The Plot Is Murder

by V. M. Burns

  Nana Jo intervened. “Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. The only logical solution is to buy them both.”

  That’s exactly what she did.

  Happy, I walked back to the office. My good mood died as soon as I got there. Detective Pitt sat behind my desk, reading my manuscript.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I was furious.

  Detective Pitt waved his hand. “Interesting reading you have here.”

  “You have no right! That’s mine!” I grabbed the pages on the desk and tried to snatch the other pages out of his hand.

  He was too fast for me. He held the pages in the air, playing keep away.

  Nana Jo appeared. “What’s going on here, Sam? We can hear you yelling all over the store.” Seeing the papers I clutched to my chest and the ones Detective Pitt held away from me, she halted and, in her best schoolmarm voice, said “Put those down right now!”

  Detective Pitt began to lower his arm but shook himself free of the trance. “No.”

  For the second time in one day someone had read my story without my permission. Tears filled my eyes, and I shook.

  “What is this about?” Nana Jo confronted Detective Pitt. “You give Samantha back those pages. You have no right to take things that don’t belong to you.”

  Detective Pitt looked abashed but pulled his shoulders back. “I have to take this as evidence.”

  “Evidence? Evidence of what?” Nana Jo and I said at the same time.

  “Murder.”

  “Look, Detective. I think you have the wrong idea here. That’s just a story I wrote. It’s fiction. I made the whole thing up.”

  “Of course she did. Anyone with half of a brain can see that. It’s a historical British Cozy. Only an idiot would think this is true.” Nana Jo wasn’t helping my case by insulting him.

  Detective Pitt smirked and rattled the pages he held. “Mrs. Thomas, I may not be that bright. I’m just a dumb cop, but I can read.” He held up one finger. “Murder victim, Clayton Parker. That sure sounds mighty close to Charles Parker.” He held up a second finger. “Cause of death, stabbed.” He stood and walked from behind the desk. “Only thing missing is motive. I figure if I keep reading, you’ll provide that too.”

  My knees gave way, and I sank into the chair in front of my desk.

  I had deliberately used a name similar to Clayton Parker’s name for the murder victim. He was the most odious person I knew. I found it cathartic to murder him on paper. I intended to go back and change the name before anyone read it.

  “What are you talking about? You can’t possibly be implying my granddaughter killed that man?” Nana Jo was indignant.

  “She had the opportunity and was known to dislike the victim.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.” I couldn’t believe what was happening.

  “Well, I’m going to need to take this, ah, book as evidence,” He pried the rest of the pages away from me. “We’ll look it over down at the station. I’ll give you a receipt.”

  “Don’t you need a search warrant?” Nana Jo asked.

  “Nope. I didn’t search. It was in plain sight. You invited me to come back here to wait for Mrs. Washington.” Detective Pitt was confident as he smoothed the pages. “Although, I take it this was written on a computer. I may need that.”

  That was the last straw. I cracked. “Then you can ask my attorney to bring it to you.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my sister’s number. “Jenna, I need you at the bookstore. It’s an emergency.”

  To my sister’s credit, she asked very few questions. The well-being of her sons was her first and foremost priority. I outlined the situation and she made it to the bookstore in less than fifteen minutes.

  If Detective Pitt thought Nana Jo was tough, he hadn’t seen anything until he saw my sister in full-blown lawyer mode. Both she and her husband were lawyers. They met in law school. Tony was a corporate attorney, and Jenna was a criminal defense attorney.

  In the end, Detective Pitt took my manuscript but not my laptop.

  Nana Jo was jittery. Jenna paced.

  It wasn’t until that moment I realized the similarities between the people in my book and the people in my life. Lady Penelope Marsh paced, just like my sister. Victor was a chivalrous gentleman, just like my brother-in-law. Clayton Parker was a no-good lowlife who went to someone else’s house and got himself killed, just like the Charles Parker in my book. I’d unconsciously taken bits and pieces of people I knew and turned them into characters in my fiction.

  Jenna promised to call a friend at the police station and see what she could find out. I left Dawson and Nana Jo to take care of the bookstore and went upstairs. Curled up in my bed, I was a basket case. I missed Leon. Oreo was my tough protector, but Snickers sensed my need for a cuddle. I tried to ignore the loneliness where Leon’s soul once resided. When my tears fell, Snickers licked them away.

  It was dark when Nana Jo flipped on the light and sat on the side of my bed. I’d dozed.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry. I feel awful. You trusted me with your manuscript, and I let it fall into the hands of that no-good weasel. Can you forgive me?”

  Nana Jo’s face was filled with sincerity and hurt. My normally vibrant grandmother had aged. Maybe my nap helped to put things back into perspective, a job Leon had excelled at. Maybe he hadn’t vacated that place in my soul after all. It had to be a piece of his practical common sense that made me understand the manuscript was just a story. Detective Pitt read my book, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I didn’t kill Clayton Parker. My family loved me, and they would be with me no matter what happened. I was blessed.

  Nana Jo and I hugged. Snickers wiggled her way in between us.

  “I think you need a bit of fun.” Nana Jo said. “Why don’t you wash your face and put on some makeup? I’m going to call the girls. You need to kick up your heels.”

  “What do you have in mind?” I should have known better.

  At the Four Feathers Casino, I tossed back shots with Nana Jo and the girls. I’d learned my lesson and made sure to eat something before drinking. Even so, I limited myself to two shots and drank diet soda the rest of the evening. Dorothy was friends with one of the managers, who promised to get us rooms if we drank too much, but I planned on sleeping in my own bed. I had no plans to get wasted.

  The Four Feathers, owned by a recently recognized Native American Tribe of the Pontolomas Indians, was located in the middle of nowhere. A winding road led guests through two acres of picturesque woodland and around a man-made lake to a 150,000-square-foot casino with a five-hundred-room luxury hotel and resort. The casino sported three bars, seven restaurants, retail shops, and an event center that drew big name entertainers from all over the world.

  I wasn’t much of a gambler and was uncomfortable at first. Nana Jo and the girls were seasoned veterans and anxious to show me the ropes. Dorothy’s friend got me a member card with fifty dollars of casino bucks. After dinner and drinks, Irma strutted to the bar and joined a couple of gray-haired gentlemen wearing cowboy hats and boots. One of Ruby Mae’s grandsons worked at the buffet. He got us comps for the buffet. She pulled out her knitting and sat and talked. Dorothy went to the high-limit room, where she seemed well-known, to play blackjack. Nana Jo and I strolled to the poker table. She sat down and quickly raked in lots of chips. I didn’t fully grasp the game but didn’t have to be a pro to see Nana Jo was doing well. I watched her for a while and then wandered on and discovered the penny slot room. I sat at a machine with a huge picture of the Clue board game. After watching the people around me, I put my member card in the machine. I wasn’t sure how the machine worked, but understanding wasn’t required. Once I selected the number of lines I wanted to play and the amount of money I wanted to bet on each line, the machine did the rest. People around me bet five dollars per spin, but I played a conservative fifty cents. My wins weren’t huge, but I played for a long time. Women in short brown skirts periodically served drinks.

&nb
sp; I met some very nice people, playing penny slots. The woman sitting next to me smoked like a chimney but kept me laughing. My new friend hit the bonus multiple times. Each time she won a significant amount, she asked me to watch her machine while she cashed out her ticket. When she returned, she stuck her winnings in her bra and twenty dollars in the machine. She had to have at least two grand in her bra by the time her husband came to get her. He said he was broke and ready to go home.

  The smoke in the penny slot room got to be too much, and I moved on. I found Ruby Mae sitting in the lobby in front of a massive fireplace. Young men and women, all grand-or great-grandchildren, surrounded her. I enjoyed sitting with Ruby Mae and her family. Irma divested herself of silver-haired cowboys and joined us. The girls always met in the lobby at midnight to catch the bus to the North Harbor train station, just a short taxi ride from the retirement village. Nana Jo and Dorothy arrived last, which didn’t surprise any of us.

  “I don’t see why we have to leave so early.” Dorothy was argumentative. “We don’t have to worry about the bus. Sam can drive us back. I was on a winning streak.” She flashed several tickets at us.

  Nana Jo whistled.

  “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Plus, we have to get up early for church tomorrow,” Nana Jo said.

  They all looked shocked, except Ruby Mae.

  “I go to church every Sunday,” she said, “but I don’t know the last time some of you saw the inside of a church, except for Clayton Parker’s funeral.”

  “Church? Why do we have to go to church?” Dorothy asked.

  “Because Clayton Parker went to church, and we need to get back on the case and figure out who killed him so that idiot Stinky Pitt will leave my granddaughter alone,” Nana Jo said.

  I grew warm and misty eyed. “I love you, Nana.”

  She hugged me.

  “Of course you do,” Dorothy said, “but not all of us were idle in our time here.” She lowered her voice. “Listen, when I was in the back, I saw the manager talking to an older man whom I saw at the funeral. George Parker.”

  My mouth wasn’t the only one open. “George Parker? He’s Robert Parker’s brother, right? The accountant?”

  “Yes. I kept an eye on him. We were at different tables, but when a seat opened at his table, I moved and introduced myself.”

  “Well, well, well,” Nana Jo said.

  “Well done,” Ruby Mae chimed in.

  We all praised Dorothy’s skills.

  She preened. “Apparently, George Parker is a frequent visitor at the Four Feathers. Marty says he’s a whale.”

  I must have looked as confused as I felt.

  “A whale is someone who spends a lot of money at the casino. Casinos provide lots of comps. Perks. Free rooms, free food, jets, whatever they want to attract whales.”

  “But why?” I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea. “That seems backward to me. You’d think the casinos would want to attract people who don’t already spend lots of money at the casino so they will? I mean, wouldn’t a whale spend money anyway, whether they got perks or not? Why lavish them with gifts?”

  Dorothy looked at me like I was dim-witted. “Whales can spend their money anywhere. They want to attract them to their casino, instead of Vegas or Atlantic City. Sometimes, whales win and take the casino’s money. More often than not, they lose, and the casinos clean up.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “What else did you find out?”

  “Marty said George has been coming a lot and losing a lot.”

  Dorothy reminded me of something Diana Parker said. “Did Marty say anything about Clayton Parker coming here? Was he a whale?”

  Dorothy shrugged, but Ruby Mae answered. “I mentioned Clayton Parker to my niece, Savannah. She works in the hotel. She looked him up, and he did come to the casino. She didn’t say he was a whale, but he came with many different women, none of them Mrs. Parker.”

  “Is George Parker still here?” Nana Jo asked.

  “He was when you dragged me out of the high roller room.”

  We trooped back to the high roller room, but George Parker was nowhere in sight.

  “Darn it.” Dorothy left to find a cash machine to cash out her tickets.

  The girls had an agreement. If one of them won, they all won. At the end of the night, when everyone’s tickets were cashed out, each of us left with six hundred dollars. Most of the money came from Nana Jo and Dorothy. I contributed a hundred to the pot. Irma and Ruby Mae contributed the least, fifty dollars each, the same amount they started the night with. Nana Jo won close to a thousand dollars and Dorothy won the rest. I tried to protest and return the money, but the girls were adamant. It was their system, and they were sticking to it. It made the casino more fun for all of them. Rarely did everyone have a bad night. Sometimes, one person was lucky. The next time, it was someone else. By splitting the winnings, they all shared in the fun.

  By the time I’d dropped the girls off and drove Nana Jo and me home, it was almost two a.m. I hated entering the garage at that time of morning and waking up Dawson and the poodles. He was looking after them while I was gone. When I pulled in to the alley, his light was still on. Once I parked in the garage, his door opened, and two barking poodles rushed down to greet me.

  My hair and clothes reeked of smoke. I felt the need to shower and wash my hair. I made quick work of it and didn’t bother to dry my hair. I climbed into bed after a crazy day, full of highs and lows, and tried to sort through my emotions. Nothing made sense.

  I fell asleep and dreamed of Indians harpooning whales in the British countryside.

  Chapter 17

  After three hours of sleep, I was rudely awakened. Nana Jo flipped on the lights and ordered me to get up so we could grab a bite to eat before getting to the early service. That moment was probably the closest I’d ever come to murder. Church was fine, but why did we need to go to the early service?

  “You have got to be kidding.” If I ignored her, maybe she’d go away.

  Not my nana. She pulled the pillow off my head, leaned close to my ear, and screamed, “Get up.” She followed up with a slap to my derriere and marched out of the room.

  Oreo leapt over me, not bothering to notice either my limbs or Snickers. She growled and moved to the other end of the bed, as far away from Oreo as possible, without leaving the bed. I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to figure how long I could delay getting up. Oreo sat on my chest, facing my feet, and wagged his tail in my face.

  Nana Jo stuck her head into my room. “Grace called. She has a migraine, so she’s not going to church. Are you still in bed?”

  I dislodged Oreo and got up. I was grateful I’d taken a shower last night, or rather this morning. Normally I blew my hair dry and beat the curls into submission. Without a firm hand, they were unruly, with a mind of their own. Letting them air-dry overnight was a mistake. One look in the mirror told me a hat was required.

  Hat secured, coffee in hand, and Nana Jo by my side, I headed to South Harbor Lutheran Church. A church van collected people from the retirement village, and Irma and Ruby Mae waited for us in the lobby.

  “Where’s Dorothy?” I asked before I spotted her coming out of the ladies’ room, chatting with a middle-aged woman.

  We took seats near the back of the sanctuary. South Harbor Lutheran was a large church and had two services. The early service was conservative. Most of the attendees were older.

  After the service, they served coffee, cookies, and punch in the basement. We each grabbed a cup of coffee and dispersed. Irma batted her eyelashes at a gray-haired usher. She’d winked at him earlier. Ruby Mae sat at a table and talked with a woman who sang in the choir. Nana talked to the pastor, and Dorothy talked to a man I recognized from the funeral service, George Parker. I tried to muster up the energy to strike up a conversation with someone.

  “Samantha, is that you?”

  I turned and saw Diana Parker. “Diana, it’s really good to see you. How a
re you doing?” I was grateful to see a familiar face.

  “You attend South Harbor Lutheran?”

  “Oh, no. My grandmother and some of her friends wanted to come, so I tagged along.”

  She relaxed and leaned in. “I usually don’t come to the early service,” she whispered. “Too many old people, but Clayton’s uncle likes this service. I came with him.” I looked in the direction she pointed. George Parker still chatted with Dorothy. Whatever she was saying, he looked fascinated. “Looks like he’s found a friend.”

  “Is your uncle married?”

  Diana sipped her coffee and shook her head. “No. He’s a widower. His wife died a long time ago. It would be nice if he met someone, though.”

  “It must be very lonely for him. When my husband died, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  I waved her off. “Of course not. There’s no reason to apologize. You’re a widow too.”

  “Well, my situation isn’t exactly the same.” She was quiet for several seconds.

  I waited.

  “You probably loved your husband,” she said.

  “Yes. I loved Leon very much. But, I’m sure you must have—”

  “I did love Clay once, but I don’t know if he ever loved me. There were so many affairs.”

  I tried to think of something to say. The next service would start soon, and I didn’t have much time. “Was there one person in particular?” I might not have been so blunt were I not feeling so rushed.

  Diana either didn’t notice or was accustomed to my bluntness. “I don’t think so. I used to think he was having an affair with someone from his office. He spent so much time there. But, he fired his receptionist about a week before he was killed. If there had been anything going on, it was certainly over.”