Guilt Assoc 090831

Guilty by Association

a Henry Wright Mystery

by

Albert Simon

Other books by Albert Simon The Henry Wright Mystery Series: For Sale in Palm Springs Springtime in Sonora Mystery on the Tramway Drama in the Mother Lode Coachella Valley Traffic Jam

Guilty by Association a Henry Wright Mystery by Albert Simon

ISBN 0-976200-31-7 All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2009 by Albert Simon This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. This e-Book is licensed to the user that purchased it for reading on any computer or PDA. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author. For information, contact: [email protected]

www.desertdreaming.com

For Laura who inspired this tale.

Guilty by Association: A Henry Wright Mystery

Chapter 1 The desert retained the heat of the day and though the sun had disappeared behind the San Jacinto peaks hours ago, it was still hot out here. The man in the truck’s throat felt dry and his lips were covered with desert dust as he licked them. The old pickup rattled and complained as it made its way along a barely visible track and climbed deeper into the desert. The man inside the cab fought with the wheel as it bumped and jerked along what must have been a road long ago. Desert dust filled the cab since the windows were rolled down and air conditioning obviously wasn’t thought of as something to put in a truck when this thing was built. The man driving took one hand off the steering wheel and searched for the bottle of water that he had put on the bench seat next to him when he set out. It had slid towards the passenger door and he reached it as the truck jerked the steering wheel out of his hand. He abandoned the idea of the water bottle and put both hands back on the large steering wheel. He wasn’t a weak man by any means, but he felt the muscles in his forearms tensing as he fought the truck’s tendency to follow the ruts. It seemed like this old thing had a mind of its own and didn’t really want to make this night trip deep into the desert, preferring to stay in its normal parking space outside its owner place of business. The old truck seemed to prefer the regular task it was given, advertising with garish signs on its wooden stake sides. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was really half that, the truck stopped next to a small shed in the middle

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of nowhere. The occupant got out, fished in his pockets for a single key amongst his change and unlocked the old padlock on the metal door. As he struggled in the faint light of the old truck’s headlights to put the key in, he thought why bother with a lock? Who would want to come way out here anyway? And what are they protecting, there’s just a bunch of electric motors and crap inside this old shed. As he twisted the lock open, he smiled. This place was actually perfect for his task. He’d have to hand it to the boss, he’s always thinking. Like assigning him this little errand instead of one of those other idiots that he worked with that couldn’t even put a sentence together. He didn’t think his boss knew about his previous experience, but he had still picked him. Surely, it showed a level of trust didn’t it? He’d probably get a little bonus for this, maybe even a promotion. The door creaked open and he looked inside, the equipment hummed quietly and the digital displays glowed with a faint green to show that everything was normal. He walked the few steps back to the truck and worked the rusted chains that held the tailgate on out of their places. The package in the back was awkward and tied with heavy nylon trucker’s rope. It had bounced towards the front of the bed and he had to put his knee on the tailgate to reach it and pull it out. He shoved one of the advertising stake sides out of the way and grabbed the bundle by one of the ends of the rope. Despite its weight and bulkiness he slung it over his shoulder and carried it towards the open door of the shed. As he stepped in the doorway, he heard a sound and looked over his shoulder. No one would be out here now would they? Yet there it was again, it first it seemed like a car thudding along the same set of tracks the he had just come upon, but he held his breath, listened more intently and thought he could identify the sound. He’d heard this years ago in a different time in a different place.

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He’d been out at night also at that time, but instead of being selected he’d volunteered for the task. It certainly had not been as hot there as here, but it was just as barren. He remembered standing still then, waiting for the approaching sound and the relief and help it would bring. He shook the memory from his head and decided that if it was the same sound, it would definitely not be a relief here. No, not at all, in fact it was trouble if it was what he thought. He decided not to linger and dropped the bundle inside the shed, closed the door and put the padlock back on. He covered the short distance to the truck in three strides, slammed the tailgate shut and started putting the chains on. Just then the sound reappeared and not a hundred feet over his head, a helicopter with its unmistaken whooshwhoosh of large blades, blew right over him on its way to somewhere beyond the next ridge. The man didn’t even really see the chopper, all of it’s navigation lights were off and it appeared as a darker spot against a dark night sky. What kind of idiot was flying a chopper without lights in the middle of the night in the desert? And where were they going, he was miles away from the nearest town or location? It had to be a stunt by the crazy pilots from the Marine base at Twentynine Palms. He remembered that worlds away the pilots were a little crazy and enjoyed showing off their night gear and how they could sneak up on a platoon on patrol in total darkness and practically make them wet their pants. Bastards, he thought. This isn’t a war zone; they’re just a bunch of macho showoffs. At least it had kept going on its own mission, it would not have been good for the man if the chopped had hovered and checked on him. As he opened the pickup door, he thought back again to his other mission. There were a lot of similarities here in the

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desert of California to the mountains of Afghanistan. Barren, inhospitable, dangerous, except there it was always cold at night while it was the exact opposite here. Shaking off the memory, he climbed back into the pickup, found his bottle of water and took a long drink before putting the truck in gear to start the long bumpy ride back to the home base. Thirty minutes later he was back on the pavement where the truck left gray dusty tracks as headed back. Another twenty minutes and he parked the truck in its usual spot, pulled the stake sides out of the bed and put them back. He lifted up the driver’s side floormat and dropped the trucks key onto the metal floorboard. He fished in his pocket for the padlock’s key and dropped it next to it before dropping the mat back into place. He dusted his clothes off the best he could, it looked like his sneakers were ruined, he probably should have worn the surplus desert boots he kept in the entry closet. He probably should have done a lot of things differently tonight, he took a risk but it seemed to have paid off. He walked over to his own car, started it up with a new appreciation for its air conditioning, power steering and the stereo he had just upgraded last year. He was back at his apartment in another ten minutes and looked at the digital clock that reminded him of the displays in the shed. It read three fifteen, he was going to be late for work in the morning but he knew the boss would understand.

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Chapter 2 The digital watch started beeping and he didn’t reach for it right away. It seemed to get more insistent the longer he ignored it, but he knew that was impossible. When he reached the wall at the end of the pool he stopped, put his feet on the bottom of the pool, flipped his goggles on top of his head, squinted in the bright sunlight, and pushed the button on the watch which seemed happier now that it was silent. He wiped the water off his face, blinked his eyes and saw his fiancée Gloria, wearing nothing but a big fluffy white towel around her shoulders sitting on a chaise lounge next to the bougainvillea and a holding a steaming mug of coffee. He climbed out of the pool as Gloria stood up and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Good morning honey.” She said as she dried some water droplets off his chest. “Hmmmmm,” he answered as he took his first sip of coffee. An hour before she had been asleep in their bed as he kissed her hip before rolling out of bed and making coffee in the kitchen. While it was brewing, he had grabbed his watch, set the stopwatch for its usual forty-five minutes and started swimming his morning laps. They exchanged places and he sat down on the chaise lounge sipping his morning coffee while watching Gloria swimming more relaxed slow laps than his had been. His eyes were now used to the bright sun that had been up less than half an hour and he pulled the swim goggles from the top of his head and put them on the small table next to the chaise lounge. Taking his eyes off Gloria, he looked around the garden oasis he had created.

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He’d moved to Palm Springs after retiring as Chief of Police from the small force in Eagle Lake, Wisconsin. Shortly before he retired, his wife Irma unexpectedly died while they were house hunting for a place they could live the rest of their lives. They were in Las Vegas when Irma suffered a stroke and collapsed in their hotel bathroom. After that, the thought of living in Las Vegas repulsed him and at the insistence of his old friend Wayne Johnson, he bought a house here on Mel Avenue in old Palm Springs. The home was older, what they called mid-century here, meaning that it was built in the nineteen fifties, when he was in grade school. The curb appeal wasn’t great, just a flat low roofed façade, with a two car garage facing the quiet street. Like most homes in Palm Springs, this house was meant to have its owners live in the backyard. The home was in the shape of a U, with a kitchen and living room in the bottom of the U. A hallway ran down either end of the house and each wing had two bedrooms. All of the rooms had French doors that opened to the yard and its large pool. He and now Gloria, lived in one of the wings where in addition to their bedroom, Henry had a modest office. It needed work when he first moved in, something he did with total focus. The home improvement project became his therapy to work through the loss of Irma. He’d started with the master bedroom and made that livable. Then, before tackling the rest of the house he reworked the backyard into the lush tropical garden that surrounded the pool. There was so much about gardening in this climate that he didn’t know then. The crew he hired to help him showed him which plants were best for the desert climate and though his Spanish was worse than their English, Henry received a great education in tropical gardening in the twelve months it took to transform the once dying, barren yard into the tropical oasis that now surrounded them.

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As therapy it bloomed as well, as he planted new plants and ran lines for his extensive drip irrigation system, he felt that he was getting over the loss of Irma. He did become a bit of a hermit while he was working on the house, only going out to get more potting soil or groceries to keep him going. The home’s other wing was occupied by his roommate, Charles Knightly III, a retired high school history teacher from San Francisco. Wayne Johnson and his wife, Elliot became concerned about him shutting himself out from society, and suggested he visit the local senior center to, as they said “just see what is going on in your neighborhood.” Henry met Charles in the game room where Charles was the only one that could tie him, or sometimes beat him, at a game of pool. Charles had been looking for a place that would take his dog, and Henry offered his house for a few months. That was four years ago. When they became engaged, Henry and Gloria came home from Jensen’s the local grocery store one afternoon to find Charles sitting at the breakfast counter scouring the local rental want ads trying to find a new place. Gloria wouldn’t hear of it and begged Charles to stay with her and Henry. After mildly protesting, Charles agreed and now the three of them made an uncommon family, but they all agreed that they were. Henry was aware that he was daydreaming when he saw Gloria, wearing what she was wearing when she was born, step out of the pool walking towards him holding her hand out for the folded towel that she set on the other lounge. Henry got up and returned the favor, wrapping the towel around her, drying some stray water drops. She let him wrap his arms around her and he felt her shiver even as the desert temperature started to climb in the early morning.

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“It’s Thursday” She finally said slipping out of his arms and drying off her legs. “Yep, we’re meeting at nine, and it sounds like he wants some help this week.” Henry answered. “I could tell from the tone of his voice when he called last night.” Gloria answered looking up at Henry with questions in her eyes. “Are we ready for another adventure?” “Adventure?” Henry responded with a laugh. “Shoot, Wayne probably just wants to sell us some tickets to one or the other police fund raiser.” He answered. “Fund raiser?” Gloria responded. “Somehow I don’t think so. I’ll bet he needs help with the Tramway Professor case, or perhaps the Desert Mummy.” “Here take this.” She said picking up a small white tablet from the table. “You know, I’m convinced I really don’t need this medication.” Henry said, placing the tablet in his mouth and taking a sip of coffee to swallow it. “We go through this every morning, I know you exercise, and you’re in great shape, but the doctor wants you to take this for your blood pressure.” Gloria stroked his arm. “Besides, now that I have you, I want to keep you around for a long time.” I know, I know.” Henry smiled down at her. It probably really didn’t hurt, in fact he weighed only a few pounds more than when he got out of the Marine Corps forty years ago, and he swore that with his daily swimming routine he was in as good a shape now as he was then. “Besides, your health insurance covers it, this little tablet costs you only pennies a day.” Gloria reminded him, that his health insurance was covered through the State of Wisconsin’s retirement program for public officials. “It’s not the cost, it just makes me feel, well, sort of, you know… old.” Henry said looking down in his coffee cup.

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“Henry, I don’t want to hear that any more, you’re only as old as you feel!” She said playfully pulling her towel off her shoulders and playfully whipping him with it. Henry jumped out of her way and sloshed a bit of coffee out of his cup. “Well if I have to take these little white pills to keep up with you, then I guess that’s what I will have to do.” He laughed as she posed for him with the towel around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get inside before Charles comes out and catches us playing out here like a couple of teenagers.” “Oh Charles has known for a long time that I don’t wear anything when I’m out here swimming my laps – why do you think he sleeps in?” Henry answered, tying the towel around his waist again. “You don’t think it bothers him do you?” Gloria asked, concern for offending Charles showing on her face. “Nah, Charles could care less, he just uses that as an excuse to sleep a little longer in the mornings.” Henry smiled. “Don’t worry about offending Charles, besides, I’m not sure that is even possible.” “Ok, I won’t. Come on, let’s head in, aren’t you curious what Wayne wants to talk to you about? He sure sounded concerned when he confirmed your breakfast meeting last night. Usually he never calls the night before. I’m sure that he’s setting us off on another adventure!” Gloria tugged at his towel urging him to go in. Wayne, in addition to being one of Henry’s oldest friends, was a captain of detectives in the local police department and had called on Henry in the past to help him solve difficult cases. These were the adventures that Gloria was referring to; she had started helping him with investigating some of the murders that Wayne was responsible for investigating. Once Henry got started helping Wayne, like with the odd case of the realtor found bludgeoned in the abandoned home. He started getting calls from other old law

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Guilty by Association: A Henry Wright Mystery

enforcement pals, something that he was sure Wayne initiated. That was actually how he met Gloria, while investigating another case that an old law enforcement buddy, Bill Rustow, requested his help with. They hit it off right away and when Henry was shot, it was Gloria that nursed him back to health. They had been virtually inseparable ever since and when they decided to get married she sold her home in Sonora and moved to Palm Springs. Here he was at sixty-three, hopelessly in love and about to get married for the second time in his life. Gloria was just a few years younger, though you’d never know by looking at her. She gave the women who sashayed down Palm Canyon Drive at the Thursday night Street fair a run for their money, even though she was old enough to be their mother – sometimes even their grandmother. He kept one arm around her while he with his towel around his waist and she with it loosely draped hers around her shoulders walked back to the open French doors and their bedroom. Surely he had a few minutes to spare before needing to shower and drive the few blocks to Sherman’s to meet Wayne for their weekly breakfast?

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Guilty by Association: A Henry Wright Mystery

Chapter 3

It was dark and chilly and the terrain was treacherous. He’d already slipped once, his boot lost footing on a rock that was more slippery than it looked. He hated these night missions, yet he kept volunteering for them. Well, not quite volunteering, he agreed to go when the Sarge asked him to. After all, at this point he was one of the senior guys in the platoon. Not in age, but in experience, and he was proud that the Sarge always asked him first. Tonight he was once again the point man. The others were strung out behind him on what barely passed as a trail. They were looking for combatants. A strange concept actually, he was a soldier; he should have been fighting other soldiers. But this was a different war and as a soldier he didn’t like hunting combatants. Honestly, this wasn’t even a war. Wars had armies fighting one another and battle lines and all that stuff he’d heard about in history class in high school. It must have been great to be a soldier during the last World War, where soldiers fought battles and killed enemy soldiers and saved the world for democracy. They had tried to convince he and his fellow recruits that they were saving the world for democracy here on this barren mountain ridge. He wasn’t sure. A week ago they had isolated some combatants in a cave deep in the mountains. They’d called for air support and waited until the choppers came over the ridge, lights out, mobile dark spots in a night sky. Suddenly the choppers roared to life

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as they fired their missiles at the cave. He had to look away, the flash of light of the rocket as its motor roared to life as it left the helicopter robbed him of his night vision. Half an hour after the choppers did their work, they went into the cave to see what was left. The combatants they eliminated that night turned out to be plentiful. There were at least twenty of them and enough grenade launchers and rifles to arm three platoons. As they looked at the bodies, they were shocked to discover that the oldest among them was about fifteen. His little brother would have been fifteen now if he hadn’t been killed in the car accident. Fifteen! He was shocked. Surely this didn’t happen during the great wars of the previous century. Why was this happening now? He adjusted the straps of the pack on his back which was getting heavier with each step. They were told that the moon would be out tonight, and it would help them on patrol. He didn’t think so. In the moonlight he and his buddies would stand out against the sky as they walked along these ridges. They were the perfect target for a combatant. It would be just like shooting at the little metal ducks in the carnival’s shooting gallery at home. He and his buddies, they’d all fall over and then some fifteen year old kid with an AK-47 would be given a teddy bear or whatever prize they handed out here in the mountains. A little farther and they would be on the back end of the loop that took them back to camp. It was hard to think of as home, he hadn’t known home for a few years now. He knew that eventually he had to go back. Maybe it was easier now that his mother was dead. He was glad it happened while he was here. He probably would not have volunteered for another tour of the forsaken place if she was dead then. He would have just gone back. As it was, he couldn’t leave for her funeral; he stayed here in the mountains. It was just as well anyway, she embarrassed him. It was her grief over her little brother that killed her. Grief, and a little help from the .32 that she swallowed, of

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course. He guessed her worrying about him being over here and getting shot at wasn’t enough to keep her alive. But then she really didn’t worry about him did she. All she cared about was his little brother. Hey, accidents happen. People die. He saw it here all the time. He swore that more of the guys here died or were injured from accidents than from enemy combatants. The camp was in sight, and without word the patrol disbanded and headed for their tents. He swung the pack off his shoulder and threw it into the tent he shared with two other guys before heading back out to relieve himself. He was supposed to go to the latrine, but he figured it was dark and who really cared as he aimed for a rock. When he crawled into his cot, he looked up at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep trying to make sense of the camouflage pattern on the tent. He was told it was computer generated and totally random and the latest in high-tech stealth. He woke up what seemed like moments later. He looked up and the camouflage had changed into popcorn. The ceiling fan spun lazily and off balance. He looked over at the night stand where the green glow of his alarm said it was just before eight. He’d gotten less five hours sleep but he felt fine. As he swung his legs off the bed he realized he wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore. He was having a hard time discerning his dream from reality. He had gone to Afghanistan; he had been part of killing children the same age as his long dead brother. He knew he had done all of that, the only thing hanging on the wall in this room was the small frame with his Marine Corps battle decorations. He wasn’t as sure about being in the desert in the middle of the night, the chopper roaring overhead, the bundle he’d dropped in the room with green digital displays. He walked over to the bathroom to take a shower and saw his dust covered sneakers by the closet. Perhaps he had gone out last night.

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Chapter 4 An hour after he went in to shower, Henry backed the little Toyota hybrid car silently out of the garage and headed down Mel Avenue. Sometimes he missed the big Mercury Marquis that he had for years. It was the civilian version of the police cruiser that he drove back in Eagle Lake. When he retired, he bought it new because he couldn’t be bothered with learning where the switches and buttons for the lights and wipers were. Gloria talked him into getting this car, and now that he was driving it he had to admit that while he missed the Marquis at times, he didn’t miss it much or all that often. He glided silently across Via Miraleste and continued on Mel down to the stop sign at Avenida Caballeros. He made a right and as he accelerated in the forty mile an hour zone, he finally heard the engine start. He turned on Tahquitz Canyon and caught the light at Encilia making a smooth left turn on battery power once again and swung into a parking spot along the wall that separated the lot from the sidewalk. Wayne’s plain unmarked police car was already in the lot behind him even though Henry was a few minutes early. The little car gave a happy beep as he hit the button on the fob and the doors locked. It had taken a while to get used to not having a real key, but he liked how the fob felt in his pocket – no metal. He walked into Sherman’s, waved at Manny behind the counter and as he walked over to the booth against the wall he knew that Wayne Johnson was not about to sell him tickets to a police fund raiser. Wayne was somberly stirring his coffee when Henry slid into the booth across from him. Wayne Johnson was a

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captain of detectives in the Palm Springs police department. The crime rate in Palm Springs was low with the occasional fight at one of the dance clubs downtown, sometimes an off-season burglary at a home only occupied during the season by snowbirds, but overall, Palm Springs Police spent most of their time with traffic issues as it seemed like everyone drove too fast along the mostly residential streets. Wayne had enough to do though; a resort area famous for being the playground of the beautiful people draws the underbelly of society as well. In the past year he’d arrested a jealous husband who’d followed his wife from Santa Monica to Palm Springs with her young lover. Both of them had been shot in their suite at the Riviera. It didn’t take too long to catch the murderer who was sitting calmly smoking a cigar by the poolside bar waiting for the cops to arrest him. The Horse Strangler had taken a little bit longer. That’s what the local papers called the case. A man in North Palm Springs who owned on what might be called a horse ranch had been found strangled to death in the barn. Wayne worked on it for a week until he found that a ranch hand was embezzling. The owner had confronted him in the barn when a fight ensued and the owner lost. It didn’t help that the ranch hand had disappeared and Wayne had to go to Montana to track him down and bring him back. But two murders in the past twelve months wasn’t enough to have a Homicide division in the department so Wayne and his detectives handles everything from car theft investigations, drug sales, prostitution, and murder. Wayne and his wife Elliot lived in a large, beautiful house overlooking a golf course in Indio. He would never have been able to buy, or keep up, such a beautiful place if it hadn’t been willed to Elliot by her dad. Dad was a developer and built the tract, the golf course and the shopping center

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in Indio where they now lived. He kept one of the nicest properties for himself and was prepared to retire there when he suffered the heart attack that killed him. Elliot’s mother had passed away of grief three months later and neither of them had been able to enjoy the large house that was now in Elliot’s name. They had moved in, and rented out their small house in the Deepwell area of Palm Springs. “So, I read about the Tramway Professor and I must say it is very mysterious.” Henry said turning over the empty coffee cup in front of him. Wayne eyed him over the top of his reading glasses and a small smile came to his face. “Yes, mathematics professor, takes the tram to the top, hikes a little bit, goes off the trail and is found dead a few days later.” “And he works for the Defense Department in a think tank. It sounds mysterious to me.” “Agreed, it is very mysterious if all you do is read the paper and watch the evening news.” “What do you mean?” “Henry, the man was a mathematics professor from Colorado, yes he was out here at a conference with a Defense Department think tank. Yes, he took the tram up to the top of the mountain with some friends and went for a hike. He felt ill, told his friends he would take a shortcut back to the tram and went off the trail. Apparently, the altitude, dehydration and a bad heart killed him.” “Nothing sinister then?” Henry asked, the disappointment showing in his voice. “Nope, natural causes according to Doc Smedley at the coroner’s office. “And his friends?” “Overcome with guilt. Raised the alarm as soon as they got back to the tram station and he wasn’t there. They helped Palm Springs Search and Rescue as much as they -could but his body wasn’t found until twenty-four hours after he disappeared.”

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“Did you check out the think tank?” “Do you mean, like would someone involved with the think tank want this guy dead?” Henry just nodded. Oh, I checked it out all right. This think tank is a bunch of old professors with no real world experience trying to figure out why the economy is in the shitter, and how it impacts our national defenses. They meet twice a year in places like Orlando, or Scottsdale, Arizona. They’d never get together in Chicago in January.” Wayne said with disgust. Henry knew that the city manager asked the police department to make some cuts in staffing. “Whatever grant or subsidy the Defense Department gave these guys, they could have given to me so that I can stay fully staffed.” Millie stopped by their table with a coffee pot to fill up Henry’s cup and top off Wayne’s. “The usual boys?” She said, not bothering to take her pad out. “I’ll have the usual.” Wayne said smiling up at Millie who had been at Sherman’s as long as Sherman’s had been here. “I’ll have the corned beef hash, eggs scrambled, wheat toast, and keep the coffee coming.” Henry said who like to vary his order every once in a while. “You got it.” Millie replied as she headed for the kitchen with their order. “So the Tramway Professor case isn’t a case at all and there is no suspicious activity with someone trying to influence the thinking of the think tank?” Henry wanted to be sure that Wayne had covered all of the angles, this case had sounded interesting to him when he first read about it in the Desert Sun. “Natural causes. Nothing sinister going on, just an unfortunate accident, case closed.” Wayne sipped his coffee. “But, I do need help with something else.” “I could tell from the tone of your voice when you called last night – there’s something going on.”

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“There is. We found a body out in the desert at a remote pumping station wrapped up in a tarp. Beaten beyond recognition, we’re trying to get a dental record identification now.” Wayne explained. “The Desert Mummy.” Henry said. “Yeah, I read that’s what the paper started calling the case.” “So you don’t know who he is?” “She.” “A woman?” “Yep, that was still recognizable.” “Was she assaulted?” “You mean sexually?” “Yes, Wayne, I mean sexually. I know that if she was beaten to death that she was assaulted. I meant was she raped and beaten?” “Sorry Henry, I know that is what you meant. It’s just that no case has affected me like this one in a long time. I saw the body and let me tell you that what was left of her face didn’t even look human.” “I understand. Was she raped?” “Medical examiner says no.” “OK, so this wasn’t about sexual battery.” “No, in fact the doc says that he ran the rape kit and she was a virgin.” “Age?” “Doc says she was between thirty and thirty-five.” Millie came back with their plates and set down Henry’s steaming corned beef hash and eggs and Wayne’s lox and bagel. “Anything else boys?” Millie asked knowing that the answer was going to be no, or something related to keeping the coffee flowing. “Coffee refills are on the way.” She added cutting off any possible answer.

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

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Chapter 7

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Chapter 8

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Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

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Chapter 11

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Chapter 12

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Chapter 13

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Chapter 14

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Chapter 15

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Chapter 16

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Chapter 17

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About the author: Albert Simon is the pen name for Bert Simonis who has been writing most of his life, creating and illustrating his first book in his native Dutch at the age of seven. Since then he has written technical papers describing the functions of disparate distributed databases and numerous fictional short stories. While a number of his essays have been published in the local newspaper, he finally found his voice in the Henry Wright Mystery series that he is now producing. He is a member of the California Writers Club and a frequent reader at Open Mic Night hosted by the Peninsula Chapter. Bert and his wife, Berlynn, have four daughters and live in the Sierra Nevada foothill town of Tuolumne when not vacationing in Palm Springs.

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