by V. M. Burns
Finally, did A-squared really know who the murderer was? He wasn’t a reliable source. What was the likelihood he was in the exact location when the murder was committed, unless . . . unless he actually murdered Melody? I pondered the question, but my mind kept rejecting it. As much as I disliked him, I couldn’t see him actually murdering her. Well, maybe I could. If he thought she would prevent him from reaping benefits from Dawson’s professional football career, he certainly would kill her. But, would he let Dawson take the blame for it? Getting convicted of murder would prevent Dawson from making millions in the NFL. A-squared wasn’t someone who thought things through to the end. His comment yesterday that Dawson was in good hands might imply he didn’t worry about Dawson because he knew we would work to clear him. Surely he couldn’t be that cold-blooded. Maybe if Dawson spoke to him? I wasn’t sure Dawson and his father were on speaking terms, but he might know if his father was telling the truth or not. When Dawson was telling us about seeing Virgil with Melody, I got the feeling he was holding something back. What if he saw someone else there too, his father? I made a note to ask him.
I reread my notes but none of it made any more sense at four than it had at three. I turned out my light and settled down. I lay perfectly still and took deep, relaxing breaths and meditated on the suspects in the hope a clear plan of action would reveal itself. Unfortunately, my mind refused to cooperate and kept intertwining Melody with my British cozy. I kept seeing Melody wearing a French maid’s uniform while a tweed-clad Professor Harley Quin smoked a pipe near the fireplace and cleaned his shotgun. A sleazy character in polyester with lots of gold chains stood ominously over Melody’s body while A-squared, who surprisingly still had on greasy blue jeans and a T-shirt, drank scotch and laughed.
I awoke two hours later to the doorbell. It was barely six and I calculated I had gotten about three hours of sleep total. I looked around my room and Oreo and Snickers were still asleep.
“Some watch poodles you two turned out to be.” I pulled on the jeans I’d worn the night before and grabbed a T-shirt from the hamper and slid it over my head.
I hurried to the kitchen and looked over the rail and saw two uniformed police officers standing at my door. I was instantly awake. My heart raced and I hurried downstairs and opened the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Does Dawson Alexander live here?” one of the policemen asked.
I tried to take deep breaths to slow down my heart. “Yes,” I whispered.
“May we speak to him?” the same policemen asked.
I closed my eyes and nodded. “Follow me.”
I led them inside the garage. They seemed a bit hesitant about entering and looked around tentatively. I turned on the light and hurried to the door. I knocked loudly.
It took several minutes of me knocking to wake Dawson, who came downstairs wearing a MISU T-shirt, sweat pants, and flip-flops. He had bed hair and yawned when he opened the door.
A look of terror crossed his face at the sight of me with two police officers. The blood drained from his face. His eyes had the startled “deer in the headlights” look that reflected the internal anguish he was feeling. He must have thought they were there to arrest him, again.
“Dawson Alexander?” the officer asked.
He nodded.
“Your dad was involved in a car accident and was seriously injured. He’s been flown to River Bend Memorial Hospital by Life Force.”
I didn’t think he could get much paler, but he did.
He gulped. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“Unfortunately, all we know is his injuries are severe. You’ll have to talk to the doctors.”
The other officer had been quiet up until this point. “Do you have someone who can take you to the hospital?”
I stepped forward. “I can take him.”
The officers looked at me and then back at Dawson, who nodded his acceptance.
They turned to leave, but before they got out the door, one of the officers turned back and said, “I watched you play ball a couple of weeks ago. You’re really good. I hope you get beyond all this.”
We got in the car. I made the forty-mile drive in less than thirty minutes and dropped Dawson at the emergency room door. It wasn’t until I pulled into the parking garage that I realized I’d left my purse and money at home.
Thankfully, I’d grabbed my cell phone and I called Jenna and asked her to swing by the house and grab my purse.
Two hours later, Jenna and Nana Jo walked down the hallway with my purse and a carrier from a nearby fast-food restaurant with four large beverages and a bag filled with greasy sausage biscuits. My mouth watered and my stomach growled at the sight of the coffee. Both Jenna and Nana Jo stared at me, but neither said a word as I snatched the coffee from the carrier and took a swig.
Jenna sat next to me. “How is he?” Jenna whispered as she glanced at Dawson, who was pacing up and down the hallway.
I shrugged. “Not good. A-squared’s in intensive care. They let Dawson in for about ten minutes earlier but then alarms started going off and they kicked him out of the room. An army of doctors and nurses rushed in the room. A doctor eventually came out and said he’d gone into cardiac arrest. He’s still alive, but . . . I don’t think the outlook is good.”
Nana Jo tsked. “That poor kid. He’s been through a lifetime of misery in a short period of time.”
“We let the dogs out before we left, and Chris and Zaq said they’d take care of things at the store.” Jenna sipped her hot tea.
I was blessed to have my family. They were annoying and would result in my need for therapy, but they were here for me. I looked at Dawson and tried to guess how he must be feeling.
Jenna stared at Dawson and leaned close to me and whispered, “I talked to Stinky Pitt this morning.”
I watched to make sure Dawson wasn’t in listening distance. “Did he say how it happened?”
“Apparently A-Squared made two telephone calls. One was to Virgil Russell, who came and posted bail. They don’t know who the other call was to.”
“Virgil?”
She nodded. “A few hours later, they got a call someone was laying on the railroad tracks by Eden Springs trailer park.”
“The railroad tracks?” I shivered.
“Some kids were walking around out there and thought it was a heap of clothes on the rails. He’d been hit by a car and moved to the tracks.”
“Oh my. Do the police have any ideas? Did they question Virgil Russell?”
She paused as Dawson walked by before continuing. “He claimed he dropped him at a liquor store near the HOD. A-squared said he needed to use the phone. He says that’s the last time he saw him, but the police are getting a warrant for his car. They’ll go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
Jenna turned to stare at me and then took several sniffs. “Did you shower today?”
“No. I didn’t have time. Why?”
“You stink.”
I lifted my armpit and took a whiff.
“Plus, your hair is sticking straight up in the back.” She pulled a compact out of her purse and handed it to me.
She was right. My hair was sticking straight up in the back as though held up by electric current. I had crusts at the corners of my eyes and a dried trail of drool from one corner of my mouth. “I can’t believe no one said anything to me.” I finger combed my hair into submission.
Memorial Hospital was the biggest hospital in the area. It was a huge facility that had been added onto many times over the years and was now a winding maze with lots of twists and turns. Thankfully, someone thought to color code the building. The multi-striped legend was painted on the walls. I followed the blue stripe down hallways to the elevator and down to the gift shop. It always felt like a major accomplishment whenever I visited someone here and managed to make it out without stopping to ask for directions, and today was no exception.
The hospital gift shop had been renovated since the last time I was here. Ins
tead of being a small closet containing flowers, get well cards, and overpriced snacks, it was now a shop that would give any downtown boutique a run for its money. I browsed the aisles until I found the toiletries. I bought a kit that included toothbrush, toothpaste, comb and brush, soap, deodorant, mouthwash, and shaving kit. I also bought underwear and a T-shirt. Since I was there, I also ordered flowers for A-squared.
At the intensive care nurses’ station, I asked if there was a place where I could clean up. They provided me a washcloth and towel and took me down a back hall to the nurses’ fitness area. There were showers and I cleaned up.
When I returned, I felt better. Amazing what clean underwear and toothpaste could do. It was getting close to noon and Jenna said she needed to get home.
“You don’t have to stay here with me. I’ll be okay,” Dawson said.
“I know I don’t, but I want to stay.”
Dawson paused. “There’s nothing you can do. I know you have things you need to do.” He looked down.
“Is there something you need me to do?”
“Yeah. I need you to find out who killed Melody and . . . who tried to kill my dad.”
Chapter 14
“The girls hated missing out on our trip to Chicago, so I told them to take the South Shore and we’d meet them at the outlet mall later.” Nana Jo looked sheepish. “I also told them we’d swing by The Boat.”
The South Shore commuter train ran between River Bend, Indiana, and Chicago. For less than ten dollars, the South Shore transported people from the airport in River Bend to downtown Chicago, without the stress of traffic or parking. I knew people who made the two-hour-and-twenty-minute trip daily for work. I’d taken the South Shore downtown to go to Cubs games, museums, or shopping. The train didn’t go through Michigan, but North Harbor residents drove thirty minutes to Michigan City, Indiana, to get on the train.
Michigan City was a small town on the Lake Michigan shoreline with nice beaches. It had a designer outlet mall, and The Boat. For most of my life, land-based gambling was illegal in the state of Indiana. Eventually, some creative developer came up with a work-around by turning a boat into a casino. When The Boat first opened, it cruised up and down Lake Michigan. Guests entered every two hours. Eventually, law-makers abandoned the requirement for the boat to move and people boarded or disembarked at will. A trip to The Boat meant I might not get home until the wee hours of the morning. Given that I’d only had a few hours of sleep, I wasn’t happy.
I followed the directions Cassidy Logan had sent to the West Inglenook area of Chicago. North Harbor was an economically depressed area with abandoned buildings, high unemployment, and crime. West Inglenook, at fifteen miles wide with three times the North Harbor population, took economic depression to another level. Most buildings were boarded up and covered with gang graffiti. The few shops still open had uninviting iron bars covering every piece of glass and brick walls which reminded me of a prison.
I pulled up in front of an old brownstone with crumbling bricks, broken glass, and a tired-looking floral sofa from the seventies with no legs and sagging cushions in the yard. In the alley next to the house, a group of men were shooting craps. A couple of teenage boys with jeans down to their knees and bandanas tied around their heads hung on the porch.
I turned to Nana Jo. “Do you think my car is going to be safe here?”
She looked at me like she’d never seen me before and then patted my knee. “Honey, you can’t be serious? This car is twelve years old and has close to two hundred thousand miles on it. The turn signal is attached to the steering column with duct tape and if you hit a bump, the lights turn off and on. The only thing of value is the radio, and it doesn’t have any knobs.”
“I have all of the knobs.” I opened the ashtray and showed all of the knobs for the radio and air-conditioning, along with a pair of pliers I used to change channels. “Besides, you’ll hurt her feelings.”
Nana Jo rolled her eyes. “If I were you, I’d pay those guys fifty dollars to dispose of the car so the police don’t find it.”
“Don’t listen to her, Martha.” I patted the dashboard.
We got out of the car. I opened the hatch and picked up Melody’s meager belongings. We walked toward the building. One of the young kids who looked to be about thirteen stared at me as though I were a piece of meat and then made a rude remark to his friend in Spanish. I always found it amusing when people thought you couldn’t understand their language. When I responded in Spanish, the smirk immediately left his face. All outward signs indicated I should be afraid of this hooligan, but something in my gut told me not to be afraid. Years teaching in the public school system provided what I called a sixth sense. It had never failed me, so I trusted my gut.
“Would you keep an eye on my car?” I asked.
He looked at my Honda CRV and laughed. “That piece of junk? Lady, you’d have to pay somebody to take that piece of crap.”
Two insults in less than five minutes was too much. I lifted my head and marched around him. Nana Jo came up behind me. Just as she climbed the porch, the kid came up on Nana Jo in a threatening manner. “But you can give me your purse, old lady.” He reached out his hand as if he thought she would just hand it over.
I don’t know if it was the idea of a thirteen-year-old boy trying to take her purse or the fact he called her “old lady.” Nana Jo spread her legs, crouched low in her aikido stance, and dipped her shoulder. She reached out, grabbed his outstretched hand with both of hers, twisted, and dropped to her knee in one motion. The kid was flipped onto his back and Nana Jo put her knee in his chest and held his arm in the air.
He yelled obscenities while he lay on the ground.
His friend stood openmouthed.
After a few seconds, Nana Jo released the kid’s arm and stood. “Better watch who you’re calling an ‘old lady,’” she said as she marched up the stairs.
There was no front door, so we walked into the building and headed up the stairs.
We walked up three flights of stairs in silence. When we got to the top floor, Nana Jo stepped aside for me to knock.
I looked at her. “You okay?”
“Yep. That was just a basic throw down.”
“Okay, Bruce Lee. Maybe you shouldn’t antagonize the locals.”
She smiled. “Then the locals better stop provoking me.”
I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
We opened the door and walked inside.
The apartment was small and cramped, with oversized leather furniture that looked as though it had seen better days. One wall was dominated by the largest television I’d ever seen. It was massive and similar to the one I’d seen at Trammel Braxton’s home with cords hanging down to video games. There was a playpen in the middle of the room with two toddlers inside wearing nothing but diapers. Sitting in a chair, smoking a cigarette, was a small woman. She was a petite Caucasian, fair-skinned, with thin red hair and green eyes. She was also about six months pregnant.
“You must be from that school?”
“Well, actually, I’m just a friend of Emma’s, your sister’s roommate.”
“Half sister.” She took a long drag from her cigarette. “You can drop the stuff anywhere.”
If I didn’t talk fast, we’d be out of here in less than two seconds. “Sure, but let me introduce myself. My name is Samantha Washington and this is my grandmother, Mrs. Josephine Thomas.”
Nana Jo frowned. “You know smoking when you’re pregnant can lead to birth defects.”
She stared at Nana Jo and exhaled slowly. “Thanks for the public service announcement.”
This wasn’t going well. “May we sit for a few moments? Those stairs were a killer.” I didn’t wait for a response and plopped down on the sofa.
Using two fingers, Nana Jo removed some clothing and sat.
“Whew. Thank you so much.” I tried to think of a way to ask my questions before she threw us out.
Nana Jo walked to th
e playpen. One of the kids was asleep. The other, a curly-haired boy, looked at her and immediately held up both arms to be picked up.
Nana Jo looked at Cassidy. “Do you mind if I hold him?”
Cassidy shrugged.
Nana Jo reached down and picked up the baby, who immediately threw back his head and laughed and reached for her earrings. Nana Jo had a way with babies, and she returned to her seat. The baby stood straight up. Nana Jo sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” With each “row,” she rocked the youngster forward and back. He laughed hilariously each time he went backward.
I watched them for several moments. “Cassidy, when’s the last time you saw your sister . . . ah, half sister?”
She smoked silently for so long I thought she wasn’t going to answer. “It’s been years. We weren’t close.”
“You both have the same father?”
“Mother.”
Nana Jo stopped singing long enough to ask, “Did you know what your sister was involved in?”
Cassidy smiled. “She was always up to something.” She finished her cigarette and put the butt out. “That’s how she ended up in that program. Go to jail or go to college.” She laughed. “Mel thought that was hilarious. She had access to an entirely new pool of marks.”
“Did you know what scam she was running?” I asked.
Cassidy looked at me suspiciously. “You’ve got a lot of questions.”
“We want to find out who killed her. We thought you might be able to help us.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because she was your sister,” I said
She shrugged. “Everybody’s gotta die of something.”
“Maybe because, in spite of your attitude, you’re basically a good person and want to do the right thing,” Nana Jo said.
