Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

  “Please, call me Ken,” the old man let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to take so long on the eulogy. I wanted it to be just right. You’re a famous writer, after all.”

  Parker couldn’t help but to smile. She found Ken’s natural charm disarming. “You wrote a fine speech.”

  “Thank you.” The old man smiled back as if to ask: ‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’ He seemed to marvel at Parker’s quiet restraint. “I imagine, you’re wondering what this is all about.”

  “I’ve a theory.”

  Ken nodded. “Please. Test it.”

  Parker raised her eye brows in surprise. Ken’s mind appeared sharp and playful as ever. “I think you wanted to fill every seat in that parlor today.”

  Ken’s smile turned into an impish grin. “Go on.”

  “You wanted as much of the town as possible to see Karen the way you did. To shatter any misconception they might have had about her. I can’t think of a more dramatic draw for such an audience than to ask your wife’s anthesis to read her eulogy.”

  “Ha!” Ken allowed himself a weak chuckle followed by a series of coughs. “I do enjoy a good show. But you are hardly Karen’s opposite. You are both stubborn. Driven. Opinionated. More alike than either of you realized.”

  “To be fair, you don’t really know me.”

  “I know enough. Karen and I followed your news career for years. It’s not often one of her students wins a Pulitzer.”

  Parker leaned forward. “You’re telling me, all this time, Karen Heller was a fan?”

  “Heavens no,” Ken chuckled and coughed again. “She never forgave you for coming up with Old Yeller Heller. Said you wouldn’t know common sense if it came up and sat on your face. Then again, Karen was always hardest on those she thought weren’t living up to their potential.”

  “So, she saw me as a disappointment.”

  “A work in progress,” Ken corrected. It was his turn to lean forward. “Something you need to understand about Karen, is that she found it very hard to let go of anything or anyone she thought was worth saving.”

  Parker blinked, taking a mental note of Ken’s words. “Do you think that is why she was killed?” she asked bluntly. “Because she couldn’t let go of something?”

  Ken’s face turned an ashen white. The light in his eyes dimmed as his smile dissolved away. “I wish I knew,” he looked down to the floor in an effort to compose himself. After a short pause, he raised his head to meet Parker’s gaze again. “I can’t make any sense of what happened. I know Karen wasn’t popular. She ruffled feathers. Some even hated her. But to –” Ken choked on his words. “for someone to do – what they did?”

  Parker reached across to touch Ken’s wrinkled hand. “Anything you can remember, no matter how trivial, might be helpful in finding your wife’s killer.”

  Ken took a deep breath and clasped his free hand on top of Parker’s. “I’m glad,” he whispered. “to hear you say that. It tells me you’ve already begun.”

  “Begun what?”

  “Looking for Karen’s killer.”

  Parker slowly pulled back. “I have every intention of helping,” she stated. “But the Sheriff is running the investigation and--”

  Ken frowned. “Have you met the Sheriff?”

  “Of course.”

  “That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag.”

  Ouch. Parker tried to offer a reassuring smile. “Mr. Heller – Ken. Sheriff Bill is,” not the sharpest tool in the shed? Parker found it difficult not to agree with Ken’s assessment. “--actively investigating the matter.” She grimaced at her own phrasing.

  “He’s an idiot,” Ken stated as a matter of fact. He let the words sink in before continuing. “I am very sick, Ms. Monroe. I don’t know how much time I have left on this world. I don’t want to leave it without knowing my wife’s killer has been brought to justice.”

  Parker suddenly became very aware of her own breathing as a silence fell upon the room. She stared into Ken’s trembling eyes.

  “This is why I’ve asked you here.” The widower spelled it out. “I want to hire you.”

  “Hire me?” Parker pressed her lips tight. Her heart pounded. She was surprised, flattered, confused and conflicted all at once. If word got out that she’d been hired to investigate Karen Heller’s death due to the perceived inadequacy of local law enforcement, Bill’s pride would serve as an even greater albatross. Add to that Parker’s lack of an investigator’s license and the fact that she was still technically considered a suspect in the very murder she’d be investigating and the whole thing made for a legal minefield sure to explode in her face. Still, there was now an opportunity to gain access to information Ken might have been reluctant to have shared with Bill.

  “Well?” asked Ken. “You’re quiet.”

  “I can’t take your money,” said Parker. “And I can’t make any promises.”

  Ken swallowed. “But you’ll try, won’t you?”

  Parker nodded. “I’ll try. But only if you’re willing to work with me and answer any and all of my questions.”

  Ken let out a sigh of relief. “I can work with that.”

  Parker lifted up the ‘Hang in there!’ cat greeting card. “You can start with explaining this.”

  Ken’s face lit up once again. “Heh,” he chuckled. “You don’t like kittens?”

  “I don’t—not like kittens.”

  Ken’s impish smile returned. “I thought it might help break the tension today.” He chuckled and coughed as if a child caught having pulled a prank. “And to be honest—I thought it was funny.”

  63.

  “How did it go?”

  Valerie wasted no time in accosting her daughter when she joined the main parlor room. Most of the crowd had dwindled, and only a few stragglers remained.

  “Ken Heller has managed to retain his sense of humor.” Parker handed her mother the cat greeting card. “He will also be joining us for dinner next Tuesday to answer more of my questions.”

  Valerie arched a brow. “Oh? The two of you hit it off, did you?”

  Parker shrugged. “I can’t help that I’m such a people person.”

  “Uh huh. And what are you making for this dinner?”

  Parker gently bit the tip of her index finger. “Yeah, see, I was hoping you could handle that. Maddy could maybe play a few songs on the piano, and—” Parker spun around to examine the room. She noticed Ally endlessly tugging at the hem of Valerie’s dress. Drew was standing before Heller’s closed casket, slowly approaching it like Indiana Jones might an ancient booby-trapped tomb. But Parker’s brooding eldest was nowhere to be found. “Where is Maddy?”

  Valerie scrunched her face up. “I thought,” she turned around. “I swear, she was standing right next to me a minute ago.”

  Just then, the pastor approached Parker and her mother with an apologetic smile. “We’re going to be closing up soon. You’re more than welcome to continue your discussion in the courtyard out front.”

  “My daughter is missing,” rebutted Parker. Her eyes narrowed. She thought she saw a flash of Maddy’s brown hair pass by the parlor’s front entryway. “Hold on.”

  Parker marched to the entrance. There, she found Maddy quietly trailing a tall, sturdy-framed man in a deep navy suit reaching for the handle of the funeral home’s front door. Maddy reached out her hand. “Mr. Ward?” she asked in a cracked voice.

  Joe the gym teacher slowly turned to address Parker’s daughter.

  “Maddy?” he said. His eyes displayed a mix of surprise and confusion. “Did you need something?”

  Parker edged herself to the side of the entry way so as not to be seen. She wanted to see where this was going.

  Maddy kicked her foot to in the floor. “You were a soldier, right?”

  “Affirmative,” answered Joe.

  Maddy swallowed. “Have you been to war?”

  “Iraq and Afghanistan.” Joe nodded without hesitation.


  “So—you’ve seen a lot of--death?”

  Joe paused before answering. “More than my share.”

  Parker waved her mother and kids off as they approached. Where are you going with this, Maddy?

  Maddy looked up from the floor. “You ever kill anyone?”

  It was Joe’s turn to swallow. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Shit. Parker’s eyes popped. She stormed into the entryway with her hands held out. “Woah, woah, too far, Maddy, this is not okay!”

  Maddy turned to her mother with glistening eyes. “Mom!”

  “We don’t ask such personal questions!”

  “Are you kidding?” Maddy cried. “You do it all the time!”

  “It’s my job!” Parker caught herself. “Was my job!” She turned to Joe. “Mr. Ward, I am so sorry. That was entirely inappropriate. Maddy, say you’re sorry to your teacher!”

  Joe held up his hand. “It’s okay.” He nodded. “It’s okay. Maddy’s been through a lot.”

  “I just,” Maddy stammered. “I just want to understand! Why--?” She choked.

  Parker put her arm around her daughter, just as Valerie had done for her earlier that evening.

  Joe took a deep breath. He looked directly at Maddy. “You want to know how one human being could bring himself to take the life of another.”

  “Yes!” Maddy pleaded.

  Joe looked to Parker. “I can offer my—” Joe took a moment to choose his word. “perspective. That is, if I can trust you’re mature enough to handle it and keep it between us. And if it’s okay with your mother.”

  Maddy turned to Parker with pleading eyes.

  Parker gave a slow nod of approval.

  Joe leaned forward toward Maddy. “Now, I could stand here and give you all the recruitment spiel about how it’s a soldier’s job to protect our great nation. How there is no greater calling than to serve and fight for those who can’t fight for themselves. But that isn’t what you want to hear. It is what they tell you. At the beginning. So, when it comes time to meet the enemy it’s easier to pull that trigger. You feel as though you’re fulfilling a greater purpose.” Joe became quiet, as if his mind seemed to replay the memory of his own first time.

  “Did it—help?”

  Joe’s eyes trained on Maddy again. “Not really. The sad truth is, you don’t need it. When you’re in combat for the first time, and you’re being shot at, and half your platoon is dead because a Humvee drove over some improvised explosive, well, your adrenaline is pumping like crazy, you’re trapped, you can’t run and all you want to do is survive. So, you fall back on your training, your mission and your buddy next to you. In that moment, you’re tapping into something deep within you. Something —primal. Something we all have.”

  Maddy’s eyes widened in horror.

  “The dirty secret is, you push anyone to their breaking point, you threaten their life or their loved ones, you threaten all they hold dear, well, I don’t care who you are—hell hath no fury like it. People will fight to the death to protect what’s most important to them. Every time. If you don’t believe me, just ask your mother.” Joe turned to look at Parker.

  Parker’s heart rate spiked.

  “Ask your mother,” Joe reiterated. “Just how far she would go to protect you.” Joe looked back at Maddy.

  Maddy slowly pivoted to catch her mother’s gaze, waiting for the answer to the question that lingered in the air.

  Parker solemnly nodded, finally understanding the point Joe was trying to make. “He’s right. There is nothing I wouldn’t do.” Or any mother, for that matter.

  Satisfied, Joe’s eyes softened. He offered a comforting smile to Maddy. “Now, it sucks that an eleven-year old is thinking so much about death and killing. And I get it, you’re curious. You’re trying to make sense of it. But we’ve a saying in the Army. Don’t dwell on how a soldier died -- remember how he lived.”

  Maddy frowned. “Mrs. Heller was no soldier.”

  “Oh, that woman was as tough as any soldier I’ve ever known. But you’re missing the point. We’re all born one day, we’ll all die another day. It’s all those days in between that count. I went to war to protect those days. Your days. So, you could grow up and do all the great things you’re going to do in life without having to worry about stuff like this.”

  Maddy cleared her throat. “How do you know I’m going to do great things?”

  “I don’t,” Joe patted Maddy on the arm. “So, don’t let me down.” Joe straightened his posture and turned for the door. “You ladies try to enjoy the rest of your weekend. And Parker?”

  Parker folded her arms in an attempt not to be impressed. “Yes?”

  “Good speech, tonight.”

  Without another word, Joe opened the door to the funeral home. To his great surprise, the door swung open to reveal Sheriff Bill, who, the for the first time, carried an expression on his face that meant “all business.”

  64.

  Joe and Bill locked eyes with one another in the doorway.

  Neither seemed to offer so much as an inch to the other as they sized each other up. Parker and her daughter watched the awkward standoff in stunned silence.

  “Sheriff,” Joe greeted coolly.

  “Mr. Ward,” Bill responded in kind.

  “The funeral is over. It’s a little late to be paying your respects.”

  Bill nodded past Joe to acknowledge Parker. “I’m here on business.”

  Parker’s eyes narrowed as she did some sizing up of her own. Bill had a clear height advantage, but she couldn’t imagine him lasting thirty seconds against Joe’s solid frame and years of combat experience if the two ever mixed it up. What is with the dick parade?

  Joe finally stepped aside and extended his hand to offer a clear path inside. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Bill stepped into the entrance and walked toward Parker. He paused, when he noticed Joe still waited at the doorway, watching him in earnest. “Business, that’s none of yours,” he explained to Joe.

  Parker tried to defuse the tension with a kind smile to Joe. Does he think he’s protecting me? “Joe, thank you, for speaking with Maddy. We’ll see you at school on Monday.”

  Joe nodded gratefully. “I’m happy to help.” He gave Bill once last glance before exiting.

  Parker turned to her daughter. “Can you go find grandma and tell her to wait in the parlor a few minutes? I need to speak with the Sheriff.”

  “Sure.” Maddy frowned, disappointed she wouldn’t be privy to whatever the Sheriff had to say.

  As soon as Maddy returned to the parlor, the Sheriff led Parker to the far opposite corner.

  “What the fuck was all that?” Parker blasted Bill with a harsh whisper.

  “What was what?” asked Bill innocently.

  “You were a total dick to Joe!”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t trust that guy.”

  “Really? I couldn’t tell with the whole Toretto / Hobbs reenactment.”

  Bill frowned, anxious to move on. “Is your phone on?”

  “No. I shut it off. It’s called funeral etiquette.”

  “Turn it back on.”

  Parker reached into her purse to find her phone. She turned it on, waiting for the boot up sequence to complete. Finally, the home screen blinked on, followed by several new text messages chiming in one after the other. The last few were all from Bill, with variations of: “Call me!” But the first text message was not from Bill. It was from Evil Incarnate—Parker’s most recent label for Karen Heller. The message jumped out to Parker:

  Nice speech tonight. Almost believed it.

  All color flushed from Parker’s face as she looked at the timestamp. She had received Heller’s phone text thirty minutes ago.

  “You got a text, didn’t you?” poked Bill. “From her phone.”

  Parker nodded.

  “What does it say?”

  Parker showed Bill the screen. “How did you know?”

  “I flagg
ed Heller’s phone in case it was ever turned on again. The carrier notified me about thirty minutes ago that a text was sent to your number. They triangulated the signal through cell towers to this area. So here I am.”

  Parker’s stomach sank. “So, whoever stole Heller’s phone was sitting in the audience tonight.” She searched her memory, trying to remember all the faces she’d seen from the podium. All the usual suspects were there, minus Bill, Mendez and Bernstein. “And you think it was Joe?”

  “I can’t be certain. The phone was turned off after the text was sent. I didn’t want Joe to know that’s why I was here. Heller’s phone is a detail we’ve deliberately kept from the public.”

  None of this adds up. “I don’t think it was Joe.”

  “And why not?”

  “Joe wears his emotions on his sleeve. The text doesn’t fit the moment we just shared.”

  “The moment you just shared?” Bill scoffed.

  Parker rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Come on, Parker.”

  Parker held up her phone. “Whoever sent this text is toying with us—with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bill shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t get all gushy over Joe and count him out just yet.”

  “I don’t get gushy—ever.”

  “Joe is no American hero, that’s for damn sure.”

  Parker looked up at Bill out of the corner of her eye. “Why would you say that?”

  “I pulled his file.” Bill wrapped his fingers around his belt buckle to hoist it up. “The guy was court marshalled for attacking his commanding officer. The incident led to a dishonorable discharge from the Army.”

  Parker released a heavy sigh. “Fantastic.”

  “If I were you? I’d keep my distance. Joe is a loose cannon.”