DEATH AT LAMPIER
M. ALEX HARRIS
Published by M. Alex Harris at Smashwords
COPYRIGHT 2011 M. Alex Harris
Dedicated to the memory of Captain Ryan Anderson
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Chapter 1
“This economy hit Arizona hard and Yavapai County even harder. Houses were selling slow and at lower prices than ever before. There is a prediction that there will be another big drop in the coming year.” Frances Pitcher expounded on the financial condition of the real estate market as she ate dinner with her best friend, mortgage broker Lisa Wood.
“But you have a lot of listings for bank repos, so you will be okay. Right?” Lisa inquired as she took a bite of her steak.
“You never know. One week you’re flying high and the next week you’re borrowing money from family just to survive.”
“But, you got all the listings for State Bank. They were heavy into small ranches. People from California made up most of their clientele. There are literally hundreds of houses in foreclosure and you have all of State’s. Some of those houses originally sold at half a million and even with the problems with the foreclosures, you’ll be listing them at a quarter of a million.” Lisa, ever the optimist, was looking for the horse in the room full of horse manure.
“Well I do have quite a few on the list of foreclosures and we’re waiting for the renovations on about eight more. Things will start looking up if I can just get two or three into closing.” Frances sighed and took a sip of wine. Her composure returned as she studied her dinner. Her short, curly blond hair belied her years, as did her Jones New York suit tailored to perfection.
Frances had made her living as a Realtor in Yavapai County for more than 35 years with a focus on small ranches in the outlying areas. She and her husband had put the kids through college, paid off the family home, and even put aside a nice retirement, before he passed away nine years ago from cancer. The hospital bills ate up the retirement and the bankruptcy that followed took the family home. All Frances had left was her car, a 2004 Toyota, an investment condo she and Tom had purchased years ago, her little rat terrier, Jackie, and a garden plot the size of a postage stamp. Frances took everything in stride trusting in her faith in God and belief in people to get her through in tough times. The current downturn in the economy was, for her, just another storm to ride out. She cut coupons, shopped at resale/consignment stores, and pinched pennies twice in order to stretch the meager earnings she received now from foreclosure sales.
Lisa Wood had worked for years in banking and when the opportunity came to switch to mortgage banking as a branch manager for American Mortgage in Prescott, she jumped at the chance. Lisa owned a condo in the same complex as Frances. Her husband of 12 years, Phil Mason, was a ner’ do well, who spent more time on the golf course than at home, and went through every penny she made until she closed out her bank account to prevent him access.
Frances and Lisa shared a common friend, Summer Bear. Summer, the matriarch of four generations living at Bear Ranch, stood tall--6 feet-- just a little taller than her daughter, attorney Marlowe Sharpe, and granddaughter Detective Oriole Wolfe. Summer taught classes at the community college, raised a garden every year that produced hundreds of quarts of vegetables, managed a ranch of multiple critters and provided a home for her great granddaughter Anders Chalcedony Wolfe--Chalcey for short.
The three friends, Summer, Frances and Lisa would routinely get together to cuss and discuss life in Prescott. Summer was to have joined them for their monthly dinner, but had to beg off because of the recent death of Joyce, Rod’s wife of Crimson Ranch.
“Have you heard what Rod’s going to do with Crimson Ranch?” Lisa asked.
“Summer said he was going to put it on the market. I’m meeting with him later this month after the funeral and he’s had an opportunity to process everything. I feel so bad for him. I know he is just lost with everything he has to do. Summer and I are going to go over and help him figure out what to do with all of Joyce’s things. Their son didn’t want any of her stuff, so we’re calling around to see if any of the clubs or societies can use it in a rummage sale or something.” Frances explained the future for Rod.
“When is the funeral?”
“Next Thursday. It’s going to be a memorial service and wake. Summer is hosting it at Bear Ranch. She figured given the length of time Rod and Joyce lived here, there would be lots of folks coming to pay their respects and anyway, Summer and Rod have both been hit with vandals so they figured better not to leave either ranch unattended.”
The remote ranches presented perfect opportunities for thieves. And the stuff the thieves would steal would curl your hair-water troughs, feed barrels, pole fencing, and anything else that wasn’t nailed down, screwed down or too heavy to carry off. In fact one rancher had come upon thieves stealing his water tank, boxed them in with his tractor, pulled his 30-06, held them at bay until three hours later the sheriff’s deputy showed up.
“Well, I’m off. I have to see what Phil is up to. He’s thinking about studying to be a stock broker. He figures he’d make a lot of money. It can‘t come soon enough for me. I‘m going to have to make some hard decisions soon.” Trouble etched its way onto Lisa’s face as she paid her portion of the bill in cash and kissed Frances’ cheek in goodbye.
Frances looked after her long time friend, shaking her head at the idiocy of Phil ever finding a job or if finding one, keeping it. But Frances Pitcher loved her friend Lisa and all the ups and downs of their 30 year friendship. She would support Lisa’s decisions, add her two-bits when and if asked, cry with her over disappointments, laugh with her over silly mistakes and always be by her side. Summer took on a different role with the two friends, more of a leader, organizer and guide. During the long friendship, the three had stood elbow to elbow in marches, burned their bras and bought new ones, climbed mountains and hiked the Grand Canyon.
Chapter 2
School let out for summer vacation the middle of May, giving Chalcey a much needed and well earned break from studying. With summer coming on, she would have time to help in the garden more and polish up her horsemanship skills for the upcoming Rodeo Parade. She and Red, her POA Appaloosa, were registered to ride just before the Sheriff’s Mounted Posse and because Uncle Fred and Oriole were in the Posse, Chalcey wanted to make sure she was at her best.
“Summer, when will we be able to harvest from this garden?” Chalcey asked her great grandmother while weeding the squash and tomatoes.
“If you don’t stop sneaking tomatoes and cucumbers, there won’t be a harvest.” The senior matriarch of Bear Ranch smiled at the light of her life and gave her a big hug. “Come on, we have to finish here, water and then feed the stock. Your mama and Marlowe will be home before too long and we all have to go over to Crimson to help Rod put together the memorial service.”
“Am I old enough to be at the memorial service since I’m going to be fourteen soon?” Chalcey brushed her bright red hair out of her eyes and repositioned her cowboy hat. “I couldn’t go to Janey’s dad’s funeral because Mama said I was too young. But that was two years ago. We‘ve had a whole bunch of animal funerals here and I‘ve done okay with them haven‘t I?”
Summer thought back to all the animals that had been buried on the ranch and all the memorial services held in their honor. “Well, you know it’s not up to me, you gotta convince Oriole. You might remind her of how old she was when she first attended a funeral.”
“Well, how old was she and whose funeral?”
“She was actually two years younger than you are and it was her daddy’s. But Chalcey, that funeral is different than Joyce’s. Oriole and her daddy were real close and Marlowe made the decision to let her attend because she needed closure. Can you see this is different?”
“Yeah, Granddad was family and Joyce is a neighbor. But Joyce and Rod are like family. They babysat me, gave me the goat, helped bandage Rascal’s side when he got shot. I got it figured out; you’re telling me I should ask Oriole by way of mentioning her dad’s funeral and then explain that I can help out in the kitchen with the buffet and clean up and all that stuff. That will give her more reason to say yes. Summer, sometimes you are so smart.” Chalcey had stopped weeding and was leaning on her shovel while she expounded on the magic of negotiating with her mom.
“If I’m not careful, your mama is going to shoot me for letting you learn how to make decisions and develop a mind of your own.”
“So is this manipulation?”
“Remember last Thanksgiving when we had Jean and her family for dinner. Remember how disturbing it was because of Jean’s behaviors. She cried and threw temper tantrums to get what she wanted. She wanted oyster dressing instead of the turkey dressing. We already had the dressing made. Her oldest son tried to convince her she was a guest and if she didn’t want the turkey dressing, to do without. And she sulked and made everyone feel horrible. Manipulation is what Jean does with her family. The difference is that you are thinking your way through information that will help you present your position and how you react will show whether you are manipulating or negotiating. There’s a huge difference. You always want to look at the end result to see which it is. And, your mom will probably let you know right away which is which.”
“So what I should do is have dinner ready, get mom a glass of wine, maybe get out the photo album and then present my request without whining or crying and live with Mom’s decision.” Chalcey picked up her shovel and began spading the garden.
Summer again covered her laugh with a cough to keep from letting Chalcey know how precocious she found her great granddaughter.
Oriole drove her 4-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee into the yard and was met at the door by her lanky daughter holding a glass of wine. “Here, Mom, give me your briefcase and go put your feet up.” Chalcey ran into the house ahead of Oriole to grab slippers and the photo album.
“Okay, young lady, what’s going on? Did you break something, get into trouble with Summer, forget to do your chores?”
“Oriole, how you talk. I just want to make you comfortable. I thought we could reminisce while we wait for Marlowe.” Chalcey curled up on the old Cordovan leather sofa in the living room next to her mother.
“Tell me what’s on your mind little missy.”
“Mom, I’m pretty grown up. I even conducted our last memorial service for Puddles, remember? I think I’m old enough to help out at the buffet and clean up for Joyce’s memorial service. I’ll work real hard, make you proud of me. May I, please.”
“Sure, don’t see why not.” Oriole had planned on suggesting Chalcey help out in the kitchen to give Summer some help. Knowing teenagers, Oriole figured if it was her idea, Chalcey would have balked, but since it was Chalcey’s idea, she would work hard to prove herself. “Run along and ask Summer what you can do to help her get ready. There are all sorts of things she’ll need ahead of time to get organized. And, don’t argue if she gives you a job you don’t like. Just do it with a smile.”
Chapter 3
Marlowe Sharpe had designed her office to fit her life style. The lobby was full of antiques collected from garage sales, auctions and second hand stores, a drop down secretary desk hid office supplies, a wire meshed armoire held active files, and her secretary’s desk consisted of file cabinets supporting a barn door that had been refinished by Marlowe herself. Since clients rarely lingered in the outer office, Marlowe had gone with simple but stout leather chairs rescued from an estate sale, between which sat an end table from her great-great grandfather’s ranch up in Seligman. The look and feel of country comfort continued into her office where instead of a desk she had a slab from a 250 year old alligator oak tree, cut and polished after it bit the dust in a huge wind storm some years back. Instead of client chairs, she had favored an old oak couch she found at a garage sale and had re-done in dark mahogany brushed leather. Topping off the oak tongue-n-groove floor, she herself had done, was a Navajo rug given to her by friends of Summer’s when she opened her doors after passing the State Bar. People who knew such things, often told her it was a mistake to use the rug, to walk on it. It should be on the wall to admire. However, when Richard Yellowhorse’s grandmother unrolled it in the office, she said, “this rug is to live on, walk on, learn on, and to soak up spirit.” So soak up spirit it has.
Marlowe Sharpe showed her last client of the day out the door of her downtown law office, turned to Joan, her trusty, cranky, cantankerous secretary and asked what was on the agenda for court the next day.
“Your calendar is all screwed up. Division 2 became Division 5, 5 became 3 and on and on. The cases on law and motion for 2 will be over in the Verde, I have them all moved to Wednesday, and your Prescott cases will be heard in 3, by Judge Roberts. This reassignment will be awhile shaking out. I told the judicial assistants they need to be patient with you lawyers. There’ll be more than one of you in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The long term illness of one of the favorite judges left the dockets chaotic in Superior Court. Everyone in the legal community was struggling with the recent changes including the judges themselves. Politics shown through the jockeying for peachy assignments in both the Verde courts and in Prescott. Marlowe’s practice was Prescott based because she and Oriole had an agreement Marlowe would avoid the Verde cases that Oriole investigated. However, occasionally, Marlowe would end up with a Verde case, but never one her daughter had worked.
Joan prepared to close the office: putting the morning’s files on Marlowe’s desk, turning off the computers and the always full coffee pot, before grabbing her oversized shoulder bag and cooler containing left-over take out. Joan had worked for Marlowe for over 25 years. She was a fixture in the legal community as a formidable opponent. Even the judges gave her a wide berth. But, Joan had a heart of gold, rescuing clients as well as abandoned animals. Joan never took clients home to raise, but did give them a basket of food and a kick in the pants to get them on the right road.
“See you tomorrow. I’m going to get on home and change for the square dancing class. My new partner is going to take me out for Chinese afterwards. He’s kinda cute.” Joan prattled on with a new excitement.
“Just you be careful. I expect to see you in here bright and early. No late nights and watch out for Jason. You don’t know enough about him yet.” Marlowe moved into the protector role with her long--time friend and secretary.
“I know. Walk slow, be cool, and drink lots of water.” Joan reiterated the mantra Marlowe told all her clients. “But you know, it’s kinda fun to be in this mode. How many years since I had a date, let alone any other kind of activity. He likes the things I like. He is self supporting. He’s going to buy dinner. That means something. The last time I went out I ended up with the check while the dude escaped through the back door.”
“I’ll tell you like Chalcey told me, put a quarter in your boot in case you have to make a phone call.”
“I’ll have my cell phone and anyway, when was the last time you had to use a pay phone? A quarter won’t get you anywhere nowadays.” Joan locked the door to the office and walked with Marlowe to their cars.
Chapter 4
Marlowe, Oriole, Summer, and Chalcey were putting the finishing touches on the ranch house for the memorial service the next day. Chalcey was vacuuming, Marlowe and Oriole were moving furniture around, and Summer was making her famous roll ups. The camaraderie between the generations enlivened the house and lifted the mood.
Fred O’Neil, Oriole’s partner in the Sheriff’s Office, detective division, arrived to help move the furniture and set up chairs in the yard. Even in a work mode, Fred was dressed to the nines, with his Resistol Silverbelly cowboy hat, his Nocona boots, creased Levis, and ever present bolo tie.
“Oriole, got a minute. Need to talk business.” Fred imposed himself on the work party.
“Sure, time for a break anyway. Marlowe’s working me to death.”
They grabbed iced tea from the kitchen and went out on the porch. Oriole could tell the request did not bode well.
“I just got a call from dispatch. Since I was almost here I decided I’d pick you up, rather than call. We have a suspicious circumstance. Very little information. The address is really just down the road from here. Remember the Lampier place? It went into foreclosure. The realtor called it in. Drink up, I‘ll ask Summer if she can put together a couple sandwiches for the road. Never know when we‘ll be back.” Fred ambled off to find Summer and help with a make-shift dinner. Fred had become a fixture at Bear Ranch since his wife died. He spent more time at the ranch than at his own apartment in town. He had even moved his horse over to Bear Ranch so they could all ride together on the weekends.
Oriole and Fred drove the short three miles to the Lampier residence. Sitting in the circular driveway was a bright red Mercedes and sitting in the driver’s seat with her feet on the ground, heaving her guts out was Frances Pitcher, Summer’s friend of 30 years.
“Frances, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Oriole had arrived at the open door and leaned down to talk to Frances.
“I’m okay. I just lost my cookies. What a horrible sight. Let me get my feet back under me and I’ll be fine.” Frances leaned over grabbed some paper napkins out of the jockey box and a bottle of water from her purse and washed up her vomit stricken face.
The Lampier residence, now in foreclosure, rose two stories, was covered with dried ivy and spread in equal wings from the massive living room. The property consisted of three acres, fenced and cross-fenced, a barn, corrals and tack room toward the back, an oversized garage/work shop, a guest house and pool long since covered in algae and a big plot for a garden. The equal wings were two master suites that took up nearly half of the 3500 square foot house. The kitchen had been remodeled by the Lampiers to the tune of $50,000.00. If it existed as a specialty item, it found its way to this kitchen. The handcrafted oak cabinets extended all the way around the kitchen. The island held the stove and one oven, while the second oven was concealed on the far wall behind more cabinets. The Sub Zero refrigerator matched the décor perfectly. Upstairs, two bedrooms broke off the winding stairs with a bath in the middle. And down the hall an office outfitted with more electrical outlets and cable than could ever be used by normal people, waited for new owners. The barn and corrals were designed by Ben Balow for thoroughbreds, with electrical and water outlets provided for the horses. The shop was a true man cave--a wood stove, a generator, a four car garage, a shower in the bath, an entertainment center that would hold a 52” flat screen and an old refrigerator. The Lampiers were upside down to the tune of $495,000.00.
Fred looked over the exterior while waiting for Frances to get her ducks in a row. “Some house.”
“Frances, are you up to telling us what happened?” he inquired.
“The bank had the cleanup crew in here for the last week. Jim from the crew called to tell me it was ready to put on the market. I came out here about an hour ago to do a final walk through. I checked the exterior buildings and then let myself in the house. I checked out the living room, the two master suites, made some notes on things that still needed to be finished and went upstairs. I checked the bedrooms and bath and made my way down the hall to the office. I opened the door, went in, and then opened the bi-fold closet doors, because sometimes the crew doesn’t clean the closet or they leave paint cans and junk. There it was, I started gagging and ran outside and grabbed my cell phone and called 911.” Frances finished her rendition and turned white.
“Frances, you don’t look so good. Put your head between your knees so you don’t pass out.” Oriole guided her head down slowly.
“Let’s take this nice and slow. What did you see?” Fred was antsy, wanting to get on with his job.
“Well, it’s like I told dispatch. There was a carpet roll in the closet.” Frances picked her head up and eyed Fred through wet hair.
“What about the carpet roll?” Oriole was trying to be a little more compassionate than her rough and tumble partner.
“I moved the roll and an arm fell out. I jumped about three feet and almost lost it. I know I screamed. Well, wouldn’t you, if an arm leaped out at you? I took off running just as fast as I could.” Frances was sucking in air.
“Was the arm attached to a body?” Fred pushed for more information.
“Well, how would I know? I ran out of there.” Frances started crying.
“It’s okay, Frances. Just take it easy. We’re going to go inside. Will you be okay out here by yourself?” Oriole threw Fred an angry glance.
Fred pulled his department issued 9mm Glock after calling in their location. Oriole palmed her gun and moved to the front deck. “You take the back. I’ll go in the front.” Oriole issued directions to the older detective.
They cleared the main floor and began to ascend the staircase, Fred in the lead. Fred cleared the first bedroom and the bath, while Oriole checked the second bedroom without making a sound. They moved in unison to the remaining room on the second floor. Fred gently opened the door and moved to the left while Oriole panned to the right. There was nothing in the room except the roll of carpet in the closet.
Fred proceeded to the tiny enclosure, bent down and touched the wrist of the arm extending from the carpet. Stiff. No pulse. He pulled the carpet back and exposed the arm. The arm was indeed attached to a woman.
“There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s call it in and get forensics out here. I’ll call for the techies, you call the ME.” Fred was the one giving directions now. Oriole had remained out in the hall on alert while Fred checked the office.
Chapter 5
Dr. Culpepper arrived with the coroner’s wagon, accompanied by two technicians. “Why can’t you two just stay home for a change and leave me the hell alone?” The cantankerous medical examiner smiled at Oriole. Dr. Culpepper, long time medical examiner for Yavapai County, cultivator of prize winning orchids, founding member and currently president of the Garden Society, tried to put on a front to put people off. Oriole, having known him long before his retirement from active practice, never cowed by his bluster.
“Not our fault, Doc. We just answer the call. Here’s what we know.” Oriole recited what she and Fred had discovered as she and Culpepper entered the house and went up the stairs. “A major concern is that this place has been cleaned by the REO crew. We don’t know how much, if any evidence has been lost because of that.”
“What REO crew? What’s that?” Culpepper asked.
“REO stands for Real Estate Owned. It means the bank has repossessed this house and sent in a cleaning crew to get it ready for sale.” Oriole explained, having been educated by Frances while waiting for the ME.
“All righty then. Let’s see what we have.” Culpepper said as he entered the office. Because of the limited space, Oriole remained on watch outside the door. “Turning on recorder. White female, mid to late 60’s, blond hair, looks to be strangled with some kind of cord. Business suit, stockings, dress shoes with some residue. Maybe dead 8-12 hours based on rigor. I’ll be able to tell you more once I get her on the table. Stop recording. Get photos, then, Bob, you and Les wrap her hands and take the carpet and her intact. We need to vacuum the floor here real tight. Check the rest of the house for trace evidence. Do fingerprints on all doors and windows just in case. Oh, wait, I’m crossing over into Fred and Oriole’s area. Sorry.” Dr. Culpepper looked sheepishly at the detectives.
“Like he said.” Fred chuckled and pointed his thumb at the doc. The technicians took photos of every square inch of the office. At the conclusion of their work, Oriole took custody of the camera while Fred looked on.
After the techs were finished and had packed up, Oriole and Fred went back to where the Mercedes still sat in the hot, late afternoon sun. “Oops, we forgot about poor ole Frances.” Fred said with obvious chagrin.
“Sorry to make you wait, Frances. I have a digital close up of the victim. Would you be up to looking at it and see if you recognize her?” Oriole attempted to make up for her partner’s brusque manners.
“How would I know someone that died? I don’t run around with people like that. I live a nice quiet life, for God’s sake.”
“I know, Frances, but maybe you have seen her somewhere around. Please try.” Oriole cajoled her grandmother’s long time friend.
“Well, I’ll look but it won’t do any good, I can tell you that now, before I ever look at it.”
Oriole took the camera out of the bag, turned it on and paged forward to a close up of the victim’s face without really looking at the picture. She turned the camera towards Frances. Frances moved closer to Oriole and focused on the screen photo, gasped and crumpled.
It happened so fast, neither Fred nor Oriole were prepared for Frances’ response. Frances hit the ground before either could grab onto her. Oriole looked at Fred who raised his right eyebrow, “Maybe she does know the deceased.”
“Quick, get some water for her. Frances, are you all right?” Oriole asked as Frances began to stir. “I’m so sorry. You must have experienced a shock. Did you recognize the woman?”
“I’m going to be sick again. I must have fainted. What are you doing with a picture of Lisa on your camera? Is this a joke? That can‘t be Lisa. She can‘t be dead. She just can‘t be.”
Oriole stepped back, looked at the digital camera closer, and realized she had not even looked at the deceased while upstairs. It was Fred’s turn at the autopsy and Oriole had been busy directing traffic inside the house. The photo was of Lisa Wood, Summer’s and Frances’ friend.
“Well, that answers one question. Now why don’t you answer the rest?” Fred spoke over the top of Frances’ head to Oriole.
Chapter 6
“Doc. We have positive identification of the deceased as Lisa Wood, age 68, resident of the condos over on Highland Drive. We’re going to go see her husband and make notification. Is there anything you can tell us preliminarily?” Oriole spoke on her cell phone to the ME who was on his way back to the morgue.
“Nothing yet, Oriole. I’ll know a whole lot more tomorrow after I post. I’ll start about 1:00 p.m. Who’s coming to observe?”
“Fred will be there. I have the funeral for Joyce.”
Fred and Oriole drove to the condo to contact Phil Mason, Lisa Wood’s husband. The ultra modern condo rested in the middle of the complex high on a hill just a couple miles from downtown Prescott.
“Who’s on first this time?” Oriole asked her partner.
“I’ll be lead. You watch him.” Fred and Oriole had worked out a plan over the years on which one would be the front runner and which would snoop around and make observations.
Fred rang the doorbell. A tall, handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, surfer-looking dude answered the door. Some 15 years younger than his deceased wife, Phil Mason had preserved his good looks and California tan. His slacks were perfectly tailored complementing his tight waist and a golf shirt from the resort topped the ensemble. A real Rolex circled his wrist and a fine gold chain peeked out from his collar.
“Yes, may I help you?” Mason asked.
“Are you Phil Mason?” Fred asked showing his badge.
“Yes. What is this about?”
“May we come in to talk with you?”
“Of course, forgive my bad manners. Won’t you be seated? May I get you a soft drink or coffee?” Mason was the epitome of polite.
“No thank you. Let’s have a seat. We have some bad news. We need to ask you to come downtown and make an identification. We believe your wife may have met with tragedy.” Fred wanted to be circumspect with the information.
“Lisa? What? An accident? Make an identification, like what, a car?” Color drained from Phil’s face as he sat hard on the overstuffed, beige couch.
“Do you have a picture of Lisa?” Oriole asked.
“There’s a picture of both of us from last Christmas over there on the mantle.”
Oriole moved to the fireplace and picked up the photo knowing that Lisa Wood was indeed gone. “Thank you, may I take this?” She turned to Fred and nodded confirmation of the identity of the woman from Lampiers.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Phil turned to Fred.
“Mr. Mason, we believe your wife is deceased. We’d like to ask you some questions. Who would want to cause Lisa harm?” Fred quietly inquired.
“Harm? Someone harmed Lisa? I don’t believe it. When? She just went down to the office this morning. Call the office and you‘ll see.” Denial was the first stage of grief, and it appeared reality was slow in sinking in for Phil.
“Phil. Who are some of your wife’s associates? Who does she work with?” Oriole tried to get Phil back on track.
“How did this happen? What happened? When did this happen?” More questions from Phil as he stuttered.
“We’re still looking into it. What we need is some background information. Has anything happened recently that we need to know about?”
“What do you mean-happened? What are you talking about?”
“Well, has anyone had an issue with Lisa? You know, was anyone mad at her? Did anyone have a grudge against her?” Fred leaned forward to try for eye contact.
“Everyone loved Lisa. No one had a grudge against her. “
“Besides work was she involved in any community activities, you know like committees or did she volunteer for something?” Fred continued.
“Well, yeah, she worked on the Tea Party committee and on United We Stand. She was doing the graphics for the T-shirts for both as well as working on the steering committee for the Rodeo. She was real busy in the community.” As he spoke, Phil visibly shrunk in his tailored slacks and shirt.
“What about work? Was she having any problems at work?” Oriole was making notes.
“Work? No, of course not. She had taken over as manager at the mortgage company and things were going great. This had been the best quarter ever. She was in line for a raise. In fact, we were going to go out tomorrow night and celebrate.”
“What about her co-workers? Any problems with the staff?”
“No. Well maybe, she had to fire this one gal for dipping into the till. But that was a few months ago. The cops got involved and filed charges against her. I think she’s doing some jail time.” Phil stood up,” I’ve got to make some calls. I have to let her son and daughter know what’s happened. What can I tell them?”
“Phil, have a seat. You can call them in a few minutes. Right now we need some more information. Who was her attorney? Did she have a will? Did anyone owe her money or did she owe anyone money?” Fred and Oriole were taking turns keeping him focused.
“Her attorney is, I mean was, Ms.. Sharpe. She’s handled everything for us, wills, trusts, power of attorney, that stuff. Lisa didn’t owe anyone and no one owed her. Well, except for the kids, she’d loaned money to both of them over the years and they’d signed notes, the amount unpaid comes out of any inheritance. They weren’t happy about that, but Lisa was a great business woman. We had separate accounts and then a joint house account. You know to pay bills for the utilities, mortgage that sort of thing. That‘s all I can think of right now. Are we about done here?”
“Sure, if we have more questions, we’ll be back. I’m sorry for your loss, Phil. If there is anything you need, call one of us.” Fred handed Phil a business card and stood to leave. Fred decided to waive the in--person identification given the confirmation with the photos.
The detectives sat in the SUV out front recapping what they’d gleaned.
“Does it strike you odd, he didn’t cry?” Oriole looked at Fred as he started the car.
“Lots of guys won’t or don’t cry. It’s a man thing. But it did strike me odd that he wasn’t any more upset than he was. It seemed to me he was anxious to get us out of there. He’s younger than Lisa, right? How long they been married? What’s he do for a living? Think Marlowe would have those answers? Maybe we should run out to the ranch and see if she’s still there and ask her.”
“Oh, come on. You just want to siddle up to her. Why didn’t you ask Mason those questions? Why wait and then all of a sudden you need to go see Marlowe for answers? Could it be that you just want to see Marlowe, and if that’s it, just ask her out, again.” A smile plastered itself on Oriole’s face thinking about her partner and her mother together.
“I didn’t ask Mason because I want the answers from someone unbiased. Marlowe may not be totally uninvolved here, but the attorney in her will come forth and she’ll give us straight answers. And for your information, Snoopy, your mom and I have been out together several times since the movies. So there, smarty pants.”
Oriole placed a call to the ranch to let everyone know the status of the investigation and that Marlowe should prepare Summer for the news.
Fred drove towards the ranch in silence for fear any mention of Marlowe would get Oriole started again. And as for Oriole, she smiled most of the way back to the ranch, reflecting on the torment she caused Fred.
Chapter 7
Chalcey and Marlowe had finished feeding the livestock and took a languid break with iced tea on the large wraparound porch. Chalcey enjoyed her alone time with her grandmother. The opportunity to learn from all the generations presented itself to her in various forms and Chalcey rarely missed a sit with any one of them.
“Marlowe, why do people have to die? Why can’t we keep them with us forever?”
“Well, sweetie that’s not God’s plan. We come here to do what we’re supposed to and then when it’s our time we leave.”
“But look at Joyce. She was such a good person and what about poor Lisa. Neither one of them ever did anything to hurt another person, and yet they’re both gone. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“Remember when Puddles died? It didn’t seem fair then either. But she was sick and it wasn’t fair to her to linger in that sickness. The same is true for Joyce. She fought long and hard against cancer. Her body just couldn’t take any more. Now Lisa is another story. Someone shortened her life for reasons we don’t yet know.”
“I don’t think I want to go to Lisa’s funeral. One a year or even a lifetime is enough for me.”
“You don’t have to go when it happens. You can stay home. Funerals aren’t much fun. Maybe we can do something special to remember Lisa by, like we did with Puddles.”
Marlowe heard the crunch of tires on the driveway and looked up to see Fred’s SUV approaching. “Come on girl, let’s get some more glasses. They’ll be thirsty too.” Chalcey ran into the kitchen and grabbed two more glasses for Fred and Oriole.
“Are you two done for the day?” Marlowe asked as they got out of the car.
“No, Marlowe. We’re actually here on business. We have some questions for you about Lisa Wood.” Oriole sat down next to her mother, and poured iced tea for Fred and her.
“Did Lisa update her will recently?” Fred got right down to the questions at hand.
“Fred, I can’t talk about a client. You know that, even if she is deceased.”
“Marlowe, I know she was a friend of the family and a client. I know you’re feeling pain. But there are some things we need to know to solve her murder.” Oriole tried again to soften Fred’s approach.
“Her will is going to be probated because that is what she wanted. Get me a subpoena deuces tecum and I’ll provide the contents. The date on the will can tell you when it was updated. There will be information in the will that will answer some of your questions. I’m sorry that’s the best I can do.”
Fred rose from the rocker and set his glass down of the round patio table next to Chalcey. “So, what you’re telling me is yes, the will was updated and yes there is information that is pertinent to the case. I’m hoping some of that information will help us find who did this to Lisa. It’s supper time, what’s Summer got cooking? Come on Chalcey, I’ll even help set the table.”
Chalcey and Fred moved into the kitchen to help get dinner on the table while Marlowe and Oriole remained in the rocking chairs. “Mom, don’t be mad at Fred or me. We both know how disturbing this is for you, Summer, and for Frances. When someone dies like this, it leaves such a void. It just seems so senseless. There has to be answers in the jumble of confusion. Let’s go get a glass of wine and see what we’re having for dinner.”
“I’ll pass on the wine, I think tonight is a Scotch night, honey.”
Summer fixed a pork loin with homemade applesauce, fresh peas from the garden, tossed salad (lettuce from the garden), raised rolls that Chalcey mixed up and mint iced tea. Dinner conversation consisted of the memorial service for Joyce, the upcoming prospect of Lisa’s funeral, the rodeo and Buttercup’s forthcoming foal.
The subpoena deuces tecum was served on the Sharpe Law Firm. Joan provided the necessary documents. Fred and Oriole returned to the office to pore over the new will.
“Looks like Lisa was tired of Phil’s lack of enthusiasm for the job hunt. This new will says everything goes to the two kids except a small bequest to United We Stand and the Tea Party and a sizeable one to the Humane Society. He gets nothing, not even the condo. That is her sole property even though they were married for 12 years. The condo was to go to the estate, be sold, and the proceeds divided between her son and daughter. The next question is did he know about the new will and if he did, did he know it was done or did he think it was in the process. After Joyce’s memorial service, let’s ask Marlowe if she knows. Then let’s go back to talk to Phil. Based on the addendum, she had a safe deposit box at State Bank and three bank accounts. You get the subpoenas started for those too. I’ll see what I can find out about Phil, see if there’s any skirts involved with him, see if he owes anyone money, etc.” Fred put the will down, marked it as evidence, put it in an evidence envelope and took it down to the locker. Oriole started the process for yet another batch of subpoenas.
Chapter 8
Neighbors began arriving for the service for Joyce. Cars were parked all along the driveway, in the yard, down the main road, and people were being bused back to Bear Ranch by a tractor--drawn wagon. Chairs had been arranged in the near pasture under the shade of the cottonwood trees. A three piece band played some of Joyce’s favorite songs as people began milling about. Ranchers from around the valley came in their best attire, more cowboy hats were present than at the Prescott Rodeo, boots were spit polished, and Levis had a sharp crease.
Rod and his son greeted folks and received condolences and offers of help. Summer, Marlowe, and Oriole moved among the mourners shaking hands and hugging neighbors they hadn’t seen for several months. Chalcey watched from the sidelines not quite sure what she should or should not be doing. The band finished Amazing Grace and the guitar player, John Peterson, took the microphone. “If y’all would find a seat, we’re ready for Summer to start. Summer, you want to come on up here?”
Summer wore a dark blue, ankle length dress of chiffon with a matching lace jacket. Her normal braid was replaced for the occasion with loose flowing curls that cascaded down to her waist. The sun caught her snow white hair creating an angelic halo. She mounted the make--shift stage to deliver the eulogy for her long time friend.
“Thank you all for coming to honor the life of our friend and neighbor. Rod asked if I would deliver a few words about Joyce as I knew her. Then I’d ask any of you who want to share some of your experiences and stories about Joyce to come up and speak.”
“There is someone I want you to know. She was known by many names: Mom, wife, neighbor, singer, teacher, healer, and of course, friend. She was warm and friendly and open to helping anyone who crossed her path. In the midst of chaos she reigned calm. When cool wasn’t cool, she was. During a crisis or family tragedy, she analyzed the situation, developed alternatives, and provided leadership.
This woman was a great singer. Her voice rang out in the church choir, at the opening ceremony for the Rodeo, for weddings, for funerals, and for the fun of it. If you ever had the pleasure of helping her in her garden, you would have heard the melodious strains coming from the corn patch.
This woman was a rescuer. There were always injured, lost critters on Crimson Ranch. She hardly ever had to call the vet for help with their recovery. But animals were not the only ones rescued by Joyce. As I look out at this gathering, I see Billy Williams, whom Joyce found beaten and more dead than alive, took him in, put him to work and got him on his feet and helped him get a job down the road at Hardin Ranch. I see Milly and her three kids Joyce helped find them a place to live and a job and helped keep the kids in school.
This woman loved animals. Crimson produced champion milk goats, blue ribbon rabbits and prize winning chickens. Rod would come home from work and never be surprised to find another breed or species moving into the barn.
This woman loved her state and even more Yavapai County. She volunteered for only those projects she believed in: and that was everyone that had to do with the armed forces, freedom, the fine arts, and growth opportunities for young people.
This woman was touched by God. God touched her heart and she found Rod. She in turn touched the hearts and souls of many in her quiet unassuming, nonjudgmental style. In looking out at you today and how many came to honor her, she would be humbled at having touched your lives and probably would have said “ah shucks” to see so many.
This was to have been the best time of Joyce and Rod’s life. Neal had just been commissioned in the Air Force; Rod had just retired to work full time on the ranch. And Joyce was going to slow down a little and only plant an acre of garden this year!
And maybe this is the best time in her life-she’s with the little girl Rod and Joyce lost at birth, all the critters that have gone on before, and her parents, but most of all she is home with God.
Our hearts are heavy because we miss her--her smile, her laughter, her love, her comfort, her calm, her friendship, and her presence.
Know that Joyce is always with you in her son and soon to be grandchildren, in the garden you plant and harvest, in the people and animals you rescue in her memory, and in the song you sing.
Know that she loves all of you and she is most happy when you are happy and caring for and about others.
Know that she sends comfort to you through Christ our Lord and that comfort will see you through hard times and sad times and will help you through your pain today and tomorrow.
I will miss my friend and neighbor Joyce and
To honor her, I will help someone or something every day
To honor her, I will be a terrific neighbor
To honor her, I will encourage others to serve their community
To honor her, I will do more for my community
To honor her, I ask you to remember the good in Joyce Albright.
Thank you. “
Summer finished the eulogy, folded her speech and looked out at the gathering. Even the toughened ranchers were dabbing at their eyes as tears spilled out. Others began to stand in line to speak of the lady they came to honor. When the last person sat down and the band played Wind Beneath My Wings, the mourners adjourned to the buffet Chalcey, Marlowe and Oriole had arranged on the patio.
Fred and Oriole found Marlowe in the kitchen making up more iced tea. “Marlowe, we swung by the office and Joan gave us the will. Do you know if Lisa was considering divorcing Phil?” Fred helped with the tea by getting ice from the upright freezer.
“As I told you, some things are attorney client privilege. You saw that the will was just signed on the 15th of May, two weeks or so back. You saw she disinherited Phil. That’s all I can tell you. However, there are others who can give you more information. Have you spoken to Summer, Betty or maybe Tom her accountant? Each of them will have another perspective to provide. Let’s get this iced tea out there before they find the hard stuff.”
Chapter 9
The following day, Fred made an appointment with Phil for more questions, while Oriole went to the bank to check on the safe deposit box and Lisa’s accounts.
“Phil, thanks for allowing me to intrude.” Fred’s gruff mannerism was replaced by a sweet talking, silver tongued devil. “I’ve just got a few more questions. What will be the dispensation of her estate?”
“What? Do you mean how was her estate to be divided?”
“Sure.”
“We both had wills in favor of the other. So, I guess I inherit. We took out mutual life insurance policies with each other as beneficiaries. The kids get a little from what they owe the estate and there are some small bequests.”
“What is the estate worth including the life insurance?”
“The condo was in her name, life insurance was valued at 250, an apartment complex, really more like a triplex valued at about 300, stocks and bonds probably another 300, odds and ends of maybe another 50.”
“How much is the condo worth?”
“Well, it’s been going down rapidly, but about 150.”
“So somewhere close to a million?”
“Yeah, I’ve never thought about it as a sum total. But that would be pretty close.”
“Phil, I need to put together a time line for where everyone was on the day Lisa died. Can you tell me what you did from say 8:00 in the morning until say 6:00 in the evening?”
“It’s all a blur. Let’s see, I had cereal for breakfast about 8:30. Lisa had gone to the office, early, about 7:00. I took a phone call or two, and made a couple. I had a tee time of 10:30 out at the country club. I had lunch with the foursome. It’s a regular thing. We play a short round and then have lunch. About 2:00, I went to get my hair cut. I had a meeting with a stock broker for 3:00. Ummm, let’s see, that lasted almost until 5:00 and I was back here and then you arrived late, what, 7:30 or so.”
“Would you be able to put together the names and phone numbers of all those people and places for me please?”
“Why?”
“Well, I need to call them and speak with them. They may have more in depth information. It’s routine. Does that create a problem?”
“No, I understand. I’ll get it and can I email it to you?”
“Sure, that works for me. Let’s talk a little about your work. What do you do for a living?” Fred asked, knowing the answer should have been ’I’m a mooch.’
“I’m in between jobs right now. That was what I met with the stock broker about. I’m looking at a training program.”
“When was the last time you had a job and what was it?” Fred had taken off the white cotton gloves.
“Hmmm, well, I guess that would have been a couple years ago when the economy took a tank, I worked at that RV place.”
“What year would that have been and would that have been the one on Willow Creek?”
“Well, it must have been two or three years ago.”
Fred noticed Phil did not get specific with the year or with the location of the RV place, but let it slide.
“Well, I think that about covers it. I appreciate the time and again my condolences.” Fred turned on the charm and took leave of Phil Mason.
Over at the morgue, Dr. Culpepper was finishing the post mortem as Fred walked in. “You’re late. I’m finished.” Cranky Culpepper sounded more like a teacher than an ME.
“Sorry, boss, I got hung up talking to the husband. What did you find?”
“Strangled, standard cord. Sent off for evidence. Her hyoid bone was crushed. No recent sexual activity. But here is something interesting, she had a high level of Ativan in her system. We’re sending that to tox for exact amounts. She expired somewhere between 8:00 and 12:00 on the day she was found. I’ll send over the report as soon as Jill gets it typed up.”
“Thanks, Doc. Sorry about being late. Won’t happen again.” Fred chuckled to himself as he made notes.
Oriole reached the bank about the time Fred had made it to Phil’s. The bank manager opened the safety deposit box to reveal jewelry, stocks, bonds, a copy of the new will and the old one with lettering across it saying ‘revoked’, an insurance policy, and a diary. Oriole provided an inventory and receipt to the manager taking custody of the items. She and the manager went to the back office to discuss the three accounts.
“This first account, numbered 4062, is a savings account in the name of Lisa Wood. The balance is $52,078.00, last activity was a week ago, a withdrawal of $25,000.00 in a counter check made out to Cash. Account number 2543 is a checking account that only Ms. Wood could sign on, balance is $7,569.45, and last activity is a check that cleared two days ago for $231.68. This third account is a joint account with Phil Mason with both being signators. But here is the interesting thing on that account, Ms. Wood came in and met with the assistant manager and closed that account and moved the balance over to her checking account.”
“So, what was the balance in the joint account and when did Ms. Wood close it?”
“Small balance-$143.67, closed a couple weeks ago.”
“Is there a note as to why it was closed?”
“Says here ‘no longer needed‘.”
“Can just one party close it out without the permission of the other?”
“Sure. This is an either/or account. Either one could have done so.”
“Can I get the statements for these three accounts for the last year?”
“Let me look at the subpoena. Yep, says so. I’ll just print them off. Anything else you need?”
“The cashier’s check. Who can get it? Who can cash it?”
“Interesting question. On that account, she was the only one who could make transactions. But anyone in possession of the check can cash it. That’s why I suggested she make it out to someone rather than cash.”
“Okay. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for the statements.”
Chapter 10
Fred and Oriole met up at the office and compared notes. “Hey, Snoopy, how about lunch at Murphy’s and let’s invite Marlowe and pick her brain about some of this stuff.”
“You don’t want to pick her brain, you just want to sit next to her and drool. Anyway, I talked to her on my way back, she’s tied up with the suicide of one of the attorneys. She probably can’t get away.”
“Who? I didn’t hear anything about it.”
“It’s a guy who lived down in Phoenix, but took cases up here. She’s going to give me the details later tonight. You might as well come to dinner, since you always show up about that time. Then we can talk to her about ‘sttuuff’.” Oriole dragged out the word stuff to Fred’s chagrin.
“So you still want to do Murphy’s? I‘ll even buy.” Fred was known to be tighter than a gnat’s ass stretched over a rain barrel, Oriole jumped on the offer.
“Since you’re buying, I’m having lobster.”
“You’ll fly too, if you sprout wings.” Fred laughed at his partner. They walked into Murphy’s and took a booth toward the back.
They had no more than gotten seated, when Frances Pitcher walked up to them. “I’m sorry to disturb your lunch. Can I sit down? I’d like to talk about my last meeting with Lisa. Do you mind?” Frances fell more than sat next to Oriole.
Her friend’s sudden death had taken a toll, her hair stuck out like a windmill, her suit was rumpled and she had on one black shoe and one navy blue. Her normally carefully applied make up was missing.
“Tell us what’s on your mind.” Oriole empathized and handed a menu to Frances.
“See, I thought something was off at dinner the night before she died. She talked in circles. But the real concern I have is her last statement. She said she was going to have to make some real hard decisions soon. Lisa never had hard decisions to make. Her life was pretty stable, well except for marrying Phil. He swept her off her feet and for 12 years convinced her of his wonder. Lately, though, I think she was concerned about his spending money they didn’t have.” The server arrived and Frances ordered a salad and iced tea, Fred and Oriole ordered burgers and fries. “I was going to ask if there was anything I could do to help her, but she seemed in a hurry to get home. I know you always look at family first in a death like this. Maybe you should look at Phil. You know, he didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out. I’ve always thought he had a wandering eye. I will say he was careful not to show it around Lisa though. He knew which side his bread was buttered on. Once I was out at the Hassyampa Golf Club for a meeting and I saw him with a young thing, lots of leg and hair. They looked pretty cozy. I didn’t tell Lisa, because it was none of my business. Now I wish I had. Maybe she’d still be with us.”
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