Murder in the Classic City

by Sheila S Hudson

  For a moment I thought I heard a rustle in my rose garden. Though I was almost too afraid to look, I took a hoe from the garage and pulled back the thorn bushes. There was Khaki panting and frothing at the mouth. With no regard for the thorns, I ran inside grabbed my keys from the table and scooped her into the van. If I had a siren, I would have used it.

  Please God don’t let Khaki die was my first thought and my second was who did this and why?

  12

  In the veterinarian’s waiting room, I tried Harry’s cell again. This time he answered.

  “Uncle Harry, are you okay? You sound out of breath.”

  “Hey yeah. I’m okay. I must have been rearranging the pots in my greenhouse when you called. I think I got carried away and lost track of the time, then I was starving, and made lunch. It was only after I had devoured half of my Weight Watchers French Bread Pizza before I noticed that I had a message,” Harry said.

  I had a mental picture of Uncle Harry on his loveseat with a bottle of Chianti on the coffee table and French Bread Pizza on a silver tray in front of him. Weight Watchers should get him to do a television commercial. I looked at my watch. It was time for Harry’s soaps along with his wine therapy which, according to him, prolonging his life. Harry was an original and I hoped he never changed.

  “I wanted to let you know that someone tried to poison Khaki, but don’t panic. I got her to the vet in time and she’ll be okay. I’m trying to find out what was used, how, and why. Naturally, I thought of you.”

  “I can’t say the words I’d like to because you are a lady, but when and I say when, not if, we find out who did this, I want some time alone with him,” Harry said.

  “Or her,” I interjected. “We can’t rule out anyone. Remember Beth Alewine?”

  “True, so true. Wait just a second. Not you, Stephanie.”

  “Harry is someone with you?”

  “Yes, I had a friend over but she’s leaving now. Get all the facts you can from the vet and high tail it over here. I want to get this bastard ASAP,” Harry commanded.

  “Aye Aye,” I said and almost smiled. Did Harry say she?

  If I weren’t so horrified about Khaki being poisoned, I would have done a little dance. But as it was, I wasn’t in any mood for dancing. I waited for the vet’s report and got to see poor Khaki laid on a table with tubes everywhere. She looked as if she had expired but the dog doc assured me that she was recovering nicely after having a gastric lavage. I know what that means even if he was trying to soften the blow. The vet wanted to keep her overnight for observation. After I whispered “goodbye” to her, I grabbed the report and floored it to Harry’s. On the way I phoned Giles and left a message. I knew he would be in class but would check What’s App on his smart phone when class was over.

  The only thing that would ease the picture of my suffering pet was the revenge I would wreak on the one who did it. I knew my partner in retaliation would be Uncle Harry. He was very fond of Khaki and even entertained the notion of adopting her. His drawback was the greenhouse and fear that she would encounter the poisonous residents who lived there.

  Harry lives at the end of a cul-de-sac with very little traffic. A perfect place for a semi-hermit who dabbles in secrets. I seldom see cars coming from the direction of his house but today was an exception – a white VW bug complete with a driver swathed in a black scarf and sunglasses. Obviously female and quite obviously visiting Harry.

  13

  Okay. Stephanie. Don’t pry I said to myself. Even if I am the nearest thing Uncle Harry has to family. He is a grown man. He will tell you when he wants you to know. Remember you’ve got bigger fish to fry. There’s the Camden murder and of course, Khaki’s poisoning. I had this conversation with myself as I pulled into Harry’s driveway and climbed the porch steps.

  “So, Harry. Who’s your visitor?” I blurted out.

  “What?”

  Harry had his back to me. He was straightening sofa cushions and gathering up what was an obvious lunch for two.

  “Who’s your lunch date?” I reworded the question that I swore not to ask.

  Colonel Harry Roberts pulled himself up to his full height – about 5 foot 6 inches I would guess – and looked into my eyes.

  “Darling Stephanie. I love you like the daughter I was never privileged to have. But I must tell you this. I am eighty-seven years of age, retired from the United States Army, and do not need your permission to have a friend over for lunch,” Harry said in a stern voice I’d never heard before.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I guess I am used to looking out for you and this female lunch date is new territory for me. Please forgive me,” I said with the most pitiful voice I could muster.

  “Forgiven. Move on.”

  Harry’s tone was unusual, and it struck to the heart. I choked back a tear and handed him the report from the veterinarian. He took it and never looked me in the face. Why was Harry hiding his relationship from me?

  Harry put on his pince-nez spectacles that I said make him look like Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot. But there was no humor in his soul today. I had upset him with my nosiness. Even though Uncle Harry hurt my feelings, he was absolutely within his rights to entertain whomever he wished with or without my knowledge. And he certainly didn’t need permission from anyone.

  Even though Harry was older he was in tip top physical condition with only a few wrinkles. He obviously dyes his hair, but he is an attractive guy. I can understand being lonely, I just worry about gold diggers and that sort. Lesson learned: I overstepped my bounds when I inquired about his visitor. That rascal said “she” on purpose just to tweak my nose.

  “Looks like the poison used was nicotine,” Harry mused.

  “Nicotine! You mean like the ingredient in tobacco?”

  “Yes. Nicotine is highly poisonous in the right dose. Unfortunately, nicotine is often employed as concentrated tobacco juice and mixed with other liquids to produce pyrethrum, a popular insecticide especially against rose aphids.”

  I gulped and tears flowed. “Oh, poor Khaki. She was lying under the rose bush when I found her.”

  Harry paid no attention to my feminine outburst and continued, “according to this it was a small dose administered through a dog treat of some kind. Clearly it was to make her sick but not intended to be deadly.”

  Harry then added another fun fact. “This particular tobacco from which the nicotine was extracted is only grown in one place in the world – Saint James Parish, Louisiana. It is a rare heirloom type of tobacco used exclusively for Perique brand cigarettes. Hmmm. Interesting.”

  I heard what Uncle Harry was saying but I felt the need to rant.

  “Who could do this?” I wailed. “Khaki is the sweetest animal in the world. She wouldn’t hurt anyone or anything.”

  “Someone who wanted to hurt you and warn you to keep your nose out of whatever you’re snooping in,” Harry matter-of-factly answered. “But let it be known, that we will hunt them down and punish whoever has hurt my girls.”

  With that Harry rose and gave me a big bear hug. I knew I was forgiven for my blunder and all was right with the world, or at least it WOULD be.

  “Uncle Harry is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?” I said trying to make up for being a clod.

  “As a matter of fact, would you take the recycling to the curb? The old knees are acting up a bit,” he answered.

  “Of course, I’ll do it on my way out. Love you,” I called.

  “Love you too,” Harry answered.

  I shouldered my tote and picked up the bin. It wasn’t until I sat it on Harry’s curb that I noticed a cigarette pack labeled Black Perique. Harry’s female visitor was a dog poisoner and I am pretty sure I know who she is.

  14

  In a small town like ours, it isn’t too hard to spot an out of town vehicle even if said vehicle is rented. I got my two sidekicks, Doris and Carol, on the lookout for the VW Bug I had seen whizzing out of the direction of Harry
’s house.

  It didn’t take long for the two sleuth sisters to find the car and the one who rented it.

  “Hello this is Stephanie,” I said as my phone chimed.

  “Doris, here,” the voice came back. “We’ve found the driver. It’s your agent, Pamela. The funny thing is she rented the car under another name.”

  “Probably under her agency’s name so that she can take it off her taxes,” I said.

  “No. Not at all. She rented it under the name of Pamela Ford. Another thing. The papers list the added driver as Raymond Ford. Is she married and uses Jones as her professional name?” Doris asked.

  “Good question. Nice work, girls. You can back off now and let the authorities handle it.” And with that I hung up and dialed Giles. He was finished with class and at home eating a bologna sandwich. I relayed the events of the morning including Harry’s secret lunch date and what the girls found out about the owner of the car.

  “Did they happen to get a plate number? Or did they find out for sure it was a rental?” he asked.

  “It’s a rental but under another name. Can you use your consulting connections to see why Pamela is using an alias? Meanwhile I am going to try and find out why she’s here. After all I am the only client she has here. Is she pumping Harry for information? I will personally strangle her if she breaks his heart.”

  “My dear, must I remind you that Harry is a grown man. He is wise beyond our years. He’s come through major wars, so I think he’ll be able to handle a male-female relationship without any help.”

  “You’d think, so wouldn’t you?” I responded. “Unfortunately, history has taught me differently. One look from a beautiful woman and a man’s brain freezes. His libido takes control and it’s all over.”

  “Please. Harry isn’t an acne pocked teenager with a crush. He’s a retired colonel and has led armies into war,” Giles reasoned.

  “My statement stands. We must keep an eye on him for his own sake. Even though it’s Pamela. I don’t trust any female sniffing around. She’s young enough to be his daughter or maybe granddaughter.

  “Geez, Stephanie. Give it a rest,” Giles said as he banged off to his office at the police department.

  “Mama always said, ‘there’s no fool like an old fool.” There I got in the last word even if Giles wasn’t listening anymore. Getting the last word is important. Ask anyone who’s married.

  “Carol, this is Stephanie. Can you and Doris meet me at the Java Station?”

  “Sure. Are we going to do a stake out?” she asked.

  “No. More of a surveillance, but I need help,” I told her.

  “Goodie. I can finally use my new night goggles and Doris has those new-fangled binoculars with extra distance. We’ll be there lickety-split.”

  “Thirty minutes will be fine. We must come up with a schedule and a plan. By the way, do either of you have a camera?”

  15

  “Hello Stephanie, where are you?” Giles said when I answered his call.

  “Oh, it’s just the background music. I’m at Java Station with Carol and Doris. We’re working on story ideas.”

  Doris raised her eyebrows. I avoided her stare.

  “Something interesting has just occurred to me when I was identifying the occultic materials from some of the other cases. The amulets, charms, and miscellaneous objects that were left at other crime scenes are a potpourri of the occult. None of them match. Some are from Wicca, some from Satanic cults, and others are Egyptian artifacts. All are copies of course. There’s no one source. Whoever scattered these around had no idea what they were doing. It seems to me that this person or persons was leading the investigators off course by introducing a paranormal factor. None of this stuff looks legit,” Giles’s voice sounded confident in his findings.

  “So, if that’s true, then Dennis’ murder had nothing to do with the amulet. And Mary Ann finding it has nothing to do with solving his death,” I was thinking out loud.

  “Then why did she keep it a secret from the police and hand it over to you?” Giles finished my thought.

  “Exactly. Was she trying to help or throw me off the scent?”

  “I know you want to be friends with Mary Ann Camden, but is it possible that she’s not what she appears? Maybe we need to look further into her background. Do you agree?” Giles knew my hesitancy since Mary Ann came to be for friendship.

  “Yes, and I have something that will help,” I confided.

  ~

  With prints lifted from a lip blot on a napkin, Grimes’ cronies discovered that Mary Ann Camden was originally Mary Campbell from Marietta, Georgia. She attended the University of Georgia and was apparently a classmate of Beth Alewine. Sorority event pictures link them at several fund raisers, ball games, and social events.

  Giles and I discussed the findings with Harry.

  “But,” Uncle Harry pointed out, “that’s not enough to link her to anything illegal.”

  “Mary or Mary Ann as we know her was married for a short time to a George Whitlock when she first graduated from UGA. No children. She married Dennis five years ago. He had children from a previous marriage. His wife died from cancer. That’s all I can glean from the police findings,” Giles said.

  “Well that’s more than I knew.” I added. “From all evidence, I believed they had been married for years and years. She referred to the offspring as though they were hers, but of course she would, wouldn’t she?” I caught myself babbling and feeling bad that I suspected Mary Ann of anything untoward.

  “What about Pamela Jones? Can you dig up anything on her?” I said it before I even thought.

  “Why would you suspect your agent of any wrongdoing? She’s such a lovely sweet thing,” Harry purred.

  “Uh well. The thing is that I have seen her around town, and I was wondering about the reason. I’m the only client that she has, but both times I’ve spotted her, she was surprised. I just thought that it was strange, unless she was friends with someone else in town,” I said without looking in any particular direction.

  “I thought you might say that, so I took the liberty of asking Grimes to check her out as well. Looks like Pamela is who she says she is. The website gives her credentials and background in being an entertainment agent. But there is an entry that gives a different last name for her.”

  “What name is that?” Uncle Harry asked.

  “Lawson. Pamela Lawson Jones. Do you think it is a coincidence that her maiden name is the same as the guy involved in the Beth Alewine case?” Giles asked no one in particular.

  “Absolutely not,” I answered. “On the other hand, maybe it’s a fluke. After all she was my agent before any of this stuff about Ed or the Alewines or Dennis ever came up,” I was again defending someone that I obviously didn’t know very well.

  “Let’s brainstorm. What if Ed told Pamela his plan before you even started to seek out an agent or a publisher? Pamela recruited you as a client, the book was wildly successful. Pamela was making money, so she was thrilled,” Giles said. He was excited that the puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place.

  I was processing what Giles had proposed as to why Pamela was so interested in our little burg.

  “Uncle Harry. You are strangely quiet,” I said.

  He sat as his computer desk and stared ahead. “I suppose you think I’ve been a fool,” he said quietly. “I wanted to believe that Pamela liked my company, but she was just using me like she used everyone else. But there was the smoking thing, too. I never liked being with a woman who smoked. Now I find out that she’s married. That’s just icing on the cake.”

  “But Uncle Harry. You provided the link to who poisoned Khaki. It was Pamela’s weird brand of cigarettes that produced the poisonous nicotine. I found the cigarette pack in your recycling and that put me onto her as the poisoner. So, you cracked the case. Without that we’d still be in the dark.”

  “Really?” Harry said and brightened somewhat. He then added, “You mean to say that Pamela poiso
ned Khaki? I’ll strangle her myself.”

  “Now hold on. You couldn’t possibly know that when you were seeing Pamela. And none of us knew about the link between Pamela and Ed. But the question remains: What’s the link between Pamela and Mary Ann? What’s the motive? Revenge for Ed? Maybe for Pamela but not for Mary Ann.” As I said this Giles got that look in his eye.

  “Ed wanted revenge for his unborn child. Pamela had to feel some of that, but was she willing to go as far as murder? I think there’s an aspect we’ve overlooked.”

  “What might that be?” Harry was more than interested now. I was afraid he would load his elephant gun and take to the streets.

  “Greed,” Giles answered.

  16

  “Greed, you say?” Harry muttered. “I don’t follow. Pamela isn’t rich but she dresses expensively. And that Camden woman looks like she stepped out of Vogue.”

  “True, but Dennis was rather conservative with his money. Some said stingy even. And if Mary Ann didn’t come from wealth, which we know she didn’t, how did she manage such a wardrobe not to mention her jewelry?”

  Giles punched some numbers into his I-phone and asked for the Chief of Police. I gave him that stare that says ‘what’? He said into the receiver, “I need to request financials on Mary Ann Camden and Pamela Lawson Jones as persons of interest in the murder of Professor Dennis Camden. I am on my way to sign the paperwork. Thank you.”

  “Who were you talking to?” I asked.

  “Sonya, the secretary to the Police Chief,” Giles answered. “She handles all of the paperwork for the consultants. I have a right to view all necessary items relating to the case. And I think this is important. You’ve always told me that secretaries run the world, and you my dear are so right. On my way, keep digging and I will let you know what I find.”