“And you used that as a way to get him to do your bidding.”
Hattie scrunched up her face. “Oh, you make me sound so evil. All I’ve done is take out the trash.”
“James Pennant. Neal Latham. Mark Mānoa. They were people. Not trash.”
She snickered. “You didn’t know them. James was a thief. Neal was a cruel bully. And Mark couldn’t hold a job. They had nothing to offer anyone.”
“What about your husband? Was Horace Glendhill worthless, too?”
Hattie crossed her arms over her chest. Shook her head. “I’ve said quite enough. Would anyone like tea?”
Mother's Day
Prudence called the Maui police. To my surprise, Hattie made no move to escape. She showed no remorse or emotion. She even remained chipper during the wait, and that’s what scared me most of all. What would she have put in our tea this time?
Bryce crumbled when the cops showed up. He began babbling to the two patrol cops. It was a nearly incoherent stream of consciousness about disposing of bodies, boys who’d lost their way, and helping a frail old woman. They called for backup, Hattie rolled her eyes, called Bryce and the cops a bunch of whiners, and again offered tea all around.
By the time Benni and I had been interviewed by the two cops, the detectives from Kahului arrived. The wheels of justice moved slowly, but I hoped Hattie’s days of “fixing the world” were over.
Benni and I were headed back to the condo when my stomach growled. “Let’s walk into town and have lunch. I’m starved.”
“As long as we don’t go to the Rusty Pelican. I don’t want to think about Carmen right now.”
“Agreed.”
Benni looked down at the sidewalk. “The police officer told me Carmen would be released.”
“Makes sense.” We walked along Front Street and soon passed the Lahaina Shores Beach Resort. The building was undergoing a major remodel and had been closed for a year. At Kamehameha Iki Park, the welcoming solitude called to me, but hunger won out and we continued on. We meandered by quaint buildings painted in teal or brick red colors and white trim. The ambience drew thousands of visitors each year. It’s what had brought us to Maui for our Mother’s Day getaway. Instead of an escape, I’d found more trouble in paradise.
We took a left on Hotel Street. Halfway down the block, we passed a Whaler’s General Store. Oh no, it was the big day. I’d forgotten to sneak out this morning for a card. “Meet me in the park. I’ll just be a minute.”
Benni looked perplexed, but she went on ahead. I ducked into Whaler’s. When I asked a clerk if they carried Mother’s Day cards, she looked at me as though I was crazy. I definitely had to plan better for the next holiday. I grabbed a postcard with a blank back and scrawled a quick message—Happy Mother’s Day, I love you, McKenna.
The clerk scanned the card, stuck it in a bag, and took my money. I dashed to the boardwalk and followed it through the park until I found Benni sitting on the grass. She was under a tree watching people walking in and out of the shops. I squatted next to her.
“Happy Mother’s Day.” I handed her the little plastic bag. It was the closest thing I had to an envelope and it made me cringe when she glanced at it. “I’m so lame,” I said. “I kept meaning to…”
“Shush.” She pulled out the card, read my inscription, and kissed me. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
She flipped the card over and stared at the front. My breath caught. Oh God, why hadn’t I looked at it? She raised one eyebrow and winked at me. “I’ll keep it on my fridge.”
Great. Just what I needed. A dozen bare-chested hot firemen for her to ogle every day.
“You didn’t look at the front, did you?”
I gulped. Beads of sweat formed on my brow. I couldn’t lie…but… “You don’t like it?”
She laughed and kissed my cheek again. “You totally didn’t look at the front.” She gazed again at the shops lining the bay. Tourists strolled along the boardwalk, overlooking the lapping waves below. On one end, a couple of kids played on a short expanse of exposed beach.
“What do you think will happen to her?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Hattie. She was such a sweet old lady.”
“She’s a killer.”
“She’s sick, McKenna. I feel sorry for her.”
“What about her victims?”
“I feel sorry for them, too.”
“Well, money, lawyers, and the courts will decide whether she’s a sociopathic killer or a sick, old lady.”
“Restore the social order.” Benni winked at me.
“That might be a bit much. All we did was…”
“It’s Mother’s Day, McKenna. You’re supposed to agree with me…at least for today.”
I nodded, firmly and with conviction. “Right. We restored the social order. I am sorry I ruined our trip, though.”
“Ruined?” Benni laughed. “Are you kidding?”
“Okay, destroyed. Annihilated. Completely…”
She pressed her lips against mine. They were soft and welcoming. My blood pressure went into the stratosphere. What other adjectives could I come up with?
“I’ve had the time of my life.”
“You’re…you’re not upset?”
“No way. This was the best Mother’s Day ever.”
“Right. Mother’s Day. Best ever. Got it.”
What in the world would I do to top this at Christmas?
--The End--
A few words from Terry Ambrose:
What can I say? I like writing about con artists and liars and conflicted people. Maybe I’m conflicted myself. After all, I’m half computer programmer, half mystery writer. Too bad I can’t afford therapy.
I started out skip tracing and collecting money from deadbeats and quickly learned that liars come from all walks of life. I never actually stole a car, but sometimes hired big guys with tow trucks and a penchant for working in the dark to “help” when negotiations failed.
As you might have figured out by now, the skip tracer part is how Wilson McKenna, my protagonist in Photo Finish, Kauai Temptations, and Big Island Blues came about. And ultimately, it led to the two main characters in License to Lie and Con Game.
Here’s more conflict in my life. I’m a resident of Southern California, but love spending time in Hawai‘i, especially on the Garden Island of Kauai, where I get to invent lies for the unsuspecting to read. My years of chasing deadbeats taught me many valuable life lessons such as—always keep your car in the garage.
Visit me at http://TerryAmbrose.com.
Short Order Dead
By Jeffrey Marks
Editor’s Note: A Father’s Day outing with his five-year-old son leaves a bad taste in one dad’s mouth when his waitress is poisoned. Fortunately, his ex-wife is better at multi-tasking (and parenting) than he is.
In retrospect, Dan’s idea to celebrate Father’s Day with his son Zach might have needed some work. He’d been so excited at the news that his ex-wife Marissa would bring Zach up to see him that he really hadn’t given much thought to the possible things they could do together.
The typical activities were already off the table. They would have had to travel back to Cincinnati to see the Reds play a baseball game. College sports were out of season in June. Of course, Zach was five, still at that age where he could care less about what other people were doing. He was more fascinated by his own thoughts and deeds.
Dan had thought about trying to find a museum or children’s activity to visit for the day, but since Zach had been up in Columbus with him just a few weeks ago, they’d done all of those things during the last visit.
That pretty much left eating out and finding a park. Dan had picked up a couple of kites, which they would fly later if the weather held out. It seemed like the type of bonding event that Zach would enjoy, and Dan could spend time with his son.
The eating out part was more problematic. Dan had hoped to wait until they got into Columbus proper to eat. He
’d made a reservation at a trendy downtown eatery in the Short North area. Honestly, he didn’t think that Zach would mind where they ate, as long as they had hamburgers and orange drink.
However, that plan had been doomed as soon as Zach got into the car and announced that he was starving. Dan had headed towards the restaurant, even though they’d be hours early. Zach’s bottom lip began to move, in and out, in and out. Dan recognized the sign, even though he wasn’t the custodial parent. His five-year-old son was going to burst into tears shortly.
Restaurants flew by as Dan took I-75 as fast as he could, knowing that one of them would be their final destination. He had no illusions that they would make it to Short North from here.
The next exit came up, and Dan directed his car to the off-ramp. He came to a stop at the end of the ramp and looked both ways. The only place to eat in sight was a diner, the type of eatery that had seen its best days fifty years ago. Now it looked its age, and Dan was hesitant about eating there. What would Marissa say if Zach ended up with botulism or an intestinal bug? What would he do with a kid having to go to the bathroom every ten minutes?
Dan decided to take his chances, rather than live with the impending crying jag. They pulled into the gravel lot. “We’re here,” he announced in his best faux cheerful voice.
Zach looked momentarily mollified as they walked in. The diner was everything that Dan had expected and less. The Formica counter was older than he was and showed it. The seven booths that lined the front window had splits and tape on the leather cushions, which looked less than comfortable. Only three of the other booths were taken, and Dan found one that was clean and in decent shape. Zach climbed onto the cushion and settled in.
Dan did have to credit the place with being kid friendly. The placemat was a coloring page, and seven different crayons were resting near the condiments. That was much more than the three primary colors that seemed to be the norm these days.
No one in the Columbus area should have been surprised that Zach wanted a hamburger, fries and an orange drink, even though Dan offered to let him pick anything he wanted off the menu.
“What’ll you have?” the perky waitress asked. She was young with dark blond hair down to her shoulders. She wore what looked like a polyester uniform in stripes of yellow and orange. The girl’s name badge read “Carrie.” Despite how old-fashioned her clothes, her shoes were definitely 21st Century. Carrie wore expensive cross-trainers that probably made her feet more comfortable. She looked tired, like she might be coming down with something, and Dan wondered about food safety again.
Dan ordered an egg salad sandwich, something he rarely made for himself at home. He was likely taking a chance with his intestines here, but the place had a homey feel, like a memory from his past. So he decided to live on the wild side—or as wild as it got for him these days.
Carrie scuttled off to place the order, and Dan sat back to listen to all of Zach’s wild stories. Dan suspected that his son would likely be a writer or something in the creative arts because the details were very vivid—and unbelievable.
The waitress came back and dropped off drinks and Zach’s food. She made an apologetic face, crinkling up her reddened nose and saying, “Sorry about your order. The egg salad wasn’t made yet. The cook is working on it now. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”
Dan nodded. At least he didn’t have to worry about the sandwich being left from last Wednesday or some such thing. It would be fresh—and edible.
However, the few minutes turned into twenty, and his sandwich still had not arrived. Dan looked around the diner and wondered where all the staff had disappeared to. The register was unmanned, and the other waitresses were nowhere to be seen. Zach was nearly finished with his fries, and with his characteristic impatience, the boy would be wanting to leave soon—regardless of whether Dan had eaten a bite or not.
Dan cleared his throat a few times, but no one got the hint. He was going to have to take the matter into his own hands. He told Zach to sit tight and not leave the booth. Dan got up and walked to the register. He slapped the metal bell. The sound echoed in the kitchen area behind the counter, but there was no movement. For a moment, Dan felt like a character in one of those zombie movies where everyone disappears, just leaving the physical remnants behind.
Looking back at Zach, who had now finished the last of his fries and was eyeing the car out of the window, Dan sucked up his courage and walked through the swinging doors. Despite what some people thought, he was not the type to enjoy any type of conflict. He preferred things to just move along the way they should, where he didn’t have to call attention to the faults of others.
Through the doors, he could hear the muffled voices of people. Dan was relieved to find that the patrons had not been abandoned, but he was puzzled by the fact that no one seemed to be concerned with the fact that the customers had been left unattended. He walked down the tiled hall to the kitchen area.
“Excuse me,” he said, finding his voice. He wasn’t sure of the protocol for this situation.
The little group of employees turned to face him. In the midst of their circle, Carrie lay on the floor, seizing. He could see traces of bloody froth around her mouth. One of the other waitresses was trying to hold her still, pressing down on her shoulders and upper body. The sight was unnerving.
“I don’t suppose you’re a doctor,” one of the men said. His face was ashen, and his hands shook as he tried to shove them into his pockets. “We need some help.”
“Have you called 911?” Dan asked, feeling inadequate to deal with this. He was an office worker, not an emergency tech. He felt bad for a second, because he saw his egg salad sandwich, and wondered how rude it would be if he took it with him.
The man nodded his head. “They’re on the way, but it’s been about 15 minutes, and we’re still waiting.”
As if on cue, the sound of sirens blared from outside of the doors. Dan jerked his head in that direction. “One of you will need to show them back here. Another is going to want to deal with the customers. They’re not going to want to be here when the waitress is taken out of here on a stretcher.”
A man stepped forward. Dan guessed that he was likely a cook, given the apron and the small scars on his hands and arms. One of the waitresses agreed to deal with the customers. As they headed to the seating area, Dan snatched his plate and took a bite out of his sandwich.
He sat down with his lunch and watched the EMTs head back to the kitchen area. A waitress quickly handed out receipts to the remaining tables, and the man who had come in for lunch turned around and walked out. She swung by their table and slid a bill under Zach’s plate, as though he’d be paying. Zach picked up the bill and whistled. “Twelve fifty-three,” he said, as though that was a significant amount of money. Dan wondered if Zach was being sarcastic. He certainly could have gotten that trait from his mother.
Before Dan could finish the sandwich, the EMTs came back out through the swinging doors. Dan was curious enough to look at the gurney, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The body was covered entirely, and the two men weren’t making any motions to help Carrie. That did not bode well.
Dan decided that it was best not to be involved. He and Zach only had a short amount of time together today, and he’d prefer it not be spent answering questions about his involvement, albeit tangentially, in a murder case. For there was no way that a girl that young had died instantly from anything natural.
He stood and motioned for Zach to get out of the booth. He paid the bill quickly in cash so that it couldn’t be traced back to him. He dropped a healthy tip on the table and held the door open for Zach.
He’d fastened Zach into his car seat. Geez, did they have to wear these things until they were teenagers? He started the car and had his hand on the gear shift when a police cruiser pulled into the lot. Dan sighed. So much for the fast getaway. Bank robbers never took their kids to a robbery for a reason. They’d be slowed down too much.
The cruiser pul
led behind him so that he couldn’t leave. Dan got out of his car, but not before he heard Zach command the Bluetooth in the Mercedes to call his mother.
~*~
Marissa Scott hadn’t been in a hurry to go back to her apartment in Cincinnati without Zach. The space always felt too large and too quiet without his constant talking and questions.
She only made it as far as Jefferson when she took the exit to the outlet mall in Jeffersonville, hoping for a pleasant diversion. The clothes there were in her price range. The day was bright and the sun was actually warm for May, and she hummed as she went into the designer outlet shop. She rarely wanted to shop after spending all day at her department store job, so this felt like a treat.
However, the humming stopped when she got a call from her ex-husband, Dan. He’d only had Zach for perhaps an hour, and there was no way that they’d run out of things to do yet. She was sure that he’d found better plans than an hour in a restaurant and a call that they were done. Even though they’d been divorced for three years, she still knew him well.
“Dan,” she said, as she answered her cell. “What is it?”
But it wasn’t Dan. Instead, she heard Zach, running his words together. Apparently he was in his car seat outside of some restaurant while Dan spoke to the police. The way that Zach described the situation, he and Dan had been leaving the scene of what sounded suspiciously like a homicide. While Marissa had no doubt that this was just a matter of bad timing or Zack’s overactive imagination, Dan’s desire to avoid conflict at all costs probably made him appear to be a person of interest in the crime. The authorities wouldn’t know this about Dan. Instead they would wonder why he was in such a hurry to get out of the restaurant.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 91