Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1)

by Patricia Lee Macomber

  "That's not how it works." Benny sighed and looked disappointed. "They come to me. I don't come to them."

  "Yea, that's what I thought. Fraud! You're a fraud!" Behind him, the bell on the door tinkled and Jason gave the door a quick glance. A business man, neatly clad in a cheap suit and even cheaper loafers, was scanning the stereos. Jason turned back to Benny and growled. "You mark my words, Benny, I'll nail you eventually."

  "If you feel you need to try, then by all means." Benny mock-bowed and shook his head. "I've never ripped anyone off and I've never failed to give a refund. You tell Mr. Armstrong to come around my shop on Monday and I'll give him back every penny he paid me. A man should be happy with his purchases."

  Jason glared at him for a moment, as though trying to find some evidence in the man's face. Then he fumbled in his pocket for the rest of Benny's cards, finally thrusting them at Benny with a scowl. In the process, a lottery ticket slipped out of his pocket, fluttering neatly to the floor behind Jason. No one saw it.

  "I'll be sure to tell him. We'll see if he wants to pursue this with the police or not. If he asks my advice, I'll tell him to file charges right away." Jason put his cap back on, giving it a quick tug to shore it up on his head. He tipped it briefly to Trina and turned to leave.

  Trina followed Benny toward the door more slowly and as they walked into the sunlight, the suit-wearing gentleman claimed Jason's lottery ticket for his own.

  Jason had gone two blocks by the time he realized that his Nikes were hammering the sidewalk. He was that mad. Benny, the girl, and finally Jackie turning on him. They were all nuts. Every last one of them ready for the Ha-ha Hotel. And if it took him the rest of his life, he'd prove that.

  He jerked open the door to the convention center and let the air conditioning wash over him. All he wanted at that point was to calm down and salvage the rest of his day. After five years of being a private dick, he knew one thing for sure: most cases went to hell and when they did, they went fast. He would call Armstrong when he got back to the office and tell him about Benny's offer. No doubt, the man would be happy with the resolution. After all, that's what it was all about for millionaires, right? The money? Jason would not be satisfied as easily. There was more at stake here than cash and cards. The fat bastard was forging baseball cards, for God's sake! He'd faked Catfish Hunter's signature and the Babe's as well! It was treasonous! Despicable! And if it took the rest of his life, Jason would see that the man paid.

  "You know, you really are quite an ass!"

  Jason spun to face Trina. "Oh Lord! Not you again! Don't you have crystal balls to polish or something?"

  "And don't you have some cheating husband to catch? That would be more productive than harassing Benny the rest of the day."

  "Oh, I have no intention of harassing Benny." Jason edged along the wall, hoping to escape Trina, but she only advanced.

  "What if we were able to channel your mother? If she answered a few choice questions – things only you and she would know – then would you believe that it's at least possible for Benny to channel the spirits of Babe Ruth and Todd Williams?"

  "Ted."

  "Huh?" She cocked her head to one side like a curious bird.

  "It's Ted Williams. Not Todd."

  "Oh. Whatever. But would you?"

  "Okay, you produce my mother's spirit and get her to tell me who gave me my first French kiss…I'll believe whatever you say."

  "Fine. Then come to this address at eleven tonight. But be ready to apologize to Benny."

  She turned and strode away, every piece of jewelry jangling against every other, skirts flying about on the breeze created by her quick stride. Jason watched her go, suddenly aware that he saw nothing more of her than her tight hips dancing as she walked. Red-faced and angry, he threw his cap on the floor with a growl.

  Chapter Two

  Henry Cooke sat in his favorite chair, watching his favorite show, and wearing his favorite bathrobe. His wife, Edna, was already asleep. She always went to bed at nine, come hell or high water. It had been that way since they had first married twelve years ago. Part of Henry understood why she went to bed so early. They lived in a crappy apartment in a crappy neighborhood. They had ratty furniture and wore ratty clothes. They had never paid full price for anything, never taken a vacation, and they reserved their only three date nights in a year for their birthdays and anniversary. There was really no reason to be awake if she didn't have to be. The fact that it was his fault ate at Henry every day of his life.

  In the pocket of Henry's favorite ratty chenille robe sat the lottery ticket. He held it between thumb and forefinger, caressing it like a long-lost lover. His eyes were on the TV, but he really wasn't following the show. His mind had shot ahead to the weekly lottery drawing. Henry had a hunch.

  Somehow, he had known the ticket would be a winner the minute he picked it up on that pawn shop floor. He had gone in looking for a stereo for his wife and had come out a millionaire. That's how it was. That's how it was meant to be. He knew it.

  Henry drew in a deep breath and his left hand reached out for his beer. It was a reflex motion and he had no need to look at the table next to him. The can was always in the same place, set neatly to the left of the phone and to the right of the remote. Always.

  But this time, his hand came up empty. It was a short month and he'd been out of work one day that week, so his pathetic paycheck had allowed no room for buying beer. Henry sighed dolefully and rested his free hand on the arm of the worn recliner. The other hand still fondled the lottery ticket inside his pocket.

  The show ended. The credits rolled. Henry sat a little higher in his chair and pulled the lottery ticket out of his pocket. His lips spread slowly as he watched the studio logo melt into that familiar lottery sign.

  Henry closed his eyes for a moment and offered up a quiet prayer.

  Every Sunday for as long as he'd known her, Henry's loving wife had gone to church and played the organ for the services. She'd longed for a piano of her own, but the organ was all she had. When Henry had proposed, he'd promised her the moon. So far, he'd given her squat.

  "If I'm right, baby, I'll give you everything you ever dreamed of." His eyes peeled open and glanced at the ceiling. "Please let me be right."

  "Six…" the perky lady on the TV screen chirped.

  Henry realized that the drawing had begun and he'd missed the first number. His eyes shot to the screen frantically. The first two numbers were right. A two and a six. So far so good.

  "Twelve…."

  "Yes!"

  "Eighteen…"

  "Yes!" Henry's fist shot into the air. He was out of his seat now, clutching the ticket in two shaky hands.

  "Twenty-two…" the lady on TV announced with a flourish.

  "By God…YES!"

  "Twenty-four!"

  "I did it! I did it!" Henry began to dance around the room, leaping and thrusting his fist into the air in triumph. "I won! Sumbitch, I won!"

  He raced into the bedroom, where Edna was beginning to shake herself from sleep, startled by the noise.

  "Henry! What's going on? Why are you raising such a ruckus?" She sat up, blinking as he switched on the light.

  "I did it, Edna," he whispered as he eased onto the edge of the bed. "I found this lottery ticket and it won."

  "How wonderful, Henry! What did you get? A hundred bucks? Two?" She smiled and blinked at him, finally able to focus.

  Henry laughed loudly, his head thrown back and his eyes shimmering with happy tears. "The jackpot is eighty-five million, baby. Eighty-five million."

  "So…" She looked askance at him and raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. When he failed to respond, she added, "How much of that is ours?"

  "Like I said, baby, eighty-five million."

  "The whole thing?" She had started to shake and she clutched the covers to her to stop the shaking.

  "The whole thing. The whole shebang. All the eggs, the basket, everything. We won it all!"

  And
then they were both on the bed, jumping in the air and hollering, laughing like loons. All the while, Henry's mind turned, adding up what he would buy Edna to make up for the last twelve years.

  Jason stood on the sidewalk, his head thrown back as he stared up at the old Brownstone before him. It was one of a hundred in that part of the city, all lined up like soldiers awaiting further orders. There was life somewhere inside; a light shone through several windows. He glanced at the card and then at the placard. He had the right address.

  As he ascended the steps, sounds reached his ears: laughter from a game of stickball somewhere behind him. The plaintive cry of a crow somewhere above. Music from an old and cranky radio down the street. Jason expected to find a buzzer, a row of mailboxes, some sign as to which apartment the kook might live in. Most of the old brownstones in that part of town had been converted to apartments. There was nothing but a doorbell. He pushed the button and stepped back.

  From behind the door came a jangling sound and a soft humming, then the door was yanked open. Jason smiled before he knew he was doing it and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  "I'm not late, am I?"

  "Right on time," she giggled, ushering him in with a wave of her arms. The bracelets danced again.

  "Good, because we all know how cranky the dead get when you keep them waiting." His pointed stare was not lost on her.

  She smiled back at him, one of those evil little smiles that women reserve for moments when they are oh-so-right and the man is oh-so-wrong. "I think somebody is in for a big surprise."

  "We'll see." He stepped clear of the hallway and saw that the room directly to his right had been set up for the occasion. The windows were hung with heavy red velvet and a table sat in the middle of the room, festooned in some sort of embroidered fabric. Candles were everywhere and their eerie light danced over everything, changing the colors of walls and furniture alike.

  Benny was there too. His fat smiling face was almost child-like as he rose from the small settee against the back wall. His hand was out when he was still ten paces from Jason. "I'm glad you came," he said, pumping Jason's hand.

  "Yea, we'll see." He glanced around the room, trying to take it all in at once. It was too much, too overdone, too…too… "Is all this for my benefit?"

  Trina looked confused. She tilted her head like a dog and blinked at him. "All what?"

  "The velvet, the candles, the table…are there hydraulics? Are you going to make it float in the air?"

  "Now you're being ridiculous. And offensive." She swallowed, drew a deep breath, and shook her head. "For your information, my house always looks like this. I like it. And as far as doing anything for your benefit…"

  "I'm feeling sleepy. We should start." Benny took Trina's hand and pulled her toward the table. "I always start to feel sleepy when the spirits call," he added as an afterthought. "It's how I know they're near." He dropped into one of the three chairs and leaned his elbows on the table.

  "Shouldn't you question me first? You know, ask me my mom's name, where I grew up, stuff like that?"

  Trina looked perturbed. Benny just smiled. "The spirits will tell me everything I need to know." He smiled and for a moment, his face lost that child-like quality. "I have to find her." His eyes closed.

  Jason looked from Benny to Trina, then rolled his eyes. "Oh brother!"

  Trina reached behind her to an odd-looking and rather battered sideboard. There was a pad of paper and a pencil there and she slid these across the table to rest in front of Benny.

  "No," he mumbled, dazedly. "This one wants to talk."

  Trina retrieved the pad and pencil and tossed them back to the sideboard. "Mostly, Benny practices automatic writing. The spirits communicate by controlling his arm. That's why the signatures are exactly the same as the original person's. For all intents and purposes, Benny's arm and hand belong to them while he is channeling."

  "I see," Jason sighed. He could think of nothing else to say.

  "Margaret wants to talk to you." Benny turned so that he faced Jason, but his eyes remained shut.

  "So, you did your research on me." Jason shrugged and sighed. He leaned back in his chair and waited for the show to start.

  "Don't be such a ninny, Jason. And sit up straight. You'll end up with scoliosis."

  The voice was not his mother's, but neither was it Benny's own. It had an odd, shrill quality to it, though not the sort of shrillness that a man faking a woman's voice would take on. Jason felt a chill.

  "Now, I want to tell you something so that you know it's really me. I could tell you about the Good Fairy."

  Jason sat up in his chair, his back straighter than he had thought possible, and his lip trembling a bit.

  "Remember? When you were little you were SUCH a handful. So, on those rare occasions when you were good all day long, the Good Fairy would come and hide a special treat for you. But you had to find it. Remember?"

  "I remember." His voice didn't sound like his own now. It was dreamy and far away. For a moment, he wondered if he had been hypnotized somehow. He shook it off and tried to think straight. "And what was that treat, Mother?"

  Benny laughed in his shrill, not-quite-a-woman voice. "A test. Okay. Grape Life Savers. You loved them more than anything in the world." She laughed a bit in Benny's voice and then continued. "And you've never called me 'mother' before in your life. Mommy or Mama. Never mother."

  Jason felt his hands begin to shake and tried to stop them. He licked his lips and regarded Trina for a moment. Was that a self-righteous grin he saw on her face? Or was she simply happy to have given him something to hold onto?

  "So, Mama, are you happy there? Where you are?" He felt like a child again. He hated that.

  "I am. The afterlife is rather different than I thought it would be. I haven't seen anyone we know except my mother…your grandmother…but everyone here is calm and full of love and peace."

  "That's…good." He was at a loss. His heart was pounding, his hands shaking, and he couldn't think of a single thing to ask his dead mother.

  "Oh, and about that other question you asked Benny? Her name was Sylvia Goldberg and you refused to go out with her on a steady basis because everyone gave you grief. So, you took her to the drive-in one Saturday night and you let her give you your first French kiss. It had you walking around in a daze for a week, remember?"

  Jason laughed in spite of himself and nodded. "I do remember. I remember telling you about it, too. And I remember what you said."

  "Still testing. All right, my boy. I told you that girls would come and girls would go and that it was just a kiss and that if you didn't get over it, you'd marry the first girl you slept with and be miserable for the rest of your life. And you didn't get over it."

  "And I married the first girl I ever slept with."

  "And it only lasted six weeks."

  They both laughed at that. For some reason beyond his comprehension, Jason wanted to hug Benny just then. There were tears in his eyes and his hands had stopped shaking. Everything just felt right again, the way it had before his mother had died, the way it hadn't felt since.

  "I love you, Mama."

  "I love you, too, boy. More than anything." There was a pause. Benny shifted in his chair. "I have to leave you now. My presence takes a steep toll on this gentleman and I don't want to hurt him. Tell your brother that I love him, and that he should stop going to the track on Tuesdays. He will never win more than he loses."

  "I'll tell him. I love you, Mama. I miss you so much."

  "I know. I miss you too. Until next time."

  Benny's head began to tilt toward the table until Jason reached out to grab hold of his shoulder. Benny blinked at him and smiled. "Did I do good?"

  Jason sat up straight and tried to adopt his usual gruff persona. It just wouldn't come. "You did real good, Benny." He sniffed, then cleared his throat. "How do you do it?"

  "I dunno. They just come visit me when they need to. I worked real hard to call your mom up. T
hey almost never come when I look for someone specifically. Just when they have something to say."

  Trina stood up and made her way to the kitchen. When she returned, she had a tray in her hands and on it were all the trappings of a fine tea party. She set the tray down with a smile, still having not spoken a word. She poured each of them a cup of tea, then took her place once more.

  "So," Jason began over the top of his cup, "you haven't had much to say this evening."

  She shrugged and took a sip from her cup. "What's to say? You were a doubting Thomas. Benny proved you wrong. End of story."

  Jason mulled this over. He wasn't one to admit to being wrong. He was a natural-born skeptic, a doubter tried and true. And when caught being wrong, he would merely dismiss it, never admit it.

  "I guess I just never thought that people could go on after death. I mean, you want to think there's some glowing happy afterlife where all the people you ever knew went when they died. But it's hard to believe it actually exists…"

  "It doesn't." She was very careful now, it seemed, in choosing her words. "There's not a heaven and hell like we all think. The afterlife is all around us. When push comes to shove, everything we are is nothing more than pure energy. And energy never goes away. It just becomes other forms of energy. So the energy that is the dead flows through Benny and others like him. They stop off for a visit, but never stay. Sometimes they impart wisdom to us. But they never really die."

  It all made a crazy kind of sense to Jason, though he was reluctant to admit it, even to himself. Still, Benny had told him things that nobody on earth – not even his brother – could have known. Only his mother knew about that kiss, and what she had told him about it. Tears tortured his eyes for a moment and then were gone.

  "I was an ass," he mumbled into his tea.

  "Excuse me?" Trina leaned forward. If she felt an ounce of self-righteous indignation, it didn't show on her face.

  "I was an ass," he said more clearly. "I was just as bigoted about your beliefs as the KKK is about anyone who isn't white. My mind was made up and I couldn't for a second stop to think that I didn't know everything in the universe. I'm sorry."