Teddy Tumpin (An Ollie Stratford Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by N. C. Lewis

  ◆◆◆

  It was after five thirty p.m. when I pulled into the driveway at Ealing Homestead. I was surprised and pleased to see that George Garcia and his team had made speedy progress rebuilding the small shed. Then I thought about the cost and scowled.

  Inside, I played with Bodie then refilled his water and food bowls. After he had eaten, I opened the front door and off he bounded to explore the new structure.

  It had been a long day. I was tired, but there was one more thing left to do—the Medlin Creek Players with Dominick Leiden. Inwardly I smiled, as I thought about watching a show with such a handsome man.

  After a hot shower, I slipped into a dark-peach, frilly blouse with easy-fitting, casual, stretch blue jeans and matching sneakers. For an instant I considered wearing a dress, but the show, outside on bleachers made a dress too much hassle.

  ◆◆◆

  The sun had set by the time I pulled the Tahoe into a parking space on Creek Road and walked down stone steps onto the Riverwalk trail. Families with small children, couples holding hands, and tourists strolled along the dirt track of the Riverwalk under a full moon. Almost everyone headed toward the open-air show.

  I ambled along the pathway to the Overton Road Bridge enjoying the fragrance of the cedar trees and the tang of spring water gushing along the narrow riverbed.

  It was a little before seven p.m. when I arrived at the bridge which was a clay-brick structure straddling Medlin Creek. Dominick was already waiting. He was wearing linen slacks, a light-gray jacket, a cream-colored button-down shirt open at the throat, and a broad, welcoming, white-toothed smile on his face.

  "Ollie, you look delicious," he said, taking my arm. "The theater is about a ten-minute walk. The show doesn't start until seven thirty p.m. so we have plenty of time."

  "Do you get much leisure time?" I asked.

  "If I'm not working, I'm sleeping. That's been the pattern over the last three years," he admitted. "Now, with a market so choppy there's less time for sleep."

  For several minutes we strolled arm in arm in silence watching the parents with young families and other couples enjoying the evening air.

  "How is your investment fund going?" I asked casually.

  Dominick stopped, turned, stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. "Did I not tell you I'm a long-term investor? Over many years the fund will deliver superior returns; you can count on that."

  At the Midland Street Bridge where the pathway split into two, we stopped. Upward led to Midland Street where after two hundred and fifty yards was a slope back down onto the trail. Straight ahead was a tunnel cut through the hillside by the early founders of the town. Most people took the slope up to Midland Street. There was streetlighting and bright moonlight to guide their way although the tunnel was quicker.

  "Such a nice evening," he said glancing up toward the heavens. "Let's follow the river through the tunnel."

  "That'd be nice," I replied.

  Along the side of the tunnel every fifty yards was a small narrow alcove that ran ten feet into the hillside. As we entered deeper into the tunnel, his hand gripped tightly on to my arm. The occasional overhead bulb illuminated the passage with less brilliance than candles. I half turned to look at his face, and he was smiling.

  "Ollie, have you filled out the expression of interest form yet?"

  "No."

  We fell into silence.

  After a minute Dominick fished around in his jacket, pulled out his cell phone and peered at the screen. I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one behind us, nor anyone in front of us. As I turned to face forward, I caught a glance of his cell phone screen—a stock market chart.

  Dominick let out a gasp and stopped walking. "One moment Ollie, I need to make a call," he said, slipping into an alcove.

  I listened for a moment but did not hear him speak. Unexpectedly, an image of Millie's cubicle overflowing with puppets popped into my mind. Why had Judith Cutler given Millie so many sock puppets? Because she had a surplus. I repeated the answer aloud, "Surplus."

  Then it hit me. "Shortage," I said under my breath. Why would Dominick open his fund? Because he had a shortage. Of what? Capital. Maybe his long-term investments had gone sour, or perhaps the falling market had caused investors to withdraw funds. I was beginning to feel a cold weight in the center of my gut.

  Dominick put away his cell phone. His gray eyes sunk deep in their sockets, and his face suddenly looked haggard.

  "Did you get through?" I said, knowing he had not spoken to anyone.

  "Oh no," he said glumly. "Couldn't get through."

  I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

  "In a few minutes I'll try again," he said, taking my arm.

  We were three quarters of the way along the tunnel when I asked him the question.

  "Your investment fund is losing money, isn't it?"

  His jaw trembled just the slightest bit. "Yes," he said without glancing in my direction. "Ollie, you figured it out. The fund is almost insolvent. Just a few more down days in the stock market and it's over." He cursed slowly and grimly.

  "Why do you need the expression of interest form if it is all over?"

  "I can show them to my bankers for an enhanced line of credit. It's a long shot…" He stopped and turned his face slowly, his gray eyes glinting. "Let's run away together. Just you and me."

  "Where would we go?" I blurted before my brain got into gear.

  "Overseas. I've put some money away for a rainy day… the Caribbean, you'd love it."

  "No," I said firmly. "That is the path of a coward."

  He gulped and ran a moist hand over a moister forehead. "Ollie," he said pronouncing my name like a distasteful odor, "I've got to make a call, one moment." He darted into another alcove.

  My cell phone buzzed. A message from Millie. I turned to face the creek as I read.

  Barista got it wrong. Sid Wilson not under arrest. He went to the sheriff's department to file a complaint. Not sure what about.

  I knew now who murdered Teddy Tumpin and I thought I knew why

  A hand grabbed me from behind.

  I gasped and tried to break free but was pulled deep into the darkness of the alcove.

  Chapter 45

  "Keep quiet," hissed Dominick.

  I struggled to get free from his grip, but he held me firm.

  "You killed Teddy because he wanted his money out of your fund and you couldn't pay," I gasped.

  "Figured it all out didn't you, little lady?" His grip grew stronger. "What a shame. In a few days the death of Teddy Tumpin would have been old news, and you and I could have gone back to life as normal. I'd have his money and you'd have your life."

  "What about Sid Wilson? Did he invest in your fund?"

  "Oh, you are so clever aren’t you! Yes, Sid is an investor. The man dresses like a down and out, but he's a millionaire."

  It was all so clear now. "Sid wants his money back as well, doesn't he?"

  Dominick laughed. "Yes, and he's next."

  "You can't kill all the investors who want their money back."

  "Shut up."

  I half turned.

  Dominick's face was wet with perspiration. There were small beads of it clinging all over his eyebrows and little rivers running down his forehead, dripping off his chin.

  I swallowed hard. "You can't kill—"

  His face contorted into a frightening mask of evil.

  "Shut up, I tell you. Shut up."

  He raised a fist.

  The first blow sent me to my knees. Quickly he struck me three more times. I collapsed onto the ground.

  "Get up," he yelled, yanking me to my feet. Blood trickled down my forehead, and I felt lightheaded.

  Suddenly, footsteps echoed along the tunnel. I yanked free of his grip and stumbled forward toward freedom.

  Dominick caught me from behind, his fingers digging deep into my arms.

  "Make a sound, and I'll kill you." A hand clamped tight over my mouth.<
br />
  I was trapped.

  The footsteps grew louder. Then from the shadows a stooped, old man with a cane came into view.

  I recognized him. Grandpa Marston, the owner of Mr. Tittles. He stopped momentarily, turned his head, peered into the alcove, then continued his way.

  As Grandpa Marston's footsteps echoed into the distance Dominick laughed softly. "Just as well the old fool didn't see us. He'd have been next." His grip tightened. "At long last, those martial arts classes I took as a kid came in useful. Ollie, I'm going to kill you the same way I did with Teddy."

  He snaked his right arm around my neck with the left arm around the back of my head. An instant of blind panic followed.

  Then, without any thought, my right hand grasped on to Dominick's left hand. My left hand, palm open, pushed upward on his left elbow. At the same time, I pushed back with my head and upper body. Next, I pivoted slightly to the right forcing Dominick's grip to slacken. Now, I pivoted fully underneath his rising elbow.

  I was free!

  It was then I remembered the words of Tiger Lily. "Once you are free, either run or attack. Whichever option you choose, do it quickly while the attacker is off-balance."

  I ran.

  Dominick came after me. His hands brushed the back of my head. I tripped and stumbled out of the alcove almost bowling over Grandpa Marston.

  "Oh my," he said, sidestepping out of the way. "Looks like we got here just in time." With him were Deputy Dingsplat and Deputy Muller.

  Dominick raised his arms and went quietly.

  Epilogue

  Three days later at Moozoos Café…

  I sat at my favorite table by the window chatting with Jane Braithwaite, vicar at St. Francis Anglican church.

  "On the house," said the barista handing me a drink and taking a seat.

  His lopsided eyes filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

  "Fine," I said, taking a sip.

  "Are you sure?" he said, eyeing the bandage wrapped around my head.

  "Oh this," I said, raising a hand to my head. "It looks worse than it is. I'm not in any pain and the bruising will go down."

  "Doctor Stratford's a brave woman," said Jane. She patted me on the shoulder. "It takes real courage to go through such an ordeal."

  I took a sip. "Thank you."

  "Shame about the wedding," added vicar Braithwaite. "I do enjoy officiating matrimonial events."

  "What is to be must be," said the barista, getting up and walking slowly toward the bar.

  "Oh Ollie, by the way," said vicar Braithwaite. "You know Alyssa Westwood?"

  I nodded.

  "Of course you do! You visited her mobile home last Friday with Millie Watkins. Alyssa has had a few bumps in the road of life. She is trying to get her feet on solid ground. Anyway, she helps at our evening singles matchmaking group. That's where she was Thursday evening. Alyssa thought you might take it better hearing it from me. Last Thursday's meeting ended around eleven p.m. Alyssa helped tidy up, didn't get out until well after midnight."

  "Oh," I said.

  "I thought you'd like to know," smiled vicar Braithwaite.

  The doorbell chimed.

  Sid Wilson strode into the café. His faded jeans and stained T-shirt cloaked underneath them, a wealthy man.

  "Large black coffee," he said smiling at the barista.

  As the barista busied himself, Sid placed slowly looked around the café. He raised a rugged finger, pointing it at our table.

  "Sir, your drink," said the barista.

  "Thank you," replied Sid as he strode over to where we sat.

  "Ladies, a word," he said, placing his hands on the table.

  "Please sit down," said vicar Braithwaite with a friendly smile.

  He reached into his pocket pulling out a rumpled rectangle bit of paper. Then he sat down.

  "Hear you’re the vicar of St. Francis," he said, his face stern.

  "Sure am," replied vicar Braithwaite.

  "Then this is for you," he said handing her the rumpled paper. "A check for twenty-five thousand dollars to be used for church activities."

  Without another word he got up and left the café.

  The barista scurried over to our table.

  "My goodness," he said, peering at the check. "Word on the Creek is that Sid lost over a quarter of a million dollars in Dominick's investment fund."

  "That's a lot of money to lose," I said.

  The barista nodded. "It seems Dominick's investment fund had been losing money for years. Somehow Dominick fudged the accounts. The full story will come out during the murder trial no doubt."

  "Dominick will be in prison for the rest of his life," said vicar Braithwaite, shaking her head.

  "I guess so," I replied with a sigh.

  ◆◆◆

  Monday afternoon at the College Arms pub…

  "I'd do it again if I had to," Roger said, taking a long gulp of beer.

  "Confess to a murder you didn't do?" I asked.

  "No, no, no. I didn't confess to anything, merely volunteered information about the death of Teddy Tumpin to the sheriff's department."

  "Why did they hold you overnight?" Millie asked.

  "Guess I was their only lead." He took another gulp of beer, his eyes twinkling in a rather curious way.

  Deputy Dingsplat, off duty, in blue jeans and a white T-shirt, coughed. "You didn't hear this from me, but there's no official record of Roger being held in custody."

  "Oh," I said, getting the picture.

  "Mrs. Dingsplat makes a great Irish stew. I'll have to visit with you more often," said Roger, giving Deputy Dingsplat a wink.

  "Oh my gosh, are you kidding us?" Millie asked.

  Roger pointed his finger to the ceiling like an English professor about to make an important point. "I really believed Crystal killed Teddy Tumpin using mystical powers. Lord knows I was in no rush to return to my apartment. What if she turned her powers on me?"

  "So, you 'volunteered' yourself to the sheriff's department," said Millie, her eyes open wide in admiration.

  Roger smiled but said nothing.

  Bob picked up his beer glass then put it back down. "What I can't understand is why Crystal wanted to marry you if she was already married."

  Roger turned in my direction. "It was Ollie's detective work that uncovered her marriage."

  "To Harvey Healy, a database administrator," I said chewing on a bit of fish. "I figured it out because of something Crystal had said when we first met her."

  "What was that?" asked Millie.

  "She had been married many times but never for very long. I suppose it put the idea into my mind that she might still be married. A little digging online and sure enough she was… to Harvey Healy."

  Roger's brow creased. "They got wed over ten years ago. Harvey says she gets in trouble every few years."

  "Trouble?" quizzed Bob. "What do you mean?"

  Roger rubbed his chin. "Every once in a while, she runs off."

  "Runs off?" said Millie.

  "Only when she does not take her meds." Roger took a small sip of beer. "Harvey thought she was here for the homecoming. He got quite a shock when Ollie called him. Anyway, Harvey said a few years ago she forgot to take her meds and ran off to join the circus as an animal tamer. She had no experience taming animals but got the idea into her head and was gone."

  "Is that what happened this time?" Bob asked.

  Roger nodded. "Seems she got it into her head that she was psychic. Although, according to Harvey, she's never demonstrated any psychic powers whatsoever."

  "Amazing!" Millie said. "Crystal sure looked like the real deal."

  Roger nodded. "Harvey thinks it's her way of living out her childhood dream of becoming an actress. She never made it in Hollywood, so I suppose there might be some truth in that idea."

  "Maybe that explains her strange behavior," I said, thinking about the mice that dropped dead under her gaze.

  "Very strange behaviors," Roger said l
owering his voice. "I didn't want to tell Harvey about this, but Crystal would sneak out of the apartment late at night. She'd carry a little metal cage."

  "What for?" Millie asked, her eyes even wider.

  Roger half closed his eyes as if trying to remember every detail. "Found Crystal by the apartment dumpster late her first evening. There was a wild squeaking coming from a cage she held under her arm. When I peered inside it held five or six rodents. She had used the cage to trap rodents! I've no idea what for, but I got rid of them critters pretty quick."

  We fell silent for several minutes.

  Roger stared out into the pub. "I spoke with Harvey yesterday. Crystal is back home and taking her medication."

  ◆◆◆

  It was just after six p.m. when I arrived home at Ealing Homestead. Bodie pranced and danced around my feet until I gave him a belly rub, refilled his bowls with water and food, then played tug of war with a dog toy. I laughed out loud when he yanked the toy from my hand, darted away, and eyed me with suspicion from under the table.

  In the office I slumped into a chair, let out a contented sigh, fired up the computer, and reviewed my list of outstanding tasks. I didn't want to think about Dominick Leiden or his fate. But I still had questions. Why did he keep up the charade of success when he knew his business had failed?

  To take another person's life for such an inconsequential event was difficult to understand. Businesses fail every day, as John used to say quoting Winston Churchill, "Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." I sighed. "Guess I'll never get answers as to why Dominick did what he did," I muttered.

  An urgent barking broke into my thoughts. Bodie had spotted something outside. I peered through the window as a delivery man climbed out of his truck and strolled, with huge loping strides, toward the front door. In his hand he carried a large bouquet of flowers in a little wicker basket.

  I greeted him on the porch.

  "Delivery for Doctor Stratford."

  The bouquet overflowed with Peruvian lilies and multicolored roses. I placed the gift on the kitchen table. Inside the basket was a card.