For Sale in Palm Springs: The Henry Wright Mystery Series (8 page)

Geez, they really pour on
the hyperbole, Henry thought, and counting his picture, Thornbird
was featured three times on the 8 ½ by 11 flyer. It almost seemed
as though he was selling himself as opposed to the house. The flyer
had indeed been in a plastic box that was attached to the For Sale
sign as Rosie had mentioned.

Thinking of Rosie Murphy, he
wondered exactly what the relationship was between her and
Thornbird. He hoped it wasn’t anything improper and that Mr. Murphy
wasn’t the jealous type. The petite woman with her bright hair and
green eyes had impressed him; he didn’t want her to be involved in
what Charles thought was Thornbird’s exaggeration and liberties in
describing the properties he was selling. Although, the flyer he
had in his hand didn’t seem improper at all, no mention of any
celebrity connection with this house.

The more he thought about
it, the more he realized that the connection between celebrities
and these homes was shaky. Certainly there wasn’t a plaque on the
wall announcing “Bing Crosby slept here” and no mark left behind if
a celebrity had indeed owned the home. Of course, some famous
people’s properties were very obvious. Bob Hope’s flying saucer
estate was known by everyone in the valley, and most folks also
knew about Liberace’s compound near downtown Palm
Springs.

Charles had certainly opened
his eyes to the celebrity connection that Palm Springs had earlier.
Charles was very knowledgeable about Palm Springs’ past, but then
what else could you expect from a retired High School history
teacher? Henry doubted that the average home buyer or Palm Springs
visitor knew which movie stars had lived here or even stopped at
the El Mirador for a drink. If someone who seemed knowledgeable
told them that a home was owned by a celebrity, how would they find
out otherwise?

Had Thornbird embellished
the lineage of these properties in order to get a premium sales
price? A higher sales price meant a higher commission for
Thornbird. Henry didn’t doubt there was some fiction writing at
this point; he remembered the picture of the Bob Hope estate that
was on the wall of the conference room at Coachella Real Estate. It
hung amongst the other pictures of estates and homes that the
office claimed they had handled. If they played fast and loose with
the facts in the office, what did Thornbird do when trying to
convince people to buy a house from him?

Was this a big conspiracy to
defraud buyers? How many people were in on it? How many buyers had
been taken by this embellishment? Was one of them so angry at being
duped that they decided to make Rex Thornbird pay the ultimate
price? He decided that the report of Thornbird’s past deals that
Rosie was working on was becoming very important.

Maybe he’d probe her a
little to see what she knew of the conspiracy, if it was indeed a
conspiracy. He doubted she was in on it, but she may have been
aware of what was going on. Maybe he could get her to relax enough
tomorrow to open up a little bit on Thornbird’s way of doing
business. Perhaps a few more details on her relationship with
Thornbird would be forthcoming as well. But he really needed the
report that she was working on for him. He’d take that list and
make arrangements to talk to everyone beginning with those that had
purchased these so-called celebrity owned homes from
Thornbird.

Chapter 6

Tuesday, April 18

A few minutes before nine
the next morning, Henry walked to his car with the Colt and Glock
in their cases while Charles was taking his turn at swimming laps.
Pierre was running along beside him at the edge of the pool
occasionally barking some encouragement. Henry put the gun cases in
the trunk of the car; he didn’t like having a weapon in the
passenger compartment unless he had it strapped to his waist. He
backed the car out of the garage and went down Mel to Avenida
Caballeros where he turned right. He drove to Ramon Road, turned
left and settled back for the long drive out to the Gun
Club.

After a while he passed over
the Interstate, and took a left on Varner Road. Out here, the area
was mostly industrial or nothing but desert, depending on which
checkerboard square of the Agua Caliente Indian Reservation you
were on. The Indians charged a lease to building owners for use of
their property, so out here in the desert outside of town, the
undeveloped squares were Reservation. Building owners just didn’t
want to risk the unknown of not owning the property under their
investment. Over in the more developed part of Palm Springs, the
checkerboard reservation continued, though you could hardly tell
what Indian land was and what was not. The only difference was that
some people had title to the land their house was on, and others
paid the Indians a lease for their property.

But out here in the desert,
it was more apparent, and developers tended to shy away from leased
land for structures such as the Express package delivery building
Henry just passed, or even the auto wreckers. Right across the road
from those establishments was an empty, obviously Agua Caliente,
square of land. The Palm Springs Gun Club was on one of these
undeveloped squares of land. For the Club, the empty piece of
desert was a perfect place for their pistol and rifle
range.

Ordinarily, the range was
not open to the public, but Wayne was the law enforcement liaison
to the Club and as such had a key to the gate. The club didn’t have
many facilities, the bathroom was a portable outhouse, and
refreshments were in the ice chest in the trunk of Henry’s car. But
there was plenty of space, there was no charge other than the
Club’s membership’s dues, and on a weekday morning once a month, he
and Wayne had the place to themselves. Most of the Club’s
activities were on weekends when they had match shootouts and
something called a Western shootout, which Henry had not really
figured out.

A couple of more turns took
Henry onto an unpaved road, and within a couple of hundred yards,
he was at the gate to the Gun Club’s range which Wayne had already
opened. The Crown Victoria with its exempt license plates was
already parked up ahead, and Henry pulled his nearly twin Mercury
Grand Marquis next to it. Wayne was setting up their targets and
Henry got out of the car and walked back to the gate to close
it.

He waved at Wayne as he
walked back and yelled, “You never called me yesterday afternoon.”
“You’re right, and it’s not because I forgot.” Wayne smiled,
putting the staple gun that he had used to attach the targets down
at the pistol station. “I figured it was because whatever you found
out was inconsequential.” Henry smiled unlocking his trunk and
grabbing his gun cases and a couple of boxes of
ammunition.

“
Well, you may not think so,
but it doesn’t amount to much.” Wayne said, opening the passenger
door to his car and pulling out his hearing protectors.“That’s what
you keep saying.” Henry smiled, “What did you find out?”“The lab
tells me that the measurements of the mark are consistent with a
picture frame with an eight inch side.” Wayne said, “We didn’t see
it yesterday, but there was a second mark probably made by a
support rest of some sort.”

“
So like an 8 by 10 frame
set up in portrait format, for example?” Henry asked setting his
gun cases down on the shooting rest.“The lab guys say it could be
an 8 by 10, but it could be an 8 by 8 as well, it’s hard to tell
exactly what size it was.” Wayne explained.“But the mark is
definitely not the right size for holding flyers, which are printed
on 8 ½ by 11 paper.” Henry said, unlocking the Glock’s case and
taking out the clips so that he could load the 9 mm ammunition into
them.“No, it’s too small for a standard piece of paper, like they
use for flyers.” Wayne said, pulling his own Glock out of his
shoulder holster and checking the clip in it, which was already
loaded.

“
So why would an empty
house, no furniture, no decorations of any kind have a picture
frame on the mantle and what is inside that picture frame?” Henry
asked, pushing one of the loaded clips into his Glock. “Good
questions, the big question you didn’t ask is, “Where is that
picture frame now?”” Wayne said putting his protective glasses on,
and taking aim at the target down range. “Range is hot – commence
firing!” He yelled before pulling the trigger on his weapon. “Find
the picture, find the murderer if you ask me.” Henry yelled over
the noise of Wayne’s weapon, as he fired his own pistol at the
target that Wayne put up down range.

After an hour and a half of
shooting the Glock and his slower and heavier Colt, Henry was on
his way home for a quick shower and a change of clothes before
meeting Rosie at the Coachella Real Estate office.

It was just about 12:30 when
he showed up at the office and walked through the front door.
Tiffany, the receptionist, went through her phone, nail file,
magazine routine and seemed to remember him. “Hi Mr. Wright, Mrs.
Murphy is expecting you, and she’ll be right out.” “Thank you, I’ll
wait right here.” Henry turned to look out the windows preferring
to stand instead of sitting in one of the well worn lobby
chairs.

“
Mr. Wright, I made
reservations for lunch, I do hope that you have not eaten that
you’ll join me?” Rosie Murphy came walking her brisk walk out from
the cubicle maze, her strawberry blond curls bouncing, wearing a
green blouse with black pants with a small black sweater over her
shoulders. She had black high heeled shoes on and carried a thick
manila folder in one hand and a small black purse in the
other.

“
Eh, no I haven’t, sure I’d
like that.” Henry answered her questions while pushing open the
door.

“
Call my cell phone if you
need anything.” Rosie yelled over her shoulder at Tiffany as the
door closed. “I can drive, I hope you don’t mind.” “No, not at
all.” Henry was getting to like this small woman’s spunk. He hoped
that she had invited him to lunch that perhaps she was interested
in talking about more than just business. He thought it strange
that he wanted to know about more than business with her; he
usually didn’t get personally involved with the cases he was
investigating. This time he thought, it is different. “I’m parked
right over here, Henry.” Rosie waved at a red Volkswagen new beetle
and pulled the car’s key fob out of her small purse and opened both
doors with a click and a beep.

Henry wasn’t sure why he
smiled inwardly when he saw the little red Volkswagen and realized
that it fit Rosie well. He was happy that Rosie had returned to
addressing him as Henry as opposed to the more formal Mr. Wright
that she used in the office in front of Tiffany. He folded his six
foot frame into the front seat of the small car while Rosie tossed
her purse and the big manila folder onto the back seat before
getting into the car herself. She held her door open while she
started the car and got the air going. Closing the door she turned
to Henry with a smile, “I hope you like Mexican food, I made a
reservation at the Blue Coyote Grill.”

“
I do and know it well; it’s
not too far from my house.” Henry smiled back. “Good, I’m hungry; I
told them we’d be there at 12:45.” As she put the car in gear and
pulled out of the parking lot and onto South Palm Canyon
Drive.

Hmmm, he hadn’t noticed all
the little freckles she had on her nose; he guessed they were more
noticeable in the sunlight outside. He was wondering why he was
noticing all these things about her; he hadn’t noticed things about
women for a long, long time.

She deftly steered the
little car through the traffic and they arrived at the parking lot
behind the Blue Coyote with minutes to spare. They were seated
right away and Rosie ordered a margarita for herself and Henry
ordered a cup of coffee. The staff at the Blue Coyote seemed to be
familiar with Rosie and Henry wondered how many times she had been
here with Thornbird plotting to rip off unknowing home buyers. As
quickly as that thought came into his head, he pushed it out of his
mind, he didn’t want to think of Rosie that way, but he knew he
needed to remain objective towards her. At the same time, he didn’t
consider her a suspect, her grief at Thornbird’s death had seemed
too genuine, and there was really no motive for her to kill her
office’s cash cow.

“
I really like the
enchiladas here.” She smiled, putting down her menu. “I agree, the
enchiladas are good; but I think I’ll have the fish tacos today.”
Henry said putting his menu on the table as well. The waiter
arrived with their drinks and they gave him their order. He picked
up the menus and disappeared into the back of the restaurant
leaving them alone at their table.

Henry felt a little awkward,
but he wanted to know more about Rosie’s relationship with
Thornbird outside of the office, he thought about how to ask his
question, but decided there was really no easy way to get around it
and he wanted to be direct. “Rex and I used to come here for lunch
after realtor tours.” Rosie said carefully picking up her margarita
and licking some of the salt off the rim. “Ah, it seemed as though
the waiters and staff recognized you.” Henry was relieved that
Rosie had brought up Rex without him having to ask why the staff
seemed to know her. “Did you see Thornbird often outside of the
office, other than these realtor tours – and can you tell me what
those tours are?” Henry took another sip of his coffee, it was not
as good here as at Rosie’s office.

“
We socialized occasionally,
but it wasn’t a serious thing, if that is what you mean,” Rosie
took a sip of her margarita. “We met here once every two weeks
after the realtor tours. A tour is where all the agents drive
around and look at all the new houses on the market. Since there
were usually too many houses, we split them up and then compared
notes afterwards over lunch. Usually we met here, sometimes at the
La Taqueria near the Plaza.”