Double Dimple

by N. C. Lewis

  A relentless summer thunderstorm sent pellets of rain splashing across the windshield as I pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the lane. It wasn't too bad on the main road out of town, but when I turned onto Texas State Highway two ninety, the rain came straight down, like the closing curtain of a Broadway play. I pulled over to the side of the road and flicked on the radio until the storm passed.

  A rainbow curved high in the sky as I pulled into the state's capital city, Austin. Along West Cesar Chavez then left into the parking lot of the new public library. For a late lunch, I grabbed a takeout pastrami sandwich from a nearby deli and ate it in the SUV while I went over my notes and plan. Refueled and with a research strategy, I entered the library.

  The building was ultra-modern with computers, screens, terminals and large floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat at a table that overlooked the lake and spent three hours looking at newspaper files and magazine articles about women in the construction industry. I glanced quickly over reviews of Barbara Nadel's book and a short piece about her life in the Hill Country.

  Eventually, I found and lingered over an article published in the Austin Business News about women builders. It featured a section on Hill Country women, and there in the center with two other women was a full-color photograph of Barbara Nadel. One quote, attributed to Barbara, stood out:

  "The construction industry is not for the fainthearted, nor my long-term career strategy. For now, I'll continue for another year or two, then settle down on a farm or run a bed-and-breakfast."

  I read the article, over and over. Then took a photo with my phone and called the Medlin Creek town clerk.

  "What time do you close today?" I asked in a hushed whisper.

  "Six, last request five thirty."

  I squinted at my cell phone—three-fifteen. I had time—just.

  ◆◆◆

  Town clerks handle issuing birth certificates, taking payments for town and county taxes, issue building permits, registering cars, and a host of other town-related activities.

  Karen Kirkland had been a Medlin Creek town clerk for over twenty years and was in her late fifties with silver hair swept up into a tight bun. She used the bun as a storage device for pens. Karen was one of those women who knew everyone that mattered, in town hall bureaucracy. She was also the sister-in-law of Mayor Felton and an aunt to Sheriff Hays.

  Karen peered over her cat-framed eyeglasses at my request for the designs, two pens jutting out of the bun like the horns of a goat.

  "Patrons are to ask for blueprints before noon," she said looking at her wristwatch. "It's well after noon." A bony hand reached for a pen, drawing it like a sword from the bun and tapped it on the counter.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  "Oh, I didn’t know that. I've just driven down from Austin," I said.

  "An out-of-towner, huh?" She pointed to a large poster on a distant wall and read it out loud. "The office of the town hall request users of this facility to ask for blueprints before noon. Requests at other times will be at the discretion of the town clerk."

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  "The sign says you can use your discretion."

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  She folded her arms. "Office is closing in forty minutes. Come back Monday."

  I needed another strategy.

  "I'm not an out-of-towner. I'm local, a member of the Sisters of the Creek Coffee Circle and good friends with your sister-in-law, Mayor Felton."

  Karen slipped the pen back into her bun and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Where do you live?"

  "Ealing Homestead."

  "Oh, you must be Doctor Ollie Stratford," she said extending a hand.

  We shook.

  "Helen holds you in high regard, so does Bella Delancey."

  The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place it. "Bella Delancey?"

  "Yes, my niece. She is in one of your classes—Business Statistics 101."

  "Great student," I said, deploying my 'let's be friends' smile.

  Karen peered over the top of her glasses. "The clerk's office has blueprints for all new construction inside the city limits going back to June 1975. Records after 1990 are computerized, earlier blueprints are kept in the storeroom. What are you looking for?"

  I asked for the blueprints for the storage units.

  Karen wrinkled her nose. "Back in the day, that area was cattle grazing land, part of the Castleman ranch. If I remember correctly Craig Sawyer bought the land and built the units. Craig was a good Baptist, died over ten years ago. With Bill Lovett, he founded Bee Mound Drilling Company."

  Karen peered into a computer terminal, tapped several keys and again crinkled her nose. "Those blueprints are in the storage room. Follow me."

  The storage room, down several flights of stairs was well lit with large, high-top, flat tables and rows of large cupboards and drawers. Karen swiftly found the blueprints and laid them on top of a table.

  I spread out the documents, bent forward, and peered closely. I found the row where I discovered Barbara's body but couldn’t identify the exact unit. That didn't matter though because the units were all the same.

  "Got what you're looking for?" Karen asked, her eyes filled with curiosity.

  "Think so," I replied.

  "Good," she said, "because we’re closing in five minutes."

  I let out a contented sigh. It was all coming together now. Just one more thing, and for that, I'd have to return to the storage units.

  Chapter 46

  I sat in the Tahoe peering out of the windshield onto the empty parking lot of the storage units. The drive across town had taken almost forty-five minutes as wave after wave of tourists poured into town for the final weekend of the Hill Country Jazz Festival.

  Heavy, dark clouds hung low in the sky, turning dusk into night. "Looks like another downpour," I muttered, going over the plan in my head. A quick look around one of the storage units near where I'd found Barbara then another brief visit to her unit. Not a risk, really, for it was late Friday night, and the place was deserted. I knew what I was looking for, and what I meant to do when I found it. No one was guarding the units, and Igor was probably on his way back from Dallas, so no one suspected that I would be poking around tonight.

  I climbed out of my vehicle into the shadows of a darkening night. A sudden flapping overhead startled me, and I glanced upward. High on the rooftop, a flock of grackles settled in for the night. They moved swiftly onto their nighttime perches, and save for the flapping, the air was strangely silent.

  I glanced over my shoulder toward the Tahoe, if anything happened I could run, covering the distance fast—the dojo training had conditioned me for that—not that I expected anything to happen, though.

  Something flickered on the Tahoe's roof—a strange shape crouched down low. I peered into the gloom, eventually recognizing its form: a bird, a grackle, much larger than average. Was it the same monstrous bird I saw the other night?

  "Not good," I muttered, "not good at all."

  The creature stretched its beak wide but no sound came out. The feathery head tilted its beady, black eyes, regarding me with curiosity. Then it hopped across the roof, opened its wings and disappeared into the night. I let out a breath and edged toward the storage units.

  The breeze picked up, and a sudden clap of thunder ripped through the atmosphere. A streak of lightning illuminated the buildings. On the ground, I half expected to see rodents dashing around in fear, but I saw nothing, not even a squawk from the grackles. Everything, it seemed, had hunkered down for a long and stormy night.

  I crossed the yard rounding the corner to a maze of rectangular brick buildings. Fleetingly, I stopped at the unit that once held the remains of Barbara. The sheriff's department tape, in tatters, rippled in the breeze like the arms of an octopus. I wasn't ready to go in there, yet. Hurrying on, I stopped at an adjacent unit.

  There was no lock on the large metal door. I held my breath as my hand reached out toward the handle. In a swift flowin
g motion, I yanked it down, simultaneously pushing the door. It creaked open, groaning like a disturbed bear.

  It was very dark inside, the still air filled with dust, mold, and decay. My hand traveled the wall until it hit the light switch. A low-wattage bulb sizzled on.

  I let out my breath.

  The room was as I expected—large, rectangular, with a, corrugated, iron roof, smooth cinder-block walls, with a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. It was empty except for a few bits of broken furniture and rubble. If I had time, I'd have inspected the other units, but I knew they would all be the same—exactly as laid out on the blueprints.

  Instinctively, I reached for my cell phone, then realized I'd left it with my handbag in the Tahoe. "No matter," I muttered.

  I hurried out of the unit, flicking off the light as I went. "Only one thing left," I mumbled. The mystery of Barbara Nadel was almost solved.

  Now, I stood staring at the metal door of the storage unit that served as the entryway to Barbara's tomb. I drew in a deep breath, pushed the door and stepped inside. Automatically, my hand reached for the light switch. A slight click and a weak yellow light bathed the space.

  A violent clatter of thunder rattled the unit, followed by the pitter-patter of rain splashing hard against the corrugated roof. I jumped. "Nothing to fear," I said. "Nothing to fear at all."

  The space was much smaller than the adjacent unit because of the partition wall that had entombed Barbara. I examined the wall and the door painted in similar tones as the surrounding cinder block.

  I placed my hand on my hips. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Then, I pumped my fist in the air, and shouted above the sound of the rain, "I know who killed Barbara Nadel, and I think I know why."

  "Is that a fact?" shrieked a menacing voice from the shadows.

  Chapter 47

  I whirled around.

  A dark shadow loomed in the doorway. For an instant I could only make out a silhouette, then the individual stepped forward into the weak light.

  "Nancy Fisher!" I gasped, then my mouth blurted out before my brain got into gear, "Or should I say, Barbara Nadel?"

  The woman's mouth twisted. "Go on," she said, "go on."

  My body froze, and I stared with wide eyes. I told her what I knew. "Nancy and you were friends in California. I guess you two looked very similar, probably even passable as sisters. When Nancy got a call from a distant uncle, Bill Lovett, to help him run the business, she came to Texas." I paused, glanced at the doorway. I'd have to make a run for it soon.

  "Please continue, Doctor Stratford. It's a fascinating theory." The coolness in her voice sent a chill down my spine.

  "Bill's business partner, Craig Sawyer, had recently died, and Bill had, shall we say, medical problems? Nancy left California for Texas with a golden ticket. For some reason, you followed."

  She narrowed her eyes and spoke in a low whisper, "I needed work. The bricklaying trade was dead back West, and Nancy told me things were booming in Texas."

  A shudder of fear pulsated through my body. I'd solved the mystery. Barbara had killed Nancy Fisher, taking Nancy's golden ticket—ownership of Bee Mound Drilling.

  I continued speaking, all the while watching Barbara with hawk eyes. "It wasn’t long before you found out that Bill was suffering from senility. Since Nancy was new to town, and you looked so much alike, who would know the difference?"

  Barbara tilted her head back and half-laughed. "Only Bill—and the man was half mad."

  "Then, this week, Dick Doxson shows up to pay his respects. Of course, Dick could tell the difference between you and Nancy because you two were once an item."

  A flash of lightning fell across Barbara's face, and I saw a look of insane fury in her eyes.

  "Doctor Stratford you're very clever, very clever indeed," Barbara said, stepping full into the light. In her right hand, she held a bricklayers trowel, and the metallic blade flashed weakly in the dim light.

  My heart pounded so hard it was like a bass drum beating frantically on a Rolling Stones song. I continued, buying time, thinking fast. I needed a plan to get out of here.

  "Dick recognized you at the community center. I guess he would have blackmailed you, but you didn't give him the chance." I paused, buying more time as I asked a question: "Why did you kill Dick, here?"

  Barbara's eyes flashed with insanity. "This is where that blackmailing rat wanted to meet. Yes, I killed the good-for-nothing, just like that cheating dog killed our relationship."

  That was my chance. I ran full steam toward Barbara, hoping to slip by her out of the doorway and into the night.

  The plan didn’t work.

  I plowed into Barbara.

  We struggled, twisting and turning. I had my hand on the trowel, wrenching it from her grasp.

  A sudden rumble of thunder boomed low across the sky.

  Momentarily my grip relaxed.

  Barbara raised the trowel, the wooden handle smashed into the side of my head. A jarring pain shot through my body, and my grip loosened as I slid hard to the ground.

  Chapter 48

  Barbara let out a victorious roar. "Gotta kill, gotta kill," she screeched waving the trowel above her head. "This time, though, I'm going to do it right. Brick you into a disused unit like I did with Nancy. Ha-ha-ha."

  "You won't get away with this. It'll never work," I cried.

  "Worked well enough for the past ten years, until you poked your nose in. It'll work again."

  She kicked my side. Stars danced before my eyes, my stomach heaved, throwing up the remains of my pastrami lunch.

  "Ha-ha-ha." She laughed insanely.

  "Bee Mound Drilling was my opportunity to make something of myself, don't you see? This Monday I'll have the cash from the sale. Then I'll buy a small farm and raise animals. Ha-ha-ha."

  "But you killed Nancy Fisher—your friend," I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

  The woman's head turned slowly. "A trifling price to pay. Nancy would never have donated to the animal shelter. That woman hated animals, but I love them, so the money is going to beneficial use in my hands."

  I had regained my strength and raised my head to look up at the woman towering over me. The chance of escape was low, and my only way out would be to fight. A stabbing pain echoed through my head.

  Barbara was ranting now. The rabid babble of a diseased mind. "I would have killed Kitty Marley too, if she knew who I was, but she didn’t. That's why I killed Dick before he could spread the hateful rumors. That's why I must kill you too."

  Just then a flash of light crossed the storage unit. At first, I thought it was from the storm, but the rain had stopped, and I didn’t hear thunder.

  It was car headlights!

  A few moments later a voice boomed, "What the hell is going on in there?"

  It was Igor. Behind him, stood Doctor Tobias.

  Barbara twirled and rushed for Igor, waving the trowel like the spear of a savage warrior. Igor stared in astonishment, bulging eyes opened wide. He half turned to run, tripped, sliding into Doctor Tobias. Both men tumbled to the ground with a bone-shattering thud.

  Neither moved.

  I was on my feet now, shaky, but standing.

  Barbara turned, "You'll not stop me!" she yelled charging like a furious rhinoceros swinging the trowel in her right hand.

  Fear, calculation, and panic darted like fish back and forth across my mind. I crouched, raised my left hand to shield my face, and sprung forward to meet her head-on. My right side pivoted as my right elbow swung like a fist full force into Barbara's face—Muay Thai elbow strike.

  Barbara let out a savage scream, stumbled backward, slipped on my regurgitated lunch, and crumpled to the ground like a deflated balloon.

  Doctor Tobias got on his feet and hurried into the unit. He knelt by Barbara, checking for a pulse and if she was breathing. "Igor's called the sheriff's department and EMS will be here shortly," he said.

  The old man stood up, walked over, held my
head in his ancient hands, prodding and poking at my bruises. After several minutes he spoke, a twinkle in his steel-gray eyes. "Doctor Stratford, the amateur sleuth business, it appears, is a dangerous one." He smiled. "But you'll live."

  Epilogue

  Two days later, nine a.m. at Ealing Homestead.

  "It's perfect!"

  Igor Langer stood by the little iron gate on the dirt driveway at Ealing Homestead, his eyes bulging out of his leathery face. The late summer sun was high in an ink-blue afternoon sky. The tang of cedar and grasses filled the air, and the only sound was the gentle rustle of oak tree leaves swaying in a light breeze.

  "Doctor Stratford, it's absolutely perfect!" he said again, turning his head slowly to survey the landscape.

  I was grinning now, and I couldn’t help it.

  Igor glanced around again. "I'd like to book it now… if your company policy allows."

  "Company policy?"

  "Only renting out Ealing Homestead if people have looked at two other properties. This is the only place I've visited."

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. "Given the circumstances, I'll waive that rule."

  Igor's lips twisted into a grin. "Thank you. I can't wait for the big day."

  "You must be deliriously happy," I said, still grinning.

  "Yes, I am. The surgeon in Dallas said it is a simple procedure, and I'll be good to go in a day or so. After all these years of heart trouble, a couple of snips and it's fixed!"

  "That's modern technology for you."

  Igor pressed a hand to his cheek. "I'm thinking two weeks after surgery would be a good date to hold the celebration of my medical cure. Doctor Tobias has already agreed to attend. There will be around one hundred guests joining me to celebrate."

  "Okay, my property is large enough for that."

  Igor crinkled his nose. "Shame about Kitty. We broke up after I told her about my upcoming surgery to fix my heart for good. She was terribly upset, so I guess she wanted to be one of those nurse wives."

  "Nurse wives?"