Let's Bake a Deal, page 2
“Yes, peaceful civilians,” Rhonda added as she read Brad's eyes. Something was wrong and despite the sunshine in the sky, the man was about to bring in the rain.
“Ladies,” Brad said and eased his eyes around, “I'm going to have to cancel your morning. I need you to step into your peacekeeping roles as investigators again. There's been a...” Brad looked around once more and lowered his voice. “There's been a murder.”
Rita nearly dropped her slushy. Rhonda let out a deep moan. “Oh no,” they both whined at the same time and looked down at the ground. So much for a fun-filled morning—their morning suddenly felt clouded with tragedy and it was about to turn very, very strange.
Brad drove Rita and Rhonda out to the Clovedale Falls Retirement Home, located on a hundred and five beautiful acres of clean, crisp mountain land outside the main town. As he drove down a winding road hugging the banks of a softly flowing river, Brad explained the situation. “Rusty Lowly is eighty years old,” he began while they sat in the back seat of his car sipping their slushies. “Rusty suffers from memory loss. There are times, I’ve been told, when he can tell you the score of the sandlot baseball game he played on a certain afternoon when he was five years old, and then there are times when he can't even remember his own name.”
“And you think this old man is a murderer?” Rita asked Brad in a skeptical voice.
“Rusty was found standing over the body of a very wealthy woman named Lynn Hogan,” Brad replied in a sorrowful voice. “Lynn was stabbed to death and Rusty was holding the murder weapon.” Brad eased off the gas pedal to allow them more time to talk. “Nurse Patricia Taylor found Rusty standing in Lynn Hogan's room, right over the poor woman's body, holding the knife.”
Rhonda glanced out of the back seat window and spotted the river glittering between the colorful autumn trees. She sighed. “Brad, this sounds like a terrible tragedy. But why do you need us? This seems like a pretty open and shut case. Why drag us into it? You seem perfectly capable of dealing with a case like this. Besides, my sister and I were enjoying a beautiful morning…”
Brad eased off the gas pedal even more, spotted a gravel area on the side of the road with two picnic tables, and eased to a stop next to them. “Now we've made him mad,” Rita whispered to Rhonda.
“No, you haven't made me mad,” Brad explained. He opened the driver's side door, got out, walked over to a picnic table, retrieved his pipe, and looked at the river. Rita and Rhonda shrugged their shoulders and made their way out of the car and over to Brad. “Ladies,” Brad said and began fishing in his pocket for a box of matches, “Rusty Lowly is a retired cop. He worked the streets for forty years…retiring probably about the same time you ladies decided to become cops.” Brad found the matches and lit his pipe, puffing into the quiet air. “I trained with Rusty for many years, but I’m the only one left in these parts who knows him from back then. I know he isn't a killer. Proving that to a jury...that's a different problem.”
Rita and Rhonda listened to Brad with intent ears and then looked at each other. “That's where we come in,” they said.
Brad nodded his head. “My guys aren't practiced enough to conduct a thorough homicide investigation,” he said puffing on his pipe. The smell of cherry tobacco danced around, touched Rita and Rhonda's noses, and then wandered off down to the river. “My guys would probably bungle half the evidence. If I report this murder to the suits, they'll investigate it for me just fine, but they’ll also force me to arrest Rusty. I ain't ready to do that...not now, not ever. Even if it means laying down my badge...then so be it.”
Rita walked over to a wooden trash can and tossed her cup inside. Then she turned her full attention to Brad. “How can you be so sure Mr. Lowly didn't kill Lynn Hogan?”
Brad perched his foot up on the bench of the picnic table and locked his eyes on the glittering river. “Rusty Lowly isn't a killer,” he replied in a gruff voice. “I know the man.”
Rhonda discarded her cup too and then sat down at the picnic table. “You believe Mr. Lowly was framed, or confused, don't you?” she asked Brad.
“You better believe it. He might be losing his memory, but a senile person doesn’t just turn into a cold-blooded murderer.” His voice wobbled ever so slightly and he cleared his throat a little.
Rita sat down next to her sister. “Okay, Brad,” she said in an honest voice, “cops stick together. We're on your side...even though being on your side has destroyed our morning.”
“Being a good cop sure hurts,” Rhonda agreed. She looked at Brad and forced her mind to change gears. The Pumpkin Festival would have to wait. A murder had taken place and a friend needed help. “Brad, who is this Lynn Hogan, anyway? How did she get so wealthy?”
“She is—was—a very wealthy widow,” Brad told Rhonda as he puffed on his pipe. “Lynn Hogan is the heiress of an estate worth over four million dollars. Maybe more once her assets are sold.”
“That's a lot,” Rhonda admitted, “but we all know that's small change compared to the big-time money floating around out there.”
Rita scratched the tip of her nose and then leaned forward. “What Rhonda is trying to say is that it doesn't seem that this was a crime hit. This could point more toward family or close friends.”
“Yeah, I thought of that,” Brad agreed. “That's why I'm running down Lynn Hogan's family as we speak.”
“Good,” Rita agreed.
“Does Mr. Lowly have any family?” Rhonda asked, feeling a tender breeze touch her face. Oh, the morning was so beautiful. It was such a waste to spend it on murder.
Brad shook his head no. “Rusty is a widower, he and his late wife never had kids. He became a real loner after he retired.”
Rhonda looked at Rita. Rita nodded. “Brad, how much does it cost for a person to live at the Clovedale Falls Retirement Home?” she asked.
Brad lowered his pipe and looked at Rita with worried eyes. “More than a retired cop earns,” he said in a sickened tone of voice. “Chump change for a woman like Lynn Hogan, but a tight squeeze for a man like Rusty.”
Rhonda made a few quick mental notes and moved on. “What about the staff?” she asked. “Are any of the staff special friends with Rusty? Does anyone have a grudge against him? Who is his doctor?”
“All questions that will have to be answered,” Rita told Brad. “We also need to know what time the murder took place, the whereabouts of each staff and community member, the works.”
“I got it,” Brad assured his friends. “I worked homicide, ladies, remember? You're not talking to a greenhorn.”
“We know that Brad,” Rita commented, “but we also know this case is hitting you on a personal level and sometimes emotions can cloud protocol. We've seen it happen before...even to us.”
Brad puffed on his pipe. “Yeah, I've seen it happen before, too,” he said and tossed a thumb toward his car. “We better get a move on.”
“Sure,” Rhonda agreed and they walked back to the car and climbed into the back seat. “What do you think?” she asked Rita, watching Brad empty out his pipe and then begin making his way around the front of the car.
“I'm not entirely sure yet,” Rita confessed. “What I do know is that Brad is going to keep the suits out of this case as long as possible. Time surely isn't on our side, especially after Lynn Hogan's family is contacted. Who knows what kind of people they will be and what demands they will put on Brad and Clovedale Falls.”
“Let's hope that this case will be an easy solve,” Rhonda replied in a hopeful voice.
“Let's hope,” Rita agreed as Brad jumped into the driver’s seat and started moving down the highway. Ten minutes later he turned off of Peppermint Highway and took a left onto Candy Stripe Lane and began driving up what appeared to be a mountain. “My, I didn't know the retirement home was so far out,” Rita said as her eyes soaked in the sight of one gorgeous autumn tree after the next.
“There is a landing pad for a helicopter in case of emergencies,” Brad explained crawling around a sharp bend. “The hospital in town doesn't have the equipment to deal with the bad stuff anyway. A medical chopper can get in and out and fly someone to a life-saving hospital a lot faster than we can transport them by ambulance.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Rita replied.
“Folks choose peace and quiet,” Brad explained. “I wouldn't want to live out the rest of my days next to a hospital out of fear that something might happen to me. When I can't live at home anymore I want my wife to stick me up here. In the peace and quiet of the woods.”
Rhonda understood Brad's words. Even though she never thought about growing old enough to the point where she would never be able to take care of herself, she surely understood the need to have a place of serenity to live out the rest of her years, if that point in her life ever arrived. “It is very beautiful up here,” she admitted. “I would want to spend the rest of my days somewhere where life is this beautiful, too.”
Brad nodded. “The Clovedale Falls Retirement Home is quite some place,” he explained. “The home sits on open land filled with streams, a river, a small park, flower beds, manicured lawns, walking paths, a tennis court...we're talking about some money.” Brad eased around another sharp bend. “I’ve been around for a while, so I can give you all the history if you like. It was originally a private home, built in 1901 by a man named Michael Stonewell. Stonewell was a business man looking to retire from the world. He purchased the land and built a mansion...which was turned into the retirement home...and lived out the rest of his years in peace with his wife at his side. In 1928, Stonewell died and in 1930, his wife died. The Stonewells didn’t have a will, strange as it sounds, and the courts were not able to locate any living descendants, so the property went to the city of Clovedale Falls. He always wanted to turn it into a home for the care of the elderly, he just never got around to writing his will I guess.”
“That was a nice gesture,” Rhonda commented.
“You could say that. I think his estate was barely enough to keep his wife fed and housed for her remaining years, and after that…I think the land and the building required so much upkeep…fixing it up would have cost more than it was worth. You have to remember very few people had money to waste on buying property, never mind fixing roofs and mulching rose gardens, not back in the Depression years,” Brad said with a shrug.
Brad hit a straight lane and pressed down on the gas pedal just enough to bring the car up to a reasonable speed, making up their lost time. “Anyway, in the thirties and forties, the mansion was turned into a home for soldiers needing rehabilitation – World War I vets who required long-term care, things like that. During World War II, the mansion was put into use again as a retreat for soldiers sent home from the war with injuries, and after the war as well. Rehab, nursing, occupational help, whatever they needed. The city didn’t keep the property up much, but there was such a great need for facilities at the time, it didn’t matter if the roofs leaked a little or the fuse boxes went on the fritz every time the wind blew from the south. It wasn’t until after the Korean War that the rehab folks left for good. The place was in very poor condition and the city was preparing to condemn the mansion and auction off the land, but a woman named Katherine Stein stepped in, bought the mansion and the land, turned it into what it is today, and left the place to the care of her daughter, Kathleen Stein—who goes by Kathy—she lives in Atlanta with her husband and children.”
“Impressive,” Rita told Brad. “You've done your research.”
“Years ago I studied this place,” he admitted. “My uncle was very sick and close to death and I was considering bringing him here. The cost was too high and I ended up sending him to a different place.” Brad spotted the gray metal entrance gate up ahead and began to slow down. He continued, “but I became curious about the history of the retirement home and did some digging.”
“Have you contacted Kathy Stein?” Rhonda asked Brad, watching him ease up to the security camera and coded entry pad at the gate.
“Not yet,” Brad replied. “I don't want any outside interference until I get some answers.”
“Good idea,” Rhonda told Brad.
Brad nodded his head, stuck his hand out of the window, punched in a few numbers into the security pad, and waited for the gate to open. “This should be very interesting,” Rita told Rhonda, watching the gate begin to ease open.
“You bet,” Rhonda agreed.
“Here we go,” Brad said and drove his car onto a smooth, one-lane road that began twisting and turning up one final large hill. The trees hugging the road suddenly gave way to clear, gorgeously landscaped grounds that took Rita and Rhonda's breath away. Rita spotted the sparkling river down the hill to her right. Beautiful, breathtaking flower gardens ran beside the river, with garden benches and a gazebo tucked next to walking paths that made her heart melt. Many were paved in order to accommodate wheelchairs, she noted. “Beautiful, isn't it?” Brad asked.
“I didn't know such a place existed,” Rita replied, stunned by the beauty.
“My goodness,” Rhonda whispered, staring at the green manicured lawns that sloped smoothly down to the river. It was like entering a completely different world.
Brad continued up the narrow road, twisting and turning, and then stopped atop the hill. “Let's get out,” he said. “Wait till you see this,” he grinned.
“Okay.” They hurried out of the backseat and met Brad at the hood of the car. Brad raised his hand and pointed. “Oh my,” they gasped, spotting an enormous mansion with little turret towers and porches everywhere. It was as big as a castle—a castle fit for a king. The sight of the mansion was enough to make a person wonder if they had somehow traveled back in time. “Are you sure Mr. Stonewell didn't build a castle?”
Brad stared at the mansion. “Ladies,” he said in a very serious voice, “somewhere in that place lurks a killer...a real killer. And as you both can see, we're out in the world, all alone. You can't walk outside and call for help up here because help ain't coming this far out and this far up. We can’t be the boy who cried wolf up here and whistle for an airlift ambulance at the first sign of trouble, understand?” Brad kept his eyes on the mansion. “My good friend Rusty Lowly is up there and he needs our help. Now, I know you're both professionals, but this case is going to take everything we have. Right now you need to put away the thought of your bakery, the festival, the town, everything, and focus on helping my good friend.”
Rita and Rhonda studied the mansion with amazed eyes. “Brad,” Rita said solemnly, “you have our attention.”
“And we'll focus on this case. With expert concentration,” Rhonda added. “But when this case is over we're selling our cabin and moving here. My goodness...so beautiful.”
Brad took his eyes away from the mansion and looked at them, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes. “We better get up there, ladies.”
Rita pulled her eyes away and gazed around the tenderly kept land surrounding the building. She didn't spot a single person. “I can imagine myself living up here alone, walking this land,” she said. “Far away from the world...no people...no crime...no murders...only peace.”
“Me too,” Rhonda agreed. “Planting flowers, taking walks, reading books...so peaceful.” Rhonda shook her head. “But even way up here, murder has a way of showing its ugly, stinking, miserable face.”
“I know,” Rita replied in a sickened voice. “Come on, Rhonda. We have work to do.”
Brad nodded and led them walking up to the front doors of this massive estate holding an old man who couldn't remember if he killed Lynn Hogan or not. All he could remember was that it was getting near lunch and he was hungry.
Chapter Two
Nurse Mae Taylor—known to her friends and patients only as Nurse Mae—opened the ornately carved front door that looked strong enough to keep a foreign army at bay. The carvings, depicting the ancestral family crest of the original owners, spoke of powerful wealth. “Sheriff, I thought you would never get back,” Mae complained, ushering them in quickly.
“I know, I know,” Brad said, walking into the large foyer with wood paneled walls painted in alternating red and white stripes like peppermint canes. The sight of the peppermint cane walls made Rita and Rhonda feel like they had entered an enchanted wonderland. Both women studied the foyer with amazed eyes. “We got held up for a few minutes.”
Rita glanced down at a solid white marble floor that had an inlaid image of a single red peppermint exactly in the middle. The whole place was polished to a softly glowing shine. “Clovedale Falls Retirement Home sure does take its name seriously,” she whispered to Rhonda.
Rhonda nodded. “I know, but it's so...cozy. This foyer is massive but I feel like I’ve walked into somebody’s warm and welcoming home.”
Nurse Mae looked at Rita and Rhonda with cautious eyes. She had heard about the twin retired policewomen who had recently moved to Clovedale Falls, but had yet to meet them. Of course, at the age of sixty-eight and with her nursing shifts keeping her busy, she didn't get around much and rarely left her place of work. She lived here, in fact, on the third floor in a private room paid through paycheck deductions. Mae didn't mind having money taken out of her paycheck—the mansion was her home and she intended to live there as a nurse and then retiring when she could no longer take care of her friends. She hoped these newcomers would understand the kind of care and dedication that went into this beloved place.
“My name is Patricia Taylor. You can call me Mae. I'm the head nurse,” She explained in a stern voice. She didn't want to sound cold, but a woman in her care had been murdered and murder was serious business. Deep down, Mae was a soft teddy bear.
Rita examined Nurse Mae. The woman was tall and thin, with a lovely face and bright eyes that reminded her of the actress Vivian Vance. Her long, smooth gray hair was tucked neatly but not severely into a bun. She wore the red and white striped uniform scrub dress that all the staff wore, and the colors complimented Mae's lovely face.
