Madison Johns - Agnes Barton 04 - Trouble in Tawas

by Madison Johns

  I fanned myself, as it was hot already. “Oh thanks a lot!”

  “Don’t read too much into it, Mother. If she’s in there it must be for a good reason.”

  “Yes, she took a fall at her sister’s house.”

  “See, she needs to be there for awhile. Maybe she’ll get better soon and she can go home.”

  “Problem is that I don’t know where home really is for her. Elsie didn’t sound like she cared to have her staying with her.”

  “Probably all talk. I’m sure it will all work out.”

  “Hopefully.” I sat in silence until Martha asked, “I hope you don’t mind if I tag along with you and Eleanor today? I can be of help on your case.”

  I smiled like a cat unt il Mr. Tinkles il Mr. Tinkles began to yap up a storm. I let him outside on his chain and asked Martha, “Do you know who S.S. Murphy is?”

  “You mean the erotica writer?” she squealed. “I heard she was in town. She has a book signing at the library today.”

  “Sounds like a good time to pay her another visit.”

  “What do you mean another visit?”

  “We stopped by where she’s staying in town.”

  Martha gave me a hug and ran off, presumably to change. She returned dressed in white leggings with a yellow midriff top, high-heeled sandals on her feet. Even though she was in her forties, her abs were tight. She worked out every night doing crunches and squats. If Martha planned on dating men half her age, she needed a rockin’ body to boot. I still can’t understand what possesses her to strut around town looking like she was ripped from the seventies, or like a hooker, as some thought. I have since given up on lecturing others how to dress.

  We took the station wagon to El’s and waited until she surfaced, wearing lavender capris and a matching blouse. Her hair had a real shine to it, with glitter spray applied. “Wow, El. You’re going way out for the book signing.”

  “Well, she is my favorite author.”

  “Not me,” I admitted. “I’m more of a cozy mystery buff, especially books with senior aged characters.”

  “Maybe someday someone will write a book about us, Aggie.”

  I nodded as I led the way outside. “I sure like the sound of that, but nobody would ever think we’re believable.”

  “Why not? Just because we’re old doesn’t make us incapable of solving crimes. Sure we get aches and pains, but it never stops us when we’re on a case.”

  We hopped into the car and I added, “You got that one right!”

  Ten minutes later I was on Sawyer Street at the East Tawas Library. My eyes widened when I saw the huge line that had formed outside the mostly brick library.

  El’s shoulders slumped. “We’ll be here all day.”

  “It looks that way, but maybe I can work us in.”

  I went back to the car and returned with a quad cane I had forgotten I had left in the station wagon a month ago. At that time I was having trouble with my hip, but luckily it was a short-lived inconvenience, but I needed a cane for support. My hip has been aching for years, but I wanted to forego surgery as long as possible.

  I limped my way toward the door despite the odd glances thrown my way. El followed my cue and did the best impression of an invalid I had ever seen. She clung to the doorway. “Oh… oh!” she wailed.

  “I hope you’re not thinking about cutting in the line,” a young woman said. “The line starts back there,” she said, pointing a bony finger behind her.

  “If we do that, we’ll drop off for sure,” I whined. “Let us go first. I promise we won’t take more than a few minutes to speak with S.S. Murphy.”

  “So you’re gonna pull the ‘I’m old and should get extra privilege’s’ card?” she sneered. “Why do women your age even read erotica?”

  “I’ll have you know young lady, it’s been around longer than you were a twinkle in your parent’s eye,” El said sweetly. “What would your grandmother think of you speaking to your elders this way?”

  “My granny is in a nursing home where she belongs.”

  El’s face turned a shade of red, and I pushed her ahead of me before she put a hurting on this woman. As it was, I wanted to slap her smug face, but decided it simply wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause. I sure didn’t want to get arrested again.

  I went through the door and Melinda the librarian rolled her eyes, but led us straight to where the author had a table set up, with her books on easels. Behind the table was a huge sign with the picture of her recent book, Highland Honey. The image was of a young man with bare chest who only wore a kilt, whereas the woman wore a blue dress pulled down enough to reveal ample cleavage. One could say it was a traditional bodice ripper cover. It was so out of place with contemporary romance taking center stage these days.

  When S.S. Murphy strode through the back door, she was dressed sensibly in crème colored slacks, with a satin button-up blouse that revealed her creamy skin beneath. The curls of her long dark hair rested on her shoulders. Her blue eyes widened in recognition as she asked us, “Are you here for the book signing?”

  “Yes,” El gushed, obviously star struck, but it wasn’t every day that you saw a bestselling author first hand.

  “My book is $14.99,” she said, indicating the book on the table.

  “I already have that book,” El said as she pulled it from her purse.

  I reached into my wallet and bought a book, and with a quaint smile I asked, “We’d like to ask you more questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Not now,” El said. “Please, sign my book. My name is Eleanor Mason.”

  A small sharpie pen was applied to El’s book and it was handed back. “I’m too busy right now, but if you’d buy me dinner later, I’d be happy to answer your questions.”

  “How about Hidden Cove? They have the best lake perch in town.”

  S.S. Murphy’s lip curved down into a frown. “I’m not that much of a fish lover.”

  “They also cook a mean steak,” El quickly added. “What time is good for you?”

  “How about eight o’clock?”

  We agreed to meet at that time and I had S.S. sign the book I bought for my daughter, who I knew didn’t have the funds for a book of her own.

  ***

  A quarter after eight, El, Martha and I were seated on the balcony of Hidden Cove. It was still light enough at this point that the deck lights weren’t needed. When S.S. Murphy strolled toward us she stumbled briefly and nearly fell sideways, catching herself on the table next to us. She laughed and apologized to the younger couple seated at the table. I got up and held out a chair for the author, hoping she’d not head straight to the floor, as I could smell the whisky on her breath.

  “Sorry I’m late. I got lost after I left the liquor store,” she slurred. “I mean grocery store.”

  She was dressed the same as earlier, but her clothing looked rumpled now. She tucked her hair behind her ears and my eyes widened when I noted the huge diamond rings on her fingers. She must have noticed my glance as she announced, “They’re not real, dear. I bought these knock offs on the Home Shopping Network.”

  “Oh really?” El said. “Doesn’t your husband buy you jewelry?”

  “My husband Harry is only good for one thing—”

  “Good luvin’,” El suggested.

  “I wish. Let’s just say he’s not anything like the men I write about in my books. More of a limp noodle.”

  Too much information, but at least she was talking. I offered the menu and she ordered a nineteen dollar steak and a long island ice tea, but I suspected she could do without any more to drink.

  “I so know what you mean,” El said with a wink. “Men are never who they say they are. He can’t be all bad, he did buy the beach house on Lake Huron, right?”

  She frowned. “That’s what worries me. I don’t know how on earth he managed to do that. He has run my credit into the gutter.”

  I gasped. “Aww, you poor dear. Surely he has a job.”

  “Spong
ing off me is his full-time job, but lately he assured me he had something in the works. I just hope it’s not another stripper.”

  “He cheats on you?” El asked with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s obviously a loser. Maybe you should file for divorce.”

  “I can’t or he’ll get half of my royalty checks.”

  “Didn’t you have him sign a prenup?”

  “Nope, my books hadn’t started to really sell until after I married the bum. This is the one time I wish I had listened to my mother.”

  Martha laughed loudly, “Don’t say that. I’m sure you just thought he was somebody he wasn’t. It’s easy for us women to fall for the wrong man.”

  I glared at Martha. Would it hurt her to think that a mother sometimes knows what she’s talking about? “My daughter is right,” I added, and then moved my drink so the waitress could put down my perch I had ordered before S.S. Murphy arrived.

  We waited until we each were given our food before we said anything else. Martha and El had each ordered smothered chicken. “Things will work out hopefully, but what makes you think your husband was seeing a stripper? Has he done it before?”

  “Yes, too many times to count.”

  “Does your husband own a Hummer?” I asked, hoping it didn’t sound too abrupt of a question.

  “No, a black Impala.”

  “Do you know anyone who owns a Hummer?”

  She forked in some steak, chewed, swallowed and then said, “No. You don’t think my husband is involved in a crime, I hope.”

  “We just don’t know yet. We’re looking for a man who drives a Hummer, but we think we saw your husband at Fuzzy’s Ice Cream Shop not long ago. Do you happen to have his picture with you?”

  S.S. Murphy pulled out her wallet and flashed Harry’s picture. It was the same one he had on his Facebook page. “Thanks. Did you know Raul Perez?”

  “The man they found dead in town? Why no. Why?”

  “We were led to believe he had business dealings with Raul is all. I just wish we could talk to your husband.”

  “I’ll try to work that out, but he didn’t come home last night. I truthfully don’t know where he could be.”

  “Does he carry a smart phone, one with GPS tracking?” I asked.

  “He does. I’ll have his phone tracked in the morning.”

  “If you could give us his number I could save you the trouble. I’m sure the sheriff could check it out for us.”

  El’s eyes were round as saucers. “I’m not sure he’ll help us out.”

  “We’ll simply tell the sheriff that his wife is concerned.”

  S.S. drank her drink faster that I thought she should, but I kept my lips zipped. “I hope you can back up our story if the sheriff asks,” I suggested.

  “Sure thing. I know I should be more concerned than I am about his whereabouts, but he’s disappeared on me before, sometimes for weeks.”

  “You shouldn’t put up with that!” El spat.

  “I know, but I guess I’m just thankful to have a man in my life. Once you get over the age of forty its slim pickings.”

  “Don’t say that, S.S.,” El said with sympathy. “I’m over eighty and I have a man. If I can do it so can you.”

  “I like how Harry lets me write, but perhaps that was a mistake on my part. I gave him too much freedom, obviously.”

  “Don’t worry. I promise we’ll find him for you. Maybe it’s not as dire as it seems,” I tried to reassure her.

  “I hope you’re right. I’m sorry I was so cross with you the other day at the house. I just hadn’t expected strangers to be on the property.”

  “And there’s nobody stranger than my mother and her odd friend,” Martha said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Neither El nor I were about to give Martha the satisfaction of a smart come back. When we had finished dinner and our drinks, I escorted S.S. Murphy outside and into the station wagon. No way did I want her wrapping her car around a tree on my conscience.

  Chapter Seventeen Eighteen

  Bright and early the next morning, El and I were seated in the sheriff’s office waiting for him to retrieve coffee. I was thinking was thinking more for him than us since he didn’t know yet why we were here. He precariously carried the cups to his desk and I jumped up to help least I lose my first chance at a cup of brew. I took a sip and smiled. “Not bad at all.”

  “The new girl, Janice, makes a great cup of coffee.”

  I had noticed the vibrant young lady who manned the counter. “Maybe I should close your door,” I suggested.

  “Oh,” he raised a brow. “It’s going to be one of those kinds of conversations?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you need me to do this time?”

  “Run a GPS on a cell phone.”

  “For who?”

  “Harry Hunan. I have his number here.” I handed him a slip of paper.

  “I need probable cause.”

  “He’s married to the author S.S. Murphy and she told us he hasn’t returned home.”

  “Then why isn’t she here?”

  “Nursing a hangover no doubt.”

  “I see. I need her to verify he’s missing before I run a check. I have to watch my back, you know.”

  I pulled out my cell and found S.S. Murphy’s number she had given me last night and the sheriff dialed the number as I recited it. “This is Sheriff Peterson here. Is your husband missing?”

  He paused. “I see. Has he shown up yet?” He hung up and turned to his laptop and keyed in the number I gave him. “I have enough probable cause to run a check. She’ll be along shortly to file a missing person’s report.”

  Peterson raised a brow. “I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s at the Northland Cabins. I’ll be heading out there now, you can follow, but… let me be clear that you will stand back. Is that understood?”

  “Of course Sheriff. He’s a person of interest in Raul Perez’s accident. We had hoped to question him, but it just wasn’t in the cards.”

  “Story of my life.” He leaned back in his leather chair and hauled his bulky body upward, making tracks for the door with us in hot pursuit. When we arrived at the Northland Cabins five short minutes later, we parked alongside the sheriff and waited as he walked to the cabin and knocked. When nobody answered, he flagged down the cleaning lady who was pushing her cart past. Keys rattled as she unlocked the door and Peterson disappeared inside. He stuck his head out fast-like and nodded at us. With that cue El and I left the station wagon and walked inside the cabin.

  My eyes panned left to right as we entered the cabin with the knotty pine walls and went into the bedroom. On the top of the rose bedspread was the body of a man. When I approached the bed, I saw it was indeed Harry Hunan. From the grey cast appearance of his skin and open unseeing eyes, I knew him to be dead. On the bed there was an empty pill bottle and a note scrawled with a red pen. It read as follows: I killed Raul Perez and Maria Sanchez in an act of passion. I was having an affair with Maria and found out she was also sleeping with Raul, and I killed them both and made it look like an accident. I want to apologize to my loving wife and to the family of both Raul and Maria.

  “I don’t get it,” El said. “This seems like a set up.”

  “I have to agree with you, El. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make this look like a suicide.”

  “Now listen here,” Peterson said. “For all we know he really did kill himself.”

  “Why would he mention Raul and Maria when both deaths were ruled accidental?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t know that,” Peterson suggested, “and it was too much of a burden for him.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute. Pills are not how men usually take their own life,” I insisted.

  “No?” El asked. “Then how do they usually do it?”

  “Guns tend to be the preferred method.”

  “Or hanging,” Peterson added. “The coroner will do a toxicology to determine if pills were indeed the caus
e of death.”

  I stared at the pill bottle without picking it up. “This is oxycodone and it looks like Harry had a prescription for it.”

  “It doesn’t look like there are any visible wounds, so how would somebody force Harry to take the pills? Would they still be in his stomach?” El asked.

  “Probably absorbed into his system,” I said. “Right Sheriff?”

  “Depending on how long ago he took the pills.”

  El stared at the nightstand. “What if he was drugged?”

  “Well, there’s no glasses in here. Maybe in the other room.” I led the way and into the kitchen, spotting two glasses. “These glasses should be tested for the presence of drugs.”

  “Why on earth would Harry take the pills out here?” El asked.

  “It looks like he might have had company, there are two glasses. I believe the crime scene was staged.”

  “Anyone in their right mind would get rid of any evidence, but I’ll be sure to have those glasses checked.”

  “Oh? Are you investigating this crime?”

  “Of course, Agnes. Why would you think otherwise?”

  I bit down on my fingernail. “It’s just that Harry’s note claims he killed Raul and since your father was involved, I thought it might be better if you stayed off this case.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Agnes. This is one crime I want to get to the bottom of for all of our sakes.”

  My eyes widened. “So you don’t believe it’s a suicide either?”

  “Not a chance, but I know it’s never good to jump to conclusions. It might bite us all in the ass. I’m calling this one in and I think you two had best skedaddle before—”

  Trooper Sales’ frame filled the doorway. “Before I show up, don’t you mean? What are they doing here?”

  “H-How did you get here so soon?”

  “I happened to be driving by when the call came in from Peterson,” Sales informed us.

  It figures! “We’re working a case and it led us here,” I said. “I guess our red herring is dead again.”

  “Red herring, eh? And here you are in the middle of it again. Please leave so I can assist the sheriff here. I don’t need any guff from either of you. This is a police investigation, one where your opinions aren’t welcomed,” Sales added.