Murder and the Museum Page 6

  Marty took the dogs out, gave them plenty of water and left a note on Les’ door asking him if he had a minute if he’d let them out. She knew he took a break from his painting several times a day and went out to the courtyard to check his emails. He’d often told her if she needed him to take the dogs out, to leave a note on his door, and he’d be happy to do it. The arrangement had worked well for everyone because Duke and Patron loved Les. Although Jeff and Marty were their main people, they considered themselves to be the guardians of all of the compound residents. Even Max qualified.

  Thirty minutes later Marty checked her navigation system and turned onto the dirt road that led to the Whitewater River reservation. About a half a mile ahead she saw a cluster of trailers and run-down homes. Litter covered the sides of the road. She began to doubt her decision to come to the reservation by herself, but she figured the reservation didn’t have many visitors and she’d probably already been noticed.

  She saw a building with the words “Tribal Council” written in faded white paint on the wall. In front of it was a patch of dirt just large enough for her to park her car. She got out of her vehicle, aware that she was overdressed for her visit and regretting wearing a cream-colored silk blouse, matching linen slacks, and low-heeled sandals. No one was around. She walked up to the door and knocked. There was no answer.

  A moment later, she heard a young boy’s voice behind her ask, “Need some help, lady?”

  She turned and peered down at the boy, who was skinny and dressed in tattered old clothes. “Yes, I’m looking for Adam Navarro. Any idea where I can find him?”

  “Yeah. He’s in the trailer over there.” The boy pointed. “The one that has the yellow curtains in the front window. Saw him go in it a little while ago, so he should be there,” he said.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it,” Marty said smiling as she walked by him and headed towards Adam’s trailer. She knocked on the door, noticing the black welcome mat. A few moments later a young girl answered the door and looked up at Marty. She didn’t say anything, but it was as if she was noticing everything about Marty, from the diamond studs she wore in her ears, a present from herself to herself when she’d finished a large appraisal, to her toenails which were painted a soft tone of pink.

  Marty looked down at the girl and said, “I’m looking for Adam Navarro. Is he here?”

  “Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t.” Suspicion registered in the girl’s eyes. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Marty Morgan. I’m writing an article for a paper on casinos and Native Americans. I’d like to talk to him…”

  She was interrupted by the appearance of a mountain of a man with a gray pony tail hanging down his back, secured by a silver hair clip with a turquoise stone. He wore jeans and a denim shirt. “Sage, please ask the lady in,” he said.

  “Would you like to come in?” the young girl asked.

  “I would, if that would be all right with you, Sage,” Marty said. She walked into the poorly furnished, but neat, trailer and addressed Adam. “My name is Marty Morgan. I’m writing an article on Native Americans and casinos. Your name was given to me as the chairman of a tribe who will soon have one. If you have a moment, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards a chair. “Would you like some iced tea?”

  “No, I’m fine, but thank you.”

  “Sage, why don’t you go back in your room and continue reading that book? You’re very close to getting an award for reading,”

  “Okay, dad,” the young girl said as she walked down the short hall and into a room.

  “Your daughter is a beauty. Her dark hair is gorgeous,” Marty said. “You must be very proud of her.”

  “Thank you. I am proud of both of my children. Can’t take credit for her beauty––that’s her mother’s doing, but I can take credit for her reading. Since her mother left us, I’ve raised her alone.”

  “It looks like you’ve done a very good job, Adam. Before we start, I do have a question that has nothing to do with casinos. I noticed that your curtains are yellow, your door mat is black, your front door is white and you have red pillows on the couch and the chairs in here. Do these colors mean something?”

  “That’s a good notice, Ms. Morgan.” Adam smiled, holding her gaze. He was quietly spoken. “Yes, they definitely mean something. Each of the four directions, east, south, west, and north is represented by a distinctive color. I honor my forefathers and all Native Americans with these colors. These are the colors of the Native American Medicine Wheel. They are very important to us for health and healing.”

  “Thank you, I didn’t know that. Mr. Navarro, I understand your tribe is in escrow to buy a piece of property near Highway 111 and the 10 freeway near Palm Springs. I’m told your tribe intends to build a casino on it. Since your reservation isn’t there, how can you build a casino there? And, pardon me for being blunt, but from the looks of your reservation, I’m not seeing a great deal of wealth.”

  He folded his hands and looked down for a moment, then he said, “All of which you just said is true. There is not a great deal of wealth here, in fact there is none. We are dirt poor. We can’t afford to give our children the proper medical care they need or practically anything else. Most of us struggle to even feed our families.”

  Marty frowned. “If that’s true, how can you build a casino? I’ve heard there are people in Las Vegas who front money for the tribes to build a casino, but it’s usually on the tribe’s reservation. Your reservation looks to me to be too small and it would be very difficult to get to it. I also understand that the land you now have in escrow is not reservation land. I don’t quite see how something like this works.”

  “Let me explain it to you, Ms. Morgan.” He spent the next half hour telling her about the legal loopholes that allowed his tribe to buy the property and convert it into reservation land. He told her about the Las Vegas money men who approached him, as the chairman of the tribe, and who were fronting the money for the casino. Adam told her that the tribal members would become wealthy because of the income they would get from the casino.

  As the pieces fell into place in Marty’s head, she voiced what was on her mind. “Mr. Navarro, as I understand it, none of this would have been possible without the death of Camille Borden. Is that true?”

  Adam was grave. “Yes, very. We don’t wish death on anyone, but her death meant that now we can get the land. I doubt if you know what it’s like to see your child ill, and you don’t have the money to take him or her to a doctor. I think it has to be the worst feeling a parent can ever have.

  “And Ms. Morgan, let me be completely honest. My tribe, like so many others, has been decimated by alcohol abuse. I can’t tell you how many children have been born with fetal alcohol syndrome.” He motioned through the window. “Take a look at some of the children who are playing outside here on the reservation. All you have to do is look at them to see they have brain damage and growth problems.”

  “I understand how having more money will allow you to be able to get proper medical care for those children, but wouldn’t the extra money also mean that some of the tribal members would just spend it on alcohol, and the problem would still be there? It seems to me to be kind of a catch-22 situation.”

  “You’re absolutely right, and this is what has affected my sleep for more nights than I can count. I’m hoping we can bring in domestic abuse and alcohol addiction counselors. I’ve spent hours looking at every angle of it, and I believe the positives outweigh the negatives. At least there will be hope for some of our tribal members, but I’m sure some will take the way of alcohol, and there’s really nothing I can do about that.”

  “Mr. Navarro, I realize that Ms. Borden’s death is a strange twist of fate for your tribe, but it also allows you to have access to that land. I hate to ask you this, but since your tribe and the men in Las Vegas will benefit the most from her death, do you think there will be any negati
ve consequences for you or the tribe because of her death?”

  He narrowed his eyes and said, “I’m not exactly sure what you mean, but I’m getting a funny feeling that you think one of the tribal members may have been involved in her death. Would I be right?”

  “No, Adam, I guess I’m simply playing devil’s advocate. Since your tribe has the most to gain because a woman was murdered, I’m wondering if any of the tribal members will be considered persons of interest or suspects.”

  Chairman Navarro was quite for a long time. “Ms. Morgan, I have to honestly tell you that thought never occurred to me. The members of my tribe aren’t perfect, but murder, no. That is simply not possible. And other than me, I don’t think any of them knew who the original buyer of that piece of property was. It’s a long drive to get from this poor reservation to some rich woman’s home, kill her, not be seen, and then return to the reservation without someone noticing you have been gone. And that’s assuming someone even had the transportation to get there, which most of the members don’t.”

  Marty looked at him. “Mr. Navarro, you might want to make sure you have a very good alibi for yesterday about the time Mrs. Borden was murdered. If someone like me, who has no legal training, can see a connection, I’m sure the police will join the dots as well.”

  “Ms. Morgan, I will tell you that I had nothing to do with her murder. Do you think I’d risk my chairmanship and my people by killing someone?” Marty watched as Adam stood up and began to pace nervously back and forth, rubbing his hands together, clearly distraught. “No, I never even considered it. I don’t really care if you believe me or not. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Marty thought his distress appeared to be genuine. “Mr. Navarro, for what’s it worth, I believe you, but you haven’t told me if you have an alibi. To be honest with you, I find that a little suspicious, and I think the police will think the same thing. I’ve taken quite a bit of your time, and I thank you for it. I’d better be going.”

  As she stood up and got ready to leave, Sage came running out of her room, “Daddy, daddy, I finished my book. Can we go to the library now? I can get my blue ribbon for reading. Please?”

  He looked down at her adoringly and said, “Yes. Ms. Morgan was just leaving. Go get in the car. I’m right behind you. Your brother can stay here and play with his friends. We won’t be gone long.”

  Sage ran out of the house, grinning broadly. The chairman looked over at Marty. “Ms. Morgan, her mother was one of the people I talked about. Sage wasn’t born with fetal alcohol syndrome, but she could have been. Her mother left me for a fisherman who promised he’d provide her with all the beer she’d ever want. That was the last time either of my children saw their mother. She was walking away from the river holding the man’s hand. A couple of the tribal members saw what happened and brought the kids home. They said she never looked back. That’s why I’m doing this, facilitating the building of this casino. It will help more than you can imagine.”

  “Thank you for telling me that, and I wish you and your tribe the best of luck.” Marty hurried to her car, intent on getting in it before she started crying.

  Just as she was getting into her car, the same little boy who had told where Chairman Navarro lived ran up to her car and said, “I saw you go into his trailer. Good thing you didn’t try to talk to him yesterday.”

  Marty looked down at the little boy whose face and body were covered with streaks of dirt. She hoped it was from playing in the dirt today, and not because his trailer didn’t have running water for a shower or a bath.

  “Why? Was he gone yesterday?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sage told me he had to go to Palm Springs. I asked her why, but she didn’t know.”

  “Thanks,” she said, hoping against hope his trip to Palm Springs had been for reasons other than going there to murder Camille Borden.

  CHAPTER 14

  When Marty had looked up Austin’s address earlier that morning she was surprised that his home was located in the small Historic Tennis Club Neighborhood of Palm Springs. It was a throwback to the time in the ‘20’s and ‘30’s when the Tinsel Town elite of Los Angeles came to Palm Springs to relax and play.

  She’d only been in the area once, and she’d been charmed by the homes with their whitewashed irregular adobe walls, red tile roofs, and exposed exterior wooden beams. When she found Austin’s address, it was obvious he’d wanted the prestige of living in the Tennis Club neighborhood, but was unwilling to have his home live up to the reputation of the area. Although the yard had originally had low maintenance drought-free landscaping, weeds were now the predominant plants.

  The walkway leading up to the front door of the bungalow was cracked with weeds growing up through the cracks. The mosaic tiles that had been imbedded at one time in the walkway as a point of interest, were now broken with pieces missing from them. The neglect spread to the red tile roof. From the number of tiles that were missing, Marty could only assume that when it rained in Palm Springs, Austin and his wife had to use buckets to keep their floors and rugs from suffering water damage. The house was an eyesore, and she was sure it was the topic of a lot of the neighbor’s conversations.

  She parked on the street and walked up to the front door, noticing that even the windows were cracked. She thought back to what Carl had told her about Austin having a trust fund. She decided it was either depleted or going for other things. He obviously wasn’t spending it on the house or the yard. She knocked on the door several times but no one answered. She rang the doorbell that was hanging by a bare wire next to the door. Again, there was no response.

  It looks like no one’s home, so this is a dead end, Marty thought to herself as she stood on the porch. No wonder Jeff never got a call. Austin and his wife must be out of town. I’ll just get to Carl’s shop early and use the time for some research.

  She walked back to her car, got in, and started the engine. As she pulled away from the curb she noticed a car in her rear-view mirror. She slowed down and saw the car turn into the Phillips’ driveway. She made a U-turn at the next intersection and then parked on the other side of the street, directly across from the Phillips’ rundown home.

  A very attractive Hispanic woman got out of a blue BMW convertible that had the top down. She was wearing what looked to Marty like designer sunglasses, a t-shirt with the Gucci logo prominent on it, distressed jeans that Marty knew from her shopping expeditions were expensive, and Christian Laboutin shoes with their signature red heel and bottom. The house may have been in a state of disrepair, but it was obvious where some of the trust fund money must be going.

  Marty got out of her car and walked over to the woman who was taking shopping bags out of the trunk of her car. Marty recognized the names on the bags as being from the high-end shops in the El Paseo shopping district located in Palm Desert and having stores similar to the type found on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. She walked up to the woman who had closed her car trunk and was standing next to her car looking at Marty with a questioning look on her face.

  “Hi, I’m Marty Morgan. By any chance are you Leticia Phillips?”

  “I am.” Up close, Marty could tell the woman had also spent a lot of money on her appearance. Her breasts, teeth, and hair extensions looked like the best money could buy. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m a writer for an art and antique magazine. I understand your mother-in-law is donating her collection to a museum she’s building. I’d like to talk to you and your husband about it, if you have a little time.”

  “Austin’s sleeping, so that won’t work. I don’t know much about Camille’s collection, and I don’t think Austin does either. It always seemed a little silly to us that she’d even think of doing something like that,” Leticia said.

  “Why do you say that?” Marty asked.

  “Because if that happened, all the valuable things in her collection that should rightly go to Austin would go to some non-profit museum. So much for family. Plus, she’s been battl
ing cancer, and even though she seems to be in remission, she probably doesn’t need the stress of taking on some big project, like building a museum.”

  She was interrupted by the sound of the front door being thrown open and a man yelling out the door, “Leticia, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to get back. Bring me what I need, darlin’?” he asked, unaware that Marty was standing by Leticia’s car, just out of his line of sight.

  Even from the distance between the two of them, Marty could see the signs of drug abuse that Jeff had told her to look for if she ever suspected someone had an addiction problem. The bloodshot eyes and sick yellow pallor were giveaways, a definite tell that confirmed what Carl had told her about Austin’s suspected narcotics habit.

  Leticia looked briefly over at Marty and then said, “I have to go. Been nice talking to you.” She picked up her bags and hurried to the front door.

  As the door closed, Marty could overhear Austin. “Leticia, I’m out, and I need some bad. Hurry up. I can’t wait much longer.”

  A man with a drug addiction. A daughter-in-law who likes the good life. Could make for a couple of murder suspects, Marty thought as she walked back to her car.

  CHAPTER 15

  Marty opened the door of the Palm Springs Antique Shoppe and was surprised there were so many customers in it, far more than she’d seen in any of the previous times she’d visited the store. She walked around and looked at the various works of art and antiques that Carl had on display. She knew that for most of the people in the desert community, his shop was the first place they thought of if they wanted to sell something. Between his discerning eye and ability to have customers who loved him, the shop’s merchandise was always the best in town.

  Carl had always been good at displaying his merchandise, but from what Marty was seeing in the shop today and in the windows that looked out onto the busy street, his new part-time assistant must be really talented in that area. She imagined that was the reason there were so many people in the shop. One look through the eye-catching windows, whether one was driving by or walking, and if a person had any interest in antiques or art, they were sure to stop and go into the shop.