Bouncer Read online

  “I just couldn’t sleep a wink last night knowing that poor man had been dead and just lying there unnoticed in the lot bordering my home. I thought I was so safe and secure here, but now? Oh, how horrible, horrible it is. I could be murdered in my sleep.”

  “There, there,” said Nick Thayne gently and reached over to take the elderly woman’s hand. He patted the wrinkled surface.

  “We have just a few questions for you and then a quick favor to ask.”

  “Of course, of course, anything.” She tried valiantly to present a stout front, but presently, her face crumpled, the tears streaking her heavy make-up as her bony shoulders hunched pathetically.

  While Thayne did his best to try and calm the old woman, Lea studied the lovely room. An immense painting, appearing so life-like it startled the on-looker, dominated the high wall of the huge brick fireplace. Above the enormous mantle, a woman held a violin nonchalantly in her left hand while her right languidly grasped a horsehair bow held against her vivid blue dress. Straight, raven-black hair winged her brow and settled in a cloud around her shoulders above a well-formed bust. Shapely legs and incredible high heels, which would have looked ridiculous on some and certainly on Lea, only enhanced the young woman’s marvelous legs. Her straight, aristocratic nose flared slightly below snapping blue eyes.

  The rest of the room was no less grand than the woman presiding over it. Herring bone parquet flooring partly covered by a huge circular Chinese rug woven in dusty blue and rose softened the spacious expanse of the expensive room. An enormous vase stuffed with an incredible array of silk flowers looked so lifelike that the gladiolas, baby’s breath, and irises appeared to have been freshly picked from Mrs. Simms’ garden.

  The beautiful arched windows overlooking the rose garden spotlighted knick-knacks and souvenirs brilliantly displayed in a burnished, wood-framed glass case housing trinkets from all over the world. Lea noted that tiny, Russian-carved eggs, Swiss music boxes, and gleaming bronze figurines of Hindu Gods filled every recess of the huge glass cabinet as well as being accompanied by countless African carvings in ebony and teak. The woman before them had obviously lived a full and varied life.

  A magnificent black Steinway nestled indiscreetly into a far corner made the room seem too somber and cold without some accompanying music. Yet, Lea thought as her eyes scanned the tastefully decorated chamber, the room lacked something. Her brain, organized similarly to the filing cabinets she had searched the previous day, pondered what it might be before hitting on it. Except for the amazing life-like painting, no family photos graced any of the ornate tables. This woman was wealthy, but dismally alone. The elderly woman, starting to relax, straightened her sagging back.

  “You are a dear, dear boy,” she said sniffing into a dainty white handkerchief. “I’ll do anything I can to help, though I’m sure Philemon would know much more than I.”

  “By the way, that portrait of you is absolutely stunning,” Thayne said, glancing at the impressive painting.

  Lea started. That was Mrs. Simms?

  “I’m amazed you could recognize me, I’ve changed so much. But thank you, kind sir. That’s one way to lift a woman’s spirits.” Did she actually blush under the layers of make-up?

  “Could you just tell us what you know?” interrupted Lea. “We have to get a statement from everyone in the neighborhood.”

  “That’s right,” said Nick taking over. He didn’t want Lea’s abrupt nature to further rattle the already shaken woman. “Can you recall the ex-mayor visiting your neighbors across the street any time over the past couple weeks?’

  “No,” said the old woman running shaky fingers through her nearly white hair, “but I always retire early. I sleep so poorly now with my arthritis and all and head to bed fairly early because I’m up half the night.”

  Nick, about to continue in his sweet smooth tones winced at Fox’s interruption.

  “Then perhaps you heard last week’s late-night disturbance at the Collins residence?”

  “Disturbance?” repeated Mrs. Simms appearing vaguely confused.

  Lea totally ignored Thayne’s drooping mouth. “Yes. All the yelling, accusations, foul language? It happened sometime around midnight on Tuesday?”

  “Goodness gracious, I didn’t. Of course, I probably had the TV on. I enjoy the company the noise makes and always fall asleep never remembering just what I was watching. Of course, the quality of shows today is quite appalling. When my dear husband was alive, we had good shows, not this trash like Jerry Springer. Those idiotic people he has on as guests make any problems we might have seem minute. Of course, that was until now.”

  Nick glared at Lea. This was the first yelling he had heard about. Just what was she getting at?

  “But it would have been quite distinct; since I’m positive the street is silent at that hour. Can’t you remember anything at all, Mrs. Simms?”

  The old lady frowned hard and then amazingly nodded. “Well, I can’t be sure, you know. I might have dozed off and heard the argument on the TV. That Jerry Springer is a putrid, putrid man.”

  Nick bit his lip trying to stifle a laugh.

  “He is putrid indeed,” asserted Lea, and Nick suspected she totally agreed with the elderly woman. “Just what exactly did you hear?”

  Mrs. Simms totally ignored her, seemingly intent on giving a full commentary regarding her opinion of reality shows.

  “There are just some things that shouldn’t be shown on TV. Why, the other night he had men on the show dressed as women and acted like it was an everyday occurrence. Well, I never!”

  “Last Tuesday night, though?” restated Lea, intent on getting the woman back to the subject. It didn’t work.

  “It wasn’t decent, I’m telling you, not fit for human ears. They were flinging around the ‘f’ word and ‘s’ word as if it was okay to utter those foul profanities. Believe me, the bleeping it out didn’t disguise what they were saying. I remember my younger brother Melvin having his mouth washed out for daring to say such things. The way young people act these days.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Lea, “and they were arguing about what, Mrs. Simms?”

  Mrs. Simms gave what could only be considered a ladylike snort.

  “Money of course. It’s always money. Spend, spend, spend! I was taught to save as a child, to try to earn a wage with an honest day’s work, but now, if you don’t have the money, you borrow. But believe me, missy, everything comes at a price, everything. There’s no free ride. All those people who look like they have it made, well, don’t begrudge them. They worked hard and sacrificed to get what they have. I sacrificed everything to have a good life, and many might say God has punished me for it. But those young hooligans! They make no sacrifices at all.”

  “I understand perfectly, Mrs. Simms,” continued Nick smoothly. “So, what you’re saying is that the yelling about money came from the house across the street last Tuesday night.”

  The old woman grimaced and looked down at her age-spotted hands. “I think it was Tuesday night, but, young man, I might be confused. It may have been Monday.” At Nick’s pained expression, she snapped. “Oh come on now, young man! At my age all days seem to merge into one. I’m lucky to remember what day Philemon is supposed to come and what to do, so I have to mark the calendar with a red dot and cross off the day just so I don’t leave that poor sweet man standing upon my porch wondering where I am.”

  “Very considerate,” mumbled Lea.

  “How long have you known Philemon Jenkins?” asked Nick, relieved they had returned to more fertile ground.

  “The man has worked for me for over three years. He received an excellent reference from my neighbor down the street, Eliza Carmichael. Unfortunately, she passed away fourteen months ago and before that was in a nursing home, so I kind of inherited Philemon from her. He’s an excellent gardener. His wife sings at the Southern Baptist Church on Cherry Avenue. Such a good man. I’ve never had one moment’s dissatisfaction with him.” Suddenly, the skinny M
s. Simms straightened up and glared at Nick. “You don’t think that he had anything to do with this monstrous affair?” she accused.

  “Not really, madam. I’m just asking questions. We have to formulate a solid picture of the workings of the neighborhood before we can move further in the case. Philemon Jenkins found the body, therefore we need to ask questions about him and anyone else who may have had contact with the ex-mayor.”

  “Well, if I find you giving that poor man a hard time in any way, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Lea barely stifled a laugh. The little lady couldn’t have been more than ninety-five pounds and looked like a strong breeze would bowl her over.

  “Philemon Jenkins is not a suspect at the present time. We just need to note how long he’s worked for you and establish where he was on the probable night of the murder just as we need to know your whereabouts.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Simms huffily. “I told you. I was sleeping. And Philemon has a lovely wife who I’m sure can vouch for him.”

  Nick held his hands up in defeat and tactfully changed the subject. “Do you have a garden shed, by any chance?” he asked.

  “Why, yes I do. Philemon keeps it nice and tidy. It’s more than a shed, actually; it’s really a greenhouse. That nice young officer came and took my wheelbarrow this morning. There were at least eight or nine of them being hauled into a truck.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Was the murder done with a wheelbarrow?”

  Nick smiled. “No, we just need to check all the neighborhood wheelbarrows out. Don’t worry—you’ll get yours back soon.”

  “Oh, that will be nice. My greenhouse. Would you like to see it?” A note of pride crept into her brittle voice.

  The case for her was simply forgotten, and only delight remained. Nick and Lea followed Mrs. Simms through the stately house and out to the expansive backyard. A huge rectangular greenhouse with glass sides and a slanted, transparent roof sat at the outer edge of the finely manicured garden. The cobbled walkways meandered between various arrays of flowers, and to the right, a huge koi pond benefited from a gushing waterfall under which swam ten to twelve languid gold and white fish.

  “This is my pride and joy,” said Mrs. Simms, leading the pair into the overly warm enclosure. The hot house measured at least thirty feet by ten feet and was equipped with long wooden counters lining both sides.

  “It’s as big as my first apartment,” muttered Lea studying the incredible variety of orchids.

  “What’s that you say, dear?”

  “It’s very large.”

  “It has to be,” said Mrs. Simms turning around and spreading her arm, “for these are my children.”

  What lovely children they were indeed. One orchid, the palest pink and lightly veined with violet, stretched out its long, delicate neck towards Nick.

  “The temperature must be kept between 72-80 degrees,” Mrs. Simms explained. “Orchids thrive in humidity and light, so I have a high-intensity sodium vapor system. I prefer an intermediate or warm house.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Nick wondering just how much this layout cost.

  “My greenhouse caters to those orchids preferring intermediate or warm temperatures. Without consistent temperatures, the orchid will not bloom.”

  “And Philemon understands all this?”

  “He’s learning quickly. He looked as bewildered as you, my boy, when he first started, but now is nearly as knowledgeable about the plants as I. And that’s saying a great deal, young man.” Her glowering stare indicated neither detective dare even suspect her Philemon.

  “Every day, I come out to see how these most perfect of flowers are progressing.” She marched down the wide aisle, calling out the names of the various orchid species while Nick struggled to stay focused.

  “My favorites are Vanda and Cattleya, though I also experiment with many Paphiopedilum and Dendrobium. Ah, here’s one of my favorites, Cattleya Bicolor. Isn’t he beautiful?”

  The small white and mauve orchid looked like it possessed a tongue sticking out of a brilliant green mouth.

  “Very nice,” mumbled Thayne, and Lea glared at him.

  Mrs. Simms chortled on as the two detectives studied the huge greenhouse, whose flooring consisted of interlocking red brick. A shiny, deep basin near a potting trough separated a long wooden shelf upon which dozens of healthy orchids rested.

  “This is some display of flowers, madam. More than a hobby I take it?”

  Mrs. Simms paused before a long stemmed orchid she referred to as Cymbidium Giganteum. “Flowers and beauty are my life. If one can make this world a lovelier place, if one can nurture the perfection of flowers, I believe we add to the world’s harmony.” Her Buddhist-like philosophy was not wasted on Lea.

  “What a magnificent collection,” breathed Lea, and Nick thought that, for once, she was genuinely impressed.

  “Oh, really?” said Nick involuntarily. A strange, long-necked orchid in flecked crimson strangely resembled a spider in appearance.

  “That’s a Masdevallia Bella. Quite difficult to achieve a bloom, and I need to be careful since it likes a cooler room. I usually keep it in my bedroom window and just brought it out to fertilize today. While not suiting some, its strange shape and coloration gratify me somehow. So imperfect to some, but perfect to me. Philemon has such a way with my orchids, as if he can almost coax them into bloom. I can tell, young woman, that you harbor a similar gift and love for plants.”

  “Yes, but mostly for violets and roses. I’ve never had the time and patience for orchids.”

  Mrs. Simms grasped Lea’s arm with amazing strength and pulled her towards a collection of yellow orchids reaching for the artificial light. Nick gratefully watched them head away before scouring the greenhouse.

  It was furnished with an enormous built-in fan and cooling system, and even a novice such as himself could recognize the system’s high quality. Mrs. Simms clearly loved and nurtured her orchids. It was amazing how fragile and delicate the various plants appeared with their fairly thin green stems holding up the lovely slender necks of the flowers.

  “Where do you keep your gardening tools?” asked Nick as Fox leaned over a pearly white stem. While no great flower lover, he knew never to insult someone’s grand passion.

  “Over there,” Mrs. Simms hobbled to the end of the greenhouse and opened a small wooden door leading into a six-foot by six-foot square room. She flicked on the overhead light bulb, and hanging on the walls were various tools, picks, hoes, and rakes. In a neat row, four pairs of various-sized pruning shears dangled from long nails.

  “Mrs. Simms, would you mind an officer taking a look at this room?” asked Nick, seemingly noncommittal.

  Mrs. Simms twitched, and her veined hand grasped the wooden shelf for support. “Why? Is something missing?”

  “Nothing at all. Only your gardener, Mr. Jenkins, uses these tools?” asked Thayne.

  “No, I use some of them as well. I trim the orchids myself and repot them when necessary. It’s very tiring work for me, but the rewards are great. When the need arises, I use some of the smaller hand tools over there.”

  Two stainless steel hand clippers rested upon the counter next to a blue-handled trowel.

  “What’s in the large red box?” said Lea pointing to a rectangular metal box faded with age.

  “That’s my late husband’s tool box. I keep all sorts of odds and ends in there. Screwdrivers, pliers, and whatnot. Would you like me to open it?”

  Mrs. Simms lifted the lid, revealing a neat little pocket in the top of the metal cabinet loaded with various screws and nails. Underneath, Phillips and flat-bladed screwdrivers, as well as wrenches and pliers, were haphazardly tossed onto the main tool bed.

  “Do you use these very often?”

  “Oh, once in a while, but it’s really Philemon who uses them. If I need to hang a picture or something comes loose, he fixes it right away. I used to be so spry in my younger days, but now it takes so mu
ch effort to even climb up on a step stool. I’d be lost without my Philemon!” She glanced fearfully at Nick and Lea.

  Thayne raised a hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Simms. We’re doing a search of all the neighboring houses. We’re not here to implicate your gardener. We understand how much you rely on Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” sighed Mrs. Simms. “Is there anything else?” and before Nick could retrieve his own embossed business card, Fox handed her drab one to Mrs. Simms.

  “Please feel free to give me a call anytime, Mrs. Simms.”

  They followed the feeble old lady back through the house, admiring the high vaulted ceilings with its beautiful wooden beams and diamond-shaped Tudor windows slanting lovely bursts of sunshine into the spacious and welcoming rooms.

  “You know,” said Mrs. Simms hopefully, right before they reached the front foyer. “If you’d like to come for tea sometime, it would be lovely. I could show you more of my orchids.”

  “If we have time, we’ll certainly do so,” said Nick pleasantly and shook her cold, palsied hand.

  Fox clucked under her tongue as she followed Nick down the lovely cobbled pathway. “Well, Thayne, I have to hand it to you; you have a definite way with women. If you can charm a sixty-five-year-old woman, imagine what thirty-year-olds must do when you appear in their vicinity. Do you they simply fall down and beckon you to come hither as they acquiesce to your mighty charm, or do you ever have to work at it?”

  “Here’s something to plug into the F & H? Everyone wants to be treated like they matter, Fox, even little old women.”

  Chapter 10

  Thayne crossed to the other side of the street. There was something to be said about good manners, which was something Lea’s father, no matter how great a police officer he’d been, had failed to instill in his daughter. While animosity tinged every emotion Nick felt about his parents, at least the pair had managed to instill some sense of propriety in him. Nick briefly detailed instructions to Officer Phelps before joining the other officers in the field to survey the two white-clad men using metal detectors to scour every inch of the empty field.