Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 05 - A Deadly Change of Luck (6 page)

I shook my head.  “It was stolen.”

“Stolen?  How? 
When?”

“Early this morning.
  Bob from next door called to tell us someone was in the house.  We locked the ticket in our desk and hid the key, then came over here.  When we got home, the ticket was gone,” I explained.

“Oh—my
—God,” she gasped.  “I thought this sort of thing only happens in the movies.”

“Apparently, it happens in real life, too,” I said.

“Who else did you tell about the ticket?  Someone had to know about it.”

I shook my head. 
“No one.
  We found it and came right home.  We checked the numbers on the Internet.  We didn’t call anyone.”

“So how did they know?” she asked.

“I think they followed us from here and watched me hide the ticket through our windows.  That’s the only logical explanation.”

“But how did they know you had it in the first place?”

“That’s a good question.  My g
uess is they did the same thing
—watched us through the windows here.  Whoever has been breaking in here must be looking for the ticket.  They’d probably been watching me the whole time.”

“You did call the police, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They weren’t too encouraging.  They didn’t find any fingerprints other than ours.”

“So if someone shows up to claim the ticket
?“

“It’s our word against theirs.  As they explained to us, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Well, doesn’t that just frost your apple
cart!
  There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I don’t know what.”  I paused and watched a hummingbird dart from flower to flower on a trumpet vine that had crept over the fence from a neighboring yard.  “Was there anyone who seemed very interested in the house when it first came on the market?”

“Well, sure.  Like I say, I thought I had it sold a couple times, but they all backed out.”

“What abou
t other people who looked at it?
  Any of them want to see it more than once?” I asked.

Fiona searched her memory.  “Let’s see.  I can’t think of anyone.  Like I said, most people were scared off by all the work it needed.  I don’t think anyone came back more than once.”

I finished my sandwich and drank my last swallow of lemonade.  “Well, it doesn’t really matter anyhow.  Craig and I talked about it.  We were happy before we found the ticket, and we’re still just as happy now.”

“But to have come so close, and have it taken away like that.  I’d be a little peeved.  Heck, I’d be more than a little peeved, I’d be downright mad.  I’d be boiling over.  My wig would be frizzed from the steam coming out of my ears.”

I chuckled at the thought of steam bellowing out of her ears.  “Calm down, Fiona.  It’s only money.”

“Only money?
  The last person I heard utter those words was pushing a beat-up old shopping cart down main street and living under the Harbor Street overpass.”

Fiona and I finished lunch and she left me to work on my project.  On her way out the door, she promised she’d help in the search for the culprit who stole the ticket, for a six percent commission, of course. 

I’d made my way to the master bedroom, lugging the big garbage can behind me.  I began sorting through the rubble
and
got pretty good at tossing objects across the room and making rim shots into the trashcan.  I picked up a blanket that was piled on the floor and uncovered a wrinkled calendar.  It was one of Lowell
Herrero’s
Cow Calendars.  I sat down on the floor and smoothed the pages, smiling at the amusing pictures as I flipped through them.  When I’d gotten to the December page, I started back at January, only this time I decided to read Lou
Winnomore’s
entries.  There weren’t many—a couple of doctors’ appointments, a scheduled tune-up for his car, a few birthdays, and an anniversary. 

It looked like Lou didn’t have a
whole lot going on in his life—
either that, or he had a terrific memory.  Then I thought, no, if his memory was that good, he wouldn’t need to mark down the birthdays of his family members and his own wedding anniversary.  I studied his entries again.  Something nagged at me as I scanned the pages, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I finally shook it off and tossed the calendar into the barrel.  I had too much work to do.  I couldn’t afford to lose focus.

I’d worked up a decent sweat and could feel the perspiration drip down my forehead.  I’d just about finished cleaning out the bedroom, so I decided to take a little break.  I headed down the hall to the bathroom and ran the cold water.  I splashed it on my face,
then
realized I didn’t have a towel to dry off.  I looked at my dripping face i
n the mirror when it struck me—
the entries in the calendar, that is.  I used the front of my shirt to dry my face and hands and ran back to the bedroom.  I dumped the trash barrel out on the floor and dug through it until I found the calendar.  I quickly flipped through the pages and noted the circled dates.  “That’s it!” I said.  The dates that were most important to Lou were the same numbers he’d played on his winning lottery ticket.  That made sense to me.  A lot of people use special dates for their lottery picks.  I felt relieved that I’d solved that nagging question, much like when I finally remember someone’s name, two days after I swore it was on the tip of my tongue. 

I began throwing everything back in the trash barrel, but I still had an uneasy feeling.  People who play special numbers tend to always play those numbers.  Lou probably played the same numbers every time he bought a ticket.  I wondered how
often he played the lottery.  I also wondered who else knew about Lou’s special numbers.  I decided not to throw the calendar out. 

I returned to the kitchen and pulled my phone from my purse.  I called Fiona’s office.

“Fiona?  This is Devonie.  Do you know how Lou
Winnomore
died?”

“
Winnomore
?” she replied, puzzled.

“Yes.  The previous owner,” I reminded her.

“Oh, him.
  Gee
, I don’t know.  He was old.  I think his ticker just gave out on him.”

“Heart attack?”

“I think that’s what Chuck said, but you know I can’t swear to it.”

“So you don’t know if an autopsy was done?” I asked.

“Autopsy?
  You may as well ask me what color the Queen of England’s underwear is.  I haven’t got the foggiest idea, but Chuck would know,” she offered.

“How is Chuck related to Lou?”

“Brother-in-law, I think.  Yeah.  Yeah.  Lou was married to Chuck’s wife’s sister.  They were twins.  Not identical, but the other kind, you know, paternal?”

“Fraternal twins?”

“That’s it.  Fraternal,” she said.

I studied the cow calendar on the counter.  “Would it be okay if I called Chuck?”

“Sure
.  I’ve got his number right here.”  

I dialed Chuck’s number and waited for an answer.  I used the excuse that I was cleaning up the place and found some photo albums, and wondered if any of the family members wanted them before I just threw them out.  Chuck seemed like a nice man.  He said that he didn’t think any of Lou’s kids would be interested in the albums, but if I wanted to bring them by his house, he’d take them.  I could tell he didn’t really want them either.  He’d probably just toss them out.  I told him I’d save him the trouble and do it myself.  He didn’t protest.

We chatted awhile,
then
I eased the conversation into the direction I really intended.

“Fiona tells me Lou died of a heart attack?”

“That’s right,” he verified.

“Gosh.  That’s too bad.  Was he very old?” I asked.

“Not as old as me, but I’ve got old genes,” he said, chuckling.

“Isn’t it amazing what they can find out with an autopsy?” I said.

“Sure is, but they didn’t do one on Lou.  No reason to.  He had a history of heart trouble.  No one thought it was that serious, but Lou proved us wrong,” Chuck explained.

“I see,” I replied, still staring at the cow calendar I’d set on the counter.

I
wrangled
the conversation around to another subject and then gracefully let myself off the hook and said goodbye.

I headed for the garage and returned with one of the full garbage bags I’d put there earlier.  I rummaged through two of them before I finally found the assorted bottles of vitamins and supplements I’d thrown out.  I gathered them up and put them in a smaller paper sack.

I made sure all the doors were locked before I left the house,
then
I gathered up the bag of pills, the cow calendar, and headed for Detective Sam Wright’s office.  If my hunch was right, Lou Winnomore’s cause of death was about as natural as my
cousin
Marilyn’s platinum blond hair.  

Chapter Five

D
etective Sam Wright scowled at me from across his desk.  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight.  You want me to tie up police lab resources to check out these pills because you think some old guy with a known heart condition didn’t die the way a trained medical examiner said he did?”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes.  “This is exactly the reaction I expected.  I don’t know why I even bother coming to you in the first place,” I complained.

“Because I’m the only fool here dumb enough to give you the time of day.  Anybody else would throw you out.”

I’d known Sam for several years.  From the first time I met him, he’d shown a hostile tendency that still crops up from time to time.  We’re actually good friends now, but he still insists on making me prove myself every inch of the way when it comes to my conspiracy theories.  I’ve learned to ignore his hostility, to a point.  Once in a while, he follows through on a threat, so I’ve learned just how far I can go with him.  Most of the time, he puts up with my misadventures and comes up smelling like a rose. 

“So, are you going to check out the pills?” I pressed.

“Tell me again why I should?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. 
“Because, as I’ve already explained, Lou
Winnomore
played his own special numbers.
  They’re his family’s birthdays and his anniversary.  I’d bet you a hundred bucks he played those same numbers every time.”  I shoved the calendar closer to Sam and flipped through the pages, pointing out the circled dates.  “The last
ticket he played was a winner—
fifty-eight million dollars.  Someone had to know he played those numbers.  No one could
be that unlucky—
to win fifty-eight million, then suddenly die of natural causes.  Someone knew about the ticket, because his house was ransacked several times after he died.  They were looking for the ticket.  When I found it, they stole it from me.”

Sam rocked in his chair and glared at me, but didn’t say anything.

“And the lids to these bottles of vitamins were all mixed up,” I continued.

“So?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared right back at him.  “Do you take vitamins?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Do you take all the lids off at once to take them, or do you remove one at a time?”

“One a
t a time, but that doesn’t mean
—“

“Me too.
 
One at a time.
  The only reason someone would remove all the lids at once is if they were tampering with them.  They were probably nervous, and didn’t pay attention to which lid went on which bottle,” I speculated.

“That’s a pretty far reach,” Sam said.

“Far reach?  So most murderers put the evidence right in your hand?”

He smirked at me but didn’t reply. 
Typical Sam Wright.
  I reached across his desk and snatched up the calendar
, then
collected the bottles and dropped them back in the paper bag I’d brought them in.  I jammed the calendar under my arm and grabbed the sack. 
“Fine.
  I’ll go see someone else for help,” I snapped.

Sam stood up and snatched the bag from me.  “Don’t bother someone else with your little escapade.  I’ll have the lab check it out, but if it comes up negative, like I know it will, will you drop it?”

I smiled.  “Okay, but you’re going to find something in that bag, and when you do, you’ll owe me lunch.”

Jason is an old friend of mine who owns an appliance sales and repair shop.  He puts up with a lot more from me than a mere acquaintance would.  I keep telling Craig that someday I want to throw a big “thank you” party for all the family and friends who’ve gotten mixed up in my capers.  Jason would be at the top of the guest list.  He got me a great deal on new appliances for the kitchen at Rancho Costa Little.  I met him there early the next morning so he could install them.  The top half of his body disappeared under the kitchen sink as he hooked up the new dishwasher.  I sat on the floor to assist.

“Wrench?” he requested, holding a flattened palm out like a surgeon waiting for a scalpel.

“So what kind of poison do you think they’ll find in those capsules?” I asked, placing the wrench in his hand.

The wrench disappeared under the sink and clanked on a hard-to-reach pipe.  “Don’t know.  If you think he was killed for that lottery ticket, then your killer ought to show up in the next couple of days when he tries to claim the prize money,” Jason said, between grunts.

“But if I can’t prove Lou was murdered, then he’ll get away with the money and the murder.”

Jason held out his empty hand again. 
“Screwdriver?”

I rummaged through the toolbox.  “Phillips?”

“No.  Flathead,” he replied.

I placed it in his hand.

“Got any suspects?” Jason asked.

“Not anyone in particular.  Whoever it is probably knew him pretty well.  He’d have to to know the numbers that Lou always played.  There are a couple of relatives who seem a little quirky.”

“Quirky?”

“Yeah.
  There’s a crazy son, but he’s locked up in a mental institution,” I said.

“You sure?”

“I was told he was.”  I wondered if Fiona might have been wrong about it.  “Maybe I could call Chuck to make sure.”

“Chuck?”

“He’s Lou’s brother-in-law.  He was the executor to the estate,” I explained.

“Maybe it’s him,” Jason offered.

“I thought of that, but decided he’s probably not the one.  He could have taken his time to look for the ticket before putting the house on the market.  He didn’t have to rip it apart.  No one was pushing for the sale of the house.”

“You’re probably right. 
Who else?”

“A daughter.
  She’s off in Africa somewhere. 
She’s a missionary or something
—has no interest in her father’s estate.”

“Probably not her then, either.”

“Then there’s the widow of Lou’s third son.  Now she’s a possibility.  Her late husband had an illegitimate son whose mother is demanding half of everything Lou’s legitimate grandson gets for her own son.  The wife doesn’t want her son to have to share.”

“Sounds kind of messy,” Jason said.

“It is.”

“But it could just as easily be the mistress, don’t you think?”

I shook my head.  “No.  She wouldn’t know anything about Lou, or the numbers he played in the lottery.  I don’t think it’s her.”

“You don’t think Lou’s son could have told her?  Maybe she wanted to eliminate the middleman and get more money for herself.  How’d the son die?”

“Suicide.
  I don’t know the specifics.  You think maybe she killed them both?  Maybe she made the son’s death look like a suicide and Lou’s look like a heart attack?”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”  Jason emerged from under the sink, his face contorted as if he were in pain.  “I’m getting too old for this kind of work,” he complained, rubbing his back.

I patted him on the shoulder.  “Take a break.  I brought a cooler of ice tea.”

We sat at the table in the back yard and I poured the tea.

“So, it could be the daughter-in-law or the mistress. 
Any other suspects?”
Jason asked.

I glanced toward the fence separating us from Agnes and Bob’s yard, and leaned closer to Jason.  “Well, the neighbors were friends of Lou’s, and they knew where he kept a spare key,” I whispered.

Jason’s eyes followed my glance.

“And, they were the ones who called us away from home when the ticket was stolen,” I added.

“Really?
  How’d they get you out of your house?”

“They called to tell us someone was in this house.”

“And you think they did that just to get you out of your house, then rushed over there and stole the ticket?”

“Maybe.
  All I know is, whoever
did it will show
up very soon to claim the prize money.  All I have to do is prove that Lou was murdered, and the rest should be easy.”

“Did Sam give you any idea how long it would take to check out the pills?”

“No.  I’ll call him later on to see if he’s found anything yet.  I wonder how long it would take to get Lou’s body exhumed so an autopsy can be
done?
”

“Not before that lottery ticket expires, I’m sure.  How many days left?”

“Three,” I answered.

We were interrupted by Fiona’s shrill voice as she called from the front door, which I had not locked.

“Yoo-hoo. 
Anyone home?
”

“We’re out back,” I called to her.  “That’s Fiona.  I asked her to stop by and give me her opinion on what I should do with that vinyl flooring in the kitchen,” I said to Jason.

Fiona appeared in the back doorway wearing black bell-bottom pants that were two sizes too small, three-inch platform shoes, and a red-and-white polka dot halter-top with a matching red blazer draped over her arm.  The sight of her outfit sent me back thirty years to my youth, when hip-huggers and chokers were all the rage.  I invited her to join us, even though I was sure she would not be able to sit down in those pants.

“Thanks, toots,” she said, slowly lowering herself into a chair.  I knew she was praying that the seams would not give way against the strain of her thighs.  “I checked out that flooring on my way through the kitchen.  Want my honest opinion?”

“That’s why I asked you to come by,” I said.

“Ceramic tile.
  It’s not that hard to install, and it adds enough value to the house to make it worth the effort.”

“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to get it right from the horse
’
s mouth. 
Bathrooms, too?”
I said.

“Yes.  And while you’re at it, you might consider yanking that carpet out and putting something else down.  The place is looking better and better.” 

“Things are moving right along.  This is my friend, Jason.  He’s helping me out with the dishwasher and stove.”

Fiona reached across the table to shake Jason’s hand.  I noticed she had ten brand new acrylic fingernails, painted bright red to match her outfit.  “Well, you’re a handsome thing, aren’t you?” Fiona purred, stroking his hand with her fingers.

Jason blushed.  I’d never seen his face turn that shade of red.  I pretended to cough so I could cover my smile.

Fiona leaned over and whispered in my ear.  “Does he know about
the you
-know-what?”

“The ticket?”
I replied.

Fiona nodded.

“We were just talking about it.”

Fiona grinned, exposing that big gap between her front teeth.  “Good.  I was glad you called me over.  I did some checking after I talked to you last.”

“Did you find out anything?” I asked.

“I went through my calendar.  There was one man who looked at the place three times, but never made an offer.”

“Is that unusual?” I asked.

Fiona shook her head.  “I’ve had people look at a place five or six times and never make an offer.  Buying a house is a big commitment.”

I frowned.  “We were just talking and I think finding out
the
who
won’t be as hard as proving that Lou was murdered.”

Fiona gasped.  “Murdered?  Who says he was murdered?”

I’d forgotten that I hadn’t spoken to Fiona since I found the calendar and the tampered-with
vitamin
bottles.  I explained to her my discovery and filled her in on my theories.

“This is just like one of those murder mysteries you see on TV.  What fun.  So, how are you going to prove he was murdered?”

“An autopsy would have been nice, but once Sam comes up with poison in those capsules, I’m sure he can get a judge to order the body exhumed,” I said.

Fiona’s chin dropped to her chest.  “Oh my God,” she muttered.

Jason and I exchanged concerned glances.  “What?” we asked in unison.

“Lou’s body was cremated.”

I had the same feeling I got when I realized I’d probably never get the lottery ticket back.  Lou’s body was gone.  There’d be no physical evidence to prove he was poisoned.  “Are you sure?” I asked.

Fiona nodded.  She was adamant.  “Yes.  Chuck wanted to b
ury his ashes in the back yard—
right over there,” she said, pointing to a shady spot under a California pepper tree.  “Can you imagine?  Burying his brother-in-law in the back yard like a family pet?  I told him no way, of course.”

“Cremated.
  I didn’t count on that,” I said.