by N. C. Lewis
I recounted the events of the previous evening, took a sip of coffee, and sat back to listen to the response of my two trusted friends. No one spoke.
Millie tugged at the tablecloth, stirred a spoon in her cup, and cleared her throat. "Not sure what to tell you Ollie. Johnny is from Medlin Creek, seems like everyone in town is a relative. Anyway, I met him at the salsa club back in college, the guy swept me off my feet. We danced as a couple for several years. I guess even back at school Johnny was a little weird, never thought he was homicide-weird though. Used to think it was the drugs, but when we were an item I realized it was just how he was, kinda volatile, high-energy, exciting but dangerous."
Bob Lukey let out a snort. "Did the deputies make an arrest?"
"That’s just it," I said, "they never showed up. I left the pizza parlor several minutes after Don Andrews and his assistant shoved the tourist out of the door. The poor fellow was yelling about his camera, but Don Andrews said he didn’t serve drunks and the guy should go home to sleep it off."
Bob shrugged. "What goes on in Don Andrews pizza parlor stays in Don Andrews pizza parlor."
Millie took a deep breath and steepled her hands on the table. "As a journalist, I can’t do much with hearsay, even from a good friend about an ex-boyfriend. I’d love to, but the newspaper owner would fire me."
Millie’s eyes narrowed as she reached into her handbag. Out came Madame Bleu, a weak smile pinned across her lips. Bob Lukey shifted uncomfortably in his seat moving away from Millie’s puppet-clad hand.
"Ooh la la," cried Madame Bleu, "Ollie must go to the sheriff’s department right now and tell Deputy Zilpah what she suspects. Maybe evil Johnny will strike again, and you’d never forgive yourself, would you Ollie?"
The barista returned from the storeroom and stood slightly in front of the counter, hands on his hips, pointy carrot-shaped chin twitching as his lopsided eyes danced with curiosity.
Bob Lukey noticed the unwelcome interest and lowered his voice, "But Madame Bleu, it’s not that simple. Ollie can explain her views to Deputy Zilpah, but without solid proof, the deputy won’t be able to do anything about it. The Medlin Creek sheriff's department can’t arrest an individual on hearsay, especially a celebrity like Johnny Spinner. For the sheriff’s department to take it seriously they will need evidence which can stand up in court." He turned to look out through the window of the Café. "Without any proof, there’ll be no progress."
"So, what do you suggest?" I said, my eyes darting between Millie and Bob.
Silence.
My stomach began to churn.
"People," I snapped, "gimme something, there must be something. Or do we simply wait for another victim?" I could feel a dull throbbing in my ears and the ache of an emerging headache. Professor Purple appeared, opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again but no words came out. He disappeared back into Millie’s handbag shaking his head.
Then the barista came over, cloth in hand, to clear away the table which sat next to ours. It was empty and perfectly clean, nevertheless he wiped the tabletop as he shook his head. "I can’t believe it," he mumbled, "not another one…" He peered out of the corner of his eye to see if he had our attention. He did.
Bob spoke up first. "What’s happened?"
The barista adjusted his apron, and gave the empty table a final dust. The man enjoyed being the center of attention.
"News on the Creek." The words sounded like the triumphant ring of a unionist bugle.
"I’m afraid the Slayer of Medlin Creek has struck again, there’s been another victim. Don’t have all the details in yet, only fragments from earlier patrons. As far as I can tell," his pointy chin twitched, "seems like the fatal attack took place on Warren Street late last night. The only thing I can confirm right now is that the victim was male."
His eyes twinkled with satisfaction, barista man had performed his self-appointed duty as town gossip admirably today. "I only pray," he continued in a mournful voice, "the end for this poor victim came swiftly, and the authorities track down the killer to bring an end to the Creek crisis."
Then he turned away from the table and walked slowly back toward the bar, his head bowed as if in deep meditative thought.
We sat in silence for several minutes, neither one of us making eye contact with the other. Millie took short sips of cappuccino, Bob twisted a napkin, and I looked blankly out into the street.
Suddenly, Millie sat bolt upright, a throaty giggle dancing across the table. "Don’t you see what this means?" She waved her arms in large circles as if conducting a classical concert. "It means," she continued, "the headline on tomorrow’s newspaper will read, ‘Creek Crisis--Slayer of Medlin Creek Strikes Again--Sheriff’s Department Clueless'. I know this because I’m going to write the headline. It’s my ticket to a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times. This is the second chance the Celebrity Guru predicted. Leon said the opportunity would come soon--but this soon! Wow, I can’t believe it."
Bob touched Millie’s arm, "Let’s get all the facts straight before we get too excited shall we, isn’t that what they teach in journalism school?"
But Millie was too busy punching keys on her cell phone to take any notice.
"Hello, Grandview Hotel? Can you put me through to room 103, on the executive level?"
"Yes, I understand it’s five a.m...Millie Watkins from the Medlin Creek Times."
Millie sucked in breath through her teeth. "Yes, I’ll wait…" She turned to look at us and whispered, "They’re putting me through to the owner of the newspaper."
A sudden silence descended as we waited to see what would happen next.
"Yes, I know it’s five a.m." Millie’s face began to redden as she gulped hard. "There have been developments here…the Slayer of Medlin Creek has struck again…"
She set her jaw and spoke in a steady low-pitch voice. "As far as I can tell they haven’t got a clue…yes I’m preparing the article as we speak. Front page did you say? Full-time position on the horizon?" Millie turned to give us the thumbs-up. "Yes boss, journalist Millie Watkins is on it. I’ll email the article for your review by six p.m. this evening, Hawaiian time. In the meantime, I’ve a little fact-checking to complete."
As the cell phone clicked, Millie waved a victorious fist in the air. She placed the cell phone in her handbag and pulled out a tattered notebook. "I’m going to start with the barista, I want everything he knows." Off she went, on the tips of her toes with arms swinging, toward the bar.
I called after Millie. "Hey, what about Johnny Spinner?" She didn’t turn around, just a queen-like wave of the hand. Bob laughed. "Go get 'em girl, catch you later Millie."
Rising from the table I growled at Bob, "Got to do something about Johnny, what if there is another attack?" Then dug in my handbag for the car keys, pointed my chin in the air and stormed out.
Chapter 26
Back in the Tahoe truck, AC cranked up high, I sucked in air and blew out short breaths. When John went missing overseas I relied on the authorities for updates. The information came in dribs and drabs--employees kidnapped…your husband not accounted for…bandits killed… along with some employees…sorry to inform you...
The wait had been painful, but not being able to do anything felt worse. I squeezed my eyes shut--should have quit the job and gone overseas to look for John. These words came to me daily, and I asked the question, Should I have gone? A thousand times more. With a family and finances to look after, the answer was obvious. That didn’t stop the hurt though.
After several deep breaths with yoga-style shoulder rolls, the churning in my stomach slowed. Millie and Bob were right, the sheriff's department needed bulletproof evidence. What was it John always used to say? "Ollie, choose the least worst option."
"Guess I’ll take Madame Bleu’s advice and speak with Deputy Zilpah, tell her what I know," I said aloud as a sense of relief washed over me. If she can do something about it, I figured, then I'll wait it out. But if she can't, I'll figure out a way
to get proof.
The cell phone buzzed, a text message from Emma Garcia.
Kittens doing well, Augustine loves them, especially the tiny half-pint kitten--Struggles.
I smiled then headed toward the sheriff’s department.
Patricia Hampton, the receptionist, busied herself with unusual rapidity behind the counter of the reception area. She waved me into one of the waiting room chairs, then came around the high counter.
"Ollie, nice to see you again. It’s crazy back there today." Patricia pointed her head toward the door behind the counter which led into the office area. "Mayor Felton’s on the rampage. As if the death of Mary Birdsong wasn’t enough, a tourist reported a robbery on Warren Street last night, Don Andrews pizza parlor. Funny thing is, no one’s been able to give an accurate description of the attacker, so the deputies have nothing to go on. The villain’s beat the guy up and stole his camera. Can you believe that? Here in Medlin Creek of all places! Turns out the victim was the Texas travel guide reporter, Pedro Blanco. I bet you read one of his articles, or seen him on TV. The guy even has a column in the Medlin Creek Times. Pedro was writing an article on family and wedding-friendly Hill Country towns. To make matters worse there's a rumor going around that he died at the hands of the Medlin Creek Slayer, utter nonsense. Mayor Felton’s furious. Got those deputies jumping like popcorn today, she has." Patricia paused to take a breath, "How may we serve you today?"
Was this the right time to request a meeting with Deputy Zilpah? My head told me come back tomorrow, so did my gut, but the words of Madame Bleu played over and over in my mind like a broken record, "Ooh la la, you must go to the sheriff’s department right now." Urged forward by the puppet, I pressed on despite the resistance in my gut and head.
"I’d like to speak with Deputy Zilpah."
Patricia’s eyes grew wide, "Are you sure--today?"
"Tell her that Dr. Stratford is here on a matter of some urgency."
"It’s pretty busy right now, but I'll see what I can do."
Ten minutes later I sat alone in a private interview room. I tried to gather my thoughts, still didn't have a clear view on who killed Mary Birdsong or why. I ran through the facts in my mind. Mr. Burlington supplied the colloidal silver and tarp, Leon Rademaker threw kittens into the creek, Dorothy Sadler argued with Mary Birdsong the day she died--so did Mr. Burlington--and Johnny Spinner was once in a band with Mary Birdsong and attacked Pedro Blanco. The more I pondered these ‘facts,’ the less confident I became.
I put my hand over my face closing my eyes, Oh crap! Bob was right, I’d better leave, gather more evidence and come back later. Why on earth did I listen to that damn puppet?
The door swung open and Deputy Zilpah entered the room followed by a younger officer whose name badge stated "Jennie Ersari". Deputy Zilpah’s azure eyes complemented the grey-blue sheen of her skin, but her face today resembled a bitter north breeze. She offered a perfunctory handshake without catching my eye.
"Dr. Stratford," she said coldly, "how may we serve you today?" The icy eyes twinkled annoyance, and the lips tugged into a definite snarl. Deputy Zilpah’s manner and expression did little to put me at ease.
"It's about Mary Birdsong," I spluttered, "have you interviewed Johnny Spinner yet?"
The neatly manicured eyebrows raised on her frozen face, the head tilted sideways as if that would give her a better view of my words. "Are you suggesting my nephew, Johnny Spinner, the celebrity radio host, is somehow involved in the death of Mary Birdsong?"
Nephew, oh crap! My heart pounded hard against my chest, the sound of throbbing flooded my ears, and an emerging headache threated to break out into a full-blown migraine.
"Well, I'm not sure."
"I see." The words drawn out, lips tugged into a deeper snarl, and the cold eyes flashed with incredulity. "What are you not sure about?"
"The facts."
"The facts?" She snorted tapping a pen against her notebook.
"Yes," I persisted, "Johnny and Mary were in a band together. Mary became famous, Johnny didn’t. I suspect Johnny is bitter about this. But I'm uncertain as to whether it is sufficient motive for murder. All I do know is that Mary snubbed Johnny at the event at Ealing Homestead."
Deputy Zilpah sat back in her chair letting out a large sigh as the snarl transformed into an angry scowl. "The Medlin Creek sheriff's department will get to the bottom of this issue. What we need from our citizens is a little patience. The forensic analysis is still ongoing, statements are being taken, and in due course the perpetrator of this crime will be identified and captured."
The tone and intonation of the voice sounded like a slab of dry text from the Deputy Standard Response Manual. I guess Deputy Zilpah had repeated those exact same words many times to others interested in this case. They told me absolutely nothing.
"Who is the prime suspect?" I prodded.
"I can't tell you that."
"Do you have a list of subjects?"
"I can't tell you that."
There was something in her tone and facial expression which troubled me. As if she was reading my thoughts Deputy Zilpah continued.
"Many local people are concerned about the death of Mary Birdsong, not least of all, Mayor Felton. I've had a lot of meetings with her about the situation, with concerned citizens like yourself who are convinced they have solved the crime, and inquiries from the press about the identity of the Slayer of Medlin Creek. However, taking random meetings, phone calls, and responding to the press, causes distraction and consumes valuable time. Don’t you think, Dr. Stratford, my time would be better devoted to solving this crime?"
She gestured toward the door, the meeting was over. At the doorway, Deputy Zilpah paused, her eyes narrowed. "Please let us do our job." I nodded, then thought about dear John. I couldn’t give up now. I gave up on John through ignorance, but I wouldn’t give up on Mary Birdsong. I pressed my lips together to suppress rising sadness. No, I decided, I have every intention of continuing my investigation.
Out in the reception area, Patricia hustled Millie through the door which stood behind the counter. Millie gave the thumbs-up and shouted, "Off to meet with Deputy Zilpah". Then scuttled after Patricia. The door swung shut before I had a chance to share the information that last night’s murder didn’t happen. Oh crap! There was nothing I could do now, Millie would find out soon enough. I mumbled aloud, "time to go home".
"Dr. Stratford, a word in your ear."
I turned around to see Deputy Patty Freeman standing by the counter. She had a worried expression on her face and glanced over her shoulder. Satisfied the reception area was free from eavesdroppers, she continued. "I just wanted to let you know that I admired the work you put in to solve the Butcher of Medlin Creek mystery." She lowered her voice, "Your reasoning about Johnny Spinner is correct. He certainly had a motive, and there is little doubt he could have found the means, after all he was born and raised in this area, and he knows the trails well. However, at the time of Mary Birdsong’s death Johnny Spinner was with his girlfriend Theodora Simon."
My eyebrows shot up as my eyes open wide. The first idea that entered my mind flowed out of my mouth. "Then perhaps Theodora was in on it as well?"
"Dr. Stratford, I don’t think you fully understand. Johnny and Theodora left your event at Ealing Homestead to attend the Medlin Creek College fraternity all-night fundraiser. Johnny volunteered as a DJ, and his sweetheart, Theodora, helped organize the event, although she left early. I happen to know this because I was there, as were several other of the younger deputies."
Chapter 27
I sat staring at the notebook shaking my head. Then I crossed out Johnny Spinner, and put a question mark next to Theodora Simon, started the engine, and had a long belly laugh. First time I’d accused a deputy’s nephew of murder. Johnny and Theodora as an item, imagine that! I was still chuckling a few minutes later as I drove back to Ealing Homestead.
The morning had gone by in such a rush there was no time to thin
k about the meeting with the Celebrity Guru. With three p.m. fast approaching I took a quick shower. The relaxing spray of hot water drenched my body until it felt like it might melt. I pulled on a cream blouse with a frilly collar, a brown knee-length skirt and swept my hair up into a bun. The reflection in the mirror wore a satisfied smile. Not bad for an almost fifty-year-old.
The Hill Country Hotel was located at the end of Lone Mountain Lane. A narrow road that snaked up across the countryside along the highest hill in Medlin Creek. The Hotel offers its guests spectacular views into the Medlin Creek valley, and for many years the regal place served as a country club for the well-off gentry of the surrounding towns.
An ornate wooden and iron gateway surrounded by tall limestone walls signified entrance to the property. The large grassy lawn and manicured hedges stood in stark contrast to the rugged Hill Country landscape beyond its perimeter.
I pulled my Tahoe truck into the parking lot. The place was dripping with expensive SUVs and top-of-the-line trucks. I parked next to a dark maroon Tesla SUV.
Grackles roosting in a nearby tree screeched their warning cry as I hurried across the parking lot. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the slight odor of chlorine reflected the civilized sophistication of the place. An Olympic-sized swimming pool surrounded by wooden tables with large parasols, and fancy deck chairs came into view at the entrance to the hotel.
The lobby had huge windows offering wonderful vistas across the property, and the scent of potpourri, polished leather and floor wax, gave the place the aura of an upscale New York City gentlemen's club.
Millie was already at the reception desk. "I have a personal audience with Leon Rademaker this morning," she said.
The receptionist, looking like she stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine, pointed to her right, and stated, "Yes, at the far end of the lobby, if you will take the second hallway, your meeting is in room 403B."
Millie turned to look in my direction, "just my luck to wake the owner of the newspaper at five a.m. about a murder which turns into a mugging that didn’t happen!"