by Maddie Day
Abe piped up. “He was out for maybe thirty seconds. Heart and respirations were good from the get-go. I light-checked his pupils, which were equal and responsive. He awoke and protested the light.”
“Thanks, Abe.” The woman smiled at him. Of course she knew him. Everybody did.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Marcus said, his voice now stronger.
The EMT glanced at her partner. “We need to evaluate you for a while, and we’d rather do it in the emergency department. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” Marcus said.
“He’s passed cognitive clarity,” the other EMT said.
The woman continued. “If you insist on refusing, we can stay here until you are cleared to leave.”
“Yes, that’s what I want.” Marcus’s voice seemed to grow deeper and more clear every time he spoke.
“You shouldn’t drive tonight,” she added.
“I’ve got it,” Corrine said. “I’ll take care of him.”
Buck cleared his throat. “Imma need a statement from Danna and Franklin, at the very least.” He looked at Abe and me. “And one or both of you two.”
Abe murmured to me. “I’m going to have to meet Sean at six-thirty and take him back to his mom’s. School night.”
“I know.” To Buck I said, “I’ll do it. Do I need to go to the station?”
“Thanks, but no,” Buck said. “I’ll talk to you first so you don’t have to hang around. The rest of y’all? Don’t go anywhere.”
He and Octavia exchanged a look. She moved closer to Jamie as if making sure he didn’t make a dash for the exits, so to speak. Interesting.
Buck touched his eye and pointed to the deputy, who nodded. “Robbie, step over here, if you will, please?”
Abe checked his watch and came with us. “It isn’t six-thirty yet.”
We followed Buck a few yards away.
He pulled out a paper notebook and a pen. “Please tell me again what you witnessed.”
I related what I’d seen. “To his credit, Marcus kept trying to get Danna to let go of the camera, to leave Jamie alone.”
“Yes,” Abe agreed. “He was doing his best to deescalate the situation. He advised Danna to turn the other cheek and urged her to let go of the device after she grabbed it.”
“Marcus got behind her and had his hands on her shoulders,” I continued. “She kept pulling at the camera. They all toppled over, and Marcus’s head hit the ground hard.”
Buck scrunched up his face. “I thought he did one of them Japanese sports. Don’t they teach them to fall the right way?”
Abe smiled. “You’re thinking of judo. Marcus was a karate-ka.”
“A what?” Buck looked even more confused.
“He studied karate.” Abe pronounced it ka-RAH-tay. “You know, the martial art.”
I sometimes forgot Abe had lived in Japan while he was in the army.
“You mean karate?” Buck said the word like most Americans, kuh-RAH-dee.
“Yes.”
“You got anything else, either of you?” Buck looked from Abe to me.
“I texted you about that article Jamie wrote, but I didn’t see that you answered,” I replied. “Did the police give him any information about Marcus?”
“No, we did not,” Buck said. “I’m pretty dang curious about them sources of his.”
I glanced over to where Octavia stood calmly regarding an increasingly impatient Jamie. “You and me both,” I said. “Anyway, I think we told you all we know about what happened, right, Abe?”
“Yes.”
Buck thanked us and said we were free to go, then ambled back to the others.
“Want Seanie and me to walk you home?” Abe asked, laying his hand gently on my cheek.
“I would like that, yes.” I usually felt safe in South Lick. Tonight, a walk alone in the dark was about the last thing I wanted to do.
Chapter Forty-Four
Alone in my apartment with Birdy, I drew all the curtains and turned up the heat. I glared at the washing machine full of wet store laundry and vowed to hire a service in the spring. In the meantime, it wasn’t going to dry or fold itself. My stomach rumbled along with the dryer after I started the machine. It was seven o’clock and way past dinnertime.
I grabbed a serving of lamb curry and rice from the freezer and nuked it in the microwave. Abe—bless his handsome heart—had sent me home with leftovers after a big dinner he’d prepared for us and another couple in October. I cooked so much in the restaurant, the last thing I needed to do was make a solo dinner from scratch on my day off.
A glass of red and a delicious meal later, I stared at the few remaining empty squares on yesterday’s New York Times crossword, which I’d worked as I ate. Mustering up arcane answers like “Elis” for an ancient Greek land, “rhos” for density symbols, and “taro” as a bubble tea flavor, had kept murder out of my mind for a little while. What I really needed were the answers to the clues, “The reason Jamie wrote an unfounded article about Marcus,” “Shirley cut out of town because . . . ,” or “The cause of Clive being broke.”
It was possible ye olde Internet could help me figure these out. I actually had time to dig deep, research-wise, as it was my one night not to do breakfast prep for the next day, and Abe was at home. I set my dishes in the sink and headed for my laptop.
A couple of minutes later I sat back. I’d found a British guitarist named Clive Colton, and a white-haired man by the same name in the States somewhere who’d won an Unsung Hero award. The man I was interested in was the South Lick Clive, who’d been in small-claims court for not paying a debt he owed. The plumber who’d been employed by four different contractors. The one who’d had his license revoked. Ouch. He must be singularly bad at his chosen occupation. And if he was a shoddy plumber, no wonder he had money woes. He’d have to work under the table for similarly unlicensed contractors.
Could he have faked his grief at Toni’s death? Sure. He could have been planning for Toni’s death all along so he would come into her money and the property she owned. I wondered if he knew for sure that he was her heir, or if he only assumed it. Surely Octavia would know the contents of Toni’s will by now. After Clive had eaten—for free, as it turned out—this morning and spied Octavia, he’d said she was bad news. She must be keeping a close eye on him. I drummed my fingers on the desk. I so wished I could know how the investigation was really going. Who had alibis? What information had the detective and her team unearthed? I could wish until the cows came home. She’d never tell me.
I blew out a breath. It was time for a splash of Four Roses to help me in my search. Splash duly poured, I returned to my desk only to find Birdy happily ensconced on the laptop’s keyboard. The screen displayed a message that made me laugh out loud:
Your search -wwwwwwwwwwweeeddddddddddddccc-cvvvxxxaaaaaaaaaagggggggttttttttttt - did not match any documents.
Suggestions:
-Make sure all words are spelled correctly.
-Try different keywords.
-Try more general keywords.
“Birdy, you silly cat. You have to spell the words correctly.” A giggle slipped out as I lifted my research assistant onto the floor and cleared his paw-initiated search. I’d probably mined to the end of the Clive vein. How about Jamie Franklin’s background? Was he really who he made himself out to be? Why was he going around taking pictures of someone like Danna who’d asked him to his face not to? That had to be an invasion of privacy and against some kind of law or ordinance.
But James Franklin was a much more common name than Clive Colton. Even adding “South Lick” to the search only got me some of the local news and feature articles with his byline. So much for that vein.
I didn’t think a search would tell me the reason for Shirley’s precipitous departure from town, either. Someone had mentioned a secret connected with her, though. Who had it been? I sipped the bourbon, then snapped my fingers. It was what Sean had told Buck about the argument he’d
overheard between Toni and Shirley. Sean had said Toni threatened to air Shirley’s secret if Shirley went public about Toni’s bad stewardship of the rental apartment.
My fingers got busy. Shirley Csik had a unique name, at least in the googlesphere. Shirley had apparently been enrolled at Purdue University and had been a scoring striker on the women’s soccer team even as a first-year student. She must be as good as Danna had reported. I kept poking around. College news about her disappeared after her junior year. I couldn’t find her in the graduating class or any other mentions. Huh. Maybe that was when her father went to prison? She might have had to come home and take care of her brother. Him being incarcerated wasn’t a secret, though.
I kept searching. “Bingo,” I said aloud, sitting back in the chair, gazing at a blog called The Brown Sleuth. A post from five years ago claimed the Sleuth learned Shirley had bribed a prison official to try to get her brother transferred to a different facility, but the official had refused to take her money. The Sleuth wondered why she hadn’t been arrested on a felony.
Was this a gossip rag or a news source? I couldn’t find a thing on the site acknowledging who the author was. And was the story true? Further searching yielded exactly zip. The dryer beeped that the load was done. As I transferred the laundry into a basket, I found a pair of colorful socks Adele had knitted me. I must have thrown them in the washer at some point instead of into my personal hamper. Adele might well know more than the Web about what had happened to soccer star Shirley.
“Hey, Adele,” I said when she picked up. “Do you know what happened to Shirley Csik in college? She was a soccer whiz at Purdue, but she didn’t play senior year and it looks like she probably didn’t even graduate.”
“Why are you asking, hon?” When I didn’t respond right away, she went on. “Never mind, you probably got your detecting hat on.”
She knew me way too well.
“It was this way. She was doing real well up to that college, but that was when her daddy went and killed a man. He always claimed it was accidental and all like that, but they give him life, anyway. So Shirley had to drop out and head home to look after Zeke.”
“Thanks. I wondered if that was what had happened. Now, have you ever heard of a blog called The Brown Sleuth?”
“Of course I have, and it’s a darned disgrace. Nobody knows who runs it, but the thing is nothing more than a gossip rag.”
“It kind of seemed that way. I ran across a post saying Shirley tried to bribe a jail official a few years ago. Is that true? Did she?”
“That would be a crime in and of itself, doncha know?” Adele made a tsking noise. “I was mayor at the time, and I admit to hearing the same rumor. Nothing ever came of it, though. Hang on a sec, Roberta.” She spoke away from the phone. “What’s that, sugar buns?”
I smiled and shook my head at my aunt calling Samuel “sugar buns.”
“Samuel says it was Toni who hushed up the whole affair about the bribery.”
“Toni?” My voice rose. “I thought she and Shirley didn’t get along.”
“They sure as heck did not. I never was quite sure why she upped and did Shirley that favor.”
Possibly to have power over her. Maybe Toni was about to go public, finally, about Shirley’s brush with the law. But would Shirley have killed her for that?
Chapter Forty-Five
The next morning I slept in until seven, way late for this early riser. The sun wasn’t up yet, but when I glanced out the back door, the sky was littered with celestial diamond dust, and a glowing Venus hovered above the eastern horizon. We wouldn’t be getting any more snow for now.
I sat in my PJs, playing with Birdy and sipping my coffee. My gaze fell on the crossword puzzle I’d started to create last night. I’d sketched out clues like “William’s motive for killing Kristina,” “Toni’s tenant,” and “How Jamie felt about Toni.” I’d added “Kristina’s fear” and “Shirley’s relationship to Toni.”
But it hadn’t clarified my thinking at all, so I’d switched to solving yesterday’s New York Times puzzle, one that had nothing to do with murder. I’d even picked up a new word from the puzzle, “eldritch,” which meant sinister or darkly ominous, according to the dictionary. Despite today’s crisp, clear, predawn sky, the events of this week were definitely eldritch, as was my mood.
Yesterday after the tree lighting Jamie had seemed a lot more sinister than he had earlier in the week. Marcus, if anything, had acted less so. Not that I’d witnessed him being hardly anything but quiet and humble, but the multiple reports of his temper problem had worried me. That, and him showing up unannounced and out of the blue to join Corrine and Danna’s family. Or rejoin, in Corrine’s case.
I knew one thing that would clear my mind and lift my spirits. I set my mug in the sink and went to change into biking clothes. There was nothing like a good hard ride to clear the cobwebs, both physical and mental. I had no schedule today other than to put in a food order and do breakfast prep sometime before tomorrow. A morning ride was always the right way to start a day.
Twenty minutes later I was sweating hard, pushing myself on the hardest program the cycle came with. As I pedaled down a virtual hill, the thinking brain came back to life, and I remembered I’d planned to head to Columbus to look for Shirley. Was her leaving town so abruptly the act of a guilty woman? Or had her grandfather fallen ill and she’d simply gone to his side? Most people would at least tell their employer what was going on, in that case.
I was hungry to find out what else was going on in the case, especially when it came to alibis. Octavia and company must have canvassed Toni’s neighborhood. Had anyone corroborated what Shirley said she’d seen? Shirley, Jamie, and William all lived alone. So did Marcus, although for Danna’s sake I hoped he wasn’t involved. If any of the suspects had gone into Toni’s side of the house, wouldn’t someone have seen them?
Jamie. Octavia had been paying him close attention after she showed up at the town square yesterday. Maybe he was more of a suspect in Toni’s murder than I’d thought. He had called her “trouble.” Why? Because she’d questioned him? He might well have a secret I hadn’t uncovered.
I shook my head and focused on the last ten minutes of my ride. No thinking, just pushing my muscles, including the most important one—my heart. After a five-minute slow pedal to cool down, I hopped off and wiped my face. Now I was hungry for food, and I’d earned it. I fixed a cardiac-healthy breakfast of homemade almond-laden granola, cut-up dried apricots, and a sliced banana, and sat down with my tablet to search for news.
Five minutes later I sat back in relief. Jamie had not submitted an article or photos of his altercation with Danna. Good. Maybe Corrine had pulled strings, maybe she hadn’t. Either way, I was glad for Danna’s sake. I hadn’t even found anything in the police report column. I texted Danna.
Is Marcus okay?
I poked around a little more. The latest Middle East conflict was worsening. National news was way too depressing. The Pacers were losing. At least the IU basketball team was doing well, as always. And on the Cycling News site I saw an encouraging story from a DC-area bike advocacy group called WABA about the capital district implementing much-needed protected bike lanes. It wasn’t all bad out there.
At a ding, I checked the incoming text.
Yes. No concussion. Me? Might be in trouble for assault. Will call U later.
Poor Danna. I would think any reasonable magistrate would cancel out her grabbing his phone with his taking photographs against her wishes.
I couldn’t do anything about it. After I showered and placed the supplies order for the restaurant, I’d head out. Maybe I could make my own small contribution to improving the news right here in South Lick.
Chapter Forty-Six
I timed my visit to Columbus for midmorning. It was when my weekly cleaning service came in to do the restaurant floors and restrooms. We kept up during the week, but I was finally doing well enough financially to hire people to really scrub dow
n the place. You don’t mess around when you’re serving food to the public.
I also figured by ten o’clock an old man would be up, washed, and have eaten breakfast, but wouldn’t be busy with lunch or a postprandial snooze. I’d forgotten how little time it took to drive to the small city, though, and I rolled into town at nine-thirty. If I was here long enough, I could even get a Gom sandwich at Zaharakos, a restaurant and museum in an historical building. The Gom was famous in the area—a spicy sloppy joe mix on thick grilled slices of white bread—and I hadn’t indulged in one in a while.
It had been a couple of years since I’d visited. The retirement place was on the far side of town from where I entered. As I was earlier than I’d intended, I could park downtown and walk around a little, check out the innovative buildings. I was sure I could find a walking guide on my phone. On my way to the Avenue of the Architects, though, I spied a big blue H on a sign. Huh. I slowed, earning an uncharacteristically rude beep from the car behind. Hoosiers rarely honked unless it was a friendly greeting on a back road.
I turned at the next blue H. Bingo. I was looking at Columbus Regional, the hospital where William Geller dosed up patients with anesthesia. Could I poke around and ask a few questions? Why not? The downtown buildings weren’t going anywhere.
After I pulled into a big parking lot, I circled until I found an open spot. But I didn’t get out of my car. What excuse could I possibly give for asking questions about a longtime anesthesiologist? And who would I ask? Not the receptionist or the volunteer at the information desk. They wouldn’t tell me anything about his reputation. I narrowed my eyes at the sprawling building. I needed to think creatively here.
I climbed out and locked the vehicle. Phone in hand, I checked a map of the inside of the facility. Bingo. Several minutes later I took a seat in the surgical waiting room near a worried-looking woman in her fifties. Who better to ask than relatives of patients currently under anesthesia? The woman was knitting at a fast clip. Maybe it took her mind off of whoever was under the knife.