. “If you hurry, we can use the Stampede room for the next half hour. Then the poker club takes over, and believe me, you don’t want to turn them away. It could get ugly.”

  Deputy Bowman started for the door. “Fine. A half hour. We should be able to wrap things up by then.”

  We exited the radio station’s broadcast room and walked fifteen or so feet down the hall to a large area that was obviously set up for card playing.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I really need to get back to work.”

  The two deputies eyeballed each other and Deputy Ranston replied, “Fine, we’ll be in touch.”

  “Stop by the house on your way home from work,” my mother said. “With your boss or your boyfriend. Better yet, bring both of them. For all we know, the person who killed poor Howard Buell could have it in for all of us.”

  I was about to respond to her demand but thought better of it. “You’ll be fine. I’ll call you in a little while.”

  The fifteen or twenty people Deputy Bowman mentioned had now grown to at least thirty. The crowd practically engulfed the small parking lot in front of the radio station’s entrance. Two posse volunteers with bright orange vests stood between the entrance and the curiosity seekers or “road yentas,” as my mother would say.

  The second the door closed behind me, people began to shout.

  “Is it true there’s a killer in there?”

  “Who was murdered? Someone said something about murder.”

  “Is this a hostage situation? Where’s the SWAT team?”

  “Everything’s under control,” I bellowed into the crowd. “Let the sheriff’s office do its job.”

  I scanned the area for my car, hoping it wasn’t blocked in by the melee. That was the second I noticed Cecilia Flanagan and Shirley Johnson from my mother’s Booked 4 Murder book club waving their hands in the air.

  “Over here, Phee!” one of them shouted, but I couldn’t tell which one.

  I wove through the crowd until I reached them. Without wasting a second, we skirted to the edge of the building, away from the madness.

  Cecilia pulled her black cardigan sweater across her chest and proceeded to button it up. “Are Harriet and Myrna all right? Shirley and I were only a few yards away at the little Buzz coffee shop at the fitness center and everyone was listening to the show.”

  “They’re fine,” I said. “Just a bit shaken up.”

  Then, out of the blue, Shirley took a deep breath and then another. “Scissors. I got a frantic phone call from your mother just as we were on our way here. Said she had to make it quick because they weren’t supposed to call anyone. Harriet told me the body was stabbed with a pair of scissors. What kind of scissors? Tell me. I need to know. What kind of scissors?”

  What does she mean, what kind of scissors? Scissors are scissors, aren’t they? Except for the size, of course. Or does she mean the brand name?

  “Um, they looked large, if that’s any help; why?”

  “Oh Lordy. Please tell me. Were they pinking shears or paper-cutting scissors?”

  I bit my lip and shrugged. “I don’t think it matters. The guy was dead.”

  “Tell me one thing: Were the eye rings on the scissors gold?”

  “Uh, come to think of it, yeah. In fact, my mother and Myrna had a name for them.”

  “Gingher. Were they Ginghers?”

  I gave her a nod, and next thing I knew, she clutched her chest and all but keeled over. “I’m going to be arrested for murder. Oh Lordy, someone needs to call my lawyer.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Off to my left the crowd had swelled, and so had the number of volunteer posse members.

  “Come on,” I said, “we’d better not stand here talking. Our voices can carry. Wait here. I’ll get my car and we can talk in there. Give me a few seconds to get around the crowd.”

  I didn’t wait for Shirley or Cecilia to respond. I hurried over to where I had parked the vehicle and, miraculously, I was able to maneuver it around the throng of radio listeners who didn’t want to miss the latest breaking news.

  “Hurry! Get in! I’ll pull over to the dog park area and we can chat. It doesn’t look too busy right now.”

  Shirley got in the front seat and Cecilia took the one directly behind me. I parked along the edge of the lot, equidistant from the bocce courts and the dogs. “So, what’s this about needing a lawyer? My mother and Myrna were pretty certain those were Vernadeen Stibbens’s shears sticking up from the man’s gut.”

  “Vernadeen all but sleeps with those scissors of hers,” Cecilia said. “And hers are engraved with a stylized ‘VS’ on one of the blades. She did a presentation at my church for the ladies’ club. That’s how I know.”

  “Those could still be her scissors,” I said. “No one has examined them carefully.”

  Shirley grabbed my wrist and shook it. “They could be. But I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have gone to Iowa without them.”

  Believe me, I could think of lots of things I wouldn’t travel without, and scissors wouldn’t be one of them. Then again, I wasn’t a seamstress like Vernadeen.

  “Um, so, what makes you think those are your scissors?”

/>   Shirley released my wrist and wrung her hands. “Someone stole my scissors a week ago. I had them in my special Vera Bradley bag, the one with extra inside pouches, and when I got home from the Rip ’n’ Sew Club, they were missing.”

  “Maybe they’re still in the club’s workroom,” I offered.

  “That’s what I thought, too, but when I went back to check, they weren’t there. Oh Lordy, if my fingerprints are found on those scissors, they’ll be sending me up the river for sure.”

  Then she turned her head and faced Cecilia. “You will come visit me, won’t you? And bring the book club ladies?”

  I tried to keep the pitch in my voice to an even tone, but it didn’t work. “No one is visiting anyone in prison. Besides, what possible motive could you have for murdering the programming director for the radio station?”

  “Oh my God!” Shirley reached over to grab my wrist again, but I moved it out of her way. “We’re heathens. Absolute heathens. We never even bothered to ask who was killed. Oh Lordy, Cecilia, you and I are going to share some little corner in hell that will make Dante’s Inferno look like Disneyland.”

  “I’m not sharing that corner with you. A table or booth at Bagels ’N More maybe, but not some steaming pit in hell, if that’s what you’re thinking. Besides, we don’t even know who the programming director is, do we?”

  Shirley shook her head. “I doubt it, Cecilia.”

  “It’s someone named Howard Buell,” I said, “but I don’t think that news is supposed to be released until the sheriff’s office contacts the next of kin.”

  Cecilia leaned forward until her head was directly between mine and Shirley’s. “Howard Buell? Howard Maynard Buell?”

  “Um, I’m not sure of the middle name. Why? Do you know him?”

  Cecilia’s voice started to crack. “I think so, but I didn’t know he was the programming director for the radio station. If it’s who I think it is, I can’t imagine why anyone would kill him.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Hattie Buell’s husband. Hattie and I were on the refreshment committee for the fortieth anniversary of Sun City West a few years back. She passed away over a year ago. No children.”

  I glanced at Shirley. “Did you know him?”

  She shook her head and began to cry. “Lordy, that poor widowed man, and now I’ll be suspect number one.”

  “Get a hold of yourself. You didn’t even know him. Every murder needs a motive, a means, and an opportunity. If, indeed, it turns out that those scissors are yours, you can explain, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be offering up any information until I was asked.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Cecilia said, “If you go running off to the sheriff’s office, they’ll get suspicious and think you have something to hide.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Sure it does. They’ll think you made up that story about the lost scissors just to cover your rear.”

  Shirley moaned. “So what should I do?”

  I looked at her and then at Cecilia. “Nothing right now. Let the sheriff’s office complete its investigation. If you’re contacted, call me. Meanwhile, I’ll give Nate and Marshall the heads-up. If need be, I’m sure they’ll help you. Listen, I really need to get back to work. I’d drive you to your car, but that crowd’s impossible. I’ll get you as close as I can.”

  “Don’t get us too close,” Cecilia said. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the KPHO News van over by the Men’s Club building. I don’t want to get on camera. It makes you look ten pounds heavier.”

  Sure enough, the KPHO van was in front, and it wasn’t the only one. Channels 10, 12, and 15 were all lined up as well.

  “Remember, don’t mention Howard Buell’s name to anyone until the news of his death is made public.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” Cecilia said. “Our lips are sealed.”

  Terrific. Their lips are sealed, but their emails are wide open.

  “Oh look!” she continued. “That’s Louise Munson over there. You can drop us off by her car. We’ll be fine. We’ll stick around until they let your mother and Myrna out of there. They must be nervous wrecks by now.”

  Surprisingly, not as nervous as one would think. Then again, it could be a delayed reaction.

  “Okay. Try not to get all worked up. I’m sure the sheriff’s office will catch the real killer. Nice seeing you again.”

  Who was I kidding? Since when did the sheriff’s office catch the real perpetrators? It was only when Williams Investigations was called in to consult that the killers were apprehended. Anyway, Marshall was stuck chasing after some guy in a custodial interference case and Nate had enough on his plate with Home Products Plus.

  I took the back way out of the parking lot after dropping them off, thus avoiding the commotion in front of the Men’s Club. A quick glance told me the pickleball players had taken a break in their action to zero in on what was behind door number two.

  So much for a leisurely lunch break. I’d have to make up the time eating at my desk. At least my mother and Myrna were all right, and that was all that mattered. Marshall called me later in the day to inform me that he had tracked down the dad in Florence, only to learn the man was now in Benson, staying with friends. It was a long drive and it meant an overnight in Tucson or Sierra Vista before getting on the road again to finalize the case.

  I gave him the abbreviated version of the radio station incident, trying not to use the word “murder,” but he was a seasoned detective after all, and I should have known better.

  “You sure your mom’s okay? And what about you?”

  “Me? I’m fine. Okay, maybe not exactly fine since I saw the body with the scissors in the gut, but really, I’m fine. As for my mother and Myrna, I don’t think it has hit them yet. I’m stopping by the house after work. By then, she should be totally unraveled.”

  “Unraveled or unglued?”

  “Unraveled. Shirley was the one who was unglued, but I’ll tell you about that when we have more time. Stay safe. Promise me.”

  “I will. Talk to you tonight, hon. Miss you.”

  Augusta thought I had given Shirley good advice about not throwing herself at the mercy of the sheriff’s office, but Nate had a slightly different take. It was late in the day and I finally found a few minutes to let him know what had happened in Sun City West.

  “I always like to be upfront with these things,” he said, “because they have a funny way of coming back to bite you.”

  “So you think I should call Shirley and have her report the missing scissors?”

  “Hell, when you phrase it that way, it sounds like a kindergarten teacher completing a supply loss form. And before you give me one of your quizzical looks, I’ve had my share of checking into petty pilferings at schools. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind doing that again. It beats the heck out of the tangled web I’m dealing with now. The product depletion at Home Products Plus is staggering. I’m positive it’s an inside job with lots of tentacles.”

  “So, about Shirley . . .”

  “I’ve got a decent rapport with Bowman and Ranston. I’ll give one of them a call and see what I can find out. Meanwhile, I’d tell your mother to proceed with caution around that radio station. Unless, of course, they decide to call it quits.”

  “And miss their opportunity to be on the air? You’ve got to be kidding. They’ll show up all right, only it will be with an arsenal of self-defense products beginning with those Screamers Myrna bought a while back. To be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they came armed with bear spray or something equally heinous. Myrna stocked up on the stuff last year at Cabela’s when someone thought there was a stalker in the neighborhood. It turned out to be some poor man with Alzheimer’s who kept getting out of his caregiver’s house.”

  “Oh brother.”

  “Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

  “You’ve got it, kiddo.”

  If nothing else, I was right about one thi
ng—the delayed reaction. Howard Buell’s untimely demise hit my mother later that evening when I stopped by after work. I expected to see at least two or three classic Buicks parked in front of her house, but there were no cars belonging to the book club ladies. There was, however, a visitor who’d hoofed it from across the street. Herb Garrett wasn’t about to miss out on a firsthand description of a possible murder victim.

  “Hey, Cutie!” he announced the minute I set foot in the door. “Your mother told me what she and Myrna discovered at KSCW today. I should’ve listened to their radio show instead of watching Dr. Phil.”

  “That’ll be a lesson to you, Herb.” My mother motioned for me to sit on the couch across from him. “I even left the radio turned on to the station for Streetman. Oh poor, poor Streetman. No wonder he’s under the couch. He’s probably still traumatized from hearing Myrna scream. I’m certain he hasn’t forgotten about that grim discovery in the Galbraiths’ backyard this past fall.”

  Or that ghastly hoop-shirt Christmas tree outfit you had him try on.

  Then, my mother turned to me. “If you must know, Phee, I’m practically beside myself over this morning’s nightmare. One minute Myrna was off getting a bottle of water and the next she was face-to-face with a corpse. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight. I don’t know what was protruding more, the man’s stomach or those scissors.”

  At that instant Herb sucked in his gut. “The man was practically a target for every kook and nut case in this community who fancied themselves the next radio show sensation.”

  “You knew him?” I asked.

  “We have the same dentist. That’s how I got to know him, and that’s how our Pinochle Pointers show got on the air. Say, we’ve got a good segment coming up this Thursday about scoring tricks. You should tune in.”

  “No one’s interested in that, Herb,” my mother said. “Not when there’s a murderer running around loose. Good grief, we don’t even know if it was premeditated, or one of those awful acts of violence for no apparent reason. If the lips on those sheriff’s deputies were sealed any tighter, it would take a complete set of pocket tools to pry them open.”