For Sale in Palm Springs: The Henry Wright Mystery Series (13 page)

Chapter 9

Henry got into his car and
picked up his handwritten list of houses and owners. He thought
about what he had just learned he found it interesting that
Thornbird mentioned the Marilyn Monroe connection only after he had
shown the hotel to the Miller family. Perhaps Thornbird had not
thought about or learned of Marilyn’s stay at the hotel until after
the Frey connection did not make any impact on Tim and MarieAnne.
Had Marilyn Monroe ever stayed at this place? It was certainly
difficult to find out, and Henry wasn’t sure that it mattered to
his investigation.

He couldn’t really consider
them suspects. Henry felt that the Millers had no reason to harm
Thornbird, their business was thriving, he was sure the hotel
property had increased in value considerably since they bought it.
An interesting business Tim and MarieAnne had here, he never would
have guessed that there was money to be made by allowing people to
swim and sunbathe in the altogether. The idea didn’t bother him at
all though; after all, he swam nude every day and usually just
carried his towel out to the pool. Maybe he would take them up on
their offer of a day visit some time in the future. He looked down
at his left hand again; he realized that this was the second time
in 24 hours that his ring caused someone to have a mistaken
impression about him.

He started the car, waited
for the air conditioner to make an impact on the heat and headed
for the Wadowicz house. It was a few blocks away, over in the Movie
Colony section of Palm Springs. The house didn’t appear like much
from the street, but that wasn’t unusual for a lot of the homes
here. He remembered reading the description about Alexander homes
on Thornbird’s computer and while he didn’t think this was an
Alexander built home, it had some similarities to them. Henry
parked on the driveway, walked up the path and knocked on the door.
A large Hispanic woman opened the door and without saying anything,
let him in and waved at him to follow her to the back of the house.
They walked out of open French doors to the backyard where Mr. and
Mrs. Wadowicz were having a late breakfast or early lunch under the
patio cover.

Whereas the front of the
house was plain, the backyard was the total opposite. There was a
large black bottomed pool, and a built in spa on one side that
continuously spilled its water back into the pool. Lush tropical
plants everywhere, large palm trees and a pool house with chaise
lounges covered with thick fluffy white towels. It was hard to see
a fence and impossible to know where this yard ended and the
neighbor’s began. In one corner of the yard he noticed a small
creek with a little waterfall and he couldn’t quite see it from
here, perhaps a small pond. The garden furniture was made of
expensive plantation grown hardwood covered in thick cushions;
Henry had seen this stuff in a catalog once and guessed that each
piece was an average person’s house payment.

Mr. Wadowicz pushed his
chair back and said “Gracias, Rosa.” At which the woman who
escorted him back here, smiled and did a little half bow before she
disappeared into the house. “Good to meet you Mr. Wright, I’m Fred
Wadowicz, pull up a chair, we hope you haven’t had lunch.” “No, I
haven’t, thank you for your hospitality and please call me Henry.”
Henry pulled the chair out and took Mrs. Wadowicz offered
hand.

“
I’m Georgia, please just
call me Georgia, and we’re happy to help.” She waved Henry to sit
down.

Henry pulled up the chair
and sat down; there was a place setting for him as though they knew
that he would join them. The table was set with a linen tablecloth,
there was a plate of fresh fruit on the table, a platter of crepes,
a bowl of scrambled eggs, a basket with a stack of fresh
croissants, a bowl with large strawberries and champagne
flutes.

“
Champagne, Henry, or are
you on duty?” Fred pulled a bottle of Moet Chandon from an ice
filled wine cooler next to his chair. “Uh, yes please, perhaps just
a little.” Henry picked up his champagne flute and held it out for
Fred to fill. “I’m not really on duty; I’m sort of a freelance
consultant for the Palm Springs Police Department.”

As he looked over this array
of food, Georgia said, “If you want something else, Rosa will be
happy to make it for you.” “Oh no, this is great.” Henry took a sip
of the champagne; it was very good, and reached for a croissant and
the bowl of eggs. “I had not expected this and really appreciate
you inviting me to brunch. Can you tell me about how you met Rex
Thornbird?” Henry asked, slicing open his croissant.

“
Well, we lived in Michigan,
we had some friends that have lived here a long time and we had
been out to visit them several times. They own a house in Little
Tuscany and we stayed with them – their place is quite a bit larger
than this one – when we visited. We liked it here, so we decided to
look for a winter place and our friends referred us to Rex
Thornbird.” Fred explained. “Since then, I’ve retired and now we
live here almost all year around.”

“
We came out here to hunt
for a home; our friends were at their place in Palm Beach in
Florida, so we stayed at the Hyatt Regency downtown. Rex picked us
up in that big car of his to go house touring.” Georgia explained.
“Rex is very knowledgeable, was, I mean, about Palm Springs history
and which movie stars lived in the various homes here, he showed us
a lot of places in different areas, both here in Palm Springs and
in Palm Desert.” Fred continued.

Just as any couple who had
been together a long time, they finished each other’s sentences and
thoughts. “We referred several other friends to him since then.”
Georgia picked up the coffee pot and poured Henry a cup. “He spent
a lot of time with us, explaining different neighborhoods,
architectural styles, the influence of modern architects, he was
very knowledgeable.” Fred held his coffee cup up for a refill from
Georgia. He set his full cup down, picked up the champagne bottle
and refilled everyone’s glass.

“
We looked at dozens of
homes, but none of them seemed quite right. Finally, after several
weeks of looking around, we bought this one; this pool was designed
for Veronica Lake when she lived here.” Georgia filled Fred’s cup
and set the pot back on the table. “Did Thornbird tell you that, or
did you find out some other way?” Henry finished his croissant and
took another forkful of eggs from his plate. “Oh, no, Rex was very
explicit about who had lived in the houses that he showed us, he
said we were lucky with this house.” Fred told him. “We paid more
than comparable homes in the neighborhood, because Veronica Lake
lived here.” “You seem like a smart business man, did you verify
that Veronica Lake actually owned this property?” Henry finished
the last of his eggs.

Fred gave a knowing smile.
“You know, I made a lot of money when I sold my companies in
Michigan. We have a home in Deer Park, a condo in Kauai and this
place here. Our children do not have to work a day in their lives
if they don’t want to, we’re very comfortable.” Henry smiled as
well; he was starting to understand Fred Wadowicz.

“
We knew that Rex was
stretching the truth somewhat, but he spent so much time with us,
this home is exactly what we wanted, we considered the “celebrity
premium” fair in return for what we got.” Georgia explained. “More
coffee?” “No thank you.” Henry wiped his mouth off with his napkin.
“More champagne?” Fred pulled the bottle out of the ice bucket. “No
thank you, this was wonderful, really. I feel quite spoiled. Henry
set his napkin down on the table. “Once again, I really appreciate
you taking the time for me, and this brunch was an unexpected
pleasure.” “Anything we can do to help you find Rex Thornbird’s
murderer is the least that we owe him.” Georgia smiled. All three
of them got up as Henry got ready to leave. “I think you’ve
answered all of my questions, but I’ll call you if I think of
something.” “Let me walk you out,” Fred motioned Henry towards the
house. “Really, if we can do something to help you in any way, just
let us know.”

As Henry got back into his
car, he realized two things. The first was that he hit another dead
end. Fred and Georgia Wadowicz knew that the truth was being
stretched a bit when Thornbird billed this house as once owned by
Veronica Lake, but just like the Millers, they got what they wanted
and didn’t seem to mind paying a premium. Henry started wondering
if he was chasing up a blind alley by talking with the owners. The
second thing he realized was that he wasn’t used to drinking
champagne during the middle of the day.

He thought about making
another call on Rosie to talk to her about the relationship
Thornbird had with the other realtors might be in order. He’d go
back to his house and call her from there to set up an
appointment.

On his way home, Henry drove
past one of the other properties on the list. This was the home
that had supposedly been owned by Bette Davis. It was on the corner
of Hermosa Drive and Alejo Road. Henry parked the Mercury at the
curb, behind a contractor’s truck. He walked up to the front door
which was open. He knocked anyway and stuck his head inside.
“Hello!” “Back here in the kitchen.” The yelling voice had an echo
as though it was coming from inside a sports stadium. Henry
carefully walked around piles of lumber, sheets of plywood and
other construction materials; the house looked more like a
construction zone than a residence as he made his way to the back
of the house. “You must be Amit Anchula”

“
Not hardly!” A tall, older
man wearing a Dodgers baseball cap was bent over a sawhorse with
architectural drawings. He looked up as Henry walked into what must
have at one time been the home’s kitchen. “Howard James, general
contractor. Anchula is the owner, but he ain’t here.” “Henry
Wright, I’m an investigator looking into the murder of a real
estate agent.” Henry held out his hand and shook Howard’s large
callused hand.

“
Anchula is out of town, he
works in the San Francisco Bay Area for some high tech company
doing something with computers.” Howard explained. “I’m just the
general doing all the modifications to this place so that Mr.
Anchula will be happy when he decides to come and visit
here.”

“
It looks like there is some
extensive remodeling going on here.” Henry looked around the room
which was down to its stud walls, there were wires everywhere, and
the floor was bare concrete. “Yeah, this place was remodeled in the
late seventies, but Anchula didn’t like it. So we’re now working on
his third redesign of the place. The little prick thinks he’s an
architect.” Howard shook his head looking around the room and
waving his hand at the drawings in front of him.

“
It sounds like you and he
have a few, eh, disagreements.” Henry said taking a look over
Howard’s shoulder at the drawings. “You could say that, he wants
everything done his way and he’s a cheap little….” Howard said in
frustration. “I get the picture.” Henry interrupted.

“
Look, Mr. …” “Just call me
Henry.” “Look Henry, I don’t know anything about a real estate
agent. I got this job through a friend of mine who was too busy to
take it. By the time I got involved Anchula had owned this place
for about six months, and he wanted to renovate, that’s when I met
him. The spoiled little shit is going to have a pool put in the
backyard once we finish in here, can you believe it – it’s going to
be the size of a kiddie pool. Anchula dealt with the realtor long
before I came into the picture, why don’t you call him?

“
I think I’ll do that, do
you know how to get hold of him?” Henry asked. “Yeah, last week
when he was here, he gave me his home and cell phone numbers, but
the guy never answers, you’ll have to leave a message, hopefully
he’ll call back.” Howard picked a pencil up from the sawhorses and
dug a business card out of his overalls. “Here’s his numbers, good
luck.”

“
You say he was here last
week?” Henry took the business card and put it in his shirt pocket.
“Yeah, he flew in last week and left on Tuesday or maybe Wednesday
afternoon I think, I’m not sure. He left in a big hurry; I never
did get him to tell me what to do about the ceiling lights that are
supposed to go in here.” Howard bent back over the drawings. “Good
luck getting a hold of him, he’s a tough one.” “Thanks for your
help, good luck with your project.” Henry turned to walk out “Yeah,
thanks.” Howard was already studying the drawings again and paid no
attention to Henry as he walked out the front door.

Henry got to the front door
and turned back to Howard who was now examining some of the wires
dangling from the living room ceiling. “Howard, one last question,
do you know if Bette Davis ever owned this home?” “Bette Davis? Are
you kidding? I did some work on her house once in the sixties and
she wouldn’t have been caught dead in a little place like this in
this neighborhood.” He answered. “You know, I told Anchula the same
thing about a month ago. Funny you should ask, is that connected to
the murder you’re asking about?”

“
Thanks, no, it’s probably
just a coincidence. You’ve been a lot of help.” Henry walked out of
the house and to his car. He looked back at the house; it was
small, on a corner, not very impressive in appearance, certainly
nothing that a star the magnitude of Davis would have considered
home. He wondered how Thornbird had gotten away with it, unless
like the other owners he spoke with that morning Anchula didn’t
care who owned it and he wanted to buy this particular home. A call
to Anchula was certainly in order, especially if what Howard said
was true, Amit Anchula was in Palm Springs the day that Rex
Thornbird was murdered.