“I could have,” he said and arched an eyebrow. “But that’s not all I wanted.”
“Well what is it?” Cynthia asked. She seemed impatient.
“The murder weapon,” he said and nothing more.
He always seemed to go for a dramatic effect.
“Have you found it?” Liam asked and stepped forward.
A pregnant pause came from him as he studied the faces in the room.
I did the same. But I didn’t notice anything different or incriminating in anyone’s expression.
Cynthia seemed bored, Dale and Jacob anxious, and Agnes just stood in the background her arms folded across her chest. But she was the only one who had red eyes, they seem to be brimming with tears.
I let my eyes drop down to my hands that were folded in my lap. I didn’t want to meet eyes with the detective because I didn’t know what kind of vibes I would be giving him. He still didn’t seem convinced of my innocence.
Liam was the only one that looked interested.
“No,” the detective said. “And before I get a search warrant, I wanted to find out what kind of guns were in the house.”
“We don’t keep guns,” Dale said. “We build houses.”
“My father had two guns,” Jacob said.
“One hand gun, and one rifle,” Liam said. “But I’m sure they weren’t used to kill my father.”
“Why is that?” Detective McEnroe asked.
“Why would someone use my father’s own gun to kill him?”
“Why not?” the detective asked.
“So. What is it that you want?” Cynthia asked again.
“I want to see the guns you have here.”
Cynthia let out a grunt and sat back down.
“I’ll get them,” Liam volunteered.
“I’ll come with you,” the detective said.
“Are you done with us?” Cynthia asked.
The detective turned back and looked at each one of us. “Yes,” he said, then looked back at me. I had gotten up and put my purse over my shoulder. I was so ready to leave.
“Miss Culpepper, no plans to leave town, I hope?”
I put my hand up to my chest, a questioning look on my face. I don’t know why, I was the only Culpepper in the room. “Leave?” I parroted his question.
“Yes. I’m sure I’ll need to speak with you again.”
Omg . . .
Chapter Twenty
I rushed back to my hotel room. My day had lasted longer with Liam than I had expected and I needed to speak to my grandfather before I forgot everything that had happened.
Maybe I should write stuff down like he said . . .
I flopped down across the bed. Alfie scrambled up behind me. “We gotta call Dedek,” I said to him. Tail wagging he made his way across the bed to stick his nose in the monitor as I pulled out my iPad and FaceTime’d my grandfather.
“Hi, Dedek,” I said and sat up as soon as I saw his face. I was excited to tell him what I had found out to see if he were able to solve it. I guess more than I realized I was counting on his spy story to be true because then he’d know what to do. “I’m here to report on our investigation. I found out a lot -”
“Ne more govoriti slovenščine.” He interrupted me.
“Who can’t speak Slovene?” I asked
“Shhhh!” He put a finger up to his mouth. “Ne govori angleško.”
“Don’t speak English? Why?” I saw him look over his shoulder at something outside the range of his iPad camera. “What are you up to, Dedek? Who are you talking about?” I said not switching languages as he had directed.
“He’s talking about me.” A face – a very cute face – popped into my grandfather’s screen.
“Hi,” I said. “Who are you?”
“I’m your grandfather’s new aide.”
“On ni nič,” my grandfather said, saying that the man was nothing to him.
“He said he was something, Dedek. He said he was your new aide.”
“I think your grandfather is upset because I don't speak Slovenian,” he said and smiled.
Whoa . . . What a cute smile.
“Uhm . . . I don’t know why that would make him upset.” I was trying to focus my thoughts and not blush too much. “He’s had other aides that didn’t speak Slovene.”
“Torej, ne govorite angleškega jezika,” Dedek repeated his earlier command with a little more umph.
“I don’t think that would be nice, Dedek,” I said, “Not speaking any English in front of him if he doesn’t speak Slovene.” I wagged a finger at him. “No one likes a show-off.”
Plus, I figured we needed to be nice to this guy so he wouldn’t leave. My grandfather had a way of having to change aides more often than he did underwear, which was quite often since he started taking diuretics for his high blood pressure.
“And no one likes a pretender, either.” Dedek made that comment in English. I guess he wanted the new guy to know what he said that time.
Cute New Aide Guy popped his head back in the screen. “Hi again, I'm Troian. Thought I'd introduce myself.”
Did he just blush too?
“I can see from all the pictures around,” he continued, “you must be his grandaughter, Nixie.”
“Yep. That's me,” I said grinning more than I wanted to. “Nice to meet you, Troian. Will you be his regular aide? ”
Please say yes . . .
“Well,” he gave my grandfather a look. “If he'll have me.”
I heard my grandfather let out a loud groan.
“Why wouldn't he?” I asked knowing that answer only too well.
“So, I don't really know.” He looked at my grandfather as he spoke. “I was just trying to be friendly and make small talk and it seems I made the mistake of telling him my name was Slavik in origin. “That, ” he emphasized the word, “didn't sit too well with him.”
“He said he was Slovene,” my grandfather said in a huff. “That is different than ‘my name is Slavik.’” He tried to imitate Troian’s voice then muttered his last words in Slovene. “Zame je lažnivec.
“That doesn’t make him a liar, Dedek.” I said lowering my voice a little hoping Troian didn't hear the translation of what my grandfather had said.
“Everyone that is Slovene, Dedek, doesn't speak it,” I said to my grandfather. “And everyone that has a Slavik name isn't Slovene.” I pointed my finger at the monitor. “And it's not nice to be mean to him for that. He is there to help you. Be nice and get along.”
“I don’t need to get along,” Dedek said. “You’ll be here soon enough then you can take care of me.”
If Aide Troian was going to be there, I might just make it home much quicker . . .
“Yes, that’s true, Dedek,” I said instead of voicing what I was really thinking. “But until then, can’t you be nice?”
“I don't like him,” he took back to whispering instead of speaking in another language.
“I can hear you,” Troian said.
“He’s okay,” I said to the off screen voice. “Sometimes my grandfather gets a little grumpy. But he’ll be fine once he gets to know you.”
Dedek moved back into view. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s my job, I’m used to it. I know soon we’ll be fine. Best friends, right Mr. Kovac?”
“Humph,” was all I heard from my grandfather.
“Thank you, Troian,” I said. I thought I’d show him that some people in my family had good manners.
“Plus, I didn’t feel too bad after I kind of determined maybe he was having a bad day.”
“Bad day?” I started to say but got drowned out by music.
You ain’t nothing but a hound dog, crying all the time . . .
Elvis Presley. My Dedek had put “The King’s” record on – and turned up the volume. He had a whole vinyl collection. Evidently he wasn’t interested in anything his aide had to say.
“Mr. Kovac, you can’t play the music that loud . . .” Troian’s face disappeared
from my screen, I heard some grunting sounds and something clang before the music went down a few decibels.
My Dedek came back into camera range, his short sleeve white shirt, buttoned to the collar and tucked down into his brown trousers. I watched as he positioned one shaky leg in front of the other, bend his knees and try to make his arm go around in a circle.
He was channeling his own hound dog.
All he I needed was that bedazzled white jumpsuit.
“Mr. Kovac,” I heard Troian say. “How about if I make you a nice cup of coffee.” He voice trailed off but I could hear him finish with, “Decaf.”
“Princeska,” my grandfather said out the corner of his mouth still swinging that limp arm. “We'll have to talk later. Don't know if I can trust the . . . He did a couple of quick nods toward Troain. “Uhm . . . The new guy with our intelligence gathering information.” He leaned toward the monitor and lowered his voice. “Call back later and tell me what happened.”
Now what was I supposed to do?
I ended our call and rolled over on the bed staring up at the ceiling. I needed my grandfather to help sort through the things I'd found out.
The clues.
At least I hoped they were clues. Clues that would lead to the killer, and away from me, but I surely couldn't do it without him. Nothing I learned meant anything to me.
I went to the front desk and asked where I could find a drugstore. I needed a notebook. I had a million thoughts in my head about the things I'd found out and who I thought had killed Big Willie and I wanted, as my grandfather had suggested, to write them down – no way was that paper I found in the motel room be enough to hold what I had to say.
Thirty minutes, and a chocolate milkshake later, I made it back to my room. I'd bought a spiral notebook and I was ready to fill it up.
I doodled for a while, while I processed my thoughts.
Jimmy had given Liam two leads today. Leads that had gotten him all riled up. But what if Jimmy was trying to throw the trail off of him? Putting ideas into Liam's head? And Jimmy was the killer.
I had to write that summation down before I forgot. Then I started thinking about those cars.
So what, Dale bought two expensive cars and he didn't have any money of his own? So what, Courtney Lynne was cheating on Dale – and maybe with the guy that was Big Willie's best friend slash business rival? And how in the world could it mean enough to anyone that Big Willie was broke that it would make them want to kill him?
None of that translated – at least to me – as a motive as Dedek put it to murder anyone. One of the three things I needed to solve the murder case.
Heck the only thing I had was opportunity. Everyone was there at the time Big Willie was shot.
I flapped my arms.
How am I ever going to clear my name . . .
Chapter Twenty-One
I decided to take Alfie out for a walk.
I had learned that Memphis was a pretty dog-friendly town. I asked the concierge a good place to take him, and she had told me about a popular doggie park. Shelby Farms. It was a huge park only a few miles from where I was staying. She told me it had numerous walkways and jogging paths for humans, but had an entire section of the park dedicated specifically to dogs. What could be better! The farm was set up so that dogs could run unleashed and even go swimming in either of the two lakes provided for them.
I wasn’t letting Alfie go swimming because then I’d get wet. But he’d been cooped up in the hotel room for most of this disastrous trip, so going to Shelby Farms would be a huge treat for him. Plus, I needed to think, and walking always helped me do that.
We drove out to the park, Alfie hanging out of the back window, his long ears flapping in the wind. I popped in a Bruno Mars CD and sang along.
Alfie and I stayed at the park for two hours. I was pooped. We walked and walked and I hadn’t been able to clear my head, instead I kept thinking about the murder. Still I hadn’t figured out anything. I mean translating the small, insignificant information I had into means, motive and opportunity was impossible!
I wished I’d never heard those three words.
The only thing I accomplished by walking through Shelby Farms was working up an appetite.
“C’mon, Alfie,” I yelled out. He was in heaven, having a romping good time. I could understand it, there was so much room to run around in, and so many other friendly four-legged friends to hang out with. My little furry baby was having a ball. But if I didn’t eat soon, I was going to faint and someone would have to carry us both out of that park. “C’mon, boy, let’s go get food.” I picked him up and headed back to the car.
I pulled out my cell phone and poked a finger at the Safari icon to find a place to eat that was close. Up with the list came a link for a website called, bringfido.com. It listed dog-friendly hotels, restaurants and events located in Memphis. How cool! I thought.
I wonder do they have doggie info for every city?
I clicked on the restaurant tab to find a place where Alfie could go in with me, scanned the pictures of the few eateries that popped up on my screen and then my mouth started salivating. Sliders. I loved those little sandwiches, and Slider Inn on Peabody Avenue seemed like the perfect place. I read over the online menu and couldn’t put the car in gear fast enough. “We’re getting sliders, Alfie. You and me together.” I glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “You hungry, boy? ‘Cause I’m starving.”
Me, Alfie and Bruno sang and barked our way out of the park onto Mullins Station Road, and the left blinker clicked in beat to of That’s What I Like when we turned onto Tate. But it all came to a screeching halt just as we were turning onto Sycamore View Road to get on 1-40 to take us to Slider Inn on Peabody.
I saw a pearl white, Nissan 370Z Roadster with 45-day tags, a car or two ahead of me, pull into a little, lackluster motel called the Roadway Inn.
I knew that had to be Courtney Lynne.
And because I knew (okay thought she might be) having an affair with Grant Granville, the number one suspect in my mind, I did a U-turn. I just had to see what unfolded.
Were they meeting up after the deed to get their alibis together? Is this where they were meeting to plan their escape?
And how was I going to get in to hear what they were saying so I could prove my innocence?
I scanned the parking lot and I didn’t see that great big monster Chevy truck that Grant had pulled up in the night of the murder.
Instead an older Honda Civic pulled up next to her. A man got out, walked over and leaned into her car window momentarily before he went into the office.
Who is that?
It wasn’t long before he came back out, waved a room key at her and grinned.
Were they getting a room? Was she having another rendezvous on the very same day she’d been with Grant Granville? Maybe all three of them were in it together.
What the hey . . .
I hoped the only thing the three of them did together was plot a murder. The thought of anything else just made me ill.
I sat and stared at the door they had disappeared into for a few minutes, then thought, Why am I here?
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Alfie. “How in the world do I think I can solve a crime by staring at a door?” I put the car in gear and Alfie barked. “What is it, boy?” He barked again and changed sides of the car to look out of the window at the hotel.
“It’s not a clue, boy,” I said. “We already knew Courtney Lynne was cheating.” I glanced back over at that hotel door.
Motive.
“Courtney Lynn was at the ranch that day.” I turned and looked at Alfie. “Maybe she wasn’t part of a scheme with Dale or Grant to take the ranch.” I turned back and stared at the motel. “Maybe Big Willie found out about her cheating. That would be motive. Maybe she is the one that killed Big Willie because she wanted to keep him quiet. With him dead, her lifestyle could continue. I mean she already got a forty thousand dollar car.”
Alfie
gave out a bark. “What do you think boy?” I twisted around in my seat and gave him a scratch behind his ear. “Is that what happened? Did that Courtney Lynne woman want to keep her rich and famous husband from finding out about her constant indiscretions?” He let out a whine and laid down on the backseat.
“Yeah. I know boy.” I turned back, placed my hands on the steering wheel and stared out of my windshield. “How would I even begin to prove that?” I put my head on the wheel. “How am I ever supposed to figure this out?” I lifted up my head.
“At least I don’t have to do it by myself.” I dug down in my Gucci bag and fished out my cell phone. “I’ll call Liam.” Alfie sat back up, stuck his nose between the seats and gave me a nudge. “Yep. I know. I’ll call Dedek, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I heard the ping-ding of my FaceTime notification.
Dedek.
I hadn’t had a chance to get back to my Dedek after my walk with Alfie and finding out that Courtney Lynne did more philandering than Liam and I had thought, which made her, at least in my eyes, move up as a candidate for Big Willie’s murder.
When I called Liam, we ended up talking for more than an hour and a half. Mostly about the murder and Courtney Lynne, but some small talk too.
During our conversation, he told me that after I’d left the ranch, Detective McEnroe said he was going to attend the funeral. “That made me remember,” Liam had said. “That the killer always comes to the services.” Then he said, “You should come tomorrow, Nixie, to keep an eye out for me, because I’ll be, you know . . . Occupied.”
“Come to the funeral?” I said.
“Yeah. I need your eyes.” He hesitated. “And your support.”
How me going to the funeral was going to help us to figure out anything, since all of our suspects were family members and would be there anyway, was totally missed by me. But I’m a sucker for people in need, and I could tell he really needed my help so I told him I would go.
Ping ding.
I glanced at my iPad.
Now I was going to the funeral. I didn’t have any clothes in my suitcase that would do, and, I glanced at the clock, not much time to shop.
A Tiny Collierville Murder Page 12
