Dot Truesdale lived in Fountain Hills, so Penny had time to decompress on the drive over. Cake, Dot’s shih tzu, greeted us as soon as we walked in, and Penny and Dot exchanged greetings as if they were old friends, even though they only met once or twice before. Dot had that effect. Imagine a more dignified (and shorter) version of Carol Channing. Irresistible.
We followed her through a home tastefully decorated with Western accents and artwork and stepped outside through the back door where iced tea waited for us on the patio table. This was part of the ritual Dot and I went through on our appointments: I showed up, we drank iced tea and caught up on the local scandal, and Dot and I pretended she was using my services.
She retrieved an extra glass for Penny from the kitchen, and as soon as good manners allowed, she said:
“I heard about what happened to Elvira Jenkins.”
As the former first lady of Fountain Hills, Dot employed an incredible information network made up of the various vendors who stopped by her house to do landscaping, cleaning, and every other service imaginable. She often ordered services she didn’t need—like mine—just to meet the new business owners in the area, make new friends, and gather new sources.
We’d hit it off, and I kept a standing weekly appointment. Not that I ever read Cake’s mind. He was easy to read without psychic abilities. His tail wagged constantly, he wore the standard shih tzu smile, and he stayed close to Dot’s side. This was a happy dog. Besides. Dot insisted he should have his privacy. Our meetings were really social visits, but she insisted on paying. Until I became independently wealthy, I couldn’t afford to turn down the checks.
From my position on the patio overlooking the canyon, I did a mental forehead slap and realized, had I been born a mouse, I never would have made it to the cheese. No sense of direction. On the opposite ridge, sunlight reflected off a wall of glass panes, making the Jenkins’ house look like a blinding daytime star.
“They’re practically your neighbors!”
Dot followed my gaze. “Not exactly, but I did know them by sight. I met Elvira when she tried to set up a homeowner’s association. Thank heavens no one went for it. I can’t stand committees, and no good ever comes from putting a group of people in charge of other people’s lives. After that, she made a habit of dropping in every few months.” She added with a wry smile, “Though I haven’t seen much of her since Hal died.”
Hal was Dot’s late husband, and more importantly, the former mayor of Fountain Hills.
“Did Elvira work on any of Hal’s committees?”
“No, but she liked to bend his ear over changes that she thought would improve the area. Hal listened, of course, and sometimes she presented good ideas, but usually they were concepts one might agree with in principle, but you couldn’t really do anything about. Like banning people from planting front lawns. It is silly and a waste of water to have grass in the desert, but people should be able to do as they please with their property and just pay a high water bill.”
“What did you think of her?”
“She had a good heart. I’m sure of it. But people like to make their own mistakes, and they certainly don’t want to be bullied, even if it’s nicely. It can be dangerous to a person to be too helpful, if you know what I mean. She did ask me to sign a few petitions. Since I agreed with them, I did.”
“Like what?”
“One was to keep an X-rated video store from opening up downtown. Another was to close an abortion clinic in the next county.” Dot shuddered. “Thank God both were successful. So, you can see that she had a good heart, but you can also see how she made enemies.”
“But I don’t see activists coming to the Blue-Ribbon premiere to kill her. Wouldn’t they prefer to off her at a protest site to make their point?”
“Frances’ Aunt Gertrude grew up with Mrs. Jenkins,” Penny said. “They were best friends until they fought over Mr. Jenkins.”
Dot raised a brow at me. “That I did not know. And here I pegged Elvira’s son, Tim, as the murderer.”
“Why?”
“Money. He’s always been a bit of a gambler—both literally and figuratively—and some of those risks didn’t pay off, although he makes good money now as an RV salesman. Of course, people are hanging onto their money right now, so his income might have dropped. I can’t imagine that an inheritance wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Does he inherit anything? I just assumed any money would go to her husband.”
“My sources aren’t that good,” Dot laughed. “It was really just a wild guess, because anything else just seems so improbable.”
“Catherine Jenkins said she and Tim were staying with Bull for a few days.”
Dot nodded. “After you lose your spouse, it’s lonely. I can tell you that from personal experience. Of course, you’re so shocked you don’t notice right away.”
“Catherine said she met Tim out east, when she was working. It’s a good thing they live around here now, so they can be here for Bull. That’s Elvira’s husband, Stan,” I added, just to be clear. I should have known the most connected woman in Fountain Hills would be way ahead of me with information.
“Tim and Catherine have been in Arizona since they first married, about seven years ago. Tim sells luxury RVs in Scottsdale, and he’s good at it. You don’t sell a product, you sell an experience, and Tim has a way of creating a vision of rebellion, or freedom, or adventure. Whatever he thinks the buyer is looking for. He almost talked Hal into one, and Hal wasn’t an emotional buyer.”
“Tim sounds good at his job.”
“He is.”
“At least he has something to occupy his mind.”
“You mean because of the murder?” Penny asked, and I explained about Catherine’s most recent miscarriage.
“That’s too bad,” Dot said, and it occurred to me that she and Hal hadn’t any children. “I know it wasn’t her first. I learned that from my grocery delivery boy, John.” She chuckled. “Everyone’s a boy at my age, but John’s a married man. He and his wife were having trouble getting pregnant, so he sympathized with Tim and Catherine when he met them at the fertility clinic. Do you have any idea how expensive fertility treatments are? It’s incredible.”
“You don’t know who their doctor is by any chance?” I thought back to the business card I found in Elvira’s bedroom.
“A good, Irish name.”
“Shaughnessy?”
Dot gave me a sharp look. “That’s it.”
“Lucky guess,” I murmured, averting my eyes. It looked as if Elvira had been poking her nose into her son’s very private affairs, but what could that have to do with her death?
“It’s too horrible to even think about,” Penny said, but her expression showed that unhappy marriages were on her mind. The conversation had become too somber for my taste, so I changed the subject.
“Catherine said she ran a public relations business. I wonder why she doesn’t set up shop here. I heard she was very successful, and it might help ease her mind to keep busy.”
“It must be hard to start a business right now,” Penny said.
“Tell me about it.” I thought about my lack of animal behavior clients. “But it sure keeps you occupied.”
“Have you come up with any suspects we can grill?” Dot asked, a devilish grin crinkling her face. Dot helped out with my amateur investigation last month by pretending to need the services of a landscaper and pool guy. I needed an excuse to interview them, and Dot seemed to enjoy her involvement. She turned out to be quite the actress.
“There are several people who could have wanted her out of the way.” I counted off on my fingers. “She made Heather Ozu, host of Blue-Ribbon Babes, angry.”
Dot grinned. “I saw the show.”
“There are the contestants who lost out to her, especially Donna Pederson. That woman is ambitious, and being Blue-Ribbon Queen will be an asset to her new bakery. At least she thinks so. I guess it’s possible that Elvira’s husband, Bull, may have another woman on the side.”
“Frances!” Penny shrieked.
“I know he doesn’t seem like the type, but it’s possible.”
I did catch him holding Auntie’s hand when he first came to my house, but that could have been a friendly gesture. Was he actually hitting on her? Did he flirt with other women? Was there one in particular? A special lady? Not that I’d seen. It might be worth thinking about, but I moved off family members for now in order to please Penny. “Natasha Young, the director, has bigger plans, and it would be to her benefit if Blue-Ribbon Babes failed.”
“Movies?” Penny asked.
“Charity work.”
Penny snorted. “Hardly your selfish killer type.”
“It’s an opportunity that might not be there if she doesn’t grab it now, but she’s got a contract that won’t expire for another year.”
“Kill to do charity work?” Penny turned her gaze on Dot. “What do you think?”
Dot squished up her nose and shook her head. “Not my favorite motive.”
“Back to Heather Ozu. She said she simply forgot to make a deposit, and that’s why the winner would have had to wait to cash the prize money check, but what if she’s mismanaged funds? What if Elvira was going to make a fuss about the prize money, and that would lead the Baking Channel folks to take a closer look at the books? Heather could have lost her job or even gone to jail if it was not mismanagement but embezzlement.”
“That sounds better,” Penny said doubtfully, “but Heather seemed so together when I met her at the séance. I have a hard time seeing her as a disorganized diva.”
“She said she was distracted by a nail appointment.” I looked at my barren fingernails. “That’s not something I would know about.”
“Did you say séance?” Dot raised her brows. “What have you two been up to?”
“Nothing. It’s all Aunt Gertrude.”
“You haven’t met her yet, but she’s a very talented psychic,” Penny gushed. “The real deal.”
Dot’s eyebrows inched up even farther.
I couldn’t very well explain Auntie to Dot without hurting Penny’s feelings, so I moved the conversation in a new direction.
“I give up. No one killed her. She was holding the skillet above her head, got distracted by her bird, and dropped it. The whole thing was an accident.”
“People are so disappointing,” Penny said. “They have dark sides you don’t even know about. You marry someone hoping you’ll have a nice life, and that they’ll at least be able to take care of you, say, if you decide to raise children. But you never know, do you? I mean, what if Bull did kill his wife? What if he was having an affair? Can you ever really know anyone?”
Dot looked at Penny, surprised at her gloomy outlook. “Not completely, no. But you can know enough. Most people I know who suffered through an affair had warning signs. They just ignored them. For instance, one husband ignored his wife for years because he was preoccupied with his job. She did everything to get his attention until a sympathetic party filled the gap. I’m not condoning an affair, but it certainly shouldn’t have been a complete surprise.”
“Penny’s getting married, and I think she’s got a case of jitters.”
“Congratulations!” Dot leaned in and gave her a hug. “Marriage is a big commitment, but it’s worth it. Tell me about your young man.”
As Penny listed Kemper’s qualities—his kindness, his patience, how hard he worked at his job, her face lit up. She practically glowed with satisfaction.
“I’ve been an idiot,” she said. “Could you take me home? I want to call Kemper.”
We said our goodbyes and promised to keep Dot updated on any developments.
Auntie hadn’t yet returned from bonding with Bull over his garden, so I took the opportunity to have some peace and quiet in my own bedroom. Emily and Chauncey joined me on the bed, and I propped up the pillows, leaned back, and dug through the pile of stuff on the bedside table for my latest novel.
Auntie was interested in the classics. There was a well-thumbed copy of Dracula and a worn hardback of Anne of Green Gables. Interesting combination. She had lifted the menus from several restaurants we’d dined at, which was cheaper than buying postcards for memories. They included one from the Prickly Pear. Should I tell Penny? Nah. My friend would have given it to her had my aunt asked.
A few loose pages slipped out of the pile, and I gathered them up. Auntie had made use of my computer and printed off the pictures she’d taken so far. Most were surreptitiously taken on the night of the Blue-Ribbon Babes taping. Since the studio banned audience photography, Auntie hadn’t been able to set up the shots. One caught my attention, and I switched on the bedside lamp and studied it.
My aged relative must have fumbled with the zoom button, because the photo was a close up of the set during a break. Heather stood to the side, and Auntie caught her in an unguarded moment, looking bored. I could guess that Betty had been the last guest to appear because an employee carried her cast iron skillet, and he was headed for the side of the counter where they stashed the used utensils. A face was framed in the fake window, and I squinted and held the photograph close. Sonny Street’s features were contorted in anger, but I couldn’t make out who he was talking to.
Oh, how I longed at that moment for the fancy equipment they used on television shows, the magical computer programs that would allow me to close in on a specific spot, or at least a magnifying glass. Then I noticed that Auntie had left her reading glasses on the bedside table. I held them in front of the picture, angling them to magnify the photo. I could make out a finger pointed at Sonny’s face, and on that finger sat a large yellow bird. I’d seen that ring before. Sonny was arguing with Elvira Jenkins.
That bird ring wouldn’t be enough to interest the police, but it proved why Sonny Street had been late for his performance between Betty and Elvira. It hadn’t been a potty break as Auntie suggested. He’d been busy arguing with Elvira Jenkins. Or maybe she’d insulted him and ticked him off. The point was that he didn’t like her very much at that moment, and that moment was shortly before Elvira took a nosedive onto the spill mat on the Blue-Ribbon Babes set. Sounded like a certain comedian belonged on my suspect list.