The Corpse with the Turquoise Toes Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  The Corpse with the Turquoise Toes

  Copyright © 2022 by Cathy Ace

  Four Tails Publishing Ltd.

  Date of first publication worldwide April 2022

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may

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  Cover artwork: © Four Tails Publishing

  Cover photograph: via Canva

  ISBN 978-1-990550-01-0 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-990550-02-7 (electronic book)

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to all those who have volunteered their time and energy to our community of crime writers and readers

  Serene Turbulence

  If we survive this trip, I might never leave home again, was what I thought; “I hate turbulence,” was what I said. I’ve never been good at not being in control, and when you’re a passenger in a small aircraft that’s being buffeted by what feels like a cyclone, you’re about as helpless as a person can be.

  My husband was already holding my hand across the narrow aisle, but gave it an extra squeeze. “I’m sure this sort of thing happens all the time. Look at Mike, our attendant – he seems pretty cool. Used to it, I guess. We’ll be through it soon, Cait, like the pilot said.”

  I’d thought the freckled redhead had dumped the champagne and strapped himself in pretty sharpish when the juddering had started, and reckoned his smile was more curated than spontaneous, but allowed myself to be soothed by my husband’s words, even if the tiny muscles in his jaw flexed tellingly as he uttered them.

  “It’s been ten minutes already, Bud. The pilot said no more than five.” I had to deflect my own guilt; I was the one who’d talked him into this journey, after all. He hadn’t been keen from the beginning, so this was all my fault, in a way.

  “Close your eyes, that might help,” suggested Bud.

  I replied with a “Hmm”, grabbed the plush cream leather upholstery of the armrests, and squeezed my eyelids shut, blotting out my view of the walnut veneer trim of the private aircraft that had been chartered to deliver just the two of us to our destination. This was supposed to be the fabulous start of an indulgent week or so in Arizona, where Bud and I were to be guests of honor at the opening of a restaurant set up by the insanely wealthy Soul family, but – at that precise moment – I wasn’t feeling the glamor of the experience one little bit.

  I told myself that everything would be fine – probably – and focused on the reason for our trip: Sammy Soul, the big-hearted ageing rock legend, and his once-groupie wife Suzie, had financed the eatery where we were to be feted for their daughter, Serendipity. It was her attempted murder we’d managed to foil, and whose attacker we’d brought to justice, when we’d been in Kelowna investigating a so-called suicide almost exactly three years earlier, and this was the Soul family’s chance to thank us for the role we’d played in that dreadful drama. To be fair, Bud hadn’t been averse to the honored guest part of the proposition; indeed, he’d been delighted that we’d get to see Serendipity again because we’d both taken a shine to the hard-working and talented chef when we’d first got to know her.

  No, what had led my husband to baulk at the prospect of the trip was the fact we’d be staying at what our hostess had described as “the recently-opened luxury resort” being run by the folks who espoused the practices of the Faceting for Life movement. He’d said the whole thing sounded like a recipe for disaster – that they were bound to try to recruit us, and he didn’t like that idea one little bit. I’d assured him they wouldn’t dare – though I’d admitted to myself at the time that the idea of debating the whole Faceting thing with the odd zealot or two held more than a little allure for me, given my background in psychology, and my love of a good discussion.

  We’d first come to know about the Facetors when we’d originally met Serendipity; she and a couple of her friends in Kelowna had introduced us to what I understood to be a fairly simple, if slightly whacky, set of behavioral patterns designed to give structure and meaning to the lives of folks who felt their existence needed some direction. I’d said as much to Bud, and had reminded him of how the Facetors merely believed the need to consciously focus on attending to a number of aspects of their life every day, without any prescriptive mystical or spiritual content to their ethos.

  I’d gone on to enthuse about the chance to visit Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright’s jewel in the Arizona desert, as well as maybe traveling to the Petrified Forest and Monument Valley National Parks, which were both just further along the route we’d be taking if we went to stay with Serendipity. It was only then that Bud had relented.

  We’d set up all the arrangements for the trip so that we’d arrive at a hotel in Phoenix in time for a lovely dinner, a good night’s sleep, then a trip to Taliesin West on the way out to the Desert Gem, which was what the boutique resort where we’d be staying for a week was called – to differentiate it from the Gem, which had been the original Faceting headquarters in Sedona. Then we’d head off to the National Parks on our own for a few days.

  As I tried to keep down my lunch – caviar, grilled salmon, and lemon mousse, all accompanied by Dom Perignon champagne (who knew one attendant in a small private jet could rustle up such a feast?) – I reminded myself that air travel is one of the safest forms of transport. Then the plane lurched downward, and my eyes flew open in terror; I caught a glimpse of the smile sliding from our attendant’s face.

  “Sorry about that last bit of bucking around there, we’re just getting through it now; shouldn’t be too much longer before Mike can pop another cork for you both.” The pilot’s voice sounded cheery enough; was she an accomplished actor, or did she posses that Zen-like quality so many of her type always radiate?

  “See?” Bud was looking a little pale. “Not long now.”

  I looked at my watch. Fourteen minutes had passed since the beaming Mike had high-tailed it back to his seat – and I was beginning to think they were the longest fourteen minutes of my life. I was also beginning to understand why the Pope kisses the tarmac after his plane lands; I was considering doing the same thing, assuming we managed to reach terra firma without further incident.

  To be fair to the pilot, it really was only a couple of minutes later that Mike seemed to receive a secret signal, unbuckled, stood, smoothed down his skinny navy pants over his jolly striped socks, and headed for the galley. He returned with a second bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes; Bud and I took the glasses with slightly trembling hands.

  “We should be wheels-down in about an hour,” he said as he headed out of sight. Before he disappeared, he turned, beamed, and added, “If you need anything else, just ask.”

  Bud checked his watch. “We’ll only be about half an hour late,” he said. “Plenty of time for a lovely evening to ourselves. When are we being collected in the morning?”

  “Ten. Serendipity is sending a friend of hers to pick us up. Her text spelled the name KSUE – not a name I’ve ever seen before, so it might be a typo. If not, I’m not sure how to pronounce it.”

  Bud sipped his champagne. “Kay-Sue? Or possibly she’s just Sue, and the K was a thumb-bumble.”

  “A thumb-bumble?”

  Bud smiled. “That’s what I call it when my thumbs are too big for the
tiny letters on my phone.” He raised his glass. “To landing safely, and an enjoyable break in the sun, knowing that Marty’s romping around happily with Jack and Sheila’s dogs – and their new puppy – on their acreage. Doggie heaven on earth.” We both swigged. “You did remember to pack the sunblock, didn’t you?”

  “Factor 50. Yes. But we’ll still need to be careful – our poor little bodies haven’t glimpsed real sunshine for months, and I don’t want to burn.”

  “There’ll be no burning for us, Wife. We’re sensible, right? Besides, it’s only the end of March, it won’t be that hot.”

  “Could be. Certainly a good deal warmer than at home, in any case. Our own little mountain might be one of the most beautiful parts of British Columbia, but the average temperatures in the Sonoran Desert in March are usually about the same as we get at home in July, or even August – under whatever passes for ‘normal weather conditions’ these days.”

  Bud winked. “There’ll be air conditioning, right? We’ll be fine.”

  “You will. You don’t mind the heat at all – you kept saying so in Jamaica last year. All the time.”

  Bud wriggled. “I was thinking more about you. You…well, you mentioned quite often how you found the nights there a bit sweaty.”

  I patted his hand. “Sorry, I did, didn’t I? It was the humidity. And the flashes. The combination. I’ve been okay the past couple of weeks as far as the night sweats go, and you know what they say about the desert – ‘it’s a dry heat’ – so I should be fine. Besides, I’m sure there’ll be air conditioning, as you say; Serendipity told me no expense was spared when they built the Desert Gem. Didn’t have to, because when the bloke who started up the whole Faceting thing died, it turned out he was rolling in money, and his wife and children invested all of it into this enterprise. Did it in record time, too, apparently. Poor thing popped his clogs last year, and the place opened a few months ago. Serendipity’s restaurant is the final piece of the jigsaw; had to wait for some special equipment to arrive for the kitchen. It’s her father’s gift, and he insisted on the very best.”

  Bud leaned close. “Yes, he’s quite the character is Sammy Soul. Here’s to him!” He raised his glass. “I tell you what, I could get used to this private jet thing. We’re being treated like royalty.”

  “You know what Sammy’s like – once he makes up his mind about something, there’s no stopping him. And the texts I’ve been getting from Suzie – when I can read them – have been gushing.”

  Bud chuckled. “If Suzie Soul still puts away the booze like she did when we got to know her, I’m amazed she can manage to text at all. I bet she thumb-bumbles all the time.”

  I grinned and replied, “Yes, that probably explains all the gobbledegook.” I sighed. “I know what it’s like to live with an alcoholic – all those years with Angus. It’s so difficult. Having to watch every word. Not step out of line. Never cause a fuss. Be aware of their mood.”

  Bud reached across the aisle and squeezed my shoulder. “I know you had a tough time of it with Angus, but not everyone’s a violent, controlling drunk. We both know Suzie’s got one heck of a temper, but she never seemed to be driven by anger, which is a different thing altogether. But this restaurant of Serendipity’s won’t be dry, will it? Would a restaurant without alcohol even work?” Bud looked a little alarmed; he enjoys the odd beer, or glass of wine – or three – like me.

  I grinned. “Don’t panic – Serendipity’s working with some local Arizona wineries; needless to say, her father knows most of the people who own vineyards in the area, being the owner of one back in British Columbia himself.”

  Bud nodded. “Yeah, we found out just how small that world is when we were looking into Annette Newman’s death, didn’t we? I guess what was true in Kelowna will be true here, too. Though I’ve got to admit, I didn’t imagine the Arizona desert would be a great place to grow grapes.”

  “There’s a good number of vineyards; in fact, there are three main wine-growing areas, and we’ll pass through one of them – the Verde Valley – on the way to the place where we’ll be staying. Though, honestly, I’m pleased we’ve decided to continue north after we leave Serendipity to see some of the spectacular landscapes. It’ll be fun to visit places in real life we’ve only seen on film.”

  “That scene in Forrest Gump when he decides to stop walking? Yeah, it’ll be great to see those sandstone buttes for real. Better than a winery, I reckon.” Bud glanced around, and – despite the fact the six other seats were unoccupied – whispered, “Sipping champagne on a private jet, all paid for by a rock star I used to idolize…it’s quite amazing the way some of our adventures play out, right? The unreal made real. But no corpses this time, Cait, okay?” Bud suddenly sounded grim.

  I poked out my tongue. “It’s not my fault, you know. I’m not the one doing the killing. It’s just…well, sometimes we’re stuck with something happening that we can’t ignore…”

  “…and sometimes you spot something you can’t let go of.”

  “I usually like it when you finish my sentences, Husband. Usually.”

  We squeezed hands, sipped champagne, and I was just envisaging what the sunset might look like in the desert when I heard a loud pinging coming from my pocket.

  Bud looked surprised. “Was that your phone?”

  The ever-helpful Mike had told us how to access the in-flight satellite Wi-Fi when we’d boarded; I hadn’t expected anyone to get in touch with me while we were in the air, but it had been such a novelty I couldn’t resist connecting. All of which meant I was able to tell Bud, “It’s a text from Serendipity. Apparently, it won’t be KSue meeting us tomorrow – so that really does seem to be her name – but someone called Norman instead.”

  Bud shrugged. “Okay. Good to know, I guess.” He polished off his champagne.

  I cleared my throat. “The reason there’s been a switch could be a bit of a problem, though.”

  Bud put down his glass and turned to face me. His eyebrows arched in query. “Which is?”

  I decided it was best to read Serendipity’s text aloud:

  KSue in bits. Can’t come. Found Linda dead. Lot going on here. So sad. Norman will meet you, not KSue. Adorable man. Timid. I’ll see you here as planned. Enjoy Taliesin West. Don’t worry. Opening is a go. No reason you can’t stay at Desert Gem – not a crime scene! See you soon.

  The expression on Bud’s face was one of dread. “Linda is dead? Who’s Linda?”

  “One of the founders of the Faceting for Life movement. She and her husband set it up between them.”

  Bud’s tone was grim. “A suspicious death before we’ve even got there?”

  “Come on, Bud, nothing in that text screams ‘suspicious death’. Look, I’m a professor of criminal psychology and you’re a retired cop, so we’re both almost bound to think the worst of a situation like this…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? This is probably a perfectly natural death. Sad? Absolutely. But it’s nothing for us to be concerned about.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t suppose they’d turn this plane around if we asked, would they? No? Ah, well then, on we go.”

  I called, “Ready for a top up out here, please, Mike.”

  Arrival And Departure

  Our arrival in Phoenix was weird; apparently, yet another advantage of flying in a private jet is that you get to use an airport’s secret spaces and hidden routes to help you reach your limousine, so you’re through, out, and whisked off without having to mix with more than a dozen people – which was a real treat. We settled into our delightful suite at the swanky hotel Serendipity and her parents had arranged for us, and unpacked the surprising number of things we’d need for our one-night stay. Despite the fact we’d been sitting in the lap of luxury all day, we both decided we’d like to put our feet up for a bit; there’s nothing quite like being propped up on a hotel bed late in the afternoon, watching TV, seeing the sun go down, and knowing you haven’t a single responsib
ility to fulfill for over a week – though Bud had texted Jack to make sure Marty had settled in, and was being a good boy. He had, and was.

  Eventually we made our way down to dinner; Bud and I chattered happily as we surrendered ourselves to an admittedly over-indulgent meal of mouth-watering buttermilk fried mushrooms, luxurious duck and goat cheese enchiladas, and delicious smoked brisket tacos, which were much juicier than I’d expected – leading to a bit of a kerfuffle when I managed to dribble all over my bosom. The annoyance I felt about the greasy stain I’d made on my blouse had passed by the time we agreed to share a slice of moist, yielding cheesecake, and some not-too-sweet cherry bread pudding, served with glistening, rich chocolate ice cream. It was a more than hearty meal, absolutely in line with the Wild West inspired décor of the restaurant, and the “cowboy cuisine” theme of the menu. We both knew that a stroll before bed would give us a chance to let it all settle, besides, it was a delight to wander the downtown streets needing no more than a wrap over my bare arms. We passed enough people as we wandered to easily spot those – like us – for whom the temperature was wonderfully balmy, as well as locals who seemed to be bundled up well enough to overnight at the base camp on Everest.

  Finally back in our sumptuous room, we flopped into bed, with me having made sure to put the Tums on the bathroom counter. Just as I was dropping off, my phone started to buzz. I debated ignoring it, but gave in, put the lamp on and read the text, which was from Serendipity.

  Pushing back opening. Don’t panic! Norman will meet you as planned tomorrow. Linda’s death has affected us all in unexpected ways. Just wanted you to know. See you soon, Sx

  Bud was snoring beside me, and there seemed little point in waking him. I texted back that we’d be happy to fall in with whatever plans needed to be made, or changed, but turned off the lamp feeling a little less comfortable than I had. I couldn’t help but wonder what Serendipity had meant by Linda’s death having made an unexpected impact. I wasn’t sure of the closeness of the relationship between Serendipity and Linda – I’d sort of assumed that, as the leader of the entire Faceting for Life movement, Linda would be a somewhat distant figure. But, possibly, if she’d been the one to give the green light for the restaurant, she and Serendipity had been closer than I’d imagined. Or maybe not, given that Serendipity hadn’t initially foreseen the need to postpone her opening.