Murder Welcomes You to Buxley

by Maddie Cochere

  ~ ~ ~

  My mouth hung open in astonishment. “What do you mean you have a life partner? You’re not married to Susan?”

  “I thought they were married, too,” Jackie said with a laugh. “Milly at the beauty shop has everyone thinking they’re married.”

  “But you two act like you’re married,” I said.

  “We’re best friends,” Darby said. “Have been for six years.”

  “And her husband is ok with that?”

  “He is. Nate and I live next door in a house we rent on their property.”

  He pulled a picture out of his wallet of five people grouped together at a party. He pointed to each person. “This is my partner, Nate. This is me, of course. This is Susan and her husband, Mick. And this is Lizzie, their daughter.”

  My mouth fell open again. If I thought Darby was good looking, Mick’s looks were off the chart. He could have been on the cover of any romance novel. Darby was fair like Susan, but Mick’s look was darker and sexier. He and Susan made a stunning couple. Nate was the only one with a more common look, but even he was exceptionally cute.

  “That changes everything,” I said. “Now it doesn’t seem so weird that you’re at the bed and breakfast while she’s at the hotel.

  He smiled. “Before she was married, we shared hotel rooms, but it doesn’t feel right now. Besides, I’m having fun staying at Rita’s.”

  “If you’re not married to Susan,” I said. “I’m just going to come right out and ask you if you think it’s possible she murdered Reggie.”

  His jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. Susan wouldn’t hurt a fly. She didn’t even know Reggie. She had no reason to murder her. Why would you even ask that?”

  Jackie looked puzzled as well.

  “Arnie planted the thought in my head. The police have ruled Duck out, and Arnie says Susan is always wrapped up in some kind of trouble. She shows up on Monday, and by Wednesday, there’s a murder on her doorstep. And she had time to go outside, kill Reggie, and then come back in to finish up with Pepper and me.”

  He looked aghast. “I’m telling you, you couldn’t be more wrong. Susan is one of the kindest, most caring people you’ll ever meet. It isn’t in her to hurt anyone.”

  “She wouldn’t be strong enough to overcome Reggie and strangle her with such force,” Jackie said, coming to Susan’s defense, too. “When Howard examined her, he said there weren’t any other injuries other than superficial bruises, so there wasn’t a big struggle before she was strangled.

  “Arnie started it, not me,” I said, trying to defend myself. “To be honest, my money is on Duck Hutton. Keep this under your hats for now, but there was an empty matchbook not too far from Reggie’s body in the alley. The police never noticed it, and it was from right here – The Sunnyside Up.”

  Darby’s eyes lit up. “And Duck was in here on Monday.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  “But he was signed in at the grocery distributor in Parkersburg,” Jackie said. “He couldn’t be in two places at the same time.”

  “I think he had someone wear his hat and drive his truck in for him. The guy at the guardhouse is old and doesn’t see very well. I have a card with Duck’s handwriting on it. The signature at the guardhouse in Parkersburg doesn’t match.”

  “He murdered Reggie and then hoofed it down to Parkersburg to be in the truck when it was unloaded?” Jackie said.

  “That’s my theory,” I said.

  “Why haven’t you told Glenn?” Jackie asked. “I would think the discrepancy in the signature is enough for Sergeant Rorski to bring him back in for more questioning.”

  “I think there’s more to find out first,” I said.

  I didn’t want to tell them Duck might be involved in the nursing home fire, too, and I wanted to look into it.

  Jackie checked her watch. “Nick should be here soon.”

  Darby flagged down our waitress for coffee refills.

  “Susan is strong enough,” he told us with a slight smile.

  Jackie and I exchanged glances.

  “She’s an athlete. She plays racquetball, and she’s really very strong.” He took a sip of his coffee while watching us over the top of the cup.

  “I see people at the Y playing every now and then,” Jackie said. “It looks hard. It’s a fast sport.”

  “It’s just hitting a ball into a wall. How hard can it be?” I asked.

  “Want to find out?” he asked. “I bet Susan would play a game or two with you tomorrow morning.”

  “Do it, Jo,” Jackie said, encouraging me. “You might like it, and it would be fun to watch.”

  Jackie knew I hated exercising unless it was wrapped up in something fun, and she was right. I might like playing racquetball. “Ok, I’ll call and reserve the court. I’m sure I can take a game or two from her.”

  Darby grinned and had a look like he had just pulled a fast one. Susan might be good, but I had played some tennis with Alan when we were married, and I could wield a racquet pretty well.

  “Where’s Nick?” Jackie asked, craning her neck and looking around. “We can’t sit here all day.”

  A heavily bundled person rushed through the door and ran behind the counter. As scarves, gloves, hat, and coat were removed, a pretty girl emerged. She fluffed her hair, put on an apron, and grabbed a pot of coffee. Her eyes were on one person – Darby. She rushed over to our table.

  “Hi,” she said. It was obvious she was smitten with him and flustered in his presence. She looked at Jackie and me before asking him, “Can I talk to you?”

  He smiled at her in a way that I was sure was making her knees weak. “Ashley, these are my friends, Jo and Jackie. You can tell me about the traffic light. They’re here to help.”

  She refilled his cup even though it was nearly full.

  “The light is definitely off,” she said. “It was green and yellow at the same time for a few seconds three times in a row on Wednesday afternoon around four o’clock and again yesterday just after three. No one was at the light when it happened. You know, I could never understand how there could be so many fender benders out there. Now I know.”

  “Has anyone ever been seriously injured or killed?” Jackie asked.

  “No. The speed limit’s only thirty-five, so there are never any high-speed crashes. Sometimes cars have to be towed though – like your friend’s,” she said to Darby.

  “Are they always towed to the same place?” I asked.

  “There are only two garages in town, and Ed’s is the closest,” she said. “I think most of the vehicles are towed there.”

  Jackie left the table to greet her colleague as he walked into the diner. Darby thanked Ashley for her help. His smile and gratitude caused her to blush profusely as she scurried away to another table.

  “This is Nick Olsen,” Jackie said. “Nick, these are my friends, Jo Ravens and Darby Tapley. Nick works for the Hapsburg Herald.”

  We exchanged greetings, and Nick ordered a cup of coffee. It wasn’t too long before he pulled a stack of papers out of his briefcase.

  “I was glad you called,” he said to Jackie. “I’m new at the paper, and my editor hasn’t liked too many of my ideas so far. Six weeks ago, I pitched a story about the excessive amount of money in the coffers of the police department. I wanted to investigate where it’s coming from and where it’s going to, but he shot the idea down right away. He said the police department does a good job of writing speeding tickets and fundraising, but I don’t ever see anyone pulled over in town, and I’ve never heard of any fundraisers.”

  “So you think the police are getting kickbacks from somewhere?” I asked.

  He nodded his head and handed each of us some of the papers. “After you called about the traffic light and the stripped car, I had an idea. I got these from a friend who works at the courthouse. They’re donations to the police department. The donations themselves aren’t unusual. A lot of small town departments rely on donations to supplement government fund
ing and tax dollars. What’s unusual about this list is that it includes a large number of donations from people who don’t live in Hapsburg.”

  “Do you think they’re made up names?” Jackie asked.

  “No, they’re real. I only had time to cross-reference a few of the names with newspaper archives, but the ones I checked all had accidents in Hapsburg. I checked further, and the accidents were all at the same two intersections – both with traffic lights. This one here and one on the north side of town.”

  Darby’s eyes opened wide. “You think the lights are deliberately set to cause accidents? But how does that generate donations?”

  “I think I know,” Jackie said. “The police are allowed to search vehicles at the time of an accident, so it makes it easy for them to confiscate cash and weapons, but then the cars are taken to Ed’s where they’re conveniently stripped. The owner files an insurance claim while Ed sells the parts and gives a percentage back to the police department in the form of a donation from the person who owned the vehicle. They don’t even know they made a donation.”

  “That’s my thought, too,” Nick said. “Because both lights are right off the interstate, the chances of an accident involving someone from out of town are high. I think the corruption goes higher up than just the police department. The chief, the senior officers, the mayor and several other government positions are paid three times the average salary of their counterparts in other cities. Money is flooding into Hapsburg, and it isn’t from legal donations.”

  Jackie looked concerned. “Nick, if your editor shut you down on this, he might be involved.”

  “That’s crossed my mind,” he said unhappily. “I want to pursue this. I think it’s a big story, but it might never be printed, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

  I had a brilliant idea. “You should move to Buxley and work for the Beacon. They’ve been a man down for three months now. You and Jackie can work on the story together and break it for the Beacon instead of the Herald.”

  Nick looked Jackie’s way with a hopeful expression.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “You met my editor, Harry, at the conference last month. I think he would hire you, and I know he’d let us run with the story.”

  “Awesome,” he said with a huge smile. “We can look into some personal finances, too. I’ve heard the police chief did a lot of remodeling and landscaping on his property. He put in an in-ground pool last summer.” He gathered all the papers and shoved them back into his briefcase. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to go back to the courthouse and look through building permits. I think there might be some very interesting permits pulled for additions and upgrades for a lot of police officers and government workers.” He turned to Jackie and asked, “When do you think I could see Harry about a job?”

  “I’ll tell him you’ll be in to see him on Monday.”

  Nick beamed as he gathered his papers and shoved them into his briefcase. He left, and Ashley rushed over to fill Darby’s coffee cup again. She was oblivious to Jackie and me. I held my cup up, but she scurried off to another table.

  “That went well,” Jackie said. “Are we done here?”

  “I’d like to try talking with Agnes Mills again,” Darby said. “I think if she knew the traffic light malfunctioned, she might drop her lawsuit against Susan.”

  “I’m up for that,” I said. “If she still won’t drop it, we can threaten to counter sue for Susan’s injuries and her own pain and suffering - and for malicious prosecution - and for being a pain in the bazooka.”

  “I brought a pie along in case we needed one,” Jackie said.

  “Or we’ll give her pie,” I said cheerfully.

  Jackie’s pies were magical. Once the woman knew the light malfunctioned and she tasted Jackie’s pie, there would be no lawsuit.

  Agnes Mills didn’t live far from the diner. Darby gave directions to Jackie and pointed out Ed’s Service Garage as we drove by.

  I would have looked more closely at the garage, but a familiar car across the street at the Camelot Motel caught my eye.

  The Graham Realty bumper sticker was a dead giveaway.

  Chapter Ten

  “Wait,” I said. “Let’s go to Ed’s Garage first. I can go in and look around and ask about getting my brakes fixed.”

  “We can do that after we see Agnes,” Jackie said.

  “I’m working another case that involves George Graham. I think that’s his car at the motel back there. We can check out the garage, and I can see if it’s him.”

  No one argued, and Jackie turned around. George’s car was still in the motel parking lot as we pulled into Ed’s.

  “I’ll go in and take a look around,” I said. “Darby, wait a few minutes before you come in to ask about Susan’s car, and Jackie, you stay here and man the getaway car.”

  “Roger that,” she said with a salute. “I’ll keep an eye out for George at the motel.”

  I walked into the reception area of the garage. It was a small, dirty space with two grease-stained chairs along one wall and a tall counter along another. A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I might want to make an appointment to get my brakes fixed. They still work, but the pedal goes down pretty far and they feel squishy. Do you know how much it might cost to fix a problem like that?”

  I gave her the year and model. She began looking through a book, running her finger back and forth and up and down the pages. A beautiful diamond tennis bracelet sparkled on her wrist. The overhead lighting hit it with her movements, creating flashes and sparkles.

  The diamonds appeared real, but I couldn’t imagine they were. When Bradley Jewelers opened in Patterson two years ago, Pepper and I went in and pretended to be interested in buying some of their most expensive jewelry. She drooled over the tennis bracelets. One of this size, with this many diamonds, would easily cost in excess of thirty thousand dollars. I suspected the stones were cubic zirconium, and she probably bought it from one of the home shopping shows on television. If so, maybe I could find something like it for Mama for her birthday this year. She would love something this flashy.

  “Your bracelet is beautiful,” I said.

  She smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I’ve been getting a lot of compliments on it.”

  “Did you order it from a home shopping show?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a scowl. “My husband bought it for me for our anniversary. These diamonds are real. It’s a Carter.”

  “You mean Cartier,” I said, emphasizing the French accent.

  “That’s what I said,” she snapped.

  If her husband owned the garage, there was no way he could afford that bracelet. My guess was it was stolen from one of the wrecked vehicles.

  “Did he win the lottery?” I asked.

  She slammed the book shut. “You’re looking at about three thousand dollars to get those brake fixed.”

  “I think it’s against the law to charge that much for brakes,” I said.

  “Prove it or take your business elsewhere,” she said.

  Darby walked into the office.

  “What do you want?” the woman asked.

  He seemed surprised by her rudeness. “I wanted to ask you about Susan’s car.”

  “It’s already been sent to the scrap yard.”

  “It hasn’t even been a week. Did a representative from the insurance company see it?”

  “They emailed and asked for pictures. We sent them. End of story.”

  “Susan wanted me to ask you if anything from her suitcase was accidentally left behind.”

  The woman looked under the counter and behind her on shelves. “There’s nothing here.” She looked at me and asked, “What are you still doing here?”

  Before I could respond, Darby asked, “Were there any other cars vandalized the same night Susan’s was?”

  She looked suspiciously at Darby and said, �
��I don’t have to answer any of your questions, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop asking them.” She looked back and forth between the two of us before saying, “Get out of here before I call the police.”

  I laughed and said, “I was just asking about brakes.”

  She pointed to Darby. “I’m pretty sure I saw him sneaking around the garage the night his wife’s car was stripped. I don’t know what kind of scam he’s running, but if there were other cars vandalized that night, I’m sure the police will want to question him after I positively identify him.”

  Darby seemed startled by the woman’s words. He quickly left the office.

  I smiled at the woman and said, “I’ll let you know about the brakes.”

  I hurried out after Darby and stopped in my tracks. Across the street, George Graham was standing near his car and looking our way. I ducked back into the office, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

  The door from the office to the garage was slightly ajar. The woman looked up from the counter, but I didn’t give her a chance to say anything before I rushed past her and through the door.

  She was quickly behind me. I could hear anger in her voice. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t be out here.”

  I was somewhat shocked at what I saw in the garage. Not only were there cars on all three lifts, but there were two more on the floor at the far end of the building. Every vehicle was in some stage of being dismantled. Numerous car parts were on the ground around each one. There appeared to be three men working at the task.

  I tried not to react at what was before me. Instead, I ran to a door with a small window and looked out. The woman was still behind me and threatened, “I’m calling the police if you don’t get out of here right now.”

  I turned to her and pleaded, “Let me stay for just a few minutes. I saw my old boyfriend over at the motel. He’s a vicious man and once killed someone with a baseball bat. If he sees me, it will be ugly, and someone could get hurt. Let me make sure he’s gone.”

  I peeked out the window again. George’s car was no longer in the lot. I turned to the woman and said, “Ok, he’s gone.” I glanced around the garage. “Wow, you guys are really busy. No wonder you can charge whatever you want for a brake job.”