by N. C. Lewis
The driver turned back, sipped his coffee, adjusted his feet on the dashboard and continued. "Right now, Jack's recording a section on the Natural Mystic Order of the Organic Temple. It will air as part of a larger show in two weeks."
On the other side of the truck, a rat-faced reporter pushed a microphone into the face of Sage Oats.
"Jack, this whole situation is getting out of hand," said Sage Oats in slow measured tones into the microphone. "Once high-end bookstores move into the area, it is only a matter of time before the regular residents get priced out." He turned to gaze across the street at the line of police vehicles. "And," he added. "There is the crime element to consider."
The camera swung back to the reporter.
"Crime element?"
"Commercial premises attract criminals."
"How so?"
Sage Oats jabbed a finger in the air. "Increased foot traffic encourages opportunistic criminals. Mixed-use neighborhoods are plagued by burglaries."
The camera focused on a close-up of the reporter, who in a somber tone added, "Just today as we are recording, the police are at the bookstore across the street." As he spoke the camera woman swept a large arc settling the camera for several moments on A.E. Antiquarian Books. Several uniformed officers walked out of the store.
"Sage Oats what are your thoughts on the police activity here today?" asked the reporter.
Sage Oats stepped closer to the microphone, lowering his voice he stared directly into the camera. "That store was cursed from the very beginning."
"Cursed? How do you mean?"
"I met with the owner when he first moved in and advised him to leave at once, the vibrations from the store being very negative."
"And what was his response to your advice?"
"He laughed, ignored it, calling me and my followers superstitious fools."
"It might sound that way to some of our viewers."
"Maybe, but not the owner of the bookstore."
"How so?"
"His body was just carried out on a stretcher. He was murdered."
The camera swung quickly back to the bookstore. Two figures, dressed in the white suits of crime scene techs, walked out of the entrance and climbed into a waiting van.
The camera returned to focus on the reporter. "This is Jack Skanky, reporting live for Austin City News Service, back with another city neighborhood after this short break, so keep tuned in to Austin's favorite news service."
Jack waved his hands. "Cut!" His lips twitched like the whiskers of a sewer rat. "Now. Let's get across the street and find out what's going on."
Chapter 15
Late that afternoon Amy was at Barton Springs, dipping her toes in the cold spring water that gushes from deep underground, letting the events of the day wash away, and dreamily watching an old man with a gold cap swim slow laps. Nick had gone back to work, Danielle home, but Amy had taken the rest of her day off for a leisurely stroll around Zilker Park. The park, a popular spot for families, tourists, joggers, and dog walkers, sprawls over three hundred acres in the heart of downtown Austin. It has trails, picnic tables, bike and canoe rentals, playgrounds for children, and Barton Springs, a natural spring-fed, three-acre pool.
The swimmer reached the far end of the pool, flipped underwater and swam back in the opposite direction when Amy's cell phone rang. It was Nick.
"Hello darling, I love you," she said like a teenager.
"Is that you, Amy? It's me, Nick. I love you too. How are you feeling now?"
"I'm fine, dipping my toes in Barton Springs."
"Crowded? Saturday and all that."
"Sure is, but that's what I need right now. I'm still processing things."
"It's a lot to take in, that's for sure."
Amy splashed her feet in the water.
"What was that?" Nick asked.
"Water," she laughed then let her breath out slowly. "My God Nick, I don’t think I'll ever forget what I saw today in that closet as long as I live."
"Nor will I, Amy. I've never gotten used to it."
She swatted at a fly and missed. "Who would do such a thing?"
"Don't think about it, darling."
"I've tried not to, but I can't help it."
Nick hesitated. "It's difficult, I know. Do you want me to come home early tonight?"
"No, I'll be fine. Anyway, I'm having dinner with Danielle at Hansel's House, around seven."
"That's nice, darling."
Again, Amy splashed her feet in the water. " I just want to know who did it and why."
"Don't know yet. As far as we can tell, the killer entered through the front door and escaped through the emergency exit at the end of the hallway at the back of the store."
"The front door?"
"Yes."
Amy placed her palms together as if in prayer. "Then Mr. Earl knew his attacker."
"Possibly."
A group of small children ran by, shouting and splashing in the spring water. Amy watched with smiling eyes remembering when her daughters were that young. Life seemed so much simpler back then.
Nick laughed. "I can hear someone is having an enjoyable time."
"You remember the sound of children? Ours were small such a long time ago."
He laughed again. "Darling, I'll never forget."
Amy became thoughtful. "I suppose Mr. Earl was someone's son."
"Suppose so. It's the part of the job I liked least when I was in uniform, telling relatives a loved one had died. It never got easier."
The words tugged at Amy's heart. There and then she decided to do what she could to help track down the killer. After all, this was personal. Alan Earl was her first client, and whatever his imperfections in character, she didn’t think he deserved to die like this.
"I guess," she said at last. "Mr. Earl and his visitor had an argument that ended in a fight and Mr. Earl's death. The killer panicked and ran out of the back exit."
"Maybe, Sherlock… but the body was dumped in the closet. That suggests it was premeditated."
"I guess so, Holmes."
They laughed.
The swimmer flipped again. When he came up he switched strokes, to butterfly. Water splashed around as he made quick progress.
Nick became serious. "Try to forget about it."
"When your first client is murdered, you can't forget it."
He was silent for a long moment. "Did you get paid?"
"Just the consultation fee. The funds cleared yesterday."
"Well, that is something."
"Yeah, I know, but I might do a little digging."
Nick didn’t seem too agreeable. "Detective Mary Wilson and her team are on the case," he said in the precise soft tone of a seasoned detective who begins by stating the facts. "Leave it to her, she is one of Austin's finest."
Amy persisted. "Didn’t you say the police department is understaffed?"
That stopped him. "Yes and underfunded for that matter. Mary has a lot on her plate now, as we all do, and she is two team members short."
"I won't get in the way."
He sighed heavily and she knew she had persuaded him. "All right," he agreed finally, reluctantly. "But keep out of harm's way and the moment you find anything, let me know."
Chapter 16
Hansel's House heaved with a Saturday night crowd. Regulars fought for tables with out-of-towners who had found the place online. A live jazz band played in the courtyard as dusk slipped into night. It was almost eight thirty, and Amy and Danielle sat inside by a window that looked onto the courtyard, having enjoyed a meal of split pea soup, and rabbit in mustard sauce for the main course.
"What a day!" said Amy, tiredly pushing her plate away and stirring her coffee.
"Tell me about it," replied Danielle. "Here's to no more days like this." She raised her coffee mug.
The friends chinked mugs and laughed.
Outside in the courtyard, the jazz band began the opening notes of "Take Five." Diners got up to dance. Inside
, the windows were closed and sound muted, allowing for conversation.
Danielle leaned forward. "Any news on the investigation?"
There had been little more since Amy's phone call with Nick. "Not much, Nick says the killer came through the front door, that's why it was open. And left by the door at the back of the store."
"It figures. But why did they leave the body in the closet?"
There was a pause while Amy seemed to return from some distant thoughts. "Possibly so the body wouldn't be discovered for a few days," she said finally.
"I hope they catch whoever did it, soon."
"Me too." Amy swirled the remaining coffee around her mug. "That's why I've decided to help."
"Help? How?"
"A little investigative digging."
"You mean like an amateur sleuth?"
"Or a reporter, I studied journalism at college, though I never got to use the degree."
"What has Nick said about you getting involved?"
"He's given me his full support, as long as I don't impede the official investigation. I've no idea what I'll find, but it might help."
Danielle shook her head. "You're crazy."
Amy shrugged. "Nick says the police department is understaffed. Detective Wilson is on the case, but her team is under strength. I doubt they'll make much progress."
"I still think you're crazy."
"Want to join me?"
Danielle drained her coffee, signaled to the waitress for a refill. "Hell, yes! I wouldn't miss this for the world. It's so cool—crazy, but cool. I told Stan about your business and he was all for me getting involved. Haven't told him about the murder yet. I'll probably wait until he gets back."
The waitress hurried over, refilled both mugs. "Dessert?" she asked. "Tonight, we have a special, mustikkapiirak. It's a Finnish blueberry pie made with butter, sugar, flour, local free-range eggs, and organic blueberries."
"Oh yes," they said simultaneously.
They sat in silence, eating the dessert. When they had finished, Danielle glanced around and in a faint voice murmured, "that was delicious, I'd order another if I'd worked out this morning."
"I did, and I will," grinned Amy. "Strolling around Zilker Park burns a ton of calories, you know."
After Amy had ordered a second helping, she turned to her friend.
"Where do you think we should begin?"
"Family would seem to be a logical start," Danielle said decisively.
"I agree."
"I wonder if Mr. Earl was married?" Danielle added looking pleased. "Did he have any kids? Anyway, I'd start there. Maybe Nick can help with an address?"
"I'll check that out."
The jazz band stopped playing. The flagstone cleared of dancers. Waitstaff hurried around taking orders for food and drink. The musicians relaxed in their chairs sipping complimentary beer, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and chatting with the customers.
"What about workers?" asked Amy. "I know it is a small bookstore, but I'd put money on Mr. Earl having a worker or two to help him out, even if it was only part-time."
"I can't imagine working in that tiny store full-time. Where would you go for a break? You couldn't sit in the boss' office at the back, and there is nowhere else."
"That'd be miserable," Amy agreed.
"Miserable enough to commit murder?"
"Who knows? But we'd better speak with the workers."
The two friends talked animatedly about ideas and plans to track down the killer. The one thing they felt certain of was that it would be an exciting few days. If they could get the name and address of Alan Earl's wife, they'd start there, for as Nick often said, "Murders are frequently domestic."
"We'll have this thing wrapped up before the police department is on first base," Amy said looking ecstatic. She loved solving a mystery, especially because Nick was a detective, and although she loved him deeply, she'd also enjoy beating him at his own game.
The band picked up their instruments and dove straight into "Watermelon Man." Diners rushed onto the flagstone, dancing with wild, intoxicated abandon under the clear moon-filled sky.
Chapter 17
The waitress had just brought Amy dessert in an environmentally friendly takeout box when Danielle sat bolt upright.
"Don't look behind you," she whispered.
Amy immediately swiveled her head around to look across the restaurant. She didn't recognize him at first. He wore a gray-silk, button-down shirt, short khaki pants, and black leather sandals. It was the sunglasses designed to hide his face that gave him away. They couldn’t hide his nose.
"Sage Oats!" Amy gasped.
The waiter seated Sage Oats at a small table in a darkened corner. He nodded in appreciation and scanned the eatery. He was with an older woman—in her seventies at least—Amy thought. The older woman was plump, walked with a limp, and had a mass of untidy white hair. She smiled as the waiter made her comfortable, then reached out a hand and gently patted Sage Oats on the cheek. He grinned his wolfish smile.
"Whoa, what's he doing in here?" Danielle asked. "Shouldn't he be at the temple eating nuts and chanting for world peace? And who is the woman?"
"Probably his grandmother," Amy suggested, but her voice gave her away.
"Mrs. Amy King, you don't believe that for one moment!" snapped Danielle.
"No," Amy admitted sheepishly, "I don't."
Danielle continued, "Look at how he is gazing at her. You don't gawk at granny like that!"
"May I clear the table?"
The waitress leaned over and began clearing up.
"Can you get us another pot of coffee, please?" Amy asked.
The waitress stopped, placed her hands on her hips and glared. She was about to say something when Amy slipped a twenty-dollar bill across the table.
"That's for the inconvenience, sweetie. We'll leave a tip as well."
The waitress leaned forward, with a swish of the hand scooped up the note, slipped into the crowd, returning a few moments later with a large coffeepot and two fresh mugs.
"Help yourself, stay as long as you like," she said placing the pot and mugs on the table.
They watched as she disappeared back into the kitchen.
"First the bookstore and now here; what's he up to?" Amy asked.
Danielle shook her head slightly from side to side.
"Do you think it has anything to do with the—"
Amy finished the sentence, "Murder in the bookstore?" She brushed a hand through her hair and continued hesitantly, " I don't know... It's been a difficult day for both of us… Are we imagining things? Seeing connections where there are none… It can't be Sage Oats. It must be someone who looks like him."
They heard a commotion by the entrance and turned to see five men in white robes with fezzes atop their heads, hurry into the restaurant. Amy held her breath as the men surrounded the small table where Sage Oats sat with the woman. Sage Oats took off his sunglasses. His eyes shot up, staring at each man's face. Then the robed men held hands and chanted, rotating slowly clockwise around the table. Sage Oats appeared to collapse, then a moment later he sat bolt upright, his arms outstretched like the pope delivering a blessing.
Just then the waitstaff threw open the windows and the jazz band began to play an instrumental version of "Gangnam Style." Half the customers rushed outside to dance, the other half danced in place, bopping with the waitstaff. Everyone was shouting, laughing, waving napkins in the air, and singing along.
By the time the last notes of the popular dance drifted into the night air, Sage Oats, the woman, and the five robed men were gone.
Chapter 18
Amy let her breath out slowly, trying to make sense of it all. At the moment it seemed like an episode of the Twilight Zone—bizarre. "What on earth is going on?" she asked, knowing Danielle had no answer.
Danielle glanced around at the people returning to their tables. Besides the loud excited chatter and empty table where Sage Oats had sat, everything seemed normal. "
Did we dream this?"
"I'm not sure," replied Amy at last. "But whatever it is or was that happened or didn't happen, it's not good. Not good at all."
Danielle giggled. "You sound like some sort of mystic. Do I have to cross your palm with silver?"
Amy couldn’t help but giggle too. "Wish I was, then I could explain all that happened today. But as it is, I've no idea."
Danielle continued to giggle. "Maybe they put something in the mustikkapiirak." She eyed the takeout box. "Better leave that with me; I'll make sure it won't do any more harm!"
"Not a chance!" laughed Amy. "I know exactly how to get rid of that pie, and it doesn't involve your stomach."
"Okay you keep it! But we'd better leave before we get zapped by aliens or something."
It was the cell phone that ended the friendly banter. Stunned by its suddenness, Amy reached into her bag and peered at the screen.
"Funny, it's a private number. Hello?"
"Amy King, is that you?" The voice, male, sounded official.
"Yes, who's speaking?"
"I'm a friend of Nick's, work at the police station, can't give my name. I wanted to let you know we picked up the perpetrator of the knife attack on Mr. Earl this evening."
"You've got the killer?"
"Yes, the perp is in custody now."
"Who is it?"
There was a pause. "I guess the media will be all over this tomorrow, so it won't hurt if you know now. Please keep it to yourself until it breaks in the press. I'll trust you'll do that?"
"Yes, of course. Who is it?"
The speaker went quiet. Amy heard a mumbled voice in the background, one which was distinctly familiar, female.
"I must go in a moment. The perp is a homeless man by the name of Bert Jennings. He hasn't confessed yet, but he was seen by a young couple near the crime scene, arguing with Mr. Earl. The same couple spotted him today outside the bookstore and alerted us. Mr. Jennings was picked up under the arch of the Congress Avenue bridge over Town Lake. Anyway, you heard none of this from me."
Amy placed her cell phone back in her handbag. A deep sense of relief washed over her.
For a long moment, the friends remained silent. "Who was it?" Danielle said at last, "And what did they say?"
Amy appeared to think about that briefly. "A friend of Nick's." She pressed her hands on the tablecloth. "Danielle, our amateur sleuthing gig is over. They’ve caught Alan Earl's killer."
