Evil In Carnations (27 page)

Just beyond the arch was a wooden sign that said MODEL HOME/SALES OFFICE, with an arrow pointing up the street. The development was laid out in a giant oval pattern, with one main road circling around it and small cul-de-sacs shooting off from it. We drove up the main drag, Lily Drive, past five empty lots, and stopped at the only house on the block, a beautiful brick-and-cedar home with a wooden sign in the yard that said SALES OFFICE.

“There’s the footbridge,” I said, pointing out the quaint wooden walkway that spanned a small creek alongside the house. “That’s where Jonas cut his hand.”

“Let’s see if we can find an area designated as a park.”

“Why is that important?”

“One of the phone calls I made this morning was to the recorder’s office. A clerk there informed me that, in addition to the purchase price, the deal was that Jonas was to turn the south meadow into a park named after the Miller family. He also was to keep the woodland that encircles the acreage undeveloped and use only what had been farmed to build on. In light of the altercation between Jonas and Miller, I want to see how closely Jonas kept to the agreement.”

We drove slowly around the oval, finding all lots undeveloped except for two, where huge homes were under construction, but saw no signs of a park. We circled a second time until finally Marco turned onto Camellia Circle. “If the park was supposed to be built on the south meadow, this is as south as it gets.”

At the end of the cul-de-sac was a huge tract of meadow-land on which a sign had been placed: FUTURE SITE OF THE JONAS TREAT GREENS AND CLUBHOUSE.

“That’s not a park,” I said.

Marco pointed straight ahead. “Look way out there.”

I shielded my eyes to gaze across the hard-packed ground. In the distance, dozens of stumps jutted from the bare earth. “My God, Marco, there must’ve been hundreds of trees out there. I can’t believe he destroyed the woodland.”

“More lots for him to sell.”

“No wonder there was an altercation. Miller must have been livid when he saw that.”

We drove back to the model home, parked in the driveway, and walked across the lot to reach the footbridge. As we passed the side of the house, I noticed the landscape shrubs had been set in what appeared to be blue-gray mud. I stopped to examine it.

“Marco, this is what Nikki must have had on her boots, the dense blue clay Jonas had trucked in that got him in trouble with the environmental agency.”

Marco crouched down to see it, then stood to glance around the property. “It seems to be only here in the landscaping.”

“Jonas was stopped before he could bring in more. It kills the plants.”

At that moment, the front door of the model home opened and a real estate agent in a blue blazer, black skirt, and black heels stepped onto the porch. “Can I help you?” she called.

I certainly hoped so.

 

We stepped into a travertine-floored foyer and were directed through the kitchen to the door that led to a three-car garage. The garage had been converted to an office and display area where I saw samples of wood flooring, countertops, and cabinetry. Two men in pants and casual shirts sat at desks near the door, one on the phone and another doing paperwork. The second man immediately jumped up and came to greet us.

“Hi, I’m Bob Turk,” the thirty-something man said, extending his hand. “Interested in some property here?”

Marco showed his ID, then introduced us and explained that he’d been hired to track down suspects in the Jonas Treat murder case. He didn’t offer any more information, such as who had hired him, but Bob didn’t seem to need it.

“What can I do to help?” he asked. “We’re all eager to find Jonas’s killer.”

Marco spread the five photos on Bob’s desk. “Take a look at these people, if you would, and tell me what you know about them.”

Bob touched the first photo. “That’s Hank Miller. Everyone around here knows him—and also knows not to cross him. Hank is used to having his way about things.”

The other salesman ended his phone call and came over to introduce himself as Norm Krazinsky, Jonas’s sales manager. He had been put in charge of the development until Jonas’s heirs decided what to do. Norm seemed to be an easygoing middle-aged man who did way too much sitting at his desk, if that spare tire around his middle was any indication.

“Miller?” he said, looking at the photo. “Yes, sir, I’ve gotten to know old Hank well over the years, but he hasn’t been a happy camper lately, not that I blame the guy.”

“Why is that?” Marco asked.

“You have to understand, the Miller family goes back three generations on this land, so Hank was very particular about what he wanted done with it. Now, I don’t know the details of their agreement, but I do know that when Hank dropped by one day last week, he had quite a burr up his butt, shouting about Jonas welshing on their deal and threatening to get his shotgun and put a few holes in Jonas’s hide. See, Hank firmly believes a man is only as good as his word. He didn’t take Jonas’s deceit well.”

“Did you tell the detectives about the incident?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. I sure did.”

“Was it common for Miller to stop by here?” Marco asked.

“He used to come around a lot at first,” Bob said, “but then he moved to Florida and hasn’t been up much since. His wife died about a year ago, and his family is all gone from this area, so he didn’t feel the need to make the trip as often.”

“Now, he did come back around Christmas,” Norm said, “to see how the development was going, but it wasn’t a good meeting. I heard him threaten to file a suit to halt the development, but Jonas was able to get him calmed down, telling him everything would be taken care of just as he’d promised. I don’t think he ever intended to keep his promise, though.”

Marco was writing in his notebook. “So Miller came by at Christmas, got some assurances from Jonas, then didn’t come back until last week?”

“Yes, sir. That we know of, anyway,” Norm said.

The real estate agent stepped into the garage, her eyes wide with curiosity. Bob waved her over, introduced her as Anita Burnett, then explained what we were doing.

Anita pointed to Kessler’s photo. “I worked for Duke until he closed his realty office.”

“Was there any animosity between Kessler and Jonas?” Marco asked.

“Sure there was,” Anita said. “Jonas cheated him out of a lot of money. Poor Duke, after all he did for Jonas, he never could understand how Jonas could stab him in the back. Personally, I don’t think Jonas knew what loyalty meant.”

I was betting Robin would have the same complaint.

“Is it possible Kessler came here Sunday night to confront Jonas?” Marco asked.

Anita shook her head. “Not Duke. I got to know him really well during my twelve years with him. He was always fair and generous. If he was going to get back at Jonas in any way, he’d take legal action.”

“Are you aware that Kessler filed a lawsuit against Jonas?” Marco asked her.

“Jonas wouldn’t reveal anything like that to me,” Anita said, “and I don’t see Duke anymore. I’m just saying that’s how Duke would have reacted. It isn’t in him to hurt anyone.”

“I’ve met Kessler several times,” Bob added. “He’s always been a nice guy.”

I gave Marco a tiny nudge, as if to say,
I told you so.
Then I couldn’t help saying to Anita, “You seem to have a pretty low opinion of Jonas. Why did you work for him?”

She shrugged. “I have kids in college, and the pay’s been good. What can I say?”

“Have any of you seen Duke Kessler here at the development?” Marco asked.

All three said no, so Marco pointed to Robin’s photo. “Do you know her, or have you seen her around?”

The men shook their heads, but Anita hesitated. “She looks familiar.”

Marco said, “If I told you that was Robin Lennox, would you know the name?”

The men didn’t, but Anita smiled. “I remember her now. She’s Jonas’s former fiancée. I met her last summer when she came into Duke’s realty office to go to lunch with Jonas. Her hair was different then—blond; I think.”

“Anything you can tell me about Robin?” Marco asked her.

“Just what everyone in town knows, that Jonas was seeing other women behind her back while they were engaged.”

Boy, I sure felt out of the loop. Clearly, I needed to stop burying myself in my work.

“And her?” Marco asked, pointing to Iris’s photo.

Bob grimaced. “Was she in a car accident?”

“She works at Frey’s Dry Cleaner,” Norm said. “The owner’s daughter, right?”

“Do you patronize Frey’s?” Marco asked.

“Not me, no, sir, but Iris waited on me once when I had to pick up Jonas’s dry cleaning. She got all bent out of shape because I came to get his suits. Said it wasn’t their policy to give out someone else’s garments, and next time Jonas would have to come himself. I just looked at her like, ‘Lady, what are you talking about? I have the ticket.’ ”

“When was this?” Marco asked.

“Maybe two weeks ago,” Norm replied. “I told Jonas, and he thought it was funny.”

Anita tapped Iris’s photo. “One evening, about nine o’clock, when I left to go home, I saw a woman drive by very slowly. It could have been this woman.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Marco asked.

“Several weeks ago. I know it was a Wednesday night, because that’s my long day. We take turns working the evening hours.”

“Iris does her comedy gig on Wednesday nights,” I reminded Marco. “It might not have been her.”

“Do you remember the car?” Marco asked Anita.

“It was a dark color, maybe navy blue? Black? I’m not sure. I’m color-blind at night.”

“Sedan? Convertible? SUV?” Marco asked.

“Sedan. It had a low, boxy shape.”

Marco noted it. “Did Jonas mention anything about attending a speed-dating event to any of you?”

After all three said no, he pointed to Carmen’s picture. “How about the woman in this last photo? Anyone recognize her?”

Anita shook her head; Bob frowned in thought, as though trying to place the face; and Norm’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Come with me,” he said, and led us through the kitchen into a beautifully furnished den. “This was Jonas’s office.”

As Marco and I took in the surroundings—cherry wainscoting, built-in cabinetry, cherry executive’s desk, and green silk-upholstered furniture—Norm walked across the room to a large armoire-style cabinet and opened one of the doors, revealing a bulletin board inside. Pinned to the cork was an eight-by-ten piece of thick white paper with pinholes scattered over the surface. Norm unpinned the paper and turned it over, revealing a glamorous black-and-white head shot of Carmen Gold, riddled with holes.

I moved closer to study the glossy photo. “What happened?”

Norm reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a box filled with darts. “Target practice.”

“Jonas did this?” I asked.

Norm nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He called it his stress buster.”

“Did you show the cops?” Marco asked.

“No, sir. I didn’t think about it until just now.”

“Do you know what this woman’s relationship to Jonas was?” Marco asked.

“Former girlfriend, as far as I know.”

“How do you know about Carmen being a former girlfriend?” Marco asked.

“When Jonas opened the envelope, he commented about how he couldn’t seem to get rid of his former girlfriends.”

“Did the photo come in the mail?” Marco asked.

“Yes, sir, about a month ago, in a big silver envelope,” Norm said.

“Just like the invitation in his suit pocket,” I said to Marco.

“Did Jonas keep the envelope?” Marco asked.

Norm shook his head. “No, sir. It went right into the shredder with the junk mail.”

We returned to the garage, where Marco gathered up the photos. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find the killer? Anyone Jonas mentioned having trouble with, someone he was afraid to see, any threatening phone calls or letters?”

“Jonas was fearless,” Anita said. “Like there were no consequences for anything he did.”

“Do any of you stand to inherit anything from Jonas’s estate?”

“No,” they said in unison, seemingly surprised by the question. I knew Marco only wanted to rule them out as potential suspects.

Marco glanced at me. “Anything you want to know?”

I thought he’d never ask. I showed Anita the picture of Iris again. “When you saw someone who might be this woman drive by, what happened? Did she see you? Did she keep driving or slow down in front of the house?”

“I came out and locked the door,” Anita recounted, “then turned to find her watching me—or, rather, frowning at me—from the car. She didn’t stop, just kept driving slowly past.”

“Has she been back?” Marco asked.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Anita said.

“Excuse me?” a deep voice behind us said.

I turned toward the door to see a tall, sturdy man in a heavy down vest, thick flannel shirt, work pants, and dirty yellow boots, carrying a yellow hard hat and a paper bag.

“Hey, Steve,” Bob said with a smile. “What’s happening?”

“I’m supposed to meet a Marco Salvare here.”

“I’m Marco.” He stepped forward to shake Steve’s hand. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Glad to help.” Steve held up the paper bag. “I’ve got one video for you to see, taken from under the stone arch. It’s the only one that shows this building. I have to warn you, though, after sunset you won’t see much. We don’t have streetlights yet, so except for the security landscaping lights around the sales office, all you’re going to see are headlights and taillights of vehicles driving through. The other two cameras are positioned on the roofs of the houses under construction, but they’re over on the east side and won’t help you here.”

“Let’s hope it shows enough to catch a killer,” Marco said.