by N. C. Lewis
Millie fished in her handbag, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and waved it in front of Sophia.
Sophia's eyes followed the money.
"What you want?" she asked in her husky Mexican voice.
"Methylphenidate hydrochloride," I said, then added, "It was used to kill Andy Arrow. Where did you get it?"
Instantly, and as if energized by electricity like some Frankenstein monster out of science fiction, she leapt to her feet. Her eyes protruded wide and fearful, and her arms flailed. "I not kill Andy, I no kill my Mr. Money. I no kill mi bebé."
We backed away.
But now wasn’t the time to give up. The woman knew something; I could feel it in my gut. In a cool, calm voice, I said, "Then who supplied Andy with the drugs? Who killed Andy Arrow?"
" I don't know," she screamed." No, yo no. Now, get out!"
Millie scurried toward the door.
"Wait!" I shouted and thought for a moment, then went for a long shot. "Sophia, you were seen buying drugs yesterday at Don Andrews. I saw you at Medlin Creek Community College on Monday and heard you threaten to kill Andy Arrow. Tell us now or tell the sheriff later."
Sophia fell silent, and her eyes slid from Millie to me. Then she let out a long, low sigh and slouched back into the couch, stretched out a hand for a packet of cigarettes and chain-smoked as she spoke. "You better speak to Galga."
"Galga?"
"Sí, speak with Galga."
"Where can we find Galga?"
Sophia lit another cigarette. "You not hear that name from me, okay?"
I nodded. "Okay. Now, where can we find Galga?"
Sophia stubbed out the cigarette. "Old Monroe's ranch, tonight at seven. That's when the races begin."
"The races?"
" Sí, the dog races."
"How will we know Galga?" asked Millie waving the money.
Sophia reached forward and grabbed the cash. "You'll know Galga," she said in a husky whisper.
"How?"
Sophia pointed a finger at me. "Galga is your amiga."
I glanced at Millie and shrugged. I didn’t have a friend called Galga and by the blank look in Millie's eyes, neither did she. I ran a hand through my hair and thought for a moment. "Does Galga have another name?"
"Sí, Ava Torgersen."
Chapter 31
It was after seven p.m., and the night sky was dark and clear when we turned onto the lane that leads to Old Monroe's ranch. The annual Hill Country Jazz Festival, corporate events, and weddings form part of the modern-day business of the thousand-acre ranch. At the gate to the main homestead, a man sat on a stool. He stood up as we approached and waved us down. I lowered the window.
"No events on today," he said in a thick Hispanic accent. "Turn around and head back to the main road."
I thought about turning around and slinking back the way we had come. There would be no disgrace in going back, in turning around and leaving it to the deputies. No disgrace, that is, that anyone other than Millie and I would ever know about. Then I thought about John. Now wasn’t the time to give up.
"We're here for the dog races," I said firmly.
The man leaned into the Tahoe window, and his breath reeked of cheap beer. He looked me in the eye a full ten seconds before he said, "Sophia's ladies!"
"Sí," Millie replied.
It was only then that I recognized him—the man with the enormous belly whom we met earlier at Glorious Vistas. Only tonight, he wore a shirt and black pants and carried a two-way radio.
Another car pulled up behind us, cut its engine and lights, and waited.
"Take a left at the fork, the event is half a mile on your left," he said, stepping away and hurrying to the waiting vehicle.
At the fork, we took a left, passed over a cattle grid and down a twisty, narrow road that reminded me of the dirt tracks in old black-and-white Westerns. Oak trees arched high over both sides of the roadway, their canopies touching in the middle through which the occasional star glistened.
When we turned a tight bend and could see the lights of the dog-racing event off in the distance, reality hit me with full force. We came to the top of a rise and turned off onto a pitted dirt track. We were moving slowly enough that I rolled down the window. Cedar and oak trees crowded the one-way track like shoppers at a New Year's sale. The scent of cedar, oak, and dampness quickly filled the truck. The track ended in a large field.
"This is it," I said with a nervous smile while pulling into a space between a rusted Chevy Silverado and a pack of motorcycles.
"Looks like more rain is on the way," Millie replied, pointing to a wall of dark clouds off to the west.
"Hope it blows around us."
We were silent for a moment, gazing at the growing layers of clouds filling the night sky.
"What's the game plan?" Millie asked.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, suppose Galga is Ava Torgersen, then what?"
I shrugged. "Ava had a motive for wanting Andy Arrow dead. Promotion to his position. But Dan Sweet had the same motive, and half the college wanted Andy out of the way including Professor Bingham. Guess, we need something concrete to link Ava directly to Andy's death."
Millie folded her arms. "Humph… I'm going to speak with Ava, see if I can get a couple of quotes for my story." She had a fixed look in her eyes I couldn’t read.
"Just be low key about it. The woman is a viper."
Millie grinned. "I'm a reporter, we are immune to snakes."
An angry blast of wind whistled through the trees as we climbed out of the Tahoe. I followed Millie down a narrow path, our steps silent on a thick, soft layer of cedar bark mulch. I glanced around, relieved there were several people ahead of us. We fell into silence as we walked up a gentle slope, then around a sharp corner. My emotions felt like they were on a wild rollercoaster. Was Ava involved in the death of Andy Arrow, or was I chasing a dead end? I had a score to settle with the deceitful viper and feared it clouded my judgment.
Around another sharp corner and the path widened.
"Look!" whispered Millie. "That's the owner of the catering business. " She pointed to a man with a bald head wearing a red shirt. In the gloom, I could make out that he had his arm wrapped around the waist of a woman, but I could only see her back. The couple strolled around another bend and disappeared out of sight.
The cedar bark mulch trail eventually ended on a ridge that looked down into a large field. Tall floodlights illuminated six starting traps with wooden posts marking the area of the racetrack. A race had just finished, and owners led their greyhounds away toward waiting trailers.
Despite the recent rain, the track looked clean, fresh and ready. It ran smooth and flat before making a sharp left turn, dipping downward, then up as it turned again to the left. The final straight was uphill with the finish line marked by red-and-white bunting and two flagpoles on which the Texas flag fluttered in the evening breeze.
There was a good crowd, and the bleachers that ran along the start and final straights of the track were filling fast. People were eager, expectant, chattering, and dressed for the possibility of rain. They ate hot dogs, nibbled smoked turkey legs, and sipped out of beer cans. Trade at the food trucks was brisk, as was business at a line of booths near the start, where bookies plied their trade.
We strolled toward the booths. An excited shout went up from a group gathered around a booth at the end of the row.
"La Galga does it again," cried a stout man with narrow-set eyes, a wide, flat nose, and a square jaw.
"How does she do it?" asked a tall, flat-faced man with the darting eyes of a shark.
"Oh, how I wish I had her secret," added a broad woman with a narrow horse-like face. "Galga has the winners eye!"
At the center of the group, with eyes down counting a wad of cash, was Ava Torgersen. She held on to the money tightly like a baby grasping a full bottle. She glanced up occasionally to acknowledge the congratulatory praise of her fellow gamblers, but every time she retu
rned her gaze to the wad—never losing count. At last, she straightened, turned, and made her way into the crowd.
"That's Ava," I said, turning toward Millie. But Millie was gone. I looked behind, and over toward the bleachers, then back up the trail where we had walked. But she had vanished. Turns out I was looking in the wrong places.
Of the hundreds of spectators at Old Monroe's ranch, only a handful had a clear view of what happened next. I would have missed it if I hadn't recognized the voice.
"Galga, I know who you are and what you did," said Millie, in a voice almost so low it was like a dog bark.
Ava turned slowly around and looked at Millie. "What do you want?"
"Galga, I'm looking into the death of Andy Arrow."
It was a dangerous move, but Ava simply stared at Millie for an instant. Then she shot out her hand. "Well," she said, her lips curving into an edgy smile. "I don't believe we have met. Who are you?"
"Millie Watkins, I have an interest in finding out what happened to Andy Arrow."
Ava tilted her head back and laughed. "Oh, I see, one of his many girlfriends? Wasn't he a little old for you?" Her voice was confident now. "Well Millie, I don't know anything about how the poor man died. I don't see how I can help you."
"Your real name is Ava Torgersen," said Millie slowly. "Professor at Medlin Creek Community College."
So I watched Ava now as her penciled brows arched, and her eyes calculating, focusing sharply on Millie's face.
"That's right," Ava said at last. "What is it you really want?"
Millie stepped forward. "I want to know who killed Andy Arrow."
Ava fell back two steps, regained her composure, and looked at Millie in an aggrieved manner. "You don't understand. Andy got what he deserved."
Millie scowled. "No one deserves that!"
Ava laughed. "It must have been love, you unfortunate thing. Andy got what he got; I'm not shedding any tears. Ask around, I'm not the only person who feels that way. Believe what you want to believe; nothing I can say will change that."
Millie glanced away for a moment. "Ava, I'm working with a… kind of Sherlock Holmes." She raised her arm, and to my horror pointed in my direction. "Over there is the person who will solve this mystery!"
Ava swung around to follow Millie's hand. If I'd have moved an instant earlier, Millie would have been pointing into empty space. I didn’t move, and Ava's gaze landed on me. Ava hesitated, her eyes meeting my own. Then Ava, her face purpling, glared back at Millie.
The announcer made a call for the next race. Such a long time passed that I thought Ava would not say anything. I thought she would let it pass and move on. But she didn’t leave it, and she didn’t move on. Instead, she cussed.
"What's the matter, darling?" boomed a man with a bald head wearing a red shirt. He slipped his arm around Ava's waist.
Ava placed her face in her hands and cried huge crocodile tears. "That vulgar woman has…" Her voice trailed off.
The man's face became pink and fleshy, and his dark eyes focused like surveillance cameras on Millie's face. His small, tight mouth snarled. "I know you, don't I?" He thought for a moment. "Yes, Millie Watkins, our newest supervisor?"
Millie stepped back, faced crimsoned in shock. "Uhhhhh … yes."
The man raised his voice. It was as cold as ice water. "Millie Watkins, I don't know what you have done to upset my girlfriend, and frankly I don't care to hear your side of things. All I know is that you are no longer employed by my company. You're fired!"
Again, Ava placed her face in her hands and sobbed, her body quaking as if she was laughing. The man, whose face was as red as his shirt, guided her away and deep into the excited crowd.
Chapter 32
Back in the Tahoe, we sat in the dark. A motorcyclist in black leather climbed onto a bike. The engine roared to life. I watched as the bike and rider disappeared along the narrow lane. Despite my gut feelings, we were getting nowhere. So far, we'd spent our time chasing our tails and losing our jobs, over what? A murder that might not have happened. If something concrete didn’t show up soon, I'd have to admit the possibility that Andy Arrows death was at his own hand—a simple mistake. Unintended overdoses happen every day, just another statistic. This was the only choice unless something showed up to say otherwise. But I didn’t want to walk away without justice. I'd done that once before with my husband, John, and I didn’t want to do it again.
The sky clouded over becoming inky black with heavy rain clouds. A flash streaked across the sky, followed by the low roar of thunder. It started to rain.
Millie closed her eyes and exhaled, placing her fingers against her forehead.
"The viper bit me," she sighed.
"Yep," I replied looking into the rain that clouded the horizon.
"A very nasty bite," she sighed again.
"Indeed."
"Did I just lose my new job?"
"Seems so."
"Now what?"
"Don't know," I said, breathing a heavy sigh.
We drove back to town without a word.
◆◆◆
The sky was deep blue and cloudless the following morning when I left Ealing Homestead. Once a week I pick up donations from Gratia Violeta's hair salon and drop them off at the Medlin Creek Animal Shelter.
The salon, on Creek Street, is a short walk from Moozoos Café. As I entered the store, I was greeted with the scent of mint, eucalyptus, and citrus mingled with the undertones of chemicals, hairdryers, and priming agents. The young girl at the front desk greeted me with a friendly smile. I recognized her as a student in one of my classes.
"Here to pick up donations?" she asked looking up from a textbook.
I nodded.
"Only one box this week, by the couch in the waiting area."
Fashion magazines sat in an untidy pile on the waiting area coffee table. A sixty-something woman with hair as bright red as a winter sunset, sat in an easy chair, scrolling through her tablet computer. She didn't look up as I walked into the room. I spotted the box as it was small enough to carry with both hands. As I stooped down to pick it up, an assistant hurried into the room.
"Mrs. Chandler, we are ready for you now, " she said to the woman, who was still peering at her tablet computer.
Mrs. Chandler followed the assistant into the main salon. I balanced the box between my arms and turned to leave.
"Ollie, wait!"
I spun around to see Gratia hurrying into the waiting area. "Not a lot of donations this week," she said, regarding me with a curious eye.
"That's fine by me, fewer trips to my car," I laughed.
"Suppose so." Her brow crinkled in concern. "I'm so sorry to hear about your…" she paused, glanced around and lowered her voice, "… termination from Medlin Creek Community College." Her eyes sparkled with interest. She'd heard the news on the grapevine, now she wanted to hear it direct from the horse's mouth.
I let out a low groan, said nothing, and only flashed a weak smile.
"Tell me," she said patting my shoulder. "Did they really march you out of the building to the beat of a drum while you drank neat whiskey from a bottle? Are you on your very last dollar? Was it you a friend saw speaking with a realtor? Are you selling up and leaving? I can't imagine how much turmoil you must be in. It must be terrible for you, dear." Again, she lowered her voice, this time to a whisper. "Now tell me, are you and Professor Bingham drinking buddies, or is there more to it? If you need to talk about it, I'm here for you."
I hadn’t had time to think about it all, I certainly didn’t want to add fuel to the rumor fire by sharing my innermost thoughts with Medlin Creek's gossip queen. I flashed an appreciative smile and changed the subject. "Got to get to the animal shelter with these donations. I'm sure we can catch up later."
Gratia called after me, "Shame about Ava Torgersen."
I stopped, turned. "What about Ava?"
Gratia grinned. "Put the box down. I've got a few minutes, and we can talk."
Of
course, Gratia wanted to know about my termination, my plans, and so on. I gave her as little as possible. Satisfied, she placed a hand on her cheek, and in mock horror said, "Seems like that college is a hotbed of scandal. First the death of Andy Arrow, then you get fired, and now Ava Torgersen!"
"Go on," I said leaning forward. "What about Ava?"
Gratia was silent, milking the moment for all it was worth. "I hear she is sixty thousand dollars in debt."
"Who isn’t?"
Gratia chuckled. "Guess that's true, but most of us owe money for our businesses or student loans. Ava owes sixty thousand in gambling debts."
Chapter 33
For a while I sat in the Tahoe outside of Gratia's salon, with the AC cranked up high, letting the information soak and settle. The thought that Ava Torgersen was deep in gambling debts sounded ridiculous. Then again, I wouldn't have believed she went by the name of Galga and had a passion for greyhound racing. There were still pieces missing surrounding the death of Andy Arrow, but I felt the puzzle was coming together. I called Millie and told her what I had discovered.
"Breakthrough!" I heard the sound of feet shuffling.
"Millie, what are you doing?"
"A little Salsa dancing." The sound of shuffling feet stopped. "I'll do a little digging," Millie said, then catching her breath added, "If Ava is in debt that's a strong motive for wanting Andy Arrow's job… and him dead. Let's meet at Moozoos at one thirty, and I'll share what I've discovered." She made a hissing sound, "Millie Watkins is no snake, but she does bite back!"
I laughed, hung up and pulled out onto Creek Street. Thirty minutes later I turned into the gravel drive of the Medlin Creek Animal Shelter. The parking lot was empty, so I pulled into a spot close to the entrance. The main entrance led to a brightly painted reception area behind which was a long row of kennels housing stray dogs—one or two to each unit. On the counter, a lavender diffuser did little to mask the doggy odor. A teenage girl reading a magazine looked up as I entered. She was maybe eighteen years old with powder-blue eyes and jet-black hair.