Angry Arrow

by N. C. Lewis

  Ava's eye's narrowed, and she spluttered, "Professor Bingham sent you, didn’t he?"

  That caught me by surprise, again. But I thought I'd turn it to my advantage and get her to crack.

  "Yes," I shouted, my eyes wild and arms waving around like tree branches in a storm. "Yes, yes, Professor Bingham sent me to shake the truth out of you, Ava. No more hiding. Why don’t you tell the truth?"

  I regretted my words the moment they flew uncontrolled, with la passion et l'émotion, out of my mouth. They were over the top, way over the top! Now, all I wanted was to strangle Madame Bleu.

  As I was about to apologize and backtrack, Ava let out a terrified scream. It was just like a scream in the movies. I should have noticed its rather dramatic overtones, seen the joyful glimmer in her eyes. But I didn’t. Ava screamed again, then like an actress in a Broadway production cowered by the window, trembling, and her eyes wide with terror.

  "Keep away from me, you beast," she yelled, again in a dramatic fashion. "Keep away, you bullying liar!"

  Just then the office door flew open. In rushed Chancellor Cannington, followed by Mrs. McNasste, and two security guards.

  Chapter 27

  Time seemed to stop, and in that infinitely small instant that in reality was less than a second, the truth struck me.

  And it struck me like a hard object propelled with great force.

  And it hurt.

  It was the realization that I'd been set up. Chancellor Cannington, Mrs. McNasste, and the security guards had been waiting just outside of the door, not quite out of earshot. Ava had sprung her trap, and I was well and truly snared.

  I froze, unable to speak as events unfolded rapidly around me.

  "I told you, I told you," wailed Ava, "Professor Bingham and Doctor Stratford have bullied and threatened their way through this organization. The two of them are savage, drunken beasts who don't belong in a civilized educational establishment. All y'all witnessed her threats, heard her say Professor Bingham is at the bottom of this. Y'all listened to it all, didn’t you?"

  "Oh yes," answered Mrs. McNasste with an excited lightness to her voice that didn’t match the gravity of the situation. "The chancellor and I listened to the whole sordid conversation." She rolled the word "sordid" over her tongue as if tasting a vulgar wine. "A sordid, sordid affair," she said turning to Chancellor Cannington.

  "Indeed, indeed." Chancellor Cannington nodded and spoke in a soft voice, "Professor Torgersen, I'm sorry this matter did not come to my attention earlier—"

  "It's been going on for years," interrupted Ava, sobbing buckets of crocodile tears. She turned to Mrs. McNasste. "Do you believe me now?"

  "Oh yes," replied the human resources officer, who seemed strangely energized by the whole incident. "Yes, yes, yes; we all believe you now."

  Ava glanced at me with snake-like eyes. "I know you can't help yourself, Doctor Stratford, so I forgive you. But, please seek medical help. I'm sure there is a pill or something. Maybe even therapy, if you are ready to admit your addiction to lying, cheating, bullying, and stealing."

  The deceitful woman placed her face in her hands and sobbed, her whole body quaking in a way that felt as if she was laughing. Then the serpent of a woman turned to the chancellor. "Is it over now, Chancellor Cannington?" she whimpered like a frightened child.

  "It is for Doctor Stratford," he said, glaring in my direction. "It's finished for her!"

  Mrs. McNasste scurried forward, skipping like a schoolgirl—a pink slip in her hand. Her lips were slightly parted, pupils dilated, and she breathed heavily as she dished out my termination notice. I took it all without a word, remembering what my late husband, John, always used to say, "Be true to yourself and accept wrong done with grace and with the determination to correct it by all means."

  The security officers escorted me along the corridor, one on either side. In a daze, I shuffled into the elevator, still grasping the pink sheet of paper, and wondering how today could have gone so wrong.

  Word of the incident spread quickly through the grapevine. As the elevator doors opened into the lobby, an excited chatter filled the air. Everyone in the college seemed to have crowded into the reception area. I glanced around in a state of disbelief. A sea of faces stared back. Young, old, fat, thin, male, female—everyone staring and pointing like I was a monkey at the zoo.

  "There she is," whispered a red-faced woman with a shock of white hair. Her bony finger stretched outward toward the elevator. The crowd stood with their mouths half open, watching. I wanted to hold my head up high, but somehow my neck muscles failed, and it hung low, as did my back which arched into a kind of fetal position.

  The security officers who are the most invisible members of staff in a Hill Country college took their moment in the spotlight with gusto. They goose-stepped me through the lobby to the electronic glass door. There they paused for a moment as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky followed by a roar of thunder. As the electronic glass door slid open, another round of heavy rain spewed down from the heavens.

  Chapter 28

  It was a little after five when I arrived back home at Ealing Homestead. The sky was a deep blue but darkening again, and the cedar and oak trees were full of shadows with the sun above the tallest hill in the west. Bodie hurried to greet me and danced around my feet. On automatic pilot, I rubbed his belly, refilled his water and food bowls, and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Bodie finished his food and curled up in his dog bed, watched me for a few moments then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. I placed my head in my hands and clenched my teeth so tightly that my jaw ached. I was the one who messed up. Anger tight in my throat exploded out of my mouth, "Now, I'm finished. Washed up. Done!"

  I breathed deeply, once, twice, fighting off panic.

  "I'll be all right… I'll be alright… I'll be alright," but the mantra didn’t work. Somehow, I'd stumbled into a snake pit and been bitten by a viper.

  "Oh crap!"

  Grimly, I stood up and hurried to a cupboard high over the sink, and on the tips of my toes, flipped open the door, reaching inside. My hand grasped what I needed, a bottle of cheap sipping whiskey. I poured half a tumbler and splashed in several cubes of ice and took a sip, then another, then yet another.

  I slumped back into a chair at the kitchen table, placed my head in my hands, closed my eyes, and for a moment succumbed to weariness. It would be so easy to give up on the dream to be an independent businesswoman. To abandon my event center and surrender my plans to reopen the old oil well that lay on the edge of the property. Was it time to admit defeat?

  I opened my eyes and tried to come up with a plan, but rational thought had gone. John always said, "When you don't know what to do, focus on the next thing."

  I stood up and walked to the bathroom. After a long, hot shower and slipping into a nightshirt, I felt a little better. As I sat on my bed, I considered calling a friend—Millie, or perhaps Kidd from the dojo. But I didn’t really want to speak with anyone. I just wanted to stay inside, in the warmth, curl up, and go to sleep.

  But I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t calm my mind.

  I reached over and picked up the tablet computer that also served as my ebook reader and searched for a movie. Several trailers popped up. I clicked on the first—a swashbuckling adventure.

  A tall, muscular man in green, khaki pants and a matching hat waved his arms around in warning.

  "Men, this is the jungle. Don't sleep on the ground; it's too dangerous."

  A short, potbellied man with a waxed mustache and wearing a military uniform disagreed. "Stuff and nonsense! The ground is perfectly adequate for the men's needs."

  Suddenly there was a shout of alarm, followed by some sort of commotion. The tall, muscular man in the green, khaki pants drew a cutlass. It rose and fell with speed, flashing and glinting in the jungle twilight. Then it rose again, holding the headless corpse of a snake on its tip.

  I turned off the tablet, hurried
to the bathroom, opened the mirrored medicine cabinet, sought out a bottle and shook out two pills. Already, as I climbed into bed, sleep began to overtake me, in wave after delicious wave. As I drifted off into a vivid dream, I wondered how many catering shifts it would take to replace my teaching income.

  John came to me in my sleep. He wrapped an arm around my waist and we walked, barefoot, on a white, sandy beach. Together we climbed to the top of a massive sand dune and surveyed the landscape. John drew me in close. I snuggled against his chest and sighed.

  "What happened, John?" But when the words came out of my mouth, John vanished.

  I woke up in a cold sweat, reached for my cell phone, squinted at the screen and gasped—eleven a.m. Could I have slept that long? Evidently, I had.

  I sat up and leaned against the pillow in silence for a few moments, closing my eyes and thinking about John. If he hadn’t taken that overseas assignment, he would be with me today. Had the security guards protected him and his coworkers from the bandits, he'd be lying next to me. The local police botched the rescue, resulting in an inferno that killed the hostages and bandits. Had the authorities investigated the disaster thoroughly? There was no trial, no defendants, no anything, really.

  I took a long breath and let it out slowly.

  "If only…" I said aloud but didn’t finish the sentence.

  The cell phone rang.

  I peered at the screen. It was Patricia Hampton, sometimes receptionist, sometimes dispatch operator at the sheriff's department.

  "Hello Pat," I croaked.

  "Ollie, is that you?"

  "Yes."

  "You sound different."

  I cleared my throat. "Yep, it's me. What's going on?"

  "One moment."

  Muffled voices echoed down the line.

  "Okay, I've only got a few seconds," Pat said at last. "Thought you would like to know the medical examiner's report is on Sheriff Hays' desk. When he returns from his vacation, he'll have something tough to chew on."

  "How so?"

  "Andy Arrow was poisoned."

  Chapter 29

  Pat hung up giving no other information. It didn’t matter though; the news would be all over Medlin Creek. In a matter of hours, I'd have all the details, even if I wasn’t looking, which I wasn’t.

  I got up, took a shower, slipped into fresh clothes, let Bodie outside, and sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal. The cereal didn’t taste good, but it was healthy. I took a bite and thought about my dream. What did it mean? It didn't make any sense in the light of day. I took another bite of cereal and scowled.

  The cell phone rang.

  It was Millie.

  "Oh my gosh, Ollie. Have you heard the news?"

  "Andy Arrow?"

  "Yes. Isn't it incredible? I've never known so much positivity. Ollie, it's like a dream come true."

  "Eh?"

  "Like I said before, I'm on the positive side of the split. It's been nothing but good luck and good fortune, one after the other. The medical examiner's report has to be the crescendo."

  "The crescendo?"

  "Yes," replied Millie, her voice reaching a peak, "Andy Arrow's poisoning is my gravy train to a full-time job as a reporter. The story is bigger than the Medlin Creek Times. I'm guessing the Austin American Statesman might make me an offer I can't refuse. And the great news is we even know who the killer is—Ava Torgersen. By the way, how did your meeting go with Ava?"

  I told her.

  Millie didn’t speak for a long while, but when she did, the excitement had drained from her voice.

  "That's not good… that's not good at all."

  "What am I going to do?"

  Millie was good at speaking first and thinking later, just like me. But what she said next took me by surprise. "Help solve the murder of Andy Arrow."

  "What? Are you kidding?"

  "Listen." She paused for a moment as if trying to come up with something convincing. "Well... err… you've got nothing else to do, you may as well help gather information for my article and at the same time solve the mystery."

  "What about money?"

  "Well… I've got a ton of catering shifts to fill. We can work together; it will be fun."

  I pressed the phone hard against my ear, chewed my lip and considered her words for a moment. Then making up my mind I said, "Okay, yes, I'll help you. I don't know what really happened to Andy Arrow, but I intend to find out. For Andy Arrow, who deserves justice, for my own peace of mind, and for my husband, John."

  "Oh my gosh, Ollie, this is going to be so exciting."

  My mind was already way ahead of me, racing through possibilities and avenues to investigate.

  "Let's not do anything that interferes with the official investigation," I said.

  "Of course; of course. Anyway, until Sheriff Hays gets back to town, I doubt there'll be any progress."

  "Or," I added, "jeopardize our safety."

  "Agreed."

  "And," I continued, "if we find anything—anything at all—we turn it into the sheriff's department."

  Millie was silent for a while. "Okay, anything you say."

  I thought for a moment. "Where does Ava fit into this?"

  Millie sighed. "I don't know."

  I changed direction. "What was the poison?"

  "Methylphenidate hydrochloride. It's a drug used to treat attention deficit disorder."

  "Andy Arrow had attention deficit disorder?"

  "Not according to my sources. The man was as fit as a fiddle, wasn’t even on any medication."

  "So, it wasn’t prescribed by his doctor?"

  "Nope. Whoever gave it to him probably obtained it from the black market."

  I pressed my palm to my cheek. "Millie, you’ve given me an idea."

  Chapter 30

  I explained my idea to Millie and hung up. Twenty minutes later she called back with what I needed.

  "I've got the address of Sophia Flores," she said. "Sophia rents a trailer at Glorious Vistas Trailer Park, row K, lot seven. Meet me at Moozoos in thirty minutes, and we can ride over together. According to my contacts, she has no visible sources of income."

  After stopping by Moozoos, grabbing a coffee and Millie, we set out for Glorious Vistas. The trailer park sits deep along a narrow dirt track behind the Strip and Pick junkyard. Row upon row of ancient mobile homes line up in crooked formation, their brown paint peeling and windows clouded. As we drove slowly toward row K, a large brown dog chased after us growling and snarling. Its angry barks seemed to go unnoticed by the bovine-faced women who sat staring blankly as their little children played and crawled up and down their stoops.

  When we turned onto the dirt track of row K, the brown dog stopped, howled, and scampered away. It was a forlorn place, even more run down than earlier rows. It had a set of decrepit trailers with boarded-up windows and broken doors. There were no mailboxes, and brown grass clung together in straggly clumps between the trailers. Desolation hung in the air. The only sign of life was a round-faced man with leathery skin and an enormous beer belly, who sat shirtless on a yellow, plastic chair. He sipped something out of a brown paper bag and stared through narrowed eyes as we drove by, but he didn’t get up.

  I pulled up outside lot seven. The decrepit trailer, wedged like a trash can between a rusted Ford F-150 and a rotting, wooden shed, had boarded-up windows and plywood boards for a door. Bushes grew wild, almost obscuring the stoop. The brown paint that once coated the trailer, had faded and peeled under years of Texas sun.

  Millie glanced around nervously. "Someone mentioned Sophia is with the Mexican mafia."

  I had come across the same rumor, but now wasn’t the time to admit that. I drew in a deep breath. "If she is, the pay is not what it used to be! Anyway, I figure she'll know where to get methylphenidate hydrochloride."

  "If she is home, " Millie replied staring at the plywood board that served as the front door.

  "Only one way to find out, " I answered climbing out of the Tah
oe.

  Little puddles of dirty water covered the bare ground like craters on the moon, and the air reeked of rotting food, grease, and fried foods. The sun dipped behind a blackish cloud.

  "Quién eres y qué quieres?" boomed a male voice in Spanish.

  I whirled around.

  The man with the enormous beer belly pounded along the dirt track. He stopped about ten feet from the Tahoe, a light sheen of perspiration glinted from his forehead and his belly heaved up and down as he breathed heavily.

  "Ladies, I said, who are you, and what do you want?"

  "Estamos aquí para reunirnos con la Sra. Flores," said Millie, climbing out of the truck. "Sir, I'm a reporter for the Medlin Creek Times and want to interview Mrs. Flores about Andy Arrow."

  The man grunted and nodded toward Sophia's trailer. "Give the door a hard knock." Apparently satisfied, he turned and plodded back toward his stoop, stopping halfway to take a swig from his little, brown bag.

  The wind picked up and the stench of rotten food and grease hit us even harder. Then a bright flash overhead and the rumble of thunder.

  "Come on, let's get inside before it rains," I said, dashing up the steps and pounding on the front door.

  Millie hurried behind, all the while looking around apprehensively. Rain began to fall in large, heavy drops. I pounded on the door again.

  "Adelante, come in," called a familiar, husky voice—Sophia Flores.

  Inside, the trailer smelled of bacon, chorizo, fried eggs, and cheap cigarettes. Sophia slouched on a couch, her eyes wide, bright, and wild. She didn’t get up.

  "Sophia," said Millie softly, "I'm a reporter with the Medlin Creek Times, and I'm writing an article on the death of Andy Arrow."

  Sophia sat up straight at the mention of his name. "Mi rico amante, my rich lover… very, very rich, ha-ha-ha."

  Millie glanced in my direction.

  I nodded. Sophia was as high as a kite in an autumn breeze.

  Millie tried again. "Would you mind answering a few questions?"

  "Dinero, ha-ha-ha necesito dinero…"