Desert Winter by Michael Craft Page A

up, and we’ll get that clock loaded.” They headed out through the glass doors toward the pool.
    A new worry: With Stewart gone, would I still get the clock?
    Larry had begun his routine questioning, which first covered Pea’s name, established his age as forty-five, and confirmed that he resided at the estate. “And how long have you lived here, Mr. Fertig?”
    â€œYears. Forever.” He focused his thoughts, then elaborated, “It’s been about twenty years, since Stewart moved from his place in Palm Springs.”
    â€œAnd what was your relationship to the victim?”
    â€œHousehold help. Stewart and I would joke about it, calling me his majordomo. But there really isn’t a staff, at least no other live-ins. We have part-time help for cleaning, gardening, pool maintenance. The list goes on and on.”
    â€œWhat about the nurse?” Larry checked his notes. “Bonnie Bahr, right?”
    â€œThat’s her name. She’s full-time, but she doesn’t live here.”
    â€œWhere is she right now?”
    â€œMonday is her day off. No idea what she does with her own time.”
    Larry added a line to his notes. He paused before asking, “Aside from your household duties, did you also have a personal relationship with Mr. Chaffee?”
    Pea choked up. “We were … friends, sure. But nothing more.” Then, as if the question had only now occurred to him, Pea asked, “What happened, Detective?” He gestured toward the kitchen.
    â€œThere’s no quick answer, I’m afraid. At first glance, this appears to be a dreadful accident. I’m really very sorry.”
    While Larry and Pea exchanged a few words lamenting the tragedy, I wondered why Larry had not shared with Pea his suspicions of foul play. Was Pea already on the suspect list?
    Larry returned to his notes. “I need to begin constructing a chronology, a timetable, of everything that happened here at the house this morning. I hope you can help me.”
    â€œI wish I could, but I wasn’t here.”
    â€œWhere were you?”
    â€œI left the house early, around seven-thirty, for my daily workout, over at Decathlon Gym.”
    Larry made note of the gym. “Do you routinely sign in there?”
    â€œYeah, but why? You don’t think I had something to do with this, do you?”
    â€œNot at all. I simply need to establish who was and wasn’t here this morning, and when. So how long were you at the gym?”
    â€œAbout an hour and a half, maybe longer. I had errands to run afterward, but since it’s Bonnie’s day off, I thought I should stop back here and check in on Stewart, which I did. I returned to the house at nine-thirty; I recall checking the time because I wanted to plan the rest of the morning. I found Stewart sleeping peacefully in his wheelchair, positioned near a sunny window in the living room.”
    â€œHere?” asked Larry, pointing toward the doors to the pool terrace.
    â€œNo,” Pea explained, “the living room is near the center of the house, just off the main hall. Stewart was resting and seemed comfortable, so I didn’t wake him. I left within fifteen minutes.”
    â€œWhere did you go?”
    Pea exhaled noisily, flapping his lips. “Gosh, all over. Shopping, mostly. The stores open at ten, and I hit quite a few. Clothes—it was time for some new duds.”
    â€œDo you have receipts?”
    â€œSure. That’s a good idea; we can figure out when I was at each store. By the time I was finished, it was after twelve, so I had lunch at a nice little place on El Paseo. Then I came home. When I saw the gate open, I wondered if something was wrong. When I saw all the police cars, I sorta panicked. That’s when I ran in from the garage.” His eyes got glassy as he recalled what he’d seen in the kitchen.
    â€œMr. Fertig,” said Larry, lifting one of the plastic bags from the