Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Greta screamed at the top of her lungs. “Damn you, Eddie Crow! You promised you wouldn't do it!"

  Borders caught Deputy Bud Cranfield's attention and beckoned to him. “What are you saying Greta? For God's sake, tell me!"

  “Eddie done it. He kidnapped Junior,” she sobbed. “He promised he wouldn't, but it must have been him."

  “Why do you think Eddie kidnapped Tim Junior?” Bud Cranfield asked as he joined the group.

  “He came to Dot to get even with Sandra Dollar. First he said he was gonna kill her. Then he decided to punish her by kidnapping Junior."

  “You are Eddie Crow's wife?” the deputy asked.

  “My name is Greta Dominick. Me and Eddie ain't really married."

  “Do you know where Eddie is?” Borders asked.

  “What time is it?"

  “Six forty-five."

  “He's supposed to be working at the concession stand at the golf course until seven, maybe later."

  “If he kidnapped the boy, he's not likely to be at work,” Cranfield said.

  “Then he would be at home,” Greta continued. “He built a place behind the furnace where he was going to keep the boy. He calls it his torture chamber."

  Cranfield summoned another detective as Borders said, “Greta, Eddie killed Bobby and Adele Elliott, didn't he?"

  She nodded.

  “Miss Dominick, I must tell you that it might be in your best interest to say no more until you are represented by an attorney,” Cranfield advised.

  Greta was crying hysterically and screamed, “Yes! The bastard killed them! The Elliotts and Mrs. Dollar done something to Eddie when he used to be the preacher in Dot. He came back to kill them all."

  “Pete,” Cranfield said to the deputy he summoned. “Read Miss Dominick her rights and take her in for questioning. Borders, you get rid of the volunteers.” He pulled the radio from his belt and barked into it, “This is Cranfield. I need to see all officers on duty at the Dollar home immediately."

  Cranfield winked at Borders and said, “Hot damn, we have the bastard now."

  “Maybe,” Borders replied, “but Greta is so terrified of Eddie she may refuse to testify against him in court. If only we could find that missing bullet."

  “What bullet?” Frank asked.

  “On the night Bobby Elliott was killed in front of his house, he was hit with two rifle shots. We found only one slug and it was too damaged for a ballistics test. If we could find the other slug it might prove the shots that killed Bobby came from Eddie Crow's rifle."

  “Bobby Elliott lived where Maggie lives now?” Frank asked.

  Borders nodded.

  “Maggie, you haven't thrown out the trash, have you?"

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Mr. Borders,” Frank explained. “Maggie found a piece of lead while digging in the flower garden in front of her house. She saved it as a curiosity. I tossed it in the trashcan last night, but I know right where it is."

  Borders broke into an uncharacteristically big smile. “All right, young man!” he said. “You go get that slug right now!"

  “Where is Sandy?” Maggie asked.

  “Inside with Tim,” Borders said as he jerked his head towards the house.

  Maggie went in search of Sandra and Tim as Borders mounted the porch steps and faced the crowd of concerned volunteers. “Folks,” he said when a hush descended, “I have bad news. We now have reason to believe someone kidnapped Tim Junior. We think we know who did it and we think we know where Junior is. I thank you all for coming out this afternoon, but there is no longer any need for a search of the Dollars’ farm. I cannot tell you any more right now. Please go about your business and pray for Tim Junior and the law enforcement officers as they search for him."

  Tim was sitting on the sofa with his arm around Sandy when Maggie found them in the den. As Maggie told them of the latest development, Sandy clutched Tim Junior's teddy bear more tightly to her chest. “It's not John Baxter's revenge,” Sandra said. “It's God's punishment."

  “Sandy,” Maggie said softly as she knelt before her employers’ knees, “God does not cause bad things to happen to good people."

  “We're not good people,” Tim said bitterly.

  While the other officers headed for Schoolhouse Road, Borders and Cranfield raced to the golf course. They had a clear view of the concession area through the plate glass windows. There were several golfers sitting in the dining area and Louise Donaldson was behind the counter, but there was no sign of Eddie Crow.

  “I'm wearing body armor, Borders. Better let me do this alone,” Cranfield said.

  “No way, Bud."

  “You're retired now, Borders. I give the orders. You stay just inside the door and cover me."

  Without waiting for a reply, Cranfield pushed through the plate glass door, his hand on his holstered weapon. He edged along the outside wall and motioned to Louise Donaldson.

  “Where's Eddie Crow?” he said quietly when Louise approached him.

  “He didn't come in today,” Louise said with a look of disgust on her face. “He called. Said he came down with a bad case of diarrhea and was throwing up."

  “Then you think he is at home?"

  “Who knows?"

  When he was again in his patrol car Cranfield barked into the radio, “Parker, this is Cranfield. Crow didn't show up for work today. Is his truck parked at the house?"

  The radio crackled. “Yeah, Bud. It's here. We've got the place surrounded."

  “The kid's probably in the basement."

  “Doesn't seem to be an outside entrance, but there's a couple of dirty basement windows behind big bushes in back of the house. Anderson got to them, but he can't see anything. The basement's dark."

  “Any sign of life inside?"

  “No."

  “Hang loose ’til I get there."

  Cranfield shut off his siren and flashing lights as he passed the Korner Kafe.

  “Damn,” Cranfield said as he turned onto Schoolhouse Road and spotted the numerous patrol cars parked in front of the Crow house. “So much for the element of surprise."

  He parked his cruiser in the driveway facing the house and dislodged the bullhorn from its holder under the dash. “Get to the rear of the cruiser and stay there,” he instructed Borders.

  Cranfield stood behind the open, driver side door and raised the bullhorn to his lips. “Eddie Crow. This is Deputy Detective Bud Cranfield of the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department. Your house is completely surrounded. Come out with your hands on top of your head."

  There was no response.

  “Let the boy go,” Cranfield said, turning up the volume on the bullhorn.

  Silence.

  Cranfield stepped in front of the cruiser. “Don't make it any worse than it already is, Eddie,” he said through the bullhorn. “Come out with your hands in the air."

  The front door swung open, but Eddie remained hidden from view. “I haven't done anything,” Eddie shouted. “I'm sick. I've been at home all day."

  “If you haven't done anything then you have nothing to fear. Come out with your hands where we can see them."

  A flash of light blinked from the open doorway. The crack of Eddie's rifle seemed instantly echoed by the simultaneous return fire from half a dozen deputies. Cranfield flew back against the grill of the cruiser and slumped to the ground as Eddie Crow's body pitched forward onto the porch. Half of his face was missing.

  Deputies stormed the house as Cranfield picked himself up and fingered the hole in his uniform shirt. “Gonna have a hell of a bruise in the morning,” he muttered as Borders approached.

  “You're a damn fool, showing yourself like that,” Borders said.

  “Only chance we had, Borders,” Cranfield replied. “I had to make myself an easy target before Eddie got the idea of using the boy as a shield."

  The two men slowly approached the house. Borders knelt beside the body and checked the neck for a pulse. When he realized Cranfield was stari
ng at him he said, “Making damn sure the bastard's dead."

  They moved on into the house, carefully stepping over Eddie's rifle.

  A deputy emerged from the kitchen. “He ain't here, Bud."

  “What do you mean he isn't here?"

  “I mean he ain't here. We've searched the main floor and the basement. The kid just ain't here, but there's a gruesome sight down those steps."

  Cranfield descended the basement steps two at a time with Borders following as fast as he could.

  “Over here,” a deputy called out.

  Cranfield rounded the furnace and gasped as he glimpsed the scene inside Crow's torture chamber. “For God's sake, get her down!” he bellowed as he stared at the motionless form of the nude black woman.

  “She's dead, Bud,” the deputy said.

  “The hell she is,” he hollered as he rushed to her side and lifted her off the brutal horse. “She's bleeding, so her heart's still beating. Get those damn weights off her ankles."

  “Oh, my God!” Borders moaned when he saw the woman.

  “Know her?” Cranfield asked.

  “Her name's Sewana. She's a waitress at the Korner Kafe."

  * * * *

  Leora sat in a porch rocker holding the cordless telephone. Sandra slowly rocked back and forth, still clutching the teddy bear to her chest. A platter of sandwiches Maggie prepared sat, untouched, on an iron table. Frank sat on a porch step staring into the distance. Maggie leaned against a porch support and watched Tim, propped against the porch railing, take a final drag from his cigarette and flip it into the front yard.

  All eyes watched the cigarette burn itself out.

  “There's nothing you can do here, Frank,” Maggie said. “Why don't you go on with your date."

  “Not in the mood,” he replied. “I called June and explained things."

  “Looks like they would call and let us know what's happening,” Maggie said.

  “Or come in person,” Frank added. “Hell, Mr. Borders was so excited about us finding the slug. You would think he would come and get it."

  “I just hope everybody's okay,” Leora said.

  Tim lit two cigarettes and handed one to Sandra, who held it absentmindedly in her right hand.

  “Mommy.” The sound was so weak it could have been the wind.

  All eyes turned to the far right of the porch. No one was there.

  “Mommy,” the tiny voice sounded again. “Please don't spank me."

  Frank sprang from the step, Tim leaped over the porch rail and the women rushed to the end of the porch.

  Junior, standing on the ground next to the porch, burst into tears. “I tried to follow Maggie and Greta this morning but I got losted."

  * * * *

  Frank decided to go on his date after all. He desperately felt the need to hold June in his arms. Maggie went home worrying about her incarcerated friend. Borders, after filling them all in on the death of Eddie Crow, took Leora home and held her tightly until sleep finally came.

  The picture on the giant screen TV in the Dollars’ den was fuzzy, but nobody noticed. Sandra sat on the sofa holding her exhausted and sleeping boy and Tim sat in his recliner just enjoying the view of his son.

  “Somebody needs to tell Greta about Eddie,” Sandra said.

  Tim nodded in agreement.

  “We promised we'd help her."

  “She doesn't deserve our help."

  “Tim, damn it. She's not very bright and that Eddie Crow virtually made her his slave. She was scared to death of him. He was a monster. You heard what Borders said he did to Sewana.

  “Maybe you're right, Dudette."

  “What if she tells about our sexual activity?"

  “We deserve whatever happens."

  “Tim, Greta's not very bright and she was living with a lunatic."

  He nodded again. “You already said that."

  “I can't handle it right now, Tim,” Sandra said softly as she tightened her grip on the sleeping child. “Go to Charlotte, tell her about Eddie and see if you can get her out of jail on bond. She can spend the night with us. We'll call a lawyer in the morning."

  “She can't continue to work here."

  “We owe her, Dude. She did the right thing."

  “It took her long enough."

  “Dude!"

  He stood up, jammed his hands into his pockets and looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Dudette."

  “I know."

  He kissed her on the forehead and then gently kissed Tim Junior. “I'll do what I can,” he said.

  “Dude?"

  He turned to her as he reached the door.

  “Be sure the damned doors are locked before you leave."

  * * * *

  As Greta was being released into Tim Dollar's custody, her only possession was returned to her—a crumpled page from a notebook written by Miss Ida Jenkins.

  “I don't want to go to your house, Tim,” Greta said when they were headed back to Dot in his Mustang. “We want to go to our house."

  “We? Greta, I told you. Eddie is dead."

  “Me and Miz Jenkins."

  “Miss Jenkins?"

  “You wouldn't understand. I ain't gonna work for you anymore, either. Me and Miz Jenkins are gonna buy that house. She said she'd find the money for us."

  “How did you know the house was for sale? The county treasurer called me this afternoon to see if I would be interested in buying it. He told me that the School Board decided just last night to sell the property."

  “Miz Jenkins told me."

  “You're right, I don't understand. However, Miss Jenkins does not need to provide the money for the purchase of the house. I'll give you the house and there was a hundred thousand dollar reward for information leading to the conviction of the Elliott's murderer. You provided that information. You deserve the reward."

  “You don't have to buy my silence, Tim. I didn't tell nothing about what you and Sandy and me done."

  “I'm not trying to buy your silence, Greta, but I do want to do something to thank you for finally stepping out and telling what you knew about Eddie. You probably saved Sandy's life as well as Junior's."

  “You hear that, Miz Jenkins? Everything turned out just like you said it would."

  Tim glanced into the back seat, half expecting to see Miss Jenkins sitting back there. She seemed so real to Greta.

  “Tim, me and Maggie ain't working for you no more. Can we still pan for gold on your place?"

  “Was it Miss Jenkins who told you to look for gold?” Tim asked.

  Greta nodded. “She told me we was gonna get rich."

  “Will you cut me in on the profits?"

  “How about it Miz Jenkins?” Greta paused as if listening to a voice that wasn't there. She smiled. “Miz Jenkins said since it was your property it's only fair to cut you in, but when we find the mother lode, you have to finance the purchase of mining equipment."

  Tim smiled and flicked his headlights to low in order to see the road better through the growing fog. “Tell Miz Jenkins I said thank you."

  “Is Sewana gonna be okay?"

  “I don't know, Greta. They say she is in bad shape."

  “I want her to get well. I want her to be my friend."

  “Why don't you ask Miss Jenkins about Sewana. She seems to know everything.” Because there was no air conditioning in the Mustang, Tim's shirt was soaked with perspiration, but he shivered as a sudden chill ran up his spine.

  Greta chuckled.

  “Something funny?"

  “Miz Jenkins said to tell you to keep it in your pants from now on or you'll have to answer to her."

  Finis

  BOOK 5

  Musical Beds in Dot

  By

  David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Chapter One

  June's legs turned to jelly as the tall, slender man with jet-black hair entered Dot's Diner. She couldn't take her eyes off the bulging biceps while he spoke to her.

  “Lovely Lady,” he began
, “I'm looking for Maggie Skinner and I'm told that she is working here today. Is she in?"

  June's mouth moved but no sound emerged. “Lovely Lady” echoed through her mind and the boyish smile he flashed hypnotized her.

  “Sweet Thing,” he said, “are you okay?"

  She nodded and again unsuccessfully tried to speak. Her eyes fell to his snug-fitting jeans and her feet seemed attached to the floor.

  Suddenly he turned, went out the door and immediately returned. Again, his brilliant white teeth flashed as he smiled and said, “Let's start over. Good afternoon you gorgeous gal. I'm looking for Maggie Skinner. Is she here?"

  June burst out laughing and motioned towards the kitchen.

  He focused on her nametag and grinned. “June,” he said, “you are the girl of my dreams—pretty as a picture and silent as the falling snow. Your husband is one lucky man."

  “I'm ... I'm not married,” she managed to say extending the back of her unadorned left hand for his inspection.

  He closed his eyes and dreamily said, “Ah, the voice of an angel.” He looked at her and took her hand in his as his expression changed. “Will you marry me, you cuddly cute creature?"

  June's breath was coming in noisy gasps. “I ... I...” She nervously slipped her hand inside the vee-necked collar of her white uniform and adjusted the heavy bra strap.

  He pretended not to notice. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his eyes closed. “It must be wonderful working in a restaurant with all the marvelous aromas, or is that your alluring scent that is making my mouth water?"

  “That's the stew Maggie is cooking for tonight's special. It's called Hobo Stew and has lots of hamburger and onions,” she replied as she smoothed the uniform over her thighs.

  “May I ask a personal question?"

  She fixed her brown eyes on his.

  He accepted her silence as an invitation.

  “How tall are you—five two—five four?"

  She laughed and adjusted the other bra strap. “Five three,” she said.

  He nodded appreciatively. “Eighteen—nineteen?"