Ladies Lunch Club Murders Read online

  “Mary Alice was a very private person. Far as I know, that lunch club was sis’s only regular social activity. Whenever I got together with her, she insisted on precautions so no one would learn we were brother and sister. She went to college in Gainesville, Florida. My sister went to work for a major stock brokerage house in Tennessee where she began investing on her own. She changed her name before I was old enough to be curious about that kind of thing. When I got older, I asked several times why she chose Phelps. She always avoided the question. I stopped asking. We faithfully exchanged letters on Christmas and our birthdays, and one or two other times during most years, but no real pattern. We kept it superficial. Truth was I didn’t know enough about her life to write or inquire about much with real meaning. The love was there, Mr. McCall, but … I guess our lives didn’t allow it to come out much—to my regret. Politics is a self-centered occupation. I guess my life is stuffed with myself.

  “The last time we got together, about seven years ago, she told me she was about to retire. When I showed concern for her having the means to retire, she explained her stock portfolio was over seven million dollars and, as I said, that was seven years ago. To the end, she continued to live quietly, always beneath her means, while her investments continued to grow. My sister lived her life in the shadows, while mine was—is—lived in the constant light of public scrutiny.

  “When she retired as a broker, she moved back to Florida, into the retirement community where she just died. Even with her closer, we stayed distant. I should’ve … found more time, made more. I suspect there’s a lot of people who just assume there’ll always be time to strengthen or mend family fences. I hope they wise up and get it done before their time runs out, like mine did.

  “My sister rarely agreed with my politics, but, on a larger scale, she abhorred attention and notoriety in all things—the living beneath her means, the privacy. She’s wealthy and still a penny-pincher. There was a time when women like my sister were called spinsters. I teased her once saying she should have married Howard Hughes late in his life. She curled up her nose at the inference.” He set his elbow on the table and aimed his finger toward the ceiling. “But she never disagreed.”

  “Feeling a little guilty about some of this, Governor?”

  “That didn’t need to be said, Mr. McCall.”

  “Goes to your state of mind. You feel you ignored your sister in life, so you’re not going to ignore her in death. Is imagining a killer and hunting for one part of your salve?”

  “Pound that nail, Mr. McCall. … Yes … damn it. I suppose there’s some truth there. Nonetheless, I remain confident I have it correct when I say Mary Alice was murdered. … Now, can we move beyond the selfishness of my past actions?”

  The fireplug on the governor’s left glared at Jack. His head didn’t move, only his eyes.

  Damn. What is his name?

  “The particulars on your sister’s death?”

  Instead of answering Jack directly, the governor looked to his right. The woman in the high-necked white blouse handed the governor three file folders. Her upper arm flab jiggled with the effort.

  “Copies of the sheriff’s official reports.” The governor held them high before scooting them toward Jack. “As I said, the locals concluded accidental death. Because of pressure exerted from my office, the case remains open, but in name only. They aren’t working it, not a damn bit.” He made a minor hand motion toward the case files. His gesture reeked of disrespect. “It’s all in there.”

  Jack glanced at the folders. “For now, just tell us. That way, if we have questions we can ask them while you’re here.”

  The governor nodded. “As you prefer. Mary Alice was in the hot tub behind her house, in the lanai, as they’re called in Florida. If you’re not familiar, in Florida, lanais are screened-in rooms or porches attached, commonly, to the back of the house. Mary Alice’s lanai included a barbeque area, a swimming pool and an in-ground spa. My sister was an avid sports fan. She dropped me a quick note after our University of Florida Gators won the recent Peach Bowl game. In it, she mentioned regularly listening to Florida football, baseball, and basketball games, both our major colleges and our professional teams.

  “According to the sheriff’s report, as you’ll read, she had a radio near the spa. My guess is to listen to games while keeping the volume low to not disturb her neighbors or call attention to herself. The radio was plugged in with an extension cord running over to the barbeque area. The radio was found in the water with her. The lanai and the front door to the house were locked from the inside. The sheriff saw it as, what’s the phrase … open and shut. They concluded that somehow, Mary Alice snagged the cord and inadvertently yanked the radio into the water. Given her weak heart, the shock of it was more than she could endure. … She plugs it in using an extension cord to save having to buy batteries. Her frugality cost her life.

  “My sister could afford new in everything, but she steadfastly preferred old in most things. Her home was constructed before GFCI plugs were required in areas around water. One should have been added when the pool was put in, but … well, somehow it wasn’t. I will address that matter more fully, believe me, but first things first.”

  “Family? Your sister’s family?”

  “None. Me, I guess. I’ve admitted I wasn’t as close to my sister as I should have been, but if she ever married or had children, she would certainly have told me. We lived very different lives, but we were not estranged.”

  “I’m guessing, her being a financial success and a smart woman, she had a will. Do you have a copy?”

  “No. Not aware if she had one, but, I agree, it would be in character for her to have a will.”

  “Who’s her attorney?”

  “No idea. If she had a will, it could be in her house or maybe a safe-deposit box. With the police concluding accidental death, I don’t imagine they looked for much of anything. Look, Mr. McCall. First and foremost, find out about her death. When we’re done with that, there’ll be time enough to look into the financial stuff. And, yes, it’s likely I’m her only heir. At this moment, I have no clue about any of that.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Governor.”

  “I don’t want sorry, I want solution.”

  “Tell me about the other two files. The two recent murders you referred to.”

  “They were both members of the same ladies lunch club as Mary Alice, and lived in her retirement community. The sheriff is treating those deaths as murders. Do you want me to run over the details?”

  “Only if the details have direct bearing on your theory regarding the death of your sister. Otherwise, we can read all that in the files you just gave us.”

  “Nothing ties the earlier two murders to Mary Alice, at least as far as I can ascertain.”

  Nora reached out with her hand to draw the governor’s attention. “Is the same local sheriff who has the file on your sister’s death also handling those two homicides cases?”

  “Yes, Ms. Burke. I’ve assigned Lieutenant Ann Reynolds, from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement to aid the sheriff’s office. The lieutenant is my conduit with respect to Mary Alice. She doesn’t know Mary Alice Phelps is my sister. Neither does the local sheriff nor the media.

  “Truth is the media’s not paying much attention to what the sheriff’s office has labeled an accidental death of a local senior citizen. The juicy story for the media is the murders of the other two women. We can expect that to change once your firm concludes my sister’s death was a homicide. Particularly, if she died at the hands of the same serial killer who killed the first two. My sister’s quest for privacy is no longer of any consequence. Still, if it was an accident, I’d like to respect her wishes and leave her privacy intact.”

  Max Logan ran his hand through his thinning salt and pepper hair, and cleared his throat. “Did the killer leave any notes at the scene of the deaths being treated as homicides? What about signature treatments of the bodies? Without these elements,
I’m assuming your reference to a serial killer remains an assumption.”

  The governor shook his head in response to Max Logan’s question. “No messages or posturing of the bodies.”

  The governor gestured toward the files. “These are current as of yesterday. Nothing establishes any commonality with my sister’s death.”

  Max massaged his nose before putting on his half-frame glasses. He reached for the two files and pulled them close. “These two women and your sister all lived in the same retirement community, and all three were members of the same ladies lunch club. The commonality starts right there.”

  “I concur, Mr. Logan. Then again, the way the sheriff sees it, coincidence is alive and well in his county. ‘The other women were clearly murdered’—he says. Conversely, the physical evidence at the scene of Mary Alice’s death indicates accident. The local sheriff wrapped up his comments to me with, ‘the occurrence of homicides doesn’t place a stay on the occurrence of accidents.’”

  “Talk to me about the local sheriff I’ll be dealing with. Give me your opinion, Governor. Be candid.”

  “This meeting isn’t being recorded is it, Mr. McCall?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The local citizens keep electing him. He stays popular by changing his mind more often than a pedophile in a playground. By this time next week he may be saying my sister was a homicide and the other victims were accidents.”

  “Who can we count on once we get there?”

  “My chief of staff will be available to you in the event you need muscle to back your play. And, of course, Lieutenant Ann Reynolds from the state police, and the local sergeant who handles homicides. His name’s CC Wilmer. He’s a good man. The sheriff defers to Sergeant Wilmer on homicides and pretty much all investigations. Rubber stamps his opinions. As for the sheriff, he’s a worthless holdover from my predecessor. You’ll need to work around him while trying not to ruffle his tail feathers.”

  “And all this leaves us where?”

  “Bottom line, everything the sheriff knows and has done, through yesterday, is in those files. I had to come down on some people to get full copies of ‘em. I may be burning some bridges with local sheriff dodo’s office, but fuck it. … Excuse me. But, damn it, my sister’s been murdered, and that trumps political correctness.” He waggled his finger toward the files in front of Max. “I’ll use the leverage of my office to push and prod and piss off whomever necessary to bring down her killer.”

  Jack scratched just inside his unbuttoned shirt collar. “Unless there’s something in these files you want us to look at now, we’ll read them carefully after this meeting ends. Is there anything you’d like to ask us?”

  “I don’t think so. You discussed your retainer, fees, and expenses with Miss Johnson, correct?”

  The natty woman to the right of the governor nodded. “Yes, Governor.”

  Jack took her nod as confirmation she was Miss Johnson.

  Governor Lennox extended his hand and flicked it in a dismissive manner. “That’s all fine.” He opened both hands while resting his elbows on the table. “Just get this done. I want to know if Mary Alice really died in an accident or if this serial killer was involved. Said plainly, that’s why I’m here Mr. McCall. For you to prove what I already know, my sister was murdered.”

  “One last question.”

  The governor offered a slow, single nod.

  “We need to talk about how you want us to proceed in the event my team concludes your sister’s death is tied to the deaths of these other women who were in her lunch club. Dodo or not, the sheriff has jurisdiction over these open homicide investigations.”

  “Explain more fully.”

  Jack leaned in. “Do we give you our report and step away? If not, how can we proceed without being closed out of the process for meddling in what are a sheriff’s local homicide investigations?”

  The governor fiddled with the knot in his tie. He glanced at the stern, curly haired man to his left. “Mack?”

  Mack?

  With his forearms on the table, the man’s neck was shyly not making an appearance. Mack continued facing forward and shrugged with his shoulders and face.

  “Mr. McCall, as I see it, we shouldn’t get the proverbial cart ahead of the horse.” The governor interlocked his fingers; his elbows on the table, as might a youngster saying his prayers. “You are being retained to ascertain whether or not, in your opinion, my sister died in an accident or was murdered. If it was an accident, which I’ve clearly stated I seriously doubt, I don’t see why you couldn’t simply disengage. With respect to the probability you concur with my belief that her death was a homicide, I expect you to find her murderer. I’ll back your play however it’s needed. Is that agreeable?”

  Jack McCall glanced at Nora and Max before nodding. “During this process we’ll need direct access to you.”

  Governor Lennox reached into his shirt pocket and removed a card. “This is my private cell.” His index finger remained on the card as he pushed it toward Jack, his cuff links dragging on the tabletop. The card showed a phone number but not a name. “That phone is always with me. I’m the only person I authorize to give out that number. Even with that caveat, I end up having to change it every so many weeks. … Don’t be the cause of my having to change it again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like you to be in Florida day after tomorrow ready to hit the ground running. Is there anything else, Mr. McCall?”

  “Yes, sir. McCall Investigations is not licensed in Florida. How do you want us to proceed with respect to that?”

  Miss Johnson again raised the lid on her attaché case, removed another business card and handed it to the governor.

  “This fellow’s my chief of staff.” The governor turned the card to face Jack and pushed it into the space between them. “I’ll call him from the limo on the way to the White House. He’ll arrange either temporary Florida PI licenses for the three of you, or have you retained as independent consultants to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. Either way, he’ll deal with the legal niceties to see that you’re good to go after you touch down in Florida. He’ll get you introduced to Lieutenant Ann Reynolds, from that same department. Officially, Reynolds is assisting only in relation to the cases the sheriff has labeled as homicides. Still, she keeps herself current on Mary Alice’s death.”

  “All right, Governor. We’ll be in Orlando, day after tomorrow. Our first contact’ll be your chief of staff. I understand by then he’ll be expecting me.”

  “I’ll see to it, Mr. McCall. The local county provides Lieutenant Reynolds a temporary residence while she’s there, but mostly you’ll find her at the sheriff’s office.”

  Jack wrote down the address in Orlando. “The murders of the other women may play a role in determining linkage with the death of your sister. First thing that stands out, the two dead women the sheriff is treating as murders were not disguised as accidental deaths, but your sister’s was.”

  “Yes. A curious point to be sure. I believe Lieutenant Reynolds told me the entire lunch club consisted of fourteen members. Well, I guess, the fourteen ladies are now only eleven. It’s beginning to remind me of Agatha Christie’s mystery, Ten Little Indians.”

  “And,” Max said, “if it’s serial, this killer is probably not finished.”

  The governor placed his palms together as if he was about to pray. He rubbed them back and forth. His cuff links, the color of the garnet stripes in his tie, came in and out of view as he did. When he stopped, he spoke in a hushed monotone. “Two obvious murders, and my sister, not an obvious murder. Hmmm.”

  “For now, I don’t think we have any questions.”

  Governor Lennox nodded with little expression, stood, shook hands with Jack and walked out behind the bulky man.

  Miss Johnson closed and latched her attaché case, thanked Jack, nodded at Max, and smiled at Nora. She followed the governor out through the lobby into the hallway.

  When Jack
walked back into their case room, Max looked up. “What d’ya know about this Lieutenant Reynolds?”

  Nora glanced at Jack. “Yeah. What makes her the governor’s top cop?”

  “I expect we’ll find out.”

  3

  Two days later:

  The plane flying Jack McCall, Max Logan, and Nora Burke into Orlando, Florida, International Airport sliced through angry clouds busy disavowing the Chamber of Commerce’s claim of always sunny.

  It took forty-five minutes to deplane and free their luggage from baggage claim. At the rental car counter they were met by a woman of about thirty with an olive complexion.

  It wasn’t raining when they drove out of the rental car pickup, but here-and-there puddles showed it had rained. The blacktop looked polished and the trees watered. The Chamber would likely claim that was part of the masterplan: rain every other day for one hour just to keep everything green and clean.

  Mary Lou had made reservations for them at the Embassy Suites Hotel in Orlando Florida. Each of their rooms included a living area where they could meet and work, and a place where Max could labor over his puzzle.

  They gathered in Nora’s room. Jack dropped his carry-bag on the floor near the door. “On the surface, it seems foolish to blindly agree with the governor and not the trained investigator who was at the scene and concluded Phelps’ death was accidental.”

  Max dropped his bag next to Jack’s. “It’s seldom wise to argue with a fool. He’ll drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.”

  Jack took out his cellphone and called George Conway, chief of staff to Governor Lennox. He came right on the line. “Hello, Mr. Conway. Jack McCall here. Thank you for being available so quickly.”

  “No problem, Mr. McCall. I have updated copies of the sheriff’s files on the murders the governor spoke to you about. Since then there’s been a third murder—an elderly woman killed with an ice pick. I have a copy of that file as well. Now that I know where you’ve holed up, I’ll have a courier bring them over within the hour.”