Chapter Fifty-five

The next morning, Parrott and Officer Barton met at the Whitman estate. Parrott had left a voicemail for Tammie.

When she called back, Parrott explained his plans to retrieve the golf cart.

“Are you sure? I’ve got that extra battery in the garage, and it’s no problem for Charlie or me to take care of that.”

“I have my reasons,” Parrott replied. “You should focus on getting Ms. Whitman safely to the doctor.”

“Well, at least stop by the garage to pick up the battery. The orthopedist is going to work us in before his first appointment, so if all goes well, we should be back around ten. Aiko’s coming in and can let you into the garage if I’m not here.”

Parrott stopped short of telling Tammie to take extra precautions. He wanted to confirm his hunches before he sounded alarms. Tammie seemed like a responsible young woman, certainly devoted to Claire, but he also remembered Jessica’s distrust of Tammie.

By eight-thirty, Parrott and Barton, dressed in jeans and nondescript t-shirts, pulled up to Sweetgrass in Parrott’s Toyota. In case anyone was watching, they appeared to be two workmen on a mission to bring back a disabled vehicle.

Parrott wore a backpack and a carryall with tools, and Barton carried the lithium battery. The day was only beginning to heat up, and a light breeze made the hike pleasant. Within fifteen minutes they located the cart. The ground there was uneven. Easy to understand how an eighty-two-year-old woman might have turned her ankle in the dark.

Both officers donned plastic gloves. Parrott took photos of the cart, before removing the fingerprint kit from his backpack and sprinkling the cart with powder. There were lots of prints, most likely belonging to Claire or Tammie, but there was always a chance, if someone had disabled the cart, he or she hadn’t worn gloves.

After Parrott took detailed photos of the prints, Barton lifted the seat to examine the engine. “Oh, cripes. Here’s the problem—take a look at this battery.”

Parrott bent to peer into the compartment. “Couldn’t be more obvious.” The bolts securing the battery terminals had been loosened, and gray corrosive material surrounded the points of connection. When Claire drove the cart, the heat had caused them to melt.

“This was no accident. Ms. Whitman’s personal assistant said she checked out the cart before its last use. Even if she wasn’t an expert, she would have noticed this.” Parrott took numerous photographs of the battery.

Barton wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Okay. Let’s change this battery out. Good thing we have the proper tools.”

“You know how to do this?”

“Yep,” Barton said. “I help my dad. He works on cars in his spare time.”

“Glad to watch and learn. When you’re done, let’s take this baby for a spin. I want to check out the spot where it was parked last night.”

A few minutes later, the two officers drove across the farmland, the corroded battery sitting between them on the floorboard. They parked the cart near Pennington’s pool pavilion. Barton whistled. “Nice set-up.”

From this distance, the early morning sun sent sparkles onto the surface of the pool, and the aromas from an adjacent herb garden teased the senses. The garden of Eden couldn’t have been more colorful or fragrant. For a second, Parrott pictured Tonya and himself, enjoying a leisurely swim in a pool like this.

Robert had described the bushes that provided a three-sided parking spot for Claire’s golf cart. Discreetly placed, the bushes offered a convenient camouflage for the vehicle, about fifty feet from the pavilion. Pennington had gone to some trouble and expense to create this hiding place, more evidence that his relationship with Claire was not frivolous. Or maybe Claire wasn’t the only secret visitor.

“This is where the cart was parked last night.” Parrott braked a few feet from the area and cut off the motor.

“Plenty of space here for someone to tamper with the battery.” Barton climbed out of the cart and walked the short distance to the parking spot.

“And plenty of cover to keep from being seen or heard,” Parrott said, joining Barton in the partial enclosure.

“Loosening the battery bolts would be quick and quiet. The perp knew how little time it would take to break down the cart,” Barton said.

Parrott wondered who would have known about Claire’s secret meeting. “Whoever it was knew she’d be able to start up the motor and get part-way home, right?”

“Exactly. The saboteur knew how quickly lithium batteries corrode, too.”

The officers drove the cart back to Sweetgrass in silence. Parrott’s mind, however, was full of questions. Who followed Claire’s cart to the hiding spot? Who tampered with her battery? Who wanted to do harm to an eighty-two-year-old lady? Then there was the most important question of all—why?