This Little Piggy Wound Up Dead (A Willow Crier Cozy Mystery Book 3) (Willow Crier Cozy Mysteries)

by Lilly York

  Deciding she needed the rest of her coffee to be anywhere near pleasant at lunch, she removed the cracked plastic lid from the paper cup and proceeded to walk through the city streets, wind and all, sipping her hot coffee and enjoying the city. She was over the night before and feeling sorry for herself. Today was a new day. Coffee helped.

  She found the café with no problem and drained the last of her coffee. She looked around for a garbage can to no avail. Her phone beeped. It was Embry. She would be a few minutes late.

  Willow leaned against the brick building and watched for her daughter. The café was on a corner so she would look one direction, then the other. The wind was frantic but the sun felt good. For once, the temperature was decent and not threatening to turn her into molten lava. And she was enjoying watching the people as they passed.

  Willow had been standing next to the building for nearly five minutes when she looked into her cup and saw a dollar bill. She raised her eyebrows and looked around. “Where did that come from?” She asked out loud, although no one seemed to be paying attention. She shrugged her shoulders and kept watch for Embry. A few minutes later, someone put a five dollar bill in her cup. This time, she caught the person. She raised her hand and started to say something when the stranger cut her off.

  “Be sure to use this on lunch. No alcohol, you hear?” He walked away before she could say a word.

  Willow was dumbfounded. Why in the world would people be putting money in her cup? She was collecting a fair bit of cash. Lunch was most definitely on her today. She grinned, mentally counting her loot.

  An older gentleman who was in desperate need of a shower confronted her. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing little girl, but this here is my corner.”

  Willow couldn’t help herself. “Really? What is your name?”

  “Ned.”

  “Well, Ned. I don’t see your name anywhere. Is this Ned Street? Ned Boulevard perhaps?” She nodded once. “That’s what I thought. I can stand here if I like.”

  He began to protest but a very good looking young man joined the conversation. “Ned, why don’t you stand down a little bit today and let the lady have the corner. She could probably use the cash, don’t you think?”

  Ned seemed to be looking her over. “Yeah, I guess she looks like she could use it. She ain’t even got a coat.”

  The man tucked some cash into Ned’s pocket. “There you go. That ought to help.” He then turned to Willow. “And this is for you. Make sure you get yourself a good coat before the weather turns colder.” He put some cash in her cup. Quite a bit by the look of it. He then went into the restaurant.

  A few minutes later, Embry turned the corner. She stopped in her tracks. “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “I was waiting for you. Now, we can go in and have lunch.” She took Embry’s arm. “Is your young man here yet?”

  “He was running late too, so I’m not sure. We can go in and wait for him.” She looked at Willow’s coffee cup and shook her head. “Yeah, I think that’s a great idea. If we don’t, you’re going to get fined for begging without a permit.” Embry held the door open for her mother and spotted Marshall sitting in a back corner booth. “Come on, Mom. He’s here.”

  They approached the table and Marshall stood up to greet them, a questioning look plastered across his face. “Embry, this is really nice of you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He nodded toward Willow. “Buying lunch for this homeless lady. I knew you were kind hearted, but I had no idea…”

  Embry interrupted. “Marshall, this is my mother.”

  “Your mother’s homeless?” Marshall was shocked.

  “No, no” Embry turned to her mother. “Mom, the least you could have done was brush your hair. I mean, really. A little make up won’t kill you, ya know?”

  “I did brush my hair, thank you very much. I’m not sure if you noticed how windy it is outside. And I had to walk for blocks just to get to the place.” Willow picked up the napkin dispenser and attempted to view her appearance. She smoothed down the flyaway hair. “It’s not that bad.”

  Marshall’s mouth was open but sound wasn’t coming out.

  “Yeah, Mom. It’s that bad. You look like you live on the street. And why were you standing on the corner anyway? Why didn’t you just come in and sit down?”

  “I was people watching.” She pointed toward a woman leaving the restaurant and Embry pushed her hand down toward the table. “Did you see that woman?” She didn’t wait for either of them to answer. “Did you see those stockings she was wearing? Unless you’re working a street corner, who would wear those to work?”

  Embry watched the woman walk away. She was wearing a very short skirt and cut out stockings. “Mom, I’d be careful if I were you. You were the one working a street corner today. Besides, that woman is a prostitute. Some guy brings her to the hotel and they dine at the restaurant several times a month.”

  Willow’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me?”

  Embry shook her head and said to Marshall—who was still speechless—“this is why I rarely take her out. She cannot be let loose in public. You never know what she’s going to do or say.”

  Willow grinned and turned her cup upside down. “Look at all this money. Sheesh…these homeless people make a lot of cash. Lunch is on me today.” She looked up and smiled. “Oh, and on Marshall.”

  It was Embry’s turn to be shocked as she looked from her mother to her boyfriend. “You gave her money?”

  He just nodded.

  Willow stood up. “I need to use the facilities. I drank a lot of coffee.” She held the empty paper cup up for them to see then turned and stopped in her tracks. Sitting across the restaurant with yet another guy was Bridget. She took Embry’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Look at who is here.”

  Marshall, not wanting to be left out, also stood up and looked. “Oh, that’s Bridget. She has a thing for the baseball team. The entire baseball team, if you know what I mean.”

  Embry turned toward Marshall. “Even you?”

  He stuttered. “Well, she tried. But, that’s not how my mama raised me. She would tan my hide if I ever entered a relationship…like that.”

  Bridget chose that moment to turn her head. When her eyes rested on Willow, she stopped talking, her eyes widened, and her face turned white. She stood up quickly, made an excuse, and abruptly left the restaurant.

  “I wonder what she has to hide.” Willow said to no one in particular.

  Chapter 7

  Willow sat back down across from Marshall and Embry and smiled. “I feel so much better.”

  Embry gave her a dirty look. “Bridget sure took off in a hurry. I guess she didn’t expect to see us here.”

  Willow agreed, still wondering why the girl would leave so abruptly if she had nothing to hide.

  All three ate their lunch. Willow really liked Marshall. He was kind, even when he thought she was a homeless person.

  Embry ordered three coffees and a large slice of chocolate cake to share.

  Willow added cream then took a sip. “Mmm, this tastes good. McDonald’s coffee really isn’t bad though.” She got down to business. “Marshall, tell me what you know about Dean Babcock.”

  Marshall nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Marshall, do you know how old that makes me feel?”

  He shook his head.

  “Old. As in, call me Willow.”

  “My mama would…”

  She finished his sentence for him. “…skin your hide, yes, I know. We won’t tell her.”

  He looked unsure about Willow’s willingness to pull a fast one on his mama. Still yet, he continued. “Dean had real talent. Most of us have to enhance our natural talent with a lot of practice, me included. It seemed as if Dean picked up a bat, ball, or mitt and was an instant success. He didn’t have a bad position. He hit just about anything in the zone, he had a great eye, just an all-around natural. You know he was first with the major league, righ
t? He signed the senior year of college. He messed it up and got demoted. Down to the minors to see if he would straighten himself out. He was that good. Seriously.”

  “Do you know what he did?” Willow took a bite of the luscious cake sitting before her.

  “All I know is it almost seemed he was trying to self-destruct. He went out of his way to make sure he didn’t succeed.”

  Willow shook her head. “That is so odd. Who does that?”

  Both Embry and Marshall shrugged.

  Willow showed Marshall a picture of his face, with the damage done. “Do you have any idea what could have made these marks on his face?”

  It was obvious he knew what caused the distinct markings. “I would have to say cleats. But, who would do such a thing?”

  “Is there anyone on the team who was mad enough at him to cause this much damage?”

  “No, I can’t think of anyone. You could always come by the club and ask around. But, he hasn’t played with us for months. He’s been sitting the bench for so long it’s almost like he wasn’t on the team. Half the time he didn’t show for games, let alone practice. Coach didn’t want to cut him permanently in case he got his act together. He was seriously good. Not somebody you wanted to go to another team.”

  Willow was true to her word and paid the bill. Marshall tried to strong arm her but she insisted. “It’s the least I can do.” She chuckled.

  The three of them left the restaurant and passed Ned as they walked. Willow tucked the cash she collected in his pocket. “Ned, you can have your corner back. I’m getting out of the business.”

  Willow said her goodbyes and thanked Marshall for the information. She made plans to stop by the club when they came back for a home game later in the week. She had one more errand to run before she headed for home. She looked in her purse to make sure her Taser was handy. Just in case.

  As Willow drove, the houses became more and more run down. This was not part of the city she was familiar with, of course, that could be said for most of the city. She finally pulled up in front of a dilapidated structure with kids hanging out playing basketball. Most of them ignored her. A few gave her a curios glance then went on with their game.

  The door was open and more kids were streaming around inside the building. Some with cold cans of coke, others munching on hot dogs and popcorn. She looked around, looking for the person in charge.

  One little girl with big brown eyes pointed her toward the refreshment counter. Two adults were working handing out food to some of the kids.

  Willow watched the comings and goings as children of all ages wandered around. Grade school children were playing with board games and coloring pictures while middle school age kids were playing ping pong and foosball. All a sudden two boys ran into and through the center, one of them passing by her and shoving a blue spray-paint can into her hands. The boy never even slowed down. He did it all in one smooth move. She just watched his retreating backside until they both came to a redwood kind of tree stump of a man. Both boys skidded to a stop.

  The entire room went silent for about two seconds then life continued, as if this was a normal occurrence. The man took both boys by the shoulder, motioned with a nod to Willow to follow, and then led them into an office of some sort.

  Willow stiffened. She felt as though she had been summoned to the principal’s office. Memories of her youth raced through her mind—memories she would rather have forgotten about.

  She handed over the can of blue paint and stood at attention. The two boys were standing next to her. For the life of her, she had no idea how she came to be standing in the “what in the world were you thinking” line-up.

  A tall thin man entered the room then stopped before her. “Who are you?”

  She stuck her hand out. “I’m Willow Crier. I’m here to see Mr. Crank.”

  He took her hand in his and said, “I’m Phillip…” He let go of her hand then held it up to see the blue paint she had just transferred to his hand. “…Crank.”

  “Oh, Mr. Crank, I’m so sorry.” She looked down at her own blue hand and shook her head. “I didn’t realize…with everything…” She looked around for help but the two giant body guards were trying to stifle their grins. She wouldn’t be able to count on them for support. “It’s his fault.” She pointed to the boy in the red baseball cap with the letters OU on the front.

  “Ms. Crier, are you telling me that boy spray-painted your hand?”

  The boy in question, well, teen really, was busy looking at his tennis shoes.

  “No, of course, not. I wouldn’t let him do that. He just handed me the can when he ran in the building. I had no idea paint was leaking.”

  At this new information the man holding the can quickly looked down and saw his hand was blue too. He put the can on the table on a paper towel then tried wiping his hand off.

  Phillip stepped before the teenagers. “Hold up your hands.”

  Both boys did as they were told and both sets of hands were covered in various colors of paint.

  “What have I told you about defacing property? There are better ways to express yourself than painting on someone else’s things.”

  Willow wanted to leave. She wanted to turn around and pretend she never heard of a troubled boys’ baseball team, or Mr. Crank, or Dean Babcock. In fact, she would give just about anything to be back at her ice cream shop dipping out cones and making shakes. A familiar voice caught her attention. Without thinking, she raised her hand to smooth her hair. She turned toward the door.

  “Willow, what are you doing here?”

  Steve tried not to laugh. She had blue paint in her hair, on her nose, and a swipe running down the side of her cheek.

  He turned to Mr. Crank and extended his hand. “Phillip, good to see you.”

  Mr. Crank held up his hand. “Better not. Unless you want to look like the rest of us, that is.”

  Steve smiled then took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the paint from Willow’s nose and cheek. “Here, wipe your hands.”

  Willow forgot about everything else when his dimple appeared. This man was starting to hold a special place in her heart. She had to be careful. She didn’t want a broken heart. She wasn’t a young woman like Embry who would probably fall in and out of love a dozen times before she found the man she wanted to settle down with, at least Willow hoped that was the case. She was in her forties and life had a way of slipping right by you if you let it.

  She broke eye contact with him and concentrated on her paint soaked hands.

  Steve turned to Phillip. “Hey, man. I need to talk to you.”

  Phillip instructed his two helpers to take the boys to the washroom so they could clean up. “I’ll meet you back in here in 15 minutes.” He left the conference room and motioned for Steve to follow, who motioned for Willow to follow.

  Phillip noticed. “I take it you know this woman?”

  “Yeah, and I’m guessing she’s here for the same reason I am. The police are looking for members of Dean Babcock’s baseball team. You need to get them to come in on their own. It’ll be better for them.”

  Phillip nodded. “So this is about Dean’s murder. I figured the police would show up eventually.”

  “I’m not here in my official role. I’m here as a friend.”

  Phillip looked sincerely thankful. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He turned to Willow. “Did you come to warn me too?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. I wanted to talk with the team.”

  Both Phillip’s and Steve’s eyes widened.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “The boys who make up this team aren’t exactly “sit down for a cup of coffee” kind of guys. They’ve had a hard life thus far and if given an opportunity, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t put too much past them.”

  “So you think they’re capable of committing murder?” Willow looked doubtful.

  Phillip commented. “Given the right set of circumstances, yes.”


  It was Willow’s turn to look surprised. “But, they’re just kids.”

  “They’re kids who have had to grow up faster than most grown adults.” As Phillip finished his sentence, there was a loud commotion in the main area of the center. He opened the door to see the police arresting the kid with the red hat.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Phillip approached the police officers.

  Steve laid his hand on Phillip’s arm. “Let me.” He flashed his badge and was able to find out what was happening. Then returned to Phillip and Willow.

  “Apparently, they recovered the murder weapon. The puncture holes on Dean’s face and torso were from cleats. Specifically cleats from the team he was mentoring. That was enough for a search warrant. And they found cleats with blood on them and a bloody knife in Chester’s room at his grandmother’s house. Chester is being arrested for murder.”

  Chapter 8

  Willow watched as the broken young man was led outside to a waiting patrol car. “Steve, are you sure they have the right guy?”

  He shook his head. “The evidence is pointing that way. If it’s not him, he’ll be cleared.”

  Chester’s head was downcast as he was guided into the back seat.

  Willow’s heart was breaking. “Steve, Dean’s best friend, Brian, plays golf. Golf shoes have cleats. He also played baseball with Dean on the minor league team.”

  Steve turned to her. “You’re forgetting one thing. The players had blood on their shoes. The same type of blood as Dean’s. We can go talk to him, but the kids obviously had a hand in Dean’s death. Their shoes put them in the midst of the crime scene. The knife was hidden in Chester’s dresser drawer. The team was mad at Dean for not taking their team seriously. Which gives them motive. The only thing we’re missing is a confession.” He waited for her reaction. “Do you still want to go talk to Brian?”

  She nodded. “I want to talk to Chester too.” She followed along after him. “It just seems too easy. Something isn’t right.”