Murder at Redwood Cove (4 page)

I
walked up the path, thinking about what I had learned. Startled, I realized I'd reached the front entrance to the property. I'd been so engrossed, I wasn't aware of how far I had come. The fog had moved in, and it was getting dark and damp. Walking up the wide front porch, the beautifully carved white pillars welcomed like open arms waiting to embrace me. I opened the front door. A fire roared in a king-sized fireplace. Logs crackled and brightly burning flames danced across the wood. The yellow and orange glow warmed me and brought an inner delight as I breathed in the pleasing scent of burning oak.

Two guests nestled in a large, plush couch facing the fire. They leafed through a notebook of restaurant menus, the fire's flames reflected on their wineglasses. They wore the uniform of the area—jeans, turtlenecks, and fleece vests. They smiled at me and went back to turning pages.

A tray piled high with a wide array of cheeses and artfully arranged crackers rested on a coffee table along with several bottles of wine. A man leaned over the cheese offerings, full lips pursed, hands clasped behind his back. He released his grip, and his right arm crept out. He pulled it back quickly as if about to be bitten.

Puzzled, I walked over and asked, “May I help you?”

“Help me? Only if you know a magical way for me to lose forty pounds so I can sample both the Huntsman and the Fourme D'Ambert.” He thrust a plump hand in my direction. “Andy Brown. I own The Bay restaurant in San Francisco. Cheese is one of my signature items.” He looked at his protruding belly. “In more ways than one.”

“Kelly Jackson, interim manager for the inn. Pleased to meet you.” I shook his hand.

“Sorry to hear about Bob. He was a good man.”

“I didn't have a chance to meet him, but everyone has only had great things to say.”

“I supply the cheese for the inn”—Andy nodded toward the table—“and come up on a regular basis. The deliveries tie in well with my business because it gives me an opportunity to sample new wine and cheese offerings.”

I surveyed the platter. The names and a brief description for each cheese, written in an artistic, flowing hand on small cards, identified the different varieties. The Huntsman sported layered Double Gloucester Cheddar and English Stilton; the blue veins of France's Fourme d'Ambert formed a complicated pattern.

He gazed at the beckoning food and sighed, a deep and mournful sound. “Doc said diet or die.”

“That's pretty direct.”

“He was gentler than that, but the message was clear.” He inspected the tray like a jeweler surveying rare rubies. “Ah, my passion, my love. . . cheese.” He folded his ample hands together, pulling them in close to his chest, like a little boy eagerly awaiting a long-sought-after treat. “So many choices. But only one can I choose.” He put his palm on his forehead and shook his head from side to side, rolling his eyes. Andy reached out, picked up a cracker, and placed a small mound of the Huntsman on it. Decision made. “Divine.” He savored the morsel.

I smiled. “Andy, it's been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise.” He cast a longing glance at the table.

I entered the dimly lit kitchen and flipped on a light. Helen's head jerked up from the hand it'd been resting on. There seemed to be more wrinkles, more sadness than when I had seen her earlier. She busily began tucking stray pieces of hair back into her clip.

“Thanks for the treats and the bread for the birds.” I put the backpack on the counter and began pulling out the contents. “Is there coffee made?”

“Yes, I always keep some brewed for the guests.” Helen grabbed a mug and walked to the far side of the room. “Regular or decaf?”

The orange lights glowed on two coffeemakers.

“Regular.”

I sipped the coffee Helen handed me. “Excellent flavor. Where do you get it?”

“A distributor in Fort Paul, One Earth Coffee Company. Organic. Helps the people of the rainforest as well as local businesses.” Helen sat. “Bob tried to get as much mileage as possible from anything we used.” She reached in her pocket. “Phil, our wine person, dropped off some cases for Saturday. He said he'd like to meet with you tomorrow, if possible.” She handed me a business card. “He'll be staying here later in the week to help with the festival.”

P
HILOPOIMEN
“P
HIL
” X
ANTHIS
, I read on the card. Putting it away in a pocket, I settled on a stool across from her.

Helen handed me a folder labeled A T
ASTE OF
C
HOCOLATE AND
W
INE
F
ESTIVAL.
“Suzie had to leave. She'll call you in the morning.”

“I'll review these this evening.” I took another drink of the almost-black liquid. “Great cookies. I ran into Tommy on the beach, and we shared them. He told me a bit about what's been happening at school. It sounds like he's having a difficult time.”

Helen got up and rinsed some dishes in the sink. “He's smart, he's small, he's different, he's new . . . he's a perfect target.”

I sipped my coffee. “I taught school for a while. I'd be happy to talk with you. Maybe we can come up with some ideas to help him.”

“Tommy's sometimes a little . . . off in his interaction with other kids.” Helen sighed and rested her hands on the edge of the sink. “He has a mild case of Asperger's syndrome.”

Now it all made sense. I had never worked with a child who had this condition, but I had learned about it in one of my education classes. Those children were often very bright but had poor social skills.

“Is he working with anyone?”

“Yes. The school district is very supportive. He really likes his counselor.”

Helen grabbed a towel, wiped her hands, and sat. “When my husband died, I thought a move would be good for Tommy. A new environment.”

“I'm sorry to hear about your loss. Tommy mentioned it when he was telling me about Fred.”

“We knew it was coming.” Her voice caught. “You're still not prepared when it happens.”

“I went through it with my grandmother. I know what you mean.”

“I started searching for a job. I was a stay-at-home mom with no working skills.” Her hands were dry, but she continued to rub them with the towel. “I saw an ad for an inn helper with some baking experience. Cooking was something I could do. A small residence with pets allowed was included. Dogs had to have a Canine Good Citizenship certificate, which was a breeze for Fred with all of his training.”

My boss loved animals and wanted families to have pets whenever possible.

“It seemed a perfect fit. Prepare continental breakfasts, bake pastries, organize the evening wine and cheese, put together backpacks for beach trips, and a few other things.”

I nodded, letting Helen know I was with her.

“I thought Redwood Cove would be perfect—the outdoors, the beach.” She sighed—a soft sound whispering of pain and loss. “It hasn't worked out for him like I hoped. It's a small school, and most of the kids have known each other for a long time. He's an outsider.”

“It's unfortunate it's been so hard. Tommy's a great kid.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in an almost imperceptible smile. “He's a wonderful kid,” she said softly. Then she shook her head. “Bob's death really dealt him a blow. They'd become close. I don't know what to do to help him.”

Her hands, now quiet, rested one on top of the other on the table, the towel next to them.

I reached out and touched her arm. “I'll think about it. Let's talk some more later. Perhaps I can help.”

“Thanks.”

I leaned back. “I'm here to keep things running smoothly. Are there any concerns you have?”

“Not really. Daniel and Suzie have been very helpful. I do have a few questions about the festival.”

“Let's discuss it first thing in the morning after I've read the information you gave me. Right now I'd like to see Bob's work area.”

“Back there.” Helen gestured with her head to the hallway. “I'll show you.”

The back door swung open, and Tommy burst into the room. “Mom, can we work at the big table? We don't have enough room at home for the project we're working on.”

The young girl following Tommy towered over him; her straight-as-an-arrow ebony hair fell below her waist. Fred pushed his tubby body behind them through the doorway.

“Yes, you can work in here.” Helen began to clear the table, then stopped and looked at me. “That is, if it's okay with Ms. Jackson.”

“Of course, and please call me Kelly.”

The girl took a paper from her purse. “Mrs. Rogers, check out my report card. My father's so proud. I had a D- in pre-algebra, and now it's a C+.” She handed Tommy's mom the card.

Helen scanned the grades. “That's great.”

“And it's all because of you, Tommy.” The girl gave him a quick hug.

His face went crimson, and his smile threatened to split his face. It was the first time I'd seen him so happy.

Fred's tail beat a drum solo on a table leg.

“I'm so lucky to have a really smart friend,” the girl said.

“Al . . . Al . . . Allie, this is Miss Kelly.” Tommy stuttered his way through introductions. “She works for the resort.” He continued more calmly, “Miss Kelly, this is Allie, Daniel's daughter.”

We shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations on your grade.”

“It's awesome. He's in fifth-grade, and I'm in seventh, and he knows about everything I'm learning.” She beamed at Tommy.

He ducked his head and fished a big book out of Allie's backpack. “We should get started.”

Fred pawed Allie's knee.

“We'll play later, Fred. Promise.” She rubbed his ears.

Helen straightened her tall, lean frame and signaled me to follow. A couple of short turns down a hallway, and Helen opened the door to Bob's office. She turned on the light and gasped.

“I
don't understand,” Helen half-whispered. She gazed around the room that had been completely upturned. “Bob was meticulous when it came to keeping things organized. You'd think the head of the IRS worked here. Everything had a particular place on his desk, right down to his favorite pen. You saw more desktop than paper.”

“It certainly doesn't look like that now.” I scanned the room, taking in the mess.

“It wasn't like this earlier.” Helen grabbed some papers and began to straighten them. “This is . . . awful.”

“Wait!” My voice sliced through the air.

Helen stopped and stared at me.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, but I don't think we should touch anything.” I paused. “The senior citizens' group, the Silver Sentinels, believe Bob was murdered.”

“Murdered? Bob?” Helen dropped into a nearby chair. “Why would they ever think that?”

I recounted their reasons. “Now that someone has messed with the office, I think there's more cause to believe them.”

Helen covered her face with her hands.

I walked over to her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “I know it's difficult to think someone might have killed Bob.”

Helen's voice cracked. “Murder? Is it possible? And why?” She looked at me and shook her head. “Such a wonderful man.”

I fished in my pocket and pulled out the deputy sheriff's card. “I'll call Deputy Sheriff Stanton and tell him what we've found.”

Helen jerked upright and stood. “I'd better go check on the guests.” She smoothed her tan slacks and left.

I took my cell phone out and punched in the number on the card. Two short rings, and he answered.

“Deputy Sheriff Stanton.”

“Hi, Deputy Stanton, it's Kelly Jackson. We met this afternoon with the Silver Sentinels.”

“Right.”

“Helen and I just entered Bob's office. It looks like it's been searched. Helen said when she last saw it, everything was neat and organized. Now folders and papers are scattered around and some drawers are open.”

“Were folders opened and dumped on the floor?”

I looked around. “No.”

“Were files taken out of the cabinet and tossed around?”

“No.”

“I assume there is a safe. Is it open?”

The manager's safe rested on a shelf to the left of the desk. I grabbed a tissue in case there were fingerprints and tried the handle. “It's locked.”

“Is it messy like some college student's room?”

Definitely looked like mine in grad school. “Could be considered untidy like a student's.”

“One of the staff was probably trying to find something.”

“I thought you might want to investigate because of the Sentinels' belief he might have been murdered. Someone could've been searching for something.”

“Ma'am, I have no suspicions Bob was murdered. He had an accident. I won't be sending anyone out. If you get anything else, please call.”

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“Bob had a BlackBerry that belongs to the company. I'd like to have that.”

“I have an appointment with the coroner tomorrow. I'll check on it then.”

“Thank you, Deputy Sheriff.”

“You're welcome.”

Helen entered the room with quiet, soft steps and stood at the door. “Is there anything you need?”

I hadn't thought she could appear any more haggard, but I was wrong. “I'd appreciate it if you'd bring a pair of latex gloves from the kitchen.” It wouldn't hurt to preserve as much evidence as possible until I knew more.

“All right.” She turned to go.

“Helen, Deputy Stanton feels an employee did this because they were trying to find something. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

Helen stopped. “No one said anything to me.”

“Okay.” I surveyed the mess. Where should I begin? “I need dinner, but I want to start putting these papers in order. Are there any fast, health-conscious restaurants nearby?”

“I can show you menus, and you can call ahead with an order.” Helen hesitated a moment. “I'm going to make dinner for Tommy and me. Broiled chicken, rice, and steamed broccoli. Nothing fancy. I'd be happy to make some for you if you don't feel like going out.”

I gave myself limited choices of what to eat. No red meat. Very little acceptable fish. Light in calories. Dinner out wasn't easy. And with Mom's cooking during my visit to the ranch making my jeans tighter than usual, it was more important than ever. I hadn't brought multiple sizes of clothing with me.

I jumped at the invitation. “Sounds great. It's sweet of you to offer.”

Helen smiled and left.

I took out my phone and snapped photos of the disarray.

Helen returned with the gloves and placed them on the desk.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I'm going to get dinner started.” She left, closing the door behind her.

I put on the gloves and sat in the chair. Was it a careless staff member or the murderer intent on finding something? Had the person found what they were after?

I shook the thoughts from my head and began to sort. The papers I needed to review went in one pile. The others remained as much where they were as I could manage. It wouldn't hurt to keep things as they were for the next day or so until we found out more about what happened.

I rolled the chair over to the safe. The resorts all had the same type. Some were just bigger than others. I spun the dial, ticking off the combination headquarters had provided, and opened the safe.

Taking the gloves off, I pulled out cash to count later, a stack of folders on the bottom shelf, and a large envelope. Most of the files were confidential documents on employees and contracts. I opened the envelope. It was labeled J
OEY AND
J
ERRY
.

Pulling out the contents, I found pages of cryptic notes.
GAH-GHIL-KEID 4LS
was at the top of one and made no sense to me. Why would an inn manager leave notes in the safe that no one could understand? Was he afraid of what someone might find? What was it he was hiding?

I leaned back. Call the deputy sheriff? No. I could hear him now.

“You want me to examine indecipherable notes from an envelope labeled ‘Joey and Jerry?' Why? Because a bunch of senior citizens think Bob might have been murdered and this might be a clue? No, Ms. Jackson, it's not going to happen.”

Five pages into the documents was a handwritten note signed by Bob Phillips.
In case of my death, these documents are to be given to a representative of the Silver Sentinels.
A list of their names and phone numbers was attached. The Professor had “president” next to his name.

I picked up the phone and dialed. I smiled when I heard Corrigan's hearty greeting.

“Hey, Kelly, how's it going? How was the flight into Mendocino County?”

“The ride was a roller-coaster experience. Not my favorite, as you know.” I brought him up to speed on what had been happening.

“I agree with the police about Bob's death. Keep me posted if anything new comes to light.”

“Will do. I found an envelope in the safe that doesn't appear to be related to Resorts International. I think it could be some investigation Bob was doing on his own. There's a note directing it to be turned over to the Silver Sentinels in the case of his death. May I do that?”

“Sure.” He chuckled. “They sound like a crusty old group. I look forward to meeting them.” His voice took on a different tone. “More power to them if there's any chance Bob's death wasn't accidental.”

“Are you still planning to come on Saturday?”

“Yes. I'll arrive the morning of the chocolate and wine festival. Bob's memorial service is the next day. I'll stay at the company retreat. I'll see you Saturday.”

The seven-acre company property was about ten miles inland. A perk for employees' families wanting a quiet getaway; a contemplative place for company representatives to meet.

“Call if you need anything,” I said.

We said our good-byes and hung up. I enjoyed talking with my larger-than-life boss.

I pulled out the names and numbers Bob had left and dialed Herbert Winthrop.

“Professor, I have something for your group.”

“So fast? My dear, you have a knack for finding things out.”

“No, nothing like that. I opened the safe and found an envelope. There was a directive to hand it over to your group. I inspected the contents. Bob used a code or abbreviations for something he was researching. I talked to my boss. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with the business or Bob's family, and my boss was fine with turning it over to you.”

“It would be our true pleasure to work on this. I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“It's labeled ‘Jerry and Joey.' Do you have any idea who they are?”

“Those are Bob's grandchildren.”

“I wonder why he put their names on an envelope of encrypted notes?”

“I have no idea. The Sentinels will work on figuring that out. Is the conference room available?”

I examined a schedule mounted on the wall. “Yes.”

“Very good, then. The group will assemble.”

“I'll see you soon.” I hung up.

Good. I could get on with my work. The Silver Sentinels had a project to sink their teeth into. If it led to a possible motive for killing Bob, maybe they had the information they needed for the police.

Helen returned carrying a tray with a covered plate, a glass of ice, and a tall bottle of Pellegrino, and placed it on a file cabinet.

“I can't tell you how much I appreciate this,” I said.

Helen's face flushed. “I'm happy to help. Would you like anything else?”

“No thank you.”

Helen twisted the dish towel tucked into her apron strings. “Thanks for the time you took with Tommy. He said he likes you. That means a lot, coming from him.”

“I like him, too.”

“If there's anything you need, just call. I'm on the automatic dialer. I have wine and cheese available for our guests until seven. People can call with questions until nine, and I keep the fire going until ten.” She stopped and tugged at the towel. “I've been the person responsible for emergencies for the last two nights. Luckily, there haven't been any.”

“Helen, emergencies are now my problem.”

Helen's shoulders visibly relaxed. I pulled the file from the plastic container on the wall marked E
MERGENCIES
—a company requirement for all managers' offices.

I reviewed the plans. “I can handle this. Bob was a very organized individual.”

“Yes, he was.”

Heaviness returned to her voice. “I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks again for your hospitality. I'll see you in the morning.”

Helen left, and I picked up the tray and placed it on the desk. There was a light knock on the door, and I opened it.

“Ahh, Ms. Jackson, so delightful to see you again.” The Professor entered the room holding his gray wool cap in his hand. “The group is gathering. An impromptu potluck is creating itself. For better or for worse, Rudy is bringing his borscht. It all depends on your relationship with beets, you know. Love or hate.”

I handed him the envelope of papers. “Bob used a note system that looks like a challenge to crack. Maybe the group can figure it out. If so, it might give you something to take to the deputy sheriff.”

The Professor tucked the envelope under the arm of his brown tweed jacket. “We appreciate the fact that you take us seriously and are willing to help.”

“I watched my grandfather deal with becoming ‘invisible.' Your group is a wonderful role model.” I sighed. “We have a young boy who blames himself for Bob's death. Not logical, but that's what he believes. If Bob was murdered, Tommy can let go of that guilt. And”—I looked at the slight, gray-haired gentleman—“we can catch a killer.”