A History of Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  “That’s what I thought,” Blair said. “They had to be self-sufficient. Was there even a doctor on the island back then?”

  “Hell if I know,” he said.

  He had begun to tap his stubby fingers on the desk, and I had the distinct impression that he was getting tired of us. But I had an idea where Blair might be going with the comment about a doctor, and I tensed up even more at the prospect.

  Blair sat back and threw an arm out in a casual gesture. “Well, those girls must’ve had, you know, occasional medical problems.”

  “Women,” he corrected her. “Not girls.”

  “Sorry,” Blair said. “But I bet some of them got pregnant. Any stories about that?”

  The room grew very quiet as the three of us stared at each other.

  Count to five.

  “I don’t know how they handled that,” he said in a low monotone.

  “Too bad,” she replied. “That would make an interesting section in the book. You know rural medicine back in the 1930s and all. Especially since we were also told there were a couple of deaths on the property. We heard that one of the johns was found floating in the lake, and one of the working girls died there. Did your uncle or grandmother ever mention anything about that? We’d love to corroborate those stories.”

  Blair amazed me. The tension in the room had grown so thick it was difficult to breathe, and yet she looked cool as a cucumber. She even leaned forward now in her chair, inviting Miller’s gaze. But his expression was cold and flat.

  He stood up. “You’ll have to excuse me a moment.”

  And with that he left the room.

  “Whoo,” I said, standing up and wandering over to a bookcase, trying to walk off the tension that had begun to cramp the muscles in my extremities. “He’s a little bit scary,” I said, shaking out my hands and arms.

  “What are you doing? He’s going to be back in a minute,” Blair scolded me.

  “Yes, and then it’s time to go,” I said, turning to her. “I don’t think this is a guy we want to dally with.”

  “Don’t you want to find out about Lollie?”

  “Yes, but he’s not going to tell us. And I’d like to keep my head attached to my neck.”

  “He won’t do anything to us,” she scoffed.

  I was pacing back and forth in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with a jumble of books, empty beer bottles, tin boxes, and small trinkets. I stopped to admire a Berliner gramophone and then fingered a beautiful wooden jewelry box, inlaid with ivory flowers on the lid. It had to be a good seventy-five years old.

  My friends will tell you that there are three things that ‘speak’ to me in life: chocolate, Wizard of Oz memorabilia, and rare antiques. I opened the lid of the jewelry box to peek inside, when a picture of Frank Miller and a much younger woman caught my attention on the shelf behind it. The woman had bleached blond hair and breasts the size of Blair’s.

  “This must be his wife,” I said, closing the jewelry box and picking up the picture. I turned to show it to Blair.

  The woman was gussied up in a slinky black dress and flashy jewelry and looked happy as a clam. On the other hand, Miller stood next to her looking uncomfortable stuffed into a tuxedo that was clearly too small for him.

  “Put that back,” a gruff voice commanded.

  I looked up to find Miller advancing on me. I backed up a step, as he reached out and grabbed the photo from my hand. “I think I’ve told you all I’m going to. Time for you to go.” He dropped the photo back onto the shelf, face down.

  He’d lost his phony friendliness and was visibly angry. Blair looked over at me with alarm.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t snooping.”

  “Like I said,” he growled, grabbing my shoulder and turning me toward the door. “Time to go.”

  Blair got up. “We’re going,” she said, forcefully stepping in between me and Miller.

  He could have swatted Blair aside like a fly, and yet he didn’t. Her boldness seemed to surprise him.

  “Thank you for your time,” she said with a brief smile.

  She turned and moved me to the door, while Miller went back behind his desk and picked up his cell phone. Blair stepped into the hallway, but I stopped and poked my head back into the room.

  “Let me know if you ever want to sell that gramophone.”

  Blair grabbed my wrist. “Julia, let’s go,” she ordered, yanking me from the room as the door shut behind me.

  Just then, my phone began to play “Rock Around the Clock.” Blair and I just stared at each other.

  “Answer it,” she said impatiently.

  My mother had died almost a year and a half earlier, and yet had taken to calling me on my cellphone when she sensed I was in danger. I’m not kidding about that; she’s dead and yet she occasionally called me. I never said my life was normal.

  I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone and swiped it on. “Hello.”

  “Watch out!” my mother said. “You’re about to walk into a storm.”

  “Mom, the weather is fine. It’s seventy degrees out.”

  Blair sighed and turned toward the end of the hallway. We began to walk slowly that way.

  “That’s not what I mean. There’s trouble right around the corner.”

  And then she was gone. I shook the phone, but – nothing. This happened all the time. One minute she was there, the next minute gone.

  “What did she want?” Blair stopped to ask.

  “She said we’re heading into trouble.”

  Blair’s graceful brows furrowed.

  We were about to emerge into the main room, but paused to survey the situation. The guys in jeans had been replaced at the pool table by a couple of big, ugly guys with beer bellies and scraggly beards. One was checking his phone, before they both stopped and glanced up at us. I looked at the bartender, but he quickly turned his back. This made me glance around with a nervous twitch in my stomach. Although the bikers were still at the bar, and the guys in jeans watched us from a booth, the energy in the room had changed. And the waitress was nowhere in sight.

  “I think we need to be careful,” I said quietly to Blair.

  I followed a step behind her as we moved into the room. Blair was just circling the pool table toward the door when a pool stick appeared to block her way. She stopped short, and I bumped into her back.

  “Where you going, ladies?” one of the big, ugly guys asked, swinging around to stand in front of us.

  Blair glanced down at the pool stick and then lifted her chin to look the guy in the eyes. “We’re leaving,” she said, allowing the strap from her Dooney & Burke bag to slide off her shoulder.

  Uh, oh!

  “So soon? I thought we’d have a little fun first.” He leaned into Blair, flashing a grotesque smile, which showed a prominent gold canine tooth. The sour odor of his breath wafted past her shoulder, nearly knocking me over.

  Blair silently pushed her purse back to me. I took the bag and instinctively stepped back, hoping against hope she wouldn’t engage with this guy. She had a history of doing that kind of thing, but this time it seemed lethal.

  “You’re a fine lookin’ woman,” Gold Tooth said, allowing his eyes to undress her. “Why don’t we take a ride in my pickup out there?”

  “Sorry, but we have some place to be,” Blair said with a steady voice.

  She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her again.

  “Really? Then why are you here stickin’ your nose into places you don’t belong?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she responded.

  “Don’t you?” He reached out and ran his index finger down her chest and into her cleavage. “Oh, I think you do, little lady.”

  He began to slide his fingers under her blouse, and Blair reacted.

  In one quick movement, she brought her fist up to give him a sharp uppercut to the chin. His jaw snapped shut, catching his tongue. Blood spurted out and down his chin. He howled, and Blair used the m
oment to snatch the pool cue out of his hands.

  She stepped back and held it up as a weapon.

  “We’re done here,” she announced. “My friend and I are leaving.”

  Gold Tooth wiped blood off his chin. “You bitch. I’ll put you in your place.”

  He made a move to grab her, but then heaven interceded.

  The hanging light over the pool table exploded, sending shards of glass in all directions. Everyone in the room jumped, and we ducked. Gold Tooth flinched back, brushing glass fragments off his shirt.

  Then the strip lights above the bar began to pop in quick succession, one after the other. There were gasps from around the room as the light bulbs burst. The bartender ducked behind the bar, while the bikers quickly backed off their bar stools.

  Hurray, Mom!

  In the past, she’d manipulated cell phones and overhead lights. This particular light show gave us enough time to scoot around Gold Tooth and make it halfway to the door.

  “Hold it!” Gold Tooth snarled. He rushed up behind us and whirled Blair around. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Back off,” she warned, holding up the pool cure again. “We just want to leave.”

  Gold Tooth nodded to his friend, who stepped up even with him. The second thug smiled mean-spiritedly.

  “Let’s not be rude, ladies,” he slurred through a missing front tooth.

  And then things seemed to go from bad to worse.

  The three bikers began to move slowly up behind them, as if to join the effort. Horrified, I realized we were about to face five men, none of whom looked very friendly.

  I glanced to the hallway where Frank Miller stood watching us with a smile. I reached for my cell phone, wondering how fast I could dial 911. But before I could, something happened that would have made me laugh under different circumstances.

  Two of the bikers reached out and tapped the big, ugly guys on the shoulders. They turned around, and suddenly fists flew.

  The third biker jumped in between the fight and us and pushed us toward the door.

  “Get outta’ here,” he snapped.

  We didn’t need any more encouragement.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, as one of the bikers threw Missing Tooth guy over a table.

  The third biker merely smiled and then turned to join the fight.

  Blair dropped the pool stick and we rushed out the door.

  We ran into the parking lot to my car. Blair pushed me toward the passenger side and right into the bumper of a small, banged up red pickup that hadn’t been there when we arrived.

  “I’ll drive,” she said.

  No need to convince me. I climbed into the passenger side and handed over the keys. She fired up the engine and backed out of the parking space, just as a chair came crashing through the window and landed on the hood of the red pickup.

  “I hope that’s Gold Tooth’s pickup,” I said, as we pulled away. “He deserves it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We’d only gone around the corner, when all of a sudden Blair yanked the wheel to the right and pulled over to the side of the road.

  “What the hell was that?” she yelled, slamming her fist against the steering wheel.

  She pulled her hands back, and I saw that her hands were shaking. For all her confidence in the middle of the situation, clearly her adrenalin had kicked in, just as it had with me. I could still feel it thrumming through my veins.

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice quivering. “Whatever it was, it was scary. And I think we were set up by Miller.”

  She glanced over at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I noticed him just before the fight broke out. He was standing in the hallway with a smirk on his face. He was enjoying it.”

  Blair heaved a deep sigh. “Well, he’s pissed me off.” She put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road.

  “Yeah, but there’s nothing more we can do,” I said. “It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about the brothel or the deaths there.”

  “But why would he get so upset about you looking at that picture?” she asked. “Other than he looked as ugly as ever in it.”

  “I have no idea. And frankly, I’m not sure I want to find out.”

  The ringtone on my phone began to play Rockin’ Around the Clock again. I grabbed it and clicked it on. “Mom?”

  “You okay?” she asked in her raspy voice. “I told you that you were headed for a storm.”

  “Right. Well I wish in the future you could be a little bit more specific.”

  “Can’t. I can only work off of the energy I feel. Sorry.”

  I glanced sideways at Blair, who was navigating traffic to get onto the freeway. I never quite knew what my friends thought about my dead mother calling me on my cell phone. It was strange by anyone’s standards, and still even made me a little squeamish. On the other hand, wouldn’t most people want to talk with their parents again once they were gone?

  “Well, thanks for your help. We barely got out of there alive.”

  “Anytime, Button. What in the world did you get yourself into this time?”

  There was crackling on the phone. “We have a bad connection,” I said.

  “Really?” she said. “I must’ve forgotten to pay my bill.” She snorted with laughter.

  “Funny, Mom.” There was more crackling. “You still there?”

  “Yeah. So what happened?” she asked.

  “We’re researching the history of the…”

  A hissing noise erupted and then the line went dead. I shook the phone. I clicked it on and off and back on. Still nothing. So I put it away.

  Blair glanced my way. “It still gives me the creeps to think that your dead mother just casually calls you on your cell phone, you know?”

  “Well, she doesn’t…really. She only calls when I’m in some kind of danger. And usually, it’s just to warn me. We never get to talk much. But there was some sort of interference this time, and the line went…” I sucked up some air and purposely didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Dead. The line went dead. Just say it,” Blair said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. I know. My life is weird. Now if we could only figure out what the deal is with Frank Miller, who killed that baby, what happened to Lollie, and why there is a hidden room in my barn, maybe my life would go back to normal.”

  “Until the next body shows up,” Blair said, glancing sideways at me. “Remember? You’re the murder magnet. Don’t forget your bug antenna,” she said, using her hand to pretend she had antennae again.

  “Well, I wish that bug antenna had helped to warn us about Miller and his boys.”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t how I thought we’d be spending the afternoon,” she said, dropping the mirth.

  “No,” I agreed. “Seemed like an extreme way to get rid of us. But where do you get your chutzpah, Blair? Sometimes you amaze me.”

  She paused and then leaned her left elbow on the arm rest as she drove. “Stuart.”

  “Your brother? What do you mean?”

  “His illness controlled him. It controlled all of us. And I felt helpless. We all did. So when I left home, I vowed to never let that happen to me. I would always be in complete control.”

  “But he had a disease,” I said.

  “I know. I didn’t say my reaction was rational. I took a series of self-defense classes, always dumped my boyfriends before they dumped me, and then got married.”

  “To Ramos, right?”

  “Yeah. He was exciting, successful and had money. I dropped out of school and hit the racing circuit with him. My mother was furious. But it was on my own terms.”

  “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” Blair had been married four times and each one of her ex-husbands would still come to her aid at the drop of a hat. But she rarely talked about her past marriages. “Did you initiate each divorce? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “That’s okay. Yes, I did. That’s not to
say that any of them wouldn’t have dumped me at some point. But I could tell when the relationship was going sideways, and I opted out first.” She shifted those blue eyes my way again. “I told you…I want to be in control.” She turned back to the road. “I know I seem like a dumb blond, but…”

  I burst into laughter. “Oh, Blair, there’s not a one of us who thinks that. Give us some credit. I’m just glad you know how to use a pool stick.”

  She snuck a glance at me. “Husband number two,” she said with a sly smile.

  ÷

  I spent the evening with April on the back porch of the guest house. She barbecued chicken, while I filled her in on what had happened that afternoon at the bar. She didn’t have much to offer, other than some real admiration for Blair.

  “That woman has balls,” she said.

  “April!” I exclaimed.

  “Well, she does,” she said with a chuckle. “But where does she get it? Maybe you and I ought to join her Pilates class. Perhaps it’s just a front for a mixed martial arts class or something.”

  “Well, she sure isn’t lacking in confidence,” I said. “I’m not sure what would have happened, though, if my mother hadn’t popped those lights.”

  “I’m curious about why Miller would take a chance like that in the first place,” April said, as she turned the chicken on the grill.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Threatening two older women in public,” she responded. “You could have reported them.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. We have no proof that Miller instigated it. And in order to report it, we would have had to stick around until the police arrived. Not something I was willing to do.”

  “Which is what Miller was probably counting on,” April said.

  “I’m just glad we got out of there. Sometimes I think you have to just cut your losses.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, using a spatula to pull the chicken breasts off the grill. “I still go back to why. What’s Miller hiding or trying to protect? It’s not like he’s going to get arrested for something his grandfather did. Nor does it sound like he’s worried about his reputation.”

  “No. Apparently not. In fact, Rudy did some research on him and I guess he’s been arrested before,” I said, placing plates and silverware on the table. “I shudder when I think of him standing there with that smirk on his face. What if someone had gotten hurt? What was he thinking?”