A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “I know. I know,” I said. “It’s all me, but I can count on you to hang in there with me, right?”

  He seemed to understand just what I was saying and how I felt. He put his paw between the seats as if reaching for my hand. I held onto it. “Thanks, Alfie,” I said and turned around to look into his sweet face. “I knew I could count on you.”

  I let go and turned back around, placing my hands on the steering wheel, I blew out a breath. “And, I know who else I can count on,” I said and looked at the clock on my dashboard. I felt a slight smile emerge. “You know too, huh Alfie?” I smiled at him and he barked again. “Yep. Dedek.” I glanced at Alfie. “You want to call Dedek, boy? Huh? Do you? I know you do.” He barked in return. “I know you do,” I said. “I’m sure he’s up by now. He’ll make us both feel better.”

  I hadn’t been able to talk to my grandfather since the murder. The police kept us forever and then I’d made another stop before I returned to the motel where I promptly fell across the bed and went to sleep, on top of the covers.

  For the most part, I tried not to call my Dedek too early, although he’d always been an early riser. But I knew that part of his morning routine, after his aide made her rounds, was to go to the dining room for breakfast and then socialize with his senior buddies.

  After my morning meet-up with the no-help desk officer, though, I felt like it was a good time to call.

  But before I could fish out my iPad to get my grandfather on the line to cheer up Alfie and me, there was a tap on my window. It startled me and I jumped.

  “Hel-looo.” A lopsided grin greeted me.

  It was Liam. His face nearly touching my window.

  He made the sign for me to roll down the window.

  I didn’t do it.

  “Please?” He put his palms together like he was praying.

  “What do you want?” I said through the glass between us. Although I knew I should probably be nice to the guy, after all his father had just been murdered.

  “You’re not going to roll down the window?”

  “I’m thinking,” I said.

  He looked at me momentarily. “I was wondering if I could get a ride.”

  Now I was going to have to give him a ride. How could I turn down a murdered man’s son?

  “I saw you out here,” he said. “Seems like we keep turning up at the same places.”

  “Are you stalking me?” I had to speak louder for him to hear me through the glass.

  “Who me? No! Why would you say that?”

  I gave him the evil eye. (I had learned that from my Dedek.)

  “Please roll down the window,” he said and pressed his nose and forehead against the glass.

  I drew in a breath and looked back at Alfie. “Get ready boy, we have to try to be nice to him. But, if he tries anything, and I mean anything, we might just have to take him out – dead daddy or no dead daddy.”

  I turned back and pushed the button to lower the window. “What do you want?” I tried to say it nicely.

  “Why do you think I’m stalking you?”

  “Because, just like you said, everywhere I go, you turn up.”

  He looked at me and pursed his lips. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. But I help you. When I see you, I help. It’s the other guy that’s the stalker. He’s the one that follows you and tries to hurt you. Bad guy. Him.” He pointed toward the parking lot. “Good guy,” he pointed to himself. “Me.”

  I turned and looked around the parking lot toward where he had pointed. “Have you seen him?” I asked. “Is he here? I need to get his name or tag number or something.”

  “No. I haven’t seen him.” Liam looked around as well. “But I’m here if he shows up. Here to help just like always.”

  “Pfft.” I shook my head. “Whenever you turn up, it just causes me more trouble.”

  “What? No. I come after the trouble. I don’t bring it. I come to help.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” I asked.

  “Sure I do.” He had a look on his face that said he didn’t know what I was talking about.

  He was such a good faker.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I told you, I need a ride.”

  “A ride where? Why are you even here?”

  “It’s kind of a long story, can I tell you while we ride?” He pointed through the opened window to my passenger seat. “I could pay you if you need me to.”

  “I don’t need you to pay me.” I hesitated. My hand hovering over the electric lock.

  “I would really appreciate it,” he said and flashed what I guess was his best lost puppy look.

  “Get in,” I said and clicked the lock. How could I be mean to a man in mourning? “But could you please stop turning up everywhere I go?”

  “Thank you,” he said and tapped the roof of the car with his knuckles. He ran around the car, got in and shut the door. “Hey, who’s this little guy?” He turned in his seat and patted Alfie’s head. “He’s a cutie.”

  “That’s Alfie. My real protector.”

  Liam looked at me and smiled. “I don’t think you need a protector.”

  “With all the crazy guys I have turning up all the time, I think I do need a protector,” I said.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I came to make a police report,” I turned the ignition. “It’s always a good idea to let the police know when you have a stalker.” I gave him a look out the corner of my eye.

  He laughed while he pulled the seat belt over him and snapped it in place. “You don’t have to tell them about me. I’m innocent. I don’t stalk.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  “You remember how to get back to my place?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll probably never forget it.” I put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. “So what’s your long, sob story?”

  “Sob story?”

  “Of why you’re here. At the police station.”

  “Oh,” he looked at me and grinned. “It’s not a sob story.”

  “So what kind of story is it?”

  “Uhm . . . I don’t know. A drunk story?”

  “Drunk?”

  “Yeah. I was walking home last night. Late last night.” He glanced over at me. “I was three sheets to the wind, if you know what I mean. I had had a fight with my brother, Jacob, down at his bar after I’d been drinking for a few hours. You remember my brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  How could I forget? The whole scene was etched into my memory forever. I knew that because I had been trying all night to block out everything that had happened the night before – everything and everybody - and it hadn’t worked. “So your brother owns a bar?”

  “Yeah, him and a friend of his. His best friend actually. They been friends since they were kids.”

  “You want to finish your story about why you needed my help?” I interrupted the digression he was taking.

  “Hey, do I need a reason to ask for your help? I thought we were friends?” he said. “Friends are supposed to help each other. I help you, you help me.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “No what?”

  “No we’re not friends. So don’t go thinking that. I mean, I hardly know you. And,” I glanced over at him. “I’d like to keep it that way.” I hope that didn’t sound too harsh. I didn’t want to give the guy more grief, but I did have to protect myself, especially from murderous accusations by people who helped me out of ditches and their family members.

  He laughed. “Okay, Nixie. For now we’re not friends.” He gave a curt nod. “But I plan on wearing you down. We’ll be friends soon enough.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I’ll be long gone before that happens.”

  “You leaving?”

  I glanced over at him. “You know I don’t live here, right? In Memphis. Well, in Tennessee, don’t you?”

  “No. I didn’t know that.” S
urprise written all over his face. “Where do you live?”

  “New York.”

  “Oh,” he said and nothing else for a few moments. “So you’re just visiting here?”

  “Yep. One of the many tourists.”

  “You just drove here from New York? Wait . . . your license plate is from California.”

  “You saw that?” I raised an eyebrow. “And you still didn’t know I was from out of town?”

  “I guess I just didn’t think about it until now.” He turned and looked at me, cocking his head. “So how are you from New York, and your car is registered in California?”

  “Long story,” I said. “And mine is a sob story.”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I’ve got time. We could stop for lunch,” he said and smiled. “And we can talk. Just you and me.”

  “And the restaurant full of people?”

  “I probably won’t even notice them there.”

  “No thanks,” I said. I really didn’t want to spend any more time with him then I had to. Plus, I figured he needed to get home to his family.

  Didn’t they need to make arrangements or something?

  “And,” I prompted him, “you haven’t finished your story yet.”

  “My story?”

  “Yes, your story. You have a very short attention span, you know,” I said, even though I was one to talk.

  “Oh. No. I remember. I got drunk at my brother’s bar. I had a big argument with him -”

  “Was it about me?”

  “What?”

  “The argument?”

  He frowned up. “No. Not about you. Why would you think that?”

  I wanted to say, “Why would I think that other than the fact that after last night your family didn’t seem to like me too much?” but instead I shrugged. “No reason. Okay. Go on, just finish your story.”

  “Okay. So then I got ready to leave and Grant said I was too drunk to drive.”

  “Grant Granville?” I asked. There’s someone I wouldn’t forget – ole’ Burly Guy – last seen with the victim.

  The possible murderer.

  “Yep.” Liam nodded. “So he took my keys and wouldn’t give them back.” Then he didn’t say anything else.

  “And?” I had to prompt him again to finish the story. He was acting as if the neurons to his brain weren’t firing off.

  “And Carl saw me.”

  “Carl?” I asked. “Who is Carl?”

  “Yeah. He’s a police officer. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

  “Everybody’s got a friend from their childhood around here?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Anyway he told me to come hang out with him at the police station. He was working third shift, said I could stay until the liquor wore off and he’d take me home.”

  “Why doesn’t he just take you home then? He could take you now?” I put my foot on the brakes.

  “I don’t know.” He cocked his head to the side. “Good question.” I looked at him, still braking. “Go,” he said and pushed down my knee like that controlled my foot. “Go.”

  I pumped the gas.

  “You were telling me why Craig couldn’t take you home.”

  “Craig?” he frowned then smiled. “You mean Carl. Yeah well probably so Jacob and I would have time to cool off.”

  “What were you two arguing about?”

  “Hmmmm . . .” He looked at me. “I don’t know that either.”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “But I’m going home now,” he said. “Sunday, the day of rest.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “And I plan on doing just that. It’s back to the grind tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you need to get your keys and car?” I asked. “Because I can take you wherever those things are.”

  “My car is probably still in the parking lot of the bar, and my keys, I’m sure, are with Grant. Hey, why do bars have parking lots if they don’t want you to drink and drive?”

  I laughed. “Good question. And I don’t know the answer.” I dreaded asking, but I knew I had to. “You want me to take you to get your keys?”

  “No. Just take me home. My father has a spare key to my truck.”

  I looked at him. His face hadn’t changed when he mentioned his father, it was like he didn’t remember what had happened the night before. Probably that was why his police friend hadn’t taken him home, too. Too many sad things going on there.

  I bit my lip. It seemed he remembered everything else – getting drunk, the argument with his brother although he couldn’t remember what it was about. Maybe it was about his father. Maybe he had blocked out everything about his father’s murder. Maybe that’s why he was acting kind of strange.

  Now what was I supposed to say to him?

  “Uhm . . .” I glanced at him. “Did you forget about last night?”

  “What?” he said and gave me a puzzled look. “I just told you all about last night. The reason I needed a ride.”

  “What about what happened before you went to the bar?”

  “Before?” He thought for a minute, squinted up his eyes, took off his hat and scratched his head. Then it seemed the realization hit him. “Ohhh.” He drew the word out and his whole expression changed. “Yeah. I forgot. My father’s dead. Sorry.” He glanced over at me and I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. “How could I forget that?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I reached out and touched his hand. “I can take you to Grant’s house. Or home. Wherever you want to go.”

  I was hoping he wouldn’t say Grant’s house.

  “Okay. Thanks.” He swiped away a tear. “So, you’ll need to turn right up there at that intersection to get to Grant’s.”

  Shoot . . .

  Liam was quiet for a few minutes, which gave me time to run all sorts of crazy scenarios through my head about what could happen to us at Grant Granville’s house – the could-be murderer.

  The probable murderer.

  Would he shoot us? Kidnap me and stick me in some basement cellar?

  “Sorry about that,” Liam said again, bringing my thoughts back from the horror slasher movie that was playing in my head. “All that liquor. I must have just washed that memory away.”

  “It’s okay,” I said and offered a conciliatory smile.

  He smiled back then turned to look out of the window. He sat quietly again not saying anything else until he needed to give me additional directions. “Turn at the next intersection. You’re going to make a right.”

  Okay,” I said. I glanced over at him. “So, you and Grant close?” I asked wanting to find out more about the person who may soon be the person responsible for trying to kill me. “I mean for him to take your keys, you guys must be close.”

  “Oh yeah.” He turned and smiled at me. “He and my father were best friends. They’d been friends since they were kids.”

  I laughed. Maybe I should have grown up in Tennessee, then I would have had a lifelong friend and wouldn’t have felt the need to wander all the time.

  “Oh, and did you know?” Liam said matter-of-factly. “He builds tiny houses, too.”

  Chapter Ten

  My mind was churning. Grant Granville built tiny houses. How in the world was he and Big Willie such good friends when their businesses were in direct competition? Was it all a front? From what I’d seen, they were pretty good at masking their true feelings, whatever those were. Heck, I couldn’t figure out if they were friend or foe when I met him.

  All of this information just made me more nervous about going to Grant Granville’s house. Forget about Detective McEnroe wanting me for murder, I didn’t want Grant Granville thinking that I was a loose end.

  Even with all my martial art training, I couldn’t stop a bullet.

  I had to think.

  How would he have known that Big Willie was down there at the warehouse or barn or whatever they called it? Big Willie taking me there had been an impromptu kind of thing. And if he just
happened to be passing by, he couldn’t have thought Big Willie was there alone. He would’ve had to see me.

  And he seemed to want to fuel the fire when he saw me at Detective McEnroe’s inquisition, that the good detective termed an interview – interviews don’t make my stomach queasy or me sweat bullets.

  “Turn here,” Liam said. “The house’ll be coming up in a second.”

  “Wow,” I said. “It’s as big as yours.”

  Liam’s smile faded. “No, it isn’t.”

  “C’mon,” he said after I parked. “You want to see his tiny houses? His operation ain’t as big as ours, but it’s nice. ”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t want to go into that guy’s house.

  “C’mon,” Liam said. He walked around the truck and opened the door for me. “Let’s go see his tiny houses.”

  I got out of the truck as slowly as I could, then walked at a snail’s pace up to the front of the house. Liam opened the door and walked in.

  “Don’t you have to knock? And why is his door unlocked?”

  “We don’t lock doors around here,” he said.

  No wonder people get killed, I thought.

  No one was in sight as we went in the front door, which was easy to see because the house was built with open floor concept. You could see straight to the back of it while standing at the front door.

  “He’s probably out back,” Liam said walking through the house. “Let’s go down there to his barn.” He pointed through sliding glass doors that led out from the kitchen.

  I thought about the last time I’d seen Grant out by a barn, someone, shortly after, had been shot.

  “I’ll stay here,” I said and slid onto one of the bar stools at the island in the kitchen. I put on one of my fake smiles. “You go get your keys.”

  “I thought you wanted to see the houses?”

  “Unlike the rest of you guys, I’m going to be loyal to your father. I’ll just look at, and like his.”

  Liam shook his head. “Suit yourself. But you’ll miss a treat.”

  And possibly a bullet, I thought.

  I glanced around the kitchen. It was smaller than what I would have thought seeing that the house was so big. But it was neat and newer. It had a cozy feel to it.