The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries)

by Robert A. Liston

  Title Page

  The Tower of Evil

  A Bye-Byes Mystery

  By Robert A. Liston

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011 by Robert A. Liston

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  ePub ISBN: 978-09831828-4-9

  Other Books by Robert A. Liston

  The Brandywine Game

  Desire and Deceit

  Someone She Knew

  The Temple of Love, a Bye-Byes Mystery

  The Pueblo Surrender

  The Alcohol Blackout

  Cries from the Abyss

  Connect with Robert A. Liston

  Write to Robert on his Facebook Page. He promises to write back.

  Dedication

  To My Dearest One

  1: Homeless Driver

  WALTER BYERLY DROVE to his volunteer “day job” in his “perfectly good” Chevy Nova. The car, not too dented and rusty, was his sop to thrift, or so he thought, also his revolt against stylistic whims.

  At work he hopped into a late model Ford minivan, light blue in color and emblazoned with the words CARE WHEELS, INC., to begin chauffeuring homeless folk around town. On occasion, and with great reluctance, Byerly would admit the van was a lot more fun to drive, even if it lacked the charm and integrity of his clunker.

  He nestled the van against the curb in front of the Salvation Army building on Chapala St. below Haley. A group of homeless gathered, waiting for breakfast at The Sally, as it was called.

  This was the seedy part of Santa Barbara, the closest thing it had to a skid row. But even here there was a sort of tainted beauty, like a dowager with memories of glory days, needing only a little fixing up to once again attend the ball.

  Byerly loved this time of day in Santa Barbara, when the morning mist began to burn off, casting the whole place in expectancy, awaiting the glorious sun and sky. Coming from the Midwest, with its ozone problem, he hadn’t realized just how deep a blue the sky really is till he came to California.

  The rear door slid open. “G’mornin’, Doc.” Byerly turned to the voice of Henry Clay, a former student of his. A skiing accident had taken away half his IQ and all his good sense. He now lived on the street.

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Henry.”

  “Why not? I ‘member when you was teachin’ at UCSB.”

  “And I definitely wish you hadn’t told everyone that.. I keep getting asked—”

  “Hey, Doc, will you take a look at this thing on my hand?”

  He turned to the voice at the driver’s window. “Sorry, I’m not that kind of doc. You want to see Nadine, the public health nurse. She’ll be here in an hour or so.” He turned back to Henry Clay. “See what I mean?” He doubted he did. “You want to go to the mental health clinic?”

  “Yeah, I got an appointment with the doc.”

  Apparently everyone was a doc.

  A fellow he had not seen before approached him on the passenger side. He had a heavy, matted beard, dreadlocks and looked filthy. “Where do you go?”

  “I run folks out to the public health and VA clinics. Social Services, better known as Welfare, is out there, too.”

  He seemed to register that, nodding his head, then he turned away.

  “I guess I’m not going where he is.”

  “Why do you do this, Doc, being a college perfesser and all?”

  “I’m a retired professor, Henry, and I do this because it’s fun. Driving you folks is far more educational than anything I used to teach. Besides, I do so enjoy shocking my stuffy friends. “ ‘What do you do?’ they ask. ‘I’m a homeless driver,’ I say.” He chuckled. “Now I know how AIDS people feel.”courthouse

  He remained there awhile, watching the sidewalk action. People had ability to laugh and have fun even under the most hopeless—or homeless- conditions.

  “Hey, Doc, you’ll never guess what I saw the other day.”

  He glanced at Henry in the rear view mirror. He was puny and disheveled, always trying to please, like a runt of the litter at chow time. “Oh, I might. Let’s see, was it here in Santa Barbara?”

  “Yep, right downtown, on the street beside the library.”

  “That’s too many clues, Henry. You’re making it too easy. Beside the library on Anacapa Street?” The public library was a favorite hangout for the domicile deprived.

  “Yep, right across the street from the courthouse.”

  Henry was enjoying this game. “Let me see. Something you saw?” Byerly squirmed in his seat so as to look back at Henry. “I don’t know—a kidnapping, you saw a kidnapping.”

  Henry was crestfallen. “You saw it, too?”

  “No, Henry, honest, I was just guessing. You really saw a kidnapping at one of the busiest corners in town? That’s amazing, tell me about it.”

  Henry was pleased by the praise. “I see this girl standin’ there at the bus stop, but I knew she wasn’t waitin’ for no bus, ‘cause the No. 20 and the No. 1 came and she didn’t get on. She was lost, I’m sure she was lost.”

  “How old was this girl.”

  “She was, oh, I don’t know ages, Doc, old enough not to get lost, she was, you know….” He made a gesture with his hands.

  “I get the picture, Henry. She was a woman, not a girl.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Of course you did. What happened to this lost woman?”

  A black car drives up, one of them big ones with a driver, I forget what they’s called.”

  “A limousine?”

  “Yeah, that’s is. This guy gets out and—”

  “The driver?”

  “Naw, the other guy in front. He was a mean lookin’ dude, shaved head, with one of them pencil beards framing his mouth and chin, big guy, wore dark glasses, looked like one of them Ninja fellows.”

  Byerly was sorry he’d interrupted. Henry had lost his train of thought. “So what did this Ninja guy do when he got out of the limousine?”

  “He goes up to the girl, says something to her, then she says something back. I couldn’t hear what. Then the guy grabs the girl by the elbow, drags her toward the car. She didn’t want to go, I could tell, but he has his way with her, as they say.” Henry snickered. “Then the car drives off.”

  “That’s interesting Henry, but she probably had a date with him.”

  “At nine in the mornin’?”

  You may have a point there. What did the girl look like?”

  “Look? I don’t look at no girls, I get in trouble when I do.”

  “Everyone should be as wise as you, Henry. I don’t suppose you got a license number on the limo.”

  “I did, but I forget it, didn’t have no pencil. But there was one of them stickers on the rear bumper, you know, vote for so and so.”

  “Vote for whom?”

  “I can’t 'member nothin’ like that, Doc. He’s that dude who’s always bitchin’ at folks for either not going to church or havin’ too much fun.”

  “You can only mean Justin Wright.” Byerly laughed. “You have just encapsulated his entire presidential campaign, my friend. When did this kidnapping take place?”

  “Oh, geez, I dunno.”

  “Try to think, Henry, it might be important.”

  A sharp squeal made Byerly look back at the sidewalk. A couple nuzzled each other. Nothing unusual in that, except she was blonde, better looking and better dressed than most. Repugnance and desperation sh
owed on her face as a limp haired creature, young enough to be her son, grappled her.

  “It was last Tuesday, Doc.”

  “A week ago. Are you sure?”

  “I never forget a kidnappin’, Doc.” He thought that very funny.

  “Stop it!” The blonde pushed at straggly hair and tried to get away, but he pulled her back to him roughly. She pushed again, but she was clearly losing the struggle.

  Byerly stuck his head out the window. “Hey, Romeo, leave her alone.”

  The pushing and grabbing and squealing continued, but nobody helped her. He understood, you took care of yourself on the street, but this woman was overmatched. He got out of the van. “The lady says no, friend.”

  “Shut your lousy mouth, you old geezer.”

  “Look, I’m just trying—”

  Straggly hair’s arm came out and shoved him backwards against the building, almost off his feet. This brought a communal gasp from the homeless. At once fists pummeled the man.

  “You okay, Doc?”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m okay, thanks.” He waved away the hands seeking to help him and turned to the woman. “Get in the van, I’ll take you away from here.”

  He started the motor and drove off. In the rearview mirror he saw the security guard hired by The Sally break up the altercation.

  “Thanks a lot, mister.”

  Again in the mirror he saw she was perhaps in her mid to late forties, blonde, permed, with a round, sweet face. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m okay.” A soft, high-pitched voice gave her a childlike quality.

  “Was he a friend of yours?”

  “I never saw him before. He just approached me and started to….” She sighed. “I guess he was inebriated.”

  “Its been known to happen. Do you know him, Henry?”

  “I seen him but I don’t know his name.”

  “Thank you for intervening, but you could’ve been hurt.”

  “Wasn’t too smart of me. Fortunately, I had help.”

  “Why did those men defend you?”

  “Cause he’s a good guy,” Henry said, “he’s one of us.”

  “Thank you, Henry, that’s high praise. I provide a service they all need, speaking of which, where can I take you?”

  She sighed. “Social services, I guess, maybe they can tell me what to do.” Depression clung to her like wet tissue.

  Byerly made a couple of other stops, but he picked up no other passengers before heading for the northbound ramp of the 101 Freeway. “You’re new on the street, aren’t you?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Vocabulary, clothes, demeanor.”

  “My first day, not a very auspicious beginning.”

  “Most of the street people are okay, but it’s a dangerous place for a woman, especially one used to—well, gentler climes. How did you get here?”

  “I’ve nowhere else to go. My husband left all the money in a trust fund for my son.”

  “Your boy is letting his mother live on the street?” He turned his head sharply to look at her. “Nice kid.”

  “My son is only 19 and doesn’t realize what goes on in the real world.”

  “He could give you a roof while he finds out.”

  “Josh is busy, attending some kind of auto show in Denver.”

  Byerly could only shake his head.

  A few moments later he turned on the car radio to hear the news.

  2: Mystery Note

  TRAFFIC WAS A BIT HEAVY this morning, so DeeDee Byerly only crept along Coast Village Road in her Beamer Z4. She knew it was ridiculous to drive such a sports car, but it was her rebellion against advancing years, along with high heels and red hair. Finally she passed her flower shop and stopped for a light.

  To think she almost chose a location in downtown Santa Barbara! Wouldn’t have done half as well as here. Coast Village Road served the fat wallets of Montecito and also the hotels, restaurants and vacation condos along Cabrillo Blvd. and the beachfront. Kept her active and made retirement nicer for Walter and her. And helped her afford this car.

  She made a right turn, then another into the parking lot behind her shop, pulling into the spot next to the delivery van marked DeeDee’s FLOWERS. Red Roses encircled the words. She unlocked the rear door of the shop and began opening up.

  The only trouble with the location was size. The space was too small for the amount of business she did. The coolers, work area and storage were wholly inadequate. Everybody and everything was in somebody’s way. Nerves rubbed raw sometimes and good humor became a premium.

  Today especially. At mid-morning she lamented, “What possessed me to open a flower shop? A travel agency would’ve been smarter.” Trimming flowers always did that to her, in this case white glads, three dozen of them, to go into funeral baskets.

  “I’ll do that for you.”

  She looked at Gabriella, her newest employee. Such lovely eyes, large, brown and soft. “Thank you, thank you.” She rubbed her aching hands. “Whatever you do in life, dear, don’t get arthritis in your thumbs. You use them for everything.”

  “I’m sorry, DeeDee.”

  “Pay me no mind, child. I could be worse off, like leukemia or leprosy.”

  Where, oh where, was Karen La Rocca? She was her senior employee, and her absence caused this morning’s chaos.

  “Does anyone know what’s bothering Karen? This is the second time she’s been late this week, and when she’s here she’s so distracted. The other day she sent a funeral wreath to a wedding. The bride burst into tears. She thought her ex-boyfriend sent it.”

  Sharon, another of her girls, said, “A wreath would’ve been appropriate at my wedding. “

  “Maybe we should offer them as specials.”

  The phone rang. “This is DeeDee. … Who did you say you were? … Of course I remember Jan Wedgerton, how are you?” She didn’t know her, she didn’t think. “Someone forgot to order flowers for your banquet? What a shame. … You came to the right place. … How many tables? … Of course we can handle it.”

  She hung up and said, “Sorry, girls, she wants arrangements for 12 tables and a dais—by tomorrow night.” That earned a collective groan.

  “Why did you take it, DeeDee, when you know how busy we are?”

  Gretchen was not being accusatory. She merely had an inquiring mind, as a person attending Santa Barbara City College should. A question deserved an answer.

  “I suspect none of you sweet young things can possibly understand why, but I’ll try to explain. You’ve all heard of the Great Depression and the hard times of the 1930s.” She made a fluttery gesture with her hands. “Of course, I don’t remember that long ago, either.” Another flutter. “Actually I was told about it—years later.” That earned a laugh. “My daddy had a store and there were often no orders and no money. So, it’s foreign to my nature to turn away money. You might say it’s bad for business.” Another laugh. “Darlings, we’ll find some way to fill the order. Meanwhile I doubled my price. You can all expect an extra twenty in your paycheck.”