“That is correct. Specifically, I do research on the Brachystegia flower and those plants related to it. In Zambia, there are still archaic tribes who concoct killing poisons from plants. They don’t understand spores specifically. They only know that the plant matter, when dried, and then mixed with sap from certain succulents, produces a deadly poison that can be used on darts and spears.
“Now, think for a moment what a scientifically educated person could conclude. That same poison concentrated a thousand times in spore form, and then placed in an airborne container designed to explode on impact….”
“I think I understand, Dr. Nagera. Tell me, how far along is the research?”
“Far enough along that the weapons are being tested in Zambia. Secretly, of course.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but are you part of the tests?”
“I personally am not. However, I believe my colleague, Dr. Hector Grant, is heading the project. We’ve been friends for thirty years, Mrs. Bradley. I feel I have no choice but to turn him in, and yet, he is my closest friend.”
I could sense the sadness in his voice.
“Dr. Nagera, listen to me. Does Dr. Grant work with anyone outside of Zambia that you know of? Perhaps someone in the United States?”
“I could find out. I’ll check on his computer, but if I do find anything, how can I securely contact you?”
“We must account for being overheard, so let’s use a code of some type. I’m going to give you the names of possible suspects and if you find any of them dealing with Dr. Grant relay the first initial of their last name followed by a ‘y.’”
“I understand.”
“And Dr. Nagera, we mustn’t talk again. Give the information to Dominique’s sister there in Zambia and have her relay it to Dominique immediately. You have her address, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know the family well. I’d better write down the names and get some rest. I suddenly feel very tired.”
“Thank you again for your help, Dr. Nagera. The names are Porter, Delacruz, Osborne, Westover, Youngblood, Anatolia, Hausman, Montoya and Ibarra. Good luck, and please be careful.”
I hung up the phone and had to shake myself back from late night in Zambia to the West’s early afternoon.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I awoke, my thoughts were on Dr. Nagera. The window in my room had been opened, I assumed by the housekeeper to freshen the air. After a succulent lunch and walk on the beach, the ocean air had finished me off. The bed had taken me in its comfortable folds for an afternoon nap next to Teddy.
Despite the lightness of the afternoon, my thoughts were gloomy. Too many people had died already, first in the attacks on the twin towers, and now, these three people in Half Moon Bay. I also worried for Dr. Nagera’s safety and felt compelled to pray for him.
My memory stirred about Paul’s fiancée dying in the World Trade Center attacks. He’d said he had feelings for Regina, and yet I kept seeing him around the hotel with Celeste.
That made me uncomfortable.
Of course, it was probably her idea. Celeste seemed to need a man on her arm at all times.
I dialed Ann and asked her to check up on their relationship. With Regina out of the way, it was clear sailing for Celeste.
Ann readily agreed and asked to meet me for tea in the Fireside Room later. A cup of hot tea sounded wonderful. I looked forward to it.
“Well, Teddy,” I said as I looked at the clock and stretched, “it looks like it’s time for me to visit the Westovers.”
He lifted his little head, yawned, and then went back to sleep.
“They say an innocent mind makes for sound sleep.” I laughed. “Teddy, you must have the most innocent mind around.”
When we had breakfast together that last morning, Regina had said Spencer held something over her. How far would she go to find out who killed her mother? From what I gathered, Regina was determined enough to go to any length.
Of course. The DNA!
That would certainly hang someone. It might be the last irrefutable evidence we could get.
I couldn’t rest another minute. Every second wasted further allowed the killer to cover his or her tracks. No, I needed to keep the heat on.
I got up and brushed through my long blond tresses, sticking my black snakeskin headband into place. A touch of plum lipstick provided the finishing touch.
I still had a few minutes before the Westovers were expecting me. It might be prudent to go a little early and do some investigative observation.
The Westovers lived in a beautiful golf community right on the ocean, not too far from the hotel. Golf greens wound through the homes creating lush green landscapes wherever one looked. The Monterey pines and twisted cypress trees looked beautiful against the romantic ocean setting. Talk about having it all.
The estate houses were nestled off the road, framed by the elegant landscaping, and represented several completely different architectural designs. Some were Colonials with the white columned porches in front, some were Mediterranean with roofs of red Spanish tile and some were contemporary, just large and cold looking to me. I drove past the address, just to see things. Everything was quiet except for an older couple driving past me in a golf cart.
I strained to see if any cars were parked in the Westovers’ driveway but saw nothing. They must park their cars in the garage. I took the loop once more and hoped they wouldn’t happen to look out their window that very moment. The plantation shutters looked snugly shut, so I felt pretty sure they didn’t.
I approached the house once again and got close enough to see the garage door open. A large silver-blue BMW backed out and drove away in the opposite direction down the street. It gave me a good view of the license plate, which read, “4GRDNZ.”
The driver’s hair was cropped short. Sitting so tall in the seat, I assumed it was a man.
Pretty intimate, parking in the garage like that.
Okay, Jillian, time’s up.
Just remember you are coming to see their gardens. Polite conversation with a little observation is what we need here. And remember, Jillian, listen.
After my personal pep talk, I pulled into the driveway hoping my car wouldn’t leave oil stains on the spotless flagstone. They must have money to burn putting in a driveway like that.
The house itself was a large Tudor. Gray flagstone covered the exterior and made a stunning foil for the lovely yard. The gardens surrounding the house bloomed spectacularly. Purple mums lined the curved beds and the leaves on the trees had turned to red, gold and flaming orange.
I rang the doorbell, which sounded like Gothic chimes.
Immediately, Thomas opened the door and greeted me warmly, like a long lost relative. Maybe he was different at home.
“Do come in, Jillian. It’s an honor to have you visit our home. Evelyn and I have looked forward to showing you our gardens.” He took my arm and led me into the living room.
The room’s loveliness astounded me! Creamy sunlit yellow walls set off the Georgian silk and chintz-upholstered furniture. A large eight-armed crystal chandelier hung over the main conversation area in front of the white-columned and gray marble fireplace. A portrait of a beautiful young woman hung over the mantle.
“My, what an exquisite room.” My exclamation was an honest reaction.
“Thank you.” Thomas seemed pleased with my compliment. “It’s Evelyn’s favorite room in the house.”
Looking at the portrait, I had to ask. “Is this one of your ancestors, Thomas?”
He laughed. “The clothes are outdated, but actually it’s a portrait of Evelyn when we were first married.” He smiled up at her face, so fair and pretty, and then his smile turned to a frown as a voice spoke and chilled the once sunny room.
“Good afternoon, Jillian.” Evelyn’s greeting sounded cold. Wearing an ugly, ill-fitting brown pantsuit accessorized by a black and tan scarf tied in a knot around her neck, Evelyn Westover looked very much
out of place in the beautiful room.
“Hello, Evelyn.” I tried my best to ignore her obvious rudeness. “I was just admiring your exquisite living room.”
Evelyn sighed with condescension and corrected me.
“Actually, Jillian, it’s the parlor, not the living room.” With an obvious determination to keep me uncomfortable, she snarled. “Shall we visit the gardens?”
“I’d love to.”
Amazingly, I actually meant that.
Thomas motioned for me to follow Evelyn through the French doors draped on either side with heavy red damask tied up in bishop sleeves and trimmed with gold braid and tassels.
We walked out onto a black slate terrace overlooking the ocean. Lush ferns and hostas bordered the terrace and a flagstone walk led into the center of the expansive yard.
A marble fountain anchored the circular rose garden filled with a dozen varieties of floribunda roses. A stone bench on each side of the flagstone floor faced the gently flowing fountain.
Sitting on top of the fountain, a gray stone cherub prayed heavenward. The ocean view beyond the garden was breathtaking. I was truly awed.
Evelyn noticed my pause. For the first time, her voice was soft. “We had the cherub put in after Kevin’s death.”
Softened by the tragic thought of losing a child, I told her how sorry I was.
For a moment, both Thomas and Evelyn actually looked at one another with feelings of love. They resembled the same looks several of us witnessed between them the night Regina was killed.
We moved on to the other areas of the garden, all manicured to perfection.
“Did Paul Youngblood do the design?” My question was entirely innocent.
Thomas spoke before Evelyn had a chance. “As a matter of fact, he did.”
I took a chance. I became the investigator. They would deplore it. “Was that by chance the BMW I saw leaving just as I arrived?”
Evelyn walked in front of Thomas. “Why, yes. He...was just checking on a….”
Thomas interjected, “A plant wasn’t doing well and he wanted to try a soil amendment to see if it would help.”
They both cast nervous looks at each and fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Couldn’t the gardener have taken care of that?”
Evelyn ignored my question as if I didn’t have a clue about designer-client relationships and moved on to the last specialty garden.
“This is the rock garden our son Kevin was so fond of.”
“Very peaceful.”
The tour was nearing an end and I only had one chance left to ask, so taking that chance, out of the clear blue I asked, “Do you have any Venus flytraps? I heard they sometimes do well along the coast.”
Neither Thomas nor Evelyn batted an eye. Thomas simply smiled and said, “We haven’t tried any so far. Perhaps we could ask Paul the next time he comes.”
We walked back through the French doors and I paused to throw out a tidbit to them. “By the way, the police found out Spencer Hausman owed a large gambling debt and paid off $8,000 of it in August. You must have paid him very well, Evelyn. You might as well know I know why you dismissed Walter Montoya.”
Evelyn’s eyes grew wide with anger. Her lips drew back in a snarl. “Our business is just that, Jillian, our business.”
As I left, I saw Evelyn and Thomas standing in the doorway watching me leave.
They were not smiling.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My gut reaction to the Westovers was twofold: a strong dislike for Evelyn and pity for Thomas. Hopefully, tea with Ann would produce more insight into this strange couple’s history.
I never tired of the Ritz-Carlton’s afternoon tea. Warm sunlight filled the soft peach and muted green lobby where they served tea every afternoon.
Ann waited for me, sitting comfortably in a green-and-white upholstered booth. A white tablecloth was adorned with a small bouquet of fresh fall flowers. Ann smiled upon seeing me come toward her and moved over to make room for me to join her.
“Hello, Jillian. You look pretty discouraged. The tea ought to revive you. Here’s our server.”
A young dark-haired woman wearing the hotel tan and green print uniform smiled and asked if we would like the ‘Set Tea.’ After answering in the affirmative, Ann and I put our heads together and debriefed.
“How did the Westovers’ visit go?” She made a grimace.
“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s over. I really couldn’t get anything out of her. She didn’t even flinch when I mentioned The Venus Flytrap.”
Ann nodded and sat back in the booth. “I found out who the Westovers got rid of. That ought to perk you up a bit.” She chuckled.
“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood, Ann. Let’s have it.”
“Well, after talking at length with Marianne, who seems to know more about the Westovers than even the Westovers do, I found out that at one time the Westovers’ son had a girlfriend that didn’t meet with his parent’s approval.”
The server brought our tea — a pot apiece, steaming with our individual choices, plus a three-tiered plate stand filled with sweets and savories of every description.
We helped ourselves to the delicacies as the server, Alicia, poured out. “Milk?” she asked. We both nodded a “yes” and then she asked, “Sugars?”
“Three for me, please,” I replied.
Ann declined.
After Alicia departed, I continued the questions. “Don’t tell me they had the girl killed because they didn’t want her dating their son.”
Ann smiled at my impatience. “Not exactly. Marianne said their son told his parents he wouldn’t see her and they believed him until the girl showed up on their doorstep with her parents, claiming she was pregnant with their grandchild.”
I almost choked on my cucumber sandwich. “I bet Evelyn loved that.”
Ann ignored my comment and urged me to drink a sip of my tea. “Actually, it seems Evelyn took it quite calmly. Evidently she invited the trio in, served them coffee and said that she would handle everything according to whatever they wished to do.”
“Which was…?”
Ann smiled and twitched her head. “To have the baby and keep it, insisting the Westovers’ son marry her as soon as he turned eighteen in three months.”
“And Evelyn agreed?” I was incredulous.
“It seems she did. The girl and her parents left, apparently on good terms.” Ann’s tone was serious.
She took a sip of tea and a small bite of a smoked salmon and dill sandwich.
“So how did Marianne say the Westovers got rid of her?” I was totally mystified.
Ann put her teacup down thoughtfully and looked at me full in the face. “The girl was killed in a freak car accident two weeks to the day after she made her demands to the Westovers.”
“What did the police report say?”
Ann nodded her head and took a petit four.
“I knew you would want to know, so I asked Marianne that as well. The police found no foul play. The girl was alone driving home from work that night around nine o’clock. Evidently, she lost control of the car and hit a tree off the side of the road. She was killed instantly.”
“And Evelyn’s grandchild along with her.”
“The police couldn’t prove any connection to the Westovers. Shortly after it happened, the girl’s parents moved and the whole affair just went away.”
“Ann, the whole affair may have gone away for the girl and her parents, but how could a grandchild ever go away? I think that would have stayed with Evelyn forever. It certainly would have cast a dim light on her son, don’t you agree?”
Ann put her teacup carefully on its saucer. Without looking up, she took a deep breath. “There’s something else.”
I braced myself emotionally after thinking about an innocent life lost.
Ann looked at me. “The Westovers’ son overdosed on barbiturates three days after the ‘accident.’”
I sa
t quietly for a moment thinking about the total dismay Evelyn must have felt losing a grandchild and a son at the same time. People don’t just pick up and carry on without going through the process of shock, acceptance, grief and recovery.
Maybe that’s why Evelyn didn’t seem to act normal at times.
Nicole came into the lobby from quite a shopping spree from the looks of her armful of bags.
Walter saw her and offered to take the bags to her room. She let him help her. She handed him her plastic key and he declined, informing her that the front desk always had a spare.
A light came on in my brain and I said aloud before I could stop myself, “A spare key.”
Nicole heard me as she walked toward our table. “What are you talking about, Jillian?”
“I said, ‘a spare key.’ Regina might have given a spare key to her lover to come and go as he pleased.” My brain started churning up a scenario.
“What if Regina got ready for bed, took off her jewelry, and then someone entered her room using a spare key. She would probably assume it was her lover. She would have no reason to be alarmed. She wouldn’t have screamed. That’s why no one heard anything.”
Nicole sat down and ordered her own tea service. “But, Jillian, everyone has a pretty solid alibi for the hours between two to four in the morning, like the chief said.”
“I know, I know, but they aren’t all air tight. Something was amiss with several of their statements. Nicole, have you found out anything else about Spencer’s background or the Westovers’ financial condition?” I stored up the questions of alibis for later contemplation.
Alicia brought Nicole a pot of Lady Earl Grey and poured some out for her over milk.
Nicole took one sugar. “You’ll be pleased to know my friend at the credit bureau gave me an earful on both parties.”
“Good girl.”
“To begin with, Spencer worked for Desert Nursery and Landscape Sales in Henderson, Nevada — right outside of Las Vegas, before his stint at the Seaside Nursery.”
“Bingo! It’s the connection with the gambling debts, just as I thought. Sorry, Nicole, please go on. I’ll try to keep quiet.”
“That’s all right, Jillian. I’m anxious to get to the bottom of these murders, too.”
“What about the Westovers’ financial situation?” I took a sip of tea.