by Marja McGraw
“Isn’t there any way I can get the information today?” I asked.
She frowned at me. “Not likely.”
“Excuse me, doll,” the Bogey Man said, walking up beside me. He gave the woman his best Bogey smile before curling his top lip under, and leaned on the counter, making the encounter more personal.
I stepped back and felt relief wash over me. This was a woman who would remember Bogey and hopefully respond positively.
“My gal Friday here is doing some research for me. It’d really be ginger-peachy if you could give her the information she needs.” He reached for his wallet. “I could slip you a fin, if that would help.”
She studied him for a moment, her rigid face softening and her lips unpursing, before shaking her head. “No need to slip me any money. I couldn’t take it anyway.”
“Say, doll, has anyone ever told you you’ve got great blinkers?”
She actually had small, rather rat-like eyes, but she fluttered her lashes the moment he mentioned them.
That seemed to encourage Chris. “Here’s the deal. I’m on a case and I need this info asap, and I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie. I’m kind of in a jam. Think you can help us?” He furrowed his brow and tried to look helpless. What a cornball – but it seemed to be working.
“Oh, Mr. Bogart, sir, I think I can find just what you need,” the woman gushed, and I noticed Chris didn’t correct her when she called him Mr. Bogart. She had to know this wasn’t the famous movie star, but I wasn’t about to set her straight.
“Be back in a tick,” she said, and turned away from us, walking over to a computer and typing on the keys.
“You’re in a jam?” I whispered.
“Hey! I could tell by her face that she was enjoying my act. I’m cookin’ with gas, so don’t rain on my parade.”
“Okay, but if she hears you talk about rain on your parade, you may lose her. That’s probably not a forties phrase.”
Chris narrowed his eyes at me before breaking into a grin.
By the time we left the Recorder’s Office, we had all the information we needed. We knew who all of the previous owners were, and there weren’t that many. Chris had tipped an imaginary hat at the woman and told her not to take any wooden nickels when we left. He’d told her that she was aces in his book. She’d blushed.
“You made that woman’s day, you know,” I said, while we walked to the car.
“Ya think?”
“I think. You’re a good man, Chris. You got the information and you made her feel good about herself. You do have a way with women. I’d be willing to bet you’re all she’ll talk about for the next week.”
He held his hand out for me to slap, the more modern version of the High Five.
We ate a quick lunch at In-N-Out, our favorite hamburger joint. The fries were aces, to quote Chris, and we used hamburger dressing instead of catsup. It really makes a difference, tasting something like Thousand Island dressing, and it comes in little packets. It made my day almost as much as finding the names of previous owners. The only thing that could make my lunch more perfect would be a chocolate dessert. I asked Chris to stop at a convenience store on the way home so I could pick up a candy bar. He did, bless his heart.
Arriving home, we sat at the kitchen table and studied the list.
“Here’s what we need right here,” I said, pointing to a name. “This woman owned the house during the time period we’re interested in. Do you think there’s any way to find her? There must be something we can do.”
“Mildred Chance Murphy,” Chris read aloud. “If her name was just Mildred Murphy, it would probably be difficult. But with a middle name like Chance? That really narrows the field down. How many women do you think would have a moniker like Chance?”
“Good point,” I said. “Do you think we could find something on the Internet?”
“Let’s try it and see what happens.” Chris sat down and entered the name. Way too many entries for Mildred Murphy. Nothing that included the middle name of Chance. He tried another search engine and found the same information. And then he did the unexpected. He picked up the phone book that I’d left out and turned to the Murphys. Having a duh moment, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that.
“Anything?” I asked.
“There are only two Mildred Murphys listed. One is Mildred L. and the other is Mildred C. and John Murphy.” The look on Chris’s face spoke of possible triumph, and he appeared to be happy. He was so easily entertained.
“Does this feel too easy?” I hoped this was the right Mildred C. and that she was still alive. I had no idea how old she might have been when she owned the boarding house.
“Yes, but I’ll take it.” Chris picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number in the book.
“What are you going to say?”
“I’ll wing it. I have no idea.”
We waited while the phone rang at the other end. No one answered, but a machine picked up eventually. Chris left a message asking if either John or Mildred would please call him back about a 1920s house, and he left the address. At least, hopefully, whoever heard the message would understand it was business and not a nuisance call.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Isn’t it time to pick up Mikey?”
I glanced at my watch. “We’ve got about half an hour.”
The phone rang and we looked at each other. “Do you think it could be John or Mildred returning our call already?” I asked.
It rang a second time.
“It could be.”
And a third time.
“Well, answer the phone. The suspense is killing me.”
“Poor choice of words, Pamela, at least in this instance. We are investigating a murder, you know.”
I took control and picked up the receiver, forgetting to look at Caller ID.
“Hello?”
Chapter Fourteen
As soon as I heard an unfamiliar male voice I put the phone on speaker so Chris could hear what was said.
“Yes, this is John Murphy. I’m calling for Chris Cross. He left a message on my voicemail. Is he in?”
“I’m here,” Chris said. “My wife and I have you on the speaker so that we can both hear you, if that’s okay.”
“Certainly. You said you were looking for information about my aunt’s old house. What can I do for you? You know, she sold that house many years ago. I can’t imagine what you might need from me.”
“It’s like this,” Chris said. “That property has been rezoned into a commercial area. We bought the property and we’re converting the house into a restaurant.”
“I still don’t see what that has to do with my aunt.”
It struck me that this man apparently hadn’t seen the article in the newspaper. He didn’t seem to know that a body had been found in the cellar at that particular address.
“There was a slight complication, and it has to do with the time period when your aunt owned the house. We wondered, my wife and I, if we might be able to meet with her to ask a few questions.”
“Such as?” Mr. Murphy sounded suspicious. I couldn’t blame him since total strangers wanted to meet with his aunt.
I spoke up thinking that a woman’s voice might prove calming. “Our understanding is that at one time she ran a boarding house at the location in question. We’re hoping that she might be able to tell us something about the tenants who rented rooms from her. Do you think she could help us? I know it’s been a long time.”
“And why do you need that information?” Mr. Murphy asked.
I glanced at Chris and he nodded his head, so I forged ahead. “Mr. Murphy, the body of Charles Blakely was found in the cellar of the house. We believe he was one of the tenants, and there’s at least a slight possibility that one of the other tenants might have killed him. We’re hoping that your aunt might be able to supply us with a list of names.”
After a long moment of silence, Mr. Murphy finally spoke up. “You say you found a body?”
“Yes, sir. It appears the man was murdered.”
“Murdered. And buried in my aunt’s basement?” He didn’t sound shocked as much as surprised. Of course, this crime had been committed many years ago.
“Yes, sir.” I waited. He didn’t sound entirely like he believed me.
“Are you sure it was my aunt’s house and not one of the neighboring houses? You’re positive you have the right address?”
“Yes. There are no other houses there anymore, and we checked with the county to find out who the previous owners were. Your aunt owned the house during the time in question.”
“The time in question. So you know when the man was murdered? How could you know that?”
“There’s evidence that narrows down the time period,” Chris said.
“Are you two with the police department?”
“No, sir. Like I said, we’ve bought the property and house to turn into a restaurant. Relatives of the dead man have asked us to look into his death.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said, “but I’m having trouble taking this in. Give me a moment to think.”
We did.
Finally I said, “Mr. Murphy, would it be possible to speak to your aunt?”
He chuckled. “It depends on the day of the week, and please call me John. Mr. Murphy was my father.”
“Excuse me? The day of the week?” Chris looked baffled.
John sighed, softly. “My aunt lives in a retirement village now. I only left her name in the phone book because I still take care of business for her. She should probably live in an assisted living facility, but I’m trying to keep things as normal as possible for her. She still likes to cook her own breakfast and lunch, but the home feeds her dinner. She has… Well, she gets confused. She can’t remember what happened five minutes ago, but she can tell you what she had for Easter dinner fifty years ago.” He chuckled again. “She can also remember every person who ever slighted her and just what they said or did. I think it’s part of the aging process. Her mood and her memory change almost daily. I don’t want anyone to upset her. You understand, don’t you?”
“I do,” I said. “I had a grandparent with similar problems.”
“So you know how to deal with this kind of issue?” He almost sounded hopeful. “I’d like to help you, but she can’t be pushed. It confuses her more when people push her. However, she does seem to get excited if she talks about the days when she ran the boarding house. It must hold happy memories.”
“Yes, I do know how to talk to people in her condition. And I wouldn’t dream of pushing her. I can be gentle, especially with older folks. Do you think we could at least give it a try?” I looked at Chris and raised my eyebrows in question.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like some time to think about this. Maybe I’ll run over there and try to talk to her – see if she’s receptive. Can I get back to you?”
“Certainly,” Chris said. “We’ll wait to hear from you. And thank you for talking to us. The man’s family really wants to know what happened to him. I’d like to help them if I can.”
John was quiet again before saying, “I’ll either call you this evening or tomorrow. Will that suffice?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “We look forward to hearing from you.”
After hanging up, Chris and I looked at each other. “What did you think?” Chris asked. “You did some pretty fancy footwork when you talked about your experience with seniors.”
“Thanks. I try. I was being honest with him because my grandmother was in the same condition his aunt is. I spent a lot of time with her.”
I remembered my grandmother fondly, even after she lost her way – mentally.
“He sounded surprised to me,” I said. “Do you think he recognized Blakely’s name? It didn’t seem to spark anything.”
“You may be right. The name didn’t faze him, but the idea of a dead body sure got his attention.”
“Okay,” I said, “at least we have a starting point. If we can talk to Mildred, maybe we can learn something. If her memory of the past is as good as her nephew says, then maybe she’ll recall if there were any problems between the tenants.”
“Yeah, if it was a problem big enough to cause murder, you’d think that would stick in her mind.” Chris sounded optimistic.
I glanced at my watch. “It’s time to pick up Mikey.”
“I’ll go,” Chris offered.
“I’ll come with you. Maybe on the way home we’ll stop for a soft drink or something. I was going to say stop for ice cream, but not before dinner.”
“So we’ll stop and have a soft drink and buy some ice cream for dessert. How’s that for a compromise?”
“Works for me, as long as it’s chocolate.”
When we pulled up in front of the school, the afternoon bell was ringing and kids came tumbling out of doors like a herd of wild elephants.
I watched for Mikey, but I couldn’t see him. And then the unthinkable happened. He came walking out with Mrs. Stanhope, and neither one of them appeared happy.
“Now what?” I could only imagine what he’d done this time. More dead body talk? There hadn’t been anything new in the newspaper for the kids to pick up on.
The two approached the car and Mrs. Stanhope mimed rolling down the window. She was on my side and I dutifully pushed the button to lower it. Mikey opened the rear door and climbed into the car, taking his time about hooking up his seatbelt.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“This whole dead body issue is becoming, well, an issue,” Mrs. Stanhope replied. “I found several students playing what they called ‘Detective and Bad Guy’ during the lunch period.”
“‘Detective and Bad Guy?’” Chris asked, leaning across me so he could see Mrs. Stanhope.
“Yes, Mr. Cross. And it appeared that your Michael was in charge.”
“I wasn’t, Mom,” Mikey said from the backseat. “Danny started it, I promise.”
“Okay, so who’s to blame here? Mikey or Danny?” I asked. “And exactly what were they doing?”
“They were pretending to find a murderer. One of the children was lying on the ground, acting like a victim, and the rest of the children were looking for clues.” Mikey’s teacher sounded incensed that children would play a game of this nature. To my way of thinking, it was no different than Cowboys and Indians or playing soldier, but what did I know?
“Did they reenact the crime?” Chris asked.
“No, but – ”
“So there was no murder, just the part about looking for clues.”
“Yes, but you know the no tolerance policy that – ”
Chris put on his no-nonsense Bogey face. “Then I don’t see a problem. They weren’t pretending to kill each other. They were only trying to solve a crime. And by solving a crime, they were doing a good thing, not a bad thing.”
Mrs. Stanhope looked perplexed. Chris had a point, and yet he didn’t.
“What was Mikey’s part in all of this?”
“He was making up the clues,” Mrs. Stanhope replied. “Well, to be fair, he and Danny were making up the clues.”
“May I make a suggestion?” I said. “Why don’t you invite a real detective to come and talk to the class, or maybe the whole school? I know a terrific detective who’d probably be more than happy to help out. I’ll give you her name and number, and she can come show these kids that detecting isn’t a game, but a real life job – and not an easy one, at that.” I held my breath, knowing in my heart that Mrs. Stanhope wouldn’t take a proactive stance on this problem.
“Say, babe, that’s a great idea,” Chris said. “I like that.”
Mrs. Stanhope looked skeptical. “Well, I don’t know about – ”
“Trust us,” Chris said. “If you want the kids to know the real skinny, and if you want them to know it’s hard work, try the idea out. Talk to your principal about it. We’d be more than willing to help in any way we can.”<
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I swung my head toward Chris and gave him the are you out of your mind look.
“That’s a way cool idea,” Mikey piped up from the backseat.
I rolled my eyes and resigned myself to the inevitable. I began to wonder if there would ever be a day in Mikey’s life when there wouldn’t be an issue at school. Things had been so quiet until this school year.
I turned my head toward Mrs. Stanhope and talked over my shoulder to Mikey. “Do you have any homework tonight?” It never hurts to sound like you just might be on the teacher’s side, and in all honestly I was to a point.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. And there’s a lot of it.”
Mrs. Stanhope smiled. Now we were in her territory and she had the upper hand.
“Then let’s go home so you can get started,” I said.
I turned toward the teacher. “We’ll talk to Mikey about this when we get home, but please, think about my idea. It couldn’t hurt, and maybe if the kids understand what detecting is really all about, it might make a difference. Besides, you and I both know that by this time next week they’ll have moved on to something else. You know kids.”
“Indeed I do,” she said, turning and walking away from the car.
The ride home was relatively quiet until Mikey said, “Thanks for sticking up for me, you guys.”
“You’re welcome, but how about spending a few quiet days at school,” Chris said. “Let things die down a little. They do mean what they say about no tolerance. You’re just lucky that Mrs. Stanhope is being so nice about this.”
“Your dad’s right,” I said. “You might want to apologize to her tomorrow and keep things low key for a while.”
“Okay.” His voice held no penitence, but I knew he’d say he was sorry without too much pushing.
“Now, Mikey, understand that this isn’t a reward, but we’re going to stop and buy some ice cream for dessert tonight. We’d decided to do that before this happened.” I wanted him to know that I didn’t reward bad behavior, but he hadn’t really done anything so wrong in my opinion.
