by N. C. Lewis
"Now what's all this about?" I said pressing the phone hard against my ear.
"The apartment has turned into a—a thing."
"What you mean 'a thing'?"
"Crystal is taking…taking," he stuttered, barely able to get the words out, "…bookings…from locals… at ninety-five dollars each."
"Bookings for what?" I said, already knowing the answer.
"For a private audience with Mystic Crystal. She says the foretelling is permanently upon her and she can see into the future." He was silent for a very long while. "My apartments turned into a mystic salon."
"Oh crap, Roger!" I said. Then curious, added, "are guests waiting?"
"Yes," he said in the same cold, mechanical voice.
"Have you spoken with Crystal?"
"No."
"I want to talk to you first, Ollie."
"I'll be right over," I said with a confidence I wasn't feeling.
The ragged pounding in my head intensified as I left Moozoos without a drink. As I climbed into the Tahoe, a thousand thoughts went through my mind—none of which made any sense.
Chapter 23
Fifteen minutes later I hurried out of the elevator to apartment 4B. I placed my hand on the door handle and hesitated, fearful of what I might find inside. The door swung open, and I stepped into a darkened room.
An intense odor of cedar, teak, and musk wafted up from clay incense burners. While there were two on my last visit, now there were twenty. Each holding two incense sticks puffing their pungent aroma through the gloom and into every corner of Roger's apartment. The spooky chanting music seemed somehow louder, and the heavy purple curtains blocked out more light than earlier, giving the reception area an autumnal dusk feel.
At first glance the room appeared empty, but as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, shadowy figures appeared. They were everywhere—seated in armchairs lined up in neat rows.
Silently I stepped deeper into the room, the low mumble of chatter and laughter now audible. A head turned in my direction.
"Ollie, come over here."
I made my way toward the voice, stumbling into a wooden table on which rested an empty cage.
"Ouch!"
"Be careful Ollie." It was my neighbor, Emma Garcia seated in an oversized, leather wingback chair. In a low whisper she continued, "You here for an audience with Mystic Crystal as well?"
"Nope, I'm here to meet with Roger," I said.
Emma shifted in her seat. "I was hoping to be one of the first to visit with Crystal, but there are quite a few of us waiting." She pointed toward the neat rows of chairs, each occupied with a shadowy figure.
I nodded. "I see," I said. But I didn't.
"Anyway," continued Emma, "Mystic Crystal's giving a fifty percent discount off her services today. I guess that's the power of Facebook, let one person know and everyone knows."
A chink of light flooded the room. I glanced over my shoulder, a figure entered from the outside hallway.
"Our weekend catering business is booming," continued Emma, "so is George's construction business, and I love my job at Medlin Creek Community College. I read Roger's Facebook post on how Crystal foretold the death of Teddy Tumpin, right down to the needle sticking out of his neck. I wanted to get Mystic Crystal's take on our situation, what harm can it do to get her insight on our business prospects?"
Again, I nodded. "I see," I said, but something wasn't quite clear.
A bony finger tapped my shoulder. I twirled around.
"Oh my gosh Ollie, this is amazing!" It was Millie.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had an article to write?" I asked.
"Yes, yes," she said excitedly. "That's just it, it's about the full-time job, I want to get Mystic Crystal's insights on the next steps. She's offering fifty percent off her services today. With her help I'll write an awesome article. I'm telling you, Mystic Crystal is my gravy train to a full-time position at the newspaper." Millie reached for her handbag, and I expected the puppets to appear, but they didn't show.
"Does Bob know you're here?"
"Tried to get him to come along but he refused," she said in a soft whisper.
I smiled.
"It's all very disturbing," interrupted a loud voice from a doorway on the far side of the reception area that led to the second level. "When the full story comes out, it will be a terrible shock to the people of Medlin Creek." The voice was familiar.
"Gratia, what is it?" inquired a figure in one of the seats.
"It's Teddy Tumpin," Gratia said, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind her. "I've just had my audience with Mystic Crystal and she told me how he died."
There was a shuffling of feet, a kind of stampede toward Gratia. Within seconds a sea of eager faces surrounded her. Someone turned up the lights. Gratia, arms folded across her chest, smiled a smug, satisfied smile as the crowd closed in.
"How did he die?" Millie asked, retrieving a note pad and pen from her handbag.
Gratia Violeta, hair salon owner and town gossip, had an attentive audience and news so sensational she couldn't help but share.
"Well," she said, drawing out the word like she was eating spaghetti.
"Go on," someone cried.
Gratia unfolded her arms and placed a finger to her lips as her head rotated from side to side. "This goes no further than this room. Do y'all agree?"
There was a general murmur of agreement although no one actually uttered the word yes.
Then, waving her arms and a jutting out her chin, Gratia lowered her voice. "I asked Mystic Crystal how Teddy Tumpin died. It's not that I'm nosy or always into other people's business. No, no. I asked as a concerned citizen. Lord knows our sheriff's department needs all the help they can get."
"What did she say?" yelled a short stumpy man with a potbelly, hopping from leg to leg.
"All in good time," Gratia said, then added, "Mr. Tisdale, a farmer like you ought to know crops take time to grow."
Mr. Tisdale, still hopping from leg to leg, growled, "Give me the bacon without the sizzle."
"Better to keep your mouth shut and seem a fool than to open it and remove all doubt," retorted Gratia.
A collective chuckle arose from the gathered crowd with Mr. Tisdale's chortle the loudest.
Gratia half turned away from the eager, little man and continued. "Teddy Tumpin died at the hands of brute, violent force."
"No," Mr. Tisdale cried, "he died of an overdose. Did you see the size of that needle? It had to be an overdose or maybe poison."
"Brute violent force," repeated Gratia, shaking her head.
"But he was so strong he made Samson look sensitive," said Mr. Tisdale in a mocking voice. "What type of force could overcome him?"
Gratia, her face as stern as a schoolmistress, replied, "Mesmerism and psychokinesis."
Chapter 24
An intense silence fell over the gathered crowd which somehow made the heavy scent of incense more noticeable.
"Oh my gosh," Millie cried breaking the quiet.
Everyone turned to Millie.
An urgent chanting accompanied by a pounding drumbeat tumbled out of the speaker system.
"I saw the killer in my dream," said Millie waving her hands around.
"Go on," urged Gratia, her eyes wide.
"I had the dream last night," said Millie. She paused for an instant as the chanting grew louder, the drumbeat frenzied, and a primeval scream like that of a bird of prey under attack echoed from the speakers. "It was a dream about Teddy Tumpin."
Mr. Tisdale, mouth half open and nostrils flared spoke up, the words tumbling over each other to get out of his mouth. "What did you dream, tell us all that you saw?"
Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed throughout the apartment, and the door on the far side of the reception room flew open.
In plodded Crystal.
"You have dreams," she said, raising a chubby finger toward Millie.
"Yes," Millie cried excitedly
, "yes."
"And you are?"
"Millie Watkins, reporter for the Medlin Creek Times."
Crystal's moon-like face turned sharply, and I thought I saw an almost imperceptible widening of her eyes.
"Proceed, Millie," she said. "Tell us of your visions."
"In my dream a figure jumped out of the shadows and attacked Teddy Tumpin. It was a short, intense struggle. Teddy was bigger and stronger than his attacker, but the attacker moved like the wind, with a kinda supernatural power."
"Supernatural power," echoed Crystal raising her palms toward the gathered crowd. She began to mumble under her breath.
Don’t look at her eyes, I told myself, keep away from her eyes. My eyes didn't listen. They stared like a laser beam into Crystal's face. But Crystal lowered her hands, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. "Continue Millie, please continue."
Millie was moving now, demonstrating the actions from the dream. "The figure possessed a power like an irresistible force of nature." She whirled around her arms out wide. "The force threw Teddy Tumpin around like a rag doll in the jaws of an angry dog."
"Mesmerism and psychokinesis," muttered Gratia with a melodramatic gasp.
"Describe the figure," urged Mr. Tisdale.
"Not needed," said Crystal as her eyes shifted around the room. "You can be quiet now." But it was too late, Millie was on a roll and continued.
"I couldn't see the face. I had the sense it was a woman but it might have been a man because of the shoulders."
"The shoulders?" Crystal asked, her voice raising an octave and her dark orbs protruding ever so slightly.
Millie paused. Her eyes rested for an instant on Crystal's girth. "Wide shoulders… probably a man," said Millie, her eyes bugging and taking two steps backward away from Crystal.
"That's enough," snapped Crystal. She turned to the gathered crowd. "Why was I chosen? That is a mystery. I know not where my powers to foretell the future come from. It is my duty to share my knowledge with you."
Crystal's head turned slowly from side to side surveying the eager faces.
"Today, I can only see five more clients," she said in a soft voice.
A disappointed wail went up from the gathered crowd. Crystal's lips tugged into a smile. She raised her pudgy hand in the air.
"Now listen, if you pay in full today I will honor the fifty percent discount."
"Long as I got a biscuit, you got half," cried Mr. Tisdale with delight. "We love discounts here in Medlin Creek."
Crystal turned and shambled back through the doorway and onto the first step. "Roger will take your payment now."
Roger shuffled down the stairs, past Crystal and into the room. He wore a long, flowing, white robe and on his head was a tightly bound, deep blue turban. His eyes were downcast, and he carried himself with a round-shouldered stoop that made him seem older.
"Here is my credit card," shouted Emma Garcia, running toward Roger.
"And mine," yelled Millie, following close behind.
"Me too," hollered Mr. Tisdale, his little legs jerking like pistons.
Within seconds a sea of credit card-waving customers surrounded Roger.
Chapter 25
Here I was on a matter of some urgency in Roger's apartment at his request, but unable to speak with him for the press of people wanting to put money down to secure an audience with Mystic Crystal.
I sighed, wondering what to do. Mentally I went over the list of things I planned to achieve today. There were lecture notes to prepare, student assignments to mark, and a hundred and one other things to do around Ealing Homestead. "Better leave now, come back later," I muttered under my breath.
But as I turned toward the exit, my eye settled on an oversized, leather wingback chair. It was empty. I settled into it and closed my eyes, a few moments rest until Roger was free—just a few moments.
"Ollie wake up."
I opened my eyes. A turban-headed man stared into my face, and inaudible voices chanted to the steady beat of a drum.
"What? Where am I?" I said, rubbing my eyes. The sleepy haze lifted. The turban-headed man was Roger.
"Listen," he spoke in an urgent whisper, "Crystal wants to bring the wedding forward to Monday."
"Monday?" I repeated.
"Yes. This Monday," he said with a furtive glance around the room.
I'd heard the news from Gratia, but from Roger's mouth it became concrete—real. My stomach churned as I concentrated, forming my words in the right sequence before speaking.
"And what do you want Roger?"
"Me?" he said in a slow drawl. "I don't want any more mayhem and death in Medlin Creek."
I nodded. "Me neither."
Roger rolled his eyes to the doorway. What he said next was for my ears only. He leaned in close and in a low whisper spoke. "Ollie, Teddy Tumpin didn't die a natural death."
"How do you know?" I said.
Roger raised his finger to his lip. "I'll do anything to protect our community. If, somehow, some way, by the grace of God, evidence emerges to implicate Crystal in the—"
"Roger," shrieked Crystal, her voice audible even though the door to the stairway was firmly shut. "Who are you speaking with? Please see that guest out and get up here now. I need some help."
Roger took three little steps toward the doorway then turned." Ollie, I'm old school, a man of my word. I say what I mean, and I do what I say. In letters I promised Crystal that I would marry her if she ever returned to Medlin Creek." He bowed his head, "Crystal accepted a few weeks ago. The marriage is a done deal."
"Roger," screamed Crystal. "See that guest out and stop talking."
Roger placed his hand on the doorknob. "If ever Sheriff Hays needs help to solve a crime, this case is it." With those words echoing in my mind he slid through the doorway, closed the door, and his footsteps, slow and deliberate clattered up the stairs.
The chanting voices grew louder, the drumbeat frenzied, and another primeval screen echoed through the speaker system.
"Oh crap!" I said to the empty room. "I didn't tell him he can't use Ealing Homestead."
Chapter 26
In the apartment parking lot, trash bags leaned against the side of an overflowing dumpster, food for rodents if not cleared away before nightfall.
Scruffy, black grackles swooped around the dumpster, checking and double-checking scraps dropped from the bags, plastic bottles, shiny wrappers, flecks of paper, and leftover food. Three grackles fought and quarreled over a filthy scrap of bread.
I hurried by the arguing birds, and I climbed into the Tahoe not thinking. I didn't want to think about Roger, or Crystal, or Teddy Tumpin. Instead, I focused my mind on coffee at Moozoos.
On automatic pilot, I drove across town and arrived at the café without any memory of the route taken. The door gently pinged as I entered the narrow entrance into the coffeehouse. I smiled as I breathed in the heavy earthy aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the sweet fragrance of cinnamon rolls and yeasty bread. It was a little after one p.m., the tail end of the rush hour.
I waited in line while the barista and his assistant worked seamlessly to prepare drinks for two office workers.
As the office workers left the café, the barista turned to his assistant. "Take a break now, I'll handle things in here."
The assistant nodded as he hurried out of the front door and around to the alley at the side of the café for his cigarette break.
The barista glanced up.
"Ollie, what will be your pleasure?"
"Creek Jolt."
He tilted his head to one side. "You sure? I hear you had an extra-large taco and an oversized helping of sour cream this morning."
"What?" I said, trying to recall what I ate.
"For breakfast, at the Sisters of the Creek," he added.
"My dining habits are a conversation piece?" I said in a sharp tone.
"It's a small town, everything is a conversation piece." He leaned forward and eyed me with curiosity.
"I hear the wedding between Roger and Crystal is Monday at your place, isn't it?"
"Still working on the details," I hedged.
Again, the barista stared at me with curiosity. His carrot-shaped chin twitched.
"I see," he said, "I see."
The barista busied himself preparing the drink, occasionally glancing in my direction.
"There you go," he said, handing over the cup, then steepled his hands, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. "Word on the Creek is the medical examiner's report into the death of Teddy Tumpin is with Mayor Felton."
I put my cup down and leaned forward. "Was it an overdose or poison?"
"Neither."
My eyes widened. "Really?"
The barista glanced around the café. There were several people sitting at tables sipping their beverages and eating pastries but they were outside of earshot, and there was no one in line. Something like sadness glimmered from his lopsided eyes. "Teddy Tumpin died because of physical violence… the hometown hero was strangled."
I rocked back and forth on my heels then took a long gulp from the cup.
"Strangled?"
The barista smiled as he always did when delivering a new nugget of town gossip.
"Yep, the report is on Mayor Felton's desk right now, don't suppose she'll release it to the public yet. Probably not until Sheriff Hays gets back to town. He's had to cut short his international police conference in Japan. I guess he'll be here in a couple of days."
The barista turned and busied himself cleaning the espresso machine. He had shared all he knew.
After another long gulp from the cup I made my way to a table by the window trying not to think about Teddy Tumpin. I pulled out my cell phone, checked email messages, and sat staring out of the window. Creek Street was empty. Office workers had returned to their cubicles, school children and teachers to their classrooms, and the tourists to their RV campsites and motels for their afternoon siesta. The lunchtime rush was over.
"Hi Ollie!"
I gazed up to see Bob Lukey.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Please do."
Bob was smiling from ear to ear. It was a peculiar smile, for it didn't end at his lips but extended to his cheeks and his eyes. In fact, his whole face was somehow smiling.