Lucille Pfiffer Mystery Series (Books 4 - 6)

by Tanya R. Taylor

  When Cooke and his crew arrived, they listened to the entire recording and were clearly stunned. Merlene sent a copy of it to Cooke’s cell phone and the girls and I all stood outside and watched as Chloe was handcuffed and led to the back seat of a squad car.

  “Serves her right,” Carla remarked.

  “Yes indeed,” Merlene agreed.

  “You did it again, huh?” Cooke came over to me, shoving both hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  “Did what, Sheriff? Your job?” I asked.

  The girls chuckled and he walked away shaking his head. “I’ll be in touch, Lucille.”

  “I’m sure you will!” I answered.

  “Come on, girls. Take me home. I’ve gotta fill Nilla and the boys in on how this thing turned out.”

  We climbed into Carla’s Suburban and headed for home.

  12

  _________________

  “You make me proud.” Theodore stood in the living room with a rag tossed over his shoulder. He had a beautiful smile on his face.

  Nilla and I were stretched out on the couch as we listened to classical music. She’d just eaten, so the only thing she wanted to do, like her Momma, was relax.

  “Me too,” Anthony hollered from the stove. “It’s amazing how y’all solved this crime. To think it was Glenda’s sister… wow! I never would’ve guessed.”

  He shook some thyme into the pot of soup, which smelled heavenly.

  “I never would’ve guessed either,” I replied. “Carla had made a remark just casually when we were at Marv’s Coffee Shop about Glenda not having a husband or children and I instantly had a gut feeling about Chloe; I can’t explain it. Call it intuition. I felt I needed to find out if she’d flown in right before Glenda’s death. In my day, I’ve seen people betray and kill over much less than Chloe had to gain from her sister’s demise.”

  “Sad,” Theodore commented while heading to the front door. “I can just imagine what must’ve been going through Glenda’s mind after her sister pushed that needle in her neck.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” I replied.

  He opened the door. “Anyway, I’m headed out to wash my car. Don’t know how I let it get so dirty!”

  “Have fun,” I told him.

  When it came to his car, Theodore’s idea of dirty was a few streaks of dust on his new paint job. He kept the vehicle squeaky clean at all times. If only he kept his room that way.

  I’d started dozing on the couch when minutes after Theodore left, he barged inside the house gripping a man by the collar. The stranger’s face looked vaguely familiar.

  I scooped up Nilla, then quickly stood up as the ruckus went on, and Anthony ran out of the kitchen.

  “Who’s that guy?” he asked Theodore.

  “Yeah. What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “This is the guy who was in front of our driveway after the funeral!” Theodore said. “I found him in his car just now parked across the street.”

  He gripped the man’s collar even tighter. “Who the hell are you and what do you want? You’d better speak fast because the blows are coming next!”

  The man was in his late fifties, scrawny, had salt and pepper hair and was wearing a brown and white striped dress shirt, grey trousers and cowboy boots. In my mind, I could see his cowboy hat in the road. Must’ve fallen off his head after Theodore had nabbed him.

  “Wait! Wait!” He held up his hands defensively.

  “Answer the man, dammit!” I said. “He asked who you are and what the hell you want. I don’t take kindly to people spying on me.”

  “I can explain!” he replied. “I wasn’t spying on you; I was paid to protect you.”

  “What?” Theodore frowned.

  “You are Lucille Pfiffer. Aren’t you, ma’am?” He was looking my way.

  “That’s right—Lucille Velma Abigail Pfiffer.”

  “The name’s Samuel Jones. I was hired by your friend Glenda Risdal to look out for you. If you’d allow me to explain…” He glanced back at Theodore.

  After some consideration, Theodore released his grip on the guy. “You’ve got thirty seconds,” he said.

  The man straightened his shirt and collar, then cleared his throat. “I’m a private investigator and former cop. Glenda and I were acquaintances for many years, then we became good friends. A few days after her body was found, I received a package in the mail—don’t know who sent it—but inside was a letter and ten thousand dollars. The note was in Glenda’s handwriting; there was no mistaking it. She stated that in the event I received the package, it meant that she was dead and she wanted a big favor which was for me to look out for her friend, Lucille Pfiffer, as well as someone named Carla Walkes. She had your addresses written down. I was supposed to keep an eye on you both for at least six months. She figured by then if she was, in fact killed, her killer would’ve been found and you all would’ve been safe again.”

  I was dumbfounded to hear Glenda was thinking so far ahead. She knew sending that black book to Carla would’ve alarmed her and figured Carla would run to me, as she did. So, she hired someone to look out for us in case we were in danger. Guess she thought this guy might’ve been ideal since he was a former cop. Not sure she hired the right person since Theodore was able to manhandle him before he could grab a gun or whatever to defend himself, but it’s the thought that counts. And since he was admittedly a PI, I wondered why Glenda didn’t have the black book sent to him instead and he could’ve investigated everything, which means Carla and I wouldn’t have been involved. Maybe she wasn’t impressed with his investigative skills, I thought. And perhaps, spying on people was what he was proven to be better at. Whatever her frame of thought was, I knew Glenda was confident that she was doing the proper thing in this regard. Turns out, she was right.

  “He’s telling the truth,” I told the boys. “Everything he said sounds just like Glenda.” A tear fell from my eye as I thought about how caring she really was. “Let him go. He’s only done what he’d been sent to do.”

  I then addressed him. “I’m sorry, Mister Jones, but we won’t be needing your services anymore. Someone was arrested earlier today for Glenda’s murder. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it on the news tonight or tomorrow.”

  He seemed surprised. “Oh! Well…that’s good news! Any idea who it was?” he asked.

  “Someone near and dear is all I’m at liberty to say at this point. Go on and enjoy that ten grand. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.” He nodded. “Sorry to have been a bother.”

  The boys and I watched as he hurried out of the house. Then outside, he bent over and picked up his hat before getting inside the car and speeding off.

  Normally, Nilla would’ve been barking her head off at the sight of a stranger in the house, but maybe she sensed this guy was harmless—or maybe she just was too sleepy to care.

  “Some private investigator he is!” Theodore said. “I definitely wouldn’t have hired him under any circumstances. The guy’s ready for a rocking chair.”

  “Maybe Glenda just wanted to give him some cash for whatever reason,” Anthony surmised.

  “I think that’s it.” Theodore then looked at me. “Are you all right, Lucille?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I replied, drying the tear.

  “Okay. I’m going back outside then.”

  “All right, but try not to drag anyone else in,” I told him.

  They both laughed.

  I’d truly had enough for one day and was glad when, fifteen minutes later, Anthony finally dished up the soup he was cooking and brought our bowls over to the dining room table. He and I sat and talked while Nilla resumed her sleep on the couch where she remained for another hour.

  * * * *

  Chloe’s fingerprints were found all over the deadly syringe used to snuff the life out of her own sister. Six months later, while Chloe was in prison awaiting her murder trial, Merlene and I went to court for the trial of her ex-husband, Roy, which lasted one week.
During that time, Merlene had to relive the brutality of what had been done to her months earlier at the hands of thugs hired by her own ex-husband. They had all pled guilty and avoided a trial, but Roy thought that he could outsmart the system. Ultimately, he was found guilty of attempted murder and kidnapping.

  In court, just before the judge was to render his sentencing, Merlene was allowed to confront Roy from the stand and succinctly express how his actions affected her.

  She simply said: “You tried to kill me, huh? Okay...” She then left the stand, walked over to where Roy was seated next to his attorney and spat in the scoundrel’s face. Of course, she was nearly arrested and was fighting her way out of the police officer’s grip, but the judge instructed him to release her and instead, he gave her a strong reprimand.

  Roy Bostwick was sentenced to twenty-five years behind bars. He looked deflated as they led him out of the courtroom in shackles. David hadn’t bothered to attend his father’s trial after Merlene convinced him not to. She felt her son might’ve fought off all the police to kill the guy.

  As for the drama, was I surprised by Merlene’s actions in court that day?

  Not one bit.

  ~ The End ~

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  PROLOGUE

  It was a day and age much like today where every town, generation and household held firmly its secrets—torrid improprieties they would protect to the end of the world. Yet some secrets back then were far too shocking and disturbing to contain—ones entangled with emotions of such intensity that would shock the very life out of 'innocent', reserved folk.

  The year was 1861. The town of Mizpah was on the verge of the abolition of slavery. White people with a conscience and black folk alike prayed and fought long and hard for the day when all human beings were considered equal in the eyes of the law.

  Cornelius Ferguson, only the wealthiest planter in all of Mizpah, didn't support the views of the abolitionist movement in that territory nor in any other for that matter. Negro labor was highly favorable for his pockets and he couldn't imagine conducting his plantation affairs by any other means.

  June 12th of 1861 was the day his life would forever change. It was the day a colored girl by the name of Karlen Key walked through his door. She was beautiful, literate, well-spoken—a rare breed and long-awaited trade off from another planter across the river. Cornelius had been anticipating her arrival. Germina, a rotund, elderly house slave with a few long strands protruding from her chin, met Karlen at the door and showed her where to put her tattered bag. Cornelius stood thirty feet away in the great room facing the entrance way, highly pleased and mesmerized by the new addition to his household. Karlen's eyes met his for a brief moment before she quickly lowered her head, made a slight bow and greeted her master. The twenty-one-year-old had no idea that her arrival at the Ferguson plantation would alter the course of her life and those around her in a most uncanny way.

  1

  _________________

  Summer of 1965

  "Wade! Mira!" Sara Cullen called her kids from outside the kitchen door. "Time to come inside and get yourselves cleaned up for dinner!"

  Fourteen-year-old, Wade and thirteen-year-old, Mira were in the road playing 'bat and ball' in front of their yard with Monique Constantakis and her cousin Philip. Mira had just swung the bat for her turn to run the bases.

  "Let's go!" Wade shouted to his sister as she considered one last run before heading inside. "If you don't come now, I'm leaving you and you'll be in big trouble with Dad." On that, he took off up to the driveway of their home and Mira, with a tinge of disappointment, handed the bedraggled, semi-splintered bat to Monique who was standing behind her.

  "See you later," Monique said, visibly disappointed that her new friend had to leave.

  "Yeah," Mira said before heading up the driveway behind her brother who had disappeared into the house.

  The table, as usual, had been beautifully set for dinner. Sara Cullen was a true perfectionist and wanted everything to be just right when her husband of fifteen years, Michael, stepped into the dining room for his meal. She worshipped the dirt the man walked on and kept herself in the finest physical shape she could possibly manage. She was five feet, ten inches tall, and remarkably thin. Her hair was long, black and curly, and her features narrow. Michael Cullen was not the most attractive man in the world, but he carried big, broad shoulders and a six-pack most men would die for. Furthermore, he collected a handsome paycheck at the end of each week, lived in a nice neighborhood, and sported a two-year-old red Jaguar. Nevertheless, Sara—Head Nurse at Freedom Hospital—could not be accused of being with him solely for his money or his executive status at the State run Gaming Board. They had met fresh out of high school when all they had ahead of them were nothing more than dreams and aspirations.

  Mira sat at the table first though Wade had been the first to wash up.

  "Wade! Where are you?!" Sara cried, as she hurried around placing the remaining items on the table. The boy showed up moments later.

  "Where were you all that time?" Sara asked. "You know I like both of you to be seated before I call your dad out."

  "I had to… brush my hair." Wade lowered his head slightly.

  "That's a lie!" Mira blurted with a wide smile. "He had to use the toilet!"

  "Liar!" Wade rebutted.

  "You had to use the toilet! You had to use the toilet!" Mira sang.

  "Now stop it - both of you!" Sara barked. "This is no time for games... and wipe that smile off your face Mira; I'm not playing!"

  "Yes, Mother," Mira softly replied.

  The children composed themselves and waited patiently for their father who emerged a few minutes later from the master bedroom.

  "Kids…" Michael hailed straight-faced as he sat down.

  Both children responded monotonically, "Hi, Dad."

  Sara joined them moments later.

  As was customary for the family, they all bowed their heads at the sound of Michael's utterance, "Let us pray" before diving into their meals.

  From her chair, Mira watched as her mother talked and talked to her father while he engaged very little in the conversation. It was like that all the time and Mira was beginning to wonder why her mother even tried. What Sara saw in Michael that was so appealing and attractive totally eluded Mira. Michael was a brutally rigid man who, in his daughter's opinion, always seemed to wish he was somewhere else other than at home.

  "May I be excused?" Mira asked fifteen minutes later, wanting to escape the drab, depressive atmosphere of the room.

  "But you hardly touched your casserole," Sara said, noticing for the first time that her daughter had barely eaten.
/>   "I'm not hungry."

  "Are you all right, honey?" Sara asked, as Michael continued his meal supposedly unaffected.

  "Yes, Mom. I just feel a bit tired and would like to lie down," Mira replied.

  "You may leave," Michael said, not making eye contact.

  "Well then…" Sara continued, "I'll cover your plate for you in case you get hungry before bedtime."

  "Thanks Mom." Mira backed out from the table and retreated to her bedroom.

  Approximately a half hour later, there was a light tap at the bedroom door. The doorknob turned slowly, then Sara walked in. "Are you all right?" She asked Mira who was curled up in bed with a Sherlock Holmes mystery.

  "Sure." Mira sat up as her mother proceeded to the side of the bed.

  She felt her daughter's forehead with the back of her hand. "No fever. That's good. Are you sure you're okay?" The look she gave was a combination of suspicion and concern.

  "Yes. I'm really fine, Mom. I just wasn't hungry; that's all—I guess from all that running around earlier."

  "I see." Sara got up. "Well, like I said… if you get hungry later, your food is right there covered in the refrigerator. Wouldn’t want you going to bed empty only to wake up all gassy in the morning."

  Mira smiled. Her mother reached down and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, sweet pea."

  "I love you too, Mom."

  2

  _________________

  "You wanna go by the canal today?" Wade asked Mira at the kitchen counter. An early riser, he had been up for well over an hour, but she had just gotten out of bed.