Stirring Up Murder

by P. D. Workman

  “Good thing.”

  She knew the way from the pet store to Charley’s apartment fairly well and Charley only had to redirect her a couple of times. Charley called her favorite pizza place on the way, and they arrived there just ahead of the delivery man.

  Inside the apartment, Charley put the pizza and the bag from the pet store down on the kitchen island while she kicked off her shoes and sorted through her mail.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she advised. “You must be tired after working all day and then driving out here. You need to get some rest in before going back to Eagle whatever.”

  “Bald Eagle Falls.”

  “The backside of the mountain,” Charley scoffed. “I don’t know why you’d want to live somewhere so isolated.”

  “It isn’t like I live by myself. It’s a little town, but I have friends.”

  Charley sighed. “More than I can say.”

  Erin looked again at the pizza and the pet food bag on the counter. Her stomach felt like it was filled with worms. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to eat any of the pizza with the worms in such close proximity.

  “You want to see them?” Charley offered, following Erin’s gaze.

  “Ugh, no!”

  “Oh…” Charley picked the bag up. “I see. Did you know there are places you can order crickets or mealworms on your pizza?”

  Erin felt dangerously queasy. “Uh, no. I don’t think I’m going to be going for that. Your pizza place doesn’t, right?”

  Charley snorted. “No. Too bad, I could order for myself and Iggy at the same time! We could share a pizza…”

  She laughed at Erin’s expression and gave the bag a little shake. “I’m going to go see the little bug-eater and give him his treat. Come and watch if you want.”

  “I’ll just wait out here.”

  Charley nodded and went into the study. Erin looked around the apartment. If it was a false front, a mask for what kind of person Charley really was, it was a good one. It certainly didn’t look like the apartment of a wild, rebellious child. Nor did it look like anything she envisioned a mobster living in. It was perfectly normal and not too showy. There was no sign that she normally kept weapons, drugs, or large amounts of money there.

  “Okay, let’s eat,” Charley invited.

  Erin was startled out of her serious thoughts. She was about to say that she didn’t know if she could eat, but when Charley opened the pizza box and the apartment filled with the fragrant smells of garlicky tomato sauce, pepperoni, and mozzarella, her stomach gave a loud growl and she realized she was more than a little hungry.

  “That smells amazing! No wonder you like this place.”

  Charley nodded. She got out plates, and she and Erin each grabbed a couple of slices. They sat down at the table. Erin took a bite of the pizza and contemplated the pillowy, crispy crust. “Do they offer a gluten-free option?” she asked.

  “I never asked. Why, you aren’t allergic, are you?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Are you on one of those diets? Paleo or grain free? Caveman stuff?”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t be eating this. No, my bakery is gluten-free and caters to special diets. I’m always on the lookout for other opportunities.”

  “You’re going to start selling pizza?”

  “I already sell some pizza crusts. And pizza pretzels. But I should check with the local pizza joint and see whether they stock a gluten-free crust for special orders, or if I could supply them with frozen crusts so they could offer them.”

  “Oh. Cool. Good idea. So you can eat normal food, but you bake gluten-free just as a marketing plan? For commercial opportunities?”

  “No, I just want to… make sure that people who do need to follow special diets can get everything they need right in town.”

  Charley looked up from her pizza and gazed at Erin. “Why?”

  “I had a sister… a foster sister, I mean… She was celiac, and she did a lot of damage to her system because she refused to eat gluten-free. She couldn’t stand to be different than everybody else and to have to provide her own food. It was more important for her to look normal than to stay well. I want the kids in Bald Eagle Falls to be able to eat where everyone else eats and to be able to order food that looks the same as everyone else’s. And the adults too.”

  “Well, that’s nice… but I don’t know how you could keep a place like that afloat. In a little town? I don’t even know how a normal bakery could stay in business.”

  “It’s been okay, especially since… the previous bakery had to close. So we only have the one. People who want regular bread can get it at the grocery, but if they want fresh bakery bread and baking….. Auntie Clem’s is the only place to go. And it’s good food.”

  “Auntie Clem’s? Is that the name of your bakery?”

  “Yes.” Erin took a bite of her pizza. “After my—our—Aunt Clementine. She used to run a tea shop there. She left it to me when she died. I didn’t want to reopen the tea shop, but I thought I would take a run at seeing if a gluten-free bakery could make it.”

  “Huh.” Charley chewed a mouthful of pizza thoughtfully. “I never would have thought of doing something like that.”

  Erin shrugged and looked down at her plate.

  “Go ahead and ask,” Charley said. “I can tell you’re dying to.”

  “What?”

  Charley just leveled a look at her and waited.

  “Okay… did you do it?”

  “No.”

  Erin was a little surprised at the denial. She’d expected excuses and explanations, not a flat-out no.

  “You didn’t have a fight with Bobby Dyson and end up shooting him?”

  “I had a fight with him, sure. Bobby and me were always fighting. He was a passionate guy. But I didn’t kill him.”

  Erin looked Charley in the eye. The woman’s gaze didn’t waver. But Erin did realize that under Charley’s makeup there was something more than bags under her eyes. She hadn’t managed to completely cover up a black eye. Erin remembered Terry’s comment about the state of Bobby Dyson’s room. It had, she guessed, been more than just a heated argument.

  “Did he hit you?”

  Charley touched the bruise briefly, as if checking to see if it were still there. “He was a passionate guy,” she repeated.

  “Was it self-defense?”

  “I told you, I didn’t kill him. I have an alibi, so they’re not convicting me of anything.”

  “You have an alibi?” It was the first Erin had heard mention of this.

  “Yeah. I was out with girlfriends. They’ll confirm it. Like I say, nobody is railroading me for Bobby’s murder. It wasn’t me.”

  “Then how…? People heard you there. The gun had your fingerprints on it.”

  Charley raised her eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

  “I… talked to Jack Ward.”

  “Why would he tell you my fingerprints were on the weapon? They’re not going to reveal details like that to the public.”

  Erin wasn’t sure what to say. Charley had already demonstrated some suspicion toward Erin, accusing her of being a police plant. How was she going to react if Erin told her that her boyfriend was a policeman and that he’d been in contact with Jack Ward?

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Charley said, “so how about the truth?”

  “I didn’t say anything; how do you know if I’m a bad liar?”

  “Because everything you think is written on your face. Haven’t you ever played poker?”

  Erin shifted uncomfortably. “I think I used to be a better liar. Or maybe it’s just because it’s you. I don’t want to lie to you.”

  “Then don’t.” Charley’s voice was stern. She looked Erin straight in the eye. “Obviously, you’re not a cop, or you wouldn’t be having any trouble telling me a believable story. So why would Ward be telling you any details of the case? Unless the two of you…” she held up two crossed fingers. “Maybe you had some extracurricular t
ime away from the police station?”

  “No. No, not Ward.”

  “Ah. Who, then?”

  Erin dropped her eyes to her pizza, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “I know the police in Bald Eagle Falls.”

  “And they thought they’d share the details with you.”

  “They didn’t want me to come and help you.”

  “Because I’m a murderer. Already convicted in their minds.”

  Erin shrugged.

  Charley shook her head. “Well, get this through your head. I have an alibi. Whoever Bobby was arguing with, it wasn’t me. And if my fingerprints are on any gun there, it was a frame. Maybe there really was a gun with my fingerprints there. Or maybe the police just made it up. My gun is still here and I never touched any of Bobby’s.”

  Erin was relieved. She glanced around the room. “You keep a gun here? Is that safe?”

  “Yes, it’s safe. That’s how I keep myself safe.”

  “The police didn’t confiscate it?”

  “It’s in a safe.” Charley went suddenly still. For a moment, she sat there frozen, then she jumped to her feet and ran out of the room. She popped into her study, and was back a few seconds later, swearing like a sailor. “They stole my safe. Just grabbed the whole thing and took it with them! They can’t just take my property!”

  “If they thought it had something to do with the murder…”

  “Something like what? They already had the weapon, why would they take mine, unless they wanted to screw with the evidence? They’re going to swap my gun with the one at the scene, and say that it was mine all along. That’s why Ward said it had my prints on it. Because they planted my gun!” She swore loudly.

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Erin protested.

  “Oh, they would do anything they could to get me permanently behind bars. Or in the ground. If they tell Bobby’s family that I’m the one who killed him…”

  Erin kept her mouth closed to prevent herself from defending the police a second time. She wasn’t the one who was in Charley’s position. Charley obviously knew the situation with the Moose River police much better than Erin did. Just because the police Erin knew wouldn’t have ever dared contaminate evidence, that didn’t mean that all police would be just as diligent and honest. Terry had leaped into action on a previous case in order to keep Alton Summers from being killed, even though he was a miserable specimen of a human being and continued to harass Erin. Summers had initially been hired by Clementine’s estate to track Erin down, but after he spent his money from that job, he’d been back, trying to blackmail her into giving him more. Even so, Terry had been willing to protect him as a citizen, and Erin knew he would never do like Charley suggested and encourage the Dysons to take her out of the picture.

  Charley started to pace back and forth, her movements tight and controlled.

  “They wouldn’t dare do anything without Dwight’s blessing,” she said, obviously talking to herself more than to Erin. “So it’s him I’ve got to talk to. If I can. How am I going to get a call through to him?”

  “You won’t get anywhere without asking,” Erin said.

  Charley stopped and looked at Erin, looking baffled to find anyone in the same room as she was.

  “Just ask. That’s your suggestion? Just call them up and say I want to talk to Dwight Dyson.”

  “If he’s the only one who can help you. What good is it going to do to talk to anyone else? Or to beat around the bush and try to get to him another way. If he thinks you might be Bobby’s killer, won’t he want to talk to you? To get your story?”

  Charley laughed. “You know nothing about how it works in the family. This isn’t about justice. It’s about vengeance. And you get that wherever you can. If it looks like someone is unfaithful to the family, you get rid of them. It doesn’t matter whether they really are or not. If people think that they are, that’s more than enough reason to get rid of them.”

  “Call,” Erin urged again. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “They know I’m here and come here and kill me. And you too, for good measure.”

  “Won’t they already know you’re here?”

  Charley resumed her pacing. “Of course they’ll know. They’ll know I was getting bail. Either they pulled strings for me to get it, or they had someone keeping tabs and would know. They just watch for me to get back here. If they wanted to, they could already have come up here and killed me.”

  She stopped and looked at Erin.

  “Does that mean they don’t want to? If they wanted to, they could have done it by now?”

  Erin shrugged and didn’t point out that they might simply have wanted her to get nice and worked up first. Maybe they wanted her to fully realize what kind of trouble she was in before taking care of her. It wouldn’t be quite as satisfying to just take her out at the first opportunity, without seeing that understanding on her face.

  Charley picked up her phone from where she’d left it on the table beside her plate. Then she put it down. Then she picked it up again. She stared down at it in her hand. Finally, she started moving her thumb over the virtual keys. She put the phone up to her ear, and breathed out a long, heavy breath.

  “This is stupid,” she said quietly. “This has seriously got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  After waiting for several rings, she apparently got an answer.

  “It’s Charley Campbell. I need to speak with him.”

  A pause while she listened.

  “I need to talk to him. And he’s going to want to talk to me. You know what happened, don’t you? You think he’s going to be happy if he hears that I tried to get ahold of him, and you wouldn’t put it through? He’s going to start by cutting off your fingers and feeding them to you. Is that how you want to die?”

  Apparently it was not, because after waiting in silence for the next few minutes, Erin could tell by Charley’s face that it was ringing again. She seemed to withdraw into herself. She looked lost and bleak. Erin wished she could give Charley a hug and make it all better. But Charley had gotten herself into something that a hug wasn’t going to fix.

  What about the police? Did they really want the Dyson clan to just murder Bobby’s killer, eliminating the need for the state to do anything in regard to prosecuting her? It was much cleaner and cheaper if the Dysons would just kill each other. Or had they also stationed guards to watch for Charley, and to watch for anyone else who was watching for Charley, to try to protect her?

  “Dwight.” Charley’s voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. “Yeah… it’s Charley.” She swallowed. “I didn’t kill him. I swear it. You know I loved Bobby. I’d never do anything to hurt him. I’d never kill him. The cops are setting me up. I just got home, and they’ve taken my gun safe. That means they’ve got my gun, and they’re going to swap it for the one that was found at the apartment and make sure everything points to me. But I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

  She stopped speaking. Erin couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the conversation. She pictured Dwight Dyson, a godfather with a Tennessee accent, sitting behind a big black walnut desk and giving Charley his theory of the crime.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Charley said. “I don’t know who it was. Some guy—I don’t know. I wasn’t even there.”

  Erin watched Charley, frowning, trying to follow everything that was being said when she could only hear half the conversation. It was like dinner theater, except that she knew gangsters could come through the door to end it at any time, and she and Charley had no way to protect themselves. She wasn’t at home, there was no Terry Piper to save the day. Though they might actually have 9-1-1 service, and Erin could covertly call the police while Charley was on her call…

  “Maybe it was a hit and it was meant to look like it was me. A frame. I was out with the girls…”

  Erin slid her own phone out of her pocket. If she called 9-1-1, could they trace it to her locat
ion? Would they find her if she didn’t say anything? How about if she texted? Could she text 9-1-1? Erin glanced at the apartment door. It was still shut. No intruders. No Tennessee mafia showing up to kill them. Had Dwight Dyson called them off when he took Charley’s call, or did he want to hear it go down while he was still on the phone with her?

  “You’ve got to believe me,” Charley begged.

  Her shoulders dipped down and her eyes closed. Erin thought for a moment she was going to faint, but then Charley lowered her phone and looked down at its blank screen.

  “What did he say?” Erin squeaked.

  “I’m supposed to go talk to him. He’s sending someone over to take me there.”

  Then there was a knock on the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  E

  rin and Charley both stared at each other, wide-eyed with alarm.

  “It’s them,” Charley hissed.

  “How did they get here so fast?”

  “They didn’t. They were already here. Just like I said.”

  She reluctantly went to the door, unlocked it, and turned the handle to face her visitors. Erin couldn’t see the man clearly. The angle she was at to the door obscured most of her view. It took a minute for her to realize what was wrong with him. He wore a ski mask to obscure his face. Erin’s stomach tightened, even more anxious than before. Wouldn’t the Dyson clan soldiers be guys that Charley already knew? Why would he cover his face? And was it odd that there was only one of them? She had been expecting two, at least. The eye holes turned in Erin’s direction for a minute, then the man took Charley by the arm and pulled her firmly through the door. Erin covered her mouth and tried to keep from screaming or calling out after her. But the masked man didn’t take Charley away. The door did not shut again, and Erin could still see their figures in the hall. The masked man stood close to Charley, and his words were too quiet for Erin to make anything out. Charley’s body language exuded confidence that Erin certainly didn’t have. She suspected that Charley didn’t either; it was just a bluff.

  It was only a minute or two before Charley slipped back in through the door, alone again. She looked at Erin, her forehead wrinkled and sweat gathering at her hairline.