by Jason Deas
“I’ll do it, Benny,” Ms. Hill said as she took the business card and glass from Benny. “Thanks for your help.”
“Thank you Ms. Hill,” Benny said as he stepped down the porch and across the yard to his car. Benny picked up his cell phone and dialed Vernon as he pulled away. Vernon finished his meeting with Ryan Mableton’s fiancée and the two decided to meet for drinks so they could compare notes.
Chapter 22
Renée’s Coffee Shop was on Tilley’s main strip. It had the air of an European café, with its outdoor tables lining the street. A yellow roof jutted out above the circular tables. The coffee shop reminded Benny of Vincent van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night. Renée was a transplant from Venice, Italy who came to the United States because of her husband’s job.
When he transferred back, she realized she loved Tilley more than she loved him and decided to stay. She, like Benny, lived on the lake but spent the majority of her time in the coffee shop. She baked fine pastries and built sandwiches that could bring a man to his knees.
The interior of the building was brick, decorated with revolving paintings for sale by local and surrounding artists. In the evenings, Renée had a steady clientele that came for her draft beers, jazz music, and tasty desserts. Being the middle of the afternoon, the place was virtually empty, which is why Benny and Vernon decided this would be a good spot to talk in a relatively private setting. They chose a table against the front window and ordered draft beers.
After their initial greetings and the delivery of the frosty mugs Benny took the lead, “Why don’t you go first, Vernon? Tell me what you found.”
“Well,” Vernon began as his eyes turned upwards to his brain as it started to churn with the conversation he had with Ryan Mableton’s fiancée. “I surmise that Ryan was basically a loner and a workaholic. His only true friend was Farrah, the fiancée, and she seems to believe his crew of workers respected him, but they didn’t get too friendly with him because he wasn’t just an eight-hour a day worker. She said he oftentimes put in ten and twelve hours a day.”
“He was the foreman?” Benny sipped his beer.
“She described him as the foreman’s assistant. She said the supervisor had many things going on and he trusted Ryan with the job, so he was basically the foreman without the title. Ryan was a former Marine who got out after six years. Farrah said he wanted to have a horse farm one day and wasn’t going to make enough money in the military to accomplish his goal. She said he was working so hard, racking up all those hours with an end in mind.
“Ryan planned on buying a horse farm within the next ten years. She said the incentive for finishing a house on time or early was incredible and Ryan always finished his houses early. She didn’t think he had any enemies and she believes he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“She had already heard he was strangled and finds it hard to believe it, because of his military training and the great shape he was in. She thinks the killer must have caught him off guard or something.”
“Does she think he knew the killer?” Benny spoke quietly, as a restaurant patron passed by.
“That or the killer was much stronger than him. She described Ryan as short but a very strong person. That’s about all I got out of her. What about you?” Vernon took a long drink of his beer.
“Danny’s mother, Ms. Hill, was very receptive and she said something you did that struck a chord with me. She described him as a loner. She said he didn’t have any friends or enemies. He lived with her, his father passed away a few years ago, and he would not leave the house unless he was meeting with his musical associates. The only contact he had with the outside world, she thought, was through computer chat rooms. Did Ryan’s fiancée say anything about chat rooms?”
“No,” Vernon leaned forward. “And, from what I could see they didn’t even own a computer. Do you think Danny might have met our murderer through a chat room?”
“No, not really—just a thought. Sounds like both of these guys kinda flew under the radar, so to speak. What did the forensics team find?” Benny finished off his beer and signaled for another.
“Not much. The fingerprints from the house on Little Pond Road will take weeks because of all the traffic through the place and the same with the bar. There are just too many people in and out of those places to put some kind of picture together. We pulled a few fibers from both of the victims’ clothing and did find similar animal hair on both. The specifics and deeper analysis are still being worked on.” Vernon tucked into the popcorn the waitress delivered with Benny’s beer.
“Our boys did find some dried blood underneath Ryan’s fingernails, so it looks like he put up a fight before he died. Interestingly enough, it looks like our killer knew this and clipped Ryan’s fingernails after his death. We found two tiny clippings our careful killer overlooked. So, we do have something to run with.”
“I guess there weren’t any computer matches with the samples found underneath the fingernails?”
“Not yet.You know how that works. Unless you know somebody at the lab and can place a call, you just have to wait in line like everybody else.”
“What does Chief Asshole have to say about all of this?” Benny asked, wincing only slightly as he shared his nickname with his friend.
“He’s playing it pretty close to the vest, but I think he is getting pretty freaked out with all the national media attention we’re starting to get. He’s a big shot here in Tilley but on a grand scale, I think he’s feeling a little overwhelmed.
“The reporters gathering at the Lakeside Motor Inn are breathing down his neck for a statement. I think he has until tomorrow afternoon to give one before they throw his ass under the bus. I know it’s getting to him because his new honey Michelle came for a visit yesterday and he had his secretary Katrina tell her he was too busy.”
“Are you talking about Michelle from the Hair Palace?”
“That would be the one this month,” Vernon said, with a chuckle.
“I swear to God,” Benny said with a sigh. “She has a boyfriend! She just told me that he’s a great guy. That man has been through just about every woman in this town. What the hell is it with him that gets these women’s tongues hanging on the ground? He’s not much to look at and he’s no Bill Gates in the financial department.”
“Women love a man in uniform, Benny.”
Chapter 23
Rachael received her wake up call at 5:30 a.m. She showered and dressed for a full day of getting to know the town of Tilley. It was her plan to track down the key players in the search for the town’s serial killer. There was complimentary coffee, bagels, and donuts available inside the Inn’s office.
Rachael decided to get a cup of coffee and start her research with the attendant on duty, who just happened to be the owner Carlton Davis. Carlton, his wife, four daughters, and son ran the place with the goal of making their guests feel like they were staying in their own home.
The eastern wing of the Inn was actually Mr. And Mrs. Davis’ residence and they added the Inn on after Mr. Davis retired. The Inn was separated from the residence by an office and thirty rooms built to match the unique style of their house. The Inn and house were built in the fashion of log cabins constructed with true timber. There was nothing about the structure that was closely reminiscent of a cabin. The Lakeside Motor Inn was a majestic oasis.
Carlton looked like Santa Clause without the beard. He had the white bushy hair, twinkling eyes, and even a belly like a bowl full of jelly.
“Good morning Ms. Martin,” Carlton said, as Rachael walked into the office. “Can I get you a cup of coffee and something to eat?”
“A cup of coffee would be great but it’s too early for me to be hungry. How do you know my name?” Rachael asked. “I guess you’ve seen me on television?”
“I saw you walk out of room twelve and the name on the register says Rachael Martin,” Carlton said, with a hint of jest in his voice.
“How silly of me,” Rachael sai
d.
Before she even had the chance to feel embarrassed by her assumption, Carlton laughed and said, “Ms. Martin, I’m just kidding you, I watch you almost every night and I am honored to have you staying with us. I am the owner, Carlton Davis and I hope you slept well.” As he extended his hand for a cordial handshake, Carlton said, “Please excuse my attempt at humor. It was never my strong suit. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black, Mr. Davis.” Rachael smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Here you go young lady,” Carlton said as he handed Rachael the steaming cup of coffee. “I imagine you are in town to cover the serial killer story?”
“I am. I must compliment you on the room. I can honestly say that I have never stayed in a room quite like it before. What’s the story?”
“Well,” Carlton launched into his story. “I spent forty years of my life traveling and sleeping in motel rooms and none of them ever quite got it right. Once I retired, the never dying business man inside led me to open an Inn that would have all of the things I would have wanted to find in a place all those years I was traveling. The culmination of that vision is the Lakeside Motor Inn. Did you know the item with the most germs in a motel room is the remote control for the television?”
“I didn’t know that,” Rachael responded.
“It is,” Carlton said. “We sanitize it after every guest leaves. We wash the comforter, clean the hell out of the bathroom, and sanitize the phone, just to name a few things. It’s everything I would have wanted as a traveler, but never had.”
“I’m impressed Mr. Davis,” Rachael said as she sipped on her coffee with sincere and keen interest. “How long have you had the place?”
“Fifteen years,” Carlton answered. “I’ll be seventy-six next month.”
“I’m not one to flatter, but you don’t look anywhere close to seventy-six, Mr. Davis. What’s your secret?”
“Genetics,” he said. “My mama lived to be ninety-four and never looked a day over fifty-nine. When we moved to Tilley with mama in tow, the bank had a special program for senior citizens and when she applied, they didn’t believe her when she told them how old she was. Before they would give her the discounts she had to show them her papers and prove it.”
Carlton took her mug and refilled it. Handing the cup back to her, he said, “I know you must be chomping at the bit to get to work. I have lived in this town for quite some time and know just about everyone there is to know. Do you know where you’re going to start your media investigation?”
“No sir,” Rachael said, applying her Mississippi charm.
“Have you ever heard of Encyclopedia Brown?” Carlton asked. “My kids and grandkids enjoyed those books growing up.”
“I have,” Rachael answered. “He’s the kid whose father was on the police force. The father would come home, and at the dinner table he would tell Encyclopedia Brown about the cases going on at work. If I remember correctly, before dinner was over, his son, Encyclopedia Brown, would solve the case. He also had a service for the kids in town instead of a lemonade stand like most other kids.”
“That’s the one,” Carlton said. “We have a guy in town like that. He’s not part of the force, but if anyone is going to solve this case, my bet is, it will be him. He solves most of the town’s perplexing cases. His name is Benny James.”
“Where might I find this Mr. James?”
“He has a houseboat docked at the Sleepy Cove Marina. That’s your best bet for finding him. He has a house too, but all you’ll find there is a territorial cat.”
Chapter 24
Rachael drove her rental car through the open front gate of the Sleepy Cove Marina. She noted the sign, which stated there was a security guard on site. She wondered if this was referring to the infamous Benny James. She parked the car directly in front of the office.
It was a little before 7:00 a.m. There was movement inside the office as she entered. The office was more like a living room, with a high counter dividing the room in two halves. One half had a couch, love seat, coffee and end tables, and a ratty rug. Mounted on a wall, a television was broadcasting her channel. The other half of the room had two desks, a couple of filing cabinets, and three suspicious fridges.
The overall interior was decorated with a lame and clumsy attempt at creating a country club setting for aquatic lovers. The overall effect came off as a college dorm room dressed in drunken prose for a weekend party.
Rachael surmised the owners did not make their money off the atmosphere they provided and continued to the desk. Donny, the owner, had his head inside one of the fridges counting the stock of night crawlers. His head smacked the top of the freezer when the door Rachael had entered slammed shut.
“Sorry I frightened you,” Rachael said, as she held both hands up.
“Ain’t nothing but a thing, ma’am,” Donny said, demonstrating his fine country accent and rubbing his head. “Most folks in here this early is heading out fishing. I don’t reckon you’re needing any bait are you, ma’am?”
“No sir, not this morning. It has been quite some time since I’ve been trolling in the early morning. I’m just a little busy these days. I do miss it though. My daddy used to take me quite a bit because he never had a boy to take with him.”
“You want me to guess why you’re here?” Donny winked as a big grin spread across his face.
“All right,” Rachael said, willing to play the game. “Why am I here?”
“You’re looking for Benny James,” Donny stated.
“Well sir,” Rachael said with a laugh, “You are a winner. How do you know that?”
“Didn’t you see what channel I’m looking at, Ms. Martin?” Donny said, as his voice turned sweeter. “My wife is a big fan and it would make her day if I could get your autograph on something.”
“I would be honored,” Rachael smiled. “What would you like me to sign?”
“Well,” Donny scratched his chin. “She’s out fishing with her favorite hat, but if you could sign the bill of her second favorite hat, I know it will soon become her new favorite hat. I’ll go get it.” Donny ran out of the room as if he was stealing a pot of honey with a swarm of bees behind him.
Rachel smiled as she watched him run off. He reminded her of the folks in her hometown, deep in the heart of Mississippi. They were simple, good hearted, honest, and the epitome of down to earth.
“Here you go,” Donny returned and handed Rachael a hat that had “Bass Masters” written across the front. The bill was white and Rachael took the marker Donny gave her and signed her name. She handed the cap back to Donny. He beamed like she had just handed him a pot full of golden coins. “Thank you so much, Ms. Martin. She’s gonna just shit her pants when she sees this.”
“I hope she doesn’t get that excited,” Rachael’s eyes crinkled with mirth as she laughed out loud. “Now, can you tell me a little more about this Benny James?”
“He’s a character,” Donny said as Rachael studied him. Donny had a face that looked as if it had never touched a drop of sun tan lotion and was burned hundreds of times. It was a screaming red, tight in all the wrong places and loose and wrinkly in all the other wrong places.
Short, white, stubbly hair was springing out of his jaw and cheek areas in strange places appearing as if he had taken a few strokes here and there with a razor but didn’t complete the job. His hat sat on the top of his head like it would fall off at any moment and Rachael wondered why he didn’t pull it down, wearing it like most normal people.
The back of the hat was mesh and his sprawling gray hair poked through any space it could find. He wore a red muscle shirt that read “Panama City.” It hung down far enough to reveal a red, scrawny and tight chest. His arms looked as though he had used them every day of his life and his hands looked like they had been run over by a truck.
He wore jean shorts, no shoes, and his feet looked tough enough to walk across coals or nails.
“Let me tell you one thing about Benny, Ms. Ma
rtin,” Donny offered. “He don’t like to get up early and he hates to be woke up early. If you want to get off on the right foot with him, you will wait right here until he comes to get the paper. If you go waking him up, the only information you’ll get is a ear full of nasty words and hateful speaking.”
“I didn’t get your name?” Rachael asked.
“Donny.”
“Thank you, Donny. I do believe I will take your advice. Do you mind if I hang out here and make a few calls while I’m waiting?”
“Make yourself at home. I gotta go gas up a few boats, so just holler if you need anything. I’ll be down the dock a piece there,” Donny said as he pointed at the sky. He walked out the door and Rachael sat down on the love seat that looked the cleanest of the available seats. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and started punching buttons.
Nine calls, four cups of coffee, and three and a half hours later, Benny came strolling in as he did every “morning” for the newspaper. Donny was back at the high counter and said, “Good morning Benny, you have a guest who has been patiently waiting for you to wake up.” Donny pointed to Rachael, which was a useless gesture since she was the only other person in the room.
Rachael stood up cautiously, trying not to seem too eager and said in her sweetest Mississippi drawl, “Good morning Mr. James. My name is Rachael Martin and it doesn’t have to be now, but I would be forever grateful if I could take a few moments of your time.”
“You’re not selling insurance are you?” Benny said, shooting a wink in Donny’s direction.
“No sir, I’m not.”
“Ms. Martin, I’m just joshing you. Can’t you see?” Benny said as he pointed at the television, “We know who you are.”
“Mr. James,” Rachael said laughing, giving Benny the remembrance of the southern acting of Reese Witherspoon, “You are the third person that has pulled that joke on me. I see that I have found a good hearted town.”
