"Now if you lose her, then you will have to deal with Judge Hurt. It will likely cost you a mint. So keep up with her."
I smiled, "Don't worry."
"Oh, I'm worried. I don't want you getting in too far over your head. I am going to offer Charlie a deal. Maybe she can get off easy."
"Let's hope so. But she denies it. Didn't even cop to self-defense."
"It's strange, this whole affair. Apparently Lofton just up and married Leigh Rozen."
"What do we know about Ms. Rozen?"
"She runs this 'herb' shop off Highway 7." Tom made little quotation signal with his fingers when he said the word "herb."
"Really?"
"I am sure she has some oregano and parsley, but I would bet she doesn't make her living on those."
"How long has she lived here?"
"A couple of years, I think. Jane Cay used to run the herb shop out there. It was legitimate then. I'm sure Leigh took all the legitimacy out of it."
"What happened to Jane Cay? I didn't know her."
"She moved here about six years ago. She came to me to check about all the legalities involved. She was outside the city limits so she didn't need a business license. She had a small store and a garden where she got some of her fresh herbs. But she got married and moved to Little Rock, I think."
"Has Ms. Rozen had any legal issues since she's been here?" I asked.
"When the sheriff has to bust guys busting crystal meth labs all over the county, he doesn't go looking for someone who stays under the radar." Tom took a long drag on his stogie.
"I'm curious about something else, Tom," I asked as I fingered the ring on the cigar.
"Yeah."
"Aren't Cubans illegal?"
"Depends on who is around when you are smoking them."
I exhaled a gust of smoke with a laugh.
8
I woke fairly early the next morning at my new home, however temporary. At least it was early to me. I have never been fond of the mornings, so I try to avoid them as best I can.
The digital clock in the master bedroom read 8:32 a.m. I climbed into the shower and refreshed myself.
I had a lot that I wanted to do today. I found a cappuccino maker in the kitchen and proceeded to make myself a stout mocha. The kitchen was fully stocked, and I topped my mocha with whip cream. I climbed the steps to the upper deck. The morning air was revitalizing. After my coffee was gone, I finished dressing and headed up the dock to my car. The marina is only ten minutes from the town square, and I arrived shortly after nine.
I was hungry, so I proceeded to The Smokehouse. It was new; at least it wasn't here ten years ago. It had been a little bar called Philo's. I had never even been inside Philo's; being underage, I never went into bars. I always did my drinking down by the river.
I walked into the wood-paneled restaurant and found a table in the corner. I have always heard that breakfast was the most important of the day. I never miss it. Sometimes it might consist of cold chicken and a warm beer, but it's still breakfast.
As it turned out, this morning I wasn't going to eat breakfast. I was minding my own business trying to decide between bacon, eggs, and toast or bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast when Lisa Day sat down beside me.
"Can I join you?"
"A little late to ask."
"Well, I have an idea. I want you to help me investigate this murder."
I looked at her. "No."
"Max, come on. We can help Mandy out."
"Lisa, I would really like to help you. But I can't today." I stood up and dropped two dollars on the table before leaving the restaurant.
I decided a nice, enjoyable breakfast was out of the question now. Thankfully, there are the two things with which no town can live, Wal-Mart and McDonald's. I don't think that it is a given fact, but I am certain that one could open a McDonald's in the middle of nowhere and it would not only make money but also create a community around it. So in keeping with community spirit, I visited the McDonald's that Hellenston was most likely built around for an Egg McMuffin and an orange juice.
After my well-balanced breakfast, I decided to head over to the jail. I was supposed to be able to take Mandy into my custody.
It took a little over an hour to get the paperwork shuffled. I have spent more time trying to rent a condo than I was getting a suspected murderer out of custody. By 11:15, Mandy walked out of the jail with me.
“I am going to take you to stay with me for now, okay?” I said as I opened the door for her to get into the convertible.
“Okay, but I need some clothes and stuff.”
“I will get some for you after I drop you off at the boat.”
“Boat?” she cocked her head questioningly.
“Yeah, I am staying down at Pryor's Bay on one of the houseboats.”
She made an approving look, “Those are nice. But I can go with you to get my stuff.”
“No,” I was emphatic, “I want you to stay put there."
Mandy remained silent in agreement, and then a moment later, “Thanks, Max.”
I smiled at her and pulled the Bimmer onto the highway. I revved the engine and headed toward the marina.
The ride was quiet. Mandy seemed very contemplative as she stared off the road. I am sure that the trauma of it all seemed to be catching up. We got back to the boat, and I led her inside. She exclaimed with wonderment about the boats many amenities. I took her to one of the bedrooms.
“Now make yourself at home. There seems to be plenty of food and beverages. Just stay here, watch some TV, and get some rest. You are going to need it.”
She walked back to the bow of the boat. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I have to go get you a change of clothes, and I thought I would make a little visit to Herbs and More.”
Mandy nodded.
“I will be back later. We are going to have a nice dinner tonight. Here is my cell number, “I handed a card to her. “There is a cell phone over there on the radio. Just give me a call if you need anything.”
Mandy smiled and then surprised me with a kiss on the lips. The kiss was meant as a friendly peck, but it lingered a second longer that had been intended.
“Thanks," she said in a whisper before turning to go back to the bedroom.
I took a cue from a nagging feeling in my gut that this could be a bad idea, and I made a quick retreat. Outside, I could still taste her lips on mine. I felt a half smile creep across my face. I made my way off the marina and to my car.
9
Herbs and More was little more than a trailer at the end of long dirt road. The road appeared to be a private drive for the store that apparently was housed in an old tan trailer. I parked in front of the trailer and climbed out of the car. The dirt on the drive was dry, and each footstep I took created small clouds of dust.
I climbed the wooden steps of the porch. A hand-painted sign hung on the trailer that read “Herbs and More” in red paint. Beneath the large sign, there hung a smaller “Open” sign. Both of the signs looked as if they had weathered a tornado or two. I knocked on the door to the trailer.
As I waited for an answer, I glanced toward the woods where an overgrowth stood that I am sure was meant as an herbal garden. The soil had probably not been hoed or shoveled since Jane Cay abandoned the shop for her new love.
I knocked again. This time the trailer shook and creaked as its occupant was alerted to my presence. A minute later, the door of the trailer opened a crack.
“Yes,” a voice on the inside said. A face then appeared in the door’s crack.
“I was interested in some herbal remedies. I heard in town that you were the person to see for such concoctions.”
She seemed hesitant, “Well, that depends. What kinds of remedies do you need?”
“Something natural, to relieve stress and boost energy," I flashed a smile and hoped it iterated the unspoken, “Know what I mean.”
It obviously did, “You a cop or something?” She eyed the
BMW sitting behind me. Her face seemed to light up as if my answer would not make much difference.
“No ma’am.” She seemed to take me at my word and opened the door.
I stepped into the dingy trailer. The room was set up like a kid had decided to play shop. There were a few shelves standing around the room that looked like they had once held some goods. There were a few jars of dried herbs scattered around the shelves. The room where I was standing was obviously multifaceted. It contained the kitchen (if a busted stove, a mini-fridge, and a microwave count as a kitchen,) the bedroom, and a den that consisted of a fold-out couch and a television.
“I’m Max.” I extended my hand.
“Leigh,” she replied with a gust of breath that reeked of menthol cigarettes and cheap liquor. She was not unattractive, but unkempt. She had long brown hair that hung like a Raggedy Ann doll. She wore a tight Tim McGraw t-shirt that was meant to show off her breasts. I suddenly realized that she wasn’t wearing any pants, and when she sat
down I realized that she was without panties as well.
“So,” I ventured, “can you help me out?”
“I am sure I can," she smiled, and I was surprised to see that she actually had nice white teeth. “Anything particular you are hankerin’ for?”
“Something to create Ecstasy.”
She stood up and again flashed the entire netherworld before my eyes. She walked to the back of the trailer. “Wait here.”
I was still standing in the room. I glanced around the room. There was a cordless phone lying on the sleeper. An old VCR sat atop her television along with a stack of video tapes. I walked over and flipped through the titles. There were several porn videos, a couple of recent movies, and a National Geographic video on owls.
She was moving around in the back, so I decided to snoop a little more. There were several ashtrays filled with butts and roaches. She had hung some of her lingerie, if you wanted to count a latex teddy as actual lingerie, over chairs, and there were several condom packages and used condoms in her trash.
I moved over next to the couch where a table stood with a half empty warm can of Natural Light beer that had been sitting for a while. There was a drawer in the table. I paused and listened to her moving about. I decided to chance it; I slid the drawer open slowly. There were several pieces of paper and some notepads. I rummaged quickly looking for information. There was a yellow sticky pad with a phone number scrawled across. I grabbed the sheet and anything else that looked vital I stuffed into my pocket so I could look at it later.
I slid the drawer in and turned back as Leigh walked back down the tiny corridor. In her hand, she carried a brown paper sack as if she were Alice giving Ralph his lunch before work.
“$250.” She set the sack on the couch. I wasn't very familiar with the prices of drugs nowadays. However, $250 seemed steep to me. Perhaps it was simply the law of supply and demand.
I slid a roll of money out of my pocket and peeled away three bills, making certain that she saw how much remained. As soon as I handed the money to her, she expressed a sudden attraction to me. I am sure it was more to the dead presidents that I carried with me.
“So,” she whispered as she sat down next to me, “would you be interested in doing any more business?”
“Not today, but I guarantee if this stuff is good, then I will be back for more.”
She moved her hand up her leg brushing her shirt up to expose more of her thigh, “Well, I have more to sell.”
I stood up and touched her shoulder, “I will keep that in mind.” I picked up the sack and started toward the door.
The late Mr. Lofton’s bride sure seemed to be coping with the murder of her husband. I got into the car and peeked into the bag. It was quite a little goodie bag. I set the bag down on the passenger seat and started the car.
As I put the car into gear, I noticed the curtains of one of the windows brushing open and Leigh Rozen peering through the window. She was running her fingers of her left hand over her breast. She tried to give a seductive smile. I waved at her as I pulled away from the trailer.
I touched the accelerator and sped back down the dirt road toward the highway. As I drove along, I pulled a few pieces of the papers I had extracted from the drawer. There were several telephone numbers on them.
I had a friend who worked in D.C. for the F.B.I. He was a surprisingly good contact for information about these things.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and touched the hands-free button.
“Nikki,” I responded to the prompt.
A minute later, I was connected to Nikki.
“Nikki, I need you to call John Woods.”
“Sure thing, Max. How are things there?”
“Well, so far I am violating only three or four federal laws.”
“If you can’t be good, be careful, Maxie.”
“Don’t worry, if I can’t be good, and I can’t be careful, I will at least name it after you.”
Nikki laughed.
“Ask John to give me a call on my cell phone. I need him to check some numbers for me.”
“You got it,” Nikki said in her soft, but firm voice.
“Another thing. Can you FedEx my case to me? I need to get some of my toys.”
“Sure, where to?”
“Ship it to Tom’s house. I need it by tomorrow.”
“It’s done.”
After I hung up with Nikki, I picked up the brown sack. I was about to toss it out of the car, but I hesitated. It wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to carry that much dope, but it might come in handy as evidence. As long as it wasn’t going to be evidence against me.
10
My next stop was going to be Mandy’s house. Picking up her clothes was a great excuse to snoop around some. Mandy’s house is about ten miles outside of Hellenston on the opposite side of the river. Mandy lived in her mother’s house now that her mother had remarried and moved to Baltimore. It was the same house that she had lived in when we were in high school. I had some fond memories of our time together, and I was sure that my mental picture was accurate despite the years of fade around it.
Like so many of the houses and trailers on the outskirts of town, Mandy also lived down a long dirt road. There were a couple of houses when you first turn down the road, but for at least a mile there is nothing but fields and woods before one reaches Mandy’s house. The fields were in the midst of turning from the summer green to the autumn gold. Several bails of hay were scattered about the fields, and they almost looked natural.
Mandy's mother had a lot of land surrounding the house that she had used to pasture show horses. However, after her mother moved to Baltimore, the land was unused. Mandy had a perfectly quiet residence with a lot of space and no one around to bother her.
Or to hear her? I was struck with an epiphany, so to speak. Who called the sheriff? The nearest house is at least a mile away. No one could have possibly heard anyone fighting, and a shotgun blast, even, would not wake anyone up that far away.
If someone was close by then, they could be either an excellent witness or else a very good suspect.
My first thought was the tire tracks; however, the police and ambulances would have created too many to get any good leads.
However...
I slid my phone out of my pocket and dialed Tom.
“Tom,” I said as I got out of my car in front of Mandy’s house. “Have you gotten the time of death for Mark Lofton.”
“Around 1:30 to 1:50.”
“So he hadn’t been dead long before the cops showed, and according to Mandy she arrived only seconds before the cops.” I walked around the front yard looking at the ground for something that may have been missed. “What time was the call?”
I could hear papers shuffling through the phone, “Hold on.” A second passed, “The call came through at 1:56 a.m. Sheriff’s deputies arrived at 2:01 a.m.”
“Only five minutes after the call? They must have been close by when they received th
e call.
“Do we know who made the call, Tom?” I asked.
“It was anonymous. The call went to the desk at the sheriff's office. No ID."
“Tom, that doesn’t make sense. Why call the desk and not 911?”
"Maybe they panicked.".
“Or maybe they wanted to call without being traced. What's the sheriff's direct number?"
"I don't know right off." He answered.
"Neither would the caller most likely. He had to look it up first, or he would have to at least know it."
Tom agreed, and I continued, "Tom, have you even been out to the crime scene. Mandy’s house is at least a mile from any other house. She is at the end of a dirt road surrounded by acres and acres of fields and woods. Who would possibly be this far out here, much less at two in the morning? Even if they were, they should have still been around five minutes later when the deputies arrived.”
Tom was silent. I evidently had a good point. Score one for me. I continued, “Who made the call? We have to find our caller.”
“I will see what I can do,” Tom said. “You really need to talk to Charlie about this.”
“Why,” I said, “you are the prosecution. I’m sure you don’t want to send an innocent girl to the electric chair, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, besides I know for a fact that you are an honest man, and you want to see that the truth comes to light as much as I do.”
“I will see what I can get.”
Another thought occurred to me, "Did Mark Lofton have a car here?"
"No," Tom said.
"What about his clothes?"
Again Tom answered, "No, they weren't recovered."
"Kinda strange, huh."
Tom's silence was again agreeing with me.
My mind was working in multiple directions. If someone had come in with Lofton, then how did they get inside? Of course, as I looked at the lock, the house would take me about six seconds to penetrate. In fact, it actually took almost twenty seconds and a paper clip to open the front door.
Blood Remembered Page 4
