Murder Is Where the Heart Is

by Maddie Cochere

  A small black car with green stripes whipped into the parking lot. It didn’t look like a taxi, but the words Ace Taxi Service appeared in childlike lettering on the side. The vehicle looked more like a car for a child’s party service than a taxi. I half expected a clown to be driving.

  I stood, and the contents in my stomach stood with me. Saliva began to flow into the corners of my mouth. The precursor to vomiting! I swallowed hard several times and forced the gusher to stop. I desperately needed to get home.

  Hank opened the door and assisted me by jamming his hand on the top of my head and giving me a push.

  “Hey, you’re messing up my hair,” I protested.

  “What do you care? You’re going home. I didn’t want you to bang your head.”

  I didn’t argue. I put my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Hank gave my address to the cab driver. I opened my eyes enough to give him one last sickly smile and say, “Give my regards to the bride and groom.”

  He laughed and slammed the door shut. I was relieved when the taxi pulled out of the lot. I would soon be able to throw up in my own toilet - a clean toilet I could hug if necessary.

  “Too much party?”

  The voice was silky smooth with a lilt. I opened one eye to peek at the driver. Large doe eyes and a cute upturned nose scrutinized me from the rearview mirror. Blonde hair appeared to be stuffed under her cap.

  “No. Stinky cheese and caviar. I’m trying to keep it down until I get home, so you might want to step on it.” I slid sideways along the back of the seat. “I’m going to lie down back here and try not to move. Let me know when we get to my place.”

  “Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

  I closed my eyes and drifted off into a light sleep. I was only slightly aware of road noise, but it wasn’t too long before a loud screech awakened all of my senses. The sound of metal on metal followed the screech. The cab jerked hard to the curb and harder still when it bounced up and over onto the sidewalk. I pitched to the floor with my stomach following a few seconds later. If ever I was going to throw up, I was afraid it was now.

  I swallowed hard a few times and remained perfectly still. The driver’s side door opened. Anger-laced swear words filled the cab. My driver screamed. It wasn’t a silky sound. Why didn’t someone help her?

  I heard a slap followed by a moan. There was scuffling. A car door slammed, and then there was silence. It all happened in the space of a minute.

  I pulled myself up to peek over the front seat. A dark-colored van raced down the road in front of me. My adrenaline flowed when I realized someone had actually abducted my cab driver.

  I instantly felt guilty for not helping her. I hadn’t lifted a finger to stop the crime. Me, with business cards proclaiming I was a private investigator for A. B. Investigations. I should have done something. I shouldn’t have been lying down in the first place. Maybe her abductor would have left her alone if he’d known she had a fare.

  The van stopped at a red light three blocks down the street. Any illness I felt a few minutes ago was gone. The adrenaline rush was like a miracle medicine. The kidnapper had no idea I was in the cab. I could follow him and catch him. I would be a hero by morning.

  I climbed over the front seat and slid behind the wheel. It seemed odd there wasn’t any traffic or bystanders in the area. It took a few moments to realize I was on the west side of the city near the industrial park.

  Why would the cab driver have brought me here? Could she have meant to harm me? Or was she lost? I was going with the latter until I found out otherwise.

  I backed over the curb and took off down the street, running every red light for six blocks. I finally saw the red dots of taillights ahead. I sped up and watched as the speedometer climbed to eighty miles per hour.

  Distant flashing lights appeared in my rear-view mirror. The sound of a siren gradually became louder. I pushed the gas pedal to the floor. If only I could get close enough to run the van off the road. If nothing else, I needed to get the license plate number.

  I glanced at the speedometer. Eighty-two. Full out, pedal to the floor, and the kiddie taxicab could only do eighty-two. The police cruiser was behind me in no time. The van sped off into the darkness.

  I pulled over.

  The officer didn’t get out of his car right away. I fumed and tapped the steering wheel with all ten fingers. I assumed he was going to sit there, run the plates, drink his coffee, and eat the rest of his donut before coming to see why I was speeding.

  This couldn’t wait. I jumped out of the cab.

  The officer jumped out at the same time.

  Perfect. It was Officer Collins. The last time I had contact with him, he never took his hand from his gun, and I could tell he was itching to arrest me for something now.

  I pointed down the road in front of us and yelled, “You don’t want me. You have to hurry and go after that van. The guy driving-”

  “Get back in the vehicle,” he said with authority. Of course, his hand was on his gun.

  I continued walking toward him. “You know who I am. Jo Ravens. I work with Big Arnie. Arnie Baranski. Listen. There’s been a kidnapping.”

  “You mean a murder,” he said. His voice became shrill. “I’m giving you fair warning. Don’t take one more step. Turn around and get back in the car.”

  He was the one bordering on hysterical now.

  “No, not a murder. A kidnapping. Just listen,” I insisted.

  I took two more steps toward him. My mouth fell open in disbelief when he pulled a gun from his belt. Before I could react, he fired at me.

  A painful, full-body cramp overwhelmed me. I fell forward onto my knees and then onto my face. I twitched uncontrollably and couldn’t move any part of my body. The feeling passed several seconds later, but I felt violently ill, and there was a stinging numbness in my thigh.

  I raised my head to look at the officer. He was standing directly in front of me. I vomited stinky cheese and caviar onto his shoes.

  Chapter Two

  Sergeant Rorski was down the hall, around the corner, and behind a closed door. I could still hear him yelling loud enough to know his anger was nearing stroke territory. I knew his face would be purple and spittle would be flying around the room.

  I caught my name a few times, and the word murder, but everything else was one big yell. I didn’t know why they were howling about a murder. Officer Collins wouldn’t listen long enough for me to tell him about the kidnapping, so I knew Sergeant Rorski had no idea what he was yelling about.

  The door flew open. Officer Collins and Officer Wheeler strode into the room. The smell of vomit followed them.

  “Glenn!”

  I jumped up from the chair I had been ordered to sit in. I was incredibly relieved to see him. He would set this Collins nitwit straight.

  Officer Glenn Wheeler and I were dating. Sort of. We had gone out a few times over the past three and a half months, but he worked nights, and as I was learning the private investigator ropes from Arnie, we didn’t have much of an opportunity to get together. I didn’t mind though. There was no denying he was a hottie, and he had the hots for me, but I was still struggling with the fact that he was younger than I was. It didn’t help that I used to babysit him when I was sixteen and he was eleven. I tried not to let the age difference bother me, but for some reason, it did.

  He was presently checking out my red dress. The jersey had ripped on the pavement when I fell, and the plunging neckline was more than plunging now as it revealed a large section of my red lace bra.

  I looked down to be sure I had enough skin covered for public decency laws before saying, “Do you know what this idiot did to me?”

  Officer Collins put his hand on his gun again. I recoiled and sat back down in the chair.

  Glenn’s facial expression showed he was concerned, but he was all business when he said, “Jo, there was an all-points bulletin put out for that cab and whoever was driving it. You’re faci
ng a possible murder charge here.”

  “What?” Sergeant Rorski surely heard my shriek in his office. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t witness a murder. I witnessed my cab driver being abducted.”

  Officer Collins frowned and asked, “What were you running from? Why didn’t you pull over when you saw my lights?”

  “I was trying to catch up to the guy who abducted my cab driver. There wasn’t any murder. There was a kidnapping. I was going to run the van off the road and save the driver.”

  Officer Collins rolled his eyes. “What did you do with the body after you killed her?” he asked.

  I threw my hands up and looked at Glenn. “Can you help me here? She was alive the last time I saw her. If she’s defunct now, that’s news to me.”

  Glenn furrowed his brow, but a slight smile crossed his lips. I knew he found humor in my use of the word defunct. That was Arnie’s fault. Sometimes, talking with him was like listening to someone right out of a forties pulp magazine, and some of his language was rubbing off on me.

  “She’s down at the morgue,” Glenn said. “Let’s take a ride down there.”

  “You can’t take her to the morgue. Rorski will blow a gasket.”

  Glenn grabbed my arm, shot eye daggers at Officer Collins, and said, “Then don’t tell him.”

  We walked out to the main entrance. The look of disgust on the desk officer’s face didn’t escape me, and I was certain I looked dreadful. Glenn told me to stay put as he headed for the men’s restroom. I thought it an inopportune time to have to go, and once again, I was reminded of his youth. He obviously couldn’t hold it.

  He came out a few minutes later with a white towel balled up in his hands. “Here,” he said. “This is warm. Give your face a good once over.”

  Talk about grateful. I took the wet towel and held it to my face for a few seconds before rubbing vigorously. I winced. My cheek must have bruised when I hit the pavement with my face. I took a couple of extra swipes under my eyes in case my waterproof mascara wasn’t.

  He took the towel, slipped thick strands of my hair into its folds and rubbed. It was embarrassing to realize he was cleaning bits of vomit from my hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He smiled, showing off the dimple in his right cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I thought you might feel better if you could wipe your face off.” Under his breath, he added, “And smell better.”

  I chuckled. Officer Collins wasn’t going to smell better with just a towel from the men’s restroom. He needed hosed down and a good scrubbing. The stomach purging had done wonders for me, though, and I felt great.

  “Am I being charged with anything?” I asked.

  “No. We have a body, but we don’t have an I.D. on her yet. Everyone knows you didn’t kill her, Jo, but you were the one driving the cab, so there are going to be a lot of questions for you. C’mon. I have a hoodie in the cruiser. You can slip it on over your dress. It’ll keep you warm and keep Howard’s eyes to himself once we get to the morgue.”

  My heart warmed to him like it always did when we were together. He was sweet and kind. He found humor in everyday situations, whereas my humor leaned more cynical and snarky. He didn’t seem to mind, and we laughed often when we were together. He was only an inch taller than I was, and I felt as if I towered above him now in my heels as he led me to the cruiser.

  The morgue was four blocks down the street. The old, two-story, brick building used to be the elementary school many years ago. Glenn parked out front, and we walked side by side up the steps. Etched in glass on the front door were the words Buxley City Morgue. A less permanent signage indicated Howard Sanders was the city coroner.

  Glenn led the way down the hall. “Howard said he’d be in room four.”

  We walked in to find Howard and another man deep in conversation. They stood next to a table that clearly held a body under a sheet.

  When he turned to see who had come into the room, Howard’s mouth dropped open with a “gah” sound of contempt.

  “Jo Ravens. I thought you were out chasing philanderers and fraudsters. Don’t tell me you’re mixed-up in this murder. Did you find the body? That would make six now, wouldn’t it?”

  He sneered when he mentioned the bodies I had stumbled upon in the past two years. Howard didn’t like my nosing around in police business, and he rarely hid his disdain for me.

  On the other hand, he loved our city newspaper’s star reporter, Jackie Ryder. She worked at the Buxley Beacon, and although there were only two reporters on staff, she was such a better writer than that slacker Doug Preston, everyone considered her the star. She was also an accomplished chef, but her real talent was in her mastery of pies. Her fruit pies were to die for, and when Jackie was working on a story, Howard never refused to share information with her when she showed up with a pie.

  I wanted to get in touch with her right away, but my cell phone was in my purse back at the station. After Officer Collins handcuffed me and put me in the back of the cruiser, I made him grab my purse out of the taxicab. I hadn’t seen it since.

  I ignored Howard and turned to Glenn. “Can I use your phone for a minute? It’s important.”

  I sensed his hesitation, but I wiggled my fingers in a give it to me gesture and said, “It’ll take five seconds.”

  He handed his phone to me. I sent a text to Jackie: Big story at the morgue. Bring a pie. I pushed the send button and handed the phone back to him.

  We stepped closer to the table. With a dramatic flair, Howard yanked the white sheet off the body. I gasped at his lack of decorum but was surprised when I saw the girl was still fully clothed in a green and black Ace Taxi Service uniform. My next gasp came when I saw her face. The bullet hole in the girl’s forehead gave my sore stomach a jolt.

  The other man in the room was a thin man with a sallow complexion. I wondered if he was ill. He stared at me as I observed the body. It was hard to scrutinize her when the man was scrutinizing me. Something didn’t seem right with him. He was too jittery.

  “When and where did it happen?” I asked.

  Glenn looked confused. “You don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t. Why would I?”

  “Because you were driving her cab.”

  The jittery thin man twitched and shrieked, “You killed her!”

  I moved closer to Glenn and said, “I did not.”

  Glenn held his hand out in a stop motion toward the man before saying to me, “A call came in to 911 at six-thirty that a speeding taxi hit those uneven railroad tracks over on Maple. The cab took air and bounced hard on the other side. The trunk flew open and she fell out. The driver hit the brakes, but because there were witnesses, whoever it was took off in a hurry. Someone got the plate number though.”

  The jittery guy shrieked again, “Why haven’t you arrested her? She obviously killed Kate.”

  “Kate?” Glenn asked. “You know this girl?”

  Howard Sanders finally contributed to the conversation. “When she was brought in, I saw she was a cab driver.” He flapped his hand toward the jittery guy. “This is Brick Brack. He’s the dispatcher at Ace Taxi.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I giggled. It was the same sort of giggle that started the fiasco at the church earlier today. Brick-brack was what Mama called all the bric-a-brac she had sitting on shelves in her house. That this odd man had the same name struck me as incredibly funny. I bit my lip hard. Laughing in the morgue would be far worse than my outburst in church.

  Howard graced me with another look of contempt. “Brick identified the girl as Kate Fuller.”

  Brick nodded his head vigorously. “Yes. Kate Fuller. She’s the regular driver of number eight.” He started to tear up. “We were going to be married next week.”

  Laughter tried to force its way out. I bit my lip harder. There was no way this attractive, petite brunette was going to marry this jitterbug. Something about his demeanor was wrong. His grief didn’t seem genuine. I
would put him at the top of my list of suspects for her murder.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Glenn said.

  Howard turned to Glenn and said, “The way I see it, Miss Fuller was shot and stowed in the trunk. The killer probably intended to dump her, but not so openly.”

  I hoped my voice would hold steady when I asked, “This happened at six-thirty?”

  Glenn nodded. “And you were picked up at seven-twenty driving the cab out of the city limits at eighty miles an hour.”

  Brick pointed his finger at me. “What do you say to that, huh? You were the last person to see her alive. You had to be the person who killed her.”

  He was starting to get under my skin. In his guilt, he was trying to throw suspicion onto me.

  “I’ve got plenty to say. For starters, I was driving eighty-two miles an hour, and at six-thirty, I was at the Harrington wedding reception at the Elks Lodge. More specifically, I was in an hors d’oeuvres line selecting the food that made me sick. I have an ironclad alibi and two boys as witnesses.”

  Glenn gave me a smile, showing his dimple again. “Is that so? A couple of boys, huh?”

  “It’s a long story, but I couldn’t sit with any of the adults, so other than Hank, the only people I talked to at the reception were the two boys and a bartender. After I started feeling sick, Hank called for a cab, and she picked me up a few minutes after seven o’clock.”

  “She couldn’t have,” Glenn said. “She was already dead and here at the morgue.”

  I finally understood the confusion. “This girl wasn’t my cab driver. My driver had blonde hair. Someone ran us off the road and abducted her. I tried to follow the van, but that numbskull Collins pulled me over and tased me.

  Howard’s eyes lit up, and his mouth fell open. I knew it thrilled him to hear I had been tased.

  Glenn looked upset over the incident, but he stuck up for his fellow officer. “He was only doing his job, Jo. You have to remember, the APB went out indicating the person driving the cab had just committed a murder and was armed. When you kept advancing on him, he didn’t know if you were going to pull a gun or not.”