by K C Hart
You are going to pay!!!!!!
EM
She turned and looked at Tubby, still standing behind her. He had a strange, kind of dazed look on his face. Seeing the dead body seemed to be getting to him, too.
“Tubby, you don’t have to follow me around. You can go down there with the rest of them if you want to. I’ll be alright.”
Tubby jerked his head from the pink paper and back to Katy as she stood up. He seemed to pop out of the daze he had let creep over him. “Oh, no ma’am. I think I’d better stay with you ‘til the police get here to take over.”
Katy smiled. It seemed that Tubby had named himself her unofficial bodyguard. That was okay. He had rescued her in the past. Let him hang around. He might notice something that she missed.
She looked at the rest of the messy stage. A door frame stood a few feet away with the door missing. A raggedy, dirt-brown sofa was sitting to one side of the door with a wobbly side table next to it. An ancient rotary phone sat on the table. The drama team must be practicing a play.
Katy stepped closer to the fake living room scene and noticed a square white envelope sticking out of the corner of one of the sofa cushions. “That looks like a pack of guitar strings.”
Tubby, ever her shadow, bent over and looked at the envelope. “It sure is. Looks like it’s been opened too. I bet that’s one of them over there on Mr. Clay’s neck.”
A few metal chairs sat open around the stage as well. A couple were turned over in the far corner, like maybe somebody had knocked them down. She quickly snapped pictures of everything she saw, trying to be discreet. “Tubby, ain’t there a door back here somewhere that leads backstage?”
“Yes ma’am,” Tubby answered. “I think it’s to your right.” He pointed in the direction of the overturned chairs and followed her as she walked that way.
Katy pulled back the thick velvet curtain, revealing an open wooden door leading to a dressing room. This room was even more cluttered than the stage. Props and cardboard boxes full of costumes and other discarded materials from performances of the past were piled around the walls, leaving very little floor space.
They stepped into the room to look around. Tubby stood behind Katy because the pathway through the clutter was just too narrow for them to stand side by side.
He pointed over Katy’s head to the back wall. “Look, there’s the back door beside those boxes. It goes to the rear parking lot.” Tubby smiled faintly. “I know I don’t look like it now, but I used to be on the drama team in high school.”
“Oh, really?” Katy looked up in surprise. “I pictured you for a jock, not a drama geek. What roles did you play?” she asked, walking toward the back door.
“My junior year I was Brutus in Julius Caesar. That was kind of cool, but my senior year I was Curly McClain in Oklahoma. That was my favorite role.”
Tubby squeezed around Katy and stepped toward the back door. “This leads toward the parking lot.”
“Wait, Tubby,” Katy said, grabbing his hand as he reached for the knob. “If the killer left this way, there might be some fingerprints on the door.”
“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Tubby said, jerking his hand back like he had touched a hot skillet.
Katy glanced around the narrow room at the boxes full of old costumes and props. The killer could have run through here and out the back even after people were arriving out front.
They returned to the stage just as Sheriff Reid walked through the main entrance at the back of the auditorium.
“Katy Cross?” Sheriff Reid called from the mass of chairs between the stage and the entrance.
Katy lifted her hand and gave a shy wave. “Yes sir, it’s me.”
The sheriff strode up the aisle toward the edge of the stage where Katy and Tubby were now standing. The other witnesses were still huddled together in the chairs on the front row. He passed them without slowing down and climbed the stairs. He stopped beside Katy and pulled out a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “Tell me what happened.”
Chapter Two
“Who was the first to get here?” the sheriff asked, looking around the small concession area near the main entrance where he had moved everyone.
“That would be me.” Edna Morse threw her hand up like a school kid. “I arrived at two forty-five to make sure Rob, I mean Mr. Clay, had everything ready for the three o’clock meeting.”
Sheriff Reid jotted something down in his notebook without looking up. “And did he?”
“Did, did, did, he what?” Edna stuttered, a nervous edge in her voice.
The sheriff finally looked up from his notebook. “Did he have everything ready?”
“Why, yes, yes he did. The handouts were on the chair up front, the lights and air conditioner were on.” Her voice trailed off as she thought about her reply. “He must have been finished with all of that and was waiting on us. That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” Sheriff Reid stared at Emma, making her shift slightly in her seat.
“Well, anybody that knows Mr. Clay knows that he’s never early for anything. You always, and I mean always, have to wait on him.”
The sheriff wrote down Edna’s comments then moved on around the group asking each person basically the same questions. Everybody’s answers were basically the same, too. No one noticed anything strange until Edna called Rob’s cell phone.
The Johnston twins, members of The Rough Edge Boys, were telling the same story again when Katy quit listening. She leaned over and whispered in Misty’s ear. “Do you know what Rob Clay drives?”
“A shiny red Cadillac. Why?”
“I didn’t see a car like that in the parking lot when we drove up. Did you?”
“You know, I didn’t either,” Misty said, tilting her head to the side. “I wonder how he got here.”
Katy didn’t have time to answer. She sat up straight as the sheriff finished questioning Tubby Robinson and Joe Phobs. She could feel the muscles in her stomach tighten as he stepped toward their chairs.
“So, you two were the last to get here?” the sheriff asked.
Katy and Misty bobbed their heads in unison. “Yes sir, we were,” Misty answered. “We weren’t late, though. It was straight up three o’clock when we walked in.”
“Did either of you notice anything unusual before Edna made the phone call?” Sheriff Reid asked in a monotone voice. He had asked this same question several times before and had received the same answer every time. By now he was just going through the motions.
“Well, actually,” Katy started slowly, “we were wondering one thing.”
“Oh yeah?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow and peered at the women. “What’s that?” He looked back down at his notes, waiting for their answer.
“How did Mr. Clay get here?” Katy asked. Both women stared at Sheriff Reid.
The sheriff’s eyes once again became alert. He looked up from his notebook, giving Katy his full attention. “Why do you ask that?”
Katy stuck up one finger. “First of all, where is his car? We didn’t see it when we drove up.” She paused and raised her second finger. “And second, maybe he got here early because he rode with someone else. You know...someone who didn’t like being late.”
“You know, Mrs. Cross,” the sheriff grinned and flipped a page in his notebook. “Now that you mention it, I’m wondering those things myself.”
Katy and Misty stood as the sheriff closed his little book and put it back in his shirt pocket. “Can we leave now?” Misty asked.
“Just a minute,” he said, looking around the room at the rest of the witnesses. “Let me see how they’re doing in the auditorium. If the coroner and Todd don’t have any questions, I’ll dismiss everybody.”
They watched as he stepped through the door that led back into the auditorium. A low buzz of conversation started as soon as he was out of sight.
“You know, he was fooling around with that hairdresser,” Barbara Nelson, one of The Blue Grass Babes, was telling Grace
Freeman, the other Babe. They had paired together with the Rough Edge twins a few feet away from Katy and Misty.
“I heard that he was seeing that redheaded woman. What’s that woman’s name, Jake?” Blake asked his brother.
“You mean Johnnie Mae Smithers? She’s married to the bug man. That can’t be right,” Jake answered. “She’s got a kid.”
“That don’t matter, son.” Barbara Nelson chuckled softly at the look of surprise on the younger man’s face. “Rob Clay has been fooling around with married women ever since he got out of high school.”
“How do you know so much, Mrs. Barbara?” Jake asked.
“When you work at the post office you learn everybody’s business,” Barbara answered, not the least bit offended by the question. “People come in to get their mail and tell me what’s going on around town.”
Katy quit listening to their conversation when the subject turned to who else was having affairs in her town. She looked at Misty and whispered, “Remind me to never say anything personal in the post office.”
Misty smiled, “Me too, girl, me too.”
“Alright folks,” the sheriff said to the group, stepping back through the door. “You can leave out the main entrance. We will be getting in contact with you if we need any more information.” He paused and scanned the gathering. He found Katy’s face and made eye contact as he spoke the last sentence. “We would appreciate it if you would contact us directly if you find out anything that will help us figure this out.”
Katy glanced over her shoulder as she followed the rest of the group out the double doors to the parking lot. The distinctive yellow crime scene tape was draped across the front of the stage. Todd, the young deputy sheriff who was also Katy’s nephew, was standing in the corner with a couple of other men in uniform that she didn’t know. The coroner and the paramedics were at the back of the stage lifting a shiny, black body bag on a stretcher for transport. She would have to call Todd later to make sure that he found the crumbled-up note and the guitar string envelope.
Katy took a few quick short steps to catch up with Misty, who was taking long strides. “Edna, slow down just a minute if you don’t mind,” Misty called as she hurried to catch up with the Battle of the Bands director.
Edna turned around with an annoyed look on her face. “What can I do for you?” she asked, immediately plastering a very fake smile in place.
Misty stopped abruptly in front of Edna. Katy almost tripped as she pulled up short behind her. “I just wanted to make sure that the scheduled practices for the bands will still be the same, you know, now that Mr. Clay has died.”
The wrinkles in Edna’s aggravated forehead smoothed as she pondered Misty’s question. Katy could see the wheels turning in Edna’s brain. “Yes, I think we will continue as scheduled. I think Rob, I mean Mr. Clay, would have wanted that.” She paused again as problems with this plan began to emerge in her mind. “Of course, if a practice happens to fall during the time of the funeral…”
“Of course, we will reschedule those.” Misty finished the woman’s sentence for her, since Edna’s mind seemed to be wandering.
“Yes,” Edna continued slowly, “we will reschedule if that happens.”
Edna turned back to her car with no further comment. Misty turned around and almost bumped into Katy. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t realize you were right behind me. Did she seem a little distracted to you?” Misty asked. “I mean, even more distracted than the rest of us?”
“Yes, she did. But I think she knew Rob, I mean Mr. Clay, better than the rest of us,” Katy said, emphasizing the frequent slip Edna made with Rob Clay’s name.
“Well, she has been the chairwoman for this fundraiser every year, and Mr. Clay has been the MC every year. Maybe they’re friends.”
Katy waited while Misty dug around in her sleek Coach bag for her keys. “Yeah, that’s probably what it is.” Misty clicked the key fob and Katy opened her door. “I’m sure his death will make the show a lot different this year. Maybe they’ll do a tribute to the man or something.”
Misty cranked the Maxima and backed out of the parking lot. “Yeah, they could put some kind of plaque on the playground equipment they buy this year or something like that.”
Misty drove back to the Burger Barn and dropped Katy off. Katy unlocked her little Civic and climbed in. Last year when Jessa Williams’ killer had damaged Katy’s car, Katy just knew that she would never be able to drive her vehicle again. Fortunately, the steam and smoke had not caused enough damage to total out the vehicle. After a couple of weeks at the shade tree mechanic, her car had returned to her running as good as ever.
Today’s events rolled through her head as she drove home on auto pilot. Rob Clay was obviously a man who had no problem dating married women. Apparently, a lot of married women in this town had no problem dating him, either. If post office gossip could be trusted, he was currently having an affair with the bug man’s wife and was also seeing a hairdresser in town. Which hairdresser? There were six hairdressers at the place where Misty and the other girls in her band got their hair done. There was another shop just a few blocks from that one. It had four or five women working there, not to mention the other small, single-person establishments scattered around town.
Oh well, Katy chided herself as she pulled her vehicle under the carport. Last year when there had been a murder in town, she had dived in head-first and it had almost gotten her killed. She had learned her lesson. She had no interest whatsoever in getting tied up in this. She would follow along with the newspaper just like every other person in this town. She had no interest in getting involved in a murder case, she told herself again. None at all.
Katy raked the scant amount of leftovers from the two plates and placed them in the dishwasher. “You want some blueberry yogurt for dessert?” she asked John as she put the sealed bowl of black-eyed peas in the refrigerator.
“I think I’ll pass,” John said, with a hint of displeasure in his voice.
The corners of Katy’s mouth turned up as she grabbed a single serve cup for herself. Since her run-in with a crazed killer last year proved just how out of shape she was, they had given up chocolate ice cream and cookies except on special occasions. John had pouted like a schoolboy at first, but when he saw how serious Katy was about making the change, he began to support her efforts.
“Look, why don’t you have a dish of ice cream tonight?” Katy said. “I want some yogurt, but I think you deserve something a little sweeter.”
John turned and headed toward the deep freeze without even looking over his shoulder. “Well okay, if you think I should.”
“You could have at least tried to argue with me about it,” Katy said, getting two spoons from the silverware drawer.
John grabbed the ice cream from the freezer and began dipping a huge bowl of the Chunky Monkey that had been sitting in there untouched for over two weeks. “I learned a long time ago not to argue with you. Besides, it’s been about to drive me crazy knowing there’s ice cream in the freezer and all we’re eating is yogurt.”
They relaxed in the living room recliners eating their desserts. Katy filled John in on the events of the day, along with her observation of how Rob Clay’s Cadillac wasn’t in the parking lot.
“I hope you don’t have any wild ideas about nosing around in this murder investigation,” John said, lifting a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.
“Nope, none at all.” Katy looked at her yogurt and sighed. She did like the stuff, but it would never beat Chunky Monkey. “Hey, give me just one bite.”
John put a miniscule amount of the ice cream on his spoon and leaned over to feed it to her. “Here you go.”
“That’s not a very big bite, you know.” Katy opened her mouth and accepted the gift, no matter the size.
“I know, but you don’t really want it, you’re just tempted because I’m eating in front of you. Tomorrow I’ll get back on the yogurt wagon with you.” He sat back in his chair and took another bite from hi
s bowl. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this murder. I was afraid you were going to get all Agatha Christie like you did last time this happened.”
“I think I had enough snooping last year to last me a good decade. That pillow over my face scared a little sense into me.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The lights had been out about thirty minutes. John’s breathing had developed that slow, casual pattern Katy waited for before she began to doze into sleep herself. She had said her prayers and was trying to quiet her thoughts, but the events of the day had been too mind boggling.
Why would someone use a guitar string to strangle their victim? Did it mean something? Was the killer sending someone a message? Who was EM? What was meant by “making him pay?”
Sleep was just starting to ease in when the jarring sound of John’s cell phone began to blast from his bedside table. Katy’s eyes popped open, instantly awake. John was a couple of seconds behind her. He grabbed the phone and cleared the sleep from his voice.
“Hello. Yeah, this is me. No, that’s alright. Yeah, I’ll be right there.” John hung up his phone and turned on the bedside lamp.
“Who was that?” Katy asked, rubbing her eyes as they adjusted to the light. “What time is it?”
“Joe Phobs. Tubby’s on the water tower threatening to jump. Says he needs to talk to us.” John slung his feet from the bed onto the floor. “I guess we better head over to the water tower.”
“Why in the world is Tubby Robinson trying to jump off the water tower, and why is he asking for us?” Katy asked, throwing on her clothes. “It’s midnight,” she said, looking at her bedside clock then across the room at her husband. “Why do you sound so calm about all of this?”
John pulled a t-shirt over his head, grabbed his keys and they headed to the truck. “I don’t have a clue why he called us. Joe just said to come to the water tower. I guess we’ll know more when we get there, and it sure ain’t going to help matters if we show up all in a tizzy ourselves.”
