A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

Really? I thought. The place was packed. Did he really think he could force me to do anything? Okay, so the DJ was playing the music pretty loudly, but someone would have to notice him trying to kidnap me at some point, right?

  I blew out a huff.

  I hated making a scene.

  “Look, Harrington House-Boy,” I said. “I have to go and I would appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone and stay out of my way.”

  “You uppity women are all alike.”

  Was he judging me? He didn’t even know me. Although it wasn’t the first time I’d been called uppity. Still . . .

  But instead of saying anything, I just decided to walk away. Be the bigger person. But I couldn’t get rid of him. He followed me out to the parking lot and then he grabbed my wrist. Again. I wasn’t going to take much more of him manhandling me that was for sure.

  The lot was well lit, and had a dozen or more people milling around, laughing, couples coddling, and the likes, but even the gathering of people didn’t seem to stop him.

  “How about we go in my car?” he said.

  “I told you,” I said through clenched teeth. I snatched my wrist from out of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “You are such a tease.” He narrowed his eyes at me.

  I shook my head. Maybe I had been a tease. I mean, I did speak to him first, I had softly moved his hair from his eyes, and I was looking awfully cute. “I apologize,” I said and let my eyes meet his so he’d know I meant it. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. I was just trying to have a fun night.”

  “We can still have fun,” he said, his hot, beer breath on my face. He pushed his body into mine.

  That did it. I didn’t even think twice about it.

  I grabbed his wrist, put my high-heeled foot behind his, and with a jerk of my wrist flipped him over, and he hit the ground, his back smacking that concrete parking lot with a thud! And holding his twisted arm straight up, I placed the sole of my designer shoe that he seemed so fond of, right over the hyoid bone in his neck.

  “You’re crazy!” he could barely eke out the words.

  “I asked you to leave me alone,” I said and with that, the small mingling crowd in the lot broke out into applause.

  I smiled. I had forgotten there were people standing about. I tugged down my dress, patted my hair back in place and took a bow.

  “No means no,” I said to my new fans, and then pumped my fist, my own gesture for Woman Power, in the air.

  I got a few yelps from women and a couple honks of car horns and I headed over to my car quite satisfied on how I had handled the situation. But before I could get the door unlocked, this one guy, with a heap of light brown-colored hair and eyes almost as transfixing as Anniversary Guy came up to me, cowboy hat in hand and said, “Hey, Wonder Woman, you alright?” He had a big grin on his face and beautiful white teeth.

  “Yes,” I said tossing my hair back. “But you should probably go and check that guy out.” I pointed to my stalker still lying on the ground rubbing his neck.

  Chapter Two

  “Hi Dedek!” I said talking into my iPad. I had it propped up on the dashboard of my car as I drove to Collierville, a suburb of Memphis.

  It was my maternal grandfather, Luka Kovac, on the other end of the line. In his usual short-sleeved whit shirt, buttoned up to the collar. His thin white hair combed back. I called him, Dedek, the Slovene word for grandfather.

  I’d bought him a matching iPad, taught him how to FaceTime and made him my constant companion after I left home. That way I could see his sparkling blue eyes and reassuring smile anytime I needed to.

  And right now I needed to see it.

  Yes, yes, I was a fighting machine. I could pretty much take care of myself in any situation that involved hand-to-hand combat. I hadn’t worked under my father and Master Lewis’ stern hand to get my fifth dan (black belt) for nothing. But it wasn’t easy on a girl out in this big old world all by her lonesome.

  Sure, it had been my decision to leave home and transform myself from small town girl-next-door to global superstar (although I never did quite make that distinction). But there were plenty of times I felt alone and deflated. And there were still sometimes – more times than I cared to admit – I would get scared and needed the reassuring voice of my grandpa.

  “Kako si moja princeska?” he answered me back in Slovene.

  My grandfather always called me his little princess. He swore that we were royals. Related to Peter II, the last king of Yugoslavia who was deposed in 1941 and sent into exile. I didn’t believe there was any relation, so my Dedek was always determined to prove it to me. He had tried, in my travels, to get me to go to Illinois to visit the king’s grave. (King Peter II had the distinction of being the only European monarch, so far, to have been buried in United States.)

  What I was supposed to glean about my genealogy from visiting a cemetery, I wasn’t sure. I offered instead to swab the inside of his cheek and send it off to Ancestry.com to have our DNA tested. But he nixed that idea super quick. He said, after I explained how it worked, that one of those leaves would pop up on their website showing the link in our royal blood to Peter, and it wouldn’t be long before ancient enemies would be dispatched our way to maim and kill us.

  Good thing I knew taekwondo . . .

  “I’m doing good,” I answered his question in English prompting him to switch languages.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “Are you all by yourself?” I asked wondering if he had an aide in the room with him.

  He ignored my question. “I have a joke for you,” he said instead.

  Yeah you do, I thought and giggled. He always had a joke for me.

  “Knock, knock,” he said.

  Thanks to him I was well-versed in knock-knock jokes. “Who’s there?” I answered instinctively.

  “Cows go.”

  “Cows go who?”

  “No silly!” he said already laughing. “Cows go moo!”

  Giggles erupted from inside and a big grin spread across my face. He’d been telling me his jokes all my life and I had always laughed at them. When I was little I laughed because I thought they were hilarious. But now my giggles weren’t so much from me thinking them funny as it was that his jokes were so corny.

  “Good one, Dedek,” I said still laughing. “How do you come up with these things?”

  “I’m funny, no? I’m your funny Dedek.”

  “Yes. My funny Dedek.” I repeated the phrase I’d said often as a kid, and then blew a kiss toward the screen.

  “So what are you up to?” Dedek asked. “Are you enjoying yourself in Memphis? Did you meet anyone nice?”

  “Uhm . . .” Thoughts of Stalker Guy from the night before rushed into my gray matter. “I’ve met a couple of people, Dedek, but I didn’t come here to make friends or anything. Plus, I’m moving on. Got to get to my next destination. I’ll probably leave tomorrow.”

  Even though the reason for my call was to help calm my nerves after last night’s run in, I didn’t want to worry my grandpa with it. He wasn’t too happy about me running all over the country as it was.

  “Oh,” he said, a saggy eyebrow arched. “And what is your next stop? Is it Connors Grove?”

  “No, Dedek. Not coming home yet.”

  “Is it Illinois? You could go see the grave.”

  “No, Dedek. No King Peter this trip. Sorry.”

  “Well, where are you going then?”

  “I haven’t decided, yet,” I told him, glancing at his face on my iPad monitor. I was trying to extend the inevitable road that led home as long as I could. I was planning to see at least a few more places. Illinois, however, wasn’t one of them.

  “I was thinking maybe Cleveland,” I said. “I could go and see the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.”

  “Yes!” He got excited and leaned into the monitor, his face filling up my entire screen. “That’s where they keep Elvis Presley. The King.”
r />   The other royalty he gave homage to.

  I laughed. “I don’t think they keep him there, Dedek. But I’ll see some of his memorabilia. You want me to bring something back? A souvenir?”

  “If I was only six months younger,” he said shaking his head. “I would tell you to bring me one of those white bedazzled jumpsuits he used to wear. I could wear it around here and I’d have all the women falling at my feet, just like they used to do him.”

  I laughed. The things that came out of his mouth.

  My Dedek lived in a senior living community. It looked more like a gated community with all the ponds, sprawling green lawns and security walking around. But they took care of him, made sure he got his meds and people around to keep him company until I got back there. I could do all my roaming around and not have to worry about him.

  “Six months, Dedek?” I had to ask. “You’d only have to be six months younger?” He was in his mid-eighties. I was thinking that it had to have been a lot longer than half a year since he was able to chase a woman around.

  “Yes,” he said, a look of sincerity on his face. “That’s when my arthritis set in. I can’t move like I used to. You know your Dedek had the moves. I could win all the ladies’ hearts.”

  “Dedek!” I said. “I know nothing about your moves. Should you be telling me this?”

  “You’re old enough to know about your grandfather,” he said. “Mr. Cassanova. That’s what they called me.”

  “Did Babica know about this?” My maternal grandmother had died when I was young and my grandfather never remarried, he said that their love was one of a kind and couldn’t ever be replaced. So this was the first, in my twenty-eight years of living, that I’d heard him referring to himself as a lover.

  “Of course!” he said, a wide smile on his face. “Why do you think she married me?”

  “I don’t know, Dedek.” I said shaking my head. “But I do know that you’ve had arthritis since I was eleven. You were moving slow even back then.”

  “No,” he said and frowned. “That must be your Baba you’re thinking of. She’s been falling apart ever since the day I met her. The day my daughter married her son. An old hag. She not only moves slow, she thinks slow. I swear by all that is holy, you are the only good thing about that woman!”

  “Dedek! Where did that come from? We weren’t even talking about her. Don’t talk about my Baba,” I said. It never took much for him to get started on her. Although the two had, for the most part, raised me, I couldn’t remember a time he had gotten along with her.

  My paternal grandmother had been my custodial guardian until I was sixteen, but I spent weekends with my Dedek and he’d came by her house almost every evening to help me with my homework. Then I went to live with him.

  I was always having to separate the two of them though, they fussed about everything. “She isn’t around to defend herself.”

  “There is no excuse for that woman. What could she defend? And if she came around here, I’d call out the security guards.”

  I put on my blinker and made a left turn.

  “Hey, princeska,” Dedek said. “I just now see that you are in your car. Is it safe for you to be on the phone with me and driving?”

  His whole mood changed just that quickly. “Yes, Dedek. It’s fine. I do it all the time. You know that. Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.”

  “Yes,” he said, “but you have to worry about all the other people driving. Where are you going?”

  The thought of my destination brought a smile to my face. “There is a mall in a little town outside of Memphis and -”

  “Tell me now more,” he said and held up his hand. “I already know by that face you are on your way to spend money you don’t have to buy things you don’t need.”

  “Dedek!”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He shook his head. “It’s time for my morning arts and crafts class. I have to go. You call me later, okay?”

  “Okay, Dedek.” I glanced his way. “And I’m not going to spend too much money. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He leaned in close to the screen. “I am going to run what they call an intervention for you. You need help.”

  And he hung up.

  Maybe I did need help. It was my designer wear that had attracted stalker guy to me the night before, and it was my addiction to buying it that had led to my financial demise and the reason I was going to have to go back home to Connors Grove.

  And even making my way back home, one city at a time, was getting expensive. I really didn’t have the funds, if I wanted to continue my tourist-stop journey, to buy a designer anything.

  But I’d found a sale at the Dillard’s in a place called Collierville that had . . . Ooo! I just wanted to squeal every time I thought about it. I wiggled down in my seat, pressed on the gas pedal, rolled the window down a little more to feel the wind in my face and tried to swallow down my excitement.

  It was just by chance that I saw it. I had been online in the business office of the hotel I was staying in just to pass the time while my little doggie, Alfie was at the groomers. It was one of those pop-up ads and it was about a sale on handbags. A little closer inspection (I had to actually click on it to see it, but that’s neither here nor there) showed that they had designer bags that had been discounted.

  I jumped in my seat with delight before I promptly picked up the phone and called the department store and asked to be connected to Handbags. A few words exchanged and, yes! Yes!

  Oooo, I feel another squeal coming on . . .

  I know by now it must be easy to guess I was headed to Dillard’s because they had a Chanel Quilted Deauville bag!

  OMG!

  They didn’t have the plum one I’d lost out to with Anniversary Guy two months earlier when I was still in LA. This one was black, but they had one.

  They had one!

  The exact bag I wanted!

  What luck!

  I had traveled across half of the country and there, in some small, inconsequential Tennessee town, was that same purse waiting for me.

  It was meant to be.

  I checked the GPS on my phone to see how much farther I had to go, and when I looked up, an old rusty black pick-up truck swerved around me, cutting me off. I pressed down hard on the brakes and covered my face (No, I don’t have one of those cars that drive themselves, but I certainly was too scared to try and maneuver it myself). I lurched forward as my orange marvel of a vehicle ran off the side of the road and I bumped and bounced down into an embankment.

  “OMG!” I screeched. “I’m going to die!”

  Chapter Three

  The car came to a halt with a jolt. I put my hands on the steering wheel and tried to calm myself.

  “What was that all about?” I said out loud. I checked myself to make sure I didn’t have any broken bones, then pulled down the sun visor to check my face. Everything looked okay. Lipstick still in place. I pressed my lips together and ran my hand over my head – no lumps.

  “Wow. That truck came out of nowhere.” I turned my neck to try and peer back to where I’d come off the road, but I couldn’t really see anything. “And it seemed as if he tried to run me over,” I said with a huff. “On purpose.” I glanced into the back seat. “I’m glad Alfie wasn’t in the car,” I said out loud thinking about my little chocolate baby. I’d left him at the hotel so he wouldn’t have to sit in the parking lot again in case there was another fight over the handbag.

  “Hey! You okay down there?” I heard a voice behind me. I glanced in my side mirror. A guy was trotting over to my car, waving his arms, something in one hand.

  “Are you alright?” he said, he yelled toward my car again as he got closer. I didn’t answer, I was thinking how I could overtake him if he tried something.

  I peeked in the mirror again. He did look familiar, but I figured he must have just had one of those faces because surely I didn’t know anyone in Tennessee. That is until he walked up to the c
ar door, then I knew who he was. I’d remember those eyes that mop of brown hair and cowboy hat anywhere.

  He was the guy from the night before who had asked me if I was alright after I had decked Stalker Guy.

  “Hey,” I said, looking through my open car window as he approached. “Are you stalking me, too?”

  “Too? So you knew he was behind you?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy you beat up last night.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t beat up anyone last night.”

  “Yeah, you kind of did.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stuck the hat on top of his head.

  I shook my head, just then piecing together what he said. “Wait. That was the guy from last night that just ran me off the road? The black pick-up?”

  “Yeah,” he said and nodded. He opened my car door and stuck out a hand to help me. “You didn’t know that was him?”

  “No,” I said and as he help pull me from the car, I held on to my baby blue mini dress to keep it out of the wind. “Why would you think I’d know that?”

  “Uhm, because you said, ‘are you stalking me, too?’”

  “Oh. I was talking about him bothering me last night. Not just now. I didn’t know about now.” I closed the car door. “How do you know that was him? And where did you come from?” I glanced back up toward the road, which made me realize that the gully I’d gone into wasn’t nearly as deep as I thought.

  Actually it wasn’t deep at all.

  Probably should have just kept my hands on the steering wheel . . .

  “You okay?” he asked again. He followed my gaze up the embankment then looked back at me. “Did you bump your head? You’ve got like this blank look on your face. Like a concussion or something.”

  Oh yeah, I was talking about how he knew who ran me off the road.

  “I’m fine,” I said shaking my head to get rid of my rambling thoughts. “Now, you were just getting ready to tell me how you knew who it was who cut me off.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes you were.”

  A sly smile crossed his face. “Yes. I was.”

  “Okay,” I said and crossed my arms. “Are you going to tell me?”