Parker had dressed up for the occasion. She wore a pair of dainty, open-toe shoes, black slacks that accentuated her slender legs, and a short-sleeved, partially unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that emphasized the curve of her breasts. Without prompting, she told Kerney that Alice still didn’t understand that Clifford was dead.
“I don’t know if she’s able to process it,” Parker said as she leaned over Kerney’s shoulder and poured his coffee. “She may never be. Her mental capacity is diminishing rapidly.”
The color rose on her cheeks when Kerney looked up and thanked her. He quickly realized Parker was lonely for more than simple companionship.
“Do you have any help to look after her?” he asked.
Parker nodded as she sat and served Kerney a scone. “Trained caregivers are here at night, and I do get an occasional weekend off. But when Alice becomes confused, I’m the only one who can deal with her, so I always try to be fairly close at hand.”
“Where is Alice now?” Kerney asked.
Parker smiled as she stirred cream into her coffee. “She’s in her room. I asked the caregiver to stay over for a while to be with her so we could talk without any interruption.”
“What can you tell me about the origin of Clifford Spalding’s wealth?”
“As I understand it, he owned an old motel in Albuquerque adjacent to a very large shopping mall that wanted the land for expansion. The developer had a pending lease agreement with a national chain to build an upscale motor lodge for vacationers and out-of-town weekend shoppers. Clifford negotiated a deal that gave him some working capital and a minority ownership in the franchise. That’s how it all started.”
“When did this happen?” Kerney asked.
“Long before my time,” Parker replied. “The same year George was killed in Vietnam, or soon thereafter.”
“How did Clifford parlay his profit into a hotel empire?” Kerney asked.
Parker leaned forward, revealing a bit more cleavage. “Another hotel company wanted to establish a presence in Albuquerque and offered an attractive buyout deal for the property after the new motel was up and running. Mr. Spalding retained his minority interest as part of the deal and used his cash-out from the profit he’d made to buy a ninety-nine-year lease on a run-down motel in downtown Santa Fe. He got some investors to put up money for the renovation, and turned the place into a thriving boutique hotel operation.”
“Did he live in Santa Fe?” Kerney asked.
“No, he and Alice had a house in Albuquerque.”
Parker stood and filled Kerney’s juice glass, this time touching him lightly on the shoulder as she poured.
“Why would Alice want Clifford tied to a divorce decree that made him responsible for the continued search for George?” Kerney asked, after Parker, cheeks slightly flushed, returned to her chair.
“Partially out of spite, and partially to use every possible way to hit Clifford in the checkbook,” she said.
Kerney sipped his juice. “Explain that to me.”
“She hates the fact that Clifford never believed George was still alive. It got to the point, just before the divorce, where Mr. Spalding was publicly demeaning her about it to their friends. It was her way of striking back at him.”
“Yet Spalding cooperated in Alice’s hunt for George,” Kerney said. “He hired a private investigator, and stayed in touch with the local police.”
“I always felt he did that more to placate Alice than to really look for George.”
“What about the search for Debbie Calderwood?” Kerney asked.
“George’s personal effects included love letters Debbie had written to him while he was in Vietnam. Those letters convinced Alice that Debbie knew something about George’s military service the Army wasn’t telling her.”
“Like what?”
“That George had some secret duty, a special operation or a hush-hush assignment.”
“Where are the letters?” Kerney asked, remembering Lou Ferry’s story of how Spalding had made him fake a report on Calderwood’s possible whereabouts.
“Alice and Clifford had a big fight just before he walked out on her,” Parker replied. “She came home to find him burning everything about George and Debbie that she’d accumulated over the years. He destroyed all of it.”
“Interesting,” Kerney said. “Did this happen while Clifford had the private investigator working on the case?”
Parker nodded. “Right about then, as I recall.”
“But you never met him, or knew his name,” Kerney said.
“That’s right,” Parker said. “Nor did Alice. Mr. Spalding was something of a control freak. When Alice challenged him about it, he said the man couldn’t possibly remain objective unless he was free to do his job without her interference.”
Kerney folded his napkin, placed it on the table, and stood. The morning haze had lifted and the calm ocean glimmered like a deep blue mirror, reflecting the sunlight. “I’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said.
“Will you be in town long?” Parker asked wistfully.
“Just through today,” Kerney replied.
Parker covered her disappointment with a cheerful smile. “Please come back if you have any more questions. I’ll be here all day.”
“Thank you.”
Parker walked close beside Kerney to the front door and waved good-bye as he left. On the trip down the hill, with the scent of Parker’s perfume still lingering, he decided to pay another visit to Captain Chase. There had to be some documentation about George Spalding on file with the department. He also wanted to probe into what kind of working relationship Clifford Spalding had forged with the good captain.
Ellie Lowrey got to the lab just as it opened and extracted a promise from the supervisor to have Spalding’s toxicology work done and the medication found in the pill box analyzed before the end of the day. Last night’s search of Spalding’s car had turned up nothing. But Bill Price was busy calling every pharmacist in Santa Barbara in an attempt to learn what drugstore in Santa Fe had requested a copy of the prescription.
While Price worked the phones, Ellie drove to Santa Barbara to meet Claudia Spalding, who had called her after arriving in Montecito early in the morning. On the phone, the woman had sounded sincerely grief-stricken. Ellie deliberately played into it, offering Claudia Spalding as much sympathy and understanding as she could muster.
On the freeway, Lowrey pondered possible approaches to take with Mrs. Spalding. Hardball wouldn’t work, not without proof that she had had the opportunity and means to arrange for her husband’s death. Ellie figured the best she could do was to open a few trapdoors for the woman and see if she fell into any of them.
Ellie arrived at the estate and announced herself on the intercom. When the ornate wrought iron gates swung open, she followed the cobblestone driveway up a hill that curved and dropped into a vale. Her mouth almost dropped open at the imposing three-story stone residence that came into view. At one end, a majestic watchtower rose above a long portico with Romanesque columns. It looked like a stage set for a nineteenth-century costume drama.
A labyrinth of boxwood hedges enclosed acres of lawn, ornamental plantings, and gardens. Towering stands of trees covered knolls and filled vales. Ellie half expected to see corseted women with parasols and men in breeches and top hats strolling leisurely through the gardens.
A woman whom Ellie took to be Claudia Spalding stood under the portico. Tallish, with long curly black hair, she hurried forward as Ellie got out of her cruiser.
“What happened to Clifford?” Claudia Spalding asked as she closed in on Lowrey.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Ellie said. “We don’t know yet exactly why he died.”