by N. C. Lewis
Amy and Nick spent the next hour enjoying breakfast and discussing their daughters' upcoming visit to Austin. After Nick had done the dishes Amy brewed a fresh pot of coffee. "Thanks, dear," said Nick filling a fresh mug and disappearing into the home office.
Amy wandered outside onto the deck, relaxed into a reclining chair and wondered what to do with the rest of the day. She gazed at the sky. Gray clouds hung low blocking out the sun. A breeze from the north kept the temperature in the seventies, but it looked like rain was on the way.
As she half closed her eyes, her cell phone rang.
"Hello," said a female voice." Is this Studio Shoal Seven? I saw your advertisement in the Austin High Society Magazine. I'd like to discuss using your staging services for an upcoming corporate event…"
By the end of the morning, Amy had received several such calls and had arranged meetings with four potential clients. I must get a separate business line, she thought looking at her growing schedule. It didn’t seem as if the murder in the bookstore would have a negative impact on her business after all.
Her cell phone buzzed as she picked up a magazine. She glanced at the screen and smiled. It was a text message from Danielle.
How is Nick? Fancy lunch today? How about noon at the Bellowing Spoon?
Just then Nick strolled out on the deck, stretched his arms out wide and breathed in the morning air filled with lavender and pine. "What are you staring at?" he asked.
"Oh, a text message from Danielle. She wants to meet for lunch today."
"Good idea," Nick said.
"But I don't want to leave you on your own."
"I've got my cell phone."
"Okay honey, I'll meet with Danielle, and please text or call me if you want anything." She typed in her response.
Danielle, that sounds lovely. Nick is doing well. Yes, I can meet you for lunch at noon!
Amy glanced up and held four fingers aloft. "Guess what?"
Nick stared at her hand and chuckled. "Four fingers, now let me see…?" He studied her face closely.
She beamed.
"Got it!" he said. "Four new clients for your business?"
"Oh, you're no fun," laughed Amy. "You can read me like a book!"
Then she told him about the bookings and what the clients had said they wanted.
"Great job, darling," Nick said, hugging and kissing Amy. She let out a deep sigh and held him tight. Nick's cell phone interrupted the moment, ringing urgently and buzzing at the same time.
"That's Detective Wilson," Nick said, stepping away from Amy, pressing the phone to his ear. "Mary, what's up?" He listened intently for several minutes, his only words an occasional "hmm," or "I see." Eventually, he hung up.
Amy watched curiously as Nick sat down, took two deep breaths, and stared out over the backyard. "It's Eddie Yates," he said at last.
"What about him?"
"He's gone!"
"Gone?"
Nick folded his arms. "According to Detective Wilson, the landlady of the Five Star Motel said he jumped ship, disappeared without paying." Nick gave a frustrated sigh and continued. "Guess he has left Austin, might even have headed for the border."
"Mexico?" quizzed Amy.
Nick nodded. "Yeah, Eddie Yates is probably enjoying a pineapple sangrita on a beach in Cabo San Lucas."
Chapter 41
Danielle sat at a table in the Bellowing Spoon fiddling with her cell phone. She gazed out onto the street waiting for Amy. Cars trundled slowly by, stopping every few yards for pedestrians or traffic lights. The sky darkened. Thunder boomed out like a wave hitting a distant shore, but the raindrops didn’t come.
"A window table! My favorite," Amy said sitting down, picking up a menu, although she already knew what she wanted.
"Amy girl! You're looking good. Looks like rain." Danielle peered up out of the window. The clouds seemed to hang low over the city, dark and bloated as if ready to burst. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky. Again, thunder rumbled, a low menacing sound.
"Let's hope it holds off," commented Amy, replacing the menu.
Although the restaurant was busy, the volume of the chatter seemed subdued. Waiters in black waistcoats scurried from table to table. A band began setting up their equipment on a raised stage at the far end of the restaurant. At last, a waiter appeared at their table.
"Medjool date salad," Amy said.
"Blackened catfish with a side salad for me," said Danielle.
The waiter gave a little bow and disappeared into the kitchen. A group of men in business suits entered the restaurant and were seated at a large table close to the kitchen doors. The drummer beat out a little rhythm and grinned at the other members of the band who continued to set up their equipment.
"Amy girl, how is Nick getting along?"
Amy sighed. "He is getting stronger by the day. The doctors say he will make a full recovery, but it will take time."
"I suppose he'll be off work for a while?"
"Yep, the department has offered him an extended period of leave."
"What does that mean?"
"That he won't be back at work soon. It might be several months before he is back to full strength. Nick is going for a full medical exam next week. We'll see what comes of that."
Danielle picked up a glass of water and sipped. "I guess that will slow things down with the business, right?"
Amy laughed. "Doesn't seem so. I've had four new bookings this morning! Things are moving so fast I might have to recruit Nick as an extra pair of hands."
Danielle's eyes grew wide, and she leaned forward. "That's amazing! I really believed the murder would be the end of Studio Shoal Seven."
"So did I," admitted Amy. "Life is full of surprises. Sometimes what appears bad is actually good. Do you know what I mean?"
"Sure do. When I found out that Stan was in a band I didn't think our relationship would last. But here we are, years later, married and happy."
Amy's eyes sparkled. This was her golden chance to update Danielle on the murder in the bookstore. Perhaps they hadn’t made as much progress as they do in the movies, but she enjoyed playing the role of detective, although she wouldn't admit that to Nick. She raised a forefinger to her lip in a secretive gesture. "I have news about the murder."
A couple at a nearby table looked toward them with surprised eyes. Then, shaking their heads returned to sipping wine and their meal.
"Go on," Danielle said lowering her voice, "What's the skinny?"
Amy, knowing what she was about to say was confidential, glanced across the restaurant. The couple at the nearby table were now engaged in an energetic discussion. The woman waved her arms as the man shook his head. There was no one else within listening distance.
Amy took a breath. "I filled in Detective Wilson on our findings—"
Danielle couldn't contain herself and interrupted. "Did she laugh when you mentioned Sage Oats and the death spell?"
Amy flushed, stammered. "Why, uh… I didn't explain it quite like that…. Anyway, Detective Wilson agreed to pay Eddie Yates a visit."
"When?"
Amy was enjoying this game. "Today."
"Good," Danielle said taking a slow sip of water. "Let's hope he is behind bars now, and we can rest easy."
"No, not exactly." Amy paused for a brief breath and continued. "Eddie slipped out of the motel and vanished before Detective Wilson arrived."
"Vanished?" Danielle put her glass down. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. Nick says Eddie might be in Mexico."
Danielle snorted. "Oh well, I suppose that's that! I only wish there was something else we could do, some next step we could take."
"Maybe," began Amy, "… there is. Do you really believe Eddie fled to Mexico?"
Danielle picked up a fork then put it down. "Don't think so. I reckon he is still in Austin. Hiding out in some other flea pit of a motel."
Amy leaned forward. "What makes you say that?"
"Well," said Danielle picking at the tablecloth, "
the man is flat broke. I'd guess the hundred dollars we gave him was about all the money in his pocket. And the landlady said he was having difficulty with the rent. If I'm right, he is still in Austin."
"But where?" asked Amy, sensing Danielle might be right.
Danielle hesitated, then answered with a question. "What would you do if you were in his shoes?"
Amy considered this for several moments. "Contact friends, business associates, anyone to raise a little cash."
"I don't suppose a man who lives in a fleabag motel has many friends," Danielle reflected.
Amy tapped her temple. "Got it!" she said standing up. "If I were in his shoes, I'd contact Tim Clark or Sara Earl."
Danielle blinked. "Why?"
Amy already knew the answer. "For payment on any outstanding manuscripts. Remember Eddie said Alan cut his fee. Now with Alan Earl out of the way, Eddie can ask for his usual rate."
Danielle knew she was right.
They fell silent.
The laughter of the couple at the nearby table drifted across the restaurant. Mumbled chatter, the tinkle of plates and glasses filled the void. Still, the friends remained silent. The sound of distant thunder mixed in with the voices. The storm was passing without a drop of rain.
Then at last, Amy spoke up. "If I were in Eddie Yates shoes, I'd…" her voice trailed off.
At this moment a revelation hit them.
"Visit the bookstore," they said simultaneously.
Suddenly, blindingly there it was, their next step. They stared at each other, grinning.
"Let's stop by the bookstore after dessert," Amy said tapping a fork victoriously against her glass.
Chapter 42
The weather app on Amy's phone showed the rain would hold off, and they walked along Congress Avenue. Streaks of lightning flashed between the clouds as they turned on to Twelfth Street, but the storm was moving to the east, away from the city.
They saw the flames when they crossed West Avenue. The wail of sirens hit their ears moments later. The entire street seemed bathed in an orange glow, flickering, crackling, spluttering. As firefighters raced to contain the flames that spewed out from the A.E. Antiquarian bookstore. Amy and Danielle watched in disbelief and then began the short trek along Twelfth Street to the burning building.
Already the choking smell of burnt wood filled the air. A crowd gathered quickly, blocking the street and hampering the fire crew. They talked excitedly, pointing and waving their arms.
Danielle's hand flew to her mouth. "Look!"
A figure appeared briefly at a window, pounded the glass but disappeared behind a black cloud of choking smoke.
"There's someone inside the store!" yelled a wide-eyed teenager carrying a skateboard under his arm pointing at the burning mass.
"It must be the owner of the store!" shouted a rail-thin woman with a plumb-shaped nose.
"No, no," came a familiar voice. "The owner of the bookstore died a few days ago. It's his assistant, Tim Clark. I've said a prayer for him, but I fear it is too late. That store was cursed from the very beginning."
Amy turned to see the speaker. It was Sage Oats, arms folded across his chest with a look Amy couldn't read on his face. It was the type of look you could guess at and get right fifty percent of the time. Amy guessed satisfied, extremely satisfied.
Two emergency medical services ambulances arrived. They parked on the opposite side of the street. The crowd surged around them as the paramedic crew peered out through the windshields of their vehicles.
"Look! Look!" Danielle cried again as the figure reappeared in the storefront window momentarily before vanishing in a swirl of smoke. "That's him," she cried horrified. "It's Tim Clark, we have to do something!"
Amy placed a hand on Danielle's arm and shook her head sadly at the intensity of the blaze. There was nothing that could be done. The fire was too intense, the smoke too thick. It was down to the firefighters and emergency medical crew now.
"They won't bring him out alive," muttered the same rail-thin woman. "That life is lost."
"So it seems," added a weasel-faced man wearing tattered blue jeans and a torn, white T-shirt. "So it seems."
Now the police cars arrived, and uniformed officers began clearing onlookers away. Sage Oats turned, hurrying back inside the temple, the weasel-faced man slipped away into the shadows and the crowd dispersed.
When an unmarked police car pulled up to the curb and Detective Wilson stepped out, Amy turned to Danielle. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"To speak with Esther Bara."
Chapter 43
By the time they arrived back at the Bellowing Spoon, the band was playing an old Bob Marley tune. The restaurant waiting area now packed, bobbed and swayed to the music. There wasn't a free table—anyhow, it was too noisy for conversation. They turned, hurrying to the covered parking garage at the back of the restaurant.
"I'm still trembling," Danielle said as they stood by their parked cars.
"Me too! My mind is still processing things, but right now I'm drawing a blank."
Danielle raked a hand through her hair. "Do you think the firefighters were able to save Tim?"
"If they got him out, the medical staff were on standby."
"But do you think they saved him?" Danielle asked again.
"It'd be a miracle."
Danielle's eyes went dull. "That's what I think. Do you believe it was an accident?"
Amy tilted her head to one side as if considering the question for the first time, but she had been thinking of nothing else as they walked back to the Bellowing Spoon. "Someone said it was a lightning strike… but it might have been deliberate."
"Sage Oats or one of his followers?" Danielle asked.
"Maybe, or perhaps Eddie Yates showed up, and they got into an argument. Then Eddie torched the store."
"Or," said Danielle speaking fast, "Esther Bara."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Danielle pulled out her cell phone. "Let's see if I can find her address. "She tapped, scrolled, and peered into her screen. After five minutes, she looked up. "Nothing," she said in a frustrated voice. "Esther is off the radar."
"Try Tim Clark," Amy said. "I believe they live together."
Again, Danielle tapped into her cell phone.
"Bingo! The apartment complex is on East Riverside Drive. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."
Chapter 44
Amy sat in her car outside the East Riverside apartment complex waiting for Danielle. It was one of those wood and drywall constructions built in the eighties, with a weathered, mock-Tudor façade and windows with tiny glass panes. There was a surprising amount of activity too. Workers on ladders were painting one side of the building. A group of electricians in orange hard hats stood around a large, gray electrical box.
She turned up the AC and flipped on the radio.
.… fire at the bookstore on Twelfth Street not the result of a lightning strike nor electrical failure. The police suspect arson. "We are following all possible leads," said Detective Mary Wilson of the Austin Police Department. Now the capital city weather. The early storms have largely evaporated, and we can expect bright sunshine for the rest of today.
She turned the radio off, pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and dialed Danielle.
"Amy girl! I'm out of gas. Filling up now, should be at the apartment in fifteen minutes."
"Okay, I'll wait," Amy replied placing the phone on the passenger seat.
From out of the shadows of a stairwell, a stooped woman dressed in rags with a yellow scarf tight around her head pushed a shopping cart full of plastic bags. She pushed it along the sidewalk, then out into the parking lot, stopping for an instant to stare into Amy's car. Amy was surprised to see the woman had a young face. The woman looked away, gave the cart a shove and shuffled by muttering into a plastic bag.
Amy continued to stare out of the windshield when Esther Bara appeared. She wore tight-fitting blue jeans an
d a simple peach blouse. Gone were the expensive clothes at the funeral home. But it was Esther all right. She walked with a quick step, the picture of a woman who had all the self-assurance of good looks.
With no real thought, Amy climbed out of her car and hurried after her. She half ran across the car lot, onto a sidewalk and into a stairwell. "Esther!" she called, catching up outside her apartment as Esther put the key in the lock.
Esther glanced over her shoulder. Her face did not register recognition. "Yes, what do you want?"
"My name is Amy King, I'd like to speak with you about Tim, Tim Clark."
"Tim? What about him?"
Amy hesitated. She didn't know whether Esther knew about the fire. She hedged, "And Alan Earl."
Esther pushed the door open. "You'd better come in."
Amy stepped through the doorway into a narrow, dimly lit hallway, following Esther into a small kitchen with a window that looked out onto the complex.
"Take a seat. Want a coffee?" Esther said, slipping out of her shoes and tossing them into a corner.
"Coffee would be great." Amy sat down at the kitchen table.
Esther took her time putting on the coffeepot, and for several minutes longer Amy said nothing, delaying the questions she had to ask and the inquiries she had to make. The wail of a baby pierced the stillness like the starting gun in a footrace.
"Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you had a baby," Amy said in a soft voice. "How old?"
"Two months," Esther laughed. "Not my baby, it's from next door. The walls in this apartment are paper thin."
A toilet flushed, and a door slammed.
"Neighbors!" Esther said, pouring out two mugs of coffee, sitting opposite Amy. "Now, please tell me why you are here?"
Amy glanced up at the kitchen clock. "I was hoping my friend Danielle would be here by now."
"Someone else is coming?" Esther asked through narrowing eyes.
"Yes, she should be here any moment."
"Oh," Esther said taking a gulp of air. "Why don't you continue, and I'll do my best to help."
Amy explained how she and Danielle had discovered Alan's body in the bookstore, and how she thought the death might damage her business, and why she was helping the police track down the killer.
Esther listened with patience, occasionally dabbing her eyes and sighing. When Amy had finished, Esther got up from the table, washed the coffeepot and turned to look at Amy.
