Dead Man Stalking (Barbara Marr Murder Mystery Series Book 5)

by Karen Cantwell

  “Oatmeal.” He stuck out his tongue and made a face. “Who likes oatmeal?”

  “So where did you disappear to yesterday? I waited a long time and now I’m stuck with a capacitor that isn’t capacitating.”

  He rolled his head. “Oh, man,” he said. “I am so sorry about that. Technical difficulties. Hard to explain.”

  I blew out a hefty sigh, then just to be certain, I walked downstairs to check the basement door. It was unlocked. I could have been killed in the dead of night. I bolted it, double-checked, and made my way back upstairs where Moyle was spooning cereal into his mouth at a rapid rate.

  He finished chewing long enough to point the spoon at me and say, “I did a little research on you. Love your website. Why aren’t you writing movie reviews anymore?”

  “I wasn’t really very good at it, and a little thing called ‘Life’ got in the way.” I set my hands on the counter and looked him in the eyes. “Should I be afraid of you?”

  He shrugged. “If I were dangerous, would you really be asking me that question? I mean, let’s face it, you’re a smart lady. If I was someone you were really afraid of, or should be afraid of, you’d have been out that front door dialing 911 two seconds after waking up. Am I right?”

  He had a point. Despite all of the crazy things he said and did, he didn’t scare me. He was like the loony brother everyone just shakes their head about and smiles.

  I sat down next to him and poured myself a bowl of cereal. “So, do you have family?”

  “You want the real story, or do you want me to make one up?”

  I thought about it. “Make one up.” His idea of reality didn’t match mine.

  He nodded. “Mom and Dad are alive and living in Biloxi, Mississippi. Dad has diabetes but Mom is in good health. A sister in Seattle. She’s a lawyer. The favorite child. I’m the black sheep. Never liked rules much. Graduated high school, but barely. Became addicted to caffeinated drinks and video games. At some point they decided that I hallucinate. Had me committed, but health insurance stopped covering my care and my medications. I disappeared. Didn’t need their pity or their negative energy. Now they conveniently forget to tell people they have a son.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s a terrible story.”

  “You believe it?”

  “Yeah. Much more believable than your other story.”

  “You didn’t hear that one.”

  “Keep it to yourself.”

  “Fine. But I will say this: that Snowden guy, you oughta listen to him. Tip o’ the iceberg my friend, tip o’ the iceberg.”

  “And you’re telling me this, why?”

  “For investment purposes. Security software is the best place to put your money right now. You’re a nice lady. I want to help any way I can.”

  “Gee. Thanks.” I crunched on my cereal. “Is that why you’re here? To give me investment advice?”

  He laughed. “You’re funny too. Those reviews you used to write were hilarious.” He shook his head. “No. I’m here to help you find that lottery ticket and Cecil’s killer. Or killers. My bet is on Carney Smutz and Wee Willy Snow.”

  I stopped and grabbed a napkin to wipe milk from my chin. “I talked with Vikki last night. She hired me to find the tickets he bought.”

  “See,” he said. “Now we’re talkin’.”

  “But why Smutz and Snow?”

  “They were pooling the money to buy those tickets. Were supposed to divvy up the winnings. I’m thinking Cee Cee won, didn’t want to share and hid the ticket. They found out and boom, shoved him in front of that bus.”

  “There were witnesses. I mean those guys don’t exactly blend into the crowd. And Carney’s in a wheelchair.”

  “Anything is possible,” he said.

  “But, you know,” I said, getting into the plot with him, “Isbel Molotov Cocktail Malarkey came by here a couple days ago looking for something Cecil owed her, and then Red Cigala was here yesterday.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Said Cecil had a watch that used to belong to his father. Red’s father I mean. He wanted Vikki to keep an eye out for it.”

  Moyle slapped a sheet of paper on the counter. An address was scribbled on it with red ink.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That’s where ZZ Crop Lawn Care is working today. Cee Cee said Carney and Wee Willy always stop in on each job to make sure everything is going as it should.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “Long story.”

  “You’re all about long stories and technical difficulties aren’t you?” I looked at the address. “What do we do with this?”

  “We go there and wait. Chat’em up a bit. See if they appear guilty.”

  “How do we know if they appear guilty? You have a portable lie detector on you?”

  “You’re a private investigator. Investigate.”

  “My husband and his partner are the real investigators. I’m just sort of in training.”

  “But deep down, you aspire to be just like them.”

  “I do?”

  He winked. “And eventually you get pretty good at it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him in warning.

  “Besides,” he said, “you have a van and I don’t. You got binoculars?”

  I gave it some thought. “I need to take a shower first.”

  “I can wait.”

  “Not in here you’re not. I trust you only so far. Tell you what, you take my dog for a walk while I shower.”

  “It’s hot out there.”

  “I’ll make it quick.” I pointed a stern finger at him. “I’ve grown to love that yappy mutt, so don’t go having any technical difficulties while you’re walking him. I want to see you and the dog on the front stoop in ten minutes.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’m a pro at showering fast. In fact, the shower itself wasn’t more than four minutes long. Finding a round brush took longer. Basically, because I don’t own one. The only kind of brush I own is a toothbrush. With no time to mess around, I decided to give up and prepare for another bad hair day.

  I was unlocking the front door again in eight minutes, not ten. I panicked for a second when I didn’t find Moyle and Puddles on the stoop, but sighed in relief when Puddles yapped at me from the sidewalk, pulling a panting Moyle behind him.

  Before heading out on our mission to question Carney Smutz and Wee Willy Snow, I snatched Cecil’s backpack from the dining room and dumped the contents out onto the kitchen island.

  “Hey,” Moyle said, “that’s Cee Cee’s.”

  I nodded. “The police gave it to Vikki. It was all he had with him when he got hit by the bus. I figured we could go through it again since Isbel and Red Cigala are so sure he has things they want.”

  We separated the items out: baseball cap, pink towel, cloth wallet, five movie ticket stubs, pack of gum, two pennies, three nickels, and a roll of quarters. Inside the wallet: fifty-two dollars in tens and ones, his expired driver’s license, and a receipt from Bobby’s Bar and Grill for a beer and a glass of wine. He probably hadn’t been drinking alone. A person rarely drinks a beer and then switches to wine.

  “The only other thing in the backpack was the manuscript in an envelope. Both of those are on the couch. Red claims he is looking for a watch.”

  Moyle pushed the items around a bit, flipping the ticket stub over and inspecting it with a keen eye. He shook his head. “No watch here. In the future we have timekeeping devices that are so small you could glue it to this ticket stub and barely see it, but you don’t have that technology yet. Unless...”

  I tried to figure out why anyone would want a timepiece that small, but came up empty so I moved on. “Unless what?”

 
; “Unless Red is a time traveler too. Or maybe his father was.” He cocked a knowing eyebrow at me and nodded slowly.

  It was time to start ignoring the time travel comments altogether. “And I don’t know what Isbel wants. She said Cecil stiffed her out of rent, but there’s not a lot of money here. I doubt fifty-two dollars covers rent anywhere in Rustic Woods.”

  “Was there anything else in that envelope?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just the manuscript. I already thought of that and double-checked last night.”

  “So if he had the winning lottery ticket, it wasn’t with him when he died. He was a smart guy. He must have stashed it somewhere safe.” Moyle snapped his fingers. “Or Carney and Wee Willy snatched it from him before throwing him into the bus and now they’re just waiting to redeem their winnings.”

  Both theories were plausible if Cecil had ever had the winning ticket and had in fact been killed for it. I wasn’t sure that was the case, but given the events of the last few days, I was curious enough to keep following the few clues available.

  After filling the gas tank, we set out on our mission.

  The address on Moyle’s paper was halfway around the lake to the east side in a newer development with fewer trees and larger lawns. I parked on the curb three houses from our target.

  Moyle and I counted four bearded men working. One was mowing, one blowing grass, and two were trimming shrubbery. The familiar equipment truck was parked on the cross street. No sign of Smutz or Snow.

  We sat with the car idling and air conditioning set on max for over twenty minutes. The workers finished their job and were packing the equipment back onto the truck when I began to doubt we’d see anything of either of our targets.

  Just when I thought we had wasted our time, a large blue van with ZZ Crop Lawn Care in white and red letters drove up to one of the long-bearded men. From my vantage point, I could easily see Wee Willy’s shock of white hair in the driver’s seat. “That’s them,” I said.

  “What should we do?” Moyle leaned closer to me to get a better view through my window.

  I shoved him back. “Don’t they have personal space in twenty-five twenty-five?”

  He laughed. “You’re beginning to believe me, aren’t you?”

  “No. Just humoring you.” I watched while Wee Willy and Long Beard Red Hat talked. I was beginning to think Wee Willy and Carney weren’t going to get out of the van. And I was right. The van started off down the street. Darn. There went our chance to talk to them. Or maybe not.

  Without hesitating, I began following. I’d done some very basic PI training with Colt, who had been more willing to train me than Howard. I had only been along for the ride while he explained tailing techniques, but now was as good a time as any to give my own skills a try.

  “We’re going to follow them?” Moyle rubbed his hands together. “Very exciting. I’d better buckle up in case it gets wild.”

  “You should have buckled up anyway. It’s the law.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know that. Cars are kinda new to me.”

  I suppressed an eye roll. It wouldn’t be polite to express my growing derision with his fantasy world.

  The drive wasn’t exciting or wild. In fact, it was very short. Only three turns in two minutes and we found ourselves in the parking lot of Cherry Tree Shopping Center across from Lake Muir. The ZZ Crop van pulled into a handicapped space. Trying to be inconspicuous, I drove past and parked near the end of the next row of spaces.

  Wee Willy slid the back door open and activated the handicapped lift. Meanwhile, I scanned the storefronts of the strip mall to see where they might be headed.

  Moyle must have been doing the same because we both gasped at the same time.

  “Isbel!” I exclaimed.

  “Red Cigala,” Moyle said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They convened at an outside table of Zippity Pizza. Isbel, Red, Carney, and Wee Willy. From our vantage point it was hard to tell, but the meeting didn’t appear convivial. Of course, given our heat wave, I think everyone was frowning.

  Wee Willy stood several feet from the table. Isbel jumped to her feet and waved her hands in the air. Red tugged her back into her seat.

  “What do you want to do?” Moyle asked.

  “Well, we were going to have a chat with Willy and Carney. Why not chat with them all at the same time?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He nodded with approval.

  I arrived on the scene with a smile on my face and gave a little wave. “Hi Isbel. Red. Nice to see you again.” Not really true, but the scowls and tension were as thick as the heat. I felt the need to lighten the mood.

  Isbel narrowed her eyes at us while Red offered a kinder, gentle nod. Isbel elbowed Red. “How you know her? Did you talk to her?”

  “Well...uh, I, uh...” he stuttered.

  “Who are these two clowns?” Carney asked, his voice surprisingly high-pitched for such a portly fellow.

  Wee Willy’s icy blue stare eyes gave me goosebumps. Not an easy feat on a 98-degree day. I shifted my feet and scratched at my arm.

  Wee Willy continued his unsmiling stare at me while Isbel ranted. “Tell me,” she growled at Red. “What did you say to her?”

  Red didn’t have a chance to respond because Wee Willy’s face erupted in a smile that ran from ear to ear and revealed his glossy pearly whites. “I know you!” His voice was smooth, his accent distinctly southern. He pointed a long, dark finger at me. “You’re that lady. The famous lady who writes movie reviews and gets into all kinds a trouble.”

  “You get into trouble?” Moyle asked me. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Sure, sure,” Wee Willy continued. “I remember a story about lady bank robbers. And you shot some poor gal in the foot. It was all over the news.”

  “You shot some poor gal?” A crease appeared on Moyle’s brow. “Should I be afraid of you?”

  “Oh, honestly,” I said. “Look who’s talking.” I glowered at him for half a second then moved the subject back to where it belonged—Cecil Cleveland.

  I offered my hand to Wee Willy. “You’re right, I’m Barbara Marr. And you are?” Of course, I knew, but he didn’t know I knew so I had to pretend. Important investigative technique.

  “I’m William. William Rogers. But people call me Wee Willy Snow. The Wee is ‘cuz I’m tall—it’s a joke, you know. An opposite thing. Not ‘cuz I have a small willy, ‘cuz I don’t.”

  Oh yeah, I didn’t need to know that.

  “The Snow,” he plowed on with his explanation, “is ‘cuz o’ the hair. Been white as a polar bear since I was eleven years old.”

  Wee Willy took a breath, then nodded to his wheelchair-bound companion. “This here’s Carney. He’s a bit cranky, so never mind his frown. He always looks like that.”

  Good to know. “Hi. Uh, this is Moyle. He’s a friend. And he was Cecil Cleveland’s friend, too.” I decided to just rip the band-aid right off and get to the point. “That’s why we’re here. To ask you about Cecil.”

  Wee Willy’s muscles tensed and his smile died. “I ain’t so sure I got any answers.” His icy stare returned. “You, Carney?” He looked down at his companion. “You got any answers for the lady?”

  My already sweaty palms started to itch with anxiety. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. “Well, I haven’t asked any questions yet,” I countered. “If you’d just hear us out.”

  “I’m all out of answers,” Carney said with a sneer. He shot Isbel a look. “Maybe Isbel has some answers. Isbel? You got answers?”

  Isbel’s answer was a hiss.

  “How ‘bout you, Red?” Carney shifted his gaze to Red.

  Red simply puffed on his cigar in response.

  “Yeah,” I interjected.
“I still haven’t actually asked any questions.”

  “Which one of you killed Cee Cee for the lottery ticket?” Moyle blurted.

  Four sets of eyes trained on Moyle like sniper lasers aimed for the kill.

  Moyle was unscathed. “That’s how you ask a question,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “You need more lessons in investigation, I think.”

  “Private investigator?” Isbel shouted, sprouting from her chair with such force that it toppled backwards. “I am out of here.”

  “Me too,” Carney said. “I got my eye on you, Isbel. You too, Red.” He waved his hand. “Back to the van, Willy.”

  “Whatever you say, man.” He shook his head at me. “PI. Shoot. And to think I shook your hand.”

  “No!” I pleaded. “Wait. Please...” I pulled some business cards out of my purse. “I’ve been hired by Cecil’s daughter, Vikki Cleveland. We don’t think any of you killed him,” I lied. “My friend was just trying to get your attention,” I lied some more. “But his daughter wants to piece together his last few days. They weren’t close, and she regrets that now. She’d just like some closure.” I doled the cards out to reluctant hands. “Please. Just call me if you have some information I could give her. Anything about his last days, or even weeks.” I looked at Red and Isbel. “Or come by her house. I’m staying there until Saturday.”

  Carney threw the card into a trash can as he was wheeled away, but I noticed Wee Willy held on to his.

  Isbel hissed again and then turned and ran. She was a spry old hisser.

  Red gave me a nod, puffed on his cigar and then left in the opposite direction, stealing shifty glances at Wee Willy and Carney.

  “Nice recovery,” Moyle said when they were all out of earshot.

  “No thanks to you.” I shot him a glare. “I’m surprised they didn’t jump us.”