Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch (22 page)

“The patient told him his wife is always making asparagus with hollandaise sauce.

“‘That’s it!’ the dentist said. ‘It’s all that lemon juice in the hollandaise that rotted your upper plate. I’ll make you a new one made out of chrome.’

“‘Chrome?’ the patient said. ‘That’ll look funny.’

“Do you know what the dentist told the patient?”

“What did the dentist tell the patient, Jim?” Seth and I asked in concert.

He sang his response to the tune of the popular Christmas song: “There’s no plate like chrome for the hollandaise.”

Mixed groans and laughter from the guests.

“Okay,” Jim said. “Time for the video of the week’s activities. Fortunately, I didn’t have my camera to document the two unplanned activities—” He paused for effect. “Murder!”

There was some uncomfortable shifting of chairs.

“All right,” he said, “Lights! Action! Camera!” Bonnie turned off the lights, and the large TV screen came to life.

It started with the arrival of guests on Sunday. Seth and I were seen leaving Jim and Bonnie’s house after tea, Socks and Holly racing around our feet, and Jim took additional footage of us on the porch of my cabin. The next group to arrive were the Morrisons, in their limousines from Gunnison, all except Craig, who would fly in later Sunday afternoon.

There was footage of us at dinner Sunday night. Jim panned our faces, pausing at each, hoping for a reaction. Young Godfrey obliged by sticking out his tongue.

The Molloys’ late arrival was captured, although Jim was busy and grabbed only a few seconds of them at the table. There were a few postprandial shots of us milling about the lodge, and the staff lined up for a group picture.

The second segment of the video showed breakfast Monday morning. Then it was out to the corral, where Crystal’s riding lessons were captured. The two groups, the novices and the more experienced, were seen riding from the corral in the direction of the road.

The staff dominated the next sequence, Jim building a montage of them handling their chores, most of them involving the horses and their care. Chief wrangler Joe Walker was seen treating with tender loving care one of the herd suffering from strangles. Jim must have handed the camera to someone else because his face suddenly filled the screen, and he said, “Joe here knows more about treating horses than any vet I’ve ever met.”

There were a few random shots of the ranch, some of which included glimpses of the police presence following the discovery of Paul Molloy’s body. Veronica Morrison’s arrival now dominated the screen. She was seen exiting the large suburban vehicle driven by wrangler Jon Adler. It was a wide shot to begin with. But as Socks and Holly joined the Cooks in the greeting, encircling her, Jim zoomed in tight on her feet.

That shot suddenly froze on the screen. Chris Morrison laughed. “Nice shoes, Veronica.” The longer the still-frame remained, the more comments came from those in the room. Had the camera malfunctioned? some wondered. Was this another Jim Cook joke, video-style?

Those questions were answered when my face replaced the picture of Veronica’s shoes. “As you know,” my recorded voice said, “I’m Jessica Fletcher, a guest this week at the Powderhorn, just as you are.”

“What’s going on?” Robert Morrison asked.

I answered from the screen as the shot of Veronica’s shoes reappeared. “Please notice that her shoes have mud caked on them, and that there are two burrs stuck to the bottom of her slacks.”

More laughter now. The consensus in the room was that this was a joke.

“Mrs. Morrison said she arrived by plane Monday afternoon. It rained late Sunday night. Judging from the mud on those shoes, Mrs. Morrison must have been walking at some point on muddy ground.”

The laughter turned to instant silence.

“On with the show,” I said.

A flurry of comments and questions were interrupted as the video started running again, depicting routine ranch activities. As it ran, I quietly got up from where I was sitting and retreated to the dining room, from where I could still see the screen and the people watching it. Joel Louden and Sue Wennington were almost finished cleaning up the dining room and kitchen, stopping frequently in their chores to see what was going on in the darkened other room.

“What was that all about?” Louden asked me.

“What?”

“You on the video talking about her shoes.”

I laughed lightly. “Oh, just having fun. Stay tuned. There’s more to come.”

The guests settled down as the video continued to show ranch scenes—the guests captured going about their daily activities; taking riding lessons; Godfrey and his uncle, Chris, fishing; swimming in the pool; lolling in the hot tub next to the pool; gathered for meals in the dining room; all those things that guests of the Powderhorn Guest Ranch have been enjoying for years.

But then the scene on the screen faded into another one distinctly not of ranch life. Reporter Nancy O’Keefe was seated in her office at the newspaper. What the audience couldn’t see was the video technician rom the sheriff’s office taping her from behind the camera. He’d done it the night before we went to work at the Powderhorn Community Center.

“I’m Nancy O’Keefe, a reporter for the
Gunnison Country Times.
Gunnison may be a small town, and this newspaper a small town paper, but that doesn’t mean we don’t chase big stories.”

This interruption in the ranch video—the Morrisons were well aware of the departure from the standard Saturday night video because they’d sat through it when they’d been guests before—caused another round of questions.

“There have been two murders at the Powderhorn,” Nancy continued. “A Paul Molloy and his alleged wife, Geraldine. But of course, you already know that. What you
don’t
know is who they really were, and I’m here to tell you.”

“Hey, what the hell is going on here?” Craig Morrison asked loudly, looking for Jim Cook in the darkness.

Veronica, who sat between her husband and her mother-in-law, Evelyn, turned and looked back to where I stood. I had the feeling she was about to get up and leave.

Nancy O’Keefe continued. “Paul Molloy was once reputed to be an international arms dealer, peddling weapons to rogue countries at odds with the United States. They never convicted him of anything, or at least that was the official line. In reality, they cut a deal with him. By ‘them’ I mean the government. They let him off the hook in return for helping them, the government, identify others in the same dirty business. That’s why he came to the Powderhorn Ranch, to help in an investigation.”

Veronica stood. So did Jim Cook. “Why don’t you stay through to the end,” he said to her.

“What’s the point of this,” Robert Morrison asked.

Jim put his index finger to his lips. “Shhhhhh,” he said. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

“The woman who said she was Paul Molloy’s wife, Geraldine, was a government agent,” O’Keefe continued. “She’d been working undercover on this case for the U.S. Customs Department.”

Veronica started to leave, but her husband grabbed her arm. “Relax, sweetie. You can’t walk out on a good movie. You’ll miss the ending.”

I replaced Nancy O‘Keefe on the screen. “I’ve been taking flying lessons. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have spent time at the Gunnison Airport on Thursday. Interesting what you can learn talking to pilots. They said the flying weather on Monday afternoon was terrible, the worst they’d ever seen. You, Mrs. Morrison—may I call you Veronica?—you said you’d flown in to Gunnison on Monday, but you also said the flight was ‘smooth as silk.’ I think you arrived on Sunday. The weather on Sunday was smooth—as silk.”

Scenes from Seth’s fall from his horse, and his rescue up the steep incline, now flooded the screen.

Bonnie raised the lights slightly, allowing people to see each other, as well as the video.

Veronica stood again, shook off her husband’s grasp, and made her way to where I stood with Joel Louden, the cook. She gave me a hard look, then turned to see who would follow her. No one did. Although the video continued to run, all eyes were now on us.

“Veronica,” I said, now speaking directly, “there’s no sense leaving. The sheriff and his people are outside waiting for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“I think you know that what I’m saying is correct—Ms. Schwinn.”

My use of her maiden name startled her. The defiant look was replaced by a flash of panic. It lasted only a second.

“When did you and Mr. Molloy have your affair?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“This.” I handed her the photo of Pauline that had been in Molloy’s wallet. She looked at it, made a disgusted face, and dropped the photo to the floor.

“You go back a long way, don’t you?” I said, referring to her and Paul Molloy.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Correct, except your long-standing relationship resulted in his murder—and the murder of a government undercover agent.”

I don’t know what tended to unravel her more, what I was saying, or the fact no one came from the main room to stand by her.

“Why did you kill him?” I asked.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Are we being literal?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You might not have rammed the rasp into his chest, or bludgeoned Geraldine—by the way, her real name was Geraldine Jankowksi—but you ordered it done.”

“I’ve had enough. Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher, you’re in my way and I don’t like it.”

As she slowly, nonchalantly walked to the door, I turned to Joel Louden. “Going with her?” I asked.

Veronica’s departure brought others from the main room. The rest of the Morrison adults stood close together, their faces void of expression.

I smiled at them. “You all knew what she was up to, didn’t you?”

“You’ve got your killer,” Evelyn said. “Now I suggest we all go to our cabins and enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

I again looked at Louden. “Well?” I asked.

He looked from person to person, then directly at me.

“She’s waiting for you, Joel. You should have stuck to a hot kitchen. The heat put on a murderer is more than anyone can bear.”

Louden bolted from us, flung open the door, and rushed outside where Sheriff Murdie, Investigator Pitura, and four uniformed officers stood in a group. We followed. Veronica Morrison could be seen walking toward the road. Louden ran after her.

“They’re heading for the air strip,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to go after them?” Jim Cook asked Sheriff Murdie.

“No need,” I said. “They aren’t flying anywhere tonight.” I held up the key for the Cessna parked at the grass strip. I’d taken it earlier in the day from beneath the left-hand seat.

“Round them up at the strip,” Murdie told his uniformed men.

Pitura said to the Morrisons, “I think we should go back inside and do some talking. I’m sure there are a few questions Mrs. Fletcher and I would like answered.”

We filed back into the lodge. The only person who hadn’t come outside was Pauline Morrison. She was crouched on the floor, her discarded childhood picture in her hands. I bent over, placed my hand on her shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry.”

She responded by crushing the picture in her hand and running out into the night.

Veronica Morrison and Joel Louden were taken away by Gunnison police to be charged with the murder of Paul Molloy and Geraldine Jankowski. The rest of the Morrison family asked to have limousines dispatched immediately to the ranch to drive them to Gunnison, where they’d ordered a private jet to pick them up.

“I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Cook, that you will never see us again at this ranch,” Robert Morrison said.

“Sorry to hear that,” Jim said, glancing at Bonnie and stifling a smile. She, too, was successful at masking her giddiness.

While the Morrisons packed, Seth and I sat with Jim and Bonnie in their living room, a large picture window affording a view of the ranch.

“Bob Pitura says he doesn’t think charges can be brought against the rest of the family, at least not for these murders,” Jim said, “but he’s passing along whatever he has to federal authorities. If what you say is true, Jess, this family business is more than land development.”

“I suspect that’s the case,” I said. “The only reason Mr. Molloy and Ms. Jankowski could have had for being here was to investigate the Morrisons’ plans for the land adjacent to your ranch.”

“What upsets me is that we hired the actual killer.” Bonnie wrapped her arms about herself and shuddered. “We never should have taken Joel on without checking his background.”

“You were in a bind,” Seth offered. “Happens to everyone.”

“He certainly wasn’t reluctant to talk,” Jim said. “Started babbling the minute they put the cuffs on him down at the landing strip. Ms. Veronica Morrison was quite the swinger, having an affair all those years ago with Molloy when they were secret partners in arms dealing, and sleeping with Joel. No wonder her husband didn’t offer a word on her behalf. Probably happy to see her spend the rest of her life in jail.”

“The grandmother, too,” Seth said. “No love lost there.”

“Joel said Veronica convinced him to put that other rasp on the grass to focus suspicion on the wranglers,” Jim said.

“And he claims it was Veronica who shoved it into Molloy, although I doubt that,” Seth said. “He admits they confronted Molloy together. Seems more likely that he did the deadly deed, with her cheering him on.”

“How did you narrow in on him, Jess?” Bonnie asked.

“No one thing, Bonnie, just an amalgamation of factors. He lied about having been the last person to see her alive when he brought dinner to the honeymoon cabin. Sue was supposed to do it, but Joel switched the schedule at the last minute. Also, he took off Sunday night to—I think you said—see a friend in Gunnison. That gave him the opportunity to pick up Veronica, drive her back here for her clandestine meeting with Molloy, kill him, then drive her back to town. The fact that he just seemed to show up here when you needed a substitute cook and was from Las Vegas, where Molloy had been living, added to the mix. I suggested to Bob Pitura that he check Gunnison motels. Sure enough, the night clerk at one of them identified Joel from a photo I took off the bulletin board in front of the lodge. It was convenient having all those Polaroid shots of staff. The clerk said Joel checked in late Sunday night with a stunning blond woman, but left a half hour after arriving. I’m sure that same clerk will identify Veronica, too, when he’s shown a picture of her.”