Schooled in Murder

by Kim Smith

  While waiting for someone in Homicide to answer the phone, I wondered if they were all at the crime scene. Maybe it was a bad time to call.

  Then, a click and a familiar voice. “Ramirez.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. “Sal? It’s Shannon.”

  “Hi there.” He sounded either completely exhausted, or totally wiped out with grief. Either way, I would keep it short.

  “I forgot to tell the cops about something.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There’s a kid who lives behind the Denaldos. He was out in his yard playing when we were over there. You might want to talk to his mama about anything they saw. He might have been outside all the time.”

  “I’ll pass it along.”

  Silence.

  “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come over?”

  “I’m still at the office. Another time, perhaps?”

  “Sure. You name it.”

  “Will do.” And he disconnected.

  Cradling the phone, I nursed an image of embracing Sal in his time of need. It ended when Dwayne shuffled up with his arms full of food. He gave me a curious look, but no lip to go along with it. It felt like my world had tilted. This was one of the worst days in my history.

  ###

  Seated at my kitchen table, our greasy fingers smeared paper napkins and our smacking lips and grunts were the only sounds. The smell of fried food filled my little place and made me remember times in my childhood at my aunts’ restaurant. I would have to call them soon and give them a heads up about the murder. They liked Dan. He was one of their customers at Aunt Tillie’s eatery.

  Contemplating Dan’s murder and what had happened to Mrs. Denaldo kept us in silence. In fact, my thoughts about the whole ordeal were so deep that I nearly dropped a can of soda when my cell phone vibrated from the depths of the pocket on my denim shorts.

  Dwayne laughed at my fumbling. “Nervous much?”

  I scowled at him and swiped my phone open, ignoring the number that appeared. “Yeah?” I said gruffly.

  “Shannon. It’s Jim. The cops just left. I think I may have more questions. You home?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Come on over.”

  I clicked the off button on the side of my phone and slid it onto the tabletop. “Jim’s coming over.”

  Dee crushed his can and did a slam-dunk, thanks to my swing top garbage can. “Good time for me to take off. I don’t wanna be around and listen to his tripe.”

  “Why are you so hateful about him? He’s a pretty nice guy, and you’ll be glad you know him if someone sues us. And don’t you think they won’t, either. Plenty of brides have become Bridezilla. I know you watch those television shows, and you’ve seen them. Besides, he has to make a living doing what he knows how to do. Is it his fault he actually takes an active role in pursuing clients?”

  Dwayne laughed all the way to the front door. “Thanks, Shannon. Really. I needed a good laugh.”

  To remind him about the two grand would be fruitless at this point, since the cops had the contract, and we still hadn’t gotten permission to film the house. I waved goodbye and he let himself out.

  The act of clearing away our mess kept me occupied for a while. I stacked it all on the table by the garbage can so that it would be easy to just swoop it over into the trash and haul it outside.

  Then, with as much diplomacy as possible, I called my aunts to tell them about Dan. Aunt Nancy put me on speakerphone so Aunt Tillie could hear.

  “Oh, no!” they both exclaimed.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news.”

  “Honey, are you okay?” Tillie asked. I could picture her standing by the phone, chewing her fingernail. A habit I had formed in early childhood. It must be genetic.

  “Yes, ma’am. Dee and I have already told all we knew to the cops and had dinner in fact, I am just about to clear it away.” I stared at the pile of paper dishware and crumpled napkins.

  “Do you need to talk?” Aunt Nancy asked. She was my rock. The closest thing I had to a dad. “We can come over.”

  “Nope. I’m good. I’m waiting on a lawyer friend to make a stopover. He and I have some business.”

  “Legal troubles?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh, no, it’s a video job actually.”

  “I see. That’s a shame about Dan Justice. Is there anything that you can share about it?”

  “Not really. I don’t know much. But if I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.” I wouldn’t, but I had to lie. I didn’t want her to share anything out of it with her boyfriend, Herbert Magnum, who was a reporter.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Aunt Nancy sounded grieved to insist. Tillie must have punched her to make her ask. Tillie worried about my mental state after all the murders and deaths that had followed me around of late.

  “Shannon dear. You must call that therapist. I don’t want you to have nightmares.” Aunt Tillie said, finally.

  “Thanks, Aunt Till. I will.” I wouldn’t, but again, I had to lie. I didn’t believe in therapy visits. I’d been through all that as a child when my aunts thought I needed help coping with my parents’ deaths.

  “Listen, sugar, not to change the subject, but, if you have a little time soon, we need for you to come by the house and chat with us for a minute,” Aunt Nancy said, sounding a little hesitant for her normal forward-speaking self. “We need to plan your…um… birthday.”

  I could hear Aunt Tillie fussing at her.

  “Shush, Tillie. She’s got to have a birthday, doesn’t she?”

  I laughed. Maybe Tillie wanted it to be a surprise. “Okay, loveys. I will be over soon. I promise.” My birthday was a little over a month away. I guessed they wanted to be early-birds.

  They muffled the phone and made a lot of noise before saying goodbye. I sat there a moment contemplating what they might be cooking up. One could never tell with them. I hoped it included some homemade potato salad and ambrosia. Tillie’s ambrosia was divine.

  I took the garbage bag out to the big blue Dumpster in the parking lot. The summertime heat and humidity smote me like stepping into a sauna. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, and I swiped at it with my forearm. The smell of rotting food, old baby diapers, and something even worse slid up my nasal passages as I approached the garbage bin. With one hand, I heaved the bag over the side and held my nose with the other. How long had that stuff been in there?

  I promised myself to speak to the resident manager about our pickup schedule. That smell would hurt his chances of rentals in the future if he didn’t get it under control soon. Not to mention the rats that would be harvesting anything left over to eat. I observed just such a creature as it tenderly peered out from around the back of the Dumpster. It was huge. I shook my head in revulsion.

  As I started back toward the building, a funky blue Spark wheeled around the corner. I pulled up short in order not to be hit. The windows were tinted too dark to see the driver, who when he or she realized that I was an almost-victim of being hit, sped off again around the other side.

  I released the breath I’d been holding and counted to three before resuming my trek inside. I had been through a few personal attacks before and anything in the realm of ‘almost’ bothered me. It was an almost that made me need that therapist Aunt Tillie spoke of. I stopped with my hand on the door. Had it been close to a year ago already? I yanked the door open and continued inside, my thoughts black with memories.

  Once I was safely back in my apartment, I glanced at the clock in my kitchen.

  It was nearing 8 PM.

  The sun was just now lowering in the sky as it did during the warm months. I sighed and went to put a new liner in the kitchen garbage can.

  Just as I wondered what had happened to Jimmy Adams, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Hey,” I greeted him, opening the door wide. “I was about to send out the dogs.”

  He muttered something, entered my kitchen, pulled out a chair, and plopped down. I fo
llowed him in and sat at the table.

  “Want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. There’s something very dirty in Denmark,” he said, mopping his brow with a napkin. Splotches of red showed in his cheeks. Either he was angry or hot or both.

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “Denmark being our situation here.” He ticked off reasons on his fingers. “There’s a dead cop in Denaldo’s house, his wife is missing, and he won’t tell me, his attorney, if he knows anything about the situation.”

  “Hm. Not good. Maybe he’s afraid to tell you since you’re a lawyer?”

  He slapped the napkin onto the table. “Ridiculous. I’m his lawyer. He pays me. He’s able to tell me stuff off the record. Under law, I’m obligated to keep his confidences.”

  Okay. He was angry with his client. The ‘why’ was unsure, the ‘what’ would be easier to assess. I chose which questions to ask very carefully. No need to set him off on a rampage. I’d seen one of those and prayed never for a repeat.

  “What’re you going to do about it?” I asked.

  “I came here to ask you what you thought. Is his wife responsible for the murder?”

  “Now, Jim. You know damn good and well I have no idea. She’s missing, silly. Missing, as in, not here? How would I know if she was involved in this whole debacle?”

  He shrugged. “Supposing. Wishful thinking, maybe? At the very least, your woman’s intuition. In other words, I’d hoped you could fill in the empty spots for me. Like, if she was guilty, or an accomplice, or what.”

  “I don’t know. I can only tell you that she’s missing. It seems to me like she’s a victim taken against her will.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “As I told everyone else, her purse got left behind. It wasn’t just stuck behind the sofa, either. It was lying right out in front of God and everyone, spilled out a little, and to me that just smacks of someone taken against their will. Not to mention it is an expensive bag. I can picture her being snatched and dragged along by her arm, making her spill her purse and not being allowed to scoop it back up again.”

  “That would be very bad.” He rubbed his chin, gazing at the door as though he expected the missing woman to waltz in.

  I gaped at him. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that like it sounds?”

  “You always were a smart girl, Shannon.”

  “You mean it would be bad for her, but good for her husband, don’t you?”

  “It’s the unspoken things that count, isn’t it? At any rate, I’m on my way over to talk to Rob in person. Maybe I’ll see something in his facial expressions. I can usually spot a lie long before the lie detector does. I’d like to be there when the cops arrive to ask whether he knows anything about this mess. He’d likely call me to do so anyway.”

  I swiped at a water drop. “Oh, yeah. They’ll suspect him first, of course. He’s still married to the missing woman. They’ll grill him like a skewer of shrimp. They always think the ones closest are the guilty ones.”

  He stood to go. “Guess I should get over there. You know as much as me, or even less. No offense.”

  “None taken.” I walked him to the door. “Is there anything I can do? I’d be glad to go with you or whatever. That money is calling my name. I need it like yesterday. Although now, I’m totally unsure I’ll be able to fulfill my duty to get it. The permission form never was signed, and then the cops took it all, including my contract.”

  He thrust a hand onto his hip. “If I come up with something, I’ll holler. Don’t lose any sleep over the contract and all, I made copies.”

  “Oh?” Relief made me slump. “Well, I sure hope they find Mrs. Denaldo. She’s the answer to the whole mystery, I just know it.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Look at it this way: if Thelma doesn’t come home, and we can get the old man’s permission to film, then we can proceed without her, so don’t fret about the money. Besides, I’m sure there’ll be more where that came from. If she remains missing, he’ll probably move back in.”

  His words soaked in. Our thoughts became one. “That sort of gives him motive to want her to remain missing, doesn’t it?”

  He opened the door. “No comment.”

  He took off disappearing down the stairs. His words like a fog left hanging in the air. My mind raced. What if Mr. Denaldo was behind Thelma’s disappearance? Could he have killed Dan? The money Jim wanted to pay me weighed on my mind. Money meant something when you had a certain lack. But this time, it seemed wrong somehow, sort of like capitalizing on Dan’s death, or on Thelma Denaldo’s disappearance. Either way, it felt wrong and worry didn’t feel good soaking up all that bad food in my gut.

  I wandered through my kitchen trying to make sense of what all had happened. Just as I yawned and stretched my way through cleaning the counters, my cell buzzed from where it had slipped between couch cushions.

  I wandered over and picked it up. My bestie’s face beamed from the screen as I lifted it to see who was calling. I swiped it to answer.

  “Katie Henderson. The world’s fastest woman,” I said.

  “Hm. That could be taken the wrong way.”

  “Ain’t nothing but love on this side of the phone.”

  “Ahem. To the matter of this call,” she said, giggling. “Did you take care of that business you were trying to handle earlier?”

  A sense of guilt wafted over me. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I forgot to call you.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “It’s a long story, you got time?”

  “I’ve got nothing but.”

  I went through the whole ordeal, and she asked if I wanted her to come over.

  “No, I guess not. I mean, I think I’m going to go to bed. I hope I can sleep.” The vision of Dan’s brutalized body returned to my mind and my dinner scrambled around in my gut.

  “Well, I am on a bout of insomnia, so if you need me, call.”

  “Thanks, girl. I appreciate it.”

  “Lock your doors. You don’t know what or who is out there.”

  “If you are trying to calm my fears, it isn’t working.”

  “Just remember you have a cop on speed dial.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Later.”

  We disconnected, and I headed for bed. It took binaural beats on my music app and a lot of tossing before I finally drifted off.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Monday, I stayed dressed in my comfy fairy princess sleep pants and baggy tee shirt longer than usual. I was going to be a little late. I had been through a murder, for craps sake. Anybody who wanted video services before ten would have to leave a message. Guilt smote me as I remembered our need for money, then disappeared as I grumped to myself that a couple of hours wasn’t going to make that much difference.

  Curled up with the latest gossip magazine, I watched the cable news station and listened to the reported details of the murder. The reporter failed to mention the Denaldos as the homeowners.

  The way the stern newscaster told the story it seemed like the deceased met his untimely demise in his own living room, instead of being a South Lake policeman, felled by some unknown assailant in a local teacher’s residence. But then again, maybe I was just hypersensitive about the whole thing. It made sense that SLPD wouldn’t want the world to know it was a cop until they had to. Sal’s department likely demanded it be kept under wraps if possible Which would likely last until the five o’clock news.

  My heart twisted at the thought of Dan’s murder. Once again, the dead person was someone in my acquaintance, and once again, I was unable to do anything about it. I comforted myself with the knowledge that SLPD was damn good at what they did even when the citizens of South Lake were hog-tied.

  The cops could trace all of Dan’s moves by his notes on his cases. That set me to thinking about what he had been working on before his death. The details would be slow in being released, if ever. Sometimes such information didn’t come out u
ntil a trial. But surely something would break the case from Dan’s own police work?

  Flashes of how Sal’s face had looked when he’d gotten the bad news mentally returned. What a crappy thing to have to be told. Now that I had money coming my way, maybe I could buy some roses to cheer him up, or a bottle of Oakley Five Reds wine for him to drown his sorrows in. What other things did guys like to assuage their hurts?

  Oh, yeah. Well, that might not happen. Own

  While contemplating the best way to bring a smile to his face without compromising myself, I made a pot of my favorite Colombian brew. Then while it dripped, I got on my stair-climber, a new purchase from my aunts.

  After I’d spent a few days in the hospital with my shoulder injury a few months back, they’d insisted on physical therapy a bit more strenuous than shuffling from couch to kitchen in my rabbit fur house shoes. The stair-climber had arrived and now I was utterly addicted to it.

  When my allotted time ended, I mopped off the sweat, took a quick shower, donned pink floral walking shorts and a tee shirt, and decided to go by the Denaldo house to find out if Thelma had returned. As far as I knew, no one would be blowing up my phone if she returned to her house. Following with the original plan could still take place although the contract would have to be signed later. I could just swing by, note her car in the drive, and head to the office to snag a camera to go back with.

  If not, I could camp out by the house and watch for a while to see who came and went. The fact that she left her house without her purse still rankled me. I needed to know things when they didn’t fall in line. I guess I have some weird form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Things out of sync just sent me into orbit.

  I was also a terrible snoop (until I needed to be—then, I fell short at every mark). At any rate, SLPD couldn’t afford to have their forces just sitting in front of a house waiting for someone to roll through. I could do it for free and calm my nosey nature at the same time.

  In my mind, surveillance might uncover something contradictory to what everyone thought had happened, also. And wouldn’t they love it if I found out something that they didn’t know?