by N. C. Lewis
For an instant, the individual moved forward and turned to face the window. Tony Dean peered out into the street, but he couldn’t see me. His eyes were deadly serious. A frown creased his forehead, nostrils flared, and an angry snarl was upon his lips. Tony turned around to face Kidd, then in a flash threw out a single punch with his left hand, connecting with Kidd’s jaw. Kidd’s head clattered hard against the windowpane and his body slumped to the ground.
Tony Dean hurried out the door, passed without a sideways glance, and jumped into a cobalt-blue Tesla, and was gone.
Don Andrews strolled from behind the counter, and with the help of several customers, hauled Kidd onto his feet, situating him at a small table near the entrance. Don Andrews' movements were so well rehearsed as if this had happened here before. Don went back to work as the straggling group of customers lined up to place their order.
A few sips of icy water and Kidd was fine, apart from his left eye, half closed, and deep purple streaks forming under his skin.
“Time to get a stiff drink, take a shower and go to bed,” I said out loud.
I hurried through the moonlight back toward the Green Bar Grill and my Tahoe truck. In the car lot, as I searched my handbag for the key, a voice behind me made me jump.
“What happened to you?”
My hands flew to my chest.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Millie snuffed out a cigarette with the heel of her shoe and walked over.
“Phew, what’s that smell? Is that coming from you?”
“Afraid so,” I sighed.
“Oh, what happened?”
I gave her the look. Millie changed the subject.
“Things didn’t go well with Bob tonight; Madame Bleu took a shine to him. The problem was with Professor Purple, complained all night that men should wear their hair short. The dreadlocks thing sent the Professor loopy. Almost got into a knuckle fight with Bob over the issue. Not nice. Anyway, did you get to meet with Ma?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I have to catch up with Ma tomorrow, right now I need a shower and a stiff drink.”
Millie lit another cigarette, inhaled, then let a stream of smoke drift from her lips. “I've got to write another story about the Tanner murder investigation, the editor wants a fresh angle. I don’t have one. Progress on the case by the sheriff’s department is glacial, in fact, a glacier moves faster. Do me a favor, if you come across something, anything, let me know—I’m desperate.”
I wanted to mention the encounter with Tony Dean, and the fight with Kidd Cole at the pizza parlor, but what was the link between these two events to Tanner’s death? Not enough information yet to pass the journalist’s sniff test.
“Okay, if something new shows up, the first call is to Millie Watkins.”
Madame Bleu and Professor Purple waved as they wandered across the parking lot to Millie’s car.
Chapter 22
The events of the previous evening played out in dreams, my subconscious mind trying to open the tangle of what I thought, what I knew, and what I’d seen. In the dream, Tanner was alive, standing before me pointing a crooked finger at the killer. I strained my eyes to view their face. But a swirling gray mist obscured the view, only an outline was visible. Who are they? Curiosity propelled me forward, eyes focused on the shadowy-slouching figure to which Tanner pointed. A man or woman? Near, yet too far away to discern.
The individual lit a cigarette, a pinpoint of light illuminated the gray darkness. Closer and closer I crept. The figure absorbed in nicotine pleasure didn’t notice me or care. Then springing forward, I leaped upon the individual. There was a brief intense struggle, then a body went hurtling toward the ground—my body. I looked up to see the shadow retreating into the darkness. Then it was gone.
I woke in a desperate panic, rivers of sweat pouring down my forehead. A dream, only a dream! I slid out of bed squinting at the cell phone, eight forty-five a.m. The rank odors of yesterday hung in the air. The stench lingered despite a lengthy shower the evening before.
Another shower, hot soapy water washing away the stench until the tank was empty and water turned cold. In the kitchen, Bodie was waiting to go outside. I opened the door and off that dog bounded toward the outbuildings. The mild scent of the Hill Country breeze wafted in on the cool morning air. I took deep breaths, and the remaining tiredness eased. Back to the desk to make plans for the remainder of the day. Fifteen minutes later the list was complete, if only the rest of the day's problems would be this easy.
✽ ✽ ✽
The walk across the shortcut trail into town proved uneventful. Bodie spotted a rabbit and chased a squirrel. We arrived at Moozoos Café around ten a.m. with the temperature in the mid-eighties and humidity on the rise. The morning rush was over, and the barista was restocking the storeroom. He waved while scurrying over to the counter to prepare my usual drink.
Looking down at Bodie, he said, “How about a doggie whip for Bodie today, on the house.”
Bodie’s tail flipped into hyperdrive.
“Seems like that dog knows a treat is coming,” said the barista smiling.
“Yep, anything food, this dog understands every single word.”
He handed over the drinks, and leaned forward, his chin twitched. “Any news?”
“News?” My mind flashed back to yesterday’s events, hiding in Tony Dean’s dojo and the fight at the pizza parlor. How could the barista know about these things?
“Yes, any news; about Ealing Homestead, the property, how are things moving along?”
“Oh, nothing new to report. George Garcia’s team are fixing a few things. Still waiting on various business permits and additional financing.”
“Ah, yes, the business permits, sure can take a long time. Tanner Holgate and Harry Marsden helped this place out. Still, took almost an entire year. Do you know Harry? The guy is my bookkeeper and business advisor. By the way, thanks for helping George and Emma by throwing work at them. That couple have been going through some tough financial difficulties. Not sure George’s business will make it through the end of the year. Wish I had some work to offer, but nada right now.”
The Café was beginning to fill with the midmorning crowd, young mothers and retired folk. The barista turned to attend to the incoming customers, while a table by the window beckoned.
✽ ✽ ✽
A shrill scream came from the street. The sound began as a low moaning voice then rose, from a cry of surprise, to a wail of shock, to a full-blooded howl for help. Then a jumble of different voices drifted into the Café, each talking over the other and all at the same time.
“Call for an ambulance.”
“Someone dial 911 get the sheriff’s department.”
“Is anyone a doctor?”
The hairs rose on the back of my neck as a sick feeling flooded my stomach. I turned to look at the barista. His face drained of blood. He looked pale and his lopsided eyes were wide open as his carrot-shaped chin twitched. Then I turned to where the sound came from. In the street outside was a growing crowd of people. Customers scurried outside to see what the fuss was about. The barista followed, and I ran after him, with Bodie tugging at the leash.
A small crowd had congregated around the mouth of the alley which ran along the side of the Café. At the far end of the alley, by the side of the trash cans, legs and a torso were visible. The head was obscured by a large black trashcan.
As I peered into the gloom, what appeared to be a body, sported white sneakers, blue jeans and a bloodstained T-shirt. Protruding from the chest was a golden blade with an ivory hilt. The barista saw it at the same instant and uttered a horrified scream. “Oh no! This can’t be, this cannot be.” He repeated the words, under his breath, over and over, like a monk reciting a mantra.
I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, everyone stood on the edge of the alley, no one entering the dark gloomy void. The dagger looked familiar—very familiar. As I peered into the gloom, lettering on the handle became visible. It to
ok a moment to work out the characters, the significance hit so hard I let out a startled gasp, “T.D.”
Bodie tugged at the leash pulling me forward into the alley. I stumbled, and steadied myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized a shadowy figure looking down the alley toward the crowd. Deadly still, stood the person, like a stick insect pretending to be a twig on a tree. The sirens from the emergency services became audible. The figure leaning against a cedar cane stick, retreated into the shadows.
“Simpkins!”
Chapter 23
The paramedics arrived first. They rushed into the alley, sweeping the crowd to one side. The senior paramedic, a woman north of fifty, headed toward the victim. The other paramedic stayed close to the entrance of the alley. Moments later the entire Medlin Creek sheriff’s department arrived. The deputies cleared bystanders away, and secured the scene. I retuned back to the Café—more caffeine required.
Inside, the cool air-conditioning offered welcome relief. The Café buzzed with excitement as patrons exchanged stories of what happened. The customers agreed the victim was a man, the weapon a dagger, although no one seemed sure on the name of the victim.
“An out-of-towner from Austin,” said a tall thin man with a bushy gray beard.
“No, that’s not right,” responded another, “it’s the guy who teaches at the martial arts school, Kidd something or other.”
“Whoever the victim is, we have a serial killer on our hands. This town won’t be safe unless the killer is behind bars,” exclaimed an excitable young man with spiky pink hair and a tattoo of a lion on his neck.
The day’s events overwhelmed the barista and he retreated to the storeroom while the assistant served the customers.
I called Millie. “Millie, where are you?”
“Oh, covering preparations for the Pet Club Fish Fry. The event is tomorrow, and I need to write an article by close today. This is one of the biggest events for the year, an opportunity to sell advertising space for the newspaper, so I’m doing sales duty today.”
“Listen, I have some urgent news.”
Millie stopped talking and the line went quiet.
“Get over to Moozoos fast. Looks like there’s been another murder. No idea who the victim is yet, but the entire sheriff’s department has turned out, guess we’ll know soon enough.”
The news spread, office workers poured out of the buildings and stood in little groups on the sidewalk watching the police activity. Many darting into Moozoos for a quick caffeine shot, and to cool down. The place was heaving, and the line snaked out the door onto the street.
I grabbed the table by the window looking out onto Creek Street. By the time Millie arrived it was standing room only. “Over here, Millie,” I shouted, waving my arms so she could see me. “I saved you a seat.”
As she sat down, Deputy Dingsplat ambled into the Café. A small crowd of patrons including the barista surrounded him. The barista spoke up first, his face pale and his lopsided eyes still wide open.
“Any news?”
The deputy rubbed his chin, surveyed the room, then in a slow southern drawl said, “Yep! Seems the guy was dead when the paramedics got him. It’s early in the investigation, I can’t tell you when he died, although it is likely it was earlier this morning. We’ll have more information with the coroner’s report.”
“What was the cause of death?” asked Millie.
The deputy narrowed his eyes, “Millie, we don’t know the cause, but there was a golden dagger lodged in the victim’s chest. Draw your own conclusions.”
The excitable young man with spiky pink hair yelled, “Who was the victim, was he from Austin or was he a local?”
The deputy turned to the young man. “There will be a press release later today. But there’s no secret into who the victim was.” He scanned the room acknowledging certain individuals, a nod of the head to Millie, a little wave to me, a wink at the barista. Then continued, “The victim is well-known in this town, Mr. Tony Dean from the Whirlwind Martial Arts School.”
Chapter 24
I returned to the table by the window and Millie followed. We sat in silence for several minutes. Professor Purple and Madame Bleu made an appearance, mouths opened and closed but no words came out. Then Millie’s cell phone rang. She fidgeted and reached into her handbag for a cigarette, putting it between her lips without lighting it, then answered the phone.
“Yes, covering the story right now at Moozoos Café. The victim is Tony Dean. Office in five minutes? Yes, I can. Oh, and Deputy Dingsplat made a statement, will share details shortly.”
Millie stood up.
“The editor’s called an emergency meeting. Thanks for the heads-up, Ollie.” She threw the words over her shoulder as she hurried away.
“Good luck,” I called after her.
Another sip of coffee, but it didn’t shift the sick feeling inside my stomach. I would never get accustomed to seeing dead bodies. Taking a deep breath, I wondered where to begin. How can Tony Dean be the victim? Wasn’t Tony supposed to be the killer? And what was Simpkins doing in the alley? Lots of questions but no answers, yet.
Bodie tugged at the leash, the poor thing getting restless. “Okay, okay, we’ll be out of here soon.” Bodie appeared to understand and laid down, closing his eyes.
The barista came over, his color returned. His lopsided eyes looked out the window onto the street where the criminal investigation was under way, then returned to me.
“Take this, a Creek Jolt, on the house. By the way, the word on the street is that Tony Dean died by the golden dagger. The one he carried around his waist at the annual Founder's Day parade, displayed the hideous thing in the hall of his dojo. I hear it was a gift from some sultan or emperor or something like that. Who would imagine, Tony killed by his own blade, and him a martial arts expert at that.”
The barista rubbed his brow, head shaking in disbelief. Then his carrot-shaped chin twitched. “What I can’t understand, Ollie, is why the attacker left the dagger in Tony’s chest, that thing must be worth a lot of money. If the attack was a mugging that went wrong, why didn’t they take the knife?”
I shook my head as he continued. “Medlin Creek used to be a sleepy town, not now. This place is the murder capital of Hill Country. Yep, a boon for business but at what cost?” Shaking his head, he returned to the bar to serve a growing line of customers.
“Time to do some more digging,” I said out loud, typing a text message to Ma. I thought I knew who the killer was, but was a simple argument sufficient motive to commit murder? I punched in Kidd Cole’s cell phone number, Kidd picked up immediately.
“Hi, Ollie, what’s up?”
“At Moozoos Café right now, there has been another murder in the alley.”
I waited for a reaction. In the detective movies, there is always a reaction from the guilty person.
“Joking, right? Got to be joking. Ollie, this is Medlin Creek, not New York City.” Then he laughed, a little too hard, and a little too long. In my mind’s eye, I recoiled as Kidd plunged a dagger into Tony Dean’s chest. An act of revenge, the whole thing made perfect sense.
Then Kidd said. “The deaths started the day after you arrived in town. Get it off your chest Ollie, best confess, I know a lawyer who can help…”
“No, no, not guilty,” I protested, “what about you Kidd? I saw you at the pizza parlor yesterday evening arguing with Tony Dean.”
The line went silent.
“That was you wasn’t it, arguing with Tony Dean?”
“Yeah that was me, but what of it?”
“Kidd, the paramedics carted a body off in an ambulance. The entire Medlin Creek Sheriff’s Department showed up, this is a big deal.”
“So sorry to hear about that, but what’s that got to do with me?”
“Do you know who the victim was?”
“No, no idea.” His voice was hesitant, not altogether convincing.
“Tony Dean.”
Click.
Cha
pter 25
The level of excited chatter continued as customers ordered drinks. The patrons sipped caffeinated beverages, discussing the events of the morning. Many were watching the police activity through the plate-glass windows as if viewing a big screen movie.
