to furnish horses whenever any of their residents want to ride. Mr. Donohue owns one of those condos at Sunset Canyon Lakes, but as I have stated, riding was never his sport. He preferred golf, and there’s a championship course over there.”
“Ever hear anything negative about him?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
His answer had come too quickly, but this wasn’t the time to push. The longer Olmstead felt comfortable, the smoother the interview would go. “Tell me what you can remember about last Thursday, the day Donohue was killed.”
A frown. “I thought he was killed Friday.”
“His body was found Friday morning, but I haven’t yet learned the exact time of death. It might have occurred as early as Thursday night. We’ll find out for certain when Ted’s attorney gets a copy of the autopsy. The newspaper account hinted that Ted’s altercation with Donohue on Thursday had something to do with his getting picked up, if not actually arrested, so I need to know everything that happened on Thursday, what you saw, what you heard. More importantly, tell me what you know about anyone around here who might have been carrying a grudge against Donohue. Surely Ted wasn’t the only person who’d had a problem with him.”
Olmstead glanced at the family photograph again, but this time his face gave away nothing. When he spoke, his tone was cautious. “As far as I can remember, last Thursday was like any other day except that I spent much of the morning calling around to find a substitute cook. After breakfast was squared away—Theodore, my daughter Leilani, and I wound up cooking it ourselves, much to the dissatisfaction of our guests—Theodore went outside and helped the wranglers saddle up the horses. When he came back in, he said we needed to get the vet out, that one of the horses had a nasty gash on its flank. Coyote, probably, we’re plagued with them. Until the vet arrived, Theodore busied himself talking to guests. After the horse was taken care of he drove the van over to the airport to pick up a few more guests, settled them into their rooms, then…”
“Those guests. What were their names?”
Olmstead flipped a few pages over on his desk calendar, then read, “Bill and Evelyn Nash, Minnesota. Sol and Thelma Bernstein, Ohio.”
“Are they regulars here?”
“It’s their first visit, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t alarm them. Returns make up more than 60 percent of Sunset Trails’ business, and we hope they come back.”
This explained why he’d been so accommodating with the Ardens. “To your knowledge, did any of your guests run into Ike Donohue on Thursday?”
“Miss Jones, you must understand that our guests are free to come and go as they please. Some of them even rent cars as soon as they arrive so they can drive down to the Grand Canyon, over to Las Vegas…”
I broke into his travelogue. “And a lovely time they have, I’m sure, but to get back on track, tell me what you know about Ted’s altercation with Donohue.”
Another frown, either because he didn’t like being interrupted or because he didn’t like the subject matter. “The newspaper blew that all out of proportion, and I can guarantee you that Theodore didn’t start the argument. It’s my understanding that Mr. Donohue could be a difficult man to deal with on a personal level. Arrogant. Abrasive. Regardless, he was quite successful as spokesman for the uranium mine. Most resort owners, myself included, don’t like the fact that the open pit operation will be so close to the Grand Canyon, but he was able to sweep our objections under the rug by stressing that the mine would furnish much-needed uranium to the state’s nuclear plants. With gas and oil prices as high as they are around here, he convinced just about everyone that nuclear power was America’s only alternative. What do you think about nuclear power, Miss Jones?”
He was trying to deflect my attention away from that gas station altercation
“Ever hear anything negative about him?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
His answer had come too quickly, but this wasn’t the time to push. The longer Olmstead felt comfortable, the smoother the interview would go. “Tell me what you can remember about last Thursday, the day Donohue was killed.”
A frown. “I thought he was killed Friday.”
“His body was found Friday morning, but I haven’t yet learned the exact time of death. It might have occurred as early as Thursday night. We’ll find out for certain when Ted’s attorney gets a copy of the autopsy. The newspaper account hinted that Ted’s altercation with Donohue on Thursday had something to do with his getting picked up, if not actually arrested, so I need to know everything that happened on Thursday, what you saw, what you heard. More importantly, tell me what you know about anyone around here who might have been carrying a grudge against Donohue. Surely Ted wasn’t the only person who’d had a problem with him.”
Olmstead glanced at the family photograph again, but this time his face gave away nothing. When he spoke, his tone was cautious. “As far as I can remember, last Thursday was like any other day except that I spent much of the morning calling around to find a substitute cook. After breakfast was squared away—Theodore, my daughter Leilani, and I wound up cooking it ourselves, much to the dissatisfaction of our guests—Theodore went outside and helped the wranglers saddle up the horses. When he came back in, he said we needed to get the vet out, that one of the horses had a nasty gash on its flank. Coyote, probably, we’re plagued with them. Until the vet arrived, Theodore busied himself talking to guests. After the horse was taken care of he drove the van over to the airport to pick up a few more guests, settled them into their rooms, then…”
“Those guests. What were their names?”
Olmstead flipped a few pages over on his desk calendar, then read, “Bill and Evelyn Nash, Minnesota. Sol and Thelma Bernstein, Ohio.”
“Are they regulars here?”
“It’s their first visit, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t alarm them. Returns make up more than 60 percent of Sunset Trails’ business, and we hope they come back.”
This explained why he’d been so accommodating with the Ardens. “To your knowledge, did any of your guests run into Ike Donohue on Thursday?”
“Miss Jones, you must understand that our guests are free to come and go as they please. Some of them even rent cars as soon as they arrive so they can drive down to the Grand Canyon, over to Las Vegas…”
I broke into his travelogue. “And a lovely time they have, I’m sure, but to get back on track, tell me what you know about Ted’s altercation with Donohue.”
Another frown, either because he didn’t like being interrupted or because he didn’t like the subject matter. “The newspaper blew that all out of proportion, and I can guarantee you that Theodore didn’t start the argument. It’s my understanding that Mr. Donohue could be a difficult man to deal with on a personal level. Arrogant. Abrasive. Regardless, he was quite successful as spokesman for the uranium mine. Most resort owners, myself included, don’t like the fact that the open pit operation will be so close to the Grand Canyon, but he was able to sweep our objections under the rug by stressing that the mine would furnish much-needed uranium to the state’s nuclear plants. With gas and oil prices as high as they are around here, he convinced just about everyone that nuclear power was America’s only alternative. What do you think about nuclear power, Miss Jones?”
He was trying to deflect my attention away from that gas station altercation
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