by N. C. Lewis
Madame Bleu spoke up. "Looks like we’ve identified the Slayer of Medlin Creek. Carlos est le murderer!"
We all nodded in agreement.
Chapter 34
For several minutes no one spoke. The whir of the espresso machine alongside the clattering of cutlery appeared to surround and amplify our thoughts. Finally, Millie broke the silence.
"I'll take what we have figured out to the sheriff's department. I suspect they already have suspicions about Carlos. Deputy Zilpah hinted they were close to making an arrest but didn't give any information on the suspect."
"Ooh la la," said Madame Bleu, "she better hurry up and capture Carlos so we can return to living la peaceful fear-free Hill Country life."
"Now let us not run ahead of ourselves," interjected Professor Purple, "although the evidence points to Carlos Castillo, we must let justice run its course before we condemn the man as guilty."
Millie took a gulp of her cappuccino and smiled. "Can't wait to write the headline 'Slayer of Medlin Creek Identified'. Going to type up a few words later today, but I'll not send anything to the newspaper until I get confirmation from the sheriff's department. If I'm quick," she continued, "I'll catch Deputy Zilpah before she goes home for the evening."
The puppets disappeared back into her handbag, she jumped to her feet and scurried out of the Café without looking back.
The barista, now in front of the counter with his hands folded across his chest, watched Millie leave the Café. His lopsided eyes glinted with curiosity and his chin twitched as if it sniffed the scent of a good story. He turned to look in my direction, then without pausing, scurried across to the table where I sat.
"Your friend's in a bit of a hurry, where is she off to?"
Without any thought, I answered. "Millie wants to catch Deputy Zilpah before she leaves for the day." Instantly, I regretted my words.
The barista didn’t notice my discomfort, and inhaled as if in deep thought. Then, as he breathed out a long slow breath, questions tumbled out of his mouth. "The sheriff's department? Must be Deputy Zilpah, eh? Something to do with the Slayer of Medlin Creek?"
His eyes searched my face looking for confirmation. I stared back blankly. Then it struck me, the figure in white who threw the kittens into the creek, I knew who it was. "Got to go," I said as I stood up and headed for the door. I didn't have time to explain.
Chapter 35
"The puzzle pieces," I said climbing into the Tahoe truck, "are coming together." Carlos, apparently on the run, would no doubt soon be captured by the authorities. My mind partially settled. I started the engine with a new realization, one which I didn’t like at all. Since the day I had walked by the creek with Emma Garcia I had assumed the figure in white was a man. It wasn't, it was a woman. A woman dressed in white clothing which matched the caftan worn by the Celebrity Guru. A woman by the name of Dorothy Sadler.
As I wondered what to do about this new insight, a text message flashed across my cell phone. It was from Millie, only four words.
Carlos apprehended at airport.
A sense of calm washed over me, Medlin Creek would soon be back to normal, and an odious killer behind bars.
Confront her directly. The thought entered my mind with such clarity that I sat bolt upright, eyes wide, lips slightly apart. "Yes," I said aloud, "I’ll meet with Dorothy Sadler face-to-face. Maybe I’ll get an explanation."
Up the narrow lane toward the Hill Country Hotel I raced. The late afternoon sunshine traced long shadows on the roadway as the sun began its descent beyond the horizon.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight the knuckles turned white. As I thought about those poor defenseless kittens, my heart sped up, the rhythmic pounding beating like a war drum in my ears. I wanted answers. Hollywood star or not, Dorothy Sadler was going to give them. With great conviction, I rehearsed the verbal assault I intended to unleash on the Tinseltown actress.
Through one final bend, then the ornate-gated entrance and limestone walls of the Hill Country Hotel came into view.
I swung the truck into the parking lot, coming to a stop under the leafy shade offered by a clump of trees. The creeping shadows of sunset shimmered through the leaves, giving the place a sinister atmosphere. Overhead, in the twisted branches of an oddly deformed oak tree, a flock of grackles watched impassively.
As I scurried across the parking lot, dark eyes and feathered heads swiveled. A fluttery, empty feeling flooded my stomach. Then, just as I stepped into the hotel lobby, the grackles, as one, began to scream and scream--and scream again.
Chapter 36
The huge lobby filled with the scent of potpourri, polished leather and floor wax, was eerily empty, very different from the excited crowds earlier that day. My footsteps struck the highly polished wooden floor with a pistol clap which made me self-conscious of my movement.
Behind the reception desk stood a tall thin man wearing a standard-issue, dark-navy business suit, with a white shirt and a dark maroon tie. On his lapel, a little golden badge with his name neatly typewritten on it–"Jimmy Whims".
His long toothy face, large ears, pencil-thin eyebrows which joined in the middle, gave him an unwelcoming demeanor. "May I help you," he said, looking up through small dark eyes.
I had no idea in which executive suite Dorothy Sadler resided. I could tell this guy my real reason for being here or bluff. I chose to bluff.
"Dr. Ollie Stratford here to meet with Dorothy Sadler."
He raised an eyebrow and a small smirk crossed his thin lips. "Dr. Ollie Stratford you say? Here for a meeting with Dorothy Sadler?"
"Yep, it’s important that I speak with her."
He folded his arms across his chest drumming his fingers on his elbow, and beady dark eyes sliding back and forth over my face like a computer reading a barcode.
"I see…"
Then he rubbed the back of his neck, as if considering my request. After a short pause he spoke. "Dorothy Sadler has given express instruction that she is not to be disturbed, under any circumstances."
I put on my corporate disciplinary voice, gave a little dismissive wave of the hand and continued. "Now young man, be a good fellow, run along and buzz her room. Let Dorothy know Dr. Stratford is in the lobby. I’ll make it worth your while."
His nostrils flared, and the inside of his lips turned purple. "I've just about had enough," he said exposing narrow crooked teeth set in deep-pink gums, "of you Hollywood groupies trying to sneak in to meet with our guests. I’m not for sale, nor can you purchase access to our premier guests with your sleazy cash."
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits and a thick blue vein pulsated in his neck as he spat out, "And you madam, aren't you a little old to be playing that game? I'll have to ask you to leave the premises at once or I’ll call security."
At that instant, an authoritative voice from a room behind the reception desk called out. "Jimmy the computer's down again, can you come back here and work your magic on it please?" He gave a threatening glare, then turned and hurried toward the sound of the voice.
I moved with speed past the reception desk and through the lobby, an occasional glance backward to confirm the receptionist wasn’t following behind. A sharp left into a wide hallway which had a bank of elevators and I was out of sight. I pressed the button. While waiting, I scanned the floor plan looking for something which might show where a celebrity would stay. The highest floor had a roof garden with executive suites on the level below.
An old man with bone-colored skin, in a pinstripe suit, white shirt with brown tie and wearing shiny, patent-leather shoes, shuffled out of the elevator. He turned a thin scrawny neck, his steel gray eyes quizzical although he did not speak. I pressed level five—executive suites. But realized it would be fruitless to walk up and down a long corridor of closed doors, pressed level six—roof garden.
The elevator door opened to an expansive area, the floor covered in South Beach-red porcelain tile. Large parasols and potted plants offered shade from
the setting sun, and lanterns strung between tall thin poles twinkled in the evening twilight.
Partitions of wicker cane trellises covered in dark green ivy separated the area into several outdoor rooms, each with a distinct ambience. On one side, patrons wearing formal attire, sipped cocktails as they munched Spanish tapas-style delicacies. Several turned to gaze momentarily as I stepped out of the elevator, then hurriedly returned their focus back to their food.
I strolled around trying to blend in. My cream blouse with its frilly collar and brown knee-length skirt might as well have been jeans and a T-shirt compared to the expensive attire worn by this elite group. A tall sleek woman with salt and pepper hair wearing a Carolina Herrera silk gown floated past, her eyes watching me with suspicion. Acidity bubbled to the top of my stomach and doubts about the wisdom of sneaking around this upscale Hotel began to creep into my mind. I’d better leave, I thought.
Then, toward the end of one of the outdoor rooms I noticed a secluded spot surrounded by lush plants and a trellis which ran along three sides. For some reason this area seemed to be empty. Perhaps it was too far away from the bar with its alcoholic beverages and hot tasty food. Or maybe it was because it lacked the spectacular views of the other rooftop areas.
The gentle chatter of voices and laughter drifted across from the area--a man and a woman. I couldn't see the conversationalists but the voices sounded familiar. As I drew closer the words became audible.
"We could make it look like an accident," a male voice said.
"No," said a female voice, "that would look suspicious."
I thought I recognized the voices, but there was a possibility that I was wrong, even if it was an improbability. There was only one way to find out. I crept slowly forward, fearful the clatter of my footsteps on the tile floor might alert the couple of my approach.
Yes, the voices were even clearer. I knew who they belonged to--Leon Rademaker and Dorothy Sadler.
I moved with care, determined to get a little closer. As I crept forward, I rehearsed again what I was going to say to Dorothy. I'd take the evil woman by surprise, get a confession and then leave the rest to the animal-loving Leon Rademaker. I felt certain he would feel the same way as I did, about her dastardly act.
When I was within ten feet of the voices I saw the outline of Leon Rademaker. The man wore a cream caftan, and had his back pressed against the trellis. I noted with a faint tingling in my spine that his right hand gently caressed Dorothy’s face.
I sank down slowly until I was on all fours, then inched a little closer, the plant pots offering a degree of camouflage. They couldn't see me from here even if they chanced to turn around. Confident I had avoided detection, I focused on the conversation.
"I vote we end this thing," said Dorothy, "with a grave, a nice deep one somewhere remote, kinda like… where Mary Birdsong was found."
"Yes, I like it, let's finish it like that," said Leon jumping to his feet and dancing around.
A bony hand grasped my shoulder.
"Gotcha."
Chapter 37
A gasp escaped involuntarily from my throat at the ironclad grip. I turned my head. A man in a black uniform with a shaven head and the word ‘Security’ woven into his jacket lapel, stared back. The face, emotionless, conveyed an air of underlying menace.
Onto my feet I scrambled, a cold sweat causing my body to shake. Only a few yards away stood the receptionist, hands on his hips. He raised a bony finger and hissed, "That’s her. The woman is not a resident of this Hotel, escort her off the premises."
The security guard's grip tightened.
"What's going on?" It was Leon Rademaker.
"Sir, an unauthorized visitor," said the receptionist.
Leon turned to look at me. His snake-like eyes flashed then the eyelids closed. His whole body became motionless like a lizard gathering strength from the rays of the early morning sun.
Suddenly, the cheeks moved upwards on his fox-like face bearing pointy teeth which had the resemblance of fangs--a smile.
"Yes, we have met before," he said opening his eyes as he continued, "Dr. Ollie Stratford, the owner of Ealing Homestead, isn't it?"
I nodded, unable to speak, sandwiched between the shock of the vice-like grip of the security guard, and a little frightened by the size of the canine fangs which filled the mouth of the Celebrity Guru.
"Let her go," ordered Leon Rademaker.
Immediately, the gorilla grip loosened, and the security guard slunk back into the shadows. The receptionist didn't appear pleased with the order--hesitated--then, as Leon glared and his cheeks flushed with anger, turned to follow the security guard.
"Come over here and sit down," said Dorothy Sadler eyeing me with interest and patting a wicker chair next to her. "Dr. Stratford I don't believe we have had the pleasure of meeting. But any friend of Leon's is a friend of mine." She smiled, a shiny welcome in the eyes.
Leon responded, "That is so sweet," and leaned forward kissing Dorothy full on the lips. The kiss was a little too long, a little too deep, and a little too intense to pass as a peck of friendship.
The sense of bewilderment followed by realization must have been clear in my face for Leon smiled, and said, "Yes, it is as you believe. Dorothy and I were married two weeks ago in Las Vegas."
Dorothy joined in, a youthful expression in her glittering eyes. "You see, Dr. Stratford, we haven't announced it to the press yet. Our visit to the Hill Country of Texas to film an infomercial for the European Union was supposed to be a pleasant interlude before our honeymoon in Fiji."
Leon patted my arm. "Now Dr. Stratford, I trust you will keep this information to yourself for the moment. We intend to make an announcement to the press later this month." I still couldn't get used to the snake-like eyes, even though they observed me with a friendly gaze.
"Of course. I will keep your confidence. Not a word will pass from my lips."
Satisfied, Dorothy visibly relaxed, and Leon’s cheeks tugged upwards exposing the canine fangs which I now recognized as a smile.
After several moments of silence, Dorothy--a quizzical expression on her face--spoke up. "Now, Dr. Stratford, please tell us why you are here today."
Deep into my memory I reached to pull out the words carefully rehearsed on the drive over, but drew a blank. Finally, I let my two-year-old brain speak.
"I saw someone throw three kittens into the creek early Thursday morning, and I thought it was you Dorothy. I came here to ask you why?"
Dorothy looked aghast, the color drained from her face. "Oh no, no, no," she stammered, "I would never do such a terrible thing. What happened to the poor kitties...were they saved?" By the expression on her face the woman was truly mortified.
Leon chimed in. "That's quite ridiculous. Dorothy is the president of the Hollywood Kittens Rescue. Their sole mission is to find loving homes for abandoned felines." The truthfulness of his answer shook me to the core. I felt ashamed I had even considered Dorothy the doer of the wicked act.
Leon leaned forward. "Dr. Stratford," he said, speaking softly, "I'm curious what would make you think such a thing about my wife?" Again he smiled, cheeks tugging up lips to expose canine fangs.
I mentioned Dorothy’s reaction to Bodie at the Ealing Homestead event, and the shadowy figure dressed in white at the creek, who I saw for only an instant, at first supposing it to be Leon, but later realized it was probably a woman. Then I explained the kittens belonged to Mary Birdsong.
There was a long silence in which both Leon and Dorothy shook their heads.
"That's a real mystery Dr. Stratford," Leon said, "I can assure you that at the time of both Mary Birdsong's death and the incident you described at the creek, Dorothy and I were here at the Hotel. As you no doubt observed, the Hotel’s security personnel keep a close eye on executive guests' movements. They will confirm our whereabouts if you wish to check the validity of my statement. In fact…"
Leon looked at Dorothy, she nodded, and he continued.
&
nbsp; "My wife was out cold the entire time…"
Dorothy interrupted. "You see Dr. Stratford, over the past few years I've struggled with a terrible affliction..."
She looked down and tugged at her skirt, then raised her eyes to hold my gaze, and continued. "I'm addicted to barbiturates--sleeping pills. The situation got so bad that my medical doctor refused to prescribe them, and so I acquired the pills through other means."
"From drug dealers," said Leon in disgust.
"Dr. Stratford, I’m ashamed to admit it but it’s true. Fortunately, a year ago I met Leon. He helped me face the fact that I am a drug addict, and we fell in love. I'm on the second week of a fourteen-week rehabilitation program. Under the watch of Leon and a medical doctor I'm still taking the pills, but the dose is gradually being reduced."
Dorothy let out a long sigh, touched my arm and continued. "The night of the event at Ealing Homestead was my first drug-free evening. The lack of medication resulted in a rather erratic mood on my part. I apologize to you and your beautiful dog, Bodie, for my unacceptable behavior."
The story touched my heart, but something was missing.
"What about Mary Birdsong? I saw you arguing with her."
Dorothy’s eyes narrowed, her face paled, and her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained calm. "I don’t know how, but Mary found out about my addiction. She started making demands, wanted payment to keep quiet. I refused. I don’t think she really understood the situation..."
Leon raised his hand as if the conversation was at an end. But finished what his wife was about to say.
"Dr. Stratford, we are in the process of making a reality television show where Dorothy plays the lead as herself. There are thousands of women and men across this country addicted to these pills. Perhaps, seeing Dorothy's struggle to break free will offer a little hope to these people. Mary Birdsong had no idea that in a few weeks Dorothy’s addiction would become public as part of our effort to promote the new series."