SEARCHING FOR HARPIES
Murder Mystery by Charlie Vogel
Kindle: 978-1-58124-992-7
ePub: 978-1-58124-993-4
©2012 by Charlie Vogel
Published 2012 by The Fiction Works
http://www.fictionworks.com
[email protected]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Also by Charlie Vogel
This book is for my wife, Donna,
and all my friends with the
Nebraska Writer’s Guild
Chapter 1
A drop of sweat fell from the tip of his nose. I studied his glittering eyes. Thin lines of tension into the shadows surrounding those eyes made them look sunken, almost as if peering from a skull’s sockets. His voice echoed in waves up to the high, peaked ceiling of Saint Anthony’s Church. The young priest demanded to know how the sins of man could be compared with the lack of money to build a new roof. He went into his loud, clear solution without hesitating, demanding we listen, even if we didn’t want to.
When his sermon mellowed into a lower pitch, hypnotic almost, my mind wandered. Beside me Harry’s artificial elbow punched my right rib. Blinking, I focused on the priest as he received the chalice and paten to begin the Offertory. The choir softly ended the Creed as Harry whispered, “You can sleep all you want, but please don’t snore.”
“Sorry, but why can’t your early Mass start at eleven?”
“Well, Lori’s wide awake. She even looks as if she’s enjoying it.”
I glanced to my left. A large smile dominated the porcelain, teen-like face. Her dark brown hair had been rolled into a bun, balanced and lacquered at the center of her crown. The Elaine Curtis powder blue sundress covered her well-endowed figure as if it had been tailored. On second thought, it had been. She turned. The liquid brown eyes instantly created very sexual images. She frowned. Abruptly, I recognized concern and questions in those eyes. She leaned closer to whisper, “Bob, I know him.”
“Who?”
“The preacher, priest, whatever.” She looked on the church bulletin in her hand. “Yeah, Father Manning. I met him a few years ago.”
I wondered what she meant by a few years. Two years had passed since I had met Lori Saint. In that time she had reformed herself from a common street prostitute to a congenial, more socially acceptable, even successful young woman. Though she never told me her exact age, I assumed she was twenty-two or three now.
Everyone, including Lori stood up. I remained seated. The congregation spent most of the Mass standing, kneeling or sitting. Lori went along with the people around us, but I resisted a physical ritual I knew nothing about. That I was there was enough for me.
The altar boys stepped back from the priest as he lifted the chalice up in both hands at arms length while continuing to chant the service.
My mind drifted back to when I assisted Lori as she studied for a position as an investigator in the Fraud Department of Bison Insurance. How quickly she changed from turning tricks on the street into an average citizen. The pride in her new responsibilities and the steady salary allowed her to place her rent payment on my kitchen table at the first of the month. I didn’t ask for it, but she did it anyway. Yep, pride.
Her retirement from the streets and growing self-confidence had anchored our friendship. Although I couldn’t maintain a daily watch over her, I did see her a lot. Well, I had built her a house next door to my own. Neither of us wanted to see that as anything but a friend helping a friend. At least I told myself that on a regular basis.
Everything that had belonged jointly to my late wife and me had been sold. Everything including the elegant house I had hated and all its luxuries she had gloated on. I purchased a tract of land on the western shore of Crazy Horse Lake. That water acted as a barrier to the metropolis of Pecatonica. It hadn’t taken long to construct my house and Lori’s. Life was good. Once it hadn’t been.
Father Manning’s words senselessly wove in and out of my thoughts as I relived flashes of June of two years before. The image of my wife’s body. Eileen, sprawled, bleeding. Shot to death in a convenience store. The next few weeks as I looked for the killer, who turned out to be her father. Killing him in the swimming pool of the Gentleman’s Club, then my own murder charges being dismissed as self-defense. I took control of the majority of the shares in Ashland Steel but bypassed Eileen’s place on the board of Bison Insurance, satisfied with my forty percent of that company’s stocks. It didn’t matter that I had been an art teacher. In no time I learned to be a business man. I felt I owed it to Eileen.
Although she had been dead for two years, my feelings for her had not changed. Lori and Harry had helped me in my investigation, probably kept me sane and were now my closest friends. They didn’t understand how I could still be in love with a dead woman, but Eileen had been my wife and partner in life for twenty-five years. Yep, I owed her—
Another jab to my ribs jerked me back to St. Anthony’s. At my glare, Harry’s snarl changed to a grin. I turned to the now seated Lori and whispered, “When did you meet Father Manning?”
“Three or four years ago. He paid me for a twenty dollar—.”
“Stop! I really don’t want to hear about it.”
Harry’s artificial arm and elbow made another come back. “Shush. Can’t you two be quiet? You are worse than my kids.”
The scars and wrinkles of Harry’s face created a serious scowl that could not be ignored. He carefully lowered his artificial left hand to his lap, eyeing me as if warning he’d use it again if I didn’t pay attention. His Vietnam injuries had aged him, more so lately.
Beyond him sat his two girls, just turned fifteen Molly and Megan, sixteen for several months. With her attitude on life, she acted like she was going on twenty. His reconciled wife, Ann, occupied the seat at the end of the pew. They were the closest to family I had now. Shortly after Harry took the job as head of Security at Bison Insurance, Ann convinced him they should be reunited. I never knew why they divorced in the first place. They seemed very happy, seemed being an important word.
A birthday party had been planned for Ann after church. She insisted Lori and I attend Mass with the family, immediate, extended and shirt-tail as Harry explained. Though she didn’t know about Lori’s past, she knew everything about me and none of it mattered. All she cared about was that I sincerely respected and liked her husband. Position, money and all the things that went along with it meant nothing to her. Eileen wouldn’t have understood that.
Ann kept her focus straight ahead. I studied her profile to memorize her characteristics for a future painting. Her high cheeks placed her dark brown eyes above the centerline of her thin facial features. A layer of blusher enhanced her pale skin texture. The light brown hair had been styled and feathered over her ears for this festive occasion. Her brand new, discount-store dress sagged, a bit too large over her skinny frame.
Church music soared and people moved. Harry and his family excused themselves as they stepped over my feet then Lori’s to rea
ch the center aisle. They followed the line toward the altar rail and Communion.
I stared up at the stained glass windows and allowed my thoughts to return to the man who claimed to be Eileen’s father. I never knew he had a brother until Henry’s attorney, Mr. Winterset, introduced me to Maurice. The little chopped off carrot top could have been a twin to his brother. Maurice owned a steel company in Gary, Indiana, and he inherited Henry’s forty shares in Ashland Steel, which comprised only five percent to my majority control through Eileen’s estate. Maurice thankfully bought his brother’s mansion on the hill, which had stood the past two years with a “For Sale” sign on the front gate.
Lori elbowed me and whispered, “I hope I’ll have a chance to talk to Tommy.”
“Who?”
“The priest. I called him Tommy. See, look on the bulletin. It says Reverend Thomas Manning. He was nice to me—”
“—Lori! Don’t!”
“He was or I wouldn’t remember. The good and the bad, ya know?”
I frowned and she sighed heavily. “I guess this ain’t the place to talk about fucking,” she hissed sarcastically.
I deliberately chose to ignore her mood. “I’m sure you’ll see him. Harry said he’s invited to Ann’s birthday party. When will this be over? I’m hungry.”
She checked her watch. “Hell, if I know. This is the first time I’ve been to a church. How about you?”
“I’m Methodist, but I haven’t been in a church since high school. I’m surprised Ann wanted us here. Shit, it’s only a birthday.”
“She’s trying real hard to make this marriage last. She wants to know Harry’s friends and, besides, half the damn church is her family and they’re all coming to the party. If you remember, we had a choice about this.”
I shifted my weight on my sore butt, “Wooden pews, for Christ’s sake! And, I know, but we couldn’t just do the party and not come here. Harry put a guilt trip on me.”
The Communion crowd returned. Lori and I moved to allow them to take their seats. I leaned back enough to once again look over at Ann. She could never be a beautiful woman, but I found a lot of character in her face. Since the day I had met her, I wanted to sketch her portrait. Something called me to place on paper the hard life she had encountered that was present in every line, every shadow, her posture, even her dull hair. She showed signs of living in poverty, yet her eyes reflected a hint of love and sincerity that had endured. My mind wandered to the mixture of paint I would use in the flesh tones.
Would she allow me to position her on a large canvas and, perhaps, semi-nude? Probably not. Like most older women, she would most likely be self-conscious of her body. What if I had Harry in the portrait? The contrast of his muscular, barrel chest frame against his wife’s frail, small structure would be an interesting composition.
A voice echoed from the distance, “The Mass is ended. Go in peace.”
I stood before I opened my eyes and Harry’s good hand took hold of my jacket flap. I felt the tug and glanced around. Instantly, I returned to my seat. Harry whispered, “Wait until Father Manning leaves.”
Moments later, we followed the string of people out the large wooden doors and to the front steps. Lori extended her hand to the priest. I stood beside her, speechless as I heard her say, “Good to meet you again, Tommy.”
Father Manning didn’t seem as tall as I thought he should be. The altar possibly projected an illusion of things at a different perspective. His neatly combed black hair had a glow from the morning sun, like a halo had been pasted over it. I continued to stare into his brown eyes and wondered how long he could stand there with his mouth open, ignoring her hand
I broke the silence, “Father Manning, I am Bob Norris and this is Lori Saint. We are friends of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Piston.”
Ignoring me, he responded in a low voice, “I…I’m sorry Miss, er . . . ah, Miss Saint. Do we know each other?”
Her smile faded as she dropped her hand into the folds of her dress. “I can’t believe you forgot. Kinda awkward, I guess. I’ll probably see you later at the party.”
* * *
Parking the red Ferrari Boxer in the drive of Lori’s brick, ranch-style house, I turned to her. She had been silent on the trip. The lawn sprinkler sprayed water across the right side of the car. She hesitated in opening the door, but placed a foot outside. Facing me, she asked, “You want to step in? It will only take a minute for me to change.”
“Okay. What if I bring over a beer? You look as if you need to relax.”
Checking her watch, “Yeah, okay. We got plenty of time. Come around to the back patio entrance. I’ll be in the bedroom.”
Leaving the Boxer in her drive, I walked, dodging the sprinkler, the hundred yards of dark green grass to my front door. I picked up the Sunday paper and slipped the key into the slot. My tri-level home overlooked Crazy Horse Lake. I had a beautiful view of the water and trees from the patio and also an excellent view of Lori’s outside deck where she sun-bathed in the nude.
When she first decided to rent the house from me, she asked if I had any rules she needed to know about. I indicated it was her home and she could do what she wanted.
The reasoning behind building two houses was I could not make up my mind which architectural designs I liked best. After the structures had been completed, I asked Lori if she wanted to rent one of them. She made the choice for me of which one I would move into.
Harry did not allow me to help with his home. He purchased a place that had a previous owner, but it was something he and his wife wanted. The split-level wood frame dwelling was a mile south of my land.
I passed quickly through the living room where I had two oils of Lori. I had painted them while she spent time on her patio. Throwing my jacket on a chair, I slipped off my necktie and opened my collar. Ann’s party would be outdoors and I couldn’t see being overdressed. I took two German beers from the refrigerator and stepped quickly out the patio door. The wooden steps led to a rock path.
Reaching the matching patio stairs at Lori’s, I climbed to her deck and slid open the glass doors. The only difference between her patio and mine was I had a hot tub. I heard her voice flowing over the water of a shower. The county song made me smile. She didn’t need backup music. Her talent for singing matched her pretty face.
When the water turned off, I stepped to the closed door of her bedroom to shout, “I’m out here and I got some cold ones.”
The singing stopped. “Come in, Bob.”
“Are you decent?”
“You’re asking?”
Steam from the bathroom flowed through the open door inside her room. She stood before the mirror and reached out. I twisted the cap off the bottle and placed it in her hand. A short sleeve green blouse, opening in the back, hung loosely from her shoulders and just short of covering her thong panties. With her other hand she pulled the collar up. “You mind zipping me?”
As she took a gulp of the beer, I pulled at the small tab and watched the two halves conceal her tan back and bra strap. “Lori, why did you treat the priest the way you did?”
“I—I don’t know. Goddamn, I didn’t really know what I said until after I seen the look of fear in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to kill me. Shit, sometimes I think my mind is really screwed up. It’s—it’s as if I can’t separate the time I was a whore to the present time. Damn it, Bob, believe me, I was really embarrassed by what I said.”
“You’ll be okay. Just stay calm. At the party maybe you can speak privately to Father Manning and apologize.”
“Yeah, I will.” She set the beer aside then turned her back to me to eye her closet. “Shit, maybe it’s my work that’s stressing me out to where I can’t think. That new Department head?” Thank God she found a skirt because I couldn’t take much more of her rounded little butt. “She’s a she-devil straight from hell. I swear I’ve seen her before, but I can’t think where.”
I took a swig of beer to wet my mouth. “I haven’t met her. She can’t b
e all that bad. I had lunch with some members of the Bison board. Someone said she had good references. I wouldn’t have paid any attention, but she did step into Eileen’s position.”
She slipped on the tight skirt and stepped to her full-length mirror. After a closer inspection, she used a long fingernail to remove a speck of lipstick at the edge of her full lips. “I’ll tell you some details they don’t know when you’ve got an hour or two. Give me my beer back. We’ll drink on the run.”
I checked my watch. “There’s time for us to sit on the patio for a few minutes.”
Not saying a word, I followed her through the glass doors. After depositing her purse on the patio table and settling into one of the cushioned chairs, she carefully crossed her legs and pulled her hem down. Squinting a little as if studying me, Lori leaned slightly back in the steel chair. The flower prints on the cushions blended with the pale green of her blouse and skirt. She took a sip of her brew, her eyes never leaving my face. I knew the frown; she had something important to say.
“Bob, don’t you have any desire to fuck me?”
I hesitated with my beer right at my lips, then took a quick taste. “I guess I’m waiting for a special time to do it. Why are you asking me about it now?”
“Well, shit. We’ve known each other for two years and your wife’s been dead longer than that. I haven’t seen you date anyone. Don’t you get urges or even a hard-on once in awhile?”
“I’m a healthy guy. I would like to be close to someone. Maybe I just forgot how to go about it.”
“You’ve seen me naked a lot. Shit, you must have over two dozen sketches and paintings of me in the nude. Don’t I turn you on?”
“I—I think it’s probably time to go.”
“No. Goddamn it, answer me. What’s wrong with me? I’ve wanted to take you to bed since the day I met you.”
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