Scottsdale Heat: a romantic light-hearted murder mystery (Laura Black Mysteries Book 1) (2 page)

“Maybe he wants to be the mayor of Lenny Town?” I asked.

“More like the village idiot or maybe the village child molester. It’s hard to tell with Lenny.”

The door to Lenny’s office opened. He stuck his head out and started waving me into his office.

“Laura, great, get in here. It’s time to save the world.”

Lenny was a good boss, but his people skills sometimes sucked. OK, to be honest, his people skills always sucked. An anger management class would be a good idea for him too. Physically, Lenny is short, no more than five foot four. His dark hair is receding and beginning to gray at the temples. He’s also starting to get a little chubby. He sometimes reminds me of Louie from the old TV show
Taxi
.

I went in and sat in one of the chairs in front of Lenny’s desk. The legs of the chair were short, so both Lenny and his desk loomed over me.

“This morning I had a meeting with Mrs. Margaret Sternwood,” Lenny said. “She’s seriously loaded. Old money originally out of southern California, mainly from oil and natural gas. Her grandfather was one of the original oil barons out there in the 1920’s. After World War II, she came out to Arizona with her husband and they began to develop Scottsdale into what it is today. She thinks her grandson, Alexander, may be in trouble. She’s asked us to look into it.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where she can’t go to the police. Right now, she doesn’t know what he’s gotten into. She suspects it’s something illegal, drugs maybe.”

“What makes her think that?”

“From what his grandmother says, Alexander has a long history of petty crime; shoplifting, breaking and entering, and a variety of cons. Just your typical American boy. According to Mrs. Sternwood, the thing that caught up with him a few years ago was an internet auction scam.”

Lenny flipped through a legal pad sitting on his desk.

“Six years ago, Alexander sold a 1967 Jaguar E-Type over the internet for $48,200. Unfortunately, he didn’t actually have a car to sell, just some pictures and forged documents. Alexander was convicted of fraud and spent 36 months in the Arizona state prison at Florence. He was released a little over two years ago and has been clean since. Until last week he had a sales position at an Audi dealership on McDowell Road and was apparently doing well at it. Mrs. Sternwood thinks he even has a steady girlfriend.”

“Sounds like things were going OK.” I said. “What happened?”

“Last week, Alexander quit his job. According to his grandmother, no one at the dealership knows why he quit or where he is now. He just called his boss, a guy named William Martin, and told him he was quitting, simple as that. His grandmother found out about it and got worried. Yesterday afternoon she went over to his apartment and was let in. There was no Alexander, but she did find some troubling things.”

“Like what?”

“A new Rolex, at least there was an empty Rolex box. There was also a new computer, a new big screen TV, and new audio equipment, some of it still in the boxes. Just the sort of things a guy in his mid-twenties would get if he suddenly came into some big money.”

“Why doesn’t she just wait in his apartment for him to show up then ask him herself?”

“Yeah,” Lenny said. “I asked her about that. Apparently, there has been a falling out between the two of them. She didn’t say what it was, but I take it they no longer communicate.”

Great, nothing I hate more than getting in the middle of a family squabble.

I kept my mouth shut as Lenny went on.

“If it turns out drugs or other illegal activities are involved, Alexander’s grandmother wants to be informed. All the details.”

“If Alexander is picked up by the police in the meantime, we’ll be representing him?” I asked.

“Most likely, so use your judgment on how closely you dig into any criminal activity. If something starts to smell ugly, back off and let me know right away. I’d rather the DA didn’t call you to the stand to testify against Alexander. It’s not the sort of thing a wealthy client appreciates.”

Not that it would ever come to that. One of the reasons people come to Lenny is his clients almost never go to trial. By using his well-paid connections, things were usually settled out of court. Money can still do that, even in Scottsdale.

“Mrs. Sternwood is expecting you at noon,” Lenny said, as way of my dismissal. “Sophie has the address.”

I looked down at my watch. It was 11:19.

Damn.

I went out to Sophie’s desk and asked her for Mrs. Sternwood’s address. She wrote it out and handed it to me. When I looked at it, I realized Sophie was right. She
was
rich.

~~~~

I left the office and headed up Scottsdale road to Lincoln. I shoved Fall Out Boy into the CD player and turned it up loud.

As I drove, I began to reflect on my love life. So OK, maybe it was a mistake to think about that. Since my divorce, I’ve had a pathetic love life. Not that it was so great while I was married, but at least the sheer quantity of sex somehow made up for the crappy quality. Maybe there’s something wrong with me? I think about men all the time. Maybe I’m a nymphomaniac? Of course if I am, then I’m a pretty lousy nymphomaniac. The last time I was with a man was just over six months ago and that was with a lowlife golf pro named Dusty. But, several months before, I had dated a cop named Jackson Reno. We had really gotten along great. He was warm, funny, and a terrific lover. I thought the relationship could take off. Unfortunately, the whole thing had ended badly. More unfortunately, it was mostly my fault. By the time I tried to set things straight, he was with someone new. So, that’s where I am now. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Reno and maybe it’s for the best. I just wish I’d stop dreaming about him.

~~~~

Margaret Sternwood lived in Paradise Valley, which is the mile-wide valley between Camelback Mountain, Mummy Mountain, and Peistewa Peak. Paradise Valley is wealthy, even by Scottsdale standards. High walls and iron gates protect most of the homes in the valley. Many of the gates also have guards to further discourage people who don’t belong.

From her address, I knew Mrs. Sternwood lived in a cluster of old money estates on the south side of Mummy Mountain. I took Lincoln to Desert Fairways, then went north to Mummy Mountain Road. Here, both a gate and a guard blocked the road.

As I pulled up, a guard stepped out of his shack and held up a hand to stop me. I told him my name and he went back in the booth and typed it into a computer. I guess I was on the list of good people, because he hit a button and the gate slowly swung open.

As I drove through the gate, I was aware of being vaguely disappointed. Having someone let you into a secure area kind of took the fun out of being there.

~~~~

I drove along a narrow lane winding up the side of the mountain. High hedges of pink and white flowering oleanders lined the sides of the road. Every hundred yards, or so, I’d pass by the driveway of some beautiful house. Each house had a large tropical or floral display on either side of the driveway entrance. Occasionally, I could catch a glimpse of one of the houses at the end of the driveway. Each was unique and magnificent. Each house said the owner had money and wasn’t afraid to spend it.

After half a mile, I passed through a large open gate and into a wide cobblestone courtyard was in front of either a huge house or a small hotel. On the far side of the courtyard was an eight-car garage. I checked the address, which was on a plaque near the front door, and confirmed I was at the right place.

I rang the bell and after several moments a butler answered. He was medium height and bone thin. I guessed his age at about a hundred and fifty.

“I’m Laura Black,” I said. “I have an appointment with Mrs. Sternwood.”

“Yes, Miss Black,” he said. His voice was wheezy and came out in gasps. “Mrs. Sternwood is expecting you. She is having cocktails by the pool and asks if you would join her.” He then turned and shuffled down the hall. I followed him. Going through the Sternwood house made me again realize in Scottsdale there are the rich and the rest of us. Unfortunately, I was definitely not among the rich.

~~~~

Mrs. Sternwood was reclining on a chaise lounge by the side of a sparkling blue tropical-lagoon style pool. She was wearing a white jogging suit with a royal blue scarf and white sneakers. She had on an oversize straw hat and large white-rimmed sunglasses.

As I walked toward her she stood up. The butler announced me and she motioned me to a poolside table. As I got closer, she held out her hand and we shook.

“I’m Margaret Sternwood,” she said, “but call me Muffy. All my friends call me Muffy. You’re Laura Black. Leonard told me all about you. Says you’re pretty good.”

As we sat, the butler asked me what I’d like to drink. Mrs. Sternwood was drinking white wine, her glass half full.

I hesitated. “Go ahead,” Muffy said. “Have a belt. It’s past noon and I hate to drink alone.”

“OK,” I said to the butler. “Scotch, one ice cube.” The butler gave a little bow and turned to shuffle back to the house. I usually don’t start drinking until later in the day, but since Muffy was drinking, I thought I should too. I tend to get better answers when the other person has a drink in their hands. Alcohol has always been the poor man’s truth serum.

Muffy took off her sunglasses and I was able to get a look at her. She was a small, thin woman of about 75 years. On her fingers and wrists she wore about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold and diamond jewelry. Her dark blue eyes sparkled as she spoke to me.

“Thanks for coming over,” Muffy said. “As I’m sure Leonard told you, I’m afraid my grandson, Alexander, has gotten mixed up in something again. I don’t have any real evidence yet, but I know something’s not right.”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Well, I wish I could just call it a grandmother’s intuition. But, combine my intuition with Alexander quitting his job and spending money he couldn’t possibly have? I just know he’s somehow gotten himself in a deep pile of crap.”

My grandmother never talked like that.

The butler brought my Scotch and I had a sip. It was wonderful. Chivas perhaps, but smoother. Maybe the 18-year-old stuff? I guess there are advantages to being rich.

“Alexander’s parents died while he was still quite young,” she said. “I’ve raised him since he was a pup. Even as a child, he was a hell-raiser. He was arrested for the first time when he was fourteen. He broke into the Wentworth’s house, just down the hill, while they were skiing in Colorado. Alexander tripped the silent alarm and was caught red-handed by the police. We hushed it up, of course, but it was terribly embarrassing. The Wentworths haven’t had us over since. That wasn’t such a big loss, but it’s never good to be known as the neighborhood thieves. He was arrested three more times over the next few years. Twice for shoplifting and once for stealing a car. Finally, just after he turned twenty-one, there was the business of the internet auction. Back then the idea of selling expensive items on the internet was still relatively new. I suppose Alexander thought he could somehow get away with it. When I heard about his arrest I became so upset I almost threw a clot. I told myself it was high time my grandson learned to live with the consequences of his actions. Alexander had been scheduled to receive a considerable trust fund when he turned twenty-five. I let him know he won’t receive a dime until he turned thirty, and that’s assuming he stops being a crook. I told him if anything else happens, then I’m done with him. He’s out, completely.”

“But instead of understanding or appreciating what you were doing, he just became angry?” I asked.

“Oh, he was furious. He blames me for everything that’s happened to him. Since his release from prison, he’s refused to see me or even speak with me on the phone. Of course, I don’t know if I could have done anything to have prevented the outcome of the trial. Given his previous problems with the law, the judge threw the book at him. After he was released from prison he began working at an Audi dealership. Work was a mandatory part of his probation, you see. From what I understand, he enjoyed it and was good at it. A few weeks ago, I even spotted Alexander having dinner with a young lady. They seemed to be very fond of each other. His probation ended last month without incident. Things seemed to have turned around for him.”

Muffy saw my glass was almost empty and motioned the butler over.

“Do we still have any Balvenie Cask 191 Scotch? You remember, the stuff we had when that actor was over here last month? Get her three fingers of that.” The butler didn’t respond, he just gave a little bow and turned to shuffle back to the house.

“But, then Alexander quit his job?” I prompted.

“I first heard about it when his parole officer, David Rasmussen, called me. David had called the Audi dealership last week to see how Alexander was doing. He and Alexander had apparently developed some sort of friendship. Alexander’s supervisor at work, a man named William Martin, told David that Alexander had quit without giving a reason. David called me to ask if I knew what had happened. You know the rest.”

She sighed and watched a gardener trim a honeysuckle bush for a moment. She then turned and looked directly at me. “I can’t believe Alexander would return to crime after all the nonsense he’s been through. Nevertheless, there’s something wrong. I’d like to find out what it is and I’d like you to help me.”