MURDER AT THE PIER (A Sister Sleuths Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

"Did you have any trouble finding another job after
you were let go?"

"That was the strange part. Mr. Henderson told me he
would show on my personnel records I was terminated because the job was winding
down so I'd be able to find other work. In fact, he was the one who told me
they needed construction workers here on Mr. Mitchell's project."

Paul relaxed. Juan's candor and honesty were hardly
synonymous with someone trying to cover up criminal activities. But before he
concluded the interview, he took the opportunity to dispel one last lingering
doubt.

His next question was not aimed at anything Jim Mitchell
had asked him to pursue but something he needed to know for his own peace of
mind. "I guess working a full-time job and helping your Mom take care of
your siblings, you don't have much time to yourself," Paul suggested.

"Yeah, I keep pretty busy. But don't worry; I find
time for the important stuff like
watching the Lakers
game against the Spurs with my buddies Monday night. I still can't believe they
won the game.
One of their best
comebacks ever."

"Unfortunately, I missed a lot of the game. At least I
saw the final minutes when the Lakers made a run of a dozen points." Paul
didn't bother to tell Juan the reason he was unable to watch much of the game
was because his wife was busy discovering a dead body at the Pier. He was
relieved to have assured himself that even though Juan Martinez may have had a
possible motive in being unfairly terminated by the victim, he had a solid
alibi for the time of the murder.

"I wish you the best, Juan. You're a godsend to your
mother and you're on the right path with your life. Keep working hard. I'm sure
you'll get a diploma and whatever else you set your sights on." Paul shook
Juan's hand, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Thank you. It means a lot to have people believe in
me."

As Juan headed back to work, Paul hoped what he had learned
would be enough to convince Tom that Juan Martinez was not the one who killed Neal
Henderson.

Lea entered the Carson Building and walked over to the
snack stand. The twenty-one story building was the tallest structure in town.
The front entrance boasted a circular drive with a water fountain. Across the
parking lot was a small retail center hosting a Starbucks, sandwich shop, copy
store, and FedEx.

The first floor of the office building included a bank, an insurance
company, and an employment agency. Don Carson housed the divisions of his
development company on floors eighteen through twenty. The top floor included a
penthouse reserved for Don and his assistants, and The Apex, the County’s
premier members club known for its outstanding cuisine, sky lounge, and banquet
facilities. With a breathtaking view of the ocean, The Apex was the meeting
place of choice for business, political, and social leaders.

 “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?” She pulled a bottle of cold
water from the refrigerator and picked up a package of breath mints from the
counter.

“I’m wonderful, Miss Lea.” The owner of the kiosk was on a
first name basis with everyone who walked into the building except the owner, whom
he always called Mr. Carson out of respect. “Another sunny day in paradise. My
grandkids coming for a visit. Everything is good.”

“How long will they stay?”

“Two weeks. Plenty of time for me to talk my daughter and
son-in-law into moving here. “

Lea laughed. “Or for them to talk you into moving back to
the Philippines. We’d hate to lose you.”

His broad smile exposed broken teeth. “Don’t worry. My wife
would never hear of it. Besides, how could Mr. Carson keep this big building
running smoothly without me?”

“Things probably aren’t running too smoothly today with the
news about Neal Henderson.”

“It’s terrible. All the tenants are buzzing. The police and
reporters were here earlier. Mr. Carson was out of town, but I saw his
helicopter landing on the helipad when I came in at seven o’clock. “

“Neal was his right-hand man. He’ll have a lot to take on.”

“Maybe Adam will come home now. It’s too bad such a
terrible thing should be the reason, but everyone would be happy to see that
happen.”

“I’m sure Adam will do what he thinks is best for all
concerned. From what I hear, he has a girlfriend on the East Coast to
consider.”

 “Rumor is she’s from an old school, old money family. She
may not be ready to settle down in a small laid back West Coast town.” The old
man’s eyes twinkled. “If she’s worried about that, she doesn’t know how Mr.
Carson lives.”

“I’m sure you could give her the lowdown, Bobby,” Lea
laughed. “I’ve got to run.”

“Which of your clients are you here to see?”

“Going to The Apex. Angelo needs brochures for the next
Food Fest.”

“I’ve heard about his cooking competitions. The people who
go the last day sample the winner’s dishes. Dishes fit for a king.”

“Maybe I can get you a ticket.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Lea, but don’t bother. It would be too
rich for my stomach. I’m used to my wife’s simple Filipino fare. She doesn’t
let me eat fancy stuff. Says it will clog my arteries.”

“She’s a smart woman, Bobby. You listen to her.”

“Don’t worry. I have no choice.” He turned to help his next
customer.

* * *

It was only eleven o’clock, but the restaurant was
bustling. “Busy day, Angelo?” Lea asked the handsome, stylishly dressed owner
of The Apex when he appeared from the kitchen.

“Both lunch seatings are booked.”

“I’m glad I made reservations yesterday. I talked my husband
into treating me to lunch after you and I finish. I may have forgotten to call
today with all the excitement of the murder.”

“We’ve had a number of last minute reservations. I think
people are coming to gossip.”

“Neal must have been a regular at your restaurant. Did you
know him well?”

“As well as I wanted to. The thing that happened was
terrible, but I don’t think anyone who knew him is shedding tears. He wasn’t a
pleasant young man. His arrogance was offensive and he could be childishly
petty.”

“Surely he would never have been rude to you, knowing what
a close friend of Don Carson you are.”

“That didn’t stop him one night a few weeks ago. It was a
Tuesday, typically a slow night for us. Neal and a lady friend were here for
dinner. Everyone knows we close at ten o’clock during the week. It was obvious
he and the woman were wrapped up in each other at closing time. Neal wanted me
to accommodate them. Acting like a big shot by having the restaurant stay open.
No way was I going to cater to him. The only person I stay open for after hours
is Don Carson.

The waiter had closed out their dinner ticket. I told Neal
he needed to leave. When he didn’t, I turned out the lights. The woman laughed
and told Neal it was time to go. She was quite nice about the whole thing but
Neal was livid.

The next day half way through the lunch hour, the building
had a fire drill. It was not a big deal for the other tenants. Most of them
were taking their lunch break. For me, it was a disaster. Many of my customers
had to leave hot meals. By the time they returned, their food was cold. I
offered to reheat plates for people with hot entrees, but most of them didn’t
have time. They left with their food half eaten. I’m sure he did it to spite me
for what happened the night before.”

Lea cocked her head. “Don’t worry, Lea. Italians are known
for our fiery tempers, but he didn’t get under my skin enough for me to kill
him. I can’t speak for some of the others he offended.”

“What about the woman he was with that night? Do you know
if that was a serious relationship?”

“Oh, heavens, no. At least, I wouldn’t think so. She’s
older and married.”

“I assumed it was a date from the way you described their
intimacy.”

“Their exchange was more intense than intimate. But if what
you assumed is correct, that would, indeed, make for juicy gossip.”

“Why, Angelo?”

“Neal was with City Councilwoman, Margaret Patton.”

* * *

Seated at a table next to the picture window, Lea waited
impatiently for Paul.

Scheduling a meeting with Angelo while lunch was being prepared
had not been smart. The chef dedicated each day of the week to a different kind
of cuisine. Today, barbecue was featured. Her taste buds were salivating from
the tantalizing smells of brisket cooking: chili powder, garlic, onion,
peppers, and bay leaf.

Her meeting with Angelo had gone well. She was sketching
ideas for the brochure on her notepad when a hand moving across her back sent
chills up her neck.

“Could this gorgeous red-head be my lunch date?”

“Don’t tell your wife. I hear she’s slaving away making a
living. She’d envy you frittering your time away over martinis in this
magnificent setting.”

“Does that mean you’ve already ordered?”

“It was a no-brainer. After smelling the lunch special for
the last hour, I had no choice but to order it.”

By the time the entrée arrived, they had finished their
drinks and discussed morning activities.

Paul lifted a large forkful of mashed potatoes to his
mouth. “Gordon Parks was in the elevator when I came up. Asked if I was ready
to join his firm.”

“And . . . ?”

“I gave him the same no I give him each time he asks.”

She let out the breath she was holding. “You have to give
him credit. He’s persistent.”

“He’s persisting in a losing cause. I’ve told him I have no
interest in becoming a broker.”

“Doesn’t he do leasing for several of your clients?”

“Yep, and that’s the way I like it. He contracts with my
clients to take care of their major leasing needs. I take care of their
development and management needs. I do renewals for existing tenants, but
that’s all I want of leasing. The brokerage business is too competitive for me.
Too cut-throat.”

“Gordon isn’t that way, is he?”

“Not particularly. But a couple of the brokers working for
him have no qualms about cutting other brokers out so they don’t have to share
commissions. One, in particular, has earned the nickname Trickster for the
number of deals he’s cheated other brokers on.”

“Why doesn’t Gordon stop it?”

“He takes a hands-off attitude. Expects brokers to
negotiate commissions on their own.”

“But isn’t the payment of commissions one of the terms in
the listing agreement?”

“Much of the language in a contract is subject to
interpretation. The Trickster has ways of spinning the interpretation so he
ends up with the biggest slice of the pie.”

“I can easily see why you couldn’t work in that kind of
environment. You always look for the win-win in every deal.”

“I’ve never been willing to push the boundaries on honest
business practices. I never got over the developer I worked for when we lived in
San Diego. Remember him?”

“How could I forget? The one who wanted you to represent to
a lender that a project would yield a higher return than was possible.”

“That’s the one. Tried to convince me a slight fudging of
the numbers wouldn’t hurt anyone. Promised me a bonus when the loan got
approved.”

“You asked how you could sleep at night if you started
cheating to line your own pockets. He insisted bankers were just as bad.”

“Unfortunately, he was right. But other people’s greed and
corruption isn’t an excuse. It’s a personal choice. A decision to go down that
road is usually made without consideration for how innocent people may be
affected. The greed of big business and the attitude that corruption is
acceptable because everyone’s doing it led to the economic collapse.”

“From what I’m hearing, greed and ego were qualities that
may have led to Neal Henderson’s downfall.”

Lea started to recap her conversation with Angelo but
decided not to risk ruining a perfect lunch by alerting Paul to her interest in
the murder victim.

  * * *

Tom was at the Carson Building to talk with Don’s Property
Manager, Brad Johnson. The management office on the eighteenth floor was
modestly but tastefully furnished. Presenting his credentials at the front
desk, Tom was ushered into an office containing a desk littered with files.

“I paged Brad,” the secretary informed him. “He’s with an
electrician, but he’s on his way. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The Property Manager arrived before the coffee. The
secretary returned with two cups, one which she placed in front of the harried
young man. He dropped a pager, clipboard, and sunglasses on top of the papers
on his desk.

“Thanks, Ann. No calls, please. I don’t care what emergency
someone tells you they’re having.”

Tom leaned across the desk with his card. “Thanks for
seeing me without an appointment, Mr. Johnson.”

“Please, call me Brad. No thanks needed. Appointments are
for the bigwigs upstairs. Everyone barges in our office unannounced. I’m glad
of the chance to take an uninterrupted break,” he said, exhaling a deep breath.

“I’m investigating the death of Neal Henderson. Did you and
Mr. Henderson work together?”

“No. Neal handled the construction side of Don’s business.
I’m strictly Property Management, taking care of the tenants and the
maintenance on all the properties. I saw him at the company meetings once a
week. Other than that, I made it a point to steer clear of him.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“I don’t know many people who did. He was a jackass.
Arrogant. Always throwing his weight around. Meddling in things outside his
department.”

“Such as?”

“Telling my security guards or maintenance crew how to do
their jobs. He couldn’t walk through the building without having a few choice
words about windows needing to be washed or a car in the parking lot without a
permit that security should tag. Other department heads would never do that.
They know better. I don’t tell the leasing guys how to do their jobs and I
would never butt in with a general contractor.”

“Why do you think Don Carson thought highly of him if other
people, yourself included, had a bad opinion of him?”

“Henderson was a brown-noser. He made sure Mr. Carson
always saw him at his best. Acted like everyone’s bosom buddy when the boss was
around. Tried to give the impression he was well liked by the employees. Dished
out accolades in front of Carson, then turned around and chewed out the same
person the next day.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell Carson the employees didn’t like
him?”

“Nobody wanted to hurt the boss. They knew Neal was a
substitute son while his own son was back East. We all figured Neal would leave
once Adam came back and he realized he was never going to take over Don’s
business.”

“Did you have any run-ins with Neal?”

“I saw him in his car in the parking garage after hours one
night making out with one of the secretaries who works at the insurance
company.”

“That was hardly company business. Why did you care?”

His voice got louder. “Because he was engaged to Beth Owens
at the time. He had no right to be doing what he was doing.”

“I repeat, why did you care?”

“I live next door to Beth. We grew up together. Neal was
cheating on her. I didn’t want to see her hurt by that moron.”

“Big brother steps in to save his sister’s honor?”

The anguish in Brad’s face told Tom this was a case of more
than brotherly love.

“You’re in love with Beth.” It was a statement, not a
question.

Brad’s shoulders drooped. He turned his head to one side.
“Since the first day of high school. We were like brother and sister through
elementary school. In middle school, we were more like best friends, hung out
in the same group. We talked about people we had crushes on and gave each other
advice. Freshman year of high school, it all changed for me. I started seeing
her differently. I fell really hard.”