“I don’t know. She seems a little erratic right now. Maybe we should keep our distance. She might be crazy and I wouldn’t blame her if she is; I know how she must be feeling.”
“Well, I’ve been talking to your aunt and we think it wouldn’t hurt if we just spent a little time casing out the house. I can’t just sit around and wait for the answer to land on me. I need to be doing something and helping you somehow.”
“What house?” Myra asked.
“The Judge house. You know, just see what we can see. Of course, we’ll turn over anything interesting we might see to the authorities, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch for a while to see what happens.”
An hour later, Elsa-May came home and helped Ettie convince Myra to drive her and Ettie to the Judge house. Being Amish, the two elderly ladies couldn’t drive and Myra had been coerced into driving them.
* * *
Myra and the two elderly widows sat hunched down in Myra’s car, watching the Judge house. As they waited for something to happen, they whispered amongst themselves, speculating as to the role Preston’s first wife might have played in his death.
“I think she found out her money was missing and blamed him and knocked him off,” Elsa-May said.
“Hush,” Ettie said. “Someone’s going up to the house. The woman is answering the door. He’s going inside! Are you getting pictures of all this, Myra?”
Myra snapped her camera lens as quickly as she could.
Fifteen minutes later, the man left the house and Myra snapped more photos.
After about an hour of no additional action, Aunt Elsa-May complained of being hungry, so they called it a day.
Later that night, Myra loaded the photos she took to Google-Images and ran a face match. Stunned with disbelief, she picked up the phone and called Crowley.
* * *
“Crowley speaking.”
“Detective, you’re not going to believe what we just found. Oh, it’s Myra here.”
“Yes, I know your voice. What did you find?” Crowley asked.
“I have photos to prove it. Manuel Garcia was at the Judge house today.”
“The Manuel Garcia?”
“Yes.”
“Come by the office tomorrow and bring the photos with you. I’ve also got a few things I’d like to go over with you.”
“Sure, about what time?” Myra asked.
“Whenever you can make it here. I’ll be going over case files for most of the day, so I should be here unless I get called out,” Crowley said.
“Great. I’ll try to be there first thing tomorrow if that’s okay.”
“I’ll see you then.” With that, the conversation ended and Crowley slid his cell phone onto his desk. Dropping his head to his hand, he thought about this entire mess and what it could mean for Myra. The detective felt a certain amount of sympathy for victims normally, but this time it was someone that had been special to him.
The detectives at Randallston either weren’t doing their job properly or were too intimidated to investigate the fact that someone in the Judge household knows Manuel Garcia, a prominent figure in organized crime.
Crowley picked up his phone and called Detective Jenkins. Jenkins informed him that Manuel Garcia was Priscilla Judge’s brother. Jenkins did not think that Manuel Garcia had anything to do with his brother-in-law’s murder and refused to look into things further.
Chapter 10.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4
The next morning, Crowley waited for Myra but she didn’t show. When he finally called her cell she told him she’d be in later that day. She offered him no excuse for her lateness and he thought it odd.
Later in the day, just as the detective was considering calling Myra again, a loud knock crashed on the door of his office. Startled, he said, “Come in.” The door flung open to reveal Myra standing in the doorway, looking as beautiful as ever. “Have a seat, Myra,” he said with a smile.
She closed the door and sat opposite him. Without saying a word, she showed him her camera and clicked through the images of the man coming out of the Mrs. Judge’s house. Crowley leaned over to get a better look.
Pointing to a clear-shot image of the man who looked like Manuel Garcia, entering the house, Detective Crowley glanced up at Myra. “This is the man you saw?”
She nodded.
“You’re right about him being Manuel Garcia. I phoned Detective Jenkins and found out that Priscilla Judge is Manuel Garcia’s sister.”
Myra looked exhausted, but she didn’t let that hold back a weary smile. “Thank you, Crowley. This has all been so emotionally draining. Sometimes I wonder if I will be able to keep myself together much longer.”
With sincerity he said softly, “Myra, you are a very strong woman. You’ll be okay because I’ll make sure you are. I know none of this makes any sense yet, but I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of this case and find out what happened to Peter.”
“You mean Preston?”
Desperation clutched at his chest. “Maybe he was trying to leave his old life behind. Just because he changed his name doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t real when he was with you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Myra’s lips. “Thank you, Ronald. Well, I should head back. I think mom’s making her famous meatloaf for dinner.”
“I haven’t had one of Ettie’s home-cooked meals in a long time.”
Smiling sweetly, Myra made her way toward the door. “Maybe one of these days I can get her to make you one.”
“I’ll hold you to your word,” he replied as she disappeared behind the closing door. He’d been so preoccupied when he heard the name ‘Manuel Garcia’ that he hadn’t reprimanded Myra for poking her nose into things. He was sure Ettie and Elsa-May had something to do with her actions. They must have been at the Judge house spying.
Crowley remained at his desk, sifting through files and documents, trying to figure out who had the best motive for killing Preston Judge. The case was certainly perplexing, but he knew the answer had to be staring him right in the face. The vibration of his cell phone dancing atop his desk jolted him from thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Crowley? I’m so sorry to call you, but I really have nobody else to ask right now.”
“Myra? Is something wrong?” Crowley sprang to his feet and reached for his car keys.
“Well, it’s nothing too serious, but my car just stalled out on me. It’s been like twenty minutes since I left your office? I was having some problems and figured I just needed gas, but it’s still acting up. I turned into a little convenience store just as the car died. I’m sitting there now. I don’t know what to do or how to get home.”
“I was just about to call it a day and head home myself. I’ll come and get you.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you. You’ve saved me again.”
“Sit tight, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Thank you.”
After he jotted down the address, Crowley ended the call and tossed his phone into his pocket. Gathering his belongings, he locked his office and headed to save the damsel in distress.
* * *
After collecting Myra, Crowley had her car towed to a nearby mechanic to have it repaired. The dirty tussled old man told them that the alternator looked like it would need to be replaced and that the car would be ready the next day. They got back into Crowley’s car and headed toward Ettie’s house.
“You saved the day yet again,” Myra commented as they drove.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Crowley said with laughter. He glanced at Myra and saw that she was deep thought.
After a few moments of silence, Myra said, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it in earlier today. I just couldn’t face all of it. I want to wake up and find it’s all been a dream.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Why have you always been there for me like you have? It’s been years since we were close, yet you still jump at the chance to be there for me; even in the worst of times.”
“That’s what men do, Myra. Real men are always there for those who matter to them.”
Myra scoffed. “Well, there must not be all that many real men out there in the world then.”
“It’s just a harsh world we live in. Most people start out good-natured with a strong moral code, but environment, loss, and hardships can make even the most pious man a broken husk of his former self.” Crowley took his eyes off the road for a brief second to see Myra’s reaction.
“You must be a special person then, considering you were able to keep those traits well into your - your fifties?”
Crowley gave a gruff chuckle. “I just have impenetrable armour. If I let anything eat away at my defences I’d be just as gone as the rest of them.”
“Well, since no woman has ever really gotten into your heart, I suppose that’s pretty accurate,” she said.
A half smile decorated Crowley’s face, but he did his best to hide it from his passenger. One girl had almost cracked his armour, and he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do you remember that time when we got lost hiking in the woods? I still can’t believe I actually talked you into going with me.” The thought of this memory caused fuzziness to whirl around in his stomach.
“Oh my gosh, that was such a nightmare! I mean, it was fun looking back at it, but I was terrified. You’d think a cop would know how to use a compass or follow the sun or something!”
Crowley laughed heartily. “Cops don’t really get lost all that often, sorry. Remember that spider that crawled in your hair when we were trying to figure out where we were on the map? That was great.”
“You jerk! I have never seen such a big, ugly, hairy thing in all my life.”
“I must at least get second place then,” he said jokingly.
“Oh, please. You might be big and hairy, but you’re far from ugly.”
Crowley tried to hold back his embarrassment and hoped she wouldn’t interpret his silence as a bad thing.
“You know, sometimes I wonder why we drifted so far apart. I miss having you as a close friend,” Myra said.
The sincerity in Myra’s voice tugged at the detective’s heart. “I miss it too, but life moved on at a fast pace, and we ended up taking different paths. Work took priority, and the next time I heard from you, you didn’t seem interested, and that was that.”
“We could have been friends.”
He had wanted more than that, but he always knew deep down that she deserved so much better than he could ever be. “I just fell so far into my work that I had no time for anything else.”
“Right,” she replied. “Life has a way of pulling us up and showing us our mistakes.”
Crowley paused for a moment and thought about what she’d just said. He had never been one to believe in fate or destiny, but for the first time he had reason to question whether such a thing could exist. Why else would he be sitting next to the only woman he ever regretted not getting to know better? Something brought them together, and he knew he wanted to make the most of it. Without saying it aloud, Crowley vowed that he would solve this case and learn the truth.
Pulling into Ettie’s driveway, Crowley offered to walk Myra to the door. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I don’t mind. You can’t exactly turn down a free police escort now, can you?” he said with a wide grin.
“I suppose I can’t.” They walked up to the door and said their goodbyes. Suddenly, the door flew open and Ettie stood in front of them.
The smell of meatloaf wafted under Crowley’s nose and his mouth watered.
Ettie folded her arms and glared at the two of them. “It’s about time you got home, where have you been? Dinner’s getting cold.”
“I’m sorry, Mamm, but my car broke down and the detective picked me up, had my car towed to the shop, and we just got here now. It’s been a long day.”
Ettie smiled. “Well, since you’re here, Crowley, how about you stay for dinner?”
It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
* * *
Crowley arrived at Ettie’s doorstep mid-afternoon the next day. The loud knock had scared the old woman since she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Myra came running out of the living room to answer the door.
“I’m sorry, Mamm. I forgot to tell you that Crowley called earlier today. He wants to discuss the case with us. He wants your input.”
Ettie said, “I should become a private investigator.”
Myra giggled and opened the door, revealing the patiently waiting detective.
“Good day, Myra,” he said, taking off his hat. She motioned for him to come in, and then the three sat at the kitchen table to discuss the case.
Always accustomed to serving snacks and drinks, Ettie rose to her feet. “Would either of you like some freshly baked cookies or perhaps some tea?”
“No thank you, Ettie. I appreciate the offer though,” Crowley said.
Myra shook her head.
Ettie poured herself a cup of tea and sat down to see the detective sprawling several sheets of paper on the table. He slid three photographs in front of the women. “This one is Mrs. Judge, this one is her son,” and pointing the last image, “And this is a mug shot of Manuel Garcia; the man whom you both saw visiting the wife.”
“And who is that man?” Ettie asked, pointing to a picture that was still halfway inside the folder that housed all of the detective’s documents.
“Mamm, that’s Peter, or Preston I should say. Although, it doesn’t look much like him, it must have been when he was a lot younger.” Myra took a sideways glance at her mother, ashamed of the silly rift that had kept them apart all those years.
“I’m afraid the Randallston detectives weren’t interested in the fact that Manuel Garcia is Priscilla Judge’s brother. They said that there’s no reason to suspect he had anything to do with Preston’s death.”
“Do you think revenge would be a solid motive in this case, Crowley? If Preston’s wife was brazen enough to show up at my house to threaten my daughter with a lawsuit, who says she isn’t capable of having her crooked brother take care of the man who was stealing money from her? She might have found out about the bigamy too.”
Crowley nodded. “It’s definitely possible. Revenge is a motive, but I couldn’t persuade the police in charge of the investigation to see it that way.”
Ettie smiled and tried to think of the list of suspects so far. She pulled out a little notebook and went over her scribbles. “Okay, so we have the wife, the stepson, and the wife’s brother. Is there anyone else on your radar, Detective?”
“Not currently. It’s looking like it was done by someone close to him, which means those three are our prime suspects. I’m just not sure which one I lean toward the most.” His face looked grim for a moment.
Myra chimed in, “I think that no matter who actually did it, the wife was probably the mastermind. When she came here to talk to me, I could sense the evil in her.”
“Possibly,” Crowley said. “I’m still leaning toward the son as the one that pulled the trigger, though.”
“Trigger?” Myra asked. “I thought he was stabbed.”
Crowley chuckled. “I’m sorry, police slang. I just meant that I think that he is the one who actually committed the murder.”
“Oh,” she replied.
Still looking at the pictures on the table, Ettie said, “Preston looks very big in that picture. The son is small from these pictures.” She tapped on a photo of Oscar Judge. “It’d be like a David and Goliath type of battle if one ever attacked the other, don’t you think?”
The detective grew silent for a few minutes. “Hmm, I didn’t even think about that. That is definitely a great observation, Ettie, but he was stabbed in the back. He mi
ght not have seen the person coming since there was no sign of a struggle.”
Myra’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled the phone and looked at it. “Oh, it’s the repair shop. One second.” Ettie and Crowley sat quietly as the conversation played out. Once the call had ended, Myra said, “The car is ready to be picked up.”
“Wonderful. I’ll take you there now,” Crowley said.
Interrupting the two, Ettie questioned the detective, “Would you like to stay for dinner again? Surely the car can wait until afterwards.”
“I’m sorry, Ettie, but I’ll have to take a rain check,” Crowley said.
“Yeah, Mamm. The mechanic said they close at five and it’s already a little after four o’clock.”
Smiling, Crowley nodded before throwing on his hat and coat and following Myra to his car.
Chapter 11.
And let us not be weary in well doing:
for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
Galatians 6:9
Detective Crowley and Myra pulled into the parking lot of the repair shop to see Myra’s car sitting in front of the garage.
The same mechanic that they had left the car with greeted them. “She’s running like new,” he said. Dirt was smeared across the mechanic’s aging face. “It’s gonna run you about five fifty though.”
Myra handed over her credit card. They followed the mechanic through to the corner of the workshop, which he used as his office. He ran it through the machine, but it was rejected.
“Try it again,” Myra insisted.
The mechanic ran it through his machine once more. “Nope.” He picked up the printed ticket. “Says ‘insufficient funds.’”
Myra pulled a face. “That can’t be right.”
Grabbing his wallet without hesitation, Crowley pulled the mechanic aside and paid the invoice. He looked back to see Myra staring at him with confusion. He took his receipt and walked back toward her. Throwing her the keys, he smiled.
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