A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “I’ll go with you,” the Wrong Colored Lipstick Girl said and looped her arms around his.

  “I’ll go meet the police,” New Guy said after Liam said he would. His tone seemed to me that he was the boss and it looked as if he understood Spanish as well. I hadn’t noted anyone else reacting to her words. “You need to get cleaned up,” he directed his comment to Liam. “Agnes, help him,” New Guy continued. “Get him to the house. He’s a mess. He can’t speak to anyone looking like that.”

  “Who’s going to stay here with Big Willie?” Liam asked.

  “Jimmy,” New Guy put his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’ll have Jimmy wait with him. Is that okay with you, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy nodded and stepped back over toward the body.

  Liam didn’t argue the point, but he did pull away from Agnes again as she tried to help him walk away from the scene.

  He looked back at me. “C’mon. You shouldn’t have to stay here. Come with me.”

  Dale and the girl walked ahead of us and I saw them go into the house. We lagged behind walking back up to the house at a solemn pace, Agnes sticking close to Liam. Blond guy walked at our perimeter. No one spoke a word. As we got close, everyone splintered off. New Guy went toward the front of the house where three police cars, two cruisers and one unmarked, had pulled up onto the front grass. They were getting out of the car and he approach and I saw him point down toward the warehouses.

  I followed Agnes and Liam to the side where the tables had been set up.

  “Wait here,” Agnes commanded me.

  “She can come,” Liam said.

  “No, tu madrastra sufrirá mucho,” Agnes had gone back to speaking Spanish. Why did she feel the need to keep things from me? “No estaría bien,” she continued, “que extraños estén en la casa en este momento.”

  Agnes told him that his stepmother would be in too much pain after she heard the news, and that it wouldn’t be good for strangers to be in the house.

  That stranger being me.

  “I guess,” Liam said and shot me a glance.

  How could he agree and just leave me outside? It was because of him that I was even at that house.

  I should have just stayed in the ditch until AAA came. What had I been thinking?

  “Además, ella es la que fue allí con el Sr. Carter,” Agnes said as she followed Liam into the house. “La policía tendrá que hablar con ella de inmediato.”

  A chill went down my spine after that comment.

  She had told Liam that I had been the one who left with Mr. Carter when he went down to the warehouse. Because of that, she’d assumed, the police would want to speak with me first.

  I had gone down there, that part was true. But I didn’t shoot him. And with her being so furtive and protective over Liam, she might just turn him against me and convince everyone else it was me who did the shooting.

  I wish I had gotten Burly Guy’s name. He was the last one to see Mr. Carter alive. At least that I know of. But one thing I did know, he was the one the police should be questioning first.

  I sat at that table for what seemed like an eternity.

  It seemed that Liam stayed inside the house just about as long as the police took to wrap up the crime scene.

  I felt so alone out among those tables with the yellow tablecloths flapping in the gentle breeze. I had seen the police turn away droves of people that had driven up into the yard – party goers – I assumed. No questions answered, the officers just directed them to leave.

  I wish I could . . .

  I leaned over and whispered to Liam. “Who are these people?” He’d finally come back and the detective, so one of the police officers had informed us, wanted to speak with us collectively so everyone had gathered.

  “My family,” he said and frowned as if I should have known. “These people are my family.”

  “I had only met your . . . uh . . . Dad and his wife, you know . . . Before . . .”

  He nodded and closed his eyes understanding why I had questioned. “That’s my stepbrother, Dale Foster and . . .” He pointed to Blond Guy then stopped and looked around. “He’s got a wife, Courtney Lynne. But I don’t see her now. She came up here with Dale to tell Cynthia.”

  Ahhh, I thought. Dark brown haired girl with the wrong color lipstick.

  I had already found out that Blond Guy was Dale, but I hadn’t known he was related to Liam, that he was part of the Tiny House Dynasty or that Wrong Colored Lipstick Girl was his wife. Big Willie had mentioned names. But now I was getting faces to match.

  “And that’s my brother, Jacob.” He pointed to the guy who had taken charge when we were still down by the body.

  “Your stepbrother, too?”

  “No. He and I have the same mother and father. He’s older.”

  “Where is your mother?” I asked, not feeling nosy at all. I needed to know about these people. Heck, by hanging out with them, I’d seen my first and only murder. And it seemed, after being stuck at that ranch for what seemed like hours, had lost my freedom.

  “She lives in Denver,” he said. “She’s gonna freak when she finds out about Big Willie.”

  “Did she still love him?” I asked. Curiosity going up a notch.

  “Everyone loved Big Willie,” he said and sniffed. He wiped his hand across his face. “I don’t know what could have happened here.

  “What about Agnes?” I asked. I didn’t trust her.

  “What about Agnes?” he asked. He seemed offended.

  “I was just wondering if she was family.”

  “Not by blood, but I feel just as close to her as I do Dale. She’s been around all my life.”

  “As a what?”

  “She’s the housekeeper. Practically raised me though. Taught me Spanish.”

  “Oh is that the language she was speaking? I didn’t know.” I said and tucked my head at my lie.

  “Yeah,” he said and looked at me curiously.

  I changed the subject. “Has Cynthia and Big Willie been married long?”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe six or seven years. She and my mother had been friendly. Did some bookkeeping for them when my mom and dad were married and he was a general contractor.”

  “Ohhh . . .” I said and put on an embarrassed face.

  “Wasn’t like that,” Liam said. “They didn’t start dating until long after my mother left.”

  I couldn’t picture Miss Queen Bee of Designer Wear doing odd jobs.

  “Why did she work for your parents?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, I guess she needed the money,” he said. “Why else do people work?”

  “She wears two thousand dollar shoes to backyard cookouts,” I said.

  “Her shoes cost two thousand dollars?” He grimaced.

  “Well, I might be exaggerating a little bit,” I said. “But they did cost at least one thousand. I’m sure of that.”

  “Wow. I wonder, did Big Willie know that?”

  “Are Jimmy and Agnes married?” I said, moving forward with my questioning.

  “Why would you ask me that?” he said, then his brows knitted together. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

  “I guess I’m just nervous,” I said. “And, getting back to my question, I thought maybe they were married or something because of the way she grabbed him and hung on to him when he came down to where we were.” I shrugged. “I just thought that there was something between them.”

  Liam mused. “You sure did pay a lot of attention to everything and everybody while there was a, you know, dead body lying around.”

  I only wished I had paid more attention . . .

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m Police Detective Henry McEnroe.”

  He stood in front of us. A tall man with a pencil mustache and a comb over. He was thin, had bags and dark circles under his eyes and his loud, crackly voice didn’t match his looks at all.

  He was the guy that came in the unmarked police car.

&nbs
p; “I need to speak to everyone here,” the detective was saying. “Individually. But we’ll get to that. We’ve taken care of the crime scene,” he nodded his head toward the barns. “And we’ve got some forensic people coming in from Memphis.” He coughed into his hand. “Right now the coroner is in the process of removing the body.” The words easily fell from his lips, and even surrounded by grieving family he didn’t even flinch.

  But it brought a wail from the French doors that led into the house. Cynthia stood there, hair wet, clothes in disarray as if she’d dressed hastily. At the sound of her cry, Dale jumped from his chair and rushed to support her languid body. She was nothing like the woman I’d seen only an hour before.

  “Ma’am,” the police detective said. “Do you need me to get you some help? We’ve got a medic just down-”

  “I want to see him,” she practically howled, interrupting the detective. “Big Willie. Before you take him away. I have to see him.” Cynthia could hardly breathe between sobs. Her entire face was red and she was bent over it seemed in pain. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was just here.” She pointed to the area we had stood earlier. “Talking to me.”

  “Ma’am, I understand,” the detective said and gestured for one of the uniformed officers to help her. Detective Henry McEnroe seemed to be having a hard time breathing himself. I could see the veins moving in his neck with each breath he sucked in.

  The officer went to the side opposite of the one Dale was holding up as directed, and the two of them eased Mrs. Carter over to one of the chairs. “We’ll get someone to take you down to the morgue if you like,” McEnroe continued. “You can see him there. First things first though.” I wasn’t sure she’d heard anything he said, she was sobbing uncontrollably the entire time.

  “As I said,” the detective spoke over Cynthia. “I’ll have to conduct interviews before I can release anyone to go home.”

  “We all live here,” Jacob said. “We’ve got nowhere else to be.”

  Speak for yourself . . .

  “You couldn’t possibly think that any of us would kill Big Willie,” Cynthia said her blubbering subsiding somewhat.

  “I don’t know,” Detective McEnroe said. “Someone did kill him.” He paused as if waiting for a reaction or maybe a confession. “And I intend to find out who.”

  And then the brown haired girl with the wrong colored lipstick came around the side of the house.

  Wait, I know her name now. Wrong Colored Lipstick Girl is uhm . . . I tilted my head to think.

  “Courtney Lynne. Where have you been?” Dale got up and walked over to her.

  That’s it. Courtney Lynne.

  “I thought you were coming with me to tell Cynthia?” He stood next to her, speaking in a low strained voice. “You just disappeared.”

  Yeah, where have you been? I wanted to know the answer to that, too.

  “I haven’t been anywhere,” I heard her say. She seemed annoyed with him. “And I’m here now.”

  And where is your lipstick? I wondered. Her lips were suspiciously bare.

  Her eyes darted around the area and she caught my eye, then quickly turned away. I couldn’t make out what she said next, but she took Dale’s hand and led him to a seat.

  Not only were her lips bare, but they were not as plump. “Hmmm . . .” I thought. She must’ve been wearing a chemical enhanced lipstick. But why did she take it off?

  “We’re going to do a gunshot residue test on everyone.” The detective interrupted my thoughts. He looked to Jacob who had been with him since he arrived. “Do we have everyone who was here at the time of the shooting?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Okay,” the detective said. “My officers are going to come up with tacky, clear paper and dab it on your hands. We’ll put it in an evidence bag, mark it, and seal it in front of you.”

  “What is this for?” Courtney Lynne asked.

  “To see if you’ve fired a gun.”

  No one seemed too happy about that.

  My turn rolled around to meet the fly paper, and just as I stuck out my hands, I saw a grey Chevy Silverado pull up on the lawn and then that burly guy got out of it and came walking across the grass to the side of the house.

  Omg! How did he get passed the uniform people?

  I just wanted to hide under the table. Just the sight of him made me shudder. I sat as still as a mouse and kept my eyes down. I didn’t want him noticing me, although what I really wanted was to jump up, point my finger at him and scream out, “He did it! He did it!” Instead, I held my breath and bit down on my bottom lip so hard I thought I may have drawn blood.

  Was I the only one that knew he’d been the last person that had seen Big Willie alive? And didn’t that mean that he was most likely the murderer? I let my eyes dart around the people gathered to try and gage the reaction of the group at his appearance without giving away to him what I was thinking.

  “What’s going on?” Burly Guy asked. “Where’s the party?”

  “Grant,” Cynthia got up from her seat and walked toward him. “We’ve got some bad news.”

  He looked around at everyone, then his eyes caught mine. “What kind of bad news?” he asked.

  “It’s William Carter, Mr. Granville,” the detective interjected. “He’s been shot.”

  “Shot?” Burly Guy, who now had a name – Grant Granville frowned. “What do you mean? Is he alright?”

  “No,” Cynthia said and fell onto his chest. “He’s dead.”

  “Couldn’t be,” Grant said and pushed back on Cynthia. “I just saw him. Down in the production area.” He pointed toward where the tiny houses were built. Then his arm swung toward me. “He was with her.” He looked at the detective. “Did she have anything to do with it?”

  “I knew it!” Dale jumped up from his seat and walked to Liam. “You’re the one that brought her here,” Dale said, the edge of his accusation cutting into me.

  “What?” Liam said. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

  Dale pointed at me. “She did it. She killed Big Willie!”

  Wow . . . Where did that come from . . .

  Everyone turned and looked at me. My eyes wafted from one startled and stupefied face to the next.

  Could they really think that I shot Big Willie and killed him? I turned to Liam, then from the side of my eye I saw the detective turn toward me and step forward. I panicked. My brain went straight to defense mode and my body followed. I jolted from my seat, spread my legs slightly wider than my hip width, staggering my feet, I angled slightly to the side. my knees in the same direction - my fighting stance. I wiggled my shoulders and let the motion travel down my body. Elbows bent and close to torso I placed my arm in front of my body. Focusing in on each one with my eye squinted, I concentrated on my moves to take them all down.

  “You’re a crazy fool!” Liam shouted. He placed his hand on my arm, as if telling me to stand down. Then he walked over to Dale and pushed him.

  His actions broke my concentration. Good thing, I thought. I hadn’t ever sparred with more than one person at a time. How did I think I was going to fight all of them at once? I quietly put my legs back together, sat down, and tried to shake off the accusation.

  “She didn’t kill anyone,” Liam said. “Big Willie wanted her to have a house. He took her down there to see it.”

  “She is the only stranger here,” Dale said. “And none of us would have done it.”

  “And where would she have gotten a gun?” Liam asked, a scowl on his face. My mini baby blue halter dress, or rounded toe bow pumps that Cynthia Carter seemed to appreciate, didn’t leave many hiding places.

  “Dale,” Detective McEnroe said and walked over to him. “I’ve got this. Just calm down. I’ve got all her information.” He patted his notebook. “I’ll be talking to her.” He looked at me. “In depth.”

  O.M.G.

  Chapter Nine

  I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of the Collierville Police Station. It was the morni
ng after the murder, and no, I hadn’t been arrested. At least not yet. I was there because I had decided to make a police report about Stalker Guy.

  Under different circumstances I wouldn’t have bothered, even though he tried to abduct me and had sent me careening off the side of the road almost to my death. Any other time I probably would have just left Memphis for Cleveland no questions asked. But as things stood, I couldn’t. Even though I hadn’t been placed in handcuffs, that police detective, Henry McEnroe, after his lengthy questioning of me, had told me not to leave town.

  So I was stuck.

  Perhaps traipsing around the country all by myself without any direction, hadn’t been such a good idea. I mean in the few days I’d been there, I had gained a deranged stalker and was now embroiled in a murder investigation with a finger being pointed straight at me. This certainly wasn’t anything I’d thought would happen when I had my cross-country adventure epiphany.

  I started the car and turned on the air conditioner. I let out a groan and glanced into the backseat at Alfie. My little furry baby had waited patiently for me while I had gone inside to what turned out not to be a very productive exercise in my civil rights. Without the Stalker Guy’s name, or even his license tag, there wasn’t very much they could do about the accident, they told me, and nothing about the attack since it happened in Memphis. That, I was told, was a different police jurisdiction.

  “But,” the unhelpful desk officer had said, “If that guy does bother you again, we’ll have this report.” He flapped the paper I’d just filled out through the air at me.

  And what good will that do? I thought. But what could I say? The only thing I could think of to say was, “Thank you.” So, I muttered the words with a mustered up, fake smile, and with that, I turned and walked out.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” I asked Alfie who was perched on the back seat ready to ride and feel the wind in his face. I wish I could feel that free. I glanced in my rear view mirror at the police station behind me and sighed. Alfie let out a bark, I guessed to tell me he wasn’t the one who was in all the trouble.