“Sir,” Estelle said, “our records show that you called 911 at 12:58 p.m. yesterday to report that your father-in-law had suffered an attack of some kind.”
Phil nodded. “The minute I saw him all slumped there, I knew he was gone.”
“You called Maggie shortly thereafter?”
“Sure,” Phil said. “I told you yesterday. The instant I hung up from 911, I called Maggie and told her that she needed to come over.”
“Where was she at that time?”
“I…I have no idea, really. Her cell, you know. But…” he held up a hand while he gathered his thoughts. “I think she was with a couple from Lordsburg. She had said earlier that she was going to be tied up with them.” He hunched his shoulders. “If not with them, then with any one of a dozen other projects. That’s why I went over to George’s in the first place. She wasn’t going to be able to make it. He hadn’t been feeling real perky lately, and like I’d told you, we’ve been keeping close tabs. For one thing, he ignores his meds about half the time. He won’t call Dr. Perrone, and I tell ya…” He smiled in resignation. “He got mad as hell if we meddled.” Phil cleared his throat and glowered a pretty good imitation of George Payton. “’I don’t need a goddamn nursemaid.’” At that moment, I liked Phil Borman even more.
Phil held out both hands toward Estelle. “Look, I knew he had ordered lunch from the Don Juan, and he said that they were going to deliver for him. I figured to help him clean up afterward. That’s all. Maggie suggested that, too, but I had already planned to do it.” He looked quizzically at the undersheriff. “That’s what I told you yesterday.” He frowned as Estelle opened her cell phone. Its vibration had alerted her, and she didn’t apologize for the intrusion.
“Reyes-Guzman.” She listened for about the count of five, and then said, “Thanks, Jackie. That’s all I need.” She folded the phone back into her jacket pocket.
“Had Mr. Payton mentioned to you that Bill Gastner was planning to have lunch with him yesterday?” she asked.
“Yep. He told me about that a day or two ago. And then yesterday Bill got busy and had to cancel.”
I felt as if I’d become invisible, but resisted the temptation to dive into the conversation.
“When did Mr. Payton tell you that?”
Phil hesitated. “Well, he didn’t. He called Maggie and told her. Look, she knew that she was about to get busy, so she offered me. You know, to get his lunch, but George said that it was all taken care of. I mean, I would have done it gladly. So she didn’t have to worry about it.”
“And when was that call?”
“Good God, I don’t remember. All I know is that at one point in a zoo of a morning, Maggie was on the phone with her dad. She stuck her head into my office and reminded me to go over and pick up the casserole dish after lunch.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember. “Late morning, I suppose.”
How did it become so important to pick up a food delivery dish, I thought, thinking of the usual, casual routine.
“Did George ask you to pick up some wine for him?” Estelle asked.
“No,” Phil replied, showing no surprise at the question. “But it wouldn’t have surprised me if he had. He goes through that stuff like water. Maybe he asked Maggie, but she didn’t say anything to me about that.” He leaned forward and rested both hands on his desk, fingers intertwined. “I don’t get this.”
“We realize that this is a painful process for you, but bear with me.” She studied her small notebook. “Did your father-n-law ever talk to you about any allergies he might have had? Serious ones, like to medications, that sort of thing?”
“Allergies?” He laughed weakly. “That would be the last thing George needed. No, he never mentioned that. How’s that related to all this? You think that he had an allergic attack or something?”
“He may have,” Estelle said. “It will be a number of days before we have the toxicology reports back, but it’s an avenue we’re exploring.”
“Wow,” Phil said in wonder. “Now that’s a curveball. Allergic to what, I wonder? All I know about is cats. He’s always grousing about the neighborhood cats in his yard, but I don’t think that had anything to do with allergies. They use his yard as a kitty litter box, and he said nothing stinks worse than a cat.” He pointed his fingers like a handgun. “He always said the damn things made his trigger finger itch.”
“It’s just an avenue to explore,” Estelle said. “Are you expecting Maggie back here in the office this evening?”
“No. She was going over to her dad’s place for a few minutes, and then over to the house. I was going to take her out to dinner.” He grimaced. “God, about time, too. Christ.” He rubbed his face in exasperation. “Try to relax a little. We’ve got an appointment with Salazar tomorrow for the services. George didn’t want anything done, but Maggie and I both decided that we had to do something. Some kind of simple memorial.”
Just a little something to make George’s ghost furious, I thought. I changed the subject. “Had George ever talked to you about his properties? It was my impression that he had land all over the county.” Estelle didn’t fire one of her dark looks my way, so I knew the questions wasn’t out of order.
The question caught Phil by surprise, and for a second or two he looked at me as if I were a stranger. “His property,” Phil muttered as he pulled his thoughts together. “What a mess that is going to be. But yes, he does. Little stuff, I think. A few acres here, a few there. But we haven’t pursued it with the county. You know, he even owns that little nuisance lot behind the county building itself.” He waved a hand in dismissal. I had never thought of property worth seventy or eighty grand as a nuisance, but then again, I wasn’t in real estate.
“But no,” Phil continued, “we never talked about that. I mean George and I didn’t. Now, Maggie mentioned his land holdings now and then,” and he smiled. “With some frustration, too, I might add. You might talk to her about that if you need more information.”
“Probably not,” I said easily. We still knew nothing about a possible will. Among her other challenges in cleaning up after her father, Maggie Payton Borman would have something to look for over at George’s house.
Chapter Thirty-three
Maggie’s Cadillac was parked at the curb of 1228 Ridgemont, and we pulled in behind the fancy little hotrod. The front door stood open, the storm door propped wide by a ceramic flower pot. If Maggie heard our approach, she didn’t acknowledge it.
I stepped up on the little concrete entry step and rapped on the door jamb.
“In the living room,” Maggie greeted, but her voice sounded flat, even dejected, and I felt a pang of sympathy. I stood to one side to let Estelle pass. To my surprise, George’s daughter was sitting on the center cushion of the old sofa in the tiny living room, her hands clasped together between her knees, looking like a little kid who had run out of toys or joys. She didn’t rise to greet us. The Maggie Payton Borman who bubbled effusively to customers all day long, who appeared to revel in the upside of life, whose glass was always half full rather than half empty-that Maggie had ticked to a stop.
The undersheriff took two steps through the door and halted, a habit so predictable that I was prepared for it and didn’t run her down from behind. She surveyed the room for a few seconds, inventorying. The only changes I could see, beyond a general tidying and dusting, was that the sad bouquet of plastic flowers had been removed from the piano top, and the wool blanket that had adorned the sofa was gone.
Maggie rose wearily. She had reason to be exhausted, beyond the demands of housecleaning, which eventually would be done by someone else anyway.
“Bill and Estelle,” she said, and held out both hands toward me. “I confess I’m not feeling like much of a hostess.”