A Tiny Collierville Murder

by Abby L. Vandiver

  And Liam was just as bad.

  Me trying to help people all the time was going to have to stop. It seemed like I was the one that always lost out when I did.

  I decided that when Alfie and I got back to my motel room, I’d go over my suspect notebook again. I didn’t know how that would help, I had gone over what I’d written in that notebook so many times that it was seared into my brain.

  But first, I decided a great big ole’ grin popping up on my face, I was going to make friends with my new shoes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I couldn’t wait to see Liam. I had figured out who the murderer was.

  Or at least, I thought I had.

  I hadn’t even been able to sleep the night before. I had gotten back to the hotel room, took my shoes out of the box, and discovered I didn’t even need to go back and read my suspect notebook. The murderer just appeared to me – along with their motive, opportunity and means – clear as day. At least it did after I looked at the shoes.

  The answer had been there all the time, courtesy of my grandfather.

  Yep. My Dedek had been right. I just had to piece together the clues. It was like a jigsaw puzzle. But I hadn’t completed that puzzle. Not yet. I needed one more piece of information, and I was sure Liam could give it to me.

  “Liam,” I called him from the car. I was out of breath when he answered like I was running to him instead of driving.

  “You’re up early,” he said. “You out jogging?”

  “I don’t jog.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Figured you worked out.”

  “Not like that,” I said. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” I was hoping he was up and dressed. I had figured people on ranches were up by dawn.

  “Nope. I’m up. What’s up?”

  “I know who did it,” I said.

  “You know who did what?” he said. “Wait. You’re talking about the murder?”

  “Yes. The murder,” I said. “At least I think I know.

  “Who?” he asked. “Who is it?”

  “I can’t tell you yet,” I said. “Because you’ll go all ballistic and I still need to check one more piece of information.”

  “What?”

  “Can I tell you when I get there?”

  “You better hurry up and get here ‘cause I’m about ready to burst.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. “I’m already on my way. Almost there.”

  “So hang up. You shouldn’t talk on the phone and drive,” he said sounding like my Dedek. “I don’t want you going over into any ditches.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” I said. “And if I do, you can just have Jimmy pull me out.”

  “Jimmy no longer works for the Carter Ranch,” Liam said.

  “What?” I asked surprised. “What happened?”

  “Jimmy was a big liar. He said that Jacob called the network and threatened to pull our show. Remember I told you that at the restaurant that day?”

  “Yeah. I remember,” I said.

  “I talked to Jacob,” Liam said, “and I called the network. None of that happened.”

  “So why would Jimmy say that?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I think he might have been saying things to throw the investigation off. Thinking I’d mention it to the police. Throw suspicion off of him.”

  “He also told you that Dale paid cash for the car and that was true,” I said.

  “Wasn’t true that Dale did it, because he didn’t. Even you saw the proof of that. I let the police know about his lies. They’ll look into it.”

  “Yeah, I used to think that Jimmy was the killer too because of him trying to steer you in a bunch of other directions. But his lying wasn’t to cover up him killing Big Willie.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t think.”

  “So, I take it that who you think killed Big Willie isn’t Jimmy?”

  “Right. Not him,” I said. “My grandfather reminded me that Jimmy was pulling my car out of the ditch when Big Willie was shot. He couldn’t have done it.”

  Liam was quiet. “That is true,” he said. “He wasn’t even at the ranch.” He sighed. “Well, maybe the person you have will be the right culprit.”

  “Hopefully,” I said.

  “Nixie?”

  “Yes, Liam?”

  “You think I should call Detective McEnroe?”

  “It would be nice not to have to face a murderer without backup,” I said. “But I should check the one last fact first.”

  “Okay. So, we’ll wait until you get here and see what you need to see. Then I’ll call him.”

  ‘I’m here,” I said. “Come outside.”

  I had pulled up in front of the house, acting like the detective, I parked on part of the grass. Liam came out on the porch. His hands dug deep down in his jeans pockets. “Hey,” he called out.

  I got out the car, grabbed the shoebox and my notebook I’d brought with me and went and stood at the little stoop by the porch. “Hey,” I said.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Come in.”

  “Where’s everybody?” I asked without moving.

  He shrugged. “Around.” Then he studied me for a minute. “Your killer is one of my family members, huh?”

  “Yes,” I said. But he should have known that, his family members had always been our only suspects.

  “Okay what do you need to see?” he said still standing waiting for me to come in.

  “You father’s certificates,” I said.

  “They’re down in the barn.” He held the screen door opened and looked at me. “I have to get the keys.”

  I blew out a breath and went inside.

  Liam grabbed a set of keys from another room while I waited, then we left out the back door and walked over to the barn. I had been smart and worn flats, well flats for me, they were wedges, only about two and half inches, and blue jeans. When I got to Liam’s and we made our announcement, I didn’t know whether I was going to have to be involved in any hand-to-hand combat or dodge any bullets – I didn’t want to be limited in my movements.

  Okay,” he said after we’d gone inside the barn. “They’re in that last tiny house down there. The one with the corrugated tin roof.”

  “He kept them in a house?” I asked. “What if it was sold? He told me this was his inventory in here.”

  “Big Willie sure did tell you a lot of stuff in the little time you two were together.” He shook his head and smiled. “But he never would have sold this one. Everyone else knew it was the ‘model’ house,” he used air quotes. “I knew it was where he came to think and where he kept his certificates.”

  He used the key to unlock the front door. We stepped inside.

  “Cute,” I said.

  “That’s what you say about them all,” Liam said.

  “Well they are, never had given a thought about them before,” I said. “But I kind of like them.”

  Liam went over to the stairway that led into the loft and pushed them into the wall. “Retractable,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s convenient.”

  “Yep. And watch this.” He lifted out a piece of the wood floor and there was a small storage compartment.”

  “Perfect hiding place,” I said. “I wouldn’t have ever found that.” I peeked inside. There was a composition notebook that was stuffed with papers, a big Bible, a set of keys and a metal box.

  “What’s in the box?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” He picked it up and the keys, and walked over to the kitchen area. He lifted up the table that was mounted into the wall and put the metal box on top of it.

  “It’s locked,” I said.

  He jangled the key ring. He found the key and opened it up.

  “Wow!” I said.

  “Whoa,” Liam said and looked at me, his eyes beaming. The metal box was filled with stacks of money. “I knew Big Willie wasn’t broke.” He picked up one of the bundles. “How much do you think is in here?” he asked.

  “A lot
,” I said.

  He laughed and put the money back. “Wait until Jacob sees this.” Then his smile left and he looked at me. “Jacob isn’t the killer is he?”

  “No,” I said. “He’s not the one I figured it be.”

  “Whew! Okay. Well let’s get to it then.” He took the metal box back to the hole in the floor and grabbed the notebook and brought it back over to the table. Flipping it open, he pulled out the stack of papers, and holding them in midair he stopped moving and stared at the writing in the book.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “This is strange.”

  “What?”

  “Money coming in and going out doesn’t equal broke. Let me check these dates,” he said running his fingers over numbers in the notebook. It looked as if Big Willie had used the notebook as a ledger, it was filled with figures and notations in the side margins. “These numbers just don’t match up.”

  “Match up to what?”

  “To us not having money. According to this, we should be in the black – heck in the green.”

  “Give me the certificates,” I said. “Maybe I can tell you why.”

  “Here,” he said and pushed the papers he had in his hand toward me. “Sorry. These are them.”

  I took them and scrambled looking through them to find the right one, my heart racing.

  “And look at this.” Liam was still talking. “Account number 21753912. Bank of America. Willie didn’t bank there. He wrote, ‘Gotcha.’ What does that mean?”

  Then my heart almost stopped.

  “Yep. Gotcha is right,” I said and waved the paper at him. “You can call that detective now.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Liam and I sat at the kitchen table waiting for Detective McEnroe to arrive. Agnes, who always seemed to stay close to Liam, fixed him coffee, but didn’t bother to ask me if I wanted any. I didn’t much care. I had just solved a murder and I was pretty darn proud of myself. I just tried to sit patiently holding my box and suspect notebook on my lap and wait.

  Still, something deep down just wanted to scream at Agnes, “But, I’m not the guy!” But I knew that would be insensitive. She had lost a son, and I knew that people dealt with grief in many different ways, and I guess her way was being mean to me.

  I had explained my theory of the murder and who the murderer was using Dedek’s benchmarks – means, motive and opportunity – to Liam and just as I thought, he about blew his top. But after putting a few dents in the wall of that model tiny home, he promised to stay calm until Detective McEnroe arrived.

  Dale came to the kitchen doorway shortly after Liam finished his second cup of coffee. “Detective McEnroe is here,” he said. “He said you wanted to see him.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Liam said. “We’ve got something to tell him.”

  “Who?” Dale asked and glanced at Agnes then me.

  “Nixie and I,” Liam said.

  “You want me to bring him back here?” Dale asked.

  “No, we’ll come up there.” Liam stood up, he clutched his father’s notebook almost as closely as I did the shoebox. “C’mon, Nixie,” Liam said. “It’s time.”

  I started out, then turned to Agnes and let a sly grin ease up my lips. “Tal vez quieras venir también,” I said, telling her she might want to come with us. “Creo que podría haber descubierto quién es el asesino.”

  Her face went flush and her mouth dropped open. It looked as she meant to cover it with her hand, but it froze mid-air. It was a good thing she wasn't holding anything, because I was sure she would have dropped it. Still, I wasn't sure if her reaction was because I could speak Spanish, or because I had told her I had figured out who the killer was. Her look of shock to either one gave me great pleasure.

  Liam laughed. “Now who’s the sneaky one?” he said to me and pushed me through the doorway. He looked at Agnes and shook his head. “Looks like she knew what you were saying all along.”

  “Hello, Liam,” Detective McEnroe said as we entered the living room. “You wanted to see me?”

  “I think I might have a suspect for you,” Liam said. “Nixie and I wanted to share our info with you.”

  “Really?” came Cynthia’s voice from the hallway. “And who is your suspect?” she asked.

  “You,” Liam said.

  Cynthia looked at Liam, then the detective. Then she looked at me and for the first time noticed the Louboutin shoebox I was holding.

  “Where did you get that from?” she asked.

  “The thrift store,” I said.

  Cynthia turned and looked at Agnes. Then turned back to me. “I don’t know why you’re holding them so tightly, they were just an old pair of shoes I didn’t want anymore.”

  “What makes you think they’re yours, or that they have anything to do with you?” I said.

  I could hear her breath as it caught in the back of her throat.

  “I . . . uh . . .” she said sputtering.

  “And,” I added not giving her time to spit out the lie she was concocting. “These shoes are from this year’s line.”

  “We could stand around and talk fashion all day,” the detective said. “And I don’t know if I’m too keen on being brought here because you two amateur sleuths think you’ve solved the whodunit. This isn’t TV.” He looked me straight in the eye. “But, if I were so inclined to listen, I’d need to hear some hard evidence.”

  I opened up the box and handed him one of the shoes. Turning it upside down, I let my eyes fall on what I’d discovered on the sole.

  “What is this?” he asked taking the shoe.

  “Your evidence,” Liam said.

  “Hard evidence,” I affirmed.

  Jacob walked into the room, his eyes darting around. “Morning,” he said and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “What’s going on?” He turned to the detective. “You have an update for us?”

  “No, but it seems like your brother and his friend does.”

  “What are you talking about, Liam?” Dale interjected. “You’re not accusing my mother, I know.”

  “Yeah, bro, I am.”

  “So, please, Ms. Culpepper tell me what you have. What is this?”

  “It’s hard to see,” I said. “Because Christian Louboutin makes all the soles of his shoes red, but if you look closely there’s blood splattered on the bottom.”

  “My father’s blood,” Liam said.

  “And there are splinters of wood from the woodchip pile stuck to it,” I said. “Small, fine slivers. But they’re there.”

  “She’s a liar if she think I got that blood on it,” Cynthia said. “She could have put that blood there. She’s the one with the shoes.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “But that’s Big Willie’s blood. Easy enough to run a test on. And for me to have put his blood on those shoes, I would have had to have them on the day he died. There was no other time I could have gotten access to his blood.”

  The detective, Dale and Agnes looked over at Cynthia.

  “And as Agnes and my receipt from the Blues City Thrift store can attest to, I didn’t acquire those shoes until the day of the funeral.”

  “Is that why you had me take those shoes to the thrift store?” Agnes asked.

  “I should have burned them,” Cynthia muttered.

  “Wait,” Jacob said. He shook his head and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Are we all standing here because someone thinks Cynthia killed Big Willie?”

  “With his own gun,” Liam said. “I’m sure those woodchips will match the sliver found in his gun.”

  “And the ones that were all over Big Willie,” I added.

  “Why?” Dale said. “Why would my mother do something like that? She couldn’t have. She loved him.”

  “She did it because she’d been stealing money from the business,” Liam said.

  “Nooo.” Dale shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not true.”

  “Where do you think she got the money to buy you those cars?” Liam asked.


  “How do you know she bought those cars?” Dale glanced over at his mother. “I didn’t say anything,” he said to her. “I promise.”

  “You didn’t have to. The name Cindy Lou Flannigan is on the registration and on her and Big Willie’s marriage certificate,” Liam said and pointed to the notebook I’d been holding. “It was easy to figure out. And according to the books Big Willie’s lawyers had, he was broke.”

  “Broke?” Jacob said. “Like in didn’t have any money, broke?”

  “Yeah,” Liam said and gave Cynthia a hard look. “Almost bankrupt. Nothing left but the house, the land and our inventory.”

  “That’s impossible,” Jacob said.

  “Same thing I thought when I heard it,” Liam said. “And then I looked inside of Big Willie’s hiding place with his certificates.” He looked at Cynthia. “He had his own set of books and it showed he should have had a whole bunch of money.”

  “But he didn’t?” Jacob said, seemingly his brain kicking in. “According to the lawyer.”

  “Right. And the reason being was that she was stealing the money.” Liam pointed to Cynthia. “But Big Willie found out about it. Found out she was hiding it in another bank account at Bank of America.”

  “That’s why you killed him?” Jacob asked and turned to Cynthia. “You didn’t have to steal from Big Willie, he would have given you anything. And if he found out, why wouldn’t you just give it back?”

  She sucked her lips. She knew we had her. And the lab analysis was going to put her at the scene at the time Big Willie was shot. That’s why she hadn’t come down to the scene when everyone else rushed to it. And that’s why she was wet and dishevel when we all met in the side yard to await interrogation by the detective. She’d taken a shower and changed clothes even though she had been dressed for the party when I first met her.

  “Big Willie told me he had proof,” Cynthia started, no remorse in her voice. “And that if I didn’t give it back he’d turn me in. I told him, I would give it back,” she looked over at Jacob, “and that I was sorry. I thought we had worked it out.” She shook her head. “But then Charles called,” Cynthia said.