Murder Welcomes You to Buxley

by Maddie Cochere

  I yelled back, “I want a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, a foot long coney with onions, and sweet potato fries.”

  The speaker crackled something, but I could only make out thirty-four cents and around.

  I pulled around, paid, and eased into a parking space to organize my food to make it easier to eat and drive at the same time. I took the lid off the cup and found coffee with cream. I rarely asked for cream, but I was delighted to see a cup of coffee.

  The foot long coney was a hamburger instead. I had hoped for a cheeseburger, but the hamburger would have been my second choice.

  Onion rings filled out the order, and I couldn’t have been happier. This was the closest I had come yet to placing a fake order and getting what I wanted. Chummy’s sign above the speaker box clearly indicated you had to go inside to ensure a correct order, but I was too lazy to get out of the car today.

  I took my time eating while I drove over to George Graham’s office. I had originally considered driving to Patterson one more time to take a final stab at Curt Hendershot’s stolen car, but watching George’s office to see if he left to meet his lover was the less painful option for the afternoon.

  I pulled into the convenient store lot and parked in my regular space. I was happy to see George’s car parked just outside his front door.

  I finished my onion rings and coffee and tuned the radio to a country music station. A marathon of oldies about love was playing in honor of Valentine’s Day this coming Wednesday. Mama had always listened to country music. It was on all day long when we were kids. I was pleased with how many songs I could sing along to.

  I turned the car off after twenty minutes. I really needed to ask someone about letting a car idle for long periods of time. Did it damage the engine or didn’t it? I wouldn’t have to sit here and freeze if I knew for sure.

  The parking lot was still streaked with patches of ice and snow. Salt was nearly useless in these temperatures. I stepped out of the car and risked walking into the store for a cappuccino.

  The newspaper rack caught my eye. A large, color picture of the flea market fire took up most of the space above the fold. My own paper was probably wet in some unknown part of my lawn. I grabbed a newspaper to add to my drink purchase.

  I traversed the parking lot without mishap. George was still in his office. Things were looking up. Maybe I would find proof of his infidelity today.

  As usual, Jackie had done a magnificent job of writing and conveying not only the facts but also the emotional aspect of the loss of the historic building and what it meant to the people of Buxley. She closed her article by saying the police didn’t have any suspects at this time.

  I glanced through the rest of the paper and finished with the police log - a woman was hit by her own truck, someone cut down trees for firewood from another man’s property, and people walking into the local grocery store were being hit by paintballs. There was nothing that might mean additional business for Arnie and me.

  I started the car again. It didn’t take long before I was comfortably warm. I settled back into my seat and focused on the building. If George came out soon, I didn’t want to miss him.

  A knock on my window startled me. I was disoriented for a few moments. My neck hurt from having my head flopped over against the window. A bit of drool had positioned itself at the corner of my mouth, and I was roasting from the heater blasting on high.

  The same two boys who had seen me fall a few days ago were standing outside my window with the clerk from the convenient store.

  I put down my window.

  “Are you all right?” the clerk asked. “The boys were afraid you were dead in here. They said they smelled carbon monoxide.”

  I glared at the boys and told the clerk, “I’m fine. I was reading the newspaper and must have dozed off.”

  “I thought I heard you snore a couple of times, so I wasn’t sure about rapping on your window, but I figured better safe than sorry. We don’t want a body in the parking lot.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I’m sure I don’t snore.”

  The boys giggled like little girls. I put my window up.

  I looked over to George’s office and saw his car was gone. I couldn’t believe I had missed him. Things were definitely not looking up, and I couldn’t help second-guessing my ability to become a private investigator.

  I was cranky as I made my way home. I parked in the driveway and walked into the house through the front door. I tossed my outerwear onto the sofa and went into the kitchen with my cappuccino. I had only taken a few sips before I fell asleep. I put it in the microwave to heat it.

  The house felt cold and lonely this afternoon. I was glad Glenn was coming over tonight. Even though I knew I should watch George Graham all day tomorrow, it was going to feel good to play hooky and spend the day with Glenn.

  I grabbed the cappuccino and made my way upstairs to the murder room.

  The pictures Jackie had taken of George Graham and his potential mistress were in my email. I printed all three and attached them to the whiteboard. Because I was taking tomorrow off with Glenn, I was going to have to stick to George like glue all day on Monday. I could just give the motel pictures to Lois Graham and call it a day, but she would likely conclude her husband was having an affair, and I didn’t want it to end like that when there was no definitive proof. I didn’t have a good feeling about the case.

  Curt Hendershot was a wash. I would call him first thing Monday morning and tell him his car had simply disappeared. I felt a little guilty about giving up on his case. I should have gone back to Patterson and checked used car lots and small repair shops. Maybe I’d take one last stab at it on Tuesday before throwing in the towel.

  It was the block pertaining to the Reggie Jones murder that needed the most work. I didn’t have any specific information about her murder, but I wanted to jot down everything I suspected about Duck Hutton to include the information about the fires, Aunt Bee’s suspicions, and even Susan’s theory that Duck killed Reggie because she stole his heroin stash.

  Glenn and I rarely talked about the details of a case. I tried not to get directly involved with the police department, and he tried to avoid unnecessarily influencing my thoughts on my cases. However, it was time for us to have a conversation about Reggie. The police still weren’t looking at Duck as a suspect. I needed to show him the log from Mickelson Foods and tell him why I thought Duck wasn’t in Parkersburg but right here in Buxley to kill Reggie.

  The final quadrant held the information on Johnny Wyler. I stood in front of the board and shook my head. How did that boy get himself into such a mess? Because he was no longer a minor, I knew he was facing years in prison unless I could find a way to help him.

  It was such a surprise to see Johnny driving Darby’s car last night, I watched in my rear view mirror to see which way he turned off Clark Street. I turned around in my driveway to follow him. My headlights were off as I approached the car several blocks later. I waited until he turned a corner before flipping the lights back on.

  He drove through town and out toward the hotel where Susan was staying. Did she know him? Had she loaned Darby’s car to him? I assumed he was taking it back to her, but he drove past the hotel and took the entrance ramp onto the Interstate.

  I had to know where he was going and what he was doing. I took the entrance ramp as well.

  It was like a bad dream when he took the Hapsburg exit and drove directly to Ed’s Service Garage. It seemed impossible to me that Johnny was mixed up with Ed and his chop shop. Did he meet Ed by responding to the Craigslist ad I found in the Hot Rod magazine? The ad said the employee would be driving cars from one location to another. Johnny was certainly doing that. And now it looked like he had stolen Darby’s car to be chopped up and sold for parts.

  He parked the car in the lot and ran inside. I backed into a parking spot at the darker end of the motel across the street to watch. I didn’t expect him to stay in the garage all night, and I wanted to se
e what he would be driving and where he went when he left.

  It was nearly half an hour later when I turned my car off. Within minutes, I was cold and shivering. I was going to have to let the car run if I was going to sit here and watch.

  Johnny came out of the garage just as I reached for the key. My heart jumped as he ran directly toward me. I had to be the worst private investigator ever. He had probably known I was following him from the moment I pulled out onto the main road.

  I slid down in my seat and willed myself to become invisible. He couldn’t confront me or attack me if he couldn’t see me. I was surprised and relieved when he ran alongside my car to the door of the room behind me. He entered with a key and turned the light on. It went out again a few minutes later. I waited several minutes, but he didn’t come out.

  This was turning out to be quite a twist, and I wasn’t entirely certain what I should do. If I notified the police of Darby’s stolen car, it would jeopardize the plans Jackie and Nick had to uncover the corruption in town. However, if I didn’t call the police, Darby’s car would be toast in a few hours.

  The decision to do nothing felt terrible, but it also felt like the right thing to do. It was better to bring down a corrupt government than to save one car.

  I assumed Johnny went to bed. At least now I knew where he was staying. When I talked with Glenn in the morning, I’d ask him what we could do to rescue Johnny from this mess.

  I sat up and reached for the key once again. It was nearly three in the morning, and I knew I was going to have a terrible time staying awake on the drive back to Buxley. I would have to stop at the diner for coffee before getting back on the interstate.

  I hadn’t yet turned the key when the door to Ed’s Garage opened. A man came out and ran directly toward me. I slumped down in my seat again. Just as Johnny did, he ran alongside my car to the door of the room behind me. He rapped hard on the door.

  I couldn’t see either of them, but I could hear them.

  “The Chevelle has to go back,” the man said.

  “Why? That was my best score so far. And it’s late. I’m supposed to be off the clock.”

  The man swore at him. “That car belongs to some guy who’s been snooping around here. We already got his wife’s car earlier in the week. He’ll have the police on us as soon as he realizes it’s gone. Hurry up and take it back.”

  The man ran back to the garage. Johnny was out of his room and running across the street within minutes. He couldn’t have had a key to the car, but he had it started in a flash and was racing down the road.

  I finally started my car and pulled out. I didn’t put my lights on until I was nearly to the end of the street. Johnny would be far ahead of me, but there was no need to keep him in sight now.

  The first Buxley exit was the one near the hotel. I exited and drove by to take a look. Darby’s car was in the lot near the front door. I had no idea where Johnny was or how he would get back to Hapsburg, and I didn’t care. I had to pick Susan up and take her to the police station in four hours. I wanted to get into bed as quickly as possible and get some sleep.

  The red phone ringing brought me back from the events of last night. I glanced at Johnny’s information on the whiteboard again as I left the murder room and ran downstairs.

  I grabbed the handset. “Two Sisters-”

  Pepper cut me off. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Glenn’s coming over when he gets off work around two.”

  “That’s not tonight. That’s the middle of the night. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Sleeping. I only got about four hours last night, and I don’t want to be completely out of it when he gets here.”

  “We’re having movie night, and we want you to come over. Buck’s making pigs in blankets, which is hot dogs rolled in dough from a can, and Kelly’s making brownies.”

  “What about popcorn?”

  “The kids found an air popper at the flea market last week. Keith’s going to try it out tonight as a special tribute to the burned down building.”

  “No butter?”

  “You can melt butter and put it on yours. We’re eating healthy.”

  “Hot dogs rolled in biscuits and brownies aren’t healthy.”

  “I know,” she said with a laugh. “Stop being contrary. Just come over. We’re watching You’ve Got Mail.”

  “You’ve seen that at least a dozen times. You watch it every time it’s on television.”

  “I know, but Buck’s never seen it, and neither have you. We’ll have fun. Are you in?”

  “What time?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  That would give me several hours of sleep if I hopped into bed right now.

  “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll bring a jar of olives.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Buck! C’mon!” Pepper yelled from the living room.

  It was after nine o’clock. Hot dogs rolled in dough were baked and on the coffee table along with brownies, potato chips, onion dip, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, and a huge bowl of popcorn. A cooler with ice and cold drinks was on the floor at one end of the table.

  “I’ll be right back,” Pepper said.

  She went into the kitchen, and I heard the door to the garage open and close. Keith began reading the back of the cd case for the movie.

  “Tom Hanks. Do you like him, Aunt Jo? He’s in everything. My favorite movie was Big. Or maybe Toy Story.”

  “He wasn’t in Toy Story. That’s a cartoon,” Kelly said.

  “His voice was in Toy Story,” he said as he continued to read the case. “Meg Ryan is in everything, too. At least Mom says she used to be. What happened to her? She doesn’t do cartoons, does she? I like this movie. You’ve got mail,” he said to me.

  I probably did. I couldn’t remember the last time I checked the mailbox.

  “Joe Fox. F-O-X,” he said.

  “Shut up,” Kelly said. “You’ll spoil the movie for Aunt Jo.”

  “That’s not a spoiler,” he said. “I just like to spell the guy’s name.”

  “Mom!” Kelly yelled. “Hurry up! The pigs are getting cold.”

  Keith stood and leaned over the table to reach a cookie. A piece of white paper stuck out of his jeans.

  “What is that?” I asked and pointed to the paper.

  “That’s the diaper I found at your place.”

  “Ew,” Kelly said. “You’re wearing a diaper?”

  “I can drink as much as I want, and I won’t have to run to the bathroom. I’ll just go in my diaper. If it works out good, I’ll have Grandmama get me some more.”

  “Mom!” Kelly screeched. “Keith’s wearing a diaper!”

  Pepper and Buck came into the room. My mouth nearly dropped open when I saw Duck Hutton following them. Buck walked him to the door, said goodnight with a friendly hand clap to his back, and off Duck went. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing here. I was further puzzled by the sound of a motorcycle a few moments later. Was that nut riding a motorcycle in this freezing weather?

  Buck excused himself to run to the bathroom.

  “You should wear a diaper like me,” Keith called after him.

  Pepper looked at me and shook her head. I knew she wanted to tell Keith to go take it off, but it was best to let him wear it and get the experience over with. We couldn’t help smiling at his exuberance over yet another one of his new experiences.

  “Why was Duck here?” I asked.

  “I think he’s lonely,” she said. “He misses his girlfriend, and I think he wanted to talk with a friend.”

  I didn’t press her for any more information. If Duck was missing Reggie, it was his own fault.

  We settled down with drinks and snacks and waited for Buck to come back. He could have been reading a newspaper in there for as long as it was taking him.

  “Cell phones off,” Pepper reminded Kelly and me.

  “You’ve got mail,” Keith said for the umpteenth time.

  “Ooh, gi
ve me a minute,” I said as Buck came back into the room. “I completely forgot to check the messages on my answering machine today. There might be something important.

  I called the number and waited for the rings to cycle and my recorded message to play. There were seven messages. Three were unimportant messages from Mama. I felt guilty when I heard Curt Hendershot’s impatient voice asking about his stolen car. There was a call from Susan. The nasty woman from Ed’s Service Garage had paid her a visit at the weight loss center. She thought I’d be interested to hear what the woman had to say. That must have been an interesting encounter. I’d call her first thing in the morning.

  I was surprised to hear another message from Susan. She had left it only a short while ago. “Hi, Jo. This is Susan Raines. I found Duck’s cell phone in Reggie’s coat. I thought I’d give it to you and let you handle it with the police. Give me a call.”

  Duck’s phone! There could be a ton of evidence on that phone. I had to see Susan right away.

  The final message had been left only a few minutes ago. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard it. “Is this Jo Ravens? I’m Cecelia Rorski. The duck hunter fella is in Susan’s room, and he doesn’t belong there. Reggie doesn’t live there, so he has no business being in there. I want you to tell the police. Thank you.”

  “What?” Pepper asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think that was Sergeant Rorski’s mother.”

  “You didn’t give him the heart attack. Why would she be calling you?” Buck asked.

  “She said the duck hunter was in Susan’s room, and he shouldn’t be.”

  “He must have gone over to get Reggie’s things,” Pepper said.

  “What things? Why would he think Susan had anything belonging to Reggie?”

  “I told him,” she said. “He told Buck she had his phone the night she died, and he didn’t know how to get it back. I told him Susan might have it with Reggie’s other things. I knew they were in Darby’s car.” The look on my face must have alarmed her. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I have to go,” I said, scrambling for my coat. “It might be ok, but I have to check on Susan. She could be in danger.”