Finally! Friday came around and good news wafted our way. Well, at least it seemed as though it did when Nate breezed through the door an hour or so later. His voice was chipper and faster than usual. “May have gotten a break today,” I heard him say to Augusta through my open door. I immediately stepped out.
“What kind of break?”
“When the museum gave us the employee list, it was the abbreviated copy. First name, last name. I sent it to Rolo for further scrutiny and guess what?”
“What?” Augusta and I asked at once.
“Seems they had a night security employee by the name of Darleen Turk Westly four years ago. Her name appeared as Dar Westly so it got passed over.”
Augusta sat up straight and moved closer to the edge of her desk. “One of the Turk sisters, I presume? And don’t those night security workers have keys to everything?”
Nate nodded. “Appears that way. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily spell theft, but it sure spells coincidence. And that’s not all. Bowman and Ranston got the lab report back on the miniature Phee found in the parking lot. The forensics techs compared it with the one from the diorama and they were carved from the same wood.”
“Isn’t wood, wood, Mr. Williams?” Augusta had moved so close to the edge of her desk, I thought she’d fall forward.
“Not the type of wood, the exact piece of wood. Both miniatures came from the same log, or slab, or whatever you call it. Easy to infer that the same person carved both of them.”
“Oh my gosh!” I tapped my foot without realizing it until Augusta pointed to the floor. “That means someone who was in or around the auto restoration garage also made an appearance at the museum.”
“Not an appearance. A calculated act. We’ve still got a long way to go on this, but—cripes—What are the odds that the museum theft is connected to the auto restoration garage? One in a zillion?”
“Can’t say I’m surprised, Mr. Williams.” Augusta moved back to her usual spot at the desk and glanced at her computer screen.
Nate chuckled. “Me either. Marshall called Darleen and they’re meeting at the auto garage. It was either that or the posse office.”
Against my better judgment, I let my mother know what was going on and she, in turn, promised to “light a fire” under Cecilia to find out if anyone who made miniatures for her church was connected to the auto garage. Good. I was off the hook for now. Or so I thought.
Two hours later, my mother called back.
“We’re going to regroup at Bagels ’n More tomorrow morning. The tide is turning. The ship is coming to shore. The—”
“For goodness sakes, Mom. I don’t know what book your club is reading now, but enough with the cliches. And what do you mean by ‘regroup’?”
“The buy-sell-trade event is coming up soon and the auto restoration club needs to get past those disturbing events.”
Or closer to Jay Leno?
“You mean murder and attempted murder?”
“I was trying to be euphemistic. Anyway, the book club ladies will be meeting to take an inventory of where we are with our unofficial investigation.”
“What about the men?” Please don’t tell me they’re coming, too.
“It’s only us women. We can’t get anything done with them around. They have absolutely no concentration. None whatsoever. And if a good-looking waitress walks by, Herb is useless for at least a half hour.”
“What do you hope to accomplish? Other than gossip and whine.”
“Don’t be snarky. We need to see what steps we should take next.”
“You’re not the detectives. And neither am I.”
“No, we have a vested interest. Truly vested.”
“Vested as in being seen with a celebrity?”
“That, too. Face it, no senior community wants a killer running loose. We aren’t as quick or agile as we once were.”
“No, but you’re smart and clever. That counts for something. Have fun tomorrow with your ‘regroup.’”
“Oh, I thought you’d be joining us. I was counting on it. We all were.”
Just then, I heard Marshall’s voice and cut to the quick with my call. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Got to run.” With that, I ended the call and walked out of my office and stood in front of Marshall, blocking his way to the coffee maker. “Hey there! Nate said you followed up on that lead with Darleen. Any luck? Augusta and I are chomping at the bit to find out.”
“Phee’s the one who’s chomping. I always take things in stride.” Augusta fluffed her hair and sat straight up.
Marshall chuckled. “Darleen was elusive, let’s put it that way. But she didn’t argue the fact that she did work at the museum while she was still married to some ‘nitwit.’”
“What’s your take on it?” I asked.
“She’s holding back. That’s where Rolo will come in. Whatever she’s hiding, he’ll dig it up.”
“Better hope it’s not a body.” Augusta continued fluffing her hair.
“I’m hoping these mismatched puzzle pieces come together. Luella was the intended paint booth victim and Kevelyn was most likely the perpetrator, even if she wasn’t the woman in the wig from the other night. But as far as anyone knows, there’s no connection between those women and the museum. Unless Darleen fits into the mix, and that’s something we don’t know yet.”
“I’m banking on Rolo and that dark web of his. Mainly because I don’t want to wind up coaxing information from Cindy Dolton in the dog park again. Streetman’s done enough damage as far as I’m concerned.”
“I don’t think your mother sees it quite that way, hon.”
“Did the deputies mention their next move?” Augusta asked.
“They’re looking into more details regarding those mechanical instructions that were found under the dead cat in Betsy’s yard. Lots of legwork. Should keep them occupied for a while.”
I walked to the Keurig and plopped in a K-Cup. “Too bad their safe-hunting expedition with Betsy’s ex didn’t work out.”
“I’m sure they’ll come up with other leads. Meantime, I’ve got to get started on some of our smaller cases, as well as some further interviews with Jared and Holt. One of them might be able to identify a link between Darleen, Luella, and Betsy. Other than the obvious auto restoration club.”
“What about Aimee? According to Wayne, she’s been quite the Girl Scout.”
“Not sure if Darleen will agree. For sisters, they’re not on the best terms.”
“That’s why I’m glad I was an only child,” Augusta announced. “Of course, I had to deal with a passel of nincompoop cousins, but at least they went home at the end of the day.”
Marshall all but choked. “Good to know. Thanks for sharing.”
With a full load of work at my desk, I completely forgot about calling my mother back. Unfortunately, she didn’t. She left one message with Augusta while I went out to get us lunch, and another on my cell phone. Both imploring me to attend the “regroup” at Bagels ’n More in the morning.
“That regroup will be more like re-gurgitate once I get there,” I said to Augusta. “If I get there.”
“Can’t say I blame you, but you always manage to eke out information from those brunches. Besides, who can pass up their apple cinnamon bagels or their double chocolate chip ones?”
“Ugh, I suppose you’re right. But do me a favor. Call or text me so I can make an excuse to leave.”
“Coward!”
“It’s self-preservation.”
• • •
The next morning, I found myself once again at Bagels ’n More with my mother’s book club. Surprisingly, even my aunt Ina made it because Uncle Louis was sleeping in after a late-night gig in Fountain Hills.
Myrna and Louise studied the well-worn menu while Cecilia used the paper napkins to clean/polish her silverware. First by dipping an end of it into her water glass, and then rubbing the daylights out of the utensils. Meanwhile, my mother and Shirley looked at photos of Streetman and Essie, leaving me to chitchat with Lucinda and my aunt.
Finally, my mother looked up from her cell phone and announced, “Once we place our orders, we’ll need to get down to serious business. I take it none of us was able to find anything of importance while we tagged along with the men at the garage.”
“I found out Bill turns his socks inside out so he doesn’t have to wash them right away,” Lucinda said.
I cringed and did a mental eye roll.
Undaunted, my mother kept going. “I suppose it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to expound on what we already know.”
“What do we know, Harriet?” Myrna asked. “Other than someone tried to murder Aimee, someone did murder Betsy, and someone planted something under a dead cat in Betsy’s yard. Probably Betsy.”
“We know that Luella was the intended paint booth victim and that Kevelyn most likely staged her own bout with toxic fumes to pull it off, only it was Aimee she nailed, not Luella.” Then my mother looked at me. “I hope that was all right telling everyone, Phee. I know you said to keep it between ourselves but honestly, how are we going to get anywhere if everyone is kept in the dark. We’re not mushrooms.”
“Please,” I said, “keep this among yourselves.” In what world?
In that instant, an obnoxious voice bellowed across the room. “Hey! Harriet! Myrna! Phee! And everyone! Mind if I join you? I’ve been fishing since five and I’m starved.”
Paul shoved Myrna aside, grabbed a chair from the table behind us and wedged it in between Myrna and Cecilia. Cecilia immediately moved her chair as far to the right as possible, nearly colliding with my aunt.
“We were hoping to hold a book club meeting,” my mother said, but Paul didn’t get the hint.
“I suggest the New York Times bestseller Four Fish, by Paul Greenberg. Talk about how those slippery buggers are moving our economy. Go figure.”
“Maybe another time.”
Just then, the waitress appeared and the next six or seven tortuous minutes were spent listening to everyone order. Paul must have forgotten about his fish book because he launched into another topic—Wayne’s threatening note.
“Did you ladies hear about the apology Wayne got from Harvey Lankmeyer? He told us last night at Curley’s.”
“What apology?” Cecilia now started wiping the edge of her water glass with the same napkin.
“Seems Harvey was the one who left that note for Wayne about wanting him to confess so they could get back to work in the auto restoration garage.”
“Why? Why would he do something like that?” I asked.
“Because Harvey’s wife nagged the daylights out of him to get the men and their automobile oil and grease out of her tandem garage. Apparently, she wanted to use the tandem space for her crafts projects.”
“Did Harvey admit this to the deputies?”
“According to Wayne, he was really sorry and said he’d make a full confession. Also offered to help Wayne with his car but Wayne already has Aimee working so he told Harvey no go. Hey, excuse me for a minute, will you? Got to use the men’s room.”
Paul tromped off, and when he was a few yards away my mother motioned everyone closer. “We can’t very well discuss our next move with the ‘Voice of the Valley’ sitting here. Let’s reconvene at my house once we’ve eaten.”
“I have a better idea,” my aunt said. “We tell Paul that we have it on good authority that Betsy’s murder and the infamous doll are connected.”
“Um, they might very well be,” I said.
My aunt waved me off. “I’m getting to that. We tell him a psychic was hired and the doll can conjure evil spirits to whoever is in possession of it. Unless it is stored in a leaded or steel and concrete-reinforced vault or a reasonable facsimile. We all know Paul won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Plus, his fishing show will be on the air Monday morning. Dollars to donuts, he blabs it over the airwaves, thus compelling the actual thief and murderer to run to the nearest bank and get a safe deposit box.”
And all this time I thought my mother was the sister with the vivid imagination.
“Aunt Ina, that person may already have a safe deposit box.”
“I already thought of that. We tell Paul that the doll must be covered in dried thyme and sage. So, that means the culprit will be heading to the bank one way or another. Depositing the doll or covering it in herbs.”
“Ina, you’re a genius!” Myrna said. “An absolute genius. There are only a handful of banks in Sun City West and we can stake them out Monday after Paul’s show airs.”
Lucinda used the back of her hand to swipe her hair from her face. “You don’t think anyone actually believes in that hooey, do you?”
“You’d be surprised,” Louise said.
“Lordy, we’re going to catch a thief and a murderer!” Shirley clapped her hands together. “I never thought I’d live to see a day like that.”
Me either. I felt the stomach acid make its way up my esophagus. “I’m not so sure this is the best—”
But before I could finish, Paul approached the table and got an earful from the new “liar’s club.”