by N. C. Lewis
Several minutes passed as I recounted recent events. When I mentioned the garden hoe Roger interrupted.
"Are you sure? It must be a different garden hoe. I have the one Chastity loaned me right here."
Off he scurried, only to return a few minutes later, empty handed and ashen faced.
"Where the hell is it? It's gone!"
In silence we stood for several moments, each digesting the news and trying to figure out what it meant. Madame Bleu appeared. With flushed face she stared, her eyes narrowed, at Roger.
"Oh la la, whoever took the garden hoe is le meurtrier…the murderer!"
Now Professor Purple was on Millie's other hand. He jutted out his chin and turned to gape, with beady eyes, at Roger.
"Ah," he said as though a floodlight had suddenly turned on. "The Sheriff's department will conduct a thorough forensic examination of the murder weapon. I wonder who's fingerprints they will find?"
No one spoke, although we all knew the answer.
Then Professor Purple said reluctantly, "There seems to be only one possible solution."
"Oui," said Madame Bleu, "find the motive and you have le killer."
We all looked at Roger.
He turned to glare at the sock puppets, cleared his throat, and said, "Well, I'll cross that bridge later." Then, in a flourish of false bravado, he leaned forward to give Madame Bleu a peck, but she trembled and disappeared into Millie's handbag. Professor Purple looked on, a devilish grin on his sock puppet face.
The conversation turned towards Teddy Markovich.
"Oh, I remember Teddy," said Roger. "I didn't realize he and Garrick were related. The guys called him Teddy W, no idea why."
Only then did I mention the tin filled with letters written by a mysterious 'W'. Out from my handbag I pulled one of the letters, and passed it around.
"Any idea who 'W' might be?" I asked Roger.
Slowly, he shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell, might be an old flame, a woman?"
Millie had the letter in one hand and Professor Purple the other. They both examined the letter.
"Probably not from a woman," said Professor Purple, turning to look in my direction.
Millie nodded. "There is no emotional content, it is quite clinical. Not from an old flame either. Did Teddy have a daughter or a son?"
Roger shook his head.
"Not as far as I know. Garrick Markovich visited with him. But Garrick visited with a lot of people in the residential home. Strange that neither of them mentioned their relationship though."
Millie spoke up. "I'll do a little digging if you like Ollie. I might turn up something through my newspaper contacts."
With little more to say on the subject we fell into silence.
Chapter 31
The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, and the spot lights that illuminated the back of the Green Bar Grill glowed like multiple silvery moons.
"How about we grab a bite to eat?" said Roger rubbing his hands.
"Oh no," said Millie, "I forgot to mention, Johnny Spinner the radio host, is joining us for your demonstration. He also writes for the Medlin Creek Times and has agreed to be a stand in for the newspaper owner."
Roger stiffened, and an anxious expression settled in his eyes. "No need, Millie, no need. I'll rearrange the demonstration for a more convenient day. Let's eat now before it gets too late. Wouldn't you like a nice bit of smoked brisket?"
"Boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya."
It was too late, Johnny Spinner, the host of the local radio station MCR 101.1 FM had arrived.
Johnny repeated his radio catchphrase again, this time spiraling in circles, arms flailing like a demented crab.
"Boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya."
In front of us he stopped, gave a little bow and swept Millie into his arms. Together they salsa danced around the hut.
"Just like old times," laughed Millie.
Johnny grinned.
Eventually, the couple came to a stop in front of us.
"It was great fun dancing with you in college, Millie. But I think you're even better today," smiled Johnny, his handsome face brushing her cheeks.
Millie blushed.
Johnny laughed and took Millie's hand. "Honey, take me to your newswriting machine."
Roger stumbled forward and with a hesitant hand unlocked the door. Inside, the dim shadows cast by the low wattage bulb gave the antique equipment an almost mystical aura.
"Wow," scoffed Johnny as his eager eyes danced over the ancient machinery. "It ain't Star Trek. Roger, if you could go back to the 1950s I bet you'd really kick some butt with this equipment."
Roger scowled.
Millie said, "Looks can be deceiving, wait till you see what it can do." Her voice shrill with excitement continued. "Now, Roger, although the newspaper owner isn't here for the demonstration, let's give Johnny full value. Do you have the suit?"
Under his breath Roger cursed and left the hut. He returned five minutes later, wearing a sparkly silver jumpsuit with cogs and wheels sewn into the fabric to give it a mechanical appearance. He was like the tin man in the Wizard of Oz, only stooped, with bandy legs, and a boxy metallic head.
"Hi, I'm Mr. Robotic, my friends call me Robo," he said in a sullen voice.
"I love it, worth every penny," cried Johnny. "Boo-ya do-ya robo-ya," he yelled, collapsing to the floor in laughter.
I grabbed my cell phone ready to take some snaps as my lips curved into a smile. Millie gave me 'the look'. I put the cell phone away and my face into neutral, but was cracking up inside.
Millie slapped Johnny. "This is serious business. Robo will guide us through the rest of the demonstration." She waved her hand in the air like a starter at a Formula One Grand Prix. "Mr. Robotic, are you ready?"
Roger shuffled with stiff legs and mechanical arms towards the far corner of the hut. I marveled at his commitment to the Mr. Robotic role. But soon realized, given the design of the outfit, he had little choice but to move in a mechanistic fashion.
"Damn suit," he muttered sitting down at the large video display unit. "Can barely walk in it."
Roger pressed a button. An ancient computer screen flickered and glowed into life. He looked down at the giant mechanical keyboard and with dexterity entered several keystrokes. The low wattage bulb dimmed for an instant then brightened. A menu popped up on the screen. Roger turned his boxy head, but did not look at us as he spoke.
"All you have to do," Roger's voice trembled now, "is choose a story from the menu displayed on the screen. The computer will generate a news story from the facts you input."
Johnny rushed forward to peer at the options. "Fish fry," he yelled. Then in way of explanation continued, "The owner of the newspaper wants a fresh angle on the Friends of the Riverside Trail Fish Fry. I have to write an article about it."
Millie scowled and opened her mouth to say something, but Roger spoke first. "Yes, yes, yes, love me a bit of fried fish." The anxiety in his voice suddenly diminished. "Marvelous choice Johnny, fish fry is definitely the way to go."
After the final piece of information was input Roger pressed a green key. "It'll generate the report now," he said with rising confidence.
There was a hissing and a crackling, followed by a whirring and a clanging, as one of the dot-matrix printers juddered into action.
Johnny sprinted towards the printer, his eyes open wide and tongue hanging out of his mouth like an overheated Basset hound. "Gimme, gimme."
Roger pushed his chair, the tiny wheels spun, and it sped past Johnny, coming to a stop at the spluttering printer.
"Not yet, Johnny," Roger said, holding up his robotic arm and exuding the confidence of a seasoned gunslinger. "We must let the artificial intelligence complete the task."
"Of course, yes, I see," said Johnny as he bent to one side as though to read the printing words.
Finally, the printer gave a conclusive judder. Roger stepped away from the ancient device and Johnny rushed forward. He scooped up t
he printed sheets and began to read out loud.
"The lines have been getting longer for the Friends of the Riverside trail fish fry every year, and maybe part of the reason is the delicious but secret coating created by head fish fry cook Olga Lilian Thompson, known by her friends as Olliebeak. This Friday's fry-up will be the last time she makes her creation because as the pots and pans are put away, Olga will begin a two-year road trip that will include Alaska and Peru."
"Boo-ya do-ya spinner-ya," yelled Johnny overjoyed and spinning around with his arms outstretched.
Millie stared with dagger eyes at Roger. His face reddened as he shuffled uncomfortably avoiding eye contact.
"Roger, but isn't this—"
"Another," cried Johnny, "before Millie could finish her sentence."
"One is quite sufficient for tonight," responded Roger, a slight tremble in his voice.
"Now, now Mr. Robotic, I'm going to report my findings back to the owner of the newspaper." Johnny's voice was insistent.
Roger seemed stricken, but his fingers typed in the necessary keystrokes, as Millie looked on her face frozen into an ugly grimace.
Johnny chose 'holiday luncheon' from the menu of choices. This time, he only wanted a five-hundred-word article. The dot-matrix printer rattled off sheet after sheet clattering and whirring as it reached its maximum speed. Johnny hopped from foot to foot clasping his hands into a tight ball.
At last, the printer fell silent. Johnny grasped the first sheet in his hand and began to read.
"Africknlemweilspz sneleuwnslyu…"
He picked up a second sheet.
"Bwickleny peulnleewnau…"
The other sheets read along similar lines.
"What the—"
"Fine tuning," interrupted Roger, "the system needs a little fine-tuning. It will only take a day or two."
"Two days," growled Johnny. "Millie, five hundred dollars for two reports tonight, that was the deal!"
My mouth hung open. Roger took off his robotic head. Millie's face reddened, and her eyes darted around the shed looking for something other than our staring eyes.
Everyone began to shout.
Professor Purple appeared and tried to calm things down. But on seeing the threatening glare in Roger's eyes quickly returned to Millie's handbag.
"Thank goodness the newspaper owner wasn't here to witness this debacle, or you'd be looking for another job," yelled Johnny through clenched teeth as he stormed out of the shed.
As calmness returned, Millie apologized, as did Roger.
"To tell you the truth," sighed Roger, "the business certification for seniors' course I passed last year encouraged us to outsource things we're not good at, so I did. I'm not very good at computer programming."
"You outsourced the programming?" I asked for clarification.
"No, I outsourced the entire artificial intelligence project."
"So, the artificial intelligence programmer is from overseas?" Millie asked.
"No, no," replied Roger. "I wanted someone local, so I used one of those Hill Country internet job search sites. Halfway through the project the programmer, a youngster, demanded a pay raise, said he was worth ten times what I was paying him. I'm retired and on a fixed income, so I refused to pay."
Millie sighed. "Did you say the programmer was local?"
"Yes, but I've never met him, a young man by the name of Pickle Bramley."
Chapter 32
The next morning…
An angry buzz jolted me awake. My hand instinctively hit snooze. The buzzing continued. Half awake, eyes closed, I picked up the cell phone.
"Hello."
"Ollie, you awake? It's Millie."
Through my eyelids I peeped. The sun was already up, bright golden streaks shimmered through the bedroom window. It was late.
"Got news about 'W'," she said.
I sat up.
Millie continued. "Garrick wasn't an only child—"
"How many brothers and sisters did he have?"
"Only one. A twin by the name of Wanda."
I gazed at the cell phone for a few moments, cleared my throat, then said, "Wanda Markovich?"
"No, Wanda Martinez. Garrick and Wanda were separated after birth, not sure why. But they grew up in different homes. As far as I can tell, Wanda was raised in Wisconsin, but moved around. The adopted family was in the military."
"Oh," I replied, still collecting myself. Then as my mind cleared I said, "What about family?"
"Both parents died several years ago, and Wanda has disappeared off the radar. I've asked Bob to do a little digging around to see what he find out." Bob Lukey, Millie's boyfriend, worked as a lawyer in Austin.
I fell silent.
Millie spoke her thoughts aloud. "Looks like it might have the legs to be a feature story for the Medlin Creek Times, 'Beloved Garrick Markovich's relative discovered?'"
"Possible…it might work," I said. "It's a local interest story, the newspaper owner might buy that."
"Right now," confided Millie, "I'm desperate to find something to replace the artificial intelligence news reporting machine. I must turn in a relevant story to the newspaper owner, a sizzler, like you'd read in the Austin American Statesman. Garrick and Wanda are the best I've got."
"Certainly beats the fish fry," I murmured in agreement.
Millie continued. "Agreed, but I need to find an address for Wanda. Ollie, I'll let you know what I discover."
I slid out of bed, showered, slipped into blue stretch jeans and chose a short-sleeved lemon blouse to brighten my mood. In the kitchen I put on a pot of coffee while I ate a bowl of cereal. Bodie pranced around eager for his morning walk.
"Sorry, Bodie, got up too late today. Tomorrow we'll hit the trail, I promise."
The hound's ears drooped, but pricked up again when I opened the door. Out he bounded, off towards the outbuildings.
Millie's information caught me by surprise. I'd thought that 'W' would forever remain a mystery. Now, I had a name. It wasn't much, but I'd share it with Chastity, and return the tin of Teddy's papers.
Chastity picked up on the first ring and we arranged to meet at the Medlin Creek Baptist Church where she had volunteered to help clean the sanctuary.
◆◆◆
I'd stopped by Moozoos to pick up coffee and donuts for Chastity. Food often softens the mood and I hoped it would work with her. The newly painted parking spaces, empty on my earlier visit, were filled with an assortment of trucks and sports utility vehicles. The visitor parking spots were all taken, so I parked in a space towards the back of the car lot, some distance from the church entrance.
As I strolled across the lot, the church bus pulled in. The ancient vehicle rumbled to a stop at the main entrance and a gaggle of teenagers, laughing and joking, spilled out. Together they strolled, in that easy lazy way characteristic of teenagers, to the yard at the rear.
The bus driver waved as I walked past. I waved back, although I couldn't see the face through the tinted glass.
"Ollie."
The call came from inside the bus, the driver. I stopped and turned around. Bobby Williams slipped out of the bus, a large cardboard box in his hand, and a broad smile on his athletic face. "Today I'm working with teenagers from Medlin Creek High. The kids get volunteer hours, and I get help tidying up the church yard. That's what I call a win-win all around." Bobby tipped his head back and let out a loud and boisterous laugh.
Suddenly, he took a step closer, lowered his voice and whispered, "Chastity mentioned you spoke with her. She said I should apologize for my earlier behavior. I guess she's right. I'm sorry for losing my temper the other day. It wasn't your fault, it's just that when you mention Garrick—"
"Hey, Mr. Williams, where do you want us to start?"
A thin faced teenager stared at Bobby waiting for instruction.
"You guys can begin by clearing the trash from the Xeriscape area. There is a box of garbage bags under the bench by the Prickly Pear Cactus."
&n
bsp; "Yes, sir," said the teenager as he sprinted back towards the churchyard.
Bobby returned his attention to me.
"Man, it's a relief to be out of the crosshairs of the Sheriff's department investigation into Garrick Markovich. It's no fun being taken in for questioning."
I let out a sympathetic murmur and was eager for him to continue. "That's never an easy one," I said, trying to hide my impatience. "But what happened next?"
Bobby puffed out his cheeks. "The good news is I wasn't charged with anything, and unless those dopey deputies can find something that links me to his death I never will be."
Again, he took a step closer. Then turned to look around. There was no one in earshot.
"Just so that you know, I wasn't involved in Garrick's untimely demise. The man was a very good friend."
He looked around one more time. Then as he began to walk towards the rear of the church said, "The Sheriff's department hasn't identified a cause of death yet, and the forensic investigation is still ongoing. My guess is Garrick died of natural causes, all this talk of murder is ridiculous."
◆◆◆
Inside the church, I found Chastity in the choir loft mopping the floor. She put the mop down and I handed over the donuts and coffee. She immediately took a greedy slurp from the cup and several large bites from the donuts.
"Yum, this is good." It appeared Chastity approved of coffee with donuts as she approved a few other things.
After I explained all I had discovered, Chastity gave me a hug, and I returned the tin with the letters. She grabbed it with both hands and turned to gaze into the distance with sadness in her eyes.
"Ollie," she said calling me by my first name. "I loved Garrick…I'd hoped he would propose but…"
She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, then sighed. "Garrick loved me, he said so, but there was something stopping him… and then he disappeared. I guess I'll never find out why."
We sat together in silence for some time, and I offered up a private prayer that Garrick's killer would be caught and brought to justice. Although, I knew in my heart the chance was now very slim.