Murder Welcomes You to Buxley

by Maddie Cochere

  I suddenly had second thoughts. What if he thought it was a silly gift. Or he might think it was presumptuous. On the other hand, it was something I should have given to him long before this.

  I leaned over to open the drawer in the end table and pulled out a small box. He lifted the lid and pulled out a key.

  “A policeman once told me that putting a key in a fake rock outside was a dangerous thing to do. I thought you should have a key to my place, so I can get rid of the rock.”

  He laughed, and said, “That was a smart man and a very good idea.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a red ribbon. A key dangled from the end. “Great minds think alike. Here’s the key to my place. It’ll be fun to come home in the morning and find you in my bed. I’ll make breakfast for you, so you won’t have to eat at Chummy’s so often.”

  It felt like a giant leap forward in our relationship. I snuggled in closer under his arm again.

  The rest of the night was worthy of a romance novel. It was his attempts to wake me at seven in the morning that burst the bubble.

  “Get up sleepy head,” he called up the stairs. “Coffee’s ready.”

  I burrowed deeper under the covers. His voice carried up the stairs again, but I had no idea what he said. I wanted my key back. I didn’t want him here in the morning if he was going to wake me so early. He might as well have been banging on my front door.

  “Go away,” I yelled.

  A few minutes later, my bedding was pulled back just enough to reveal my head. “I brought you a cup of coffee,” he said.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I whined. “I thought we were sleeping in until at least noon.”

  “You have to go down to the station and write your statement about what happened Saturday night. On the way, we’ll drop your car off at Rick’s Garage to get your brakes fixed. When you’re done with your statement, we’ll run up to Hapsburg and talk to Johnny before he gets away for the day. If all goes well, we’ll be back here by noon, your brakes will be done, and you can get right on George Graham.”

  I groaned and threw the covers over my head again.

  “C’mon. Chop, chop. Let’s go,” he said and pulled the bedding back again.

  I forced myself out of the warm bed and plodded into the bathroom with the coffee. A shower was my only hope for getting awake and feeling human.

  By nine o’clock my statement was written, my car was on a lift at Rick’s, and Glenn was driving us to Hapsburg.

  “How are we going to handle this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s just wing it. I want him to go home, but I don’t want him to warn Ed before he leaves.”

  He looked concerned. “Jo, there have to be consequences for him.”

  I knew he wanted me to be realistic about what was going to happen to Johnny, but I was hoping for the best possible outcome. “I know. It just bothers me so much that in the space of a couple of weeks, a boy can go from being a good kid to a felon.”

  “It happens all the time. All criminals start somewhere. For all we know, he could be the person who’s been breaking into houses all over town for the past six months.”

  “There haven’t been that many break-ins,” I said.

  “At least three a month,” he said. “They’re all similar, and there aren’t any leads.”

  I didn’t counter his argument. Johnny obviously wasn’t the sweet little boy who played with toy trucks in his driveway anymore, but I hoped he wasn’t too far gone to the dark side.

  We were quiet for the remainder of the drive to the motel. Glenn knocked hard on the door a couple of times. A very sleepy Johnny finally opened it.

  “Johnny, hi. You remember me, right? Jo Ravens.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “How did you find me? Is Mom ok?”

  “Your mother is fine,” I said. “I need to talk to you.” I looked over my shoulder to Ed’s garage. “Can we come in for a minute?”

  He held the door open, and we walked in. Other than a rumpled bed, the room was neat as a pin. Johnny sat down on the bed. I sat in the only chair in the room while Glenn stood at my side.

  “I saw you steal a red Chevelle Friday night. I followed you here and waited long enough to see you return the car.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “That wasn’t me. You got the wrong guy.”

  “It was you,” I said. “You passed me on Clark Street. What were you doing there? Did you go to see your mother?”

  He looked around the room as though assessing the situation and looking for a way out.

  “Look, Johnny,” Glenn said. “Don’t make this difficult. If I had my way, you’d already be behind bars, but Jo wants to help you.”

  “Help me how?”

  “We know about the chop shop Ed’s running out of his garage. We know you’re stealing cars for him.”

  “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me,” he insisted.

  “It was you, and I will identify you to the police,” I said.

  “The police here won’t believe you.”

  “I know they won’t,” I said. “They’re involved with Ed, and so is the mayor. But pretty soon, the F.B.I. will be all over Hapsburg, and a lot of people are going to jail for a long time.”

  That got his attention. His eyes opened wide and quickly filled with tears.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said.

  “Tell me what it was supposed to be like,” Glenn said.

  “I wanted some extra money to buy a car, so I answered an employment ad on Craigslist. I thought it was for a car dealership. I met Ed and he told me I’d be repossessing cars. He said he had enough work for me to recover up to five cars a day, and he’d give me cash under the table – a hundred dollars for each car I brought in. I figured I could work for him on the weekends, and I’d have enough money to buy a used car by summer.”

  “Then why did you quit school?” I asked.

  “He said he had a contract with a financial institution, and he only had six weeks to complete the job. I could work full time for him and make up the missed school time this summer. I’d still graduate before college in the fall. I thought it would be fun to be a repo man.”

  “When did you realize you weren’t repossessing cars?” Glenn asked.

  He hung his head. “Ed told me exactly where to go and what cars to recover for the first four days. After that, he’d just give me a particular make and model and tell me where to go to find one. I knew then we weren’t repossessing anything. I argued with him. I didn’t want to steal cars, but he told me if I didn’t keep boosting cars, he’d turn me over to the police. He said I’d go to jail for at least ten years for every car I took.”

  He reached under the bed and pulled out a Walmart bag. Handwritten notes, scraps of paper, and copies of records had been stuffed into the bag.

  “I wanted to leave and go home right then,” he said. “But I knew he meant what he said about calling the police, so I started writing down dates, everywhere I went, and the cars I grabbed. I thought it might help if I had to defend myself later. I made friends with Ed’s wife in the office. She filled me in on the racket they have going and how everyone in authority is involved and making money. She said I would be rich one day if I kept doing a good job. I answered the phone for her a few times when she had to go out, so I made copies of some of her computer files. I didn’t know if they would be helpful, but I printed them out, stuffed them in my pants, and brought them over here.”

  Glenn flipped through Johnny’s notes and looked at the copies. He showed me a page that listed dollar amounts donated to the police department. The amount of money funneled from the garage to the police department in just one week was considerable.

  “What do you want to do, Jo?” Glenn asked.

  I looked at Johnny and said, “We have friends at the newspaper in Buxley who have already found out quite a bit about what’s going on. They’re going to break the story soon, and the F.B.I. will be here to r
ound up everyone involved.” I turned to face Glenn. “I think he should stay and continue to do the job as Ed expects. Let’s not make any changes to the way things are being done now or there might be unexpected consequences that could interfere with the investigation. We can take these papers with us to give to Jackie and Nick.”

  “Oh, no,” Johnny said. “You’re not taking my papers. How do I know you won’t destroy them and set me up? Or use them against me? Why should I trust you?”

  Glenn showed him his badge. “Because I’m a police officer, and I’ll vouch for you. I’ll testify to what you’ve told us today and that you provided helpful information to shut this car theft ring down.”

  I took the bag from Glenn and told Johnny, “This will be safer with us. Keep making your notes, and when the F.B.I. shows up, don’t panic. Just be cooperative.” I fished around in my purse for Matt’s business card and handed it to him. “Matt Ryder is the husband of one of the journalists on the story. Call him if you’re arrested, and he’ll help you with bail until everything is straightened out. Can you do that?”

  He nodded his head. “I’ll try.”

  “It’s important for you to act like everything is normal,” Glenn said. “I suspect you’re looking at a week to ten days before this all comes crashing down. If it hasn’t, I’ll come back and get you out myself. Deal?”

  He nodded his head again.

  Glenn and I moved to the door to leave.

  “Wait!” Johnny said. He reached under the bed again and pulled out a duffel bag. He reached in, unzipped a compartment, and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. “Because the cars are stolen, I’ve been afraid to spend the money Ed’s been paying me. I thought that might help me, too, that I still have the money. I’ve only spent a little of it for food.” He handed it to Glenn. “Can you log it in as evidence or something? I’d feel better if you hold onto it.”

  Glenn agreed to take the money to the station in Buxley.

  Johnny pulled the curtain back an inch or two and peeked out. “There isn’t usually much activity over there at this time of day, but I can’t risk having someone see you leave my room.” He watched for a few moments before saying to me, “Please don’t tell my mom about any of this.”

  I felt sorry for him. He seemed childlike at the moment. “I won’t tell her anything. You can tell her when you’re home again.”

  Glenn and I slipped out and made a fast getaway from Hapsburg.

  When we got back into town, my brakes were fixed, and I hightailed it to the convenience store to watch Graham Realty.

  Standing outside my car now in the cold air was helping to wake me up, and I started to shiver. The clerk who had banged on my window the last time I was here walked toward me.

  “The boss says you’re loitering, and he wants you to leave.”

  “I’m not bothering anyone,” I said. “I’m a private investigator, and I’m on a stakeout. I spend money in your store every time I’m here.

  “He thanks you for your three dollars,” she said sarcastically. “But he says if you’re not out of here in fifteen minutes, he’s calling the realty office and telling the owner you’re watching the place. Or he’ll call the police. He’s not sure which yet.”

  “All right,” I said unhappily. “Fifteen minutes and I’ll be gone, but tell your boss I’m not recommending his store to anyone.”

  “It’s a convenience store,” she said. “Who recommends a convenience store to anyone?” She turned around and walked away.

  I climbed back into my car and pouted. How was I going to watch George now? This was the only place off the main road that had a clear view of his office.

  I started my car but didn’t pull out of the lot. I fully intended to use the fifteen minutes the man said he’d give me.

  Within minutes of watching the building again, my eyelids began to droop. I was at the end of my rope. I had no other choice than to go home and go back to bed. I desperately needed some sleep. I’d have to tell Lois Graham I had nothing other than the pictures from the motel in Hapsburg, and they didn’t prove anything.

  I took the last sip of cold coffee in my cup and backed out of the parking space. I glanced at the realty office once more as I pulled out onto the road and couldn’t believe my bad luck. George’s new receptionist, Donna, had just come out the door. George was right behind her.

  Traffic was moving, and I was forced to turn at the light - but which way? The safest bet was to turn downtown and pull over as soon as I could. I kept watch in my rearview mirror for his car - until I hit the car in front of me.

  Booger butts! The guy had hit his brakes, and I didn’t see the lights soon enough to keep from tapping his bumper. If I had to get out and deal with another police report, I would never be able to follow George.

  I threw my hands up into the air and pretended it was his fault. He threw his hands up in the air to let me know he thought I was an idiot. Traffic in front of the man began moving again. Instead of getting out, he resumed driving.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a laundromat and watched, hoping George would drive by. A few minutes later, he passed without looking my way. I pulled out a few cars behind him.

  He took the entrance ramp to the interstate and headed east toward Patterson. I followed him into the city and to the Patterson Plaza. He parked in the lot outside The Broken Nine Iron and walked in. I waited a few minutes to see if Donna showed up. She didn’t, but the woman from the motel did. I grabbed my camera from my purse and snapped a few pictures as she opened the door.

  I waited a few minutes before going in. I hoped George and the woman would already be seated.

  Before my eyes could fully adjust to the lighting, a girl dressed in golf attire grabbed a menu and asked me to follow her.

  I surveyed the room and noticed loft seating along three of the four walls. George and his companion had been seated on the main floor in a darkened corner. The hostess was walking straight for the table next to them.

  I tapped her on the shoulder. “Wait,” I said. She turned to face me. “I’m writing an article about the businesses here in the plaza, and I’d like to have a seat in the loft. I think it will give me a better perspective for my review of The Broken Nine Iron.”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Right this way.”

  She reversed course, and with a little encouragement from me, seated me at the first table at the top of the stairs. The seat gave me a clear view of the golf-themed décor around the room and most of the tables on the floor. George and his companion were smiling, laughing, and obviously enjoying each other.

  I pulled my camera from my purse and set it on the table. I leaned my head down to peer through the viewer. If I angled the camera slightly downward and used the zoom function, I could see George and his mistress clearly. I snapped a few pictures.

  An aging, well-dressed, blue-haired woman at the table next to mine glared at me.

  “What?” I asked. She turned her head away, but I didn’t let her obvious displeasure go unanswered. “I’m writing a review of The Broken Nine Iron. I need a few pictures to go with my article. Do you want me to take a picture of you eating your …” I peered over the empty chair to look at her plate. “Eating your salad?”

  “You shouldn’t be photographing people without their consent. That’s all. You could cause a lot of problems.”

  An equally well-dressed, older man sat down in the chair opposite hers and blocked her view of me and my camera. I wondered if he was her husband, or if taking a picture of her and the man could cause a lot of problems. I smiled at the thought.

  I ordered an iced tea and a club sandwich and continued to watch George. I figured out I could use the sugar packet holder on the table as a base to hold my camera at the proper angle. I pushed the button to record a video.

  When a server brought my food, I reached over to push the button to stop recording and was mortified when the sugar packet holder slid out from under the camera, through the gap in t
he railing at the edge of the table, and tumbled to the floor below. Everyone in the room looked up at me. I quickly slumped down in my seat.

  “That’s the first time something like that’s happened,” the server said sarcastically. “Good thing you didn’t hurt someone.”

  “It was an accident,” I said from my slumped position.

  He took his apron off, threw it on the floor, and muttered under his breath, “Loft seating is stupid. Someone’s going to get killed.”

  He flounced off, down the stairs, and to parts unknown. The hostess rushed to my table.

  “I’m sorry about Tariq,” she said. “A steak knife fell from the loft last week and hit him in the head. He was lucky the handle hit him and not the blade. Can I get anything else for you?”

  “Just my bill. I’m not hungry, and I think I’ve already caused enough commotion.”

  She scurried off. A few minutes later, a stern-looking man was beside my table.

  “I’m sorry your experience here at The Broken Nine Iron has not met your expectations. We’re happy to comp your meal. I’ll have a server pack your sandwich to go and include a dessert for you. We hope you’ll come back again.”

  I was speechless. I knocked a porcelain sugar container over the railing, and I was getting a free meal and dessert. I smiled and thanked the man. The woman across from me leaned around the man to flash another dirty look my way. I smiled at her, too, and gave her a little wave.

  I leaned down to pick my purse off the floor and was startled when I looked up again. George Graham was sitting at my table.

  “Hi, Jo. Enjoying your lunch?”

  I had conflicting emotions as I desperately tried not to look guilty and laughter tried to force its way out at the same time. Could I have been any more obvious in my efforts to be unseen? I smiled yet again and said, “Not really.”

  “You can stop following me,” he said. “I know my wife hired you. Not to investigate our housekeeper, but to find out if I’m having an affair.”

  I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. The word guilty may as well have been stamped across my forehead.