Saddled Up 4 Murder Read online

  I began to relax. There was no justifiable reason for the book club ladies to insist I snoop around to find out who could have had it in for Billie C. No reason whatsoever. Or so I thought.

  Marshall phoned me at quarter to five explaining that he and Nate were still in Wickenburg and Nate’s prior appointment had to be rescheduled. They had reviewed the footage from the barn’s security camera and had completed preliminary interviews with the staff. Now they were headed to the neighbors’ houses and weren’t sure what time they’d be back.

  “Get yourself something to eat, hon,” Marshall said. “Nate and I will fend for ourselves on the way home, whenever that’ll be. Tell Augusta to lock up and we’ll see her in the morning.”

  I knew that the first forty-eight hours following a crime were the most important. Especially when it came to kidnapping, or horse-napping in this case. I gave Augusta the message and went back to my spreadsheets. Thankfully the only phone calls our office received for the remainder of the day were ones associated with our business. Too bad that little piece of Nirvana didn’t last in the week ahead.

  Marshall arrived home at a little past seven. Tired, headachy, and thirsty.

  “That’ll teach me for ordering spicy nachos at a local cantina in Wickenburg,” he said. “I should have played it safe and ordered a salad.” He poured himself a glass of filtered water from the fridge and sank into the closest kitchen chair. “There were only two neighbors spread out over twenty acres but it took forever.”

  “Any leads?”

  “Not really. We’ve got a few more people to chat with tomorrow so it looks like another hectic day. I’ll stick around the office in the morning to handle our current cases while Nate heads back to Wickenburg. I suppose you had a quiet day at the office, huh?”

  “The office, yes. Sun City West, no.”

  Marshall took another gulp of water before putting the glass on the table. “Do I dare ask?”

  “Only if you want to add heartburn to your other ailments.”

  Chapter 4

  The nightly news confirmed everything I told Marshall. Only instead of half-baked theories from my mother’s friends, it was the news anchors who had their own take on the matter. No sooner did they relay the facts that “the body of a woman who appeared to be in her fifties was found at the base of the Sun City West’s tower stairwell,” when they immediately launched into the usual banter, leaving the viewers to reach their own conclusions regarding the cause of death.

  “Until next of kin can be notified,” the female anchor explained, “the name is being withheld. We will keep our audience apprised of the situation as we learn more. Be sure to stay tuned to KPHO for all the latest news.”

  “Forgot KPHO,” I announced. “I have Harriet Plunkett, the voice of Greater Phoenix and beyond.” Granted, I was being a tad sardonic, but I never, in my wildest imagination, thought for one iota of a second that my mother not only honored that position but would do everything in her power to retain that reputation, even if it meant suckering me into finding out who killed the deli-witch.

  • • •

  It was Thursday when the preliminary cause of death was made public―a fall as a result of an altercation. Terms like defensive wounds combined with a graphic depiction of what happens to someone when their body falls from four or five stories aboveground were all over the news channels. Not to mention the local radio stations and social media. And while the death hadn’t been deemed a homicide, it certainly met the bill for manslaughter. As for the degree, it was anyone’s guess.

  Billie C.’s full name and marital status became public knowledge as well. Willameena Addison Churl, single. With a name like that, it was no wonder people said she was in a perpetual bad mood. It would be weeks before a full toxicology report was available but the sheriff’s office was fairly certain she died as the result of trauma and not something she ingested. As part of the ongoing investigation, they kept the library tower off limits and the crime scene tape was still plastered across the entryway.

  “How long does it take for that forensic crew to gather up whatever they need and reopen the tower?” my mother exclaimed when she phoned me on Thursday. I had finished sending out some invoices and was about to tackle a few more from the pile when Augusta had bellowed, “Your mother is on the line,” and transferred the call to my office.

  “Uh, hi, Mom. I guess as long as it takes to complete the investigation. Why? You don’t exercise on those steps and Louise can always use Palm Ridge.”

  “It’s not about the exercise. Louise can buy a mini-stool and go up and down those steps. It’s about the Bye Bye Birdie event. If they don’t open that tower, we won’t be able to have our grand send-off with the balloons and Myrna, Paul, and I won’t be able to announce the festivities from the tower.”

  Why didn’t I see this coming?

  “The event is what? About three or four weeks from now? Give or take a day or so? That’s plenty of time.”

  Oh, who am I kidding?

  My mother screeched, “In what world? In what world will that suspicious death be solved in three weeks? Give or take a few days.”

  I knew she was right but the last thing I needed was to get involved. Especially since the past week had been so stressful for Nate and Marshall.

  “Can’t you make the announcements from the radio station or a makeshift table in front of the library?”

  “It’s not the same thing. No other community has a bell tower and no other community hosts an event of this magnitude. It’ll be on the evening news, the nightly news, and the next day early-bird morning news. In fact, Gloria Wong told me the Sonoran Living show might do a segment about it. She heard that from her hairdresser.”

  Oh, yeah. Another reliable source . . .

  “It hasn’t even been a week. Perhaps―”

  “I knew you’d offer to help. Thank goodness.”

  Huh? What? Since when is the word perhaps considered an offer?

  “I think you should begin with Cindy Dolton at the dog park. She’ll know who was gunning for that deli-witch. Streetman will be overjoyed. He loves getting to the park at dawn.”

  Good for him. I don’t exactly love getting to the park at dawn.

  “Look, I’ve got a really busy schedule, so―”

  “I’ll have him ready by six. That way you’ll have plenty of time to drop him off and get to work when you’re done. I bought some to-go cups so I can even give you a cup of coffee to take with you to the park. I’ll reheat what’s left in the pot.”

  “Uh, no. That won’t be necessary. Not at all. I’ll get coffee on the way over.”

  I could have slapped myself the second those words came out of my mouth. It wasn’t the first time my mother got me so flustered that I agreed to take the dog to the park, and sadly, I knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Fine. Six o’clock. Is he off probation? I need to be sure. People ask.”

  “Yes. He’s been off his second probation for over a month. It’s not his fault he likes other dogs.”

  Streetman gave new meaning to the term “public displays of affection.” And a new adjective to go along with it―“unwanted.”

  “Is Aunt Ina back from her meditation retreat or whatever the heck that was?”

  “She and your uncle Louis should be home by the weekend. They must not have Wi-Fi where she is because I haven’t heard a word from her. Just as well. She’d be pestering me with all sorts of questions. You can’t imagine how annoying that is.”

  If it were possible to grimace and roll my eyes at the same time, I would have done so. Instead, I muttered “Uh-huh” and told her I’d see her and the dog in the morning.

  As it turned out, Marshall had an early start to the next day as well. After canvassing the neighboring ranches, he and Nate learned that the three horses stolen from the Dancing Caballeros weren’t the only ones. Two trail horses, which were more pets than horses, were taken from one ranch, leaving a six-year-old boy and his younger sister d
evastated according to the parents. Like Perry, they, too, had called the Arizona Department of Agriculture. And like Perry, they also notified their insurance agent of the loss. It was hard to wrap my head around the fact horses were property and were part of the owner’s insurance package, but with values that could exceed thirty thousand dollars, I suppose it made sense. Still, it wouldn’t compensate for the loss of a pet.

  “Was that it?” I asked as he hurried to get dressed. “Five horses?”

  Marshall shook his head. “Seven. The neighboring ranchette, for lack of a better word, had one of their geldings taken as well. Also a young quarter horse. The owner told us the horse was one of their best trail riding horses that didn’t spook easily. He reported the theft to the sheriff’s office and was referred to the livestock services field staff. When he learned Perry hired us to investigate, he asked about retaining our services as well.”

  “How valuable are these horses? Do you think they’re being traded on a black market somewhere?”

  “Quite possible. But why all of sudden? And why trail horses? Sure, they’re valuable, but certainly not the same caliber as racing horses or horses used for dressage. Then again, I’ve learned not to dismiss anything when it’s early on in an investigation. And this one’s turning out to be a doozy. The case ballooned overnight.”

  We headed to the kitchen, where Marshall opened the fridge and swallowed a V8. “Got to run. Augusta agreed to do some of the preliminary research on our easier cases in order for Nate and me to concentrate on this one. We’re off to Wickenburg again. Let’s face it, seven stolen horses all in the same time frame . . . it has to be connected.”

  He gave me a hug and a soft kiss on my cheek before grabbing his cell phone and charging to the garage. “I’ll keep you posted, hon. At least our investigative work doesn’t involve a persnickety little chiweenie. Look on the bright side, any intel you pick up may help the sheriff’s office with their investigation.”

  “Forget the sheriff’s office. It’ll get my mother off my back. And one step closer to a guest appearance on Sonoran Living.”

  “Huh?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you tonight. I’m making a healthy chicken salad for dinner so don’t fill up.”

  Next thing I knew, I heard the garage door open and close. It was five ten and a hazy sunrise crept over the horizon in shades of mauve and yellow. I got dressed quickly and was behind the wheel of my car in less than twenty minutes. No sense fussing in the kitchen with Dunkin’ and Starbucks in every plaza between Vistancia and Sun City West.

  My mother’s porch light and the overhead garage door motion-sensor light were both on when I pulled into her driveway. She’d either gone out to retrieve the morning paper or a coyote had skirted past the house. Seconds later, the motion light went out.

  I walked to the security door, rang the bell, and all but jumped when she flung open the front door. “Have you been standing guard at the door?”

  “Streetman was getting antsy.”

  Looking down at the little chiweenie, I realized he had wrapped his leash around his legs. I went to unravel it when my mother stopped me. “Whatever you do, don’t touch his paws. He goes ballistic.”

  “Then you do it.”

  “Honestly, Phee.”

  My mother bent down, waved one hand in front of the dog and used the other to unwind the leash. “It’s much easier when he’s distracted.” Then, she furrowed her brow and looked at me. “Do you suppose that’s what happened to Billie in the tower? Someone distracted her and then tossed her down the stairs?”

  “The news anchors all said ‘a fall resulting from an altercation.’ Look, either way, she probably knew her assailant.”

  “And hopefully today, you’ll find out who that was.”

  “Mom, Cindy Dolton may be a wealth of information”—or rumor and hearsay—“but I doubt she’s clairvoyant.”

  “She’s not the only source of information in that park. Noodle around. I’d do it myself, but every time I go in there, all I get are complaints about the dog.”

  No kidding.

  Then she gave the dog a pat on his head and told him what a good boy he was. I all but gagged.

  Chapter 5

  Streetman jumped into the passenger seat, curled into a ball, and proceeded to enjoy a seven-minute nap while I drove to the dog park. For a city where barely a soul can be spotted on the streets after seven thirty at night, the opposite held true at six fifteen a.m.

  The pickleball courts were packed, the bowling alley appeared to be doing a brisk business, and folks were elbow to elbow at the outdoor track. The parking lot in front of the pool resembled a concert night at the state fair and the benches at the bocce court were filled to capacity.

  I gave the library bell tower a cursory glance when I pulled into the Rec Center’s sprawling parking lot. It was odd that no one had noticed any commotion at the top of the tower on the day of Billie’s fall to death. The bell tower was open on all four sides with arched columns and a ledge surrounding it. If there was a struggle, as the postmortem indicated, wouldn’t a passerby have noticed something? Then again, who looks at the top of the bell tower? Too much else going on below.

  As I rounded the corner of the lot, a silver KIA Sorento pulled out and I immediately nabbed the parking space. “Come on, Streetman,” I said. “Time for your grand entrance. And whatever you do, behave!”

  The dog yanked so hard on his leash I all but fell forward on my way into the dog park. Like the morning hotspots, this was SRO as well. Once unleashed, Streetman made a mad dive for the nearest tree and proceeded to water it.

  “Is that Harriet Plunkett’s dog?” a lady in light blue capris and a floral top shouted.

  Oh, crap. We haven’t even been here one full minute.

  “Yes, it’s Streetman. I’m Harriet’s daughter.” Heaven help me.

  The woman walked toward me. “I thought that was him. He looked absolutely adorable in that leprechaun outfit last March. You wouldn’t happen to know who sewed it?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was pile more work on Shirley’s plate. She had such a kind heart, she’d never turn anyone down, even if it meant turning her own schedule inside out.

  “One of my mother’s friends, I think. You can always ask her next time you see her in the park.”

  Just then, the brief eight-bell chime from the library tower rang out, signifying the half hour. The woman glanced at the tower and shuddered. “Horrible thing what happened a few days ago. Although I can’t say I’m all broken up over the loss. I suppose you’ve heard all about it. Everyone has. I really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but that woman could destroy someone’s good mood in a matter of seconds.”

  “Uh, did you know her?”

  “I had the misfortune of being waited on by her at the deli. Talk about rude. I once placed my order, and when she was done, I remembered that I had forgotten something. I asked her to please give me a quarter pound of olive loaf. She sighed as if I’d told her to climb Mount Rushmore. Then, when she finished, she slapped it down in front of me and asked, “Did you forget anything else?”

  “Too bad I was running late for my canasta game or I would have gone to the manager.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard she wasn’t the most pleasant employee.”

  “That’s an understatement. If she was that insufferable at her place of employment, I hate to think what she was like elsewhere. Being rude to customers isn’t a motive for murder, so I figure she had to have done something really horrific to wind up like a plate of cooked squash at the base of the tower stairs.”

  I recoiled at the image and glanced behind me to see what the dog was up to. So far so good. Sniffing and lifting his leg.

  “Other than the deli, did you know anything else about her?”

  “She was in the Boomers club. That much I do know. My friend Julia Ornstern is in that club and knew her. She said Billie, that’s the woman’s name, had no patience for anyone who moved
slower than she did. According to Julia, Billie nearly drowned someone during a water volleyball game. Said she shoved the person out of the way to get to the ball and the poor woman lost her balance and went under.”

  “Holy cow.”

  “I know, right? Oh, you’ll have to excuse me. Kugel, that’s my dog, is at the gate. He’s ready to go. Nice chatting with you.”

  I was about to ask her name but she was gone in a split second. Streetman was still moseying around the park and thankfully no one registered any complaints. There were at least fifteen people seated at the benches or strolling around. I eyeballed the place for a short, stocky gray-haired lady, but no luck. Usually Cindy plants herself by the fence adjacent to the tennis courts, but maybe I had arrived too early. Or, heaven forbid, too late. I figured I’d wait a few minutes to see if she’d show.

  There was an empty seat next to a heavyset man who looked as if he hadn’t seen his razor in a week. I said hi and plopped myself down. Thirty seconds later the gate flung open and a closely shaved white dog charged inside. It took me another five seconds to realize it was Bundles, Cindy’s dog. She must have gotten him clipped for the summer.

  Sure enough, Cindy came through the gate, saw me, and waved. I immediately walked toward her. “Good morning. I almost didn’t recognize Bundles without all that fluffy white hair.”

  “I know,” she said. “I had to get him groomed before the heat kicks in. I use Dapper Doggie Groomer. Where does Harriet take Streetman?”

  I laughed. “She doesn’t. Unless she wants a lawsuit from the groomer. He turns into Cujo the minute anyone goes near him with a pair of clippers. So, she figured out how to trim him herself using pet scissors and bribing him with deli meats. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”