The Elephant Bowl

by Charles Prandy

  I set the bowl on top of my desk and looked at it, and then back to the notepad. There was definitely a small crack in its base. Can this be the same bowl? If so, what does this mean? Maybe it means nothing – maybe the older couple got it at a yard sale, just like I did. They did say it was their granddaughter’s; it’s totally possible that they picked it up somewhere for her. My thoughts then shifted to Shelton Sewell. There was no reason for me to entertain any doubts; he’d admitted to the crime, and bullets from her body were matched to his gun. Items belonging to Payton were even found at Shelton’s residence; the case was airtight. So why did I have this sinking feeling that I’d missed something?

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 9:53 p.m. The couple lived fifteen minutes from the station. I wondered if I should go to their house straight away. I could wait until the morning, but there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep with so many questions running through my mind. Intrigue got the best of me, so I decided to go to the couple’s home.

  I reached it in twelve minutes. The house was dark. I got out of my car and approached. I moved quickly, almost sneaking, but the doorbell sounded so loudly that it chimed throughout the quiet neighborhood. Thirty seconds passed with no answer. I assumed that they were asleep and was about to turn back to my car when a light came on in the foyer and the front door opened slowly.

  Frederick stood behind the screen door wearing a blue robe. His hair was a little disheveled, and it took him a moment to recognize my face. I smiled and waved politely.

  “Sorry, miss, but the yard sale ended a couple of days ago,” he said with a kind smile.

  “I know, and I’m sorry to show up at this time of night.” I pulled out my detective’s badge and showed it to him.

  “Oh, you’re a police officer.”

  “Detective, actually.”

  “That’s mighty fine. I hope we weren’t breaking the law with our yard sale.”

  “No,” I replied, holding out my purchase. “I just had a question about this bowl.”

  “Oh, yes, that was my granddaughter’s. Something wrong with it? Are you looking to get your money back?”

  “No, the bowl is fine. I wanted to know if you remember where you got it from.”

  Frederick scratched his head and pursed his lips, saying, “Not that I can remember. She was only a child when we gave it to her. Has to have been more than ten years ago.”

  “That’s understandable,” I replied, nodding. “It’s hard for me to remember where I bought something two weeks ago.” We both chuckled. “How about your wife? Think she’d remember?”

  Frederick smiled, but the innocent and caring look he’d given when he recognized me had changed slightly. He was still pleasant, but he took a small step backwards and his right hand began to fidget. The change gave me pause and made me wonder what he was keeping from me.

  “Oh, my wife’s not feeling well,” he murmured.

  I tilted my head to the right and blinked a couple of times. “Sorry to hear that.”

  He leaned in a little and said, “She’s in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.”

  “Oh, I’m truly sorry.”

  He nodded and lowered his eyes, adding, “She’d been showing symptoms for the past few months. I knew something wasn’t right with her. One day she couldn’t find her keys, and then she couldn’t find her glasses. Sometimes, she’d lose her train of thought. The signs were there, but I guess I was in denial.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about that. Listen, I can come by another time. I won’t hold you up any longer.”

  “That’s okay, Detective. People like you are what make our streets safer.”

  I nodded and thanked him. I handed him my card and told him that if anything came to mind, to give me a call. I turned to leave but paused for a moment.

  “Did you know a Payton Wells?”

  Frederick scrunched his eyebrows. He hesitated a moment before he spoke, but when he did, I sensed a slight quiver in his voice.

  “Who?”

  “A woman named Payton Wells used to own a bowl like this.”

  “Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell,” Frederick replied, shaking his head. I smiled and again thanked him for his time. As I walked to my car, I got the feeling that Frederick was still watching me.

  Chapter Five

  I tossed and turned throughout the night. I may have dozed a little between the hours, but for the most part my conversation with Frederick kept my mind spinning. Did he and his wife know Payton Wells? If so, does it mean anything? Of course it does! When I noticed the first rays of the sun through my window, I decided to get out of bed and go to the precinct.

  I ordered a venti coffee with two shots of espresso from Starbucks. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but I wanted to dig into the Payton Wells boxes to see if there was something I’d missed twelve years ago. What should I expect to find? Truthfully, I hoped it would be nothing. Shelton Sewell was dead and gone, with no reason to suspect anyone else was involved in the break-in and murder. Frederick had said that he didn’t know Payton Wells, yet the investigator in me sensed that something wasn’t finished.

  When I entered the precinct, I headed to my desk, but an officer stopped me to say that a woman was waiting for me in the lobby. I walked to the door that separated the lobby from the back offices and peered through a small, square window, and spotted Olivia reading a magazine. I furrowed my brow and was nearly at a loss for words; I didn’t know what to make of her showing up so early in the morning, or at all for that matter.

  “Olivia?” I said as I walked to her. She raised her head and smiled.

  “Detective Miller. My husband said that you came by last night.”

  “I did. You… I’m sorry, I’m surprised that you’re here.”

  “Well, I figured that if you came back, it must have been something important.” She pulled out the card that I’d given Frederick. “I took a cab right over. I would have driven, but I’m not so good with going places that I’ve never been before.”

  “You didn’t have to come here,” I said politely. “I would have come back to you if you called.”

  “I’m sure you would have, but this gave me a reason to get out of the house. We don’t get out much anymore.”

  “I understand,” I said, motioning for her to stand. “Please, let’s go somewhere and talk.”

  She stood slowly and followed me to a conference room a few halls away.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink?” I asked.

  Olivia smiled, but shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

  I nodded. “So, how are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her hands rested on top of the table and her shoulders slouched. Her demeanor changed drastically, and her eyes fell to her lap.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

  She looked up, and the sparkle that I’d seen in her eyes was gone.

  “I’m worried about Frederick, that’s all.”

  “Is something wrong with him?”

  She exhaled, and as she did her eyes started to tear.

  “He’s not well.” She took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “This year will be our forty-third wedding anniversary. We met when we were teenagers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that he’s not doing well. May I ask what’s wrong with him?”

  “Doctors say it’s Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, scrunching my eyebrows, “what’d you say?”

  She dabbed her eyes again, saying, “Sometimes, when he looks at me, I don’t think he knows who I am.”

  “Did you say Alzheimer’s?”

  She nodded. “I started noticing it about a year ago. I was too afraid to confront him about it. I mean, how do you say to someone you love, ‘Honey, I think you’re unwell’?”

  I sat for a moment, not sure how to respond. Unless my memory was playing tricks on me, Olivia was supposed to be the one suffering from Alzheimer’s.r />
  “Olivia, did Frederick tell you why I came by last night?”

  “He did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That you were asking about the bowl you bought from us.”

  “Do you know Payton Wells?”

  She looked as if she was lost in thought and then said, “Name doesn’t sound familiar.” A second later, her voice perked a little and her eyes widened with a glimmer of excitement. “You know, I may have something at home!” She leaned closer in her seat. “I was kind of joking when I said I was a hoarder… I’m not, but I do have tendencies. I keep a lot of stuff, and I may have a receipt or something from when I bought that bowl.”

  “Really? You keep receipts from that long ago?”

  “Part of my OCD. I always think that I’m going to get audited by the IRS.”

  I nodded.

  “If you want,” she said, “you can come by and help me look. Maybe it’ll help you find this Payton person.”

  I smiled and said, “Sure, whenever you and Frederick have time, I’d love to come by.”

  “We’re retired. All we have is time.”

  “Oh, you want to go now?”

  “No better time than the present. Frederick should be up by now; I can make us a big breakfast.”

  “Thanks, but coffee is fine for me.”

  Olivia smiled again.

  “Then coffee it is.”

  Chapter Six

  Twenty minutes later, Olivia and I walked through her front door.

  “Fred,” she called out. Frederick didn’t answer, and there was no sound to suggest he was up. “For the love of the Lord, he’s still sleeping.” She led me through a short hallway and into their living room, gesturing for me to take a seat. “I’ll get that coffee brewing.”

  As I sat, I looked around the room and noticed all of the family photos; the walls were nearly covered with happy memories. A few moments later, Olivia returned to the living room, and I started to smell the aroma of coffee.

  “Lovely house,” I said.

  “We moved to the neighborhood in the late seventies and we never left.”

  “Wow, that’s a long time to stay in one house.”

  “This is where we raised our family. So many memories here that I’d lose my mind if we moved somewhere else.”

  “Speaking of family, I see that you have a son,” I said, pointing to the pictures on the wall.

  “He’s my angel.”

  “He was a handsome kid,” I replied, and she nodded happily. “So,” I continued, “last night when I came to your house, Frederick and I spoke for a few minutes.”

  “Yes, I know, you asked about the bowl.”

  “I did. But, and I’m sorry to be saying this, Frederick told me that you were the one suffering from Alzheimer’s.”

  “I figured as much. I noticed your expression when I said that he had Alzheimer’s.”

  “So you understand my confusion, then?”

  “We haven’t told many people about his condition, but the ones who do know, they’ve come back to me on a few occasions and said that Frederick has told them the same thing. But those people are close friends of ours, so they know the truth.”

  “Oh, I see. My apologies again for your troubles.”

  We fell silent for a moment, edging into awkwardness. I looked at the framed pictures on the wall and asked Olivia the age of her son.

  “His forty-sixth birthday passed earlier this year.”

  “I’m sure he’s a fine man.”

  “He’s beautiful, if you ask me. But then again, I’m a bit biased.”

  We both chuckled at the comment.

  “Was the elephant bowl his daughter’s?” I asked, but Olivia was staring at one of the pictures and didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, after a moment.

  “The elephant bowl. Was it his daughter’s? You said at the yard sale that it was your granddaughter’s.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I was caught in a thought. It was her bowl.”

  The coffee pot beeped and Olivia broke into a wide smile.

  “Coffee’s ready. How do you like it?”

  “Two sugars, please.”

  Oliva left for the kitchen and returned moments later with a cup of coffee. She looked towards the ceiling and frowned.

  “Let me check on Frederick. Sometimes, he’s been known to sleep through the entire morning. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back shortly.”

  I took a sip of the coffee. It was a little stronger than I liked, but it definitely gave me the kick I needed. Energized, I stood up and took a closer look at the pictures on the walls. Most were of their son when he was younger, but as I walked around the room, I came upon a table at the far wall, a white photo album sitting in pride of place. I opened the first page and saw more pictures of their son when he was a boy. As I flipped through the pages, I began to realize that all the pictures were of their son. At first, it struck me as strange, but then Olivia had already told me that all she had was time. If she wanted to spend it leafing through images of her ‘angel’, that didn’t seem so unreasonable.

  Several pages into the album, I came across a picture of the son with a girl. They seemed to be in their late teens or early twenties. I was getting ready to flip the page when something about the girl struck me as familiar. She was blonde, tall, lean and beautiful. I couldn’t be sure, but she looked like a young Payton Wells. My heart fluttered a little and goosebumps immediately formed on my arms.

  “Can’t be,” I said to myself. I turned the page and gasped. A funeral program took up the entire page, Olivia’s son plastered across the front cover. His name was underneath, ‘Frederick Brownstone Jr.’, followed by the span of his life, ‘March 16, 1970 – June 4, 1993’. Twenty-three years old, I thought to myself. I turned back to the previous page and studied the girl’s image a little closer. I remembered pictures I’d seen of Payton in her home. There was one in particular that had hung over the fireplace; an image of her and her husband. I remembered him telling me that the picture was taken when they were both twenty-eight. Comparing the images in my head, there was no doubt the girl before me was Payton Wells.

  “He was my life,” Olivia said from behind me. I hadn’t heard her come down, and when I turned around, I nearly stumbled back. I grabbed for my sidearm, feeling like my lungs had been entirely emptied of air, but fumbled with the latch. Olivia stood across the room with a bloody machete in one hand and her husband’s head in the other.

  Chapter Seven

  The shock of seeing a decapitated head in someone’s grasp caused me to struggle with the latch on my holster, but I was finally able to remove it and pulled out my sidearm. I quickly raised it, aiming at Olivia’s chest.

  “What have you done?” I cried.

  She stood across the living room, smirking cruelly. Blood dripped from Frederick’s neck, soaking into the carpet.

  “You did this when you came back with that bowl,” she said. Her eyes appeared vacant, almost as if her soul was no longer there.

  “Put the blade down, Olivia.”

  “My son was perfect in every way.”

  “Olivia, please, put down the blade.”

  “Frederick and I struggled for the longest time to have a child,” she continued, ignoring my instruction. “Then, one day, He came to me in a vision and told me that I was going to have a son who would change the world.”

  “Olivia—”

  “We were such a happy family.” She paused for a moment, and the smirk became a preoccupied scowl. “Then that demon came into our lives and took him from us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Payton. She wanted him for herself.”

  “Payton Wells?”

  “Payton Mueller,” she said, and I recognized the maiden name. “He met her at that godforsaken university.” The longer Olivia spoke, the more distant her gaze became. “He stopped coming home on the weekends and spent all of his free time with h
er. Then the week before graduation…” Her voice trailed off and her hollow eyes started to tear. “He hit a tree head on and died instantly.” For a second, life seemed to reappear in Olivia’s eyes and I felt like she was looking at me for the first time since she’d left the room. “That demon killed him.”

  “Olivia, you need to put the blade down. Now!”

  “She killed him. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Payton killed your son?”

  “She put the poison in his body,” Olivia continued, nodding, “and then he got in the car!”

  “Your son was drinking and driving?”

  “No, you stupid bitch,” she screamed, veins bulging in her neck. “He would never drink on his own! She forced him to drink and she forced him to drive.”

  “Was she in the car?”

  “No,” Olivia replied, shaking her head. “She knew what she was doing. Since she couldn’t have him all to herself, she killed him.”

  “Olivia, I’m sorry for your son’s death, but you aren’t making any sense. Now, I’m only going to tell you one more time. Put down the blade.”

  “Shelton knew she was a demon, too,” she said, slowly raising the machete to eye level.

  “What do you know about Shelton Sewell?”

  “Shelton was like the son I lost. He loved us dearly and wanted to help make amends for our son’s death. And he did, by ridding the Earth of that demon.”

  “You told Shelton to kill Payton?”

  “It was his desire to help us.”

  I wanted to ask more, but words failed me. Questions flooded my mind as I held my aim. Why didn’t I know about this couple during the investigation?

  “How did you know Shelton?” I asked.

  “That doesn’t matter anymore. The demon is dead, and Frederick and I are at peace.”

  “You killed Frederick.”

  She pointed the machete at me, growling, “No, you did.”