“Do you know why Detective Belmonte was called away at such short notice?” Rosa asked. Even though she now refused to think of Miguel, the man, she couldn’t stop thinking about the case. Perhaps Aunt Louisa was right that Rosa wasn’t happy unless she had a big puzzle to solve.
“It’s not like he confides in me,” Mr. Mendez slurred. “Not a big man like De-detective Bel-elmonte. I’m not good enough for the likes of him. But I’m pretty sure it’s because of that broad who bit the dust last night.”
“I wonder if they got the results back from the pathologist,” Rosa said. Tests usually took time, but Santa Bonita was a small town. The labs here were probably slower than most.
Gloria shrugged. “That could be.”
“If foul play was indicated in the postmortem, the investigation would kick into high gear. There’d likely be a shuffling of personnel at the police department to ensure enough officers were assigned to the case.”
“Whoa!” Raul Mendez regarded Rosa with tequila-glazed eyes. “You seem to know a lot about that.”
“Rosa is also a police officer,” Gloria said proudly. “In London.”
Raul Mendez blinked slowly and said, “Oh.” He seemed confused and opened his mouth to say more but seemed to think better of it.
“Who on earth would want harm to come to poor Florence Adams?” Gloria asked.
“Well, if you ask me. . .” Raul leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “I think Shirley Philpott did it.”
Rosa stared back in shock. “The Chief Medical Examiner’s wife?”
“Exactly.” Mr. Mendez nodded his head one time more than necessary.
“That seems hard to believe.” Gloria sounded aghast. “She’s such a nice lady and very devoted to the charity. What does she have against Florence Adams that would make her want to kill her?”
“What always brings the worst out in people?” Mr. Mendez sneered as he pushed up on his glasses. “Money, ya know, that’s what.”
“I don’t understand,” Rosa said. “Does Shirley Philpott have financial troubles?”
“Well, . . .” Raul Mendez seemed to forget his earlier distrust of Rosa. “You know that Florence Adams and Shirley Philpott are cousins, right? Just happens there’s a wealthy uncle in the picture who owns two huge estates in Palos Verdes. William Lawrence is the man’s name.”
He leaned in to whisper in Rosa’s ear. “I happen to be the bookkeeper for that account. I can tell you this; William Lawrence is an exceedingly wealthy man who made his money in California real estate. He is now eighty-six years old and very ill. He has no children of his own, his wife died ten years ago, and the only real heirs are his two nieces.”
Rosa doubted that Mr. Lawrence would be impressed by Mr. Mendez’s loose lips, but was happy to have been given the information. Mr. Mendez attempted to straighten, lost his balance, but saved himself by grabbing on to the table. As if he hadn’t just fallen over in front of a group of strangers, he continued, more loudly than was called for. “It is well known to acquaintances of the cousins that Florence Adams was Mr. Lawrence’s favorite because Shirley married Melvin Philpott.” He stabbed the air with his finger as if to make a stronger point. “And he doesn’t like Philpott.”
“What does he have against the medical examiner?” Rosa asked.
“Gettin’ to that.” Raul Mendez belched into his hand, and Rosa and Gloria shared a grimace.
“When William Lawrence’s wife died, he was convinced it was murder. God only knows why. He’s a bit of an odd old codger. Philpott ruled it death by suicide. Well, the old man was in incen . . . incens . . . furious! He thought the ruling brought shame to his marriage and beeeesmirched his reputation, not to mention that suicide canceled any benefits from life insurance. Anyway, he railed against the police for months, ya know, wrote to the editor of the local paper, and sent Philpott nasty letters.”
As if in slow motion, Mr. Mendez checked his wristwatch. “Anyways, rumor has it that he made Florence Adams the main beneficiary of his estate. She would get eighty-five percent of all his assets, with the other fifteen going to Shirley. I gotta go.”
“Wait,” Rosa said. “How do you know all of this?”
He stared back with a sloppy grin and glassy eyes. “Lovely Flo and I once dated. A long, long time ago, still in high school. She liked her rum and cokes already back then, and apparently I was a big drunken mistake.” He fiddled with his lips and chuckled. “I’m not the only one who talks too much when I’ve been drinking.” Mr. Mendez pushed up his glasses, smiled wanly, and after almost stumbling over an empty chair, wandered over to the stage.
“That’s very interesting,” Gloria mused. “But still . . . it seems a rather weak motive for murdering your cousin.”
“Perhaps,” Rosa said. Anyone in police work knew that people killed for less. “There could be a provision in the will stating if Florence Adams dies first, Shirley Philpott becomes the sole beneficiary. That’s a lot of money and some prime real estate.”
And an excellent motive for murder.
7
When Rosa and Gloria returned to the Forrester mansion, they were surprised to find Aunt Louisa still awake. Perched on the aqua-blue section couch in the living room, a glass of sherry in hand, Louisa set her drink on the glass-topped coffee table that sat in the center of a yellow area rug.
“The police have officially declared this case a suspicious death,” she said simply when Rosa and Gloria walked in. “Shirley Philpott is being held for questioning.”
“How did you find out?” Gloria plopped into a matching, slender Scandinavian-style chair.
“I spoke to the mayor and demanded to know if Dr. Rayburn, the acting pathologist, had submitted
