The BBQ Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said, and let out a sniff that seemed belated. I hadn’t seen much emotion from him during this. He was like a record, playing all the information to me without expression. “Emma told me that Parker wanted to find her, and I didn’t believe it at the time. Until my sister showed me the text message. Then Emma was angry at me for ‘interfering’ in her life. Women, am I right?”

  I didn’t agree with him. “And I don’t suppose you know Parker’s name and where he was staying?”

  “Yeah, sure. I know that. His name is Parker Dirke and he lives on Charlesbury Street. It’s right around the corner from Emma’s new place.” More strangeness. Why did he know where the ex-husband, who had supposedly just gotten into town, was staying?

  I got the number of the house from him and saved it on my phone. “Robert,” I said, “may I call you by your first name?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “Robert, do you think that Parker did this?” I asked, tilting my head, weighing each micro-expression that flitted across his face.

  “He might’ve. I don’t want to condemn the guy, but he clearly had an issue with Emma. I can’t think of anyone else who might’ve done it.” Robert clicked his fingers. “Except for maybe one other person.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Mona Jonah. She’s this mean, horrible woman who used to run the paper before Emma got the job. Head of the Gossip Circle that Shayna’s a part of. If anyone would’ve wanted to get rid of my Emma, it was her.”

  “Why do you figure that?”

  “Because Emma complained about her a lot. They were always arguing. Mona was meant to train Emma, but she refused, so Emma was left to fend for herself. But she managed because she was just… good at what she did.” A hint of pride in his voice.

  “One last thing, Robert,” I said. “Where were you on the night of Emma’s murder? It's a standard question, please don’t take offense.”

  “Right. Well, uh, sure. OK. I was here. I was meant to have a date with Emma but she never showed up. I figured she was working late so I went to bed instead of waiting up.” Robert shrugged.

  Something’s not right about that. But I had run out of questions and confronting him further likely wouldn’t get me information—he’d clam up. “Thanks for your time,” I said. “Keep safe.”

  “You too.”

  9

  Mr. Dirke’s house was opulent in comparison to the boyfriend’s place. A triple-story home in the rich part of town, Parker Dirke’s mansion was safely tucked back from the road behind two silver gates and an intercom on the brick wall.

  “Wow,” Aggy said, stifling a yawn. “This is a nice place.”

  “You can’t seriously be tired.” I turned off the Corvette’s engine. “You had a nap this afternoon.”

  “It’s past seven in the evening,” Aggy replied, slumping in the passenger seat and tugging her flat cap down. “And it’s been a busy day. We don’t normally have this much to do.”

  Ouch. “Yeah, well, let’s practice gratitude for the fact that we have a case.”

  “Even though we shouldn’t have taken it.”

  “Aggy.”

  “I’m just saying, if Grizzy or the twins found out, they wouldn’t be happy. You know how much Missi hates Mona. She wouldn’t like it that we’re trying to help her,” Aggy said, and shuddered at the thought of Missi’s reaction. “And then if Liam finds out, you’ll be in even bigger trouble.”

  “Yeah, I’m the one who told you that. Any reason you’ve decided to bring it up now?”

  “I don’t know. I’m tired. I want to go home and sleep. And I don’t feel like talking to any more suspects or—”

  “Aggy,” I said, unclipping my seatbelt and turning toward her. “If we don’t solve the case, we can kiss the money goodbye. I’m trying to get this done without upsetting anyone. I’m trying to make it a win-win all while teaching you more about investigating cases so that you can one day get your inheritance. I’d appreciate a little support.”

  “Sorry.” Aggy sat a little straighter. “I guess, I just—hey, look. There’s a car coming.” She pointed at the black speedster racing down the road toward us. The car turned into the drive in front of the gates.

  This had to be the guy.

  I jumped out of the Corvette and jogged toward black Porsche idling in front of the opening gates. I knocked on the window.

  It rolled down, and a highly irritated older man glared back at me. Dark hair streaked gray, plenty of wrinkles around the eyes, which were cold as ice, and tan skin. He wore a suit, his tie undone.

  “Get your filthy knuckles away from my car.”

  There’s one I’ve never heard before. “Mr. Dirke?” I asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Frankie Carson,” I lied, “working with the FBI on a murder that occured in town. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  That took the wind out of his sails. The wind being his blustery arrogance.

  Parker Dirke deflated so rapidly it should’ve been audible. “You got any ID?”

  “Sure.” I brought my wallet out and flashed my card at him. My plain old card, which bore my picture and contact details. It was evening, and I was banking on the fact that he’d never worked with the FBI before. This is bad. This is criminal. Impersonating an FBI agent? What was wrong with me?

  Parker squinted at the card, but I secreted it too quickly. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “If you have questions you can ask them now. Here. Quickly.” The gates had opened fully and waited, silent, for his entrance.

  “I’d prefer to talk inside.”

  “I’m a busy man. I’m not going to be home for long. I have places to be. If you’ve got questions, ask them now.”

  I wasn’t about to argue. “I understand that you’ve spoken with the detectives at the station, Balle and Cotton.” I still got a kick out of their last names after all these years. “But I wanted to touch base with you about a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your alibi for the night of the murder of Miss Carte,” I said.

  Parker jolted at the mention of his ex-wife’s name. “I was out. In public. Look, I have to go. I don’t have time for this. Surely, the detective at the station can give you all the details you need?”

  “Why did you decide to move to Sleepy Creek, Mr. Dirke?” I asked. “Were you following your ex-wife here?”

  “Of course I was. Except, at the time, she wasn’t my ex-wife. Emma and I only recently finalized our divorce. I’ve been living in Sleepy Creek for over a year. She wanted to work and live here, so I made that dream come true. This is all common knowledge, Miss Carson.”

  “Special Agent Carson,” I corrected him, just for the fun of it. “Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Emma? Anyone that springs to mind, immediately?”

  So far, the answers had been Parker and Mona. Mona being the most common thread, and the one who’d last been seen with Emma. And who had been arguing with her, rather loudly, mere hours before her death.

  Parker shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hang around with my ex-wife. Our divorce wasn’t exactly amicable. In fact, I’m planning on selling this place and moving out of this backwater town the minute I can.”

  I bristled at his description of Sleepy Creek but contained myself. Getting snappy with this guy wouldn’t help matters. He was the type who would shut down and drive off if I pushed too hard in the wrong ways.

  “I understand this must be difficult for you, Mr. Dirke, but I’d really appreciate your help. It’s citizens like you who help change the tide of murder cases like these,” I said, hating myself for having to fan the flames of his roaring ego.

  Mr. Dirke lifted his chin, chest puffing outward a little. “Right, yeah, of course. I understand. Well, I know that Emma had a new boyfriend. I didn’t know who he was, though, but that might be an avenue to check out. Maybe they had a lover’s spat.
Who knows?”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  “Not really. Just that we didn’t talk much, that I planned on moving out of Sleepy Creek before this all happened, and that I moved here a year ago.”

  Covering all your bases, eh? That’s not suspicious at all. “About the night of the murder—” I started.

  “Sorry, Special Agent Carson, but I’ve got to go. If you have questions, I suggest you direct them to the Sleepy Creek police.” And then he zoomed through the entrance to his mansion. The gates closed behind him with a metallic clack.

  I stared after his black Porsche, my eyes narrowed.

  Didn’t like the guy. Didn’t trust the guy. The arrogance was astounding, talking to an FBI agent like that...

  I had purposefully avoided asking him about the text exchange because it would be easier to disprove his lies if I let him talk first. And I’d been right. He had lied about when he’d first arrived in Sleepy Creek and his relationship with his ex-wife.

  And that meant he’d bumped himself up the suspect list, right to the top. The only missing piece of evidence would be the cameras, then, but it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find out about them if he’d been attentive.

  Those planning murder often were.

  Shoot, if I could solve this case in a day, that would be an achievement beyond my wildest dreams. Fifteen thousand in cold hard cash for a day’s work? Not a chance.

  Aggy honked the Corvette’s horn, and I turned, glaring at her.

  “Can we go?” she called out of the window. “I’m hungry.”

  “What, again? You had two slices of pie earlier.”

  “That was earlier. I want takeout. Fried chicken. Or burgers. Or pizza.”

  “Fine, fine, I’m coming.” I got into the car and put on my seatbelt. Food was a good idea. When I got super focused on a case, I found it difficult to eat, ironically enough. It was as if my entire body was consumed by the facts. Or lack thereof, depending on the scenario.

  “Burger Bar will close soon,” Aggy prompted.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I didn’t want to go in and see Grizzy. It would make hiding what we’d gotten up to today difficult. “Let’s get pizza instead. Something from Sal’s.”

  “They have organic cheese, right?”

  I rolled my eyes and started the car’s engine. It sputtered and failed a few times before finally taking. “Atta girl.” I patted the dashboard. If there was one thing I could always rely on, it was my car’s temperamental behavior. And that Aggy would choose a hat with her outfit tomorrow.

  That was about as reliable as things got in Sleepy Creek.

  10

  The following morning…

  * * *

  Aggy and I rolled up to the office at 08:15 a.m., both well-rested for the first time in what felt like months. Having less financial problems did that to a person. I had paid the rent on my office space and my apartment for the next two months with the money Mona had paid me, and there had still been plenty left over for food and extras for Poirot, my cat.

  “Breakfast?” Aggy asked.

  “You just had breakfast,” I said. “I swear, you’re like a much taller, much more annoying version of a hobbit. We’re not having second breakfast or ‘elevensies’.”

  “What’s a hobbit?”

  “Don’t even talk to me right now,” I said.

  We entered the office, and much to my eternal surprise, found my receptionist, Mindy, now fresh out of high school, behind the desk. Even more shocking? She wasn’t playing Crusher Bugs on her phone or using Spick Spock or whatever it twas called to make up dances. She was hunched over, reading, of all things.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, and Aggy ran into my back.

  “Am I… dreaming?” I asked. “Or did we just step into an alternate universe?”

  “Christie!” Mindy cried, her eyes lighting up. “You’ve got to see this.”

  I stared at her like she’d grown an extra head. Mindy had never expressed enthusiasm about anything since she’d first started working here over a year ago.

  I approached her reception desk cautiously. “What have you got there, Mindy? Not a recipe for a bomb or something, right?”

  She tapped the front page of a paper. “It’s a special edition of The Creeker Gazette. Somebody close to the cops has fed the paper inside information. Check it out.”

  Evidence points toward the truth! Mona Jonah now a prime suspect in the case!

  Below that torrid heading was an image that had been snapped of Mona, leopard-print pants and all, heading out of the Gossip Circle’s club house. She wore her usual pink glittery glasses, but had on a leopard print scarf around her head. She held up one side, trying to cover her face, as the photographer snapped the picture.

  “They can’t do that,” I murmured. “They’ll muddy the facts. This is bad. Murder suspects can’t be tried in the court of public opinion. It’s innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Oh, get off your high horse. Don’t be, like, boring. Just read it!” There was our Mindy, in her usual form. Whatever good will she’d held moments ago had departed from her body like a spirit being exorcised.

  A source close to the detectives currently investigating the murder of Emma Carte, editor of The Creeker Gazette has brought forward brand new evidence. The note found upon Emma’s body was, in fact, written by Mona Jonah. Or that is how it seems. According to our source, the note threatened Emma with her life if she didn’t give up her position at the paper.

  Detective Liam Balle and Detective Arthur Cotton have yet to comment on this development.

  And underneath that, there was a black and white image of the note. The handwriting was an untidy scrawl that looked a lot like Mona’s, but not exactly the same. I still had one of her offers of money tucked into my desk drawer. I could cross-reference the sample, but it wouldn’t prove much.

  This was bad. This was so bad.

  Someone had leaked information to the press? This made Liam and Arthur look like terrible detectives who couldn’t handle the case, and with their jobs already on the line…

  I swallowed.

  What about Mona?

  The note might not have been written by her, but it was starting to look bad. And unless that note had been unrelated to the murder, it blew my assumed motive out of the water. I couldn’t see Parker Dirke threatening his ex-wife about her job, no matter how much he despised her.

  “Christie?” Aggy patted me on the arm. “Are you OK? Your whole face has gone blank.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but the front door crashed inward.

  Mindy screamed and pointed. Aggy swooned and grasped my forearm as if she’d faint, and I went cold, staring at the intruder.

  Except, it wasn’t technically an intruder.

  Mona Jonah stood on the threshold, sucking in deep breaths, her sunglasses on the tip of her sweaty nose. “We need to talk,” she said. “Now.”

  “Murderer,” Mindy breathed.

  “Mindy, zip it,” I replied. “You’re not helping.”

  Mindy rolled her eyes so hard her eyelids did a little dance, and then brought out her phone and unlocked her screen. Back to Bubble Basher she went.

  I gestured for Mona to enter my office then followed her. She reeked of rose perfume, the cheap type that clung to the nostrils.

  Once we were settled—Aggy in her corner, Mona pacing back and forth in front of my desk, and the door to my office closed to prevent Mindy from eavesdropping—I cleared my throat.

  “Tell me about the note,” I said.

  “Watson, you can’t seriously think that I wrote that note.” Mona fisted her hips. Her entire face shimmered, and her sunglasses dropped from her nose and clattered to the floor. She swept them up and shoved them into her tote. “As if I would risk my life for that Emma. As if! And I would never be dumb enough to write a darn note about it if I did plan on killing her.”

  I nodded. “Then who do you think wrote that note?”

  “How sho
uld I know?”

  “You seem intimately familiar with the victim,” I said, sitting back and placing my hands behind my head. “I hear you had an argument with her before her death. You were the last one seen with her.”

  Mona puffed out her cheeks and grew red. “Excuse. Me. What did you just say to me you miserable little woman do you really think that I—” The words came out in a blur.

  I lifted a hand. “Cool it,” I said. “You wanted me to investigate, and that’s what I’m doing, Jonah. Whether that leads me toward you or away. Any news on that camera footage?”

  She exhaled forcibly, but the color remained in her cheeks.

  “Mona?”

  “The camera footage,” she said, at last. “Nothing yet. I’m trying.”

  “Try harder. I don’t have as many leads as I’d like, and I’ve got the feeling that that footage would blow this case wide open.”

  “I hired you to do this.”

  “Sure,” I said, “but if you want to free yourself from the gossip in town, the scrutiny of the police and the press, then you’d better do as I ask.” Oh, the irony. There was a saying, “Live by the sword, die by the sword” and it summed up Mona perfectly.

  She had spent years crushing people beneath her glittery heels, grinding them to a paste with her rumors and gossip. The shoe was now on the other foot.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Mona said, at last. “But I expect you to be… open about your lines of investigation. Tell me what you have so far. I’m the one who hired you.”

  “You hired me to investigate, not share private information about the case. I’m sorry, but that’s not how I work.”

  In the corner, Aggy beamed. She didn’t like Mona either. Shoot, nobody who’d encountered the woman’s barbed tongue did. It was nice for Aggy to see Mona being put in her place, even if it was a side-effect of a terrible accident.

  The truth was, if she was the one who’d killed Emma, I would be the first person to report her to the police. But it sounded as if they were already onto her.