by N. C. Lewis
Chapter 41
I screamed.
"Shut up, shut up," ordered Lenny, unleashing another stinging slap across my face.
As he raised his hand to deliver another blow, a creepy voice called out from the stage entrance to the room. "What's going on here?"
Peter Travis, dressed in red, with tentacles on his head, suction cups on his arms and legs, and a red cape across his shoulders, peered into the room.
"Lenny killed Liza Gilbert, and Malcolm Maskerlyne, and now he is going to kill me," I screamed at the top of my voice.
"Peter, it's all right," said Lenny, "part of the new act." He was moving as he spoke.
Just then Peter noticed the pit. His eyes grew wide with understanding. But before he could react, Lenny ran at him, at the last moment swinging his foot up so that the sole of his heavy shoe landed flat and hard into Peter's stomach.
Peter fell to his knees, gasping for air but managed to grab Lenny's supporting leg. Lenny fell on top of him. They rolled on the floor in a blur of red. I watched without attention, my mind focused on wriggling my hands free. Suddenly, the strips of cloth fell away, and I bent forward to untie my feet.
I rose, my legs cramped and tingling. On the table, my cell phone buzzed. Towards it I dashed as the two men continued to struggle. Lenny had his right arm in a lock around Peter's neck. Like a boa constrictor he was tightening his grip—inch by inch. Peter let out an ear-piercing scream as I picked up the cell phone to call for help, then he went still.
Baring teeth in an animal-like snarl, Lenny turned his head. Then, with a sudden movement, sprang up knocking the cell phone out of my hand. It skidded across the floor dropping with a thud into the pit.
"I'm going to kill you with my bare hands," he shouted, grabbing for my arm. He stumbled. In the instant it took him to right himself, my head seemed to clear. I glanced around the room, Peter lay still on the floor, and to my right the wooden pole. It was shorter than an English staff but would serve the same purpose. The words of Ma Jenkins echoed in my mind.
"Remember, in using a staff you will get cuts, bruises, and hit. The secret, if you can withstand the first blow, is rapid attack after successful defense."
I grasped the staff as Lenny swung a vicious blow toward my head. If it had landed squarely that would have been the end. But I saw it coming and shuffled to the side to avoid it. And in the moment that it missed me, I made a scything movement with the pole that cut Lenny's legs from under him. Almost simultaneously, a small pivoting of my body, raising my upper hand, and surging forward with the pole—now vertical, deep into Lenny's solar plexus.
He let out a loud roar, and I screamed. A second later he crumpled like a deflated balloon to the floor. One final cry of anguished pain, and he was still.
A surge of triumph rushed through me, and I was dimly aware of the click of a cell phone, low, mumbled voices, then silence. Dizzy and confused, my legs seemed to have an existence of their own. They took me to the edge of the pit. Malcolm had the cell phone in his hand.
"Help will be here momentarily," he croaked.
Chapter 42
The next few hours sped by in a blur of activity. Medlin Creek deputies hauled away Lenny, very much alive and screaming vengeance at me, Malcolm, Deputy Dingsplat, and anyone else he met.
I was rushed to the hospital where a medical examination revealed nothing more than bruises to my face, wrists and legs. No concussion. Millie and her boyfriend, Bob Lukey, arrived as a hospital orderly wheeled me into a ward for overnight observation.
"Oh my gosh, Ollie, oh my gosh," she cried, peering wide—eyed at my bandaged head and rushing forward to give me a hug while firing off a hundred questions all at the same time. Even Professor Purple, not known for emotion, offered a gentle kiss on my bruised cheek. Bob Lukey just folded his arms, his hardened lawyer eyes glassy, shaking his head.
The next morning after a stream of visitors, including Ma Jenkins and Kidd Cole from the dojo, and Augustine Granger, from the animal shelter, Deputy Dingsplat arrived. It took over two hours for him to get the full details down. He went over each paragraph, asking questions from different angles, and repeating phrases back for clarification.
Halfway through, Gratia Violeta, and the barista showed up with four steaming, hot beverages. Deputy Dingsplat was happy to take a break and chatted freely about the case as he sipped his brew. "Lenny won't see the light of freedom again, not once we get things nailed down and tightly sealed," he said with a wry smile.
"What happens next?" asked the barista.
"The Havis County Crime Scene Unit are taking apart Lenny's apartment, as well as the backstage area. I'm sure they will find the poison or other incriminating evidence. Plus, he'll face charges for the attempted murder of Malcolm, Ollie, and Peter Travis. It will be awhile before the full case is ready, but given the threats he made to you, Ollie, Malcolm, and myself, bail will be out of the question."
I took a sip from my cup, it was good, very good—a Creek Jolt! The barista who had remained silent throughout the conversation raised a finger to his lips. "Ollie, I hope you are enjoying your drink. Nothing stronger than coffee allowed in hospitals, you know."
Deputy Dingsplat looked at the barista out of the corner of his eye, took another sip from his cup and smiled. "Yep, nothing stronger than coffee allowed."
As we chatted for several more minutes, I looked around at the smiling faces. This could only happen in Medlin Creek, Texas, I thought.
Later that morning I was given the all clear by the medical staff. I visited with Peter. He had tubes and wires sticking out of him but was sitting up in bed reading a James Patterson novel.
"Ollie," he whispered, the drugs making his voice sound even creepier than usual. "Nice to see you walking around. I hope to join you soon!"
We both laughed. He continued, "I'm an internet security specialist not a street fighter, but I gave Lenny a run for his money!"
"Yep," I said. "If you didn't show up…"
He nodded, and in way of explanation said, "Lenny canceled my coaching session because he was busy making preparations for his new magic show."
"Preparations?"
"Yes, he had a notebook in which he jotted down ideas. He said he needed the evening to complete the notebook. Then he would form it into a series of sets for the new show."
"Oh," I said, "that makes sense." And it did.
Peter continued. "I didn't have anything else planned for the evening, so I stopped by the theater hoping Lenny would get a chance to comment on my new fire-ant outfit. Had to dodge Rita Lilly. Her boyfriend was wandering around the hallway at the back of the building. I've no idea how he didn't see me."
"Well, I'm very glad you stopped by the theater—the whole town of Medlin Creek is."
Peter shrugged.
"It's a pity my fire-ant outfit didn't have superpowers. I added suction cups to help with climbing…" His voice trailed off, and I could see he was thinking about something. Suddenly, his eyes flashed.
"Perhaps, I should add two small canisters of solenopsin, one for each arm."
"Solenopsin?"
"Yes, it's kinda like the fire ant's version of pepper spray. They use it to disable insect opponents. I'd have to make a much weaker version though."
"I'm not sure that you need it, Peter; you fought like Rocky Balboa."
Peter tipped his head back and laughed. "Yes, you might be right. We've had quite enough poisons in Medlin Creek. I better kick that idea to the curb."
"Good idea," I agreed.
"But," said Peter. "Lenny asked me to play a minor role in his Friday night show. It sounded like fun, so I agreed. Looks like that is not going to happen now."
"Why don't you join the Medlin Creek Players?" I suggested.
"Um, there are worse ways to spend an evening," he said.
I waved goodbye, and Peter returned to his James Patterson book.
There was one other person I still wanted to speak with.
Malcol
m was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed as I entered the room. I sat down in a chair beside his bed. The constant beep of the electronic monitoring equipment added a somber atmosphere to the bleak hospital room.
For several minutes I wondered whether he was conscious. As I got up to leave, his eyelids lifted. His steel-gray eyes twinkled with life. "Thank you," he whispered in a soft voice. Then he struggled to sit up.
After several minutes of silence, he spoke in a soft whisper. "I was going to retire at the end of the year and hand over the show to Lenny. What a shame, what a pointless loss of life."
In the lobby of the Havis County Hospital, I waited for Millie. Several visitors stood in a line that snaked through the lobby to the front desk where volunteer workers helped with sign-ins. I reached into my handbag and turned the cell phone on. As I was about to type in a text message to Millie when it rang.
"Ollie, it's Sandy Fields. I left you a voicemail yesterday morning and decided to follow up today. Listen, I've got three event center bookings I can't take on right now. The first is in three weeks' time, I know it's short notice, but do you have any capacity at Ealing Homestead?"
"Oh yes, I'd be delighted to help out."
For several minutes we discussed details of the events. On my cell phone I reviewed and signed the contracts. I hung up with three events booked for Ealing Homestead: one wedding, and two corporate. Then I logged into my bank account, and the deposits showed up as already cleared. I laughed out loud causing my head to hurt, but I didn't care.
Millie showed up at 10 a.m. As we drove back toward the Lilly building to pick up my vehicle, she said in an excited voice, "Oh, Ollie, something wonderful has happened. The owner of the newspaper has asked me to write a series of articles on the mystery of the magic mumbles. Each piece will run on the front page of the newspaper. Johnny Spinner's been moved back to entertainment. Ollie, this is it! My gravy train to a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times has arrived."
"Congratulations, Millie, you deserve it," I said. And she did.
Millie beamed and looked at me out of the corner of her eye with a sly expression. "The first article is going to be a firsthand account of how Doctor Ollie Stratford tracked down the killer."
Oh crap, I thought. "Oh, goodie."
"Oh goodie," she echoed.
Chapter 43
The following Tuesday at noon, I sat in the oak panel room of Chancellor Cannington's office.
"So, you see, Doctor Stratford, it is one of those tricky situations. Between a rock and a hard place as it were. I'm sure you understand."
He reached for a scoop of ice, tilting it into my tumbler and topping it off with a generous helping of Aberfeldy single malt whiskey. I swirled the amber liquid in the glass, breathing in the sweet, woody aroma with delicate overtones of yeast mingled with freshly mown grass.
As I sipped, I considered the situation.
"Yes," I said at last. "Chancellor Cannington, I accept your offer of a full-time position at Medlin Creek Community College." I took another sip and smiled, my eyes half closed and savoring the flavor.
"Excellent. The college is growing so fast we can barely keep up with demand. Doctor Stratford, let me informally welcome you as a full-time member of our faculty."
Chancellor Cannington pressed a little silver button on his desk. In bustled his secretary with a manila folder under his arm. He was wearing a gray, pinstripe suit with shiny, patent-leather shoes, a white cotton, button-down shirt with a dark-blue tie. He didn't speak, nor did I glance at him for more than a second or so, but I recognized him. Rita Lilly's boyfriend!
"Fill in these employment forms at your convenience," Chancellor Cannington said, handing over the manila folder.
We chatted for several minutes about nothing in particular. As I got up to leave, Chancellor Cannington's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. "Doctor Stratford, not that I want to spread gossip, but Bryant Reynolds has stepped down as chairman of the board. The college felt that…" He gave a little cough and continued. "Well, let's just say that Mr. Reynolds is no longer associated with this college."
Chancellor Cannington took a rather large gulp from his own tumbler. "Witches, love potions, and murder fall short of the image Medlin Creek Community College wishes to project."
◆◆◆
On my way home, I stopped by Don Andrews' pizza parlor for a couple of slices of his Hill Country Special. I'd reheat them for dinner later that evening.
"I just put a new pie in the oven; it will be ten minutes. Take a seat while you wait, and I'll bring it over in a to-go box for you," said the teenage assistant with a broad smile on her face. In her hand she held up a copy of the front page of the Medlin Creek Times. "Is that you?" she asked, pointing to a photo Millie must've taken with her cell phone without me knowing.
"Ah-ha," was my muffled response.
"Super cool," she said, her eyes full of respect.
As I glanced around the restaurant, filled with the late afternoon tourist crowd, I spotted Christoph chewing thoughtfully on a slice of pizza.
I took a seat at his table.
"Hello, lady," he said, looking with puffy, red eyes. He didn't smell of alcohol.
"How are the wedding plans going?" I said.
Christoph took a bite of pizza. "It's off," he said, clearly sober.
"Oh," I said, then couldn't help myself by asking, "What went wrong?"
"Mary Jo left over Aunt Liza's inheritance."
"Oh," I said again, leaning forward.
"Yep, Aunt Liza didn't have as much money as I thought. Only five thousand dollars. Four thousand five hundred to the animal shelter, and five hundred dollars to me. Just enough the pay my gambling debts, but not enough for Mary Jo to be my wife."
Christoph's head slumped, and he took a long, slow sip of soda. "Mary Jo said I tried to trick her into marriage, like her last three husbands."
The assistant came over with my boxed pizza. She gave a little curtsy like a Victorian maid. "There you go, Doctor Stratford," she said, affecting a British accent. I sighed, wondering how long it'd be before she was back to her usual moody teenager self. "Well," I said under my breath, "I better enjoy it while it lasts."
◆◆◆
There was one last thing I needed to do before going home. It was just after 3 p.m. when I pulled into a parking space outside of Augustine Granger's house. She waved me into a back room. On the floor, with a soft cat toy, a tiny ginger-and-white kitten played. It looked up, eyes huge, meowed, and returned to the cat toy.
Augustine smiled as she spoke. "The little fellow is doing well, he already has a new home. The owners will pick him up tomorrow. I figure one more night here and he'll be ready."
"I think you're right," I said.
◆◆◆
Back at Ealing Homestead I played with Bodie. When he was done, I filled his bowls with water and Gregg's Hardware Store's finest dog food. His belly full, he climbed into his dog bed and drifted off to sleep.
The cell phone rang.
"Ollie, Mr. Maxwell here. I hope you are well, my friend." Without waiting for a reply, he continued. "Now, I was following up on my earlier call. Have you had a chance to think about when you would like to sign up for my Get Paid for Micro Housing by Next Week course?"
"Nope, not interested," I said.
"Just think about it, Ollie," said Mr. Maxwell ignoring my response. "Ealing Homestead full of happy, smiling guests, each paying you a handsome rent for a micro home. Why, you'd be laughing all the way to the bank."
"Not interested," I repeated.
"Fifty percent off if you sign up today." There was a crackle of desperation in his voice.
"Mr. Maxwell, I am going to make the event center business work. That's why I came to Texas, and that is what I am going to do."
His voice wilted. "You are the forty-seventh person I've called this week. Not a single taker for my new course!" He sighed and continued as if speaking to himself. "I've spent twenty thous
and dollars building this online program, I'll never make my money back. The event center business was a much better bet than this!"
Then he hung up.
At the desk in the small office I reviewed my finances. I let out a satisfied sigh as I wrote out a check to the Havis County Tax Assessment Office for the full amount of the outstanding property taxes. Things were far from rosy, but with three events booked, and a full-time teaching position, they weren’t bad either.
AUTHOR NOTE
Nothing makes me happier than the thought of a reader finishing one of my books.
So, thank you!
As an indie author, I work hard to bring you entertaining cozy mysteries as fast as I can. I’ve got many more books in the works, and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.
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Until next time,
N.C. Lewis
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Other Books in the Series
The Ollie Stratford Murder Mystery books can be enjoyed in any order. Here are the current books in the series:
Texas Troubles
Creek Crisis
Bitter Bones
Magic Mumbles
Teddy Tumpin (April 2018)
For more information please visit www.nclewis.com
