A Body on Fitzgerald's Bluff Read online

  “She was demanding money, not him, if Alf and Alyssa heard it right. You’d better ask them. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be, and I wasn’t that interested in Dee’s problems with money or men. Maybe that was a mistake given what’s happened to her.”

  “Was that before or after Diana Durand asked you for money?” Carl piped up again.

  “After. The argument in the parking lot was recent.”

  “Carl asked this question already, but I’m curious too. How much money did she want from you, Edgar?” Hank asked.

  “A few thousand—just to tide her over until she got a check—a tax refund or a bonus, or something like that.” We’d met Edgar’s response about a few thousand dollars with a round of gasps. Not Hank Miller, though, whose curiosity had moved on to another interesting matter.

  “Did you give it to her?” He asked.

  “No. I told her to sell that diamond friendship ring I’d given her. She might have had to drive to Santa Barbara or LA to sell it, but it would have given her the money she asked for and then some.”

  “Whoa, Edgar, you’re lucky you’re not the one who turned up dead,” Joe said. “It’s a good thing you told Dee no over the phone. In person, she might have decked you if she’d slapped you the way she did the big guy.” Joe shook his head as he went back to eating.

  “A few thousand sounds like more than ‘tide her over’ money,” Carl observed. “In my experience, people who dig that kind of a hole for themselves are often addicted to something—gambling or drugs.”

  “Shopping, maybe, if she got accustomed to living at the level Edgar’s generosity afforded her,” I suggested recalling the load of merchandise lying on the ground near where we’d seen her body.

  “She did love shopping. I didn’t mind, and it didn’t bother me that she got used to my generosity, either. What ended our friendship was the pressure she put on me to tie the knot. I may be a fool, but I’m not that big a fool. I’ve got better uses for my money than to turn a woman like Diana Durand into the merry widow.”

  “I’m surprised she took no for an answer if she needed money that bad. Some of the deadbeats I’ve run into have hit up their relatives and friends relentlessly until they gave them more money just to make them go away,” Carl said.

  “Until the next time, right?” Hank asked. Carl nodded.

  “She didn’t keep badgering me,” Edgar commented, “but before she gave up, Dee did make another ridiculous attempt to get money by offering to sell me information about some deal she thought I should know about.”

  “What kind of a deal?” Hank asked.

  “Who knows? I was so fed up at that point I told her I wasn’t interested. Period. I’ve never liked to mix business and pleasure, even back when I gave a hoot about business. Anyway, I chalked it up to another childish effort to pull the wool over my eyes by trying to make herself out as a woman of intrigue or a wheeler-dealer. She was very immature, which is another reason I ended the relationship.”

  “Geez, Edgar, what did you expect from a twenty-something woman willing to play you as her sugar daddy?” Joe asked. Edgar shrugged. I could tell Hank was still mulling over Edgar’s revelations. I was too.

  “Okay, so is it money or men?” I wondered aloud.

  “That is an excellent question,” Hank replied. “Love and money are two of the oldest motives in the book for murder. Maybe the crime scene investigators will turn up evidence that leads back to a suspect or reveals a motive. You never know where the lead you need will turn up.”

  “You all will lay off and give the authorities time to figure this out, if you know what’s good for you,” the deputy warned. I’m sure he intended that to be an order. I resisted the urge to salute, which wasn’t too hard since he issued the command by pointing a fork at us before shoveling more food into to his mouth. There was something almost comical in his behavior.

  “I hope you’ve left room for dessert, Deputy.” I smiled, feeling a little sheepish knowing we wouldn’t heed that warning no matter how solemnly he’d delivered the message.

  “No way am I going to miss an opportunity to try Shoo Fly Pie that comes with a recommendation from a guy who can cook like Tony. This community isn’t all bad,” Devers commented.

  Hank didn’t acknowledge the deputy’s remark with a verbal reply. Instead, he smiled at me, rolled his eyes, heavenward, and shook his head. I couldn’t help responding, returning the smile.

  Hank does inspire more confidence than Deputy Do-little, I thought, wondering if I’d just come up with a new moniker for Hank’s irritating sidekick.

  We’d lapsed into a few minutes of silence to do some serious eating when the detective went on alert. Finished with his meal, Hank had been scrolling through the calls on Edgar’s phone.

  “Well, well, Edgar, Diana did call you. You’ve got a missed call from her at around the time the Carlson woman claimed she called you. Here’s a new twist, though. You’ve got another missed call from her placed after she was dead.”

  “Don’t tell me she called to ask for money from the other side?” He asked. That set off a round of nervous laughter as the servers swept into the room with pie and ice cream, “compliments of the Chef.”

  8 Rivals ‘Til the End?

  Neely and I had just left the Clubhouse when she repeated the question I’d asked earlier. “What’s your guess—is it money or men?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s check with Midge and see if she learned anything more about Dave Winick or what he’s doing roaming around here on his own. Maybe he’s house-hunting on behalf of real-estate hungry developers at Blue Haven and that’s the deal Diana wanted to share with Edgar—for a price.”

  “I considered that, which would make this about money. It’s also possible Dave wasn’t happy about being relegated to the status of an old flame. Diana wouldn’t be the first woman to be killed after an affair ended—especially if it was her idea to call it quits and not his. Winick could be one of those guys who can’t take no for an answer. There must be some gossip about their break-up since they both worked for ‘Big Blue’ at the time.”

  “‘Big Blue,’ huh? That’s new.”

  Neely stopped for a second to take in the views of the Pacific Ocean that were visible along the walking path to our Writers’ Circle Cottages. It was a dazzling sight with the scruffy, rolling bluffs and sandy dunes sprawled out below the Seaview Cottages community. The breeze ruffled patches of scruffy grass and a pair of gulls overhead called out. In the distance, children screeched as if echoing the gulls’ cries.

  “It’s not just the people who have nicknames around here. We’re nickname crazy, I guess, with names for bluffs and dunes, coves and beaches. You know about Fitzgerald’s Bluff, of course. That hillock is Dickens’ Dune,” she said pointing into the distance. “We call that small inlet, Steinbeck’s Cove. Why not have a nickname for the resort, too? In this case, I’m almost positive it’s a name the workers at the resort came up with and not one of Midge’s creations.” Neely began walking again, picking up the pace as we headed into the enclave in which our homes are located.

  “Diana sure had her share of trouble there. Not just the big guy in the parking lot, but the unfriendly coworker who’s willing to smear her in the media, and an affair with a bigwig that may or may not have ended well. Blue Haven was no haven with Diana around, was it?” I asked.

  “Nope. Let’s see what Marty found out if she was able to reach her old friend today as she planned. Do we have any of that cake left?”

  “Yes. I was thinking about taking it to Rosemary this afternoon and having her offer it to folks who drop by the Clubhouse. I’m going to blow up like a Macy’s Day Parade balloon if I don’t cool it.”

  “Let your posse of old ladies rescue you from the leftover cake. Dinner’s at my house tonight—sixish. I’ll just make a big Greek salad with feta cheese and Kalamata olives. If we eat a light meal, you’ll feel less guilty about scarfing down another piece of that decadent cake. As you
can probably tell by looking at me, I have no problem carrying a few extra pounds.” Neely laughed in her characteristic rich, hearty way. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked at me, her dark eyes glinting.

  “Then, we’ll get down to business. We have plenty of news to share from lunch with our engaging new detective friend. What a pleasant change he is after wrestling with Devers for years.” I had to agree with her given how soon I’d come up with my own derogatory name for the deputy.

  “Hank has a knack for calling the deputy by his first name in a way that stings as much as one of Midge’s fake names for Darnell.” I tried my best to emulate the detective’s emphasis and intonation when I said Darnell.

  “That’s close, but you need to hear the detective say it a few more times to mimic him properly.” She raised her eyebrows a couple times. “I’m sure he won’t mind.” I tried not to blush. Maybe, because I suddenly realized I hoped she was right that Hank wouldn’t mind seeing me again.

  When we arrived minutes later at my cottage, Neely waved at Domino who was peering out of the picture window that overlooks the porch. My sweet spotty dog’s tail was swinging wildly. I heard muted woofs coming from inside the house.

  “Why not bring your lovely girl with you? I’m sure Charly will bring Emily and the two dogs can keep each other company.”

  “That would be wonderful. Domino has settled in pretty well, but I don’t like leaving her home alone too much.” Our move to the West Coast wasn’t the first adjustment Domino had been forced to make. For the first few weeks after Pete died, she continued to wait for him to come home at dinner time each evening. Then, she’d park herself near the chair he sat in after dinner to watch TV.

  I tried to fill in for him by sitting in that chair. Or maybe I had filled that empty seat for myself. When I sold the house and moved a few months later, I got rid of the chair along with tons of other stuff. Domino and I went from a house that had become too big for just the two of us, to a tiny apartment that had us almost stumbling over each other. As I walked in through the front door of my Hemingway Cottage, I was struck once again by the “just right” feeling it evoked.

  “Hello, Domino, you good dog! Goldilocks is home.” Domino woofed in reply. “Do you want to visit Emily tonight?” I asked. You don’t have to ask Domino twice about going to a party. She spun around and then leaped in the air—a near-perfect imitation of Emily’s Jack Russell Terrier antics.

  What a memory she has, I thought. “It’s too bad you didn’t catch a glimpse of Diana Durand’s killer. I bet you could help us find that person, couldn’t you?”

  When I recalled how Domino had darted toward Dave Winick, I put him back on the list of suspects. It could be she just didn’t like an unfamiliar person poking around. On the other hand, maybe she sensed—or smelled something that had set her off. I suddenly had an idea that might help sort things out.

  “I wonder what cologne Dave Winick wears, Domino.” She cocked her head to one side as I spoke. I’d started talking to my pets long before I’d become a widow, but it’s a regular occurrence now. “It’s a familiar fragrance. Maybe they sell it at one of the Blue Haven Resort shops. We might at least be able to figure out if it’s a fragrance sold to men or women.” When she tilted her head the other way, I laughed. The best part about having a fur baby like my Domino, besides the scintillating conversation, is that she makes me laugh out loud every day.

  “You’re such an inspiration! It’s time for members of our gang of old ladies to go undercover as mystery shoppers—pun intended. Come on, I’ll get you a treat!”

  I felt incredibly antsy as I did a few chores. I kept going over and over what we’d learned from our conversations with people today. As I did that, I also tried not to linger too long on Hank’s face, his laugh, or his comments. That wasn’t easy.

  “Focus, Miriam!” I said sharply, speaking to myself out loud. Domino’s head popped up.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m just driving myself nutty—nuttier—wondering how we’re going to figure this out.” Domino wagged her tail in what I regarded as a sympathetic, understanding way. She’d had lots of practice doing that since Pete died. “At least snooping into murder and mayhem will keep me from stewing about Pete and all the lies I’m hanging onto. They’re not all so little, though, are they?” Some of Pete’s secrets had been big ones. I tried never to call them lies, but that was harder to do now that I was haunted by my own deception.

  My gut told me we’d learn something by making the rounds at the Blue Haven Resort, even if we couldn’t track down that fragrance I’d encountered out among the dunes. I made a cup of tea and sat down at the dining table in the kitchen. I spent the next hour checking out the resort website. As distasteful as I found the task, I went over the Seaview Cottages financial situation again. Then I read through the news coverage about Diana’s murder and came face-to-face, once again, with Hank Miller.

  “Good grief! You’re a married woman as far as your friends and neighbors are concerned,” I muttered, sighing as I closed the lid on my laptop. “Despite my wandering eye, Domino, I assure you that may not have been a completely fruitless effort. Maybe it is about the money after all. Let’s go see what our Writers’ Circle friends have to say about what I found!” Domino jumped up and wiggled toward me. “Go” is a word she knows and loves!

  Whenever I’m invited to someone’s home for dinner or a party, I try to give them a few extra minutes before I show up. That’s not out of a desire to be fashionably late, but an effort to be polite. I’m one of those people who always have last-minute things to do when I’ve invited people over, and I run around like a crazy woman until the last second. Despite being “politely late” when I arrived for the chili supper at Charly’s house last night, I’d still been her first guest. Not tonight. By the time Domino and I showed up, the others were already there.

  “Hello, everyone! You all must be excited to share what we’ve learned about the body on the bluff,” I said when Neely led me to the dining area where the others were gathered around a platter of hummus and pita bread triangles.

  “Nah, we can hardly wait for another piece of your Death by Chocolate Cake!” Marty quipped.

  “Yep!” Neely said as she whisked that cake out of my hands. Charly removed Domino’s leash and turned her loose with Emily in Neely’s backyard. The fence around Neely’s yard was a brilliant white color like mine, but taller and appeared to be in much better shape. A taller, sturdier fence was appealing. My cottage hadn’t been built on a lot with as high an elevation as the Christie Cottage, so I’d lose my view of the golf course. Under the current circumstances, it might be worth it. At least Emily and Domino could romp without worrying that they’d get out or an unwelcome guest could get in.

  “Let’s eat!” Neely announced moments later. “We can wait until we finish dinner if you’d like or we can dig into our food and our crime at the same time.”

  “Well, I’ll save my news from the preliminary autopsy report until after dinner. It’s not very appetizing. Why don’t you and Miriam fill us in on your lunch meeting? Hank Miller won’t spoil our appetite. He’s not only a competent detective, but easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Charly glanced from Neely to me and then settled back on Neely waiting for a reply. Instead of answers, she got more questions.

  “He is?” Marty asked.

  “How do you know?” Midge asked. “Was he one of your students?”

  “He went through the Police Academy before I started teaching courses for them, but I’ve met him. He’s a friend of a friend.”

  “I didn’t know you taught at the Police Academy,” I said glad to learn a little more about Charly’s background.

  “That was after she retired. Dr. Penelope aka ‘Charly’ Parker was a criminology professor at UC Santa Cruz,” Neely said. “As obsessed as she is about all things related to the Brontë sisters, I assumed she was a professor of literature or creative writing until I heard otherwise.”

  “Not ju
st a sit behind the desk kind of a professor, either,” Midge added. “She helped solve the murder of a colleague while she was at the university and consulted on several other crimes as well.”

  “Like a profiler?” I asked.

  “Something like that, but more sociological than psychological,” Charly replied. “There’s lots of social data that can be helpful in figuring who’s a likely culprit. Group data’s not always that great at picking out an individual, but it can often narrow down the list of suspects. Especially when you link it with an individual’s personal history and past behavior. A sociological bias can also get in your way when it comes to finding a killer. It’s been years since I was involved with law enforcement as a consultant. It still irks me to see a guy like Devers throwing his weight around as if his job is about wielding power rather than seeking justice.”

  “At least he’s mostly assigned to patrolling the highways, dealing with fender benders, and traffic problems,” Marty offered.

  “True, and it’s good he doesn’t have much of a role to play in this investigation. Devers has already demonstrated what a hard time he has recognizing evidence of a crime,” Charly added.

  “Even with a gang of old ladies pointing right at it.” With that, Neely launched into her account of our lunch meeting. Everyone laughed when she explained how I’d warned them that the gang of old ladies Devers badmouthed would break me out of the hoosegow.

  When Neely and I finished giving everyone an overview of our lunch discussion, Midge zeroed in on Dave Winick. During her conversation with Greta Bishop, she’d also discovered our golf cart stalker’s name. She’d learned more about him and his relationships with Greta and Diana.

  “It’s interesting that Edgar claims Diana Durand’s relationship with Dave Winick was old news. Greta said she got ‘hands off’ vibes from her. A nasty comment went with Greta’s claim. ‘Some women just can’t handle it when a man moves on.’ Something catty like that.”