A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

  That made me have no time to talk to Dedek.

  Although the funeral was at 11am, malls didn’t open until ten. I was going to have to get into a store, find something appropriate, buy it, change into it, and get to the church in an hour. At least that was the plan.

  But what was worse than my time constraints was that my credit cards were already smoldering, I’d been using them so much. And I definitely didn’t have funeral clothes budgeted. I knew if I didn’t find a sale, my little squares of plastic would burst into flames. I crossed my fingers and hoped I’d see a 75% off rack as soon as I walked in the door.

  Ping ding.

  I blew out a breath. But whatever the plan, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get anything done if I spent the morning talking to Dedek.

  Still, I couldn’t ignore his call. I would just have to make it quick. I slide the Accept button and almost dropped my iPad.

  “What the heck!” I screeched. Something or someone horrific was in my screen.

  “Get out of my way, let me talk to my granddaughter.” I heard my grandfather say in the background. He was talking to the creature whose face filled up my monitor.

  “No. I show Nixie. You move!”

  The “creature” it appeared from her voice was my Baba. She was swatting Dedek’s hand away from the screen.

  “Baba?” I said. “Is that you?” My little Japanese grandmother, Miori Culpepper, was wearing a long blonde wig that she had pinned to one side, with bouncy, long ringlets on the other. Her face was caked with about a pound of poorly matched makeup, false eyelashes and larger lips penciled on and filled in with flaming red lipstick. “Baba! Did you rob a cosmetic store?”

  “I hope she did,” Dedek yelled from somewhere in the perimeter, still unable to get face to face with me. “Because then they’ll toss her in jail and throw away the key.” I could hear him muttering. “Come over here early in the morning waking me up with her craziness.”

  “I wait long time for him to call you up. He no help at all.”

  “Who, Baba? Dedek?”

  “Yes. Who else you think I talk about? I want to show you my new business.”

  “What is it?” I asked trying not to laugh. I sure hoped it wasn’t becoming a make-up artist.

  “There is woman. She from South Korea,” my Baba always used hand gestures when she talked and she was waving in triple-time. “Seventy year old and she do make-up films on the tube for you. She very popular. You know her?”

  “No, Baba. I don’t know her.”

  “I say, Korean woman can do it. I can too. So I want to show you, but your Dedek not want to call you.”

  “So wait,” I said making sure I understood her. “You’re going to start doing make-up videos?”

  “It’s called vlog,” she said emphasizing her use of the American word. “You know that word? It is on the tube for you.”

  “Uhm. I know what a vlog is, and it’s called YouTube.”

  “Yes. So that is what I do.”

  “You don’t have a computer,” I said.

  “I use your grandfather’s.”

  “Oh no she won’t,” Dedek said, speaking in a huff.

  “See what I mean?” Baba said. “How I do my vlog if he not let me use his computer?” She waved a hand at him then looked at me. “Why you no buy me one?”

  “Uhm because you don’t know how to use one and you wouldn’t let me teach you.”

  “I no remember that.”

  “You remember you said you didn’t like them and didn’t want it taking up space at your house?”

  She frowned her over-gelled eyebrows. “I not say that.” Then she smiled. “How I look?”

  “Like death warmed over,” came Dedek’s response from somewhere in the background.

  “Who did your make-up, Baba?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “I do it all by myself. Beautiful like a geisha girl. Yes?”

  “No!” Dedek yelled.

  “You are always beautiful to me, Baba, but maybe you could start another business. One that didn’t include having to go around Dedek?”

  “Hai. Kare wa furui tabemonodesu.”

  I chuckled. She’d said, “Yes,” seemingly agreeing that she needed to do something that didn’t include Dedek, but then added that he was “an old fool.”

  I don’t think they’ll ever get along, but even with me three thousand miles away they still found a reason to see each other.

  “Okay, you two, I have to go,” I said. “Dedek,” he was still off screen. “I’m going to Big Willie’s funeral.”

  “Good idea,” he yelled to me. “The killer always goes to the funeral.”

  I laughed. That was what Liam was thinking, too.

  “Who die?” Baba asked.

  “None of your business,” Dedek answered.

  “A friend of mine,” I told Baba. Big Willie hadn’t been a friend, but he’d been awfully nice to me. “So I have to go now. The funeral starts soon and I have to get a dress.”

  “Thank, God,” Dedek said, I still hadn’t seen his face. “Maybe now she’ll leave, too.”

  “I’ll call you later,” I said to Dedek.

  “Call me too,” Baba said, “so I can tell you how much nurses here not like your Dedek. They all say he stink.” She scrunched up her nose and started breathing like she smelled something, then waved her hand in front of her nose. “I smell it, too. I think he need bath.”

  “That’s it!” he said and I heard him and his cane coming toward her.

  I ended the call. I didn’t want to see another murder.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Dillard’s at Carriage Crossing was the only place to shop I knew of offhand. I knew it only too well. Plus, it was near the ranch, and from the directions I’d gotten from Liam, it was close to the church, too.

  My plan was to run in quickly, buy the dress, change in the department store restroom, then head out to the church all within thirty minutes giving me enough time to drive to the church. I wouldn’t have time to get back to my hotel room, and thanks to my morning talk with The Grandparents, I was afraid I wouldn’t even have that much time. It wouldn’t be good to walk into the funeral late, even if I would be doing it fashionably.

  I got to the church right before they closed the casket. I walked up to the front of the church where Big Willie laid, surrounded by mountains of flowers. He was all tucked in the gray metallic box underneath snow white bedding. He looked even smaller lying there.

  I let my eyes quickly scan the front row. Cynthia sat in the middle of the wooden pew. A large black hat with a veil covered most of her face, but a black gloved hand with a white tissue kept going under the veil to dab at her nose. She had on a simple sheath black dress, and a pair of black heels. Then I saw a peek of red on the sole when she re-crossed her legs. She was wearing another pair of Louboutins.

  Dale sat next to her and was holding onto her as she wept. Courtney Lynne was next to him. Liam and Jacob were anchors. I didn’t let my eye wander too long, I eyed a seat near the back and headed there.

  Taking a better look around the room, I spotted Detective McEnroe standing in the back. He seemed to be studying the crowd.

  What was he looking for?

  I didn’t know. I didn’t even know any of these people, how was I supposed to know what looked suspicious and what didn’t.

  I really didn’t think I was going to be any help to Liam by being at the funeral.

  I let out a sigh.

  So instead of watching the funeral, I decided to try and figure out which Louboutin’s Cynthia was wearing.

  I had to have seen them somewhere before . . .

  ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

  Liam and I had gone to the kitchen, and sat at the kitchen table. The crowd that came for the repast, he had said, was too overwhelming. He wanted to be polite but he needed a break. So we’d taken refuge. And, he had said, while hiding out, we could compare notes about what we found out at the funeral.r />
  I hadn’t found out anything. Not even Cynthia’s shoe style.

  The funeral, in my opinion, lasted an inordinate amount of time. So long that my mind wandered even further away from the task at hand. There were so many people that wanted to get up and give their two-minute recollections of Big Willie that the pastor had to eventually put a stop to it. By the time we’d gotten to the cemetery, it had started to rain. I wasn’t getting out of the car in my pair of St. Laurent’s. But thankfully, the rain subsided by the time we got back to the house for the repast.

  Agnes was in the kitchen working when we walked in, I didn’t like being in the same room with her, but Liam didn’t ever seem to mind having her around. He sat, head down, hands on table and intently picked at his nails.

  She looked at me when I slid into the bench of the built-in breakfast nook.

  “So, did you find anything out?” he asked, taking the time out from picking at his fingers to look at me.

  “I don’t think Agnes likes me,” I leaned over and whispered.

  “Agnes?” he said and looked at me. She looked up at me too.

  “Yes, Agnes,” I said in an even lower voice after she’d gone back to doing whatever it was she was doing. “She’s always looking at me strangely. Speaking Spanish around me.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” Liam said. “You just look like the guy who killed her son.”

  Look like the guy? How did I look like a guy? I cupped my hands, pushed up on my breasts and fluffed my hair.

  “How do I look like the guy?”

  “He was Asian. He could fight.”

  “Is that some stereotypical kind of statement?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t mean it like all Asians fight or anything.”

  “Evidently she thinks so,” I muttered.

  “What?” he said.

  “I’m black too, you know,” I said so he’d be sure to hear me. “And Yugoslavian.”

  “Figured you were probably black. Didn’t know you were Yugoslavian. No wonder you are such a beauty. You are filled with the world.”

  I figured that was a compliment. Not that I completely understood it.

  “Don’t try to make up now,” I said.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  “So what happened to her son?” I wanted to get back to talking about Agnes.

  “Some guy punched him in the face, when his head jerked back it tore something in the back of his neck. Killed him.”

  “Oh,” I said. I knew there were some hand and elbow strikes that could do that.

  “Do you think she killed your father?” I asked.

  “Agnes?” he did it again – said her name loud enough for her to look up.

  “Necesitas algo, Liam?”

  She asked him if he needed something, and just as he always did, he answered her in English. “No. I’m good.”

  I was beginning to wonder if he could speak it, or if he just understood it.

  “Can you please stop saying her name,” I said whispering.

  “She wouldn’t kill my father.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. “She called 911 before we even knew Big Willie was shot. That’s suspicious.”

  He looked up at her and watched her as she worked. “When her son was killed,” he said not taking his eyes off of her. “No one called 911. She thinks if they had – if some help had gotten there sooner, maybe he wouldn’t have died. She calls 911 for everything now. Any loud noise or bump in the night.” He looked at me. “She’s just trying to be a responsible citizen.”

  “Oh,” I said again.

  I still wasn’t crossing her off my list.

  I had a gut feeling about her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Agnes, what else do you have to serve? Seems like we’re running out of food.” Cynthia had walked into the kitchen, her heels clicking on the stone floor. She glanced over at the big kitchen island then at Agnes.

  “I have plenty of food left,” Agnes said.

  “Well you need to set some of it out,” Mrs. Carter said and opened both doors to the French door refrigerator. “Oh here,” she said. The inside was stuffed with trays of food. “Why haven’t you set these out?” Cynthia pulled out a tray and handed it to Agnes, then closed the doors. “You get the rest. And bring it out.” She rubbed her hands together, and turned up her nose as if the food she handled had made her dirty. “Ándale! Ándale!” she said with a very poor accent.

  Agnes rolled her eyes and continued to rearrange and push things back on the counter so she could set down the one tray Cynthia had given her. She didn’t step one foot toward the fridge. Then once Mrs. Carter turned to leave she ran right smack into a man and let out a squeak.

  He was dressed in a nice suit, he had graying hair. He was very much overweight, but I could tell that other than that he was meticulous about his looks. His haircut was fresh, his nails manicured and his shoes look like they had a spit-shine, as my grandfather used to say, on them.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said. His cheeks rosy, he was breathing hard.

  She brushed her hand through the air. “It’s fine, Charles,” she said. “What can I do for you? Everyone’s in the front rooms.”

  “I’m leaving,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know. Give you, and Liam,” he nodded his head toward him, “my condolences.”

  “Well, thank you for that,” Cynthia said. “We appreciate it, don’t we, Liam.”

  Liam stood up and went and shook Charles’ hand. “We do, Charles,” he said. “You were a good friend to my father. And as a prosecutor, I hope you’ll be able to give the person that did this his due.”

  “Conflict of interest might keep me from doing that,” Charles said. “But you best believe, I’ll keep my eye on each and every proceeding.” He turned to Cynthia. “And I must have been talking on the phone to you when it happened or right before.”

  Liam’s brow furrowed. “No? Really?” He gave Cynthia a quick look. “You were? I didn’t know that.”

  “Momma,” Dale peeked his head in the kitchen. “The pastor is getting ready to leave. He needs to speak with you.”

  “Well, can’t it wait?” she asked, seemingly perturbed. “I’m speaking to Charles.”

  Dale looked as if he didn’t know what to say. “So. You want me to, uh, tell him to come back here?”

  “It’s okay, Cynthia,” Charles said. “I’m leaving. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am and how much I’ll miss Big Willie.”

  “We appreciate that,” she said and smiled. “Here, come, I’ll walk you to the door before I speak with the pastor.” She headed toward the entryway to the living room, but Mr. Pudgy Prosecutor spied the tray that Cynthia had taken out of the fridge and Agnes had set on the island.

  “Oh, may I?” Charles said and pointed to the cellophane wrapped tray.

  “Help yourself,” Liam said and started to unwrap it.

  “I’ll get it for him,” Agnes said. “I can put some on a little plate for you.”

  “I thought you were coming out with me?” Cynthia said. She turned back around and started toward him, but Dale caught her arm.

  “Mother,” he said. “It’ll only take a minute. Liam will take care of him.”

  She seemed unwilling to leave without Mr. Prosecutor, but Dale gave her another tug, and Liam said, “I’ll see to him Cynthia, you go ahead.”

  Agnes happily filled up a plate for Charles, seemingly happy to do something contrary to Cynthia’s wishes.

  “So,” Liam said while Chubby Charles waited on his to go plate. “You called the day Big Willie died.”

  “Oh yes,” he said snorting out the words, he just couldn’t seem to get enough air in. “Big Willie said he wanted to talk to me about something-”

  “What?” Liam interrupted.

  “Oh,” Charles hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. He just said it was important. And that’s what I said to Cynthia.” He reached for the f
inished plate Agnes had made for him. “Well except for the part about not knowing what is was about. Even though it was her, I don’t like giving out personal information over the phone. I just said I missed his call, one he said was urgent, and I was returning it.”

  “Why would Big Willie need to talk to a prosecutor?” Liam asked.

  Charles let out a laugh. “I doubt it was important. I had looked into buying one of his tiny houses, maybe it was about that. You know he was relentless when he was trying to make a sale.” He looked at Liam’s face. “Don’t be alarmed,” Charles said. “I’m sure it was nothing. I only mentioned it because of the timing. According to the police report it was right around that time.”

  “It’s just that I’m trying to figure out who could have done it. Who could have killed my dad? And with this, him calling you, maybe he wanted to press charges. Maybe he knew someone was after him, or something.”

  Charles didn’t seem to be able to wait to eat his carryout food, he pulled back the cover and popped one of the hors d’oeuvres into his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Liam,” he said while chewing. “I’m sure it was nothing.”

  He put the wrapper back over the food. Licked his fingers and then patted Liam on the shoulder with that same hand. “I’m really sorry for your loss,” Charles said and stuck out his hand.

  Liam shook it. “You want me to walk you out?” he asked the large lawyer.

  “No. I’ll find my way out. I have to be sure to say good-bye to Jacob, too.”

  After he left, Liam went over and washed his hands in the sink. He scrubbed them with the dishwashing liquid then took a tea towel to dry them off.

  “That’s interesting,” he said and looked at Agnes then me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Maybe Big Willie knew someone wanted to kill him.”

  “Then he would have went to the police,” I said.

  Liam cocked his head to one side. “Yeah. But maybe he felt they were dangerous enough to keep away. He would have needed a restraining order for that.”

  “So you think that’s why he called his friend the prosecutor?” Agnes said.