A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Was she there on the day of the shooting?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Then she is a suspect. She belongs on your list.”

  List . . .

  Was I really compiling a suspect list? And was I really going to use it to try and figure out who killed Big Willie?

  I dropped the iPad out of my hand and fell back on the bed.

  “Are you there?” Dedek asked. “I can’t see you.”

  I rolled over and pulled the iPad to me. “Here I am.”

  “So now we have to go over the clues you have. Write all of this on your suspect list.”

  “I don’t have a list, Dedek.” I sat up on the bed taking the iPad with me.

  “You need to make one. Didn’t I just say to make one?”

  “No.”

  “I did. Get a notebook.”

  “I don’t have a notebook.”

  “Well get a piece of paper to write on.”

  “I don’t have any paper.”

  “They have paper in that hotel room don’t they?” I saw Dedek’s eyes scan the room behind me. “Times couldn’t have changed that much. Hotel rooms always have a pad of paper, a pen, a Bible and a telephone book.”

  “It’s not a hotel, Dedek. It’s a motel.”

  “Makes no never mind.” He shook his head. “They’re still all the same.”

  I got up and went over to the desk. There on top was a pad and pen, I brought it back over to the bed.

  This time I hadn’t wanted him to be right.

  “See,” he said. “I knew they would have it. Nothing ever changes.”

  “They don’t have a phonebook,” I said still trying to make myself be right.

  “Why wouldn’t they have one of those?” he said and frowned. “How can you find someone’s number or their address?”

  “No one has a home phone anymore, Dedek. Everyone has cell phones.”

  “I have a home phone.”

  “You’re the only one.”

  “Your Baba,” he pretended to spit after he said her name. “She has a home phone.”

  “Okay, well then only old people have them.”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Just make your list,” he wiggled his finger at the monitor, “and stop trying to teach me about this new world of yours. It’s not such a good thing. People getting murdered and you getting accused of it. Don’t be too proud of it.”

  He was right about that . . .

  “Okay,” I said. “I am supposed to write down who I suspect.”

  “Yes. They call it a suspect list. So the first one is Grant Granville.”

  I glanced up at my grandfather before I started writing. He remembered the name. “Yes, Dedek, Grant Granville.”

  “Best friend to the dead man and business competitor.”

  “Right.”

  “Who else.”

  “Agnes.”

  “Agnes who?”

  “I don’t know her last name.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s the housekeeper, the nanny or something. I don’t know for sure. But she is very sneaky.”

  “Sneaky? What does that mean?”

  “She kept speaking Spanish when she was in front of me.”

  “Sneaky is a good reason to suspect someone. But you speak Spanish, she couldn’t be trying to hide something from you.”

  “She doesn’t know I can speak Spanish.”

  “Ahhhh.” Dedek nodded his head.

  “And another thing that made me suspicious is that she called 911 before she knew Big Willie was dead.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “After I heard the gunshots, she and Liam came running down to where I was, and she told him that she’d already called 911.” I bit down on my lip. “Why would she call the police and she didn’t even know what happened yet?”

  “Maybe the gunshot scared her,” Dedek said, “and she wanted the protection from the police.”

  “Then why run toward the shots?”

  Dedek nodded his head slowly. “That is true. And what is her motive?”

  “Her motive?”

  “Yes. Every killer has a motive. Unless they are a serial killer. Do you suspect it is a serial killer?”

  “Omg, Dedek. I don’t know. You mean someone might be going around killing people for no reason? And I was right there?”

  “Listen, don’t go letting your mind wander now, Nixie. Stay focused.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s start again,” he said. “Grant Granville had a chance to do it, he was there, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he have the means to do it?” Dedek asked.

  “What do you mean? He was right there.”

  “The means. Yes. A way to do it. You see we have to see if each suspect fits the . . . What you call . . . uh . . . benchmarks a killer has. You understand.”

  “No.”

  “Sure you know,” Dedek said. “It goes like this. The killer must have the means, the motive and the opportunity. I learned this. They are what you call benchmarks. You don’t know this?”

  “Only when it pertains to buying designer wear,” I said, and while I always had a motive to purchase, and the plethora of department stores gave me the opportunity, I rarely had the means.

  “What?” My Dedek frowned at me. “Pssah. Stay focused! Did you see Grant with a gun?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t say anything. I could tell he was thinking. “Still,” he finally said. “It doesn’t mean he didn’t have one in his pocket. Hidden from your view.”

  “I guess he could have,” I said. Whether he did or not, he was definitely on my list of killers. I wasn’t as scientific about it as my grandfather with his “benchmarks.”

  “So, I think we can say that we have him on all three. Now for her – this Agnes.” “He drummed his finger on his dinette set table. “Wait,” he said. “I have to get paper and pencil.”

  While he was gone, I wrote down what I had just told my grandfather about Agnes and tried to list it by the “benchmarks” he told me about. But I didn’t have a motive for her. She could have brought a gun from somewhere and then ditched it when she ran down toward me so, like Grant, there was a possibility of means. Certainly everyone there had the opportunity.

  “Okay,” Dedek said. “I am back. I want to list everyone, I have to be able to keep up too.” he stretched his arm then hovered with the pencil over the paper. “So we can keep track and figure out the killer. But now we must go over what we discussed one more time. Ready.”

  “Yes.”

  Wasn’t this the third time?

  “Now I remember you said Grant Granville, right? He is number one.” he said.

  “Yes, Dedek.”

  “And he had been arguing with your Mr. Big Willie?” He was writing fast.

  “Only I don’t know if they were playing around or what. Remember? They seemed sincerely upset with one another, then they laughed about the whole thing.”

  “And you say he helped Mr. Big Willie’s son. The one that is your friend.”

  “Again, Dedek, none of those people are my friends.”

  “Yes. Yes. Nixie. I know you have no friends.”

  “Dedek!”

  “Your life, Nixie,” he said not looking up from his scrawling. “And if I recall he had no gun.”

  “Right.”

  “We move on,” he said.

  “Agnes,” I offered again wanting to get this list thing done.

  “Ahh, yes. The sneaky one.”

  “Okay, now I am caught up. We can write together.” He held up his pencil and shook it at me. “Talk and write. Same time.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Jimmy is next on my list.”

  “Who is Jimmy?”

  “The one that pulled my car from the ditch.”

  “Right. And why is he a suspect?” he asked writing down the name. “Because Agnes was all over him. Grabbing on him with her fake crying.”<
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  Dedek sucked his teeth. “You think he killed someone because someone cried on his shoulder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forget what I told you about using your gut. I think your gut is sour.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Wait. Wasn’t Jimmy out getting your car when Mr. Big Willie got shot?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said and scratched his name off my list before any prodding from my grandfather.

  “Who’s next?” he asked. “It was a woman’s name, if I remember.”

  “Courtney Lynne,” I said.

  “Yes, that was it,” he said and wrote down her name.

  “She wore the wrong color lipstick.” I made a face like I had just sucked hard on a lemon.

  “Oh no,” he said. “I am crossing her off, too.”

  “No wait,” I held up a hand. “She is cheating on her husband with Grant Granville.”

  “The best friend also tiny house builder?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she is married to one of Mr. Big Willie’s family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cheaters are always suspects,” he said.

  And a lot of the time, they are the culprit.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’d love to have lunch,” Liam said. I could hear it in his voice that he was happy to hear from me. “I’m feeling kind of lost, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know,” I said. “That’s why I thought I’d call you.” It really wasn’t. I was calling because my grandfather had insisted that I get it touch with him. He said that Liam was my only hope of finding clues to who the real murderer was, since I just couldn’t go snooping around people I didn’t know.

  But, after hearing his voice, I was glad I had called. The guy had been through a lot, why not show him a little kindness.

  “Usually I’ve got my head down all day working,” he said. “But now . . .” He paused. “We kind of stopped production for a few days while we make the arrangements and everything.”

  “I understand,” I said and tried to send some comfort through the phone. “Lunch with me can be a little distraction for you.”

  “Yes, it can.” I could hear him sigh on the other end. “Plus, I kind of need someone to talk to.” He hesitated again. I could tell he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t find the words.

  “Hey,” I said, really feeling bad now that I’d called him for selfish reasons. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. You’re going through a lot.”

  “Yeah, I am,” he said. “But, really, what I’m trying to say is that I want to talk about what happened.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We can do that.”

  “No. I mean that some things are bothering me.”

  Did he really want to have the same conversation I wanted to have?

  “Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want to talk about.” I didn’t want him to know my anxiousness. “I’m already dressed,” I looked down at my boysenberry-colored lace mini, “how about if I come in about thirty minutes or so?”

  “That’ll be good,” he said. “Hey, Nixie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For calling. I’ve got all this stuff in my mind and I was going stir crazy. I didn’t want anyone to have to call the police on me again.”

  I laughed. “Happy I could help.”

  Happy as well, I thought, to go and try this amateur sleuthing thing so I could clear my name.

  “Smh,” I said after hanging up. “I have to stop only thinking about myself . . .”

  But now, I wanted to help him because I was starting to feel sorry for the guy.

  It was 10:00 in the morning and I had said I wasn’t leaving for the ranch to get Liam for at least a half an hour. I didn’t know where they served lunch that early, but I did know I couldn’t sit still that long. Dedek had got me thinking that maybe I could help find out who killed Big Willie.

  I drove out to the Carter ranch. Nervous as a Betsy bug. My heart was racing and I couldn’t even keep the car straight on the road. Liam had made it clear that he was happy to see me, but what about the rest of them? What were they going to say to me when they saw me? How were they going to treat me?

  At first I’d been happy to go back out to the ranch, but now it was like, “What was I thinking?” I ran my hand through my hair and chewed on my tongue.

  What was I thinking about letting Dedek talk me into going back out to that ranch . . .

  And what about if Liam really wanted me to come and talk to him because he had begun to think, just like that ole’ Dale, that I had done it? I was using him, maybe he was using me too.

  “I been watching out of the window ever since you called.” Liam had come out the house with a big grin on his face, he looked a lot like Big Willie. “How are you?” he said and stood looking at me through the window. “I’m glad you came early.”

  “Am I early?” I asked as if I didn’t know.

  “Get out the car. Come in the house.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. I stepped out and looked around. I wasn’t too cool about being back. I just really didn’t feel comfortable at all. I mean, who would? Especially after what happened the last time I’d been there, and then the way I was treated after everything happened.

  “I thought we were going to lunch?” I said. He was just standing around smiling.

  “Sure. We are,” he said. “Just thought you’d might want to come in and say, ‘Hi.’”

  “No.” I shook my head, my eyes getting big. “I’m good.”

  He chuckled. “Okay then. It’s alright. Let me get my hat.”

  “I’ll wait in my car,” I said.

  “We’re gonna take my truck,” he said as he stepped away. He nodded his head toward the F150. “I know my way around town better.”

  “I’d rather take my car.” I squinted my eyes and made a sucking noise with my mouth. “If you don’t mind?” He blinked his eyes a couple of times seemingly trying to understand my reasoning. “I’d just rather not leave it here,” I said feeling the need to get him to understand.

  “Oh.” He swung around from the hip and looked at the house then back to me. “It’s okay.” He was nodding his head. “It’ll be okay. We helped you get it out of the ditch, remember? No one here will bother it. Or you.”

  “That was before,” I said, nervousness showing in my voice.

  He touched my arm with his hand. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  “Okay,” I said. I figured I may as well not argue with him.

  “Okay,” he affirmed and gave me a warm smile. “I’ll get my hat.”

  I tried to return the sentiment by matching his smile. He turned and headed toward the house. “Do you go anywhere without that hat?” I called after him.

  “Nope.” He turned around, walking backwards he shook his head. “It’s part of me.” He turned around and took off trotting toward the house.

  I got back in my car, and leaving the door opened, started it so I could roll up the windows. Sliding out of the driver’s seat, I shut the door and locked it. I leaned my back up against it to wait for Liam.

  “I sure don’t want to leave my car here,” I said in a huff. I blew out a breath and glanced up at the house. It was quiet and I couldn’t see any movement or hear anyone. “It’ll be okay,” I whispered to myself. “Liam said it would be okay.”

  Maybe being around a murder had affected me more than I’d thought.

  “Where do you want to eat?” Liam came back out of the house, hat in hand and started talking to me before he even got to where I stood. “C’mon.” He tugged on my arm after he reached me, and led me to his car. He opened the car door for me and I climbed in.

  “I don’t know,” I said and looked at him after he slid into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know any restaurants around here.”

  He turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “I know a great place to eat,” he said enthusiastically.
“You’ll love it. Firebirds. It’s out on Route 385.”

  My stomach lurched.

  I knew as soon as he said Route 385 he was thinking about someplace at Carriage Crossing. The same open-air shopping center that had Dillard’s as one of its anchor stores. The same Dillard’s I was headed to when Stalker Guy ran me off of. The same Dillard’s that had, yes past tense, had the Chanel bag I wanted.

  Even though shaken, I still was able to muster up enough strength to drive out to Carriage Crossing and visit (run to) the handbag department at Dillard’s after that Police Detective McEnroe had released me. There I had learned that, while I was being held hostage for a murder I didn’t commit, it had been sold.

  Luck just wasn’t on my side . . .

  I wasn’t sure if I could take going back anywhere close to that place after the severe disappointment I’d suffered. I mean who comes that close to buying the bag of their dreams – twice – and still doesn’t own it and have it hanging proudly in their closet? It was so upsetting to me that I really didn’t think I would be able to keep any food down.

  Oh yes, it was just that serious.

  Liam hummed along to the radio as he drove. Not once noticing my dread. He was listening to some country western station that made his head bob and his hand tap the steering wheel to the beat. If he had been antsy before, he sure didn’t show it now. He seemed happy.

  He pulled into the parking lot near the restaurant that was an anchor for the mall. It had a brick façade and a watchtower like front entrance that was mirrored by the Bonefish Grill that set across from it. The lighting inside was dim, and the atmosphere relaxing. The food wafting passed my nose smelled delicious.

  I looked around pleased with the choice. The place was nice, and it surprised me that Liam had picked it out. The hostess seated us at a booth, I scooted in and looked around. The guests, even though it was lunchtime, were dressed more than casual. And while I fit the bill in my sweet lace dress and leg flaunting hem, Liam and his blue jeans seemed a bit out of place.

  Liam stared at me shyly before the waiter took our orders, and didn’t say much. I’d thought we got together to talk about the murder, but he was acting like we were on a date.

  Liam ordered the Durango Burger – chile spiced, pepper jack cheese and garlic ranch dressing. It sounded yummy, and definitely in character for him. Rugged and delicious.