Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  “First Bobby and now Adele,” Dottie said shaking her head.

  “Someone had it in for the two of them. That should give the detectives something to go on,” Leora Borders added.

  “Hello, Leora,” Dottie said. “I didn't see you standing there."

  “Like everybody else, I collect coupons and always take advantage of free trial offers,” Leora joked.

  “Sandy, wasn't Adele your housekeeper and babysitter?” Dottie asked.

  Sandra nodded. “Most of all she was a good friend. She'll be hard to replace. Tim and I have offered a $100,000 reward for information leading to the conviction of the beast who did this. It'll be announced on all the Charlotte TV stations during tonight's six o'clock news programs."

  “Borders was a good detective,” Leora said. “Still is. I've been trying to get him to come out of retirement long enough to solve this case."

  “If memory serves, you're a good detective yourself,” Sandra commented.

  “I was lucky that one time,” Leora replied, “but I'm afraid I won't be able to help much with this one. I have been so tied up writing the history of the church I've lost touch with most everything else."

  A dozen or more people came out of the restaurant and, when they saw Dottie, turned their faces or studied their shoe tops as they passed her. The waiting line surged forward.

  “Was she ... was she raped?” Leora asked.

  Sandra shook her head. “She was molested. Her gown was cut away and her right breast seemed to have been bruised, but initially there is no evidence that she was actually raped. They're doing an autopsy as we speak."

  “I don't claim to be psychic,” Leora said, “but I sense there is something you are not telling us."

  Sandra nodded again as the line moved forward.

  Dottie looked up and saw customers leaving from the far exit door. Cowards, she thought.

  “The sleeping pill bottle was on the bedside table. It was empty. It's possible the murderer forced her to swallow them, but if so, why would he smother her? It looks like she tried to commit suicide. The murderer just helped her achieve her goal.” Sandra began to sob and Dottie hugged the taller woman tightly.

  When Dottie and June finally sat at the counter, they ordered T-bone steaks with all the trimmings. “Aren't you one of the people who joined the church yesterday?” Dottie asked the waitress.

  “Yes ma'am. Name's Greta, uh, Crow. I'm really working with housekeeping for the motel, but they were so busy they have me working in here today."

  “Ah, Mrs. Frank,” George Bennett greeted after the meals were served. “So good of you to join us. Checking out the competition?"

  “I don't call this tough steak much competition,” she replied.

  His brow creased momentarily. “If it's tough, let me get you another."

  “Forget it,” she said as she sipped her glass of ice tea. “Tea's too strong too."

  “You're the first to complain,” he smiled.

  “You don't look good, George,” she commented.

  “I am tired. I've been at it since five this morning and the place has been crowded from the moment we opened."

  “You're too old for this business,” she said. “You should take your own advice and retire."

  “No, I'm just out of shape. I'll get my working legs back under me in a few days.” He smiled at June and wished he could reach out and pop the huge pimple between her eyebrows. “Who's minding the store?"

  “You know damn well I have no business with you giving away food."

  “My offer is still good, you know,” he said.

  “Cram it up you scrawny ass,” she spit back.

  He leaned across the counter and placed his lips close to her ear. “It may come as a surprise to you, but I have something I'd love to cram up yours,” he whispered.

  She couldn't believe he stuck his tongue in her ear. “You damned fool,” she hissed as those sitting nearby turned their heads. “With that young thing you have living with you, you don't need my butt to screw."

  George's eyes flamed with anger. “You're off base, Dottie. You can toss zingers at me all you like, but you leave Maggie out of it. She's the most wonderful young lady I have ever known.” He stomped off and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “You don't really think..."

  “June, honey. Like they say, where there's smoke there's fire. Look at her over there, handing out menus and acting like she owns the place. Mark my words, she's screwing him and when the time is right, she'll take him for all he's worth."

  * * * *

  “What cha doing?” Borders asked as he rambled into Leora's study.

  “Working on the church history,” she replied absent-mindedly. “I thought you were going to meet me for lunch."

  “I was with the boys in Charlotte, again. I waited for the autopsy results to come in on the Elliott woman. I guess you've heard."

  Leora nodded.

  “She may have been raped. There was lubricant in her vagina similar to that used on certain brands of condoms. It also appears she took an overdose of sleeping pills before the murderer finished her off."

  “That's old news. Sandra Dollar told me today at the Korner Kafe. Did anything else come up?"

  “Yeah,” he said smugly. “They fixed the time of death between three and four this morning. These young whippersnappers aren't too good at being bloodhounds. I guarantee you, the killer of Bobby and Adele is one and the same person. This morning I wandered across the tobacco field to the spot we think the sniper was located when he shot Bobby. I followed crushed brush and broken twigs back to an old logging road. The thing exits onto the Old Charlotte Road just below the lumberyard."

  She looked up expectantly. “And?"

  He looked at her without speaking.

  “Any footprints or tire tracks?"

  “What do you expect from this old dog?"

  “I expect you to find the killer."

  “I've retired, remember?"

  “I remember, but do you? You spend an awfully lot of time at headquarters."

  “Those guys are my friends, Leora."

  “I wasn't complaining. Sandra and Tim Dollar are offering a $100,000 reward."

  “Hmmm. I hadn't heard that. Maybe I should come out of retirement. I'd make a hell of a private detective.” He absently selected a photograph from those spread out on her desk, glanced at it casually and replaced it. “That's a rogues gallery if I ever saw one."

  She laughed. “I want to include pictures of all the former pastors in my book. I have shots of all but the first, an Elder Rufus Mabe, and the one who preceded Mack—Reverend John Baxter."

  “You'll probably never find a photo of the first guy, but somebody should have a picture of Baxter."

  “You'd think. However, he was the pastor of the church for just a few months. He left town unexpectedly without saying goodbye. No one seems to have heard from him since."

  “Why don't you put an appeal in the church newsletter? Surely, somebody has a snapshot with him in it. With all that computer equipment your son has, he could scan a photograph and crop out this guy's mug."

  * * * *

  Detective Bud Cranfield pushed through the plate glass door, removed his wide brimmed hat, and surveyed the afternoon diners at the Korner Kafe.

  “Table, booth or counter?” Maggie asked as she approached, extending a menu in his direction.

  “No thank you,” he said. “I'm looking for Eddie Crow. I understand he works here."

  “Yes, sir,” Maggie replied pleasantly. “Everything on the menu is free today and, as you can imagine, we've been swamped. I believe Eddie and his wife are out back on the loading dock taking a well deserved cigarette break."

  “Thank you ma'am,” Cranfield said as he raised his index finger to tip the hat he forgot he was no longer wearing.

  As he turned to leave, Maggie said, “You can go through the kitchen if you like."

  He nodded and followed her. As the delicious aroma of
various foods filtered through his nostrils, he made a mental note to return for supper.

  “Mr. Crow,” he said to the bearded man seated on the edge of the loading dock, “I am Detective Cranfield with the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department."

  “We've met,” Eddie replied gruffly without standing or offering to shake hands. He took a long drag from his cigarette, flipped it away and asked, “What do you want this time?"

  “Where were you this morning between three and four o'clock,” Cranfield asked.

  “Where do you think I was, Copper? I was at home in bed, fast asleep."

  “The hell you were,” Greta laughed.

  Cranfield turned to her expectantly.

  “I ... I was just joking."

  “Go on,” Cranfield insisted.

  “He was in bed at three o'clock all right, but he wasn't asleep. He was trying his best to have sex with me."

  “You're certain of the time?"

  She nodded. “We have this clock radio with green lighted numerals. It was exactly three o'clock when he woke me up."

  * * * *

  “Boy,” Maggie said with a sigh, “It's been a huge success, but I am glad this day is over."

  George smiled weakly as he shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

  She reached across the table, and touched his hand. “You okay?"

  He nodded.

  “You hardly touched your food and I know you skipped lunch. Did you have anything for breakfast?"

  “I'm the one who is old and supposed to be losing my memory. You fixed country ham biscuits for us as soon as we got here at five this morning."

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied sheepishly. “George, I'm worried about you. You're exhausted."

  “That I am,” he agreed.

  “Please go on home. It's after nine. I'll check things out and be right behind you."

  “Not much to check out,” he said. “The night crew's here and we didn't have but three parties check into the motel. I think I will call it a day, and you shouldn't hang around here much longer either."

  Maggie watched him drive away and held her breath when he pulled out in front of an oncoming car. She spoke to the two deputies drinking coffee at the counter and obtained their promise to check frequently on the restaurant during the night. She offered to help the kitchen crew with the backlog of dirty dishes, but they shooed her away.

  She slipped on a jacket and walked to the motel office. The night clerk on duty was a student at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. He was doing homework, but it didn't matter. There was nothing else for him to do.

  She relaxed a moment behind the wheel of her Blazer before putting the key in the ignition. She sighed as she visualized her body sinking into the warm, churning water of George's Whirl Pool.

  * * * *

  “You have to be as tired as I am,” Eddie said as he entered the house.

  Greta was too exhausted to reply. She simply nodded.

  “You can shower if you like, but I'm going straight to bed. Thank goodness, there are no free meals tomorrow. I couldn't stand another fifteen hour shift."

  “I feel filthy,” she said as she peeled off her uniform. “I need a shower.” She waited for him to demand sex and was delighted when he ignored her naked body and climbed between the sheets.

  “Just don't wake me when you come to bed."

  “Like you woke me up this morning at three a.m.?"

  He smiled, but did not respond.

  She let water, as hot as she could stand it, splash on her chest and then turned her back to the powerful spray. She began to soap her shoulders and arms, feeling her muscles relax. She used a washcloth only on her face and genitals. Gold, she thought. Somewhere around here Ida Jenkins says there's an old gold mine.

  She faced the showerhead, braced herself and turned off the hot water faucet. She shivered as the cold spray hit her chest, ran over her breasts and down her stomach and legs on its way to the drain which was almost clogged with hair from her head. She laughed as she thought, Thar's gold in them thar hills, and she playfully pulled the hair from the drain with her big toe.

  She dried off and returned to the bedroom. Eddie was snoring. She went to the spare room and closed the door before turning on the lights. The expected cold chill did not materialize. “Ida,” she said quietly. “You said you have written something about North Carolina gold mines. Please help me find it.” She searched the four drawers of the file cabinet, but found nothing.

  She returned to the bedroom. What do I know about mining for gold anyway? she asked herself as she drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  The churning water of the Whirl Pool relaxed him so much that George Bennett was dozing when the bathroom door flung open. He sat up with a start, splashing water onto the tile floor and, when he saw Maggie's nude body, he hastily moved the washcloth over his crotch.

  She seemed frozen to the spot. “George,” she managed to say. “I thought you were in the den. I could hear the TV when I came in."

  His eyes locked on the tangled soft curls of her pubis.

  “I'm sorry,” she said as she covered her lower body with the white terrycloth robe draped over her left arm.

  Her breasts remained exposed and he drank them in with his eyes.

  “I'm sorry,” she said again as she turned and made a delayed, but hasty retreat, closing the door behind her.

  George shut his eyes and groaned. A vision of the naked gorgeous beauty seemed permanently burned on the inside of his eyelids. “Maggie,” he said. “Maggie, are you still there?"

  The faint response was a timid, “Yes."

  “Maggie, it's okay."

  “I'm really sorry, George."

  “It's okay, Maggie. I just hope you don't have nightmares of my wrinkled old body."

  There was a pause and then he heard her timidly say, “I like your wrinkled old body, George."

  He knew he needed to reply and he fumbled for the right words. “I like your smooth tanned skin much better. Maggie, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

  He had gone too far. He was sure of it. When she didn't immediately reply, he leaned back in the Whirl Pool and sighed.

  The door opened a few inches. “George?"

  “Yes."

  “Would you like for me to wash your back?"

  He gulped audibly. “Only if you want to,” he managed to say.

  He turned his head away from the door and listened to her entrance.

  “George, look at me."

  He turned his head. She was wearing the robe.

  “Do you honestly think I'm pretty?"

  He nodded.

  She knelt beside him, pulled the washcloth from his groin and lathered the soft cloth with soap. She gently pushed him forward and rubbed the cloth over his quivering back.

  “I think I know what you mean, now,” she said.

  “You lost me."

  “When you said you love me. I love you too, George—not like a father or a lover—but I do love you."

  It's not the best dream I ever had, George thought as his skin continued to tingle at her touch, but maybe if I can sleep a little longer it'll get better.

  Chapter Eight

  Mack smiled broadly at the young acne-scarred waitress. “Mary Lou and I both want Dottie's delicious country style steak, June."

  “I'm sorry preacher. All we have is today's special—meatloaf."

  “Ugh,” Mary Lou said as she wrinkled her nose. “How about fried chicken?"

  June shook her head. “Business has fallen off so much in the past three months that Dottie let everybody go except me, and she cut the menu back to just each day's special. Chicken is the Thursday special and country fried steak is Friday's."

  Mack looked around at the nearly empty diner. “It's certainly not like old times."

  “The Korner Kafe's prices are so much lower than ours that folks just can't afford to pass them up. Dottie says that Mr. Bennett is losin
g money just like we are, but he can afford it."

  “It doesn't make any sense to me, June,” Mack said. “Why would George set his prices too low to make a profit?"

  “Dottie says he's a hog. He wants all the business in Dot for himself and is trying to run her out of business."

  “That doesn't sound like George,” Mack objected. “He seems to me to be a fine, respectable man."

  “Dottie doesn't talk much about it,” June said, “but I know for a fact Mr. Bennett offered to buy her out. He said he'd give her a fair price, but she won't sell."

  Mary Lou sighed. “I can understand that. This restaurant is Dottie's life. She must hate George Bennett's guts."

  June glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “That's what she'd have you believe. Personally, I think she's kinda sweet on him."

  “Now that doesn't make any sense at all,” Mack said.

  “You ought to see the way they look at each other,” June replied.

  Mack shrugged his shoulders. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose. How's your love life, June?"

  June blushed.

  Mary Lou spared her from having to answer. “Has Dottie thought about remodeling the place and reducing her prices to match Mr. Bennett's?"

  June nodded. “She doesn't have the money. The bank turned her down for a loan. The Dollars were willing to help, but not with a loan. They wanted to buy a half interest in the place and Dottie won't sell."

  “I guess we'll have the meatloaf,” Mack joked.

  “I don't think Dottie's doing the right thing, serving just one dish,” Mary Lou pouted. “If her prices don't drive people off, her limited menu will."

  “I don't think we'll have to worry about it much longer,” June said as she turned to make sure Dottie was still in the kitchen. She leaned over the table and softly said, “I think she's about broke. She got behind on her bills and the suppliers cut her off. They won't deliver anymore. She has to drive to Charlotte every morning and pay cash for what she gets. I think she's just about spent all of her savings."