by N. C. Lewis
"Hello, what have you got for us today?" She spoke with a bright, cheery voice.
"Only one box of goodies this time," I replied placing it on the counter.
"Wonderful. I'll sort through the items, label and store them."
"Well, I may as well walk one or two of the dogs," I said. I had little going on for the day and always enjoyed playing with the stray dogs until they found a new home.
"If you can find one," the teenage girl answered, then added in way of explanation, "There are four or five other volunteers working the kennels today."
I walked through to the kennels. For once, it was silent, all the dogs were with a volunteer outside in the dog run.
"Nothing to do here," I said to myself.
"That's what I thought when I first got here," a voice from behind me answered, and I turned to see Charlotte Arrow walking out of an open kennel with a friendly smile.
"So sorry to hear about your dad," I said remembering she was Andy Arrow's daughter.
Charlotte's eyes glistened. "I miss my dad so much." Her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes. "Daddy was such a nice person; he loved everyone and gave without regard to himself. He supported me through my degree and was a great believer in the arts, especially theatre. Daddy was a very special man."
I half wondered if she was talking about the same person everyone else seemed to despise. People see what they want to see I thought as I replied in a sympathetic tone, "Such a tragic loss for you."
Charlotte placed her face in her hands and sobbed, her whole body quaked. Eventually, she looked up, her eyes cleared, and her lips tugged into a weak smile. Working with animals takes my mind off things. They are so wonderful for the morale, don't you think?"
"Oh yes, I took in a stray dog myself a while back, and he is a lot of fun."
Charlotte seemed to perk up. "That is so kind. I've taken in a litter of three puppies myself, just until we can find them a loving home. It's a lot of work but so rewarding."
"Guess it must be a little like being on stage," I said, thinking back to the time I'd seen her in Moozoos Café. "Much more work behind the scenes than the audience could imagine."
Charlotte beamed. "That's it! Are you interested in the stage?"
"Got tickets to your show this coming Saturday."
"That's wonderful. What did you say your name is?"
"Ollie Stratford."
Charlotte fell silent for a moment as if she was deep in thought. Then she flashed a warm, welcoming smile. "Ollie, would you like to see behind the scenes of the play?"
Not particularly, I thought. "I'm sure it must be very interesting." I'd been to the backstage area of the Lilly building during the mysterious case of the magic mumbles. Once the mystery was solved it faded out of the news, of course, and I went back to living a normal life. But I wasn't keen to return to the backstage area any time soon.
Charlotte picked up on the disinterest in my eyes, and hesitation in my voice. She flashed a quick smile. "You'll love it, and I'll get you a box seat for the actual performance. Have you ever sat in a box seat?"
I had, with my late husband, John. We saw Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and had an amazing view of the show. I smiled inwardly at the memory. Charlotte had sold me. In a light voice, I said, "I've always had a curious fascination for what goes on behind the scenes in plays and movies. Oh yes, I'd love to be your guest."
"Our troop, the Wimberly Players, are performing at the Lilly building Saturday evening, but we'll practice tonight at seven. Do you know the Lilly building?"
"Yes," I replied, again remembering the mysterious case of the magic mumbles. "I know the Lilly building very well."
"Good, use the stage door at the side of the building, because the main entrance won't be open. I'll see you at seven this evening then?"
"You can count on it," I said with a smile.
Chapter 34
Another round of dark clouds had rolled across the Hill Country sky as I pulled into the parking lot behind Moozoos Café. I skipped over the puddles, half glancing up at the heavy, black clouds, hurrying to get inside before the inevitable downpour.
The doorbell to the café rang as a tremendous roar of thunder shook the atmosphere. I was inside Medlin Creek's independent coffee shop when the first drops of rain splashed down from the heavens. For a moment I paused, breathing in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with cinnamon sweetness.
A few tourists sat at tables scattered across the café. A plump, pale woman drank from a china cup across the table from a man whose dark eyes looked like puddles of dirty water. The woman stared morosely out of the window at the rain, then pointed at something on her tablet computer. At another table, a little farther along, two middle-aged women chatted with enthusiasm, their energized voices mixing with the pitter-patter of the rain.
"What will be your pleasure?" asked the barista rising from a stool behind the counter.
"Creek Jolt," I said without hesitation.
The barista's lopsided eyes slid across my face, and his pointy, carrot-shaped chin twitched.
"Creek Jolt," he repeated. Then slowly turned to prepare the drink.
"Ollie, it's been a rough few days for you, hasn't it?" he said, handing over the drink.
"Yep," I said, staring down at the cup. There was little use denying it. Medlin Creek is a small town and news travels fast. "This week is one of those that belong in the "do not repeat" category."
The barista nodded. "Things are happening so fast in this town I can scarcely keep up."
I lifted my face and gave him an encouraging look. There was something he wanted to say, and I wanted to hear it. "Anything new?"
He puffed out his chest like a rooster welcoming the morning sun. "Word on the Creek," he said as if announcing an event on the evening news. "Dan Sweet is out of jail. My contacts tell me there will be no charges brought by the college."
I turned my head and glanced at the two middle-aged women lost in conversation. "Good for him," I said thoughtfully. "Wouldn’t want to see an innocent man behind bars."
The barista looked at me sadly, then looked away out through the door at the rain. "Suppose so, but that leaves the question of who killed Andy Arrow?"
I thought about Ava Torgersen but said, "That's a question for the Medlin Creek Sheriff's Department."
The barista laughed. It was a melancholic laugh, with a soft birdlike chirp. "Don't hold your breath. Seems to me this is the type of impossible mystery you like to solve."
"Yep," I replied, "but right now I need to find another job."
"Sorry about what happened at…" His voice trailed off, and he smiled warmly. "You've solved tougher cases than this. You'll figure it out."
I took a sip from the cup, shrugged, and hurried over to my favorite table by the window to wait for Millie. For a while I watched the rain splatter against the window, the little droplets racing against each other down the pane. I must be mad to get involved in the death of Andy Arrow, I thought, mad! Then I wondered if I had ever solved a tougher case than this.
I gulped a mouthful of Creek Jolt and considered Charlotte Arrow and Sophia Flores. They say most murders are by someone the victim knows well. Could either of these two have encouraged Andy to take medication even though he was in decent shape? I made a mental note to tell Millie of my meeting tonight with Charlotte, I was sure there were questions she'd like me to ask.
The rain eased, and the sun broke through the clouds. I took another sip and thought for a moment. The killer of Andy Arrow was someone with the means, motivation, and opportunity. Until now, I had focused on the motivation part and Ava Torgersen. What I couldn't figure out was the opportunity part. Ava didn’t get along with Andy Arrow, so how had she persuaded him to take an overdose, especially given that he wasn’t on any medication? Maybe, I thought, at last, I'm interpreting the whole thing wrong.
Chapter 35
"Oh my gosh, Ollie," cried Millie hurrying over to my table with a large cup in her ha
nd. She slipped into a seat and glanced around the café in a single smooth movement. Sunlight danced across the tables. The plump, pale-faced woman pointed out the window toward the sky. The man whose dark eyes looked like puddles, nodded. They got up together and hurried out of the café.
"Interesting news, " Millie said, waving her cup and smiling with her eyes. "This is hot off the press from a contact at Medlin Creek Community College." She turned her head and glanced again at the two middle-aged women chatting, and beyond them to the café entrance where the doorbell pinged. Two office workers scurried into the café, shaking off umbrellas and speaking in hushed tones. The barista took their orders and prepared their drinks.
I shuffled in my seat. "Go on Millie, what have you found out?"
"Do you know Marcia López?"
I placed a hand on my cheek. "It rings a bell. Now, where on earth do I know her from? Is it from the Sisters of the Creek Coffee Circle, or perhaps the Speaker Circle? No, no, it's not from either of those places."
Millie placed her cup to her lips and took a sip.
I half closed my eyes.
Then it struck me. "Marcia López is a receptionist at the college."
Millie grinned. "Exactly! A very friendly lady and a good talker."
Now I was curious. "What about Marcia López?"
Millie leaned forward and said deliberately, "She told me that Ava Torgersen submitted plans last week for office refurbishment."
"Refurbishment," I echoed, recalling the shabby state of Ava's office. "It certainly could do with a lick of paint. What's so odd about that?"
Millie's hand slid into her handbag. Professor Purple appeared. "There is nothing wholly unusual about submitting plans for the revamping of an office. That is quite an ordinary occurrence in the normal order of things. However, Ava Torgersen submitted plans…" His sock puppet eyes grew wide, but his voice was scarcely more than a whisper, as he finished, "... for the redecoration of Andy Arrow's office!"
"Ooh la la!" cried Madame Bleu appearing on Millie's other hand. "Ava Torgersen must be trapped behind la prison bars before le serpent strikes again!" She lowered her head as if searching for something on the floor. "It is time for jeter!" she said at last.
"Jeter?" I quizzed.
"That means to cast away, in French," she answered.
"Oh, I see," I said, but I didn’t, not quite.
Madame Bleu's face scrunched into a ball. "It is time to inform le département du shérif."
Millie shook her head. "No," she said decisively. "I must write my article first. Can't you see this is the biggest story to hit the Hill Country this year? It is certain to be front-page news across Texas, and possibly the entire world! Now that I've lost my catering job, this is my only chance to hit it big."
Professor Purple spoke up. "It is not wholly unreasonable to inform the sheriff's department of our findings. Provided that is, we have some concrete evidence. Right now, all we have is hearsay and rumors."
"Jeter le serpent en prison!" cried Madame Bleu, disappearing into Millie's handbag.
At that instant, for some inexplicable reason, we fell silent and turned, as one, toward the barista. His lopsided eyes were closed, and his head tilted so his ears pointed like an electronic receiving set—in our direction. Professor Purple's eyes narrowed as the barista's mouth opened and closed, repeating the exact same sequence of words Madame Bleu had just spoken.
After a moment or two, the barista's carrot-shaped chin twitched with speed like a hand tuning a radio from station to station. Suddenly, he shook his head, opened his eyes and let out a startled gasp when he saw us staring at him. With the continuous movement of a pirouetting ballerina, he twirled around and scurried to the storeroom behind the counter.
Just then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow move across the window. My head jerked up. Outside, looking in, hands cupped and pressed against the café window was a furious-looking face staring back.
"Look!" I said, pointing to the window.
Millie gazed in the direction, but the face had gone.
"What is it?" Millie asked with surprise. "What did you see?"
I shivered, hugged my arms across my chest, and with a chill of apprehension said, "Ava Torgersen, staring through the café window at us."
Chapter 36
Millie's mouth fell open and her head jerked forward toward the window. But the rain had started again, and she could barely see the road, along which a handful of cars, like shadows at dawn, moved slowly.
Professor Purple appeared, and in a shaky, soft, halting voice said, "It would not be unreasonable to inform the sheriff's department of our findings even though we have no factual evidence as such."
Madame Bleu appeared on the edge of Millie's handbag, she peered around but did not come out fully. "It is time to inform le département du shérif, is it not? Time to jeter le serpent Ava Torgersen en prison!"
"Well," I said thoughtfully, "we really don't have much in the way of concrete facts, only circumstantial crumbs. And we all know what happened to Hansel and Gretel's crumbs."
"We do?" quizzed Millie.
"Yes!"
"Remind me."
"The birds ate them, remember?"
Millie swung her head up and down in exaggerated agreement. "Got to watch those birds, especially around here."
I burst out laughing. "What I'm trying to say is that we don't have much in the way of solid facts, only crumbs. It would be up to Deputy Dingsplat to follow up on these, put them together, and make a case."
Madame Bleu spoke up. "Then we must visit with Deputy Dingsplat at once. The sooner we give him the crumbs, the less time for the birds to dine on them."
Millie stiffened and raised a hand to ward off any further conversation. "I agree," she said with a gasp, "I'll write up my notes tonight, and we can visit with Deputy Dingsplat first thing tomorrow morning."
"First thing?" I quizzed, knowing that Millie was not a morning person.
"First thing," she confirmed, slipping Professor Purple back into her handbag. "After breakfast and Moozoos—around eleven thirty good for you?"
"Oh Millie!" I said exasperatedly.
"Please! Ollie, you know my mind is mashed potatoes before noon."
"Okay," I said reluctantly. "I'll meet you here at eleven thirty tomorrow morning. If you discover anything interesting while you are writing your article, be sure to call or text."
"Will do, " she grinned.
I gave a little wave and headed out of the café. Another rumble of thunder and rain continued in driving gray sheets. I hadn’t even got to the side of the building before my clothes were soaked through. By the time I pulled out of the parking lot behind Moozoos Café, I was already trying to put things together into a logical order, so I could explain it all to Deputy Dingsplat.
Chapter 37
After playing with Bodie, I took a shower and relaxed on the sofa with a James Patterson novel. This afternoon I wanted to escape into an action-packed story and forget about real life. For several hours the only sound was the tick-tock of the clock on the mantel, and the gentle rustle of turning pages.
The clock struck six o'clock. As is my custom, I put down the book, got up, and stretched. As I relaxed into dead man's pose, I remembered the rehearsal meeting with Charlotte Arrow. I gathered my things together and hurried along the dirt path, through the little iron gate to the Tahoe. I started the engine, turned out onto the lane, headed toward the warehouse district, and the Lilly building.
The Lilly Building, a rambling, clay-brown, brick structure, had originally been a warehouse. The wealthy Lilly family bought it during the 1990s and turned it into an event center. But a certain seediness had set in as the surrounding factories closed.
By the time I pulled into the Lilly building parking lot, it was dark, with a cloud-filled, starless sky. I squinted at the dashboard clock, a little after seven, and the rehearsal would already be underway. Then I peered up. Another storm was brewing.
/> I dashed toward the building, avoiding the murky puddles as I went. The daytime temperature had dropped, and the air was cold with a light breeze that felt like a slab of ice on my cheeks. I walked faster. Charlotte had mentioned the main entrance would be closed, so I hurried along the well-lit pathway that led to the back of the building. Suddenly, I realized I'd forgotten to tell Millie I would be meeting with Charlotte.
"Better text her when I get inside."
The stage door was the same clay brown as the building. Two crew members: One lanky, the other short and fat, both wearing black, came out as I climbed the three or four steps to the door. I pulled on the handle, then pushed—locked shut! I turned to look back. The crew members sloped off around a corner. I tried the door again.
"Is that you, Ollie?"
I spun around.
Charlotte hurried along the pathway, her face partially obscured by shadow. She took quick steps, swinging her arms like a power walker. While she was coming I said, "The door is locked; do you have a key?"
With a smooth hand gesture, a hint of drama, she paused momentarily to stare at the closed door. "Oh dear, I don't. Tell you what, let's wait in the RV, I have a key for that." Charlotte turned, pointing with a bony finger along the path toward a small parking lot used for deliveries. There, under the weak yellow light of a street lamp, was an old, battered Georgie Boy RV with 'Wimberly Players' hand painted on the side. The dull, silver paint reminded me of the utility electrical boxes that cling to the sides of low-rise apartment blocks.
I stood at the top of the steps, peering into the darkness at the vehicle. A streak of lightning raced across the sky. A rumble of angry-sounding thunder followed close behind. "Okay, let's go before the rain soaks us through to the skin, and we freeze to death."
The door to the RV opened with a dull screech.
"Much better in here," said Charlotte as we entered.
The first thing I saw was a table set with two blue-and-white teacups on saucers, a matching teapot, with a little, white bowl filled with sugar cubes alongside a blue china milk pitcher. The second thing I noticed was the electric fireplace burning bright and as realistic as a hearth in an English cottage. Then I felt the warmth wrap around me. I sighed. "Yes, I agree, it is much better to wait in here."
