by Nancy Hogue
“Oh, Chip,” JJ said, “I’m so sorry. Do you ever see her?” JJ certainly hoped he didn’t that she had moved far, far away.
“Yes, I do almost every night. And I can’t help it, but my heart flutters every time.”
“Oh,” JJ was very disappointed. “Does she date anyone you know?”
“No, I think she’s married now with kids.”
“Married? Kids?”
“Yes, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it!”
Chip started laughing not being able to hold it any longer. He confessed that his heartthrob was Vanna White. JJ almost choked on a hot wing, she laughed so hard.
* * *
Skinmore, Gum Drop, turtle, cat, mystery woman, wig, tattoo, missing messages, missing folder, strange calls, an untrained dog, murder— the clues list went on and on.
Cain sat at his desk, running his hands through his thick hair. I’m a reporter not a detective, he said to himself. “What is the story and where is my folder?” he said to anyone listening.
“Mr. Matthews, line three, Mr. Matthews, call on line three.” Cain punched ‘pick-up’ and 7133.
“Hello, Cain Matthews,” he said into the receiver.
“Working late tonight, I see.” Cain quickly pushed the record button. “Got it figured out?”
“Got what figured out?” Cain tried to identify the voice. Is it who I talked to yesterday?
“How many more clues do you need?” Cain looked at his list.
“Can we meet? I’m not a detective! What am I looking for?”
“Look at the clues — closely!” Click.
Cain sat staring at the phone. He had never had such a puzzling story. Am I working two stories or is this tied to Blake Brockton’s murder? Loud sirens interrupted Cain’s thoughts. It was a common sound since the Monitor was halfway between two major hospitals. Still the sirens had been steady for at least thirty minutes. He picked up his cell phone and hit nine. His friend’s voice said, “Dispatch”
“Hey buddy, what’s going on?”
“Cain, hey, why aren’t you down here, man?”
“Didn’t get anything!” Cain turned around to check the police scanner turned to the off position. “Somebody turned the scanner off, what is it?” Cain grabbed his keys and headed out to the parking lot.
“Don’t know yet, a bomb, or explosion of some kind caused a huge fire. Might want to get to one of the hospitals. Every ambulance and hook and ladder in town has been dispatched!”
“Explosion? Where?”
“That new plant, BelRon.”
“Thanks, man, I’ll see you later.” Cain pushed the send button to pick up another call. It was the City Editor.
“Cain, you on the fire? That new plant out seventy-four.”
“Chief, yes sir, just talked to dispatch, and I’m on my way to the hospital. But maybe I better get out to the scene and check it out.”
“Get Briggs out there, too. Get lots of photos. Don’t care how we do it but I want the story in the morning paper. I’m holding press. Get it Cain. I’ll get to the hospital.”
“Yes sir.” Cain punched his favorite photojournalist’s speed dial number and asked him to meet him out front. “Hey, got a hot one, meet me under the awning Hurry, ok.” Cain was almost out of breath. “Make sure your camera’s charged or you’ve got extra batteries!” He whipped the car around, picked up the award-winning photographer and headed out MLK Boulevard, and pushed send again for another call.
“That’s your next clue!”
Cain drove like a teenage maniac and his thoughts were just as crazy. “My next clue! Clue to what?”
“Clue? What you playing?” Briggs asked.
* * *
The man sat at home in a comfortable recliner enjoying a perfect martini. His wife retired early, but he stayed up to watch the evening news. It was sensational. The blaze of the burning building filled the screen. The plasma television with the high definition cable brought the flame so close, he could fill the heat from the flaming cinders.
Ambulances pulled in and out carrying burn victims to their deaths and speeding back to the scene for more victims. Total chaos. No one was supposed to get hurt. He called in a bomb threat, but nobody listens anymore, so many false alarms. “Oh well, I tried,” he said as he climbed the stairs to bed.
“Tried what, darling?” His wife had started downstairs. “Who are you talking to?”
“Sweetheart, what are you doing up? You were so tired after your long day and hectic schedule. I was coming to curl up beside you.” In a seemingly loving way, he took his wife’s shoulders, turning her around to go back up stairs.
“I am tired, groggy, like I’ve been drugged. These long hours are getting the best of me.” She nuzzled up to him as they walked to the bedroom.
“Let me escort you back to bed. What were you coming downstairs for, love, and I’ll get it.” He placed her on the left side of the king size bed, propped the pillow behind her back, slipped another pill into her glass.
“Here, darling, drink some more milk.” He massaged her temples until she was fast asleep which only took fifteen seconds.
The man went into the bathroom, completed the normal bedtime duties and flashed a big self-absorbing smile at himself. He climbed in bed beside his lovely wife, content that he had accomplished the third item on his list. Only two to go.
Chapter 14
Saturday, March , 3 a.m.
Cain eased into the house careful not to wake up his daughter on the sofa half-asleep. She stirred. He stopped. Too late as she popped up to greet her dad. He noticed how nice the house looked. It was dusted, vacuumed, and smelled like a fresh spring day.
“Hi Daddy!” He walked over to kiss her on the forehead.
“Hi baby, what are you still doing up? How was your date with your new fellow?”
“Daddy, I had such fun. We just went down to Mulgie’s and sat out on the deck eating hot wings listening to the bullfrogs. I can’t wait for you to meet Chip. Did you hear about the fire?”
Cain picked up a stack of mail on the computer desk sorting through. Junk mail, junk mail, bill. “Yes, that’s why I’m so late.” Junk mail, bill, ad, and on it went. “I’ve got the story.” Cain sat down in his lounge chair pushing the mail aside to sort through later. “JJ, there’s some strange things going on around town. Let’s talk in the morning, I need some sleep. You be very careful, ok, hon?” he said in a big yawn. “I’m going to be very busy over the next few days until something breaks. You get some sleep and let’s talk about all of this in the morning.”
“Of course, Daddy. Night! Chip’s coming over in the morning for breakfast. Okay?” She gives her dad a big hug. “Don’t stay up too late. Breakfast at nine!”
“Good night, honey! I’d love to meet him!” He looked at the stack of mail and poured a glass of sweetened iced tea. About to fall asleep, he flipped on the local stations, just infomercials, switched to Fox News, some talk show. CNN world news. He took a wild stab at MSNBC, nothing. Infomercials on everything else. “Commercials are taking over the world,” he said and switched back to Fox to watch something called ‘Red Eye.’ Within five minutes, Cain was sound asleep on the sofa where JJ found him when she took the eggs out of the refrigerator at eight o’clock.
“What about the clues, Mr. Matthews?” JJ cleared the table to give her dad a chance to talk to Chip.
“I made a list, Chip. Got this comic strip named Skinmore, runs in the Monitor twice a week. It’s about a dog Gum Drop who can’t or won’t do what it’s told to do. Let’s see, the other night a woman who JJ seems to think was wearing a wig and has a rose tattoo on her thumb, came up to the Monitor office and tricked Patsy, our night clerk. This woman tricked her into leaving her desk, and, apparently, while Patsy was away, the woman went straight to my desk took some messages I’d left, and, I think, a file. Anyway, my file on the Crawford by-pass is missing. But the most disturbing clue is the voice. I’ve been getting calls by a man or woman, mayb
e a computer, giving me clues. Actually, the day of Blake Brockton’s murder, I had several calls from a Penny Reid Skinmore on voice mail. But I still don’t know who or what is calling me. Even last night I heard the sirens and called dispatch. That’s another thing. My police scanner was turned off, and I never turn it off. No one in the office would ever turn it off. That’s how we get heads up to what’s happening. Anyway, my buddy down there said I needed to get over to the hospital. I was out the door when the boss called and asked if I was on the fire story. Another call came in, and it was him or her, or heck, it, telling me that was my next clue.”
“Clue to what?”
“That just it. I don’t know. I don’t know what the story is. Just the clues to the story. And that’s what the voice said ‘look at the clues, closely.” JJ did not tell her dad about her strange call warning her to be careful.
“Mr. Matthews, maybe that is the story, the clues. Put the clues out there and see what comes in.”
“Write a story out of clues?”
“It won’t hurt Sammi, will it Dad? The clues, I mean. They don’t point to her, do they?”
“I don’t see how they could honey, the recording of that first phone call, said he, well, if it is a he, was going to give me the story of the year about bigamy, greed, extortion, and fraud. She was in jail at the time!”
“Good, I think Chip is right, put the clues out there!”
“Mr. Matthews, could your caller be using one of those voice distorters?”
“Chip, a voice distorter? Where can you get those?”
“I believe just about anywhere now. I’ll do some research for you.”
“Great, I’d appreciate it. Let me talk to the boss about the clues story. I’m going on down to the office. Great breakfast, babe! Chip, great pleasure to meet you. Take care of my girl, here!” He gave JJ a big hug.
“Yes sir, Mr. Matthews, thank you!”
“Well, Miss Matthews, what are your plans today?”
“Well, Deputy James, I was hoping you would tell me! First, will you drive me to the shop to get my car?”
Chapter 15
Hilda waited outside ReClassyfied at ten to pick up her purchases she left the day of the murder. As the clerk unlocked the doors from the inside, she was excited to see Hilda and get some news. Hilda needed a break. Blake Brockton’s murder had completely filled her mind and her time. She and Jasper left the television station about ten thirty after watching the tape with the Jonas Attaway character repeatedly. Not only did they watch what was shown on television, they viewed about ten minutes that had been cropped from public viewing. They both noticed he avoided the camera.
At first, it looked like the basset hound was pulling on the leash to draw him away but now the detectives know differently.
The stress had drained her body and mind and she needed a break. She wanted, no she needed, to shop. The clerk fired questions, and Hilda fired them right back.
“Do you have your case solved yet?”
“When did this cute outfit come in?” But she noticed it was a twelve.
“What about Mrs. Brockton, did she really do it?”
Hilda flipped through the round clothes rack. She looked up and asked, “Do you have any new fourteens?”
“Why do you think she killed him?” The clerk just would not hush.
“When did you get these shoes in?” Her voice was getting a little louder with each response.
The clerk finally got the message. “Hilda, we put all of that out yesterday. You don’t want to talk about the murder, do you? Can’t you give me one little clue” Hilda looked up from a rack of heavy winter clothing marked eighty per cent off and walked to the counter.
“No, I don’t, and I can’t anyway. Let me just pay you for this….oops.” As Hilda pulled her purse up to the counter, she knocked a basket full of bowties into the floor. “Bowties? Who wears bowties, these days?”
“Oh, I doubt we’ll sell those. They’re so dumb looking. I don’t even know where Lois got them. Probably from one of her excursions.”
“How long have you had them?”
“Oh, a couple of weeks, I guess, haven’t sold any.”
“Not any?”
“Well, I can’t remember, maybe one or two — seems like there were more in there at first. Did you pick them all up off the floor?”
Hilda squatted and looked under the table of scarves, the rack of belts and the other nearby racks. “Think so, don’t see anymore.”
Hilda’s heart was racing. She fiddled with one of the bowties which was identical to the one Jonas Attaway was wearing. “Let me have this one.” Hilda heard a beeping and the smell of bacon filled the room. “Something smells delicious, what is that?”
“I found the most delicious frozen foods at that new shop on River Street. You just stick them in the microwave for three minutes and presto. It’s not actually diet food, but it’s low carb and really good. She turned the bacon, egg, and cheese omelet over to nuke for another minute. “Would you like one?”
“How nice of you, but no, I need to go on to the station. I’ll be back in a couple of days and check out your new stock. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, that’ll be two dollars and eleven cents.”
“But, I need to pay you for the clothes, too! Lois said she’d keep them for me.”
“Oh yeah,” the clerk said with an embarrassed look. “Let’s see, just one second.”
The total came to $24.88. Hilda dug the money out of her purse.
“Here you go, exact change. I’ll be back soon.”
“Great, thank you so much, bye now.”
“Bye, and enjoy that omelet!” Hilda left the shop and sped toward the TV station. She punched Jasper’s speed dial number.
“Nelson” He answered on the second ring expecting the call.
“Jasper, that’s twice now you’ve answered me.
“Hey, yeah, I know. What’s up?”
“A red paisley bowtie!” Hilda headed toward the Channel 7 TV station to view that video for the zillionth time. Maybe this Mr. Jonas Attaway shops at that consignment shop. Has she seen him in there before? Does she know him? Hundreds of questions are popping into her head. This was the biggest break she’s had! Finally, we’re on to something, I hope.
She entered the ramp for the Interstate, crossed the river all the while running questions and answers through her mind. She was positive she had interviewed the murderer, Jonas Attaway. A false address, volunteer work, basset hound. She would call every vet in town and the nearby towns to find this dog. She would call every charity in town. She would find out who Jonas Attaway was.
Hilda turned the AC fan on high. It’s warm today and with the wind from the north, the smell from the paper mill is not near as pleasant as that omelet!
* * *
Cain’s boss was intrigued with the clues story, but he suggested they discuss it with the detectives in the murder case and the detectives assigned to the plant explosion. Police investigations were so technical that defense lawyers could get murderers freed on the slightest error. “It’s a sin the way these liberal judges let people go free,” he halfway said to Cain but more in a mumble to himself. Cain was writing the lead paragraph in his mind rather than listening to his boss.
“Cain, I’ll call the police captain and set up a meeting with the detectives. I think I met the woman on the Brockton case at a benefit during Christmas. Let’s just offer it to them and make sure we won’t mess anything up. What can you print before the meeting?”
“Well, chief, I’ve got some updates on the explosion. Eighteen deaths so far and about fifteen to twenty people still hospitalized. It’s changing as we speak. I have some names of workers who were on the other end of the building and weren’t hurt. I could talk to some of them.”
“Good, stay on that. What do we have on Blake Brockton? You knew him pretty good, didn’t you?”
“I knew him. We had some pleasant debates about the town, city governm
ent, property taxes, you know stuff like that. He was a very likeable guy, had an interesting opinion about everything. I know his wife better, though, mostly because of JJ. Sammi is always so nice to her. Well, Blake was, too. He got her a part time job after school. I think I’d told you that.”
“I hadn’t realized that. You are going to be able to stay objective?”
“Of course. But I believe I could do a good article on them, when they met, you know, some history.”
“Let’s run the factory fire tomorrow and the one about them about Wednesday. Will that work? And then, we need to keep updating the hospital part of the accident. I’ll talk to Captain Butler and get the report. After we know what happened, it will die down, or I’ll need to put more people on it. Let’s keep researching that Skinmore comic, and I’ll try to find out about it from this end.”
“I’ll certainly try to have everything done. I’ll need Libby or Gabby to help me research and make some follow-up calls.”
“I’ll give them both to you for a couple of weeks. Let’s run the gamut on both these stories.”
“Works for me, thanks!”
“I’ll get the meeting set up and let you know. Make sure you have your phone on.”
Cain walked back to his office and started typing an update to his first article on the fire. “The worst disaster in local history…eighteen lives…hospital spokesman…fire marshal described …” And on it went, three columns as the lead story for the Daily Monitor Sunday edition. He called Dispatch to confirm a few details, called a neighbor who retired from the City several months earlier to verify a fire rescue procedure, and double-checked with the hospital administrator for the latest tally on survivors. After talking with her, he changed his story to twenty-one employees who lost their lives. The latest victim was a young mother who had swapped a shift to celebrate her child’s second birthday earlier in the day. Tears welled in his eyes as the administrator relayed these facts. It brought back memories of his wife who left their daughter motherless at the same age. He hit the send key and left the office. Cain needed a change of scenery.